Grognak Skullsplitter's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Grognak Skullsplitter marched his warband north out of the southern forest at dawn, as promised. He did not march to Ashrock. He turned east, into the scrub country where the black tigerbears denned, because a chief with no wolves needed teeth of his own. The tigerbears fought him for six days. He lost four warriors to claws and one to a broken neck. On the seventh day he wrestled a bull down in a dry creek bed and did not kill it. He tied its jaws with rope soaked in blood and fed it from his own hand. By the second moon, twenty of the beasts wore harness. His warriors rode them low and heavy, axes strapped to the saddle. While the men learned to ride, the women built. Grutha Ironheart set the mud huts in a ring around a fire pit and called it a camp, then a village. Orc children were born there. Grognak counted three the first month, seven the next. Future warriors. He had a clan again, growing under him, and mounted teeth to guard it. He did not go after the wolf pups. He had gambled that promise to Grakthar the White to buy time, and time was what he had spent. The moon Grakthar had given him was almost gone. His white orc scouts came back on tigerbear at dusk. There were three of them, ash-painted, ribs showing under their harness. The lead scout slid down before the mount stopped. "Chief. East. A day's ride." "White orc?" "No. Elves. Dark ones. Building a town of stone." Grognak set down the strap he was oiling. "Say it clean." "Towers already up. Spires the color of a bruise. They have cages. Fire wolf pups inside, six or seven. Orcs tied to posts. White and black both. Ironjaw paint on two of them." Grutha stepped closer. Grognak did not look at her. "How many elves?" "Hundreds. A king walks the wall. White hair. Small. Wears black." Grognak knew the name from trader talk. King Lucian. The dark elf who counted orc raids the way a miser counted coin. A second rider came in behind the scouts. Not his. She rode no mount. She walked out of the brush with her hands open and her sword sheathed, purple eyes catching the firelight. Armor black, cloak black. Dark elf. "Velrith Shadowbane," she said. "I speak for no one here. My king takes your captives at first light. He will burn the paint off them and start with the black." "Why tell me?" "Because he means to kill every clan. Yours first. He has the wrong chief in mind, but he will settle for you." Grognak looked at the tigerbears in their pen, at the huts, at the small orcs sleeping between them. He had built something worth losing. Now something