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PROLOUGE

“And it shall come to pass that in the time when the great ones return, the one whose heart swells with pride shall restore the fortunes of The People. He shall bring terror to his foes, and he shall bring back that which was lost. He shall place it upon his head, and all will follow him.”

“And Lord Grummish will smile upon them all.”

Grom Ten-Kill let the scroll he had been reading slowly roll back up. He gingerly placed it across the table, and then he sat back, stretching his tired limbs. Wiping his brow with one arm, he shook his head as he tried to refocus eyes that had grown bleary after many hours of study.

Jumped slightly, he glanced up at the voice of his lieutenant, Fhein Warg Smasher. The other orc chieftain’s voice was surprisingly soft. Grom guessed that his old friend was trying hard not to distract him, yet he found he was grateful for that distraction. After half a turning of the moon spent studying old prophecies, his eyes were beginning to hurt. Orcs had weak eyesight as it was; pouring over copies of two thousand year old scrolls didn’t help.

He sat up as he rubbed his bleary eyes. “You’ve been studying these old scrolls for many hours now, Grom. It’s is almost time for the moon to set. You should get some sleep; for you will need your rest with the sun’s rise.”

Grom dismissed his under-chief’s worries with a grunt and a flip of his hand, but Fhein would not be so easily placated. “You know as well as I do that the warriors are getting… restive. It is time for us to do something! We have been sitting here, eating and drinking the pink skins food and drink for two tens of turnings of the moon! This many warriors… It is worse now than before we took their keep, Grom. Now they do not have the promise of battle to focus them, and they begin to fight amongst themselves. Soon enough it will be more than sparring. Blood challenges will begin.”

Grom interrupted his chief lieutenant and second oldest friend, reaching down to scratch behind the ears of his only older friend, his wolf-dog Gazak, even as he silenced Fhein with the other. The dog growled in a friendly manner, and barked once sharply. Grom knew that to Fhein, it sounded like a simple bark. He also knew that there was much more in that bark: “Be careful, green brother. Do not ignore him; he has been wise before.”

“Do not worry, Fhein. I am not ignoring your council. Not after all these seasons. It’s just that…..”

He tailed off, and for several moments, silence hung in the air, for Fhein didn’t want to interrupt his chief’s train of thought. “Just what?” he murmured, pulling at one of his tusks in a pensive manner.

“I’m close. All this time I’ve spent studying the old scrolls and prophecies. I can feel it. We’re close! So close!” Grom could tell Fhein was having a hard time not laughing out loud, and an even harder time not scoffing.

“I am serious, my friend! After all these moon cycles… All the prophecies point to it! The redemption of The People, the unification of the clans, our sacking of this pinkskin fortress… Even my battle with my accursed sister! Look here!”

Grom reached across the table and snatched a particularly large scroll from a pile on the far side of the pinkskin desk he had been working at. He slipped the clasp off the battered parchment and rolled it open slowly. Fhein peered down at it as he opened it. “The collected prophecies of Trundark Flesh Render?” He couldn’t hide his scoff now no matter how hard he tried. “You can’t tell me you honestly believe anything that crazy old bugger wrote down, can you?”

Grom looked up, fire in his eyes. “He isn’t crazy, Fhein. Eccentric, yes. But not crazy. My sister was crazy, but even she knew the time of The People’s redemption is at hand.” His eyes scrolled down the text before him. “Look at this,” he said, his voice rising in excitement. “It says it right here.”

“In the beginning of the time of redemption, the troubles of The People shall increase. Things that have not walked the lands of Grummish in many, many moons shall return, and the people will know terror.”

“This is but a sign and a portent of the greatness that will come.”

“Ways long lost shall become as new, and the terrors of the Old Ones shall come back. Many will falter, and many more will fall, but those who are truly servants of Lord Grummish will take heart, for the time of redemption is at hand.”

Grom’s finger stayed on the spot he’d been reading. “See! If this doesn’t speak of my Grummish-damned sister, I don’t know what else does! Things that have not walked this land has to refer to my sister and her teachings, as well as that of the Soul Stealer she sent to kill me!”

Fhein took half a step backwards, surprised by the excitement in his Chief’s voice. “You may be right, Grom. Then again, you may be wrong! And spending all this time locked up looking at scrolls brought to you from across the clan holds proves nothing! In the mean time, all the warriors – your warriors – are threatening to start revolts and feuds that will undo all that we have gained here over the last few seasons!

“The warriors have grown fat and drunk on plunder, but the thrill of that plunder is now almost gone. They grow board, eager to resume the campaign. They may have grown drunk on victory, but the thrill of that victory is almost over. Our warriors call for conquest, our yearlings for chances to prove they have earned the blood names they have taken in this campaign! Our warriors yearn to sweep across the Plains of Grummish and to finish Taking Back What Is Ours!”

Grom let Fhein’s tirade pass with a soft sigh. “Fhein, you worry too much. After all these seasons, do you doubt that I have anything other than the best interests of The People at heart? After all the blood I have spilt, the blood of my own sister on my hands, the seasons spent campaigning so that we might sit here in this great pink skin castle, you still doubt me?”

Fhein seemed to back down a bit. “Grom, no… I don’t doubt you. But others do. All our deeds, and the blood spilled to get this far, and now you spend a ten of turnings of the moon locked down in the bowls of this place, reading old scrolls in search of…. What? You haven’t even told me! How do you think one like Tanthe Wing Ripper feels?” Fhein referred to the hot-headed young under-chief of Clan Dragon Claw, who was very popular with the younger warriors for his feats in battle.

“Bah!” Grom flipped his hand up dismissively. “The boy knows his place!”

“Does he?”

“Of course he does! Had he thought differently, he would have challenged for his clan’s chieftainship by now.”

“Are you sure, Grom?” Fhein pushed closer to Grom with his body to emphasize the point. “You have hardly been out of this library”- Fhein’s mouth twisted around the pinkskin word for which there was none in orcish – “in turnings of the moon! You could at least explain to me what you are looking for down here!”

Grom tipped his chair back, leaning away from Fhein. “The key, Fhein. I search for the key to it all!”

“The key to what?”

“Everything, Fhein! Everything! I have pledged to Take Back What Is Ours, and so I shall!” He paused, aggressively tapping one meaty finger on the desk. “Tell me, Fhein, what one thing could unify our people?”

Fhein snorted loudly. “That’s easy. Your leadership – which you have already done.”

Shaking his head, Grom replied “You think to small, old friend. I mean, what could unify ALL The People, not just a pair of hands of the Clans?”

Fhein looked apprehensively at Grom. “Surely, you don’t mean…. But that’s just a legend! If it ever existed, it surely doesn’t exist now!”

“Oh, it exists, Fhein. As sure as dragons fly and Grummish is our Lord, it exists. Do you think I would spend all this blood and treasure taking this place for no reason other than plunder?”

“What do you mean?”

“The prophecies, Fhein. They tell me more than that I’m destined to lead The People back to greatness. They tell me that the secret to that which I search for, lost in the time of our sundering from Grummish, is hidden here, in the pinkskin lands, beyond the great river.

“They tell me that what I seek – that which will unify the clans not only in name, but return us to that which we were – a nation with a king – can only be found here, old friend. I seek the Crown of Grummish.”