“Kill the demon,” Trummug shouted. “Kill him now!”
“Yes,” Qurrah said. “Kill the demon.”
The bones he commanded pelted the orc force, tearing at their eyes and exposed throats. Tessanna giggled at the carnage it caused.
“Qurrah,” she said. “I want to have a little fun myself.”
Her hands waved in circles that glowed a deep crimson. Two orcs collapsed, blood spurting from every orifice. She took control of the blood, giving it rigidity and energy. She stretched it into a long, bladed weapon. The bloodsword lashed through the orcs, mutilating flesh and severing limbs.
The tentacles vanished, their power spent. A band of orcs charged, furious at seeing so many of their brethren massacred. Qurrah knelt, placed his palms against the dirt, and spoke the words of a spell. When he pointed a finger, a shadowy ghost of a face rose from the earth, with black holes for eyes and a gaping maw that seemed infinite in depth. Then it shrieked. The sound slammed into the orcs like a physical force, shattering bones. They fell, writhing, convulsing, dying.
“No more need to die,” the half-orc shouted, even as another wave of orcs neared. “Orcs have fought orcs for long enough. Karak offers the greatest war imaginable. Will you serve him?”
He received his answer in the form of a communal roar. The half-orc latched his hands together and pushed. Two black orbs shot from his wrists, merged together, and then grew to the size of a boulder. It rolled through the air, its surface shimmering like a bubble. The first orc to touch it watched his entire arm dissolve into gray sand. The next hapless orc had his entire upper body broken to the tiniest of pieces which fell like dust atop his collapsed legs. Orcs dove out of its way, but three more found pieces of their body vanishing.
“Do you see his power?” Qurrah asked. “The power of Karak?”
Tessanna punctuated his comments with a shockwave of her own. She laughed, and that laughter shook the ground all the way to the towers. It was as if Dezrel laughed with her, sharing in its contempt for the gray-skinned creatures. All around the orcs fell to their knees, only Qurrah and Tessanna remained standing, like gods among them.
“Bow!” Qurrah shouted. “Bow to those who would slay you without thought, so you may slay thousands of others!”
“Shut your trap!” Trummug screamed, slamming his axe into the dirt and using it to pull himself to his feet. “We seen your kind before. You promise us stuff to fight. Gold. Land. But you never keep those promises. You want us to fight and die, and then you move on while we lick our wounds and lose half our numbers to the winter.”
“Fairly eloquent for an orc,” Qurrah muttered.
“He is correct,” Tessanna said. “You know he is.”
“I do not bring the promises of men,” Qurrah shouted. The rest of the orcs were getting to their feet, but they were not charging. They wanted nothing more than the two dead, but they would wait for their leader to give the order.
“What do you bring?” Trummug asked.
“The promises of Karak. The promises of a god. You are beloved in his eyes. He gave you strength and power. He saved you from extinction.”
“Prove it,” Trummug said. “Have him speak.”
The half-orc glanced to Tessanna. A bit of worry crossed his face.
“What is it, lover?” she asked him.
“I can give him his request,” he said. “I can, but…”
She understood. She put her hand on his lips and kissed his forehead.
“Do not fear him. Perhaps you needed this. You need to see what life you might lead.”
He nodded, then turned to Trummug. “Very well. Have your men lay down their arms. Do not harm me, and I will let you hear his words.”
The big orc gave the command. Qurrah walked the distance between them, feeling an ever-tightening knot in his stomach. He had never done this before, not once. He felt vulnerable, naked.
“Dark one,” he prayed as he walked. “Accept this as a step of faith. Do not betray me.”
Orcs grumbled and swore as the half-orc arrived. Trummug snorted.
“So, I’m not hearing anything.”
“Kneel,” Qurrah said. “Then you may hear.”
“You want to make me a fool?” the big orc snarled, barely containing his growing rage.
“Cut me in half if you hear nothing,” Qurrah said. “I will make no motion to stop you.”
“The girl?”
“She will not stop you.”
The anger had spread throughout all his body, but he held it in check. He slammed down his axe, then knelt as he gripped its handle. Before he could move, Qurrah thrust his hands against Trummug’s face and met him eye to eye.
Karak, god of Order, he silently commanded. Speak. Show him your paradise.
At first Trummug’s eyes widened, as if he suspected Qurrah of some sort of treachery, but then the glaze came over. A strong ringing filled both their ears. The sky went dark. The world was a haze. Qurrah had asked for communion, and his request was about to be answered.
Just under a mile away, his orc rabble marching behind him, Velixar broke into hysterical laughter.
“He is learning!” he cried, an enormous smile on his face. “Give it to him, Karak, give him his desire!”
All around orcs shied away from his horrific laughter, laughter that shivered their spines and struck dead the few birds that flew overhead. Laughter of a dead man. Laughter of an insane man. And none there could describe the pleasure he took within it.
From the ringing came a soft blowing of wind past the entrance of a cave. Trummug and Qurrah were lost within the sound, as if all time were halted.
“What you do to me?” Trummug asked, though his lips never moved.
Qurrah had no chance to answer.
You sought my presence, said the voice of Karak. Their entire world shook. The darkness recoiled, and spikes of red and violet danced within. You wanted proof of my promise. You wanted my words, my voice. You are my children, cast away and given to me by the goddess. Accept my power, as you always have. Let the orcs become my banner carriers.
“We will obey,” Trummug said, still without moving his lips. Qurrah thought the darkness would end and the moment pass, but Karak’s presence remained, his message not yet done.
Forgive my prophet, child. Forgive the loss of your brother. I have not yet turned my back on him, though he has turned his back on me. Velixar loves you, as you once loved him. Trust. Respect. The time will come when your power will surpass even his, and that time is not far away.
“I want freedom from this,” Qurrah said. “I want a life with her, and nothing more.”
Your freedom comes with mine. But once you have tasted the fire I offer…will you be so ready to flee it?
Red lightning consumed the dark. The black grew ever distant, until Qurrah realized he stared into the eyes of Trummug. The giant orc stood, his entire body shaking.
“What he say, boss?” the orc to his right asked. Trummug did not respond. “So we get to kill them?” the same orc asked, drawing his sword and turning toward Qurrah. The half-orc did not move. Trummug reached out and crushed the life from the orc’s throat, all while still staring at Qurrah.
“Boys,” he shouted. His voice gained strength as he talked. “The Mugs got a god smiling at us. All us orcs do. We gonna leave the wedge, and we leave it forever! Get the war drums, prepare the horde. We march to war!”
Qurrah turned to Tessanna and nodded. The girl smiled, but it was a nervous smile. She didn’t like the way her lover looked. It was as if his face had darkened, a reverse glow that sucked in all light and denied it freedom. But he had his army, far larger than the one Velixar ruled. He walked over and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“I love you,” he said.
“What did you hear?” she asked him. He opened his mouth to answer, then paused.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Nothing matters but us. And we are one step closer to our freedom.”
She kissed his cheek. It was colder than ever. When he kissed her back, a shiver traveled up and down her back. As his arms closed about her, she felt the chill subside. Karak’s presence had faded. Qurrah’s heart and soul were hers once more.
Velixar and his orcs arrived at the camp expecting war, but instead they were greeted like long lost friends. The Mug orcs cheered and offered ale and food, to which the exhausted and starving orcs gladly accepted. Qurrah waited for Velixar by the gate, Tessanna next to him with dagger in hand.
“You spoke with him,” Velixar said when he arrived. “Not only that, you invoked his name. For the first time you put your trust in Karak. Do you see now that when faith is measured, the reward is greatest for those who believe without hesitation?”
“The orcs are yours,” Qurrah said. “And Trummug will unite all the other Mug camps we come across in his name. Only Lummug can overrule him. Once the Mug tribe is in our hands, the rest of the tribes will step in line. The question is, who will be their Hordemaster?”
“I thought Gumgog,” Velixar said. “He seems capable enough.”
“Make him Warmaster,” Qurrah said. “But Trummug has heard the voice of Karak. He should be the Hordemaster.”
Velixar pondered over the decision. As he did, he watched Tessanna slice into her arm. The vicious cut splattered her dress with blood. Tears ran down her face, but she made no sound. When she caught him looking at her, she smiled.
“The cold makes it hurt more,” she said, her voice like the purr of a cat. “But the pleasure’s still there.”
“Indeed,” Velixar said, glancing back to Qurrah. “But will Lummug bow to his younger brother, I ask?”
“Of course not,” Qurrah said. “We are instituting a new era for the orcs. The old must go. Lummug will die, and Trummug will rule, with all the orcs worshipping the name of Karak.”
Velixar chuckled. “Very well. I will concede to your decision. Prepare the orcs to march. We have several more camps to collect before we reach Lummug’s.”
“Of course, master,” Qurrah said with a bow. The man in black bowed back, feeling his joy increasing. His apprentice had finally gained the confidence to argue back, to disagree, and not out of arrogance. His plan was a sound one. Any orc blessed enough to hear the words of Karak deserved to rule.
“Well done, Qurrah,” Velixar said as they entered the orc camp.
Gumgog and Trummug didn’t just get along. They took to one another like brothers. The two were giants compared to the other orcs, and after an initial arm wrestling match, fist fight, and drinking competition, they were as close as any orcs would ever get. When Qurrah took them both aside to explain his plan, for Gumgog to be Warmaster and Trummug to be Hordemaster, both were thrilled beyond measure. They were also drunk beyond measure, which enhanced their reactions.
“But what, what about me brother?” Trummug asked. “He not like me being higher than him when me be smaller, and him older and he got this giant…what was me saying?”
“Your brother will bow to your reign,” Qurrah said, “or you will kill him in Karak’s name. Those are his choices.”
“I’ll beat him over the head for you,” Gumgog offered. “One good whack, kapow!” He smacked their table with his wooden arm. The weighted stone at the end smashed right through.
“You, you a good friend, orc,” Trummug said as he guzzled down his twentieth glass. “Good, good…” He vomited all over his chest. “Good friend. Kapow!”
Qurrah left as each shouted for more. A short, sweaty goblin dragged over a barrel and filled their glasses. The two raised them in a toast as the half-orc exited the tent.
“Kapow!” they shouted in unison before slamming their mugs together.
“Kapow!”
The next several camps quickly submitted to Trummug’s command, grabbing all their supplies and weaponry before stepping in line. At Qurrah’s request, they did not mention the required loyalty and worship to Karak. That would be for a later time, when Trummug was solidified as Hordemaster. With numbers nearing a thousand, they planned their assault on Fortress Mug.
I say smash through by force,” Trummug shouted, slamming an open palm against the table. “No sneaking and no talk. Brother’s not gonna give up, and I don’t want any rumors about me stabbing him in the back!”
“There will be no rumors,” Qurrah insisted, his voice soft and reassuring. In the cramped tent, Trummug’s shouts were painful to his ears, and he preferred to keep them to a minimum. “Any who question your strength will die by the sword. We cannot risk failure, though, and the last thing you want is a prolonged war.”
“You call me a coward?” Trummug asked, his eyes bulging.
“I said nothing of the sort.”
“You dare say me scared of war? War is what I live for!”
“You’re trying to reason with him,” Velixar said, chuckling from the corner. “I think we all can guess whether or not you will be successful.”
“Very well,” Qurrah said, plopping into his chair at the table. Tessanna sat beside him with her knees curled against her chest and her hands clutching the sides of the chair. She rocked back and forth as if she were mesmerized by the sounds around her. The half-orc gestured a finger toward Velixar. “Show me the wiser path.”
Velixar stood, his grin dark and wide beneath the cowl of his hood. Trummug crossed his arms, confident he could not be convinced. His small, weaker council wanted him to sneak past the guards at night and slaughter his brother. He, in his orcish sense of honor, wanted to attack the city at dawn, with drums and horns announcing his arrival. He wanted to take the title of Hordemaster by force and war, not stealth or trickery.
“You say you are not afraid of war,” Velixar said, pacing on the opposite side of the table from Trummug. “I believe you. Tell me, Trummug, who should rule the orcish tribes?”
“The strongest!”
“Yes, yes,” Velixar said, his grin growing more smug. “The strongest. And who is stronger, my dear friend, you or Lummug?”
“ME!” Trummug smashed the table with both fists and flexed, his enormous muscles bulging under his armor.
“Of course. I would not have allied with you otherwise. So if the strongest orc should rule, and you are the strongest, how do we go about proving that?”
“By me chopping off Lummug’s head, that’s how.”
Velixar clapped his hands and laughed, as if he had never heard such a brilliant idea.
“You’re right, so it doesn’t matter if Lummug has ten guards or ten thousand, you should rule. You’re the strongest.”
“That’s right.” He poked his chest with his thumb. “I’m the strongest.”
“Then all the fighting and war you want is just a waste of time. The real test, the only part that matters, is the fight between you and your brother. So, the smart thing to do is to fight Lummug alone, right?”
Trummug scratched his head. Deep inside he could feel a throb he had never felt before, dark and sinister. He had felt it ever since he had heard the words of Qurrah’s god, and now it pulsed with agreement. The man in black spoke truth. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew.
“Aye, it be the smart thing,” Trummug said.
“So let us get you your brother. The more orcs that live, the more that join your army. You do want a grander army than Lummug ever had, don’t you?”
“I will smash everything he thinks he’s done!” Trummug shouted. “Get me to him. Once his head’s in my hands, all orcs will call me Hordemaster!”
Velixar winked at Qurrah, who only threw up his hands in surrender.
“That is how you do it,” the man in black said as he sat across from his disciple. “You just need to think simpler, less arguing, more coercing.”
“You should fight his war,” Tessanna said, her voice muffled by her knees. “You could bring the dead back, so no loss would matter. Less to feed.”
“True, my dear,” Velixar said. “But the orcs that live I can bring back. The dead, when
slain, will stay dead. And raging orcs are far superior in combat to the mindless dead. And food will not be a problem. Fortress Mug has plenty of livestock for us to slaughter.”
“So tomorrow we kill?” Trummug shouted, bored of the conversation. “Tomorrow me be Hordemaster?”
“If Karak wills it, yes,” Velixar said, smiling at the orc. “But only if he wills it.”
They left the tent to sleep. Come the morning, they would prepare their army. If all went according to plan, they would not need it, but all there in that tent knew that things rarely went according to plan.
Fortress Mug was like all the other orc forts: surrounded by wooden palisades with sharpened tips, covered with banners, and possessing a single gate to enter. Fortress Mug, however, differed by how enormous it was, encircling giant fields full of pigs and goats. A tent five times the height of any orc loomed in the center, surrounded by hundreds of other tents, home to the orcs that swore allegiance directly to Lummug. Over three thousand lived there by Velixar’s estimate. A grand army, if united.
“Have we been spotted?” Qurrah asked Velixar as they stood at the outskirts of their camp and looked upon the fortress.
“I’m sure we have,” Velixar said. “The walls are bristling with orcs. The question is, will Lummug still be inside his tent?”
“He won’t leave until the fighting begins,” Qurrah said. Velixar glanced at his disciple and raised an eyebrow.
“Do you know that for sure?”
The half-orc shrugged. “I wouldn’t bet my life on it. I’d bet yours though.”
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 73
