"Eastward, you few; southward, the rest," commanded Garthas at the village entrance, directing a few cloaked figures. Crazy Blade Arosa had gone on ahead, his whereabouts unknown. For an orc, nighttime raids are a natural advantage; a human child couldn't possibly outrun the orcs' keen sense of smell and speed. "Praise the God of Destiny," Garthas murmured, switching from the human language back to ancient Orcish. Suddenly, the wind changed, blowing the flames that had threatened to spread into the forest back into the village. Garthas solemnly traced a pentacle symbol over his chest with two fingers before disappearing into the woods. He had noticed a nearby small town not too far from here before coming to this place.
Not far from the entrance to Ford Town, a rustling sound emerged from the forest. Arthur Hebrew stumbled and rolled his way out of the trees, with two towering, cloaked figures close behind. Gasping, he finally reached the road leading into Ford Town. Torches, placed by the townsfolk, lined the road on either side. On a night under the fire moon, its chaotic energy stirred up fear in people, causing small towns to place torches to ward off wild beasts or other creatures affected by its influence. Larger cities used kerosene lamps instead.
The cloaked pursuers followed Arthur closely, lowering their hoods to reveal fierce, red-skinned orc faces filled with murderous determination. As previously mentioned, orcs excel in nighttime pursuits.
"Give up, Hebrew remnant! You'll never reach the town!" shouted one of the orcs, pulling out a massive axe from under his cloak as he closed in on Arthur. Their eyes burned red with bloodlust, heightened by the power of the fire moon, making them even stronger.
By now, Arthur was only half a mile from the town entrance. However, his legs could barely support him after running for so long. He stumbled, nearly falling. The axe-wielding orc seized the opportunity, leaping forward to strike. Suddenly, an arrow shot toward the orc, and Arthur rolled to the roadside in time to avoid the blow.
"Enemy attack!" shouted a watchman. A few armed townsfolk appeared near the town entrance, their bows drawn. From a watchtower nearby, another guard rang a warning bell.
The sound of "Enemy attack!" echoed through Ford Town, waking up the sleeping town once more. The two orcs halted abruptly, one of them growling a few curses at the retreating Arthur before turning to flee with his companion into the nearby forest.
"Stay alert!" The command rang through the town, as guards continued to pass on the warning. Arthur stumbled to the town gate and collapsed, gazing at the fully armed men standing guard, tears nearly welling up in relief. The lead archer, known as Little Ford, was the son of the town's postmaster and mayor, Old Ford. Little Ford had joined the town's guard and understood the dangers of the fire moon, keeping up patrols during its nights.
Little Ford approached Arthur, squatting down beside him. "Kid, what happened? Aren't you Arthur, from Green Village?" Arthur often came to Ford Town with his father to trade minerals for supplies. Over time, Little Ford remembered the lively child.
"Little Ford, Mr. Ford!" Arthur clutched Little Ford's sleeve, exclaiming, "Green Village… Green Village is on fire!"
Little Ford's gaze sharpened as he quickly started issuing orders. He sent Kate, Jett, and several others up the mountain to investigate. To prevent an attack by the orcs, he had a watchman call up another squad of guards to reinforce the gate. As Arthur saw everyone performing their duties, he began to relax. Then he remembered the sealed letter. "Sir, where is Old Ford?"
"I'll take you to him. He should be at the post office tonight," Little Ford said, putting his bow behind him and leading Arthur into town. Ford Town wasn't large; it was a subsidiary of Brighton City and the most advanced settlement in the area. Houses were built of stone bricks. In the town center stood a large post office, flanked by a tavern and various shops selling daily goods. The deepest part of the town held a small church and a blacksmith's forge.
Due to the earlier alarm, townsfolk had gathered in the streets, some men in shirts wielding shovels and other makeshift weapons. Women, too, formed small groups, with a few holding defensive weapons. "What's going on, Little Ford?" asked an older man approaching them.
"Nothing too serious, old Henry," reassured Little Ford, "Just some restless beasts on a fire moon." The murmurs around them quieted, and townsfolk sighed in relief. Little Ford reminded them to stay indoors as was customary during fire moons, encouraging trust in the guards.
Once the streets had mostly cleared, Little Ford dropped his relaxed expression and led Arthur into the post office.
The post office had only one floor, with stacks of letters organized by region in every corner of the hall. In the far corner sat a chubby, older man, working with an electric telegraph—the latest machine in the town. This was Old Ford, mayor of Ford Town, whom Arthur remembered well since his father often stopped by the post office for a chat after their trades.
"Father," Little Ford bypassed the piles of letters, approaching Old Ford. "Arthur's here from Green Village. Two orcs were chasing him; it's likely the village is gone."
"I see..." Old Ford seemed unsurprised, turning to face the now-shaken Arthur. "Child, do you still have that letter?"
Arthur handed over a sealed letter, then moved to sit in a corner, burying his head in his arms. Old Ford sighed, glancing at the opened letter. The message warned that the black-robed pursuers had found traces of the Hebrew family and urged them to flee. It was signed by Viscount Bailey, a benevolent figure in Brighton City, but it seemed likely that the sender had merely borrowed his name to alert Joe Hebrew.
"Take Arthur to our home and let him rest for the night. Tomorrow, we'll have to send him away," Old Ford said, dismissing Little Ford, who led Arthur out of the post office. As he remained alone, Old Ford sighed and began pressing the keys of the telegraph. Though this machine had only recently been invented, its presence in Ford Town reflected his influence.
"Tomorrow, Father? Is this…?" Little Ford asked, pausing.
"Don't ask what you shouldn't know; we'll all be in danger if you do." Old Ford resumed typing, pausing only to mutter "To speak is to know; to act is to be heard."
Following his father's words, Little Ford left with Arthur. The vast post office fell silent again, with only Old Ford diligently working at the telegraph to send a message to another force. Meanwhile, a figure in the shadows beside him slipped away into the darkness of the room.
On a low hill outside Ford Town, the two orcs who had pursued Arthur stood nearby as Garthas watched the town from the top of the slope. After observing it for a while, he descended, addressing the two orcs beside him. "Let's go. Seems we won't catch the kid tonight; we'll deal with it at the church." With a smirk and a hum of an ancient Orcish tune, Garthas vanished into the depths of the forest.
The sun was about to rise.