The Death of Promises

10

T he Mug tribe was the largest and the strongest of the orc tribes, with numbers in the thousands. Their territory was spread across the Vile Wedge, occupying more than a third of all the land between the two rivers. Camps waving the image of a bloodied wooden cup of ale dotted the entire wedge, each one ruled by a warleader who in turn pledged allegiance to Lummug.

“So what is the plan?” Tessanna asked as they walked through a small valley. Hills stretched to either side of them with towers built atop. Each waved a banner of a bloodied mug. Despite the drunkenness of the sentries within, it would not be long before one glanced down and spotted them.

“They will not expect attack during winter,” Qurrah said. “Food is poor, and the cold is vicious against morale. Our campaign will be swift and short, and Velixar’s undead will need little food.”

At the end of the valley was the camp. Wooden palisades surrounded it, their tops carved into spikes. A giant door made of tree trunks remained wide open. Two guards slumbered in the cold.

“I know we have surprise,” Tessanna said. “What are we to do with that surprise?”

“Make them kneel,” the half-orc said, grinning.

“So dramatic,” she said. “How about specifics.”

“No plan,” Qurrah said. “So no specifics. I will show them my power, and I will make them obey. The orcs are brutish children. They need to believe their lives are at stake when I tell them to bow. Nothing else matters.”

Tessanna clutched his arm and kissed his cheek.

“It’s going to snow soon,” she said. “Will you be warm enough in these robes?”

“No,” Qurrah said. “But I will survive. Prepare your magic. I think we have been spotted.”

A horn sounded from one of the towers. A moment later the other tower joined with its own horn. The guards at the gate readied their spears as hundreds of orcs joined them, howling and bellowing. The air was cold, the morning dull, and the idea of combat both warmed and awakened them. They had armor made of leather, weapons of crude iron, and animal skins for warmth.

Qurrah cast a spell, and then shouted to the camp. His booming voice sounded like a deity taken the form of a spider or a serpent.

“Look upon me, orcs of the Mug tribe. I have the blood of orc in me, just as you. We come bearing an offer. Karak is returning to this world. His power will not be denied. An age ago your kind wielded swords and axes at his side. That is where you gained your strength. That is where you gained your bloodlust. I am a servant of Karak, as you once were. Kneel, and cry out his name, and I will give you everything. I will give you war against the humans. I will give you land to pillage and fields to burn. Cast off your worship of the wild animals of this world. Karak is your god. Will you serve him?”

The leader of the camp, a smaller brother of Lummug, pushed his way to the front. While he might have been smaller than Lummug, he still towered above the nearby orcs by a solid foot.

“Trummug bows to no one,” he shouted as he raised a mighty axe high above his head. “Others bow to the Mugs. You take your god and leave. We not want him.”

“You will serve,” Qurrah said. “Or every one of you will die.”

“Go get ‘em boys,” Trummug shouted. “Whoever brings me his head gets the girl.”

A hundred orcs charged, whooping and hollering. Qurrah laughed despite the danger.

“At last a foe who relishes combat,” he said. “At last a fight where neither side regrets the bloodshed.” Dark magic flared across his fingertips. “It’s about damn time.”

“I will keep us alive,” Tessanna said, a shy smile on her face. “You have your fun.”

The first group of orcs neared, foaming at the mouth as they waved their weapons high.

“For the Mugs!” they screamed. Maniacal bloodlust coursed through their veins. The two strangers were unarmed and weak in form. They should have been an easy kill. Then the half-orc began casting. A black circle stretched from Qurrah’s feet, consuming the grass. From the circle hundreds of tentacles crawled, sparking with electricity. Six orcs died shrieking as the tentacles lashed at their faces and chests, pushing aside the weapons they held up to defend themselves as if they were made of cloth. The gruesome sight slowed the charge, and that time was all Qurrah needed to cast another spell. The bones from the dead orcs tore from their bodies, showering blood in a gruesome rain.

“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.

J ust 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.

F rom 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.

V elixar 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.

G umgog 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!”

T he 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.

F ortress 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 man in black laughed.

“Summon Trummug,” he said when his laughter died. “It is time the orcs worshipped Karak once more.”

Qurrah went to fetch him, leaving Velixar to grin alone. He had been in a joyous mood for days. Everything was proceeding without a hitch, and the inevitable release of Karak seemed closer than ever.

“Me ready to kill!” Trummug bellowed to signify his arrival. Velixar turned to him, his smile growing larger.

“A fine sight you are,” he said, and he meant it. The orc’s armor was cleaned and polished. Massive amounts of gray muscle bulged underneath. On his head he wore a helmet made of iron. Surrounding it was six pairs of antlers, positioned so that tens of sharp points stretched out from his eyes and mouth toward his enemy. Two sharp spikes stretched out from his shoulders, an addition made by Velixar. His gauntlets, also made of iron, were stained red from blood.

“Almost ready,” the man in black said, admiring the sight. “But now you must accept the rewards Karak offers to those who keep his faith.”

He placed a hand on Trummug’s chest and closed his eyes. The orc fidgeted, unsure of what sorcery was about to take place. Then he felt the power flood into him. His muscles bulged. The armor, which had hung loose on him by Qurrah’s demand, suddenly latched tight and firm. He held his giant axe in one hand, though he had always needed two to lift it.

“Karak made me strong!” he shouted, his voice carrying further than it ever had. Qurrah smiled, a sad smile. He remembered how Harruq had looked when infused in a similar manner. Even Trummug, with his armor and muscle, paled in comparison.

“Always bless his name,” Velixar said, his voice captivating Trummug. “Let every kill honor your god. When you are Hordemaster, may every orc in Dezrel know the strength Karak offers.”

Trummug held his axe high above his head and bellowed out a war cry.

“Send me to fight!” he screamed. “I’ll go crazy if I don’t kill!”

Velixar slammed his hands together and whispered words of magic. A black portal tore into the air, its destination unknown.

“Enter,” he told the giant orc. “Slay your enemy, and take your place as ruler.”

With a mindless roar, Trummug leapt inside, his axe high and ready. Qurrah followed with a silent Tessanna coming shortly after. Velixar entered last, but only after commanding Gumgog to prepare his army for battle. If the armies of the Mug Fortress poured forth, they needed to be prepared.

“We be ready,” Gumgog said, saluting with his club arm. Velixar smiled.

“Failure would be most unwise,” he said before vanishing within the swirling darkness.

Q urrah was lucky enough to have ducked when he entered the portal, for otherwise a wild swing by Trummug would have taken off his head. The orc was storming about the giant tent in the center of Fortress Mug, screaming for challengers. Qurrah crouched lower and stepped back, cursing their luck. Lummug was not in his tent.

“Get back, dullard,” he said, hooking his fingers and pushing them in the air. An invisible force pushed Trummug away from the portal so his axe did not harm Tessanna and Velixar when they appeared.

“We must find him quickly,” Velixar said as he looked around and realized the problem. Trummug, nearly foaming at the mouth with rage, did not wait for council. He stormed out of the tent and shrieked at the top of his lungs.

“WHERE LUMMUG?”

Orc guards saw him and fled, wanting no part of the angry giant. Trummug raised his axe and chased, lopping off any heads within reach. Again he screamed for his brother, and throughout the entire fortress his voice thundered.

“Keep him alive,” Velixar ordered as he held open the flap of the tent for Qurrah and Tessanna. “But make sure he strikes the killing blow against Lummug.”

At first it didn’t appear to be that difficult a task. Orcs fled in all directions, wanting no part of the strangers that had magically appeared within their gates. The curious or the slow found their heads chopped or their chests shattered. Then a giant swarm of orcs approached from the north gate, shrieking with battlelust. Within the mass was Lummug, his shield and sword held high.

“Take out his entourage,” Velixar said. Qurrah chuckled.

“Is that what we should do? I might never have guessed.” He prepared his magic as Velixar glared.

“Boys, boys,” Tessanna said as she prepared her own spells. “Behave before I spank you both.”

Trummug charged the orcs head-on as if he were impervious to any wounds. Qurrah and Velixar accompanied his charge with twin blasts of bones torn from the nearby corpses. Guards crumpled to the ground, gagging from torn throats and clutching massacred eyes. Tessanna kissed the palm of her hand and blew. Red smoke swirled like a snake through the air past Trummug and into the lungs and noses of the orcs. Those that breathed it in dropped their weapons and gagged, their eyes immediately swelling red with blood. Two dropped without uttering a sound. A third vomited his intestines. The rest fell, their stomachs bursting open and pouring blood across the grass.

“A magnificent spell,” Velixar said.

“Thank you,” Tessanna said, her voice calm and emotionless. “But I have better.”

With their leader near, the rest of the camp had the courage to attack the three frail forms that stood seemingly unprotected. The girl twirled, her arms dancing through the air. Orange light shone from her fingertips. The blood of the dead orcs ran across the grass and pooled at her feet. Like a spider it latched upon her legs and climbed, swirling and covering her exposed legs. When it reached her dress it spread wide and covered it as well, so she appeared to have one long skirt of blood. With each of Tessanna’s heartbeats it pulsed with life.

“Disturbing,” Qurrah said, “but what does it…”

He stopped when Tessanna violently wrenched her body like some vicious dancer. The skirt spread wide, cracked, and then flew from her, the blood becoming snakes that flew with open mouths and dripping fangs. The snakes latched onto the gathering orcs, sinking their fangs into their necks and faces. Upon biting, the snakes dissolved back into normal blood, their poison spent. Orcs shrieked and scratched at their skin like it was on fire. They tore out their eyes so the pressure behind them would subside. They gnawed on their fingers, stabbed themselves with their swords, and writhed on the ground in unbearable agony.

“By the abyss,” Qurrah muttered, watching the macabre display.

“I stand corrected,” Velixar said. “ That is a magnificent spell.”

“Your pet,” Tessanna said, still quiet and apathetic. She pointed to where Lummug and Trummug fought. “He’s in danger.”

The two men turned, having forgotten their reason for being there. The orc brothers were deep in combat, and it appeared Lummug had the upper hand. Despite his magical strength, Trummug was a much worse fighter in terms of skill. He swung wild and crazy with his axe, trying to use sheer strength to win. Lummug, the size of an ox himself, used his shield to absorb the blows before retaliating with his sword. His cuts were not severe, but they were quickly adding up. Blood soaked both their armor.

“Take his strength,” Velixar said. “I will take his mind, but use a light touch. Our puppet must believe he won.”

Qurrah thought over his spells, then settled on one he had used on his brother. He cast the curse. Invisible weights latched onto Lummug’s arms and legs, making it seem his sword weighed thrice its normal weight and his shield was made of stone.

“You grow tired!” Trummug shouted, seeing his opponent’s movements slow and his breathing quicken. “You’re not able to face my strength!”

Velixar’s spell was more subtle but far more dangerous to Lummug. His curse spread a thin veil of shadow over the orc’s eyes. Lummug could still see, but what he saw was far from truth. When he saw Trummug swing his axe from below his waist, he positioned his shield to block. The blow never came, not from that direction. Trummug had lifted his axe high and swung straight down. No shield stopped it. The axe cleaved through Lummug’s helmet, split his skull, and then buried itself in a mess of ribs, lungs, and heart.

With a scream of victory, Trummug tore free his axe and lifted the giant weapon above his head with one hand

“Lummug dead!” he shouted to the fortress. “Trummug Hordemaster now!”

Their leader dead, it was politics as normal for the rest of the orcs.

“Trummug!” they shouted. “Trummug the Hordemaster!”

The entire fortress erupted in cheers of loyalty. As Trummug basked in his glory, Velixar walked beside him.

“Do not forget what Karak has given you,” he said. “Reward his faith in you by your faith in him.”

“For Karak!” Trummug suddenly shouted. “For Karak, for Karak!”

The orcs outside the fortress took up a similar chant. For Karak! For Karak! The orcs within, confused though they were, joined in. They found the words pleasant to their tongues and the shout comforting to their minds.

For Karak! For Karak!

With the Mug tribe united in his name, it was only a matter of time before the other tribes fell in line. The army, numbering two thousand strong, marched east, a new standard for their banners. It was the skull of a lion.

Part Two