Index – Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
The streets of Kruk Pride throng with orcs. Browns and greens of sweat-coated skin glisten under the hot sun. Muscled men carry large sacks, and stout women hawk mats of wares. Gaggles of children run between the legs in the crowd. Leaning against the end of a narrow alley, a young couple stands half-obscured in the shade. Tension is pulled taught between them.
“It’s too crowded. I remember when I was a kid, it was never like this.” The young man says, gazing into the street with an absent frown. The young woman clicks her tongue, looking away. After a moment she speaks in a low voice. “This happens every time, Klem. Every time we get near a difficult topic, you turn away. Are you even capable of seeing that this is important to me? Can you look beyond your own damn head and see me for once? Just a person, even. Never-mind as a woman.”
Klem’s shoulders hunch, he scowls up and down the busy street, not looking at the woman beside him. The silence lengthens. Finally he says “Shyel, I think you’re the one who can’t see beyond your own head. You’re so fixated on this - this idea, that you can’t even consider any alternatives.”
“What alternatives Klem? The same so-called alternatives that you’ve been trying to shove down my throat these past weeks? It’s not in either of our interests for you to peddle your spiel again and again. It’s past time we break things off. I know this isn’t going to work out, and I know you know it too, so can you just admit it for once?”
Klem made a wordless sound of frustration, then retorted in force.
“Listen to me Shyel, listen one damn time. The rules are different for Gruk, they have to be. Have you met any Gruk woman or men who had a previous clan? I haven’t, and there’s too few of us to survive without any intermarriage, so there has to be a way for Gruk to persist! I know you said you won’t keep seeing me if we don’t marry, well okay, I can work with that, but how can you ask me to give up my name and my clan?”
Shyel exhaled through her nostrils. “Right after you asked me the exact same thing. No self-awareness at all. Gods, you’re too much Klem. I- I can’t keep doing this.”
“You can’t keep doing this? You’re asking for my life, Shyel. I’m willing to share, Gods know, and that wasn’t an easy thing for me to come to terms with. But you aren’t asking to share, are you? You want it all: my life, my job, my family, the name I was given at birth? It’s absurd that you could even think of asking this.”
“You’re exaggerating, you could still be Klem.” Shyel said quietly.
“Chained and bonded like some working beast.” Klem murmered.
Shyel made a sound, then said “Stop it Klem. You always take things way too far.”
Klem gave a look of indignation. “Let’s stop, yes. Just stop it all. All the arguing, all the debating. When was the last time we had fun together? Some of my favourite memories are with you. Down by the lake...”
“Don’t” Shyel interjected with a sudden intensity.
“Why not?”
Her voice grew hard. “You know that’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
Klem replied, the anger rising in his voice. “You can’t take back the past Shyel! Just because you’ve suddenly started believing all these stupid rules and customs doesn’t undo what we already made together. Are you really going to turn your back on that?”
Shyel looked him directly in the eyes. “I’m not turning my back on anything. Times change Klem, it doesn’t matter how stubbornly you refuse to do the same. We’re done.”
Shyel turned and walked through the alley. Before she got to the end, Klem called after her: “Is there someone else?” But she exited the alley without another word.
Klem stared down the alley, brow lowered. He inhaled through his nose, turning to look up at the sky. Then he faced the alleyway and shouted an obscenity, cursing at Shyel, but the empty alley did not reply. Klem turned and exited the alley, and soon enough the ongoing chaos of the market street enveloped him in a numbing daze.
Klem’s feet fell into well-trodden routes through the city. His family home was near the library, and as a child the five blocks between it and the seafront made up Klem’s whole little world. As he grew older, Klem started to know more of the city, and his world grew. The streets were familiar, but they had changed. Klem didn’t know how to feel. The change was slow in places and rapid in others. Old shops replaced, buildings torn down, greenery paved over. New business, craftsmen and specialty shops appeared. Many of the new ones had the strange lettering of the mainland.
Klem wondered if it would be like this in the other Prides. If there would be “Kruk food” shops opening in Vor or Gorbat, or even Grushnak. The thought of Gorbat annoyed him. Klem remembered seeing Shyel hanging around a group of Gorbat newcomers, and he always felt there was something untrustworthy about them. Instead he thought about Grushnak, which reminded him of his friend Melsh. Melsh had always been the odd one out in Klem’s school group, with her odd way of speaking and her unusual-shaped eyes. Klem only knew her from a distance, but when she started dating his friend Grun a couple years back, she grew more familiar to him.
Klem briefly thought he would like to see Melsh, but he dismissed that thought right away. “Yes, I’ll go see Grun.” Klem thought instead. His friend always seemed to have an answer for things, especially in the realm of women. Klem began his walk deeper into the dockside district. He saw distinctive outfits which were characteristic of the mainland prides here, walking among the slumped wooden buildings and narrow streets. Klem remembered when he was young, the dockside was always a rough area, but it never seemed to be degenerated as it did now. It was as if the sea air had worn away at the whole district, stripping the paint and weakening the planks of the crowded buildings. It would take years of consistent repair work to fight off the erosion, but as far as Klem could tell, no one was doing anything about it.
Klem noticed a crowd of people around a notice-board further along the street. From the garb, he could tell most of the crowd were Grushnaki. He approached, but it was too crowded to see what everyone was looking at. He spoke to a greying Kruk man nearby and asked what it was about.
“Damn humans are getting uppity again.” The man said in a gruff voice.
Klem was puzzled, saying: “The Humans are stuck in Last Hope, what could they do from in there?”
The man replied: “Apparently they’ve pushed out. Slaughtered four patrols already. At first it was only Vor, and I thought those idiots were fumbling their weapons again. They don’t train ‘em properly in the mainland, you know? When they took out the Grushnak patrol too, well then I started to worry.”
Klem shook his head, trying to make sense of this news. A human excursion killing that many patrols hadn’t happened in... well he was sure it was a long time. He opened his mouth to ask something, but changed it at the last second. “So... uh, what are we supposed to do about it anyway? If the humans aren’t coming toward the bridge, it’s not our problem right?”
Klem felt gazes in the crowd turn towards him. The man he was speaking to didn’t seem to notice. Inclining his head, that man pointed at the notice-board. “Council’s holding a meeting to discuss sending our troops in to help push the humans back. As usual they’ve found the stupidest idea to debate over.”
Klem chuckled, keeping his eyes on the man’s expression. “Yeah, those idiots” he said.
The man said nothing. Klem asked cautiously into the growing silence. “Where were all our soldiers posted anyway?”
The older orc sighed, shaking his head. “The soldiers are supposed to be up in the mountains, defending the logging camps. They’ve been fighting those mountain giants on the outskirts.”
“Oh, I heard about that.” Klem said.
The man continued. “Right. I say kill em all and let the Gods sort them out, but we can’t well do that without soldiers. If we can’t get timber supplied, there isn’t gonna be any new houses for decades. Can you imagine the price increases? It’d drive this place even further into the ground.”
While the older man was explaining, Klem felt more and more of the crowd had begun to look at them. The gazes held, and Klem had an increasing desire to be somewhere else. He stammered something about needing to be leaving, but the old man spoke over him. “You’ve got a good head kid. What’s your name?”
“Uh it’s Klem, Gruk’Klem.”
An amused smile crossed the old man’s face, he said: “Gruk, eh? That’s a clan to be proud of. I’m a Laach myself, Laach’Ashna. Things are changing round here. Listen, if you feel confused, just look for who’s benefiting from the changes, eh?” The old man gave a curt gesture and then walked down the street. A moment later Klem, with his gaze kept down, left the notice board.
The walk on dock street was always striking. You could see across the narrow sea to the cliffs of the mainland, and further north, an endless ocean stretching beneath a yawning blue sky. Klem was caught up in the spectacle, and found his attention rudely grabbed when someone shouted at him. He spun to see a large pale orc in a dockworker uniform, looking annoyed.
“What are you doing? You can’t just walk in here.” The worker said, indicating to a row of flags that marked the boundary of the dock’s working area.
“Uh... sorry.” Klem said. He was confused, there hadn’t been a boundary last time he visited Grun. “I’m just here to see my friend, he works at the docks.”
“Oh yeah? And who would you be?” The worker asked, standing with hands on his hips.
“I’m Klem, my friend is Grun, do you know him?”
“You’re Klem, eh? Just Klem?” The worker said, eyeing Klem suspiciously.
“Do you know him or not?” Klem said, annoyed with the unprompted resistance.
“Like I said, who’s asking?”
Klem sighed. “Gruk’Klem is here to see Graal’Grun. Do you know him? He works at the docks.”
The workers face changed, his head tilted back slightly and his lips pursed. He said “Yeah, I know him. But no-one ain’t leaving until this ship’s unloaded. And you sure as all ain’t entering.”
“Fine, would you leave him a message from me?” Klem asked. The worker stared at him with crossed arms and said nothing. Klem waited a few moments, but he got fed up and said “Just tell- tell Grun I’ll come see him in the evening, okay?”
The worker looked at him, and then pointed over his shoulder at the flags. Klem gritted his teeth and walked past the worker. As he passed he thought he heard the man mutter “Your highness.” but when Klem turned to look, the man’s lips were pursed shut, arm still pointing at the flags.
Walking away from the docks, Klem saw that the sun was nearly at it’s zenith. Grun wouldn’t be available until the evening, but some part of Klem felt discontent. He needed to go somewhere, or do something, maybe talk to someone. Somehow Klem caught his mind thinking that he was close to Melsh’s house, but he dismissed that notion. It would be highly inappropriate to find himself in her company without Grun. Klem wondered if his father would be home, but then he remembered that that man at the notice board said the council of elders was meeting, so Gruk’Nasht would be in the longhouse with the other chiefs.
After walking aimlessly between side streets, Klem began to accept the uncomfortable reality of his situation. He would have to go to the library. His brother was there, but he was too young to help with this kind of problem. The other person who would be there was his mother. Klem was quite unsure about the idea of discussing women problems with his mother, but, well, it might be helpful after all. Worst case scenario, he could find some work to do to keep his mind off things.
Every time Klem went to the library, he found himself thinking how impossibly difficult it would be to find if he hadn’t grown up wandering in and out of that building. The library was located on a side street’s side street. Branching off an avenue which connected two of the major roads in Kruk. The major roads emanated from the central plaza like spokes on a wheel, forming the area of “old Kruk” who’s buildings and streets held the commerce, administration, and production that was the lifeblood of the pride.
Approaching the front door of the library, Klem used the brass knocker on the heavy wooden frame, and after a moment he heard a sliding sound as the viewing slit opened. A youngster’s voice said “hi Klem!”.
Klem smiled at his younger brother’s voice “Hello Seb, can you open the door for me?”
Klem heard the voice say “it’s too heavy! I’ll get mama” before disappearing from the slit.
In a few moments, another eye appeared at the slit, and a woman’s voice said “Hello Klem. Come in.” followed by a shifting, clanking sound as the door slowly turned open.
The woman who opened the door was Gruk’Chaalsa, Klem and Seb’s mother. She was tall and thin, and stood with the slightly stooping posture of one who spent long hours at a writing desk. Her long grey hair was pulled back with a band, exposing her angular face that held a bemused expression. She said “What brings you to see us Klem? It must be a very special occasion.”
Klem struggled to speak, his mouth felt dry “I uh... It’s...” he stammered. Chaalsa looked at him, her expression unchanged. “I was... just... in the area, so I thought I’d come say hello.”
His mother did not reply right away. Klem felt like someone had poked a hole in him and drained out a all the water. After a pause, he added: “It’s kind of a long walk from my apartment. I-I looked at closer ones but I couldn’t afford them.”
Chaalsa nodded slowly, saying: “Well, it’s lovely to see you Klem. Make yourself at home, I’ll be working upstairs.”
Klem watched Chaalsa ascend the main staircase of the library. He wondered why he hadn’t asked her about... he tried to remember what exactly he wanted to talk about, but his thoughts were slow and numb. He turned and began to walk to the job posting board, when Gruk’Seb appeared from around the corner and began following Klem.
The boy peppered Klem with questions, asking “do you ever see cool stuff in the city?” and “What do you do all day?” and “Why do you always look so tired?” Klem answered as best he could, but eventually had to ask the boy to be quiet in order to read the jobs-board. It was a huge cork-board layered with slips of paper. Klem scanned the available postings, and felt his apprehension grow as he saw they were all record copying duties. Klem felt his minds-eye become clouded by endless tables of numbers. He put his head down, rubbing his closed eyelids until he saw sparks of colour. Then the sound of footsteps caught his attention, he looked around and saw that Seb had vanished, but Chaalsa stood at the bottom of the stairs. She looked over to him and spoke. “Ah, there you are. We received an interesting copy request recently, special instructions to not be put on the board. I thought you might be interested.”
Chaalsa approached, pulled a paper from it’s envelope and unfurling it. It said:
“Hello, I am writing to request a copy made of a particular book. It is called: Histories, Originations, and Effects of the Spellblaze. I do not know if it has an author, it may be unattributed. This book is extensive, coming in three volumes. I would like a copy to be made of the first chapter of each volume, and delivered to building number 233 on Jessra street. Once I can see the copies, I will decide if I want the remaining two volumes from the same copyist.
In order to prevent wasted work, I ask that this request not be posted publicly, and only given to candidates who have sufficient interest to follow through on the job.”
Chaalsa looked at Klem with one eyebrow half-raised. “So, what do you think? I’ve never heard of this book before, but I confirmed that we have it on-record, all three volumes. I know you like copying lores, so I thought you might be interested.”
Klem took the letter, looking at the tight hand scrawled across the page. He shrugged and said “I guess it can’t hurt to see, if I hate the text then I’m just not the candidate this guy’s looking for. Who sent the letter by the way?”
Chaalsa replied “I have no idea. The letter came unsigned and there’s no return address.”
Upstairs, in the dark recesses of the library, Klem found the spot on the shelves which corresponded to the library ledger, and extracted the first volume. Klem set the book down at the spare writing desk, arranging his quill, ink, and copy paper in front of him. The hardest part of copying, Klem thought, was to avoid reading the text while doing it. If you read the text, your focus would not be on the thing you were copying, since the eye always moves faster than the hand. But Klem also knew that this was never a problem with record copying, since the records did not contain anything worth reading in the first place. He opened the first page of “Histories, Originations, and Effects of the Spellblaze: Volume 1” and before long found himself curled up in the chair with the manuscript, ink and quill completely forgotten.
The book was gripping. It told of ancient times, before the cataclysm which tore the land in two. It told of ancient magic and powerful rituals since lost to the flow of history. It told of the power of magic which could control and manipulate the forces of nature, causing sudden storms or raining fire upon whole cities. It told of magic which could bend reality, producing illusions and rendering things invisible to the senses. Most interesting of all, it told of magic which could influence the minds of other people, bending their actions toward the casters will. Klem couldn’t look away until he reached the ending of volume 1, which explained that magic itself was the cause of the great cataclysm, and the story would continue in volume 2, which tells of the first discovery of magic and how mages learned to teach themselves greater feats, volume 3 which explores the truly complex magical feats, such as the quests for immortality and to create new forms of life, concluding with an analysis of how these lofty goals of the ancient mages were the first spark that caused that world-rending cataclysm known as The Spellblaze.
Klem sat at the writing desk staring at the final page for some time. The tolling of a loud bell from nearby jolted him from his stupor. He always hated how close that bell-tower was to the library. The ringing signalled that it was late into the evening, and Klem realized he would need to rush if he wanted to see Grun before he went to sleep for the night. He got up from the desk, leaving the book and copying materials behind in haste, and ran downstairs. Klem called goodbye to Chaalsa and Seb, winching the huge front door open, and then slipped out onto the street.
The sun was beginning to grow amber on the horizon, casting long shadows and throwing the streets into a twilight gloom. Klem walked quickly, trying to reach Grun’s house as soon as he could. When he finally made it to the block of row-houses on Shibra street and found Grun’s, he knocked and waited for an answer. After some minutes, an old lady came to the door. Klem recognized her as Grun’s mother, Graal’Shera, and said hello.
“Oh hello Klem! I haven’t seen you in so long, would you like to have some tea?” Shera asked.
“Hello, is Grun in? I need to speak with him.” Klem replied.
“Oh, sorry dear, he hasn’t come back from the docks yet, although it is rather late now. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, no need to worry, I just wanted to speak with him about something. Someone at the docks told me they were unloading, but I suppose they haven’t finished yet.”
“That makes sense. You’re free to come in for tea and wait, I’m sure my boy will be back as soon as he can.” Shera said, smiling and beckoning into the entrance.
Klem stammered. “I’m really sorry Ms. Shera, I-I should go to the docks to see if I can catch him earlier, I’ve been waiting all day.”
The woman nodded sagely, saying “Ah, you boys. Well it was good seeing you Klem, do come back for tea some time, will you?”
Klem nodded in assent, waving goodbye to Grun’s mother, and heading in the direction of the docks.
As Klem grew close to the docks, people had begun to light the street lamps which hung throughout the city. He heard a great commotion from a building on a corner some blocks from the dockside. Klem saw it was a dockworkers bar, complete with a decorative panel entwined in the carved shape of a rope, anchor, and seaweed. While Klem stood peering at the bar’s name plate, the commotion spilled out of the front doors and into the street.
“You take that back!” Roared one of the patrons, spittle flying from his mouth. He gestured a mug of ale at one of the others in the crowd, apparently oblivious to the fact the contents of the mug now lay on the cobblestones beneath.
“You callin’ me a liar?” The other orc shouted drunkenly in response.
“You said our guys might as well be dead! Those are friends, our brothers!” The first orc cried out in response. Klem had a sinking feeling in his stomach, that orc started to look very familiar to him.
The other orc, who sported uneven grey stubble, slurred out: “Those soldiers haven’t done jack for my entire life, and I’ve been around much longer than you kid. Send em over there to fight some humans eh, what else are soldiers for?”
The first orc lunged forward, trying to swing the mug as a weapon, but was caught and restrained by the onlookers. Klem realized with dread that the first orc was indeed Grun. The onlookers pulled the two men apart and began talking them down. Once the situation seemed to be stable, Klem slowly approached.
“Hi, hello, Grun?” Klem said, looking down at his friend, who was now stooped on a porch, slumping forward. The orc shook his head slowly, not looking up from the cobbles. “Grun, it’s me, Klem, let’s get you home okay?”
Grun looked up, eyes bleary and bloodshot. They seemed to focus on Klem’s face and he broke into an open-mouthed grin.
“Klem! Oh my saviour! I’m so glad to have you!” Grun shouted, far louder than was necessary, then with a great lurch suddenly came to his feet. He wobbled, threatening to fall back down, and Klem grabbed him by the elbows, at which point Grun threw his arms around Klem and fell into a hug. Klem struggled to stay upright, his friend was heavier-built than him, and the sudden stench of ale and sweat was disorienting.
Klem reestablished his balance and began to work on a sense of order. “Okay. Can you walk? What are you even doing here Grun? Don’t you have work tomorrow?”
Grun nodded several times, taking a deep breath. “The work boys, we were out. Day of mourning you see? Remember the good times...”
Klem put a hand on his friends shoulder to steady him. “Grun. What are you talking about?”
“Those bastards. Senile old fucks. How dare they? Where’s the justice in this damn Pride? We’re gonnaa do something about it.”
Klem stood in bewilderment, trying to figure out what his friend was on about. Suddenly Grun leaned back and flung his head skyward, bellowing out the words. “THEY’RE SENDING THEM TO DIE. OUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS. DIE IN THAT FUCKING DESERT.” He fell forward onto Klem’s shoulder with a choking sob, staggering him again.
Klem managed to find his footing. “Hey now. I think I heard about that, but the council haven’t decided anything yet Grun. You shouldn’t be worrying about this right now, we really need to get you home.”
His friend was now sobbing on his shoulder. “It’s as good as done, they always kill. Kill kill kill” he cried.
Klem gritted his teeth. He was already breathing heavily from supporting Grun’s weight. “Grun, you need to shut up for a bit. You’ve had a lot to drink, and I need you to focus on walking. We need to get you home, help me out here.”
With much coaxing, Klem was able to shuffle along, following Grun’s pointed directions through the narrow streets of Kruk. They stopped in an alley where Grun lurched forward and vomited onto the cobblestones. In another alley, they both had a good piss on the side of someone’s house. When they eventually reached Grun’s home, he had sobered up somewhat. Klem knocked on the door and Graal’Shera appeared. She looked confused, but then saw her son was clearly intoxicated, and began to scold him.
“Grun! What have you been doing! Making your poor friend drag you all the way home, shameful! Who taught you to drink and carry on like this? Is that a bruise? Were you bar-fighting? Graal’Grun that is uncivilized behaviour and you know it. Where did this come from? I raised you better...”
After Shera was finished scolding Grun, who now looked limp from the verbal lashing, she turned to Klem and thanked him again. Klem said it was no problem, what else should a friend do? Then he bid them farewell and turned to leave.
Klem hadn’t taken two steps when he heard Grun’s voice calling out from behind him.
“Oh Klem! I forgot to tell you something. Come to Shibra street tomorrow evening, I have a surprise for you.”
Klem turned to ask what he meant, but Grun had already pulled the door shut. Klem heard the latch click, and stood there for a moment. Shibra was full of restaurants, had Grun just asked him on a date? Then he turned himself around and began his walk home.
After a fitful night in his small apartment, Klem arose to the morning sunshine. He rubbed his eyes, and stretched out his legs. The previous days walking back and forth had worn them out, and his back and sides were stiff. What had Grun said when Klem dropped him off? He was supposed to go to that restaurant on Shibra street around dinner time. Klem debated if he wanted to go to the library first, but that was a long walk, and his legs felt like they could use a rest. Instead he hung about near his apartment for the day, wandering the streets and making idle conversation with vendors. One thing seemed to be on everybody’s minds: the human excursion on the mainland. How far would it reach? Would Kruk really send soldiers all that way? Was the excursion a danger to the other prides? Klem listened and nodded along, adding a thoughtful response when appropriate, but he truly did not know the answers to any of these questions.
As the afternoon grew long, Klem began his walk to Shibra street. By the time he arrived, the dinner rush had already started, and the street was packed. Everyone knew Shibra street was unofficially a Graal district, and in the capacity that any district could be considered one clan’s, Shibra was an exemplary. One of Graal’s proud specialties was cooking, and Shibra showed this off by being lined with restaurants. Klem looked back up the street, seeing the ornate lamps and colorful banners which adorned the various businesses, and in the distance, the looming silhouette of the longhouse. Then he spotted the top of Grun’s head through the crowd, and moved toward him. As he neared, Klem saw Grun was there with Melsh, and it looked like they had just exited Balkesh’s Restaurant.
Grun caught sight of Klem and said: “Hey! Glad you’re here.”
Klem said: “Hey how are you feeling? Seemed like it was a rough night for you.”
Grun replied in a chipper voice: “Good. Good. Great. Pretty excellent actually. This little bitty makes a truly magical morning brew, I tell you.”
Grun grinned, patting his girlfriends hair, which earned him a scowl as she reached to fix it. Unusually, Melsh had done her hair in the traditional Grushnaki fashion of a multi-layered top bun. Klem wondered if Grun had noticed.
“So why am I here?” Klem asked.
“That’s exactly right Klem. Doesn’t it all seem like one big coincidence?” Melsh said in response.
Klem opened his mouth, but Grun spoke right after. “I dunno Melsh. My parents were an arranged marriage, so I don’t think it was any kind of cosmic coincidence, just that their mothers came together and agreed it would be a good idea.”
Klem cut in right after to say “What? That’s not what I mean at all. I mean why am I here, right now.”
Melsh looked at Klem with a thoughtful gaze. She mused “You’re right. It can’t just be ‘one coincidence’ but maybe more like a huge chain of coincidences, one after another. You happen to be born because your parents happened to meet, only because they happened to be born because their parents happened to meet. So whoever you happen to meet, that’s only the most recent coincidence in a long line.”
Klem began to speak but was interrupted by Grun’s retort. “How can you call it a coincidence when a person needed to make a choice for each one? Sure, everyone has limits on their choices, but if there’s any amount of choice, it means any one of those coincidences could have ‘just happened’ a completely different way.”
Klem was growing frustrated, but stifled his reaction when Melsh spoke again. “I can call it a coincidence because of exactly that reason, Graal’Grun. If something could have happened a different way, but it didn’t, what else should I call it?”
“The result of someone’s actions. A coincidence happens for no reason, but this happened for a reason.” Grun replied straightforwardly.
Klem couldn’t restrain himself any longer, he lept into the middle of the two, speaking far more assertively than he intended. “Grun. You asked me to come here tonight. Do you remember? You never said what it was about. Now here I am, and I want to know why.”
Grun’s gaze moved back and forth between Melsh and Klem. Klem heard Melsh softly ask “What is the reason Grun?”
Grun stared wide-eyed at Melsh, then began to laugh. He looked to Klem and said between chortles: “Don’t get angry Klem, I thought I told you, we’re here to hook you up.”
“Hook me up?”
“With a girl”
“What?”
Grun composed himself, shooting a wry smile at Melsh. He said: “After I heard about your breakup, Melsh and I hatched this idea. See, this gal I know is throwing some rally thing tonight in the square. She’s just your type. Honestly I think she was flirting with me too, but hey, who wouldn’t.” His friend winked at Klem.
“How did you know I broke up with Shyel?” Klem asked.
“You told me.” Grun replied without hesitation.
Klem put his fingers on his temples. He didn’t remember telling Grun about his breakup, but... he also didn’t not remember it. He was about to confront the issue, but at the last second changed his mind. Instead he asked “what’s the rally for?”
Klem felt Grun’s look was somehow more forceful than he expected. Grun said: “It’s something to do with the council, I guess they’re deliberating right now.” He broke Klem’s gaze before shrugging absently and adding: “who knows, really?”
There was a murmuring in the crowd, and the three stopped talking to listen. They heard “Speech in five minutes, pass it on.”
The three began to move with the flow of the crowd, as much being pushed as walking. They had to hold each other’s hands to stay together. The crowd moved along Shibra street and into the vast stone-paved central plaza, from which the eight main streets extended in all directions. Eventually they became wedged against the oblique side of the longhouse. The sea of heads around them joined in facing a makeshift wooden stage which braced against the longhouse’s dark oak hull. The view from Klem’s spot would, at best, let his see the back of whoever stood on stage’s head. As the minutes passed, some space opened up around them, and the trio enjoyed the relief.
“There must be every damn orc in the pride here.” Klem said to his companions.
Grun shook his head, saying “a space like this could only hold a couple hundred at most. Last I heard, Kruk is pushing ten thousand orcs.”
Melsh scoffed, saying “you think this is bad? Grushnak has nearly sixty thousand residents, and it’s blocked on three sides by mountain.”
Without thinking, Klem grumbled “maybe peace isn’t so great after all” but right as he started to say the words, a huge sound pulled everyone’s attention toward the stage.
A stout orc switched the mouthpiece on an immense horn at edge of the stage. He pivoted the funnel-shaped opening onto a stand which held it near the center. A pace behind, a tall and narrow-shouldered orc stood facing the longhouse. He was wearing simple dark clothing, but possessed a regal presence. Klem could see he was reading something in his hands, his mouth moving slightly. He had the striking angular features which marked him a member of the Laach clan. In a sudden movement, he pocketed the paper and spun around to face the crowd. Klem could see that he was balding significantly on the back of his head. The Laach orc stepped forward and began to speak in a surprisingly resonant voice. He took long pauses between each statement. The sound boomed throughout the square.
“Kin and Kinswomen.
My brothers and sisters of clan and family alike.
This is a fateful day.
Today we stand before the centre of power in this place.
Today we stand before the meeting of the chiefs.
These few who claim to possess great wisdom and strength of character.
I’m sure many of us would agree.
Yet they also claim to act on our behalf.
How far can we trust them to do this?
How long can they discuss these matters in silence?
How can we accept their rule of law, their unchallenged voice?
Do we dare to speak ourselves and question their decisions?
Times are changing.
We cannot accept our lives to be chosen for us.
We cannot accept that our brothers and sisters may be sent off to their deaths in a distant land.
We cannot accept these rumours of multiple victories by a human force without substantial proof.
We gather here now, in strength of number, to make demands!
We demand to participate in the deliberation process!
We demand to see evidence for the claims of human excursion!
We demand the freedom to judge for ourselves if we send our kin to die!
When the chiefs emerge, we shall sway them to hear our cause!
For the good of our futures, the voice of the people must rule in the Pride!“
At the speech’s conclusion, the square erupted in a wall of sound.
After the cheers following the thin orc’s speech had faded, Klem began to notice several orcs returning to the dwindling flow of foot-traffic between the main streets. The crowd seemed to have diminished from when the speech began. However, those who remained were filled with energy, and they soon broke into clusters, arranging supplies throughout the square. A handful seemed to be building fires, and there were numerous instruments and cook-pots being set up. Grun caught Klem’s attention, saying “Alright boss, I’ll go fetch this girl and bring her over here, then after a couple minutes Melsh and I are going to go talk with that group of soldiers over there.” He indicated a group of muscular orcs standing on the other side of the stage.
“Grun, you really don’t have to” Klem told his friend.
Grun looked pointedly at Klem, then at Melsh, then walked off without saying another word.
Klem and Melsh stood there, leaning against the side of the longhouse and gazing out into the crowd. Neither said anything for a long time. As the silence began to grow increasingly awkward, Klem decided to say something.
“So... They’re talking about sending soldiers to the mainland eh?”
“Seems so.” Melsh replied, still looking into the crowd.
“Uh... What do you... think about that?” Klem asked.
“Hm. Well. I can’t say I’ve thought much about it.” Melsh replied.
Klem turned to look at her, asking with incredulity. “You can’t be serious?”
Melsh turned to meet Klem’s gaze. Her pale-grey eyes were cool and still as a mountain pond. She replied “and why can’t I?”
Klem froze. He didn’t really know what to say next. He looked away, and after a moment his thoughts began to move again. Without turning he said “Well... I thought since you’re Grushnaki, and...”
“And what Klem? That I must be intimately concerned with the plights of the mainland?”
“No, that’s not what I meant, I just...”
“Klem. I was born in Kruk. I’ve lived my life here. I’m as Kruk as anyone else. Yes, my parents were born in Grushnak, but I’ve only seen that place twice, how can you imply it’s my home?”
Klem paused. He took a moment to breathe, and consider his next words carefully. Then he said “I feel like I’ve seen more anti-mainlander attitudes in the pride recently. I was just wondering if you felt that had any impact on you or not.”
Melsh didn’t say anything, and when Klem looked over at her he saw her arms were crossed and her lips had formed a thin line. Then she looked at him and said “Yes, Klem. It does. Is that what you want me to say? I hear the comments. I see people avoid my gaze on the street. What should I do about it? Is there more of it recently? Maybe so, but it doesn’t change anything. I’ve lived my whole life dealing with these kind of attitudes, I know what works and what doesn’t. What works is sticking to places where people know me. It removes the need for awkward conversation, like the one we are having now.”
Klem had nothing more to say.
When Grun returned, he was flanked by a woman and a man. The woman was tall, with wide hips and broad shoulders beneath a pile of intensely curly hair. Grun introduced her as Murin. The man was short and dark, named Relk.
“So Murin and Relk were the main organizers for the rally.” Grun began.
“I didn’t organize really, mostly spread the word. Murin handled the details.” The broad man added.
Murin smiled at him.
“I heard about it from some soldier friends” Grun said “but I never expected the turnout to be so good. Who was that speaker? He was really evocative.”
“That’s Jukim.” Murin explained. “He’s Laach-kin, so I think he saw it as a chance to hone his speech-craft. Whatever the reason, I’m just happy he agreed to contribute in such a visible way.
“Why’s that?” Klem asked.
Murin elaborated: “The interest from the different clans has been night and day. The elder clans wanted nothing to do with it, with some exceptions” she inclined her head toward Jukim, who was speaking to a circle of people at the side of the stage. “So nearly everyone here is Graal or Gribrul.”
“It’s the same story if you look at the military enrolments, the field labourers, mine workers, smiths, carpenters, all the skilled trades pretty much” Relk added “it really makes you wonder who’s actually running this Pride, eh?”
Klem opened his mouth, but Grun chimed in before he could say anything. “Relk, that’s definitely something to think about. Hey, didn’t you say some of those Gribrul boys were going to give a hand-to-hand demonstration? I don’t want to miss it.”
Relk looked over his shoulder at the large group of burly men and women. They were laughing raucously, and had begun to form into a large circle. “Right. Seems like they’re getting started. We’d better get heading over. It was nice meeting you uh...”
He raised a wide hand to shake Klem’s. Klem took it and shook, saying “Klem”
The broad man’s eyes narrowed slightly, then he nodded and turned to Melsh, repeating the gesture.
“That’s Melsh” Grun said before she could speak “but she’s coming with us.”
As the trio began to walk away from Klem and Murin, he could hear Relk bemusedly asking if Melsh was going to be learning hand-to-hand with them. Grun replied, “you’d be surprised, she’s little, but she can pin me in no-time”. Relk’s laugh faded into the sound of the crowd.
A moment after the three had disappeared, Murin turned to Klem.
“So Klem. What did you think of the speech?”
“It uh... It was good. Good, uh, evocative, yeah.” Klem said, suddenly feeling nervous to be under Murin’s full attention. Her gaze was intense and searching. He could feel her eyes moving across his face. He was reminded of the way the tailor had looked at him when he had a gown custom made for his school graduation. She said nothing. Some moments passed until Klem could gather his focus and say “What clan are you?”
“Graal.” Murin answered in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Oh. Graal.” Klem said. Seeing the length of dark oak stretch out into the distance behind Murin’s shoulders and mop of curly hair, he thought of the clan chiefs deliberating inside. “I’ve never met Shabra. Directly, anyway. One time I went to one of her feasts with Grun. He’s Graal too, but uh, I’m sure you knew that already.”
“Graal’Shabra’s famous feasts. Did you enjoy our clan’s hospitality?” Murin asked.
“Oh, yes. Very much so. It was, uh, substantial. The food was delicious, I sometimes even dream about it.” Klem felt relieved, thinking he was now past the most difficult part of the conversation.
“Of course. Hard work necessitates a hearty diet, don’t you think?” Murin answered back. The corner of her mouth quirked ever so slightly.
“Right.” Klem said. “I know Graal has many labourers, and the clans-kin are known for having larger, uh, proportions than most.”
Klem felt his gaze momentarily slip before yanking it back to focus on Murin’s eyes.
“Do you like it that way?” Murin asked, looking straight at Klem.
“Uh... I’m sorry, what did you say?” He stammered. He couldn’t have heard that right.
Murin cleared her throat. “I said: we do like it that way. Physical exertion clears the mind wonderfully, don’t you know?” Murin said. Her voice had become softer, and her eyes narrowed slightly. Klem noticed she was standing very close, and he caught a momentary scent of her. She spoke, barely loud enough to hear “but maybe you don’t”. Then suddenly she leaned forward until her mouth was right next to Klem’s ear.
Klem leaned back on the wood of the longhouse for support. He felt the broad softness of Murin’s chest pressing across his torso. Warmth spread through his body. His mind could barely string thoughts together. He felt a ticking sensation on his ear from Murin’s breath. A moment later he heard her voice in a barely audible whisper. “What clan are you?”
Klem barely realized he had spoken, his lips had already formed “Gruk.”
“I had a feeling.” Murin murmured. She began to trace a finger along the shoulder of his tunic. “You know... I’ve long wanted to see what a Gruk-kin can do for me.”
Klem’s breathing was coming shallow and fast. His mind raced. Reaching for the words, he started to whisper a reply when a sudden loud bang erupted right behind him.
In the middle of the central plaza, one of the long-house's huge double-doors had just been flung open. Klem and Murin stood only four paces from the gaping void, both reeling from the impact. With thudding footsteps, an immense figure began to emerge. Shuffling clear of the door, Graal’Shabra stretched upward to her full height, nearly twice as tall as any of the largest Graal-kin Klem had ever seen, and several times as wide.
“Ah! We must put bigger door in.” She called in a booming voice. Everyone in the square was now silent, staring wide-eyed at the doorway. Murin had taken a long stride back from Klem, and stood rigidly upright, facing the clan leader. Her eyes stared straight ahead. Klem remembered to breathe with a choking sound, turning himself around to watch.
“Size is irrelevant.” Came the reply, as the compact Gribrul’Melko glided through the door with immaculately measured paces. “Technique is key.”
The contrast between the two clan leaders was almost comical. Shabra’s huge pale-green bulk, clad in dozens of fabrics, bags, ornaments, and other items next to Melko’s small, dark, chiselled frame: wearing only a simple tunic and pants. From behind them, the two remaining clan leaders emerged. Laach’Hass was tall and thin, with a tangled white beard that hung below his belt. He stood with a deep stoop, leaning heavily on a gnarled cane with one arm, while his other was draped over Gruk’Nasht’s shoulder. Klem’s father was fairly tall with a medium build, sporting a short-cropped grey beard, and dark circles beneath his eyes.
“What’s all this?” Shabra boomed, voice echoing to address all in the square simultaneously.
“It is probably the source of the noise we heard earlier.” Nasht said, gazing out into the square.
“They aim to wait for us. Now we are here.” Melko spoke with his eyes focused on the group of soldiers in the far side of the square.
Murin cleared her throat, and approached the group of clan-leaders. She began to bow, but came to a rigid stop partway. Straightening, she said: “Leaders, Mother Shabra, we came here today to give you a message, to make our voices heard as a collective.”
“Say it then. Spit it out girl.” Shabra barked.
“We... we, uh... the decision about...” Murin faltered. She stood still, her eyes flashed toward Klem, pleading for help. Klem was frozen, he couldn’t make a sound.
Suddenly, a huge noise reverberated through the square. Then again. After the third blow of the horn, the stout orc collapsed on the stage. It seemed like everyone in the square was running at once. After the third blast, Shabra bellowed out “STOP THAT” with commiserate volume, but the confusion was enough time for the occupants of the square to assembled in a large semicircle around the clan leaders. The speaker, Laach’Jukim leapt forward from the crowd, throwing himself on his knees before the clan chiefs, raising his arms and face up to the sky. He called out “Our venerable chiefs! We beseech you!”
Gruk’Nasht spoke in reply. His voice was loud and clear, but filled with an exhaustion that he did not, or could not hide. “What do you ask of us?”
“We ask three things! We ask that you grant us the ability to participate in the deliberation process! We ask that you provide evidence for these rumoured human excursions! We ask to be given the right to choose if we will send our brothers and sisters to die in the mainland! Above all else, we ask that you choose the interests of us, the people and the Pride of Kruk!”
After Jukim’s reply, there was a long silence. No-one in the crowd dared to speak a word. The clan leaders stood still, each showing a different facial expression. Shabra was angry, but her glare held a note of respect. Melko was calm, but his eyes had a dangerous intensity. Nasht was tired, but he seemed to be deep in thought. Hass’ face was unreadable, and soon after his voice broke the silence, creaking like an ancient tree. “Boy. How dare you spill this fetid slop. You misuse your gifts. You will speak with me privately to discuss your punishment.”
Jukim looked down abruptly, his face turning a sickly grey. Murmuring began to ripple through the crowd. Some voices called out, but the tension did not have a chance to boil, as the shouts were quickly silenced by Gruk’Nasht’s steady clear voice. “You’d all better listen. We can discuss these demands at a later date. Just now we received urgent news. This is why we ended the deliberation process early. We must announce it to the Pride, and this will be as good a starting point as any.” Nasht looked over to the stage, his gaze sweeping over Klem, who stood completely still. His father said: “How convenient, may we borrow that?”
The clan chiefs moved to the stage, and the crowd followed them. Klem stood with Murin, both in silence with their backs against the longhouse. The clan chiefs walked right in front of them toward the wooden structure. Melko went to the far side of the stage, eyeing the group of soldiers with suspicion. They bunched near him, returning the look. Hass removed his arm from Nasht, and stood in a small corner formed by a support-beam of the longhouse. Jukim was on one knee at Hass’ feet. Klem could hear faint whispering between the two. Shabra stood near the corner of the stage, arms crossed and scowling out at the crowd. Murin’s eyes remained locked on her clan leader’s broad back. Nasht ascended the makeshift wooden structure and assuming the central position on the stage. Having quickly swapped the mouthpiece, the horn-blower slid off the stage with a squeak when Nasht thanked him. Adjusting the mouthpiece to his height, the leader of clan Gruk began to speak.
“Attention please. This is a message to all clanskin and residents of Kruk Pride. We ask that you do not panic. Please hear this message in full, and once it has completed, please spread this information to everyone that you can.” Gruk’Nasht spoke in a calm and even voice. The occupants of the square listened intently.
“As you know, we were in the middle of deliberating the issue at hand: Shall we send our soldiers to assist our fellow orc against the human excursion? However, the situation has changed. We received an urgent message from the mainland less than an hour ago. Vor has fallen.”
The square was silent. No-one moved.
“Let me repeat myself. The human excursion defeated Vor in totality. They have invaded Vor Pride, and they have razed it to the ground. Vor Pride is no more.”
The reaction from the crowd was delayed. After a moment, the silence broke to screams in the crowd. Several in the front row fainted. People began to run.
“DO. NOT. PANIC.” Graal’Shabra’s voice rang out like three consecutive thunder-cracks. Those closest to her hit the ground, hands over their ears. Everyone stopped in their tracks. Klem felt a rattling in the back of his skull, numbing all other thought.
Into the silence Gruk’Nasht continued to speak. “This news makes our next actions clear. We do not know what is the source of the human’s sudden advantage, but they evidently wish to resume that ancient war of extermination. We cannot allow this to happen. We must send all available military and strategic resources to the mainland. This matter will take our full attention, and we shall arrange matters accordingly. We expect your complete cooperation. Failing to halt this threat will mean the end of us all. We must not fail.”
Murmurs rang through the crowd. Klem saw that Murin had come to stand next to him. He heard a voice cry out “more lies!” and several more voices followed. Nasht spoke calmly into the horn again, but was drowned out by a clamour of voices. Murin leaned close so that Klem could hear her voice. “This is going faster than I expected. I need to see you again, tonight. Come meet me at the corner of Ganad and Jolshk street around ten.” She looked out at the crowd before adding “you shouldn’t stick around here much longer. See you.” As she walked away, Klem saw her gesturing to certain members of the crowd, but he did not know why.
The shouting grew. No-one was able to get a clear forum to speak. Shabra lifted some large item from one of her many satchels, and held it in her crossed arms. Klem saw the group of soldiers stood eerily in half-circle around Melko, who resembled a statue carved in a strange pose. The shouts of the crowd began to grow louder, and the front line began to move toward the assembly of chiefs. As Klem looked anxiously around, trying to plan his escape route. He noticed Jukim was gone, and Hass seemed to be talking inconspicuously to someone else. A few moments later, that orc turned and vanished into the crowd, then another orc came to speak with Hass. Klem heard the voice of Gruk’Nasht speaking loudly into the horn. “I hereby order by unanimous decision of the chiefs of Kruk, this assemblage is to be dispersed immediately!”
As the signal was issued, Graal’Shabra began to pound repeatedly on the drum she had lifted from her satchel. Klem found the steady pulse oddly calming, when a sudden flash of movement drew his gaze. Across the plaza, Gribrul’Melko was in action. With each drum beat he seemed to reposition his body instantaneously, evading dozens of strikes and grapples from the burly orcs. One-by-one the group of soldiers received blows that seemed to suck the energy from them, causing them to collapse into balls on the ground. Klem, along with the bulk of the crowd stood in a daze, until Shabra’s voice cut through the fog. She spoke rapidly, barking out a stream of orders. “Brath, Karusht, Venta, Mordith to Leshna and Kirrul; Neshor, Haska, Madu, Wents to Jessra and Shibra; Karr, Devlan, Mefno to Beilsh and Leshna...” Klem could barely make sense of the stream of names, but recognized some names as minor Graal families, and others were street names. Gruk’Nasht was descending the stage, and as he walked past he said “Klem, you’re with me.” Klem moved obediently behind Nasht as they stuck to the wall of the longhouse. Nasht offered Hass a shoulder as they passed, but the old man shook his head. Klem followed the duo as they walked around the side of the longhouse. There seemed to be a constant stream of orcs running up, bowing, whispering to Hass, receiving his reply, and then running back from where they came. As they walked further from the square, the sounds of chaos and the inexorable drum beat faded behind the wooden buildings.
“Hass, you’re good from here?” Nasht asked the bearded orc.
“You fret too much Nasht. I was walking the mountain passes before you were even born. It’s the damn sitting which does me in.” Laach’Hass offered a wheezing chuckle. The sounds of his cane interspersed with the footfalls of runners faded as he turned the corner.
Gruk’Nasht turned to Klem. “I won’t ask why you were at that rally, but you must come with me now. My boy, we don’t have much time. There are too many things you need to learn yet... Damn, but his will have to do. I will explain something as we walk, but you must forget it immediately. Can you do this?”
Klem followed after his father. He said “Well... I think so.”
“This human affair, I fear it may be the beginning of the end. Whatever weapon they’ve gained access to is far beyond our worst fears. Our only hope is to launch a coordinated assault with the other prides. We’re sending all that we have across the narrow sea. That means Kruk will be largely undefended. The giants will surely take back territory in the mountains. They may push further toward Kruk. I will be leading an envoy mission with Gruk’Nesha and Gruk’Klusar to try and strike a deal with them. If it works, we can rejoin the main force force before they cross at the bridge. If it fails, well, we will be in a very tight spot.”
Klem felt his breathing thin. “What will happen then?”
Nasht inhaled deeply “This is what I must explain to you once we are in the library. Normally you would learn these things well into adulthood, as all of us have, but circumstances do not allow it. The envoy mission will depart before sunrise tomorrow, and I must pass this knowledge on to you while I still have the chance.”
“So soon?” Klem asked in a weak voice.
Nasht nodded, looking out at the street before them. “In war, timing is everything.”
The journey to the library was short. Klem followed Nasht’s long strides. There were few other orc on the streets. The ones they did pass seemed to be likewise hurrying along, each party keeping to themselves. When they finally arrived at the library, Nasht shot Klem a look, placing a finger on his lips while he scanned the street. He nodded, then led Klem along the side of the building. Nasht approached the wall and began pulling on one of the wood planks which formed the siding of the building. It came loose, exposing a row of stones from the true wall beneath. Gruk’Nasht began pushing on the stones, left to right. When he pressed the fourth stone, it indented. “I always forget which one” Nasht whispered to Klem. A shifting sound of stone on stone began, and soon a rectangular section of wall began to indent. Nasht heaved on it until it began to swing inwards, opening to a dark passage beyond. Nasht entered and ushered Klem to follow. Once they was inside, Klem helped his father close the hidden entrance. “This door is a secret from all clans-kin except those who have been initiated.” Gruk’Nasht explained. “You will see why in a moment.”
In the door was a narrow hall, then a set of stairs into the foundations of the building. At the bottom of the stairs was a short hallway with several doors. Klem’s father had to light a lamp so they could see. He entered into a doorway, hanging the lamp and beginning to rifle through papers. Entering behind, Klem saw the room was sparse, with only a table and a shelf that Nasht was standing in front of. Klem saw the only window was a narrow slit right at the roof, which seemed to be blocked by stone. “Is this a prison cell?” Klem asked.
Gruk’Nasht was still standing over the shelf, and he seemed to be muttering to himself. Klem heard him inhale sharply, lifting a paper from the stack, and then without turning he said “What do you know of the lores? The history of Kruk pride?”
Klem was confused by the question. He said “why does it matter? Everyone learns them in school.”
“Don’t take that tone with me boy.” His father snapped. “This is not a trifling matter. You will take this seriously.”
Klem was taken aback. As far as he could remember, his father had always been pleased to answer even the simplest question when they spent time together. He collected himself and replied in earnest. “I know the founding story. The leaders Gruk’Indokr and Laach’Haashut each united tribal groups in conquest and diplomacy, but they could not outright defeat the other without facing annihilation themselves. So they founded Kruk as a way to each lead their people as they saw fit and live alongside each other as equals.”
After a moment of silence, Nasht responded with an affirmative sound, then he said “So. Tell me then. Why does it matter?”
Klem was taken aback again. Was his father mocking him? He replied quickly. “It matters because that’s the history. How else can we know how we came to be?”
Still standing at the cramped shelf, rustling through the papers, Nasht continued. “Perhaps. Tell me then, why is it important that we know how we came to be? Why do we teach it in the schools? Why not tell a fanciful lie to amuse the children, or simply say no-one knows and leave it at that?”
He extracted another sheaf of parchment from the dusty shelf, while Klem thought about the question.
“Well, we tell it because it’s true?” Klem said, more in question than in answer.
“Do you remember the fable of the Rabbit and the Foxhound?” Nasht said.
After a moment, Klem exclaimed “Oh yes! I remember that one, you used to tell it to me when I was young.”
“Did I tell it to you because it is true?” Nasht asked.
“Well, no, animals can’t talk.”
“Then why do you think I told it to you?”
“Uh...” Klem thought for a moment. Then he said “It has a message about the danger of shortsightedness.”
“Yes, I could agree with that. Do you think it also has a message about the danger having certainty that something is true?”
Klem hesitated, he said “But the rabbit is truly faster than any other animal, it’s never outrun in the story.”
“Yet it does get eaten in the end. Perhaps the strict truth is not the full picture. So what is the purpose of telling this story?” Nasht replied.
Klem shook his head. “I don’t know”
“Klem. I need you to work with me here. Try a little harder.”
Klem found himself growing frustrated. “What are you talking about? You keep asking me meaningless questions while rifling through that paper? What’s the point of this? Why does it matter why stories are told, why do they need a reason at all?”
After he said that, Klem was going to say more but his father cut him off with harshly. “Good. Let us discard the reason, we do not need it. Let us speak only of the outcome, the effect. What effect comes from learning about the lores of the pride?”
“Uh... the effect is... that they know the lores?”
“No. Knowledge for knowledge’s sake is not what we are discussing. All children learn, few become scholars or philosophers, and most forget what they learned. Instead, how does learning these stories effect the behaviour of people?”
While Klem pondered this, the chief of clan Gruk exclaimed “Aha!” and pulled out another paper from the stacks on the shelf. Klem looked over to see his father picking up a half-dozen scrolls in his arm. Nasht turned to Klem with a broad grin, eerily shadowed under the thin lamplight.
“Let’s go upstairs where there is more light.” He said, and carried the lamp and scrolls out of the room. Klem followed, and found his father had gone further down the hallway, hanging the lamp on another hook.
“Climb up there and help me pass these up” Nasht said, indicating a ladder which went toward a hatch in the ceiling. Klem clambered up, and fiddled with a mechanism until the hatch opened. He popped his head through, and realized with a start that this was the library supply room. Shelves of paper and ink extended into the darkness. Klem looked down to see his father lifting a scroll up toward him.
“Careful, these are precious. Just put it up there. Just there, yes.” Nasht said, handing the other scrolls up to Klem. Once they had finished passing the scrolls, Nasht signalled Klem to climb into the storage room, and he began to follow.
“Stories are told -” Nasht began in a hushed voice while ascending the ladder. “To produce a copy of the story - in the mind of the listener.” He paused to push himself through the hatch. After he was up, he said to Klem “come, let’s go to the writing room.” They walked softly through the silent library, and Nasht continued in a whisper. “Just like scribing copies books and records, storytelling copies stories. Also like the scribal work, there are always more stories than those who can copy. So, it is important to choose which stories are most valuable, and copy those first.”
“Which stories are most valuable?” Klem asked.
“That’s a difficult question to answer. I’m not sure anyone knows for sure. In the end, the stories which get told are the ones which have some kind of effect on people.”
“An effect?” Klem said.
“Yes. Why do you think you remember that origin story of the pride?” Nasht said as they climbed the broad staircase to the upper floor.
“I guess... I always felt that there was tension between the clans, tension that no-one seemed to want to acknowledge aloud... so I remembered that story because it gives a good explanation for the reason why.”
Nasht and Klem had arrived in the writing room. The large windows allowed the fading sunlight to trickle in, aiding the lamp in illuminating whatever lay on the writing desks. Nasht placed the pile of scrolls on the spare desk, and turned to Klem.
“That is good. That is exactly why we teach that story. It gives the young orc a reason to choose cooperation over conflict, and it helps explain why the pride is divided so strongly among clan. So, you see, it is a very useful story. Useful enough to tell again and again. However, your earlier guess, that we tell it because it is true? Completely wrong. That story is not true.”
“What?” Klem said, head swimming.
Nasht shook his head, saying: “The origins of the pride did not happen like that. The true story is recorded here.” He pointed to the stack of scrolls, then hesitated and said “Erm... but first I must ask you some questions.”
“What questions?” Klem said.
“First, are you ready? What I am about to tell you is serious. It is not something to be taken lightly, and you cannot speak it to anyone, with an exception.” Nasht said.
“What’s the exception?” Klem asked.
“For me, it is you.” Nasht said. “The next generation. The Gruk who must follow. That is the only time you can speak this, to teach it to a young Gruk, as I am now. I cannot say who it will be for you, but I must pass this on to you now – for fate has shortened our time. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Klem said, then after a moment added “I’m ready.”
Nasht nodded and said: “What is the key to learning?”
“Memorizing and remembering.” Klem answered without hesitation.
“Wrong. One can remember useless stories and memorize falsehoods. Tell me this, who learns more thoroughly and deeply, the child or the old man.”
“I think it depends? A diligent old man can easily learn more than an uncaring child.”
Nasht said: “Assume equal diligence.”
“Well... then the child. He has more time to learn.”
“Right. Now, which student is better, assuming equal diligence, talent, and time. The quiet reserved one or the confident brash one?”
“I... don’t know. I think it can be either.” Klem said.
“What is the difference between them?” Nasht asked.
“Well... the quiet one shares their opinion less, and the confident one more. So the quiet one has less chances to be corrected?”
“Is being corrected how one learns?”
“It’s one way. If you are already correct about something, you can’t learn it. So you first have to be wrong, and get corrected.”
“If that is true, is the quiet student a worse learner?”
“Not necessarily... because sometimes confident people stick to their opinions even more strongly. So they may get corrected, but they don’t change their minds.”
“So a good learner begins in ignorance. They may form opinions quickly or slowly, but they must accept the possibility of change, is that correct?” Nasht asked.
Klem nodded.
Nasht took a deep breath. “You’re doing well son. I have another difficult question for you. Tell me this, what is true knowledge.”
The question stumped Klem. “True... it is... uh...” He looked to his father, but he did not move a muscle. Klem tried to answer. “Is it something which always happens? Like, the sun always rises in the morning, in the east of the sky?”
“What if it is cloudy and you cannot see the sun.” Nasht asked.
“Well... it doesn’t matter if you can see it or not. Your perception can change, but the truth stays the same.”
“Then how can you know it to be true, if you cannot trust your perception?” Nasht said, the hint of a smile playing about his lips.
“You can trust your perception, just not all the time. If you see the sun rise in the east ten thousand times, and everyone you know sees the same thing, one cloudy day isn’t enough to contradict that.”
Nasht nodded, then said: “Let’s say I am hiking through the mountains and meet a man. He tells me that he has seen the great fish of the river leap up the waterfall every day for his entire life. He takes me to the waterfall, and no fish appear. He asks me to stay the night so we can watch the fish tomorrow, should I trust him?”
“Hm... Well... Does he seem convinced?” Klem asked.
“Very.”
“I would stay the night. Fish can be unpredictable, and maybe it’s worth the wait.” Klem said.
“Let’s say I do, but the next day there is no fish. I even stay a second night, and there is no fish again. Can I still trust him?”
“No, he’s probably just a crazy old man, you should go home.” Klem said, finding the story amusing.
“Let’s say I go home, but on the way I see that a mudslide has diverted a river, separating it from the one by the old man’s house. On this other river, I see great fish leaping out.”
“Oh.”
“The old man was convinced he knew the truth. Yet he was wrong, and when we saw he was wrong we left. Only after did we learn he was not wrong in the way we expected, but in a different way which allowed him to also be right.”
“I guess so?” Klem said, not sure where this was going.
“So if the goal of learning is to gain knowledge. True knowledge. Yet sometimes true knowledge appears false. Other times it is true in a way, but only with a deeper understanding of the situation. There are people we meet in the world who believe they posses true knowledge, sometimes with such conviction that they cannot accept when reality proves it false. So tell me this Klem, who has a better grasp on the truth: one who knows that what is true, is true, and rejects any time when it appears false, or one who does not know, and in his ignorance accepts that sometimes true appears to be false?
Klem paused for a long time. He thought about it, going back and forth in his mind. Weighing each option against the other. He could think of times when each seemed like the right choice. Eventually he said “is there another option?”
Nasht turned toward him, a wide smile spreading across his face. The old chief laughed. “My boy, that’s a wonderful answer.”
“Is... it the right answer?” Klem asked hesitantly.
Nasht looked at him and said plainly “I don’t know.”
Gruk’Nasht stood and began to spread out one of the scrolls which they had brought from the basement.
“This” Gruk’Nasht began, “is a clan genealogy. It shows the blood relations of every single living member of a clan. They are kept hidden from all but the clan leader, and us. This one is Graal.”
“It’s huge” Klem said in awe. Before him was an immense sprawling pattern of ink. He squinted and could see innumerable tiny branches. There were so many names, but also a large portion of the branches ended suddenly with a number.
“How can this be everyone? How many people are there here?” Klem asked in disbelief.
Nasht pointed to a box in the bottom left which said “current living: 43,341”. “These are updated once a year.” Nasht said. “So they are always somewhat out of date. It takes the scribes nearly the full year to make the next one. Especially in Graal, and they have more than twice as many scribes as every other clan combined. By the time they make one of these, new babies have been born, old orc have died, and people will have married, so they start on the next one.”
“How is it possible?” Klem asked, beginning to search for Grun on the bottom. There was a bar which ran from top to bottom that showed year of birth, and Klem knew about how old Grun was because they were in school together.
“There are many orc working on this, but they do it in secret. They must. A clan is it’s people, Klem, to know them is to have power over them. Relations, family ties, even someone’s name can be used to manipulate them.”
“Why is it secret? And what do these numbers mean?” Klem asked.
“The numbers refer to other clans-kin. Each person has a number here, see? Those will appear on the other clan genealogies. That way the clan chief who wants to see their record won’t be able to peer into the other clan’s.”
Klem found Grun’s entry, he saw that his parents were Graal’Shera, who he had met before when staying at Grun’s house, and his father was simply number ‘34176’.
“I still don’t understand why this has to be secret? Why shouldn’t Shabra be able to see who these numbers are? Surely she’s met many of these people in person.”
Nasht sighed and began rolling up the immense scroll. “Listen Klem, you must understand that there is a wide gap between the appearance of a thing and the truth of it. Just like the fish in the river, some things only make sense with time. To see someone, to meet them in passing, speak with them, share a mean, or even to know them for years – that shouldn’t give you false confidence to claim you truly know them. People are... mysterious, after all.”
The chief of Gruk unrolled the second-largest scroll from the pile. “Gribrul” he said while flattening it on the bench. Klem could see even at a glance that this one was different. It was much smaller, having a count of 11092. As he leaned in to inspect it closely, he saw there were very few numbered nodes, nearly every marriage seemed to be between Gribrul clans-kin. The shape of the tree was different too, instead of branching out with dense foliage as the tree went down the page, Gribrul almost seemed like someone had pinched branches together and tied them to the trunk. There were several spots with dozens of connections meeting in one place. Klem leaned into the largest of these clusters, seeing “Gribrul’Melko”.
“Why are there so many...” Klem began to ask.
Nasht answered promptly. “His wives.”
“His wives? There must be...” Klem quickly tallied them up “there’s thirty nine?! How is that possible?”
“This is the one thing you must understand well.” Nasht replied, the serious tone coming back into his voice. “Kruk is made of clans who each live by a different social order. Each clan determines the rules for births, funerals, crimes and punishments, marriage within the clan and between others. ”
“Why is it different in Graal than Gribrul?” Klem asked.
“In Graal, marriage is proposed by the woman. The mothers of the bride and groom must agree, although I understand sometimes they plan the proposal as well. They say ‘in Graal the woman carries the name’, which means a Graal man who marries into another clan will lose Graal and take his wife’s name. Whereas an outside clans-kin marrying into Graal must forfeit his first clan name.”
“Oh.” Klem said, remembering Shyel and the painful feelings that came with that memory.
“In Gribrul, it is... more complicated.” Nasht began. “Upon reaching marriageable age, the Gribrul men join a large group called “the brothers”. They live together in shared houses, and train together to hone their combat skills. Women at marriageable age assume a dark veil which covers everything but their eyes, and they join a network of groups called the ‘shadow sisters’. From what I understand, the sisters perform the covert work in Gribrul, while the men train, fight, and perform any duties which expose them to other clans-kin. Melko once explained the marriages to me, he said that men must initiate with a challenge. If the woman accepts, then the prospective couple fights in a duel of submission. If the man wins, the women is obliged to marry. If the woman wins, it is deeply shameful for the man.”
“Did Melko do that 39 times?” Klem asked, scandalized.
“Not quite. Apparently if you challenge a woman, you must defeat her and all of your current wives together to have success.”
“He...” Klem started, but trying to imagine Melko battling against more than thirty women at the same time made him feel queasy.
“It is... unique, but that is their way.” Nasht said. “As you now posses this knowledge, do not forget the burden of respect that comes with it.”
After he rolled up the Gribrul scroll, Nasht unfurled the next scroll, which was markedly smaller. “This is Laach. For the two originator clans you must pay special attention.” Gruk’Nasht said. The Laach genealogy had a current living number of 6370. The tree looked like it was dying. Nearly every branch except a few in the centre terminated abruptly with a branch that connected to a number. “What is going on?” Klem said, scanning over the few names which were present. All of the terminating branches had a number next to the Laach name. Klem saw the number ‘34176’ and remembered it from the Graal tree. “This is Grun’s father” he said softly to himself, and felt an ominous feeling of recognition when he saw the name was “Laach’Ashna”.
“Laach has a deliberately planned strategy.” Nasht said. “All marriages are arranged, even if they pretend it is not. They serve a dual purpose, to listen and to whisper. That is why nearly every Laach couple is an inter-clan marriage.”
“They are spying on the other clans?” Klem was shocked.
“Yes, spying, collecting favours, spreading rumours, keeping watch. Laach is the messenger clan after all, their ears sit between every correspondence.”
“H... Why? What do they want?” Klem said. He felt disgusted thinking of all the Laach he came across on a daily basis. Were they all spies for some dark purpose?
“Klem... This is where you must... Un-learn.” Nasht said, stepping toward the writing desk and grabbing a small scroll.
“What do you mean?” Klem said.
“Gruk is the clan of knowledge, you know this. We keep the records, we copy the lores. Some of our greatest have been storytellers to rival legend itself. Yet, knowledge is a burden. Truth is heavy, Klem. Within all of us are the dual forces of nature, order and chaos. To seek truth is to constantly subject ones-self to the edge between order and chaos. You must reject any notion that your perception of truth is the right one, and yet you must also reject the notion that it is hopeless to try. To remain in a constant state of seeking, this is our burden.”
“Why?” Klem said. Nasht nodded, and pointed to the paper.
“Look at this.” It was the central line of the Laach genealogy. “This is the Laach-Laach line, the pure-blood lineage which extends back to the founders of Kruk. To have a full picture of Kruk, you must see these two things together.” Nasht unfurled the tiny fourth scroll, and placed it atop the Laach scroll.
On the top was the name Gruk, ascribed in ornate lettering. The page was almost entirely blank. A single spindly line climbed down the page. The members of the line were named, but every branch from it ended in a number, and all were labelled “deceased.” At the very bottom, there were two rows with living members. Klem saw Gruk’Nasht next to Gruk’Nesha and Gruk’Klusar, who Klem knew as aunt and uncle. He noticed each of them was connected to a numbered spouse. A line came from the connection between Nasht and his spouse, and sitting on the end was Gruk’Klem and Gruk’Seb. On the bottom of the scroll, in the “currently living” square, Klem saw the number 5.
“I don’t understand.” Klem said, feeling a strange queasiness in the pit of his stomach.
Gruk’Nasht stretched upward, squaring his shoulders. He took a deep breath and said “Gruk... does not exist. We are Laach. It is not a separate bloodline.”
Klem pointed to the other lines coming from Nasht’s father, several more of which ended in numbers. “You have other siblings?! My mother?! How are they not Gruk?!” The young man asked, his voice approaching hysteria.
“Klem. Please stay calm. You must unlearn. You must let go of your notions of what clan and family mean. Let go of Gruk and see the truth.”
Klem was stunned. He couldn’t speak, and simply sat staring at the thin tree of his lineage.
Nasht began to speak again. “Those stories of the founding are partially true. Those times were hard, and there was suffering and starvation across the land. There was indeed one Laach’Hashuut who sought to combat this suffering, uniting many tribes under one banner, but he did not come to a stalemate with an ancestral Gruk. Hashuut ruled as the king, and his rule lasted many years, but it was only possible under his iron fist. The tribes of mountain orcs were a tough people, and Hashuut had to be tougher. Thus, the time of starvation was replaces with a time of war, and even total domination by Hashuut did not truly end the chaos and violence. While his power grew, the suffering around him grew with it. It is said that the progenitor Laach struggled with this irreconcilable fact his whole life. As he grew advanced in years he sought some way to prevent his descendants from suffering the same turmoil. It is said he sought out advisors and wise orc from across the isle, but he rejected each one in turn as insufficient. The lores say that it was only when he went on an ill-advised hunting trip – deep in the mountains, that he came across a lone orc, knowledgeable in the unspeakable arts. This master wizard taught him a secret. He said that one can prevent the inner turmoil of power by splitting ones-self in two. There is one half which takes the power, controls it, dominates it, and becomes it’s master. There is another half who surrenders to it completely, becoming it’s servant, and holding power’s burden for the both. It is said that day, the progenitor Gruk was born. Not from a mother’s flesh, but in the mind of Hashuut. Years later, as he was preparing for his journey into the next world, Hashuut pulled aside his most promising son and told him this secret. He told him ‘You are Gruk, but Gruk does not exist. You must carry this burden, for it is the most important task of them all, and you must do so in silence, only passing it on when the world calls on you.’ This is the true origin of our clan.”
There was a long silence. Klem stared blankly at the scroll before him. He saw that the line of Gruk did indeed have it’s earliest entries at the same time as the Laach ones, generations before Graal or Gribrul joined the Pride. Nasht inhaled and spoke in a soft voice.
“You’re young, and this is not an easy thing to learn. I was older than you when I learned it, but it took me many months to steady it in my mind. I wish we had more time, but, it is as the lores say: the world calls on us. I will say one more thing.”
Klem nodded bleakly.
“Laach’Hass knows much, he has great reach, and you should not scorn him. If he gives you advice or suggestion, heed it well. At the same time, you must remember to never trust him.”
Klem nodded slowly, then looked up at his father. His vision began to blur as he spoke. “After all this is over... will you come back to Kruk?”
Nasht looked away. “I... I don’t know. I’m sorry Klem.”
Standing outside of the libraries hidden entrance, Klem bade a final farewell to his father. Gruk’Nasht told his son how proud he was of his growth, and that he was confident in the Klem’s ability to take on whatever responsibility was needed of him. Klem said little, speaking only the final words of farewell in a shaky voice. Then the proud form of Gruk’Nasht strode out of the alley, and disappeared into the night.
Klem took a moment to regard the city. It was quiet on the little side street, perhaps even more so than usual. In the distance, he could hear sounds of something, like a distant roar of wind, but he did not know what it was. It was over an hour since the sun had set, and for one quiet moment, Klem stood alone, without any sense of purpose in his mind. That changed when he heard the town bells begin to ring. He counted ten rings. Something about the number jogged his mind, and a sudden rush of memory tumbled into it. He had to meet Murin at ten.
Klem began to walk toward Ganad street. While he did, a vague feeling of unease began to bubble up in him. He felt that he was somehow different from the Klem who had been so intent on seeing Murin only a few hours prior. He knew some secret that no-one else did, and there was a kind of thrill in that. He was afraid, too, that he might accidentally say too much, having all this new information so fresh on the mind. Klem resolved to empty his mind completely, taking up the unlearning his father had spoken of. “I am no-one, I know nothing” He repeated to himself, the words taking the form of a chant which entrained to the pulse of his footfall.
Before he knew it, Klem was only a block away from Ganad street. There was still a little ways to go until the intersection with Jolshk, but he felt as if he had accomplished something great already. He realized that the roaring sound had become louder, and there were other sounds among it too. Shouting mixed with the pounding of metal and feet. Klem turned the corner and was hit with the full din of Ganad street.
The double-wide manufacturing street was awash with activity. Burly orcs pushed huge ore-carts, overflowing with stone. Dozens of orcs walked by with handfuls of metal poles slung across each shoulders, stooped beneath the burden. A consistent shouting of voices issued commands and instructions. Klem stuck to the buildings on the near side of Ganad, avoiding most of the chaos, but at one point he had to wedge himself into a small gap between two buildings and wait, while a street-spanning square wooden frame passed by. Craning his neck to see, Klem saw it was made of beams thicker than his torso and had four orcs at each corner to carry it. Klem realized this was the foot of a war machine.
Venturing further along the street, Klem passed compact blacksmith shops, solid forges, and immense kilns. All were burning at full capacity, filling the street with an immense noise and heat. The shouting orc voices grew hoarse over the blazes. Klem struggled to see. The street was filled with blinding smoke, illuminated a dull red by the fires. Klem felt a breeze, but realized it was pushing the smoke toward the city instead of toward the open foothills which lay behind the kilns.
The smoke lay thick, sulphurous and glowing red in the light of the forges. Klem choked and stumbled along, trying to find a way free of that sinister place. Soon he passed the foundries, their presence replaced by ore-storage pits. The smoke lessened, and Klem saw the pits were nearly empty. Filthy orc workers hefted the remaining chunks from the bottom of the pits, while the work bosses organized parties to venture to the mines.
Finding the street becoming quieter, Klem looked around for a clue of how far along he was. He saw a signpost, which he struggled to read in the fresh dark, Klem saw it was the intersection with Jolshk street. Rejoicing quietly to himself, he turned to face down the street, but was alerted by the sound of footsteps nearby.
Klem turned toward the sound, and he heard his name being called. He cautiously responded, watching as a figure moved toward him. It was a heavy-set man that he did not recognize. The man beckoned for him to follow. Klem stood for a moment, unsure what to do. The man hissed “for the meeting”. He did not do anything else, so Klem began to follow. The man continued in a low voice: “You’re late. Most of us didn’t think you’d show, but Murin insisted. I guess she was right, but I doubt Shel will be happy you kept us waiting.” Klem stopped following the figure, looking ahead to see a discrete doorway, hidden in a gap between two buildings.
Klem asked “What is this? Why did you wait for me?”
The other orc turned to stare at Klem, then after a moment said “What are you, stupid? Hurry up.” Before opening the door and going inside. Klem followed, and found a tight stairwell. He could hear the sounds of voices coming muffled from somewhere above. As they ascended, Klem could hear the voices grow in intensity.
“Who do you think is doing all the damn work?!” A man’s voice boomed. “Graal labour, Graal manufacture, Graal flesh, it’s on our backs this thing is being laid, and what do...”
The voice cut off when the orc who met Klem outside knocked three times on a narrow door. After a moment the voice who had been shouting gave a curt “Come.” Light flooded into the narrow stairwell as the other orc opened the door, and Klem followed after him.
“Larsh is back. Let me guess, no dice?” The loud voice began to ask, but stopped short when Klem stepped into the room. Blinking from the smoke and sudden light, Klem saw a large table with a dozen seats which were mostly on one side. All but the two near the door were occupied. Klem could see a huge man standing on the open side of the table, leaning on a haphazard pile of papers and diagrams. The man was broad and very tall, stooping in the small room.
The orc who had brought Klem inside, apparently named Larsh, replied: “Found him outside. He was coming by Ganad. Not sure if he’s up to something or just dumb as rocks.”
Klem heard a familiar voice to his left and turned to look. He saw it was Murin, who looked up at him with concerned eyes. She said: “Klem did you take Ganad here?”
Klem nodded.
“Why? Jolshk is much quieter, you can turn onto it from Hekarde street. Where were you?”
Klem said: “Oh, that would have been better. I was at the library.”
Murin began to say something, but was spoken over by a voice Klem did not recognize.
“Face in the books at a moment of action. No wonder he’s late. We just can’t rely on Gruk-kin for this kind of work.”
Klem’s eyes were watering too much for a clear view, but from the colour and build of this stranger Klem thought he must be Graal.
The orc next to the stranger, also likely Graal, spoke next, addressing the tall man. “Shelbar, why do we entertain this nonsense? We’ve been waiting half an hour for this skinny bookworm, what could he possibly bring to the table?”
Shelbar gave an admonishing glance, causing the orc to go quiet. Then, in his large voice he said: “Take a seat newbie. Murin, he’s here on your suggestion. Why don’t you introduce him?”
Klem sat down in the empty seat next to Murin, with Larsh on his other side. Murin stood up, looking around the table. “Everyone, this is Gruk’Klem. I met him at the rally this afternoon. He supports our cause and he has some sway in Gruk, so I think it would be best that we utilize his talents.”
Klem heard a voice from across the table mutter “some sway, like I believe that”, but couldn’t tell who said it. Klem felt gazes coming to rest on him. He looked around the room, and froze when his eyes met Grun’s. His friend blinked, and pulled his gaze away. Klem saw him make a minute head movement, shaking it back and forth. After a moment, Klem understood.
Klem puffed up his chest and began to speak. “Yeah, you could say that. Perhaps sway isn’t the right word, but I always ask my father Gruk’Nasht if I need any help.” Klem couldn’t help feeling pleased as eyes around the table grew wide. Several people began to speak at once, but Shelbar’s voice flattened them all.
“Son of a clan leader eh? So what. You don’t know this yet newcomer, but Shabra is my aunt, I have as much word in her inner circle as anyone else.”
Klem parried “And how many orc would you say occupy that inner circle? One voice among a hundred is a far cry from a one-on-one conversation wouldn’t you say?”
Someone snorted from across the table, several heads spun to face the source of the sound. Klem recognized it was Laach’Jukim from the rally earlier that day.
“Oh, don’t mind me.” He said, a tricksters smile playing about his face.
Murin, who was still standing, cleared her throat.
“Okay, well, everyone, this is Gruk’Klem. Apparently he is also son of Gruk’Nasht.” Murin shot Klem a pointed glance before she continued. “Klem, we’ve made this group to organize a plan to stop the troop deployment across the great bridge.”
“That’s right.” Shelbar added. “We can’t sacrifice Graal lives for the sake of mainlander failures.”
“And Gribrul.” Spoke a small voice. Klem looked to the far end of the table, and saw two Gribrul men next to Grun, the speaker was a tiny figure in a dark cloak that covered all but their eyes. Klem realized she must be one of the women of Gribrul.
“Yes, I hope we all understand this is for the good of the pride. Today is an emergency meeting because the chiefs announcement moved our timeline rapidly. Klem, I’ll name everyone for you.”
She began to point around the oval table as she named the orcs who sat there.
“Next to you is Graal’Larsh, then Graal’Shulo and Graal’Bursh, Graal’Nunbo. Then it’s... Gribrul’Hekan and Gribrul’Askneer. You know Graal’Grun. Laach’Jukim spoke at the rally. Then... erm... yes, Gribrul’Leeda. And of course, Graal’Shelbar is taking the lead on the plan.”
Once Murin finished her introduction, the tall orc Graal’Shelbar began to speak again.
“Good. I agree with what Murin said, there can be a place for Gruk skills in our plan. Let us see some now. At the rally today we have learned the chiefs intend to send our whole military force across the narrow sea. This will leave us defenceless against many threats, but especially the giants in the mountains, do you agree?”
“No.” Klem replied.
The large orc’s eyebrows shot up. His tone was thick with disbelief. “No? Gruk truly must be the clan of knowledge, so tell me what would be our defence in this scenario?”
“Gruk’Nasht is leading an envoy to the giants to ask them for a treaty.” Klem said without thinking. Then he felt a sudden drop in his stomach. Should he have told them about the envoy mission? Gruk’Nasht had given him many secrets, but it was hard to remember if this was one of them... Everyone around the table was staring at him.
Shelbars voice boomed out. “Foolish.” The gazes of the room swung toward Shelbar, giving Klem a moment of reprieve. The huge man continued. “If this even is true, how can it possibly succeed?” He looked toward Klem, drawing the rooms attention.
Klem felt a pressure forming in the base of his skull. He was hot, like the eyes from around the room were casting rays of bright sun upon him. His gaze was held fast in a vice by Shelbars intense look. Klem felt paralyzed. Darkness began to creep about the edges of his vision. Suddenly Nasht’s word echoed through the empty space of his mind “unlearn”. Klem took a sharp inhale, and a flow of words began to pour free from him.
“Giant and orc have cohabited these mountains for thousands of years, but Kruk has only existed for six hundred. Why are they a problem now, but were not before? Giants are a reclusive and territorial race. They have long lives and longer memories than us. Kruk has expanded it’s logging operation deep into their ancestral mountains. Would it not be sensible to expect the giants to resist? We-”
Shelbar interrupted with a grunt. Klem felt dazed, and the room seemed to shimmer slightly. “We are not asking why they attack, but how to stop it.” Shelbar said.
Klem stammered, but the flow of words continued. “T-the giants have language and reasoning, they will understand that we need lumber. The call of war will increase the need. Perhaps they will give us allowance for a time, so long as we retreat the logging after the human war concludes. If they don’t, we can move logging to the forests on the eastern mountains, it is a long journey from here but it will be shorter for the military supply lines.”
Klem finished speaking, and the room was quiet. Some of the Graal-kin looked outraged, but most of the table seemed to look thoughtful. Klem felt suddenly exhausted and slumped in his chair.
Jukim’s resonant voice suddenly arose from across the table. “This Klem fellow makes an extremely reasonable point, wouldn’t you all say?” He smiled a wry grin and Klem thought he saw the Laach-kin even wink at him. Murmers of agreement sounded from the table. Shelbar spoke after another brief pause.
“Yes, well, since we are trying to save the lives of our kinfolk, this may work favourably. If the giants are pacified we do not need to worry about them for the time being. However, what will we do if Nasht’s mission fails? What if the giants do not let him leave their meeting place?”
Klem rose suddenly in his chair. His eyes were locked on Shelbar, and burned with intensity. “He will succeed.” The Gruk-kin pronounced with absolute certainty.
Shelbar held the gaze for a moment, then gave a slow half-nod and looked around the table. He said: “Let us go to the next point. Previously we were discussing the relative stake of each clan in the army. Graal makes the majority of foot-soldiers and labour, but there are significant Gribrul present as well.” Shelbar nodded to the three Gribrul-kin who sat at the table. “Now, as any Graal organization, it will have a command structure. Does anyone know who is the head general for the army?”
The orc named Graal’Shulo spoke up. “Graal’Grandebrul will be leading the deployment.”
Shelbar looked thoughtful. “Grandebrul...” He mused, then – turning toward Shulo and Murin, he asked: “How rapidly can strength in the voice be acquired?”
Gasps ran around the table. Klem felt Murin shoot up from her seat. He noticed that Shulo had done so too.
“How dare you!” Murin barked, a finger pointed at Shelbar. “You know the rule. You know you cannot use the voice.”
Shulo added to the rebuke: “How dare you even speak of it around out-clanners? This is appalling, shameful!”
Looking around the table, Klem saw the line of Graal men had gone very pale. Some had their jaws clenched. Others had bulging eyes. Klem saw that Grun’s eyes seemed to have deep circles around them, and his head sagged forward. Jukim seemed to be on the edge of laughing, and was patting Grun’s back softly. The Gribrul looked like they didn’t notice anything unusual. Klem was truly baffled.
Shelbar stood, locking eyes with the two Graal clanswomen. “The rule keeps Graal together, this I agree. Yet in times of great peril rules may bend or break. Is this not part of the understanding which binds us? Tell me. Would you sacrifice thousands of clans-kin to uphold an idea who’s stated purpose is to protect the clan? What is the clan if not the lives of it’s kin? Or do you feel we are not in times of peril? Would you wait until the giants march hand-in-hand with the humans through our streets? Tell me you think I am wrong! Speak it so I know it is true!”
Klem looked at the two women. Shulo’s face was twisted in rage, and it twitched from her struggle to keep composed. Murin looked immensely sad, and Klem saw a tear roll from her eye. She nodded, and sat down. Shulo opened her mouth as if to speak, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists. Then, she scowled and sat.
Shelbar looked about the room, eyes seeking any other challenge. When none came, he took a breath and continued speaking.
“There is no hope of disrupting Shabra’s command while inside the pride, she is simply too powerful. However, once the army begins the march, that will be the opportunity. The chain of command will go no higher than the leading general. She is strong, but I believe I can grow to surmount her.”
“How stupid are you?” Shulo blurted out. “You think you can surpass Grandebrul? She’s trained the voice of command for decades.”
Tension strung taught across the table. Shulo glared with a fury at anyone and everyone. Shelbar sat still, eyes downcast and face distant. Then, he took a deep breath and suddenly stood. Looking up with fire in his eyes, he spoke a single word. Klem did not hear what it was at first. The room was too silent. Klem’s felt his head swimming. There was a faint ringing in his ears that was growing louder. Then the ringing became a word, a stark command, and that utterance began to reverberate throughout his mind. It seemed to rattle, bounding around off the inside of his skull. With each bounce it grew louder. He couldn’t think straight. Some part of him knew that there was only one way to make it stop. He obeyed the command.
With a loud clattering, everyone else in the room began to stand, one after another. Klem stood so quickly that his chair toppled over, and the relief he felt was immediate. The Graal men stood soon after Klem, with varying looks of shame, fear, horror, and awe. Jukim and Grun stood next, Jukim with a broad smile, and Grun with a twisted grimace. Shulo stood, her face utterly calm. Then Murin slowly rose. Only the two Gribrul men remained seated. They seemed to be made of stone, eye’s fixed steadily on Shelbar. The huge man seemed to come out of the momentary trance, and looked around the room. He saw the Gribrul and met their gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded. The two men stood gracefully, and the cloaked Gribrul woman seemed to appear from nowhere, suddenly standing next to her seat. After a second, Shelbar cleared his throat.
“This is only what I have taught myself by watching the voice be used. Do you still doubt my talents Shulo?”
The Graal woman stood imperiously at the other end of the table, chin raised and hair rolling past her shoulders in loose waves. She said simply “I do not.”
“Good. Let us proceed.” Shelbar looked toward the Gribrul at the table. “I was unsure how our voice would affect you. I am impressed by your resilience.”
The man named Gribrul’Askneer nodded, saying “As am I by your strength. Perhaps our clans shall learn from each other.”
“Perhaps. I would like to ask you about the army. There are large Gribrul contingents inside. How would they react if we attempt to seize command from Grandebrul?”
The Gribrul man inclined his head. “Would you attempt to order our kin about?”
Shelbar stammered slightly. “I-... No, but do you mean that the Gribrul in the army would go alone to the mainland?”
Next to Askneer, Gribrul’Hekan chuckled softly. Askneer responded to Shelbar in a gentle voice.
“I do not know if the human incursion is as serious as they say. In principle, Gribrul seeks honour on the battlefield, but we do not regard a slaughter as honourable. If the humans have truly accessed some great power, I think many Gribrul would prefer to retreat. In unclear situations we will usually follow Melko. He has a good sense for the changing winds. You can assume if he crosses the bridge, we will go too.”
Shelbar’s lips pursed, and he looked thinking something through, then he nodded in agreement to Gribrul’Askneer. Shelbar looked toward the Graal at the table, saying: “Okay. Larsh, Bursh, Nunbo, Grun, you each know where you shall be. It is essential we keep eyes on the ground and figure out when and where things are moving. Jukim, you can still... do what you said to me before?” Shelbar looked at the Laach fellow.
Jukim bowed, raising his arms theatrically and said “Of course, consider it done my good sir.”
“Erm... Right. Just make sure you keep it secret-like. We cannot risk Shabra finding out about this. Now... Askneer is it?”
Gribrul’Askneer nodded.
“Would you consider it dishonourable to perform some... enforcement duties? Say if we need someone taken aside for a couple days because they learned a little too much.”
Askneer looked to his right at the small dark figure next to him. The woman said “It is a trivial matter. There is a fee.”
Shelbar looked slightly confused. Then he shook his head slightly and said “Fine, okay, we will discuss the particulars shortly.” He looked across the table and his gaze swept over Klem as it landed on Shulo and Murin respectively. “You two, are you willing to train me in the voice? We will need as much skill as possible before the deployment.” Murin nodded rapidly, while Shulo crossed her arms and looked up with a huff.
Shelbar continued: ”I can train with Murin if you are unwilling. Shulo, would you perhaps be able to monitor the rumours among the upper clansmen? It would be good if we know the moment they have suspicions of this.”
“I will train you.” She spat out the words, shooting a glare at Murin before returning to look at the ceiling.
“That works too. Okay.” Shelbar scanned around the room. He met Klem’s gaze and held it for a moment. Klem felt he could see something strange in the huge man’s eyes, but he did not know what it was. Then Shelbar said “Everyone knows their role to play now. We should begin right away, time is short. We should be careful not to leave here all at once, especially since Ganad is so busy at the moment. Gruk... Klem is it? Would you be willing to leave first?”
Klem felt his brow furrow, but he quickly smoothed it. He nodded slowly, and began to stand from his chair. His gaze passed over Murin, and she met his eyes for a moment. He saw a clear message in them. He turned in an attempted motion, and began to walk toward the door. He thought he heard a chuckle from behind him, but without looking back he exited the room, walking down the narrow stairs into the darkened street.
Klem waited on the other side of the street from the secluded doorway, standing in the shadows cast by the distant fires of Ganad’s furnaces. Some minutes later, just as he was thinking it had been a strangely long time, another orc walked out of the doorway. It was hard to see in the gloom, but Klem could make out the stature of a Graal man. It was not Grun or Murin so Klem remained still. It seemed the other orc did not notice him. The Graal orc walked half a block until he stood at the corner, and positioned himself with his back against the wall so he could look down onto Ganad. Only a minute or two passed until the other two Graal men exited from the hidden stairwell. They looked around the street, and Klem found himself retreating slightly into the darkness, but the pair soon caught sight of the first orc and walked over to him. The three made their way onto Ganad street, passing out of Klem’s view. Klem breathed a sigh of relief.
After another short interval, Graal’Shulo appeared. Now that she was standing out in the open Klem couldn’t help but notice she was very pleasing to the eye. His gaze followed her as she also moved toward Ganad street, and Klem even felt his heart skip a beat when Shulo broke into a run to cover the last few meters before she too vanished behind the corner. Klem found himself wondering if he should move a little closer to that corner, but soon dismissed the thought when he heard the door swing closed again.
Looking to the doorway, Klem was confused to see it was completely empty. He looked up and down the street, and saw no-one. Shaking his head, he turned and barely stifled a scream. The dark-cloaked woman, Gribrul’Leeda stood before him with a single finger posed over her lips. Klem tried to ask what was going on, but she gestured the finger to invoke his silence. A short time passed, and the small woman whispered “stay here” before backing up and being swallowed into the shadows. Movement of the doorway caught Klem’s attention, and he saw the two stocky Gribrul men glide forth soundlessly. Leeda appeared behind them, saying something in a voice too soft for Klem to catch, and the three of them moved directly toward Klem.
“H-Hello?” Klem said.
“Not too loud now. Don’t want to provoke Graal’s wrath.” Spoke the taller Gribrul man named Askneer.
“We want to acknowledge you in lieu of the others.” Said Hekan.
“Acknowledge me? I didn’t do anything, I’m not even sure why I was invited.” Klem said, feeling the confusion in his voice.
“Each clan speaks their own voice. We are familiar with Graal, but less so with Gruk. You speak it well.” Said Askneer.
“We give respect to those who can maintain absence in the face of a powerful presence.” Leeda added with a confirmatory nod.
“The empty presence is quite beautiful.” Askneer spoke with a direct gaze toward Klem, to which Hekan added “There is a potent feminine charm in it, don’t you agree?”
Klem was taken aback. “What are you getting at? I didn’t do any of that, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Klem said, his voice taking on a defensive tone.
“In presence, absence. In absence, presence.” Leeda intoned.
“Let us not overstep” Hekan said while looking at Askneer, then added to Klem: “In Grimbrul, all men are brothers. We understand it is not the same in the other clans.”
The two men bade their farewell, beginning to walk away. Then Askneer stopped, half-turning with a pensive look on his face. He said “if I may speak for us both” while looking at Hekan, who gave a short nod, then Askneer met Klem’s gaze and said: “If you ever wish to partake in the brotherhood, we would welcome you with open arms. Come to the Gribrul house at the end of Nareesh street and ask for either of us by name. Goodbye, Gruk’Klem.” Then the two men, adopting the measured paces of Gribrul warriors, strode into the shadows of Jolshk street. Klem stood in a daze for a minute, but the fog over his mind dissolved when he heard the doorway opposite open again.
Two tall figures, leaning in to each other and speaking in whispers, emerged from the doorway. They walked quickly, and made it half a block into Jelshk street until Klem recognized them as Grun and Jukim. He ran over, calling out his friends name. The duo stopped and spun, with a panicked look on Grun’s face, and mild amusement on Jukim’s. Grun made a shushing noise, and in a harsh whisper said “Quiet! Klem where did you even come from?”
Klem replied in a lowered voice: “I was waiting to ask you the same thing, why were you in the meeting? Also, why do we need to whisper?”
“Klem, can’t you see we’re talking about something that needs to be kept secret?” Grun replied, gesticulating toward Jukim, who gave a baleful chuckle.
“Don’t worry young Gruk, this one is still anxious about his new responsibilities.” Jukim said.
“What? Grun I just wanted to know why you were in the meeting, did Murin invite you? Since when do you talk with mister Jukim here?”
Grun sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. In the dim light, Klem thought he looked exhausted. “Okay, Klem, I’m sorry. Things are moving so fast now. I can’t spend the whole night giving you an explanation, even if I wanted to. I don’t know what I can say and what I can’t. Just, Klem, do you know your father?”
“Of course, you do too, Gruk’Nasht.”
“Oh, right, your mother I mean.”
“My mother?” Klem said “Yes, she’s Gruk’Chaalsa, the head librarian.”
Grun looked to Jukim, who had been standing with his arms crossed, impassively viewing the exchange. Turning back to Klem, he said: “Klem. Listen carefully. I know you know who your mother is, but I’m asking you to find out who she really is. Her clan, Klem, birth clan. Trust me, it’s important. That’s... all I can tell you. This war, the plan we just discussed up there, the tensions between the clans, it’s all related. Jukim and I have to... we have to go. There’s urgent matters, too many of them.”
Klem was starting to grow concerned for his friend. Something seemed very wrong. “Where’s Melsh?” he asked.
“Gone, Klem. Back to Grushnak. I’m glad she got out in time, I don’t know if it will be safe for mainlanders here much longer. Klem, we really have to go, if I don’t see you again, know that I love you. Goodbye.”
Before Klem could utter another word, the two were walking quickly into the darkness.
The sound of the door jolted Klem. He was in a daze, and barely registered seeing Murin appear from the shadowed doorway. She was staring wide-eyed at him, gesturing wildly and waving her arms, then turned back to look into the alley behind her. The faint sound of heavy footfall finally jogged Klem’s understanding, and he quickly moved himself back into his hiding spot underneath the darkened awning. Graal’Shelbar appeared, stooping under the doorway and moving out into the street. Standing at his full height he was easily three heads taller than Murin, who already stood over a head above Klem. His voice was clearly audible, even though he spoke in a whisper.
“Murin, why don’t you spend the night with me?”
“Shelbar, it’s not right. We have to be up early, and I’ll see you most days to train the voice anyway.”
“Right? What could be wrong about it? We’re not siblings. Do you dislike inter-Graal pairings? You know my pedigree is superb.”
“No, that’s not it. I-I can’t explain it, I just don’t feel it would be right for both of us to be in this planning group and seeing each other on the side.”
“Who else in the group are you seeing?”
“I didn’t say that at all.”
“You don’t deny it. Is it one of those Graal boys?”
“No, Shelbar, I said-”
“The Gribrul? No, they’d not be your type... too strange. That Laach fellow?”
“Shelbar. Stop this.”
“It is the Laach, Jukim, yes? I heard how he attended your little rally, perhaps it was a personal favour?”
“Shelbar, I’m warning you.”
“Oh... No, Murin please don’t tell me it’s that Gruk strumpet. There’s no substance in that one at all, it’s like looking into a pane of glass. Did you hear how he talked back to me in there?”
Just as Klem cringed at the mention of his name, Murin rose up to her full height, looking directly at Shelbar. Klem saw him pucker his lips and begin to lean forward when Murin spoke his name in a strange voice. It seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Klem felt it echo between the buildings, clanging around his skull. “Down.” she commanded, and there was a thud as both Klem and Shelbar fell to their knees. Klem gave a sharp inhale when he realized what had happened, but neither Murin nor Shelbar gave any indication they had heard a noise in the shadows. Klem watched in stunned awe as Murin slowly circled the huge man, who’s head and shoulders hung as if strapped to the earth.
“You speak of Graal as if you own her. Do you think I did not notice her absence in your pathetic plan. You may catch Grandebrul and her lieutenants by surprise. Yes, you may seize the army, and you may march it about like some grand toy, but what then Shelbar? Will you form a new Pride in the mountains? Or will you march back to Kruk and face the Mother. Do you think you will succeed then? Oh, I know how you mock me, saying I treat Shabra like a Goddess, but you’re blind to what she represents. The Great Mother Ishtar binds us and weaves our fates. She has permitted your plan thus far, and I will lend you my knowledge to see how it may fly. But do not let yourself be mistaken again. Each generation breeds fool men who think themselves owner and master of their fate, and each generation these fools must be brought to kneel. This is why only women carry the name of Graal, and this is why only women can truly use the voice of command. Hear me now, this is the last time you will confuse leadership with ownership. Do you understand?”
Shelbar’s body twitched. His voice came ragged like it was being pulled from his throat. “Yes Ma’am.”
Murin nodded. “Good. Now get out of my sight.”
Shelbar rose jerkily. Without turning or speaking, he took two long strides which propelled him into a run. Within moments his huge form had vanished down Jelshk street.
Murin stood in the middle of the street, swaying back and forth. She looked up at the sky, and without changing her gaze called “you can come out now Klem.” Klem slowly rose and walked toward her. When he came near, she took a deep sigh, and Klem saw her posture slump. She had tears running down her face. Klem stood before Murin, unsure what to say. She spoke first.
“I wish you didn’t have to see that.”
“I-I’m sorry Murin.”
“Don’t be. Every clan has it’s fights among members. You must have arguments among Gruk-kin right?”
Klem furrowed his brow, remembering the long back-and-forth discussions with his father, the barrage of questions from Seb, and the meaning-laden glances with his mother. “Not arguments exactly... but I think I get what you mean.”
Murin looked at him with a warm smile. “Hey, want to come see my rooms? They’re quite close.”
Klem returned the smile. “I would like that a lot.”
As they began to walk, Klem felt Murin was very close to him. The fabric of her skirts occasionally brushed against his leg, and her hand bumped into his once or twice. The third time, she moved it to hold Klem’s hand. He looked down at the entwined hands.
“Is it okay?” Murin asked.
Klem looked up at her, then said. “You aren’t going to do that voice thing on me, are you?”
A mischievous smile crossed Murin’s face. She said: “You aren’t going to disobey me, are you?”
They turned into a narrow alley, entering the door to a stairwell, and ascended to Murin’s apartment.
Murin drew nearer to Klem as they entered the door to her apartment. She folded him into her embrace. Her encompassing warmth. Klem felt his attention pulled this way and that, drawn by sight and touch. Soon he was guided to the bedroom, allowing her to move him along. In this realm of communion, Murin was clearly in-charge. She guided him with a wordless presence, pulling Klem toward and around her. As their bodies began to move, Klem felt his mind drifting in tune with the rhythm below. It was as if he was deep underwater, with muted sounds and a sense of weightlessness. An inner warmth suffused him. He felt a current flow from the depths, it was subtle but consistent. The current drew him upward, growing in strength, and soon he breached the surface.
Klem felt the cold air rush into his lungs. His body was wet. He gasped and panted. Murin looked at him with a coy smile, while he sucked in air. A moment later Klem felt the current again. It was stronger now, pulling him along the surface of that great body. At first he struggled against it, but soon Klem found his balance. He floated on his back gazing into the void above. There were distant clouds, twisting and grey, and soon he felt drips of water strike him – little pulses of tingling spreading out along his legs and arms. Klem looked down and saw his body and Murin’s had become one. A machine of flesh, pulsing as the bellows to a great forge. It glowed red with an inner fire. Klem realized that he was not willing the movement, but instead that machine moved by some other force, a will of it’s own, outside and apart from him. He inhaled deeply, and was transported into the sea again.
Klem watched the clouds churn as he floated in that strange dark place. The current pulled him inexorably, but he payed it no mind. He saw that the sea was endless and eternal. He felt that he could be pulled by strange currents forever, but it would make no difference in where he was. He floated, simply and calmly in a placid void. As his mind moved, unhindered by stimulation or strain, he found himself amazed at how peaceful it was here. There was simply nothing. No pressure, no stress. No hunger, no pain. No war, peace, love, loss... Klem felt a lurch, like something tugging at his insides. Water flowed from his eyes, running down his cheek to join the reserve beneath. He blinked, and saw that something had become different. The clouds churned as they had before, but now they were somehow angrier. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning cracked across that stormy sky, and that strange feeling lurched again, deep within Klem. Down, down, all the way down at the bottom of those unknown depths, something was there that hadn’t been before. Klem felt the current grow suddenly. It pulled and tugged at his form. It was fast. The sea thrashed. He struggled and flailed, trying to keep his head above the water as the movement around him grew more intense. He went under, and for a brief moment opened his eyes to see something in the near distance. Coming above, he struggled to stabilize himself. The current was pulling him faster and faster toward that thing just out of sight. The sky boiled above as driving rain pelted the water. Cracks of iridescent light burst across his vision, illuminating all in stark grey, then numbing dark. Time seemed to slow to a pained crawl, he wasn’t sure if it had been minutes or hours, he could only focus on the next breath. Then, with a flash from the sky, he saw it.
Before him, the tormented sea was pulled in a great spiral, a vortex which penetrated deep into the darkness below. He saw his fate plainly before him. Felt it deep within his very being. What lay there was so clear that it devoured all other things. All other truths, beliefs, decisions, all structure and order, all will, all hope. They were consumed in that flow. He saw death, meeting it’s gaze for only a moment. He was naked and alone, so completely unprepared. Instinct took over. Klem’s body was filled with the heat of an alien flame. Not a comforting glow as before, but an acidic burning which spread through him. He turned against the flow and began to swim. He adopted forms he never learned, pushing for all his might against that current. Water rushing into his eyes, his mouth, his lungs. He pushed and pushed, he knew it was pointless, but that didn’t seem to matter. His muscles strained, pulling taught and fraying under the heat. He spluttered and reached to push against more water. He reached again, but his arm simply would not obey. He felt water in his lungs, and darkness was beginning to encroach on his vision. The acidic fire burned deeper within him, searching for anything to fuel one final push. Then it found something, deep beneath layers and layers of himself. Klem didn’t have time to see what it was before it became consumed and pulled into his muscles. The sudden surge of energy gave him a moment of clear mind. In that moment Klem realized he could use this brief strength to twist himself around, to witness the whirlpool the moment before his destruction. However, as soon as the thought came, something banished it from his mind. Klem realized then that he was not really the one in charge. His body made one final push with both arms, trying to get free from the current. After the burst of movement, he knew it was well and truly over. The current pulled him around and around, faster and faster. He closed his eyes. A moment passed.
Klem was pulled into a strange darkness. Briefly, all was still – as in the beginning. He was beneath the surface. Instead of a gentle warmth, he was filled with a strange emptiness. Strange, yet somehow comforting. A deeper comfort than the caressing warmth, this emptiness felt like something he had always known. But he could not linger. The force of the whirlpool had not vanished, and it gave him one final thrust, pushing deep into those black depths. In a burst of light and sweet air, Klem was flung with such force that he exited the water entirely. His eyes cracked open to see an immense jet propelling him into a strange sky. Beneath, a sea so unlike his own, yet so familiar. The sun was hot on his back. Klem felt a straining sensation in his throat, and he realized he was screaming. A prolonged cry of pleasure and pain. The sensation in his ears told him Murin was too. His voice gave out along with his legs, and he collapsed on the bed in wracking sobs, curling into himself. Klem heard a soft voice and felt a blanket slide over his body. He was wet and shivered with cold, but he felt a gentle hand against his back, and a broad warmth settling beside him. That voice whispered “Sleep now my darling.” So Klem slipped into an obliterating sleep.
The morning came in a honeyed slowness. Golden light pouring through the window. Distant sounds of foot traffic in the street outside. A bell somewhere ringing ten times. Klem lay in a blissful half-sleep, unaware of his own mind. Some time passed before the clanking and sizzling from the adjacent room entered his consciousness. Klem rose to his feet, stretching and yawning. He quickly dressed himself and went into the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, Klem watched Murin as she moved about the kitchen in a deft frenzy. She seemed to be cooking several dishes at once, and there were already several completed plates on the counter, and some on the table.
“Hello.” Klem said, which caused Murin to jump.
“Oh! Hi Klem, you surprised me. I have to leave soon, so it’s good that you’re up, saves me having to wake you. I made breakfast.” She replied, smiling at him for a moment before turning back to the cooking.
Klem felt tears suddenly well up in his eyes, he stammered. “Murin... I-”
She moved over to the door and grabbed Klem in a bear hug, cutting him off. “No need for that, you wonderful little guy. Last night was spectacular, but let’s focus on today now.” She whispered to him, before just as quickly pivoting back to the kitchen.
Klem gathered himself and looked at the pile of dishes she was accumulating on the counter-top. Many seemed to be partially eaten already. As if in answer to his unvoiced question, Murin said “I’ve been eating as I go, but I really must leave in the next few minutes. Shulo and I are starting to train Shelbar today. The first day learning the voice is always a challenge for women, so I’m afraid it will be much worse with him.”
Klem had noticed her apron was fitting snug about the waist. He regarded the mountain of food with aversion, saying “is that all for me?”
The Graal woman appeared behind him, snaking her arms around his waist. She spoke softly into his ears “Of course.”
Klem twisted around to look at her, saying “It’s too much, how can I eat all that?”
Murin’s grip on him tightened slightly. Her eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Then she looked thoughtful for a moment, and said “I think maybe you are unfamiliar with our ways, Graal hosts are supposed to treat the guest. We consider it shameful to allow someone to leave unsatisfied.”
Klem grinned at her, saying “Oh you really don’t have to worry Murin, I’m superbly satisfied.”
Murin’s face suddenly grew a fierce and intense look, and she said. “Then prove it to me.”
Klem nodded with some reluctance, then she released him. He sat at the table and she lifted plate after plate onto the large wooden surface. Klem’s stomach rumbled in a mix of anticipation and fear. Once she had finished loading the last plate, Murin doused the cooking fire and began to walk toward the bedroom. “I’m going to change, go ahead and start, you don’t need to wait for my signal.” She said. Klem began to eat the first dish. It was strips of bread dipped in eggs and lightly fried among herbs and oil. Klem swallowed his discomfort at feeling he had been totally useless in preparing all this. The food was delicious, and he was hungrier than he expected. When Murin returned she was in simple working clothes.
“How is it?” She asked.
Klem looked up and nodded vigorously, mouth full of food.
“Wonderful.” She smiled broadly at him. Then looked up and began to speak as if musing to herself. “Of course, it would be most upsetting if I came home from my busy day to see food left uneaten, especially after all the work I did to prepare it, don’t you think Klem?”
Klem swallowed, looking up at the imposing woman he asked “Well... S-should I come too? Uh... for the training?”
Murin looked surprised. “Well why Klem? You don’t know anything about the voice of command. I’d be surprised if you knew what it was before yesterday.”
Klem tried to give an explanation, but was cut off when Murin suddenly asked. “Are you just looking for an excuse to leave?”
Klem responded. “No! No, I uh... well, I just wasn’t totally sure what my role is, you know... in the group? So I thought I’d come and try to learn about this voice thing, it interests me.”
Murin nodded. “I see...” She said musingly. “Well, Klem, how about this. I’m going to leave now or else I’ll be really late, and I don’t want those two heading somewhere without me. That will give you the whole day, you can properly enjoy the breakfast, wander around, do whatever you usually do. Think about it, but if you want to spend some more time with me tonight, come back here before dinner. I don't think you could even use the voice, and I certainly couldn’t teach you. It’s bad enough to teach a man – let alone an outclanner – but if you’re really interested I can probably tell you some general stuff about it. How does that sound?”
Klem nodded enthusiastically. “I’d love that.” He told her.
Murin smiled. “You are a darling. Okay Klem, goodbye for now! I hope to see you again tonight.”
Then she left the apartment.
Klem turned back to the table and ate diligently, fearing to disappoint Murin when she returned. By the time he was done, he heard the bells for noon ringing. He struggled to stand from the table, and after washing up he went gingerly down the stairs, following the directions Murin had left to lock up after himself. The streets outside were strangely quiet. Murin’s apartment was on the corner of Jolshk and Hekarde street, the latter of would usually be packed with carts ferrying cargo from the northern docks. As Klem slowly walked down Hekarde, he only saw half a dozen or so carts, and their cargo seemed meagre. There were several Laach runners which passed by, in their sleek outfits and lean physique. Even thinking about running made Klem nauseous. He upped his walking pace to try and aid his digestion.
Klem thought about the events of the past day. All the news, the human excursion, the fall of Vor Pride, the rebel group he had inadvertently joined, Grun’s strange behaviour, and his father. Klem felt tears in his eyes again, and blinked them away. His father would make it through. Klem knew he was one of the greatest diplomats the pride had ever known, and the giants would surely cooperate. Then... after that, Nasht said he would rejoin the army. Klem felt the sadness well up again. The human incursion wasn’t as bad as they say, right? Surely the humans would already be defeated by the time the Kruk army got to the mainland. Yes, Nasht had to go, to show everyone that he was leading the clan in service of the pride. Klem had suffered through doubt of his clan for far too long. Gruk was a core part of the pride, they did important work, more important than anyone could know, but Klem knew. Klem knew because he learned from his father. His father was willing to put his life on the line for the sake of the clan, for the sake of the pride. Klem was resolved. He would not let his father’s deeds go unnoticed. If only one person saw what it truly meant, that was enough, and Klem made up his mind to be that person.
“Then my task is to wait.” Klem said to himself. He felt reassured that things would work out okay. He thought of his friends, did they ever feel this way? Like everything is coming undone until a clarity of purpose can be found. He thought of Melsh, who always seemed to have a sense of purpose about her. How did she do it? She must be far away now, probably on a boat or caravan heading to the mainland. Klem wondered if he would ever see her again. If Grun would ever see her again, he corrected himself. Grun seemed unwell lately, maybe he needed to find some sense of purpose too. If he was borrowing some of Melsh’s, that would be difficult when she left. Klem began to walk toward Shibra street, thinking he would pay Grun a visit.
When he arrived at Grun’s house, he knocked on the door – expecting a greeting from Graal’Shera. No-one answered. He knocked again, louder this time, and put his ear to the door to listen carefully. The door suddenly swung open, and Klem fell forward into a solid mass. He jumped back to see a large man standing in front of him, hair tousled and eyes bleary.
“’m tryn’a get some Gods’ damned sleep in this Gods’ damned pride and some scrawny kid comes bashin’ on my door? Whaddaya want.” The man said, looking angrily at Klem.
“I’m so sorry!” Klem said, bowing his head and raising his hands. “I’m just looking for Grun, I want to speak with him if he’s in, or if you know where he is just let me know. Sorry again for waking you.”
The man squinted, brow furrowing. “Who? Grun? I ain’t know anybody called that.”
Klem paused for a moment, looking at the strange man. His face seemed completely earnest, which annoyed Klem for reasons he could not say. “Are you messing with me?” Klem asked.
“Messing? Kid are you lost? I told you, I ain’t know any Grun. I had a long night workin’, I’m going back to sleep.” The man began to close the door, but Klem stepped forward and blocked the door with his leg. He spoke in a louder voice.
“Look here. I don’t know who you are, but this is 352 Shibra street. My friend since childhood Graal’Grun lives here, and he has lived here as long as I’ve known him. I spoke with his mother yesterday! Yesterday Gods damn it! You’d better call of this nonsense, just tell me if he’s here or not.”
Suddenly the door swung open. Klem stumbled forward and felt two huge arms grab him. A shock of pain flashed as he was slammed into a wall. He heard the door shut a moment later. The man was inches from his face, sour breath struck him.
“You’d better listen to me right now.” The man growled at Klem. “You’re coming into my home and shouting crazy stuff at me? I aught-ta give you a lesson you ain’t forget.”
Klem stammered, he apologized profusely and said there must be some kind of mistake, but he was sure this was where his friend lived. Klem asked the man if he was staying temporarily, or maybe he had just moved in. His question was cut short by a sudden blow. Klem felt himself tumble to the wood floorboards, his vision swimming.
The strangers face, twisted in anger appeared before Klem, dominating his vision.
“You’re not understanding me.” The face said in a low hiss. “You’re confused. This is my house, always has been. I’m a dock-master, been one for twenty years. You’re going to leave my damn house now, and you’re not going to spew any more nonsense from that mouth of yours. If you do, I’ll have to kick it until it stops, you understand me now?”
Klem nodded jerkily. The man said “good”, then yanked open the door, tossing Klem by the collar outside, and slammed it behind him.
Klem stumbled blearily away from 352 Shibra street. His vision was blurred with tears, and he couldn’t think straight. He went into an alley, and fell to the ground to vomit. Using a piece of sleeve to wipe his eyes, Klem stumbled away from the remains of his prodigious breakfast. Had Grun lived at 325? Soon Klem found himself back on Shibra, heading toward the docks. The sky was grey, and a thick fog seemed to be pouring from the ocean onto the dockside. By the time he was at the start of the dockside districts, Klem found himself immersed in the fog.
Part of him knew that he could check the docks for Grun, but his mind failed to linger on any thought for long. His legs moved on their own accord, and he drifted in a daze through the fog. Through the mist Klem caught snatches of movement. A person retreating into an alley. Someone ducking behind the curtain of their entrance-way. He could see tightly-packed clusters of orc silhouettes, who seemed to be standing near each street-corner. Klem thought he saw heads turn to follow him. He could feel eyes, watching from in the gloom. He walked faster, but it only brought him into contact with more silhouettes.
A voice called out “Hey. Where are you going?” and Klem froze. He looked around for the source of the voice, and saw three lean figures approaching him. One from the front, one behind, and one from an alley to his left. Their scaly facial-structures marked them as Gorbat. Klem’s mind was paralyzed with fear, but suddenly he was running. He ran down the alley to his right, awkwardly dodging around discarded crates and sacks. Klem ran as hard as he could out the alley, crossed the next street, and entered another alley. As he came to it’s exit, he slowed and looked behind him. There was no sign of the strange men. Klem hunched against the nearby building, feeling sharp pains in his abdomen as he gulped the damp air.
Klem moved through the next street, seeing a large dark shape in the fog ahead. As he approached he realized it was a notice board. From the look of the buildings, it was the same one he had seen two days prior. As Klem passed the sign, he noticed a figure leaning against the back, shadowed and obscured by the mist. It didn’t seem to notice him. Klem cautiously called out “Hello?” To which a familiar voice replied.
“Funny seeing you here Gruk-kin.” spoke the affected voice of Laach’Jukim.
“Jukim. What’s going on? What have you done with Grun?”
Jukim watched Klem carefully for several moments. Klem spoke again, demanding an answer. “I don’t know what schemes you have him caught up in, but I want out, and he’s coming with me. I went to his house just now and some Graal brute threatened me if I kept saying Grun lived there. Is that your doing too?”
Jukim looked blankly at Klem. Klem felt that acidic fire rising in him again. “How dare you! You want to play puppet master, putting all the other clans on strings? You really think you’re special to be born Laach don’t you? Well I know the truth, Jukim, and I’m not afraid of it any more.”
Jukim’s eyebrows rose. He spoke in a soft voice. “What truth is that, Gruk’Klem?”
Klem opened his mouth, and froze. Something held him fast, anchoring his muscles and paralyzing his mind. He strained, but nothing moved. He saw Jukim blink. Then Klem felt as if a drain plug had been pulled out from the base of his skull. It seemed like a great sum of fluid was now rapidly flowing out from his mind, twisting into a whirlpool about that sudden gap. Before - he had swum through the thick liquid, where things moved with a slow, floating quality. Now he felt raw, exposed. Everything was solid with a harsh clarity. In that moment he realized he was truly in vulnerable situation. He looked up at Jukim.
“I... uh... I need your help.” Klem said.
Jukim’s face betrayed his intrigue. He said: “What is it my good sir?”
“I just need to know if Grun is okay. Could you take me to him?”
“He is okay, but I cannot take you. You both have important tasks to be working on, I don’t think anyone has the time for idle chat these days.”
Klem was confused. “What tasks? Besides aren’t you standing here doing nothing?”
Jukim blinked. “I’m listening. Surely you saw the message for you at the library?”
Klem shook his head.
“Klem, you should go to the library.” Jukim said, suddenly serious.
“What? How would you know there’s a message?” Klem asked.
“I learned through the grapevine that someone had a letter sent concerning some copying work. It seemed urgent, so I feel you are wasting time here. Regarding your friend, if you let things be, they will happen as they must.”
Klem had a feeling of unease at the mention of that copying work, why would it be different from the usual work on the jobs board? He eyed Jukim carefully, but the tall man was not giving anything more. Klem looked around and began to walk toward the library.
“Good luck Klem.” Jukim called after him.
When Klem got to the library, he knocked on the door. A moment later the slot opened to reveal Chaalsa’s eyes. She let him in.
“Klem, are you well?” Chaalsa asked, eyeing Klem’s dishevelled clothes.
“I’m fine.” He said reflexively.
Chaalsa and Klem stood in the enterance foyer of the library for several quiet moments. Then Klem spoke. “Chaalsa, can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“I feel lost. I don’t know who to trust anymore. Everything seems to be changing, and I don’t know who to turn to. What should I be doing? How can I figure it out? Do you ever feel like this? Normally I guess I would go to Nasht but he isn’t here. Has he sent any word?” Klem’s words came out in a tumble, and once he finished he looked up to find Chaalsa wearing a contemplative face. She spoke in a calm and gentle tone.
“The answer to both of your questions is no. There should be a runner tomorrow to report the envoy’s status.” Chaalsa said.
“You’ve never felt like that?”
“No.” She repeated.
“Well, uh... what would you do if you did?”
“Why do you want to know? What I would do is for my life, not yours. My choices might end poorly in your hands, as yours might in mine.”
“I just...” Klem started, then sighed and continued. “Maybe it would give me a look from a different perspective?”
“Hm. Okay, if I felt like I did not know what to do and who to trust, I would come to the library and continue my work. It gives me something to do, and it puts my time in the care of someone I certainly can trust.”
“Who’s that?” Klem asked.
“Myself.” Chaalsa replied straightforwardly.
Klem thanked his mother for the advice, although he wasn’t sure how helpful it actually was. Then he asked “are there any letters for me?”
Chaalsa thought for a moment, then she said “No.”
“Really?” Klem asked, wondering if Jukim had lied to him.
“Not for you specifically, but there is a new letter about the copying project I showed you yesterday. Have you decided to take that on? It would be good to keep busy during these times.”
Klem blinked. He had completely forgotten about that. He told his mother than he had decided to do it, and he agreed with her point. “I’m going to work on it a bit right now, actually.” He said. Taking the new letter from her, Klem walked upstairs to the unused writing desk.
Upon entering the libraries upper floor, Klem saw Seb was sitting at the spare writing desk. The young Gruker seemed to be occupied in some copying task, and did not look up even when Klem stood right next to the desk. Klem placed a hand on the desk surface, and Seb jumped in surprise. His expression soon changed to a broad smile and he said “Hi Klem!”
“What are you up to Seb?” Klem asked, eyeing the desktop.
“Making a copy!” Seb said, pointing to the book open on the desk.
“What book is it?” Klem asked, feeling the pages looked somehow familiar.
“I don’t remember the title, it’s this one.” Seb said as he held up the book for Klem to see the cover.
Klem looked at the cover of Histories, Originations, and Effects of the Spellblaze, volume 2.
“Why are you copying that? I was supposed to do that job!” Klem said, confused and indignant.
“Are you mad? Did I do something wrong?” The young Seb asked.
“No, well maybe, but why are you copying it?” Klem asked.
“It looks so cool! I tried to find your copy of the first one but I couldn’t and I got worried maybe you lost it and the note said they want to see all the work already so I decided to copy some pages from the second one so you wouldn’t get in trouble!” The young Kruker said without pausing between thoughts.
“The note said...” Klem trailed off, looking down at the letter Chaalsa had handed him. The seal was already broken. The front of the envelope said “Urgent: for the copyist of the previously issued request”. Klem looked at Seb and said “I don’t think you were supposed to read this.”
“Sorry!” Seb replied. “I asked Mum but she said that she didn’t think you accepted the job, so I could do it instead.”
“Okay, well it doesn’t matter.” Klem said, pulling out the letter from the envelope. It said:
“Hello, I am writing to the copyist undertaking the job of the previous letter. If you are not that person, please stop reading and pass this letter on to them. As you have no-doubt heard, the news of recent events has put the knife of urgency to our throats, to paraphrase the expression. I expect you may be dissuaded from acting upon an apparently frivolous copying act during the times of stress to come. I hope this does not fall on deaf ears. Klem, you must bring whatever you have to 233 Jessra street by evening after you receive this. This is of the upmost importance. You must not fail in this task.
Signed,
Laach’Hass”
Klem furrowed his brow at the strange letter. “Has Chaalsa read this?” He asked to his brother, who was still diligently copying away.
“Yep! She said it looks important and I should try to get any work you did so far and bring it. But I couldn’t find any, and I couldn’t even find Volume 1, so I just started this one.”
Klem looked to the desk and back to Seb. “Have you been working on this the whole night?”
“Yep!”
Klem stared wide-eyed at the note, trying to decipher it’s purpose. The soft skritch-skritch of Seb’s quill was the only sound in the room. Klem looked down at his younger brother working diligently.
“Seb you don’t need to do that, it’s okay.” Klem said.
“I’m almost done this page!” Seb protested, and moments later he placed the quill into it’s stand.
“Are we going to visit this guy now?” Seb asked.
“Maybe, let me read through this quickly.” Klem said. He carefully lifted the leather-bound book from the desk top and began slowly leafing through it, eyebrows raising at each word.
The second volume of Histories, Originations, and Effects of the Spellblaze described the first discoveries of magic. It spoke about how magic had always existed in the world, utilized unknowingly by peasants and kings alike. Magic was first described by the elves in the peak of their so-called age of enlightenment. The immense ordering force of elven civilization pushed the inherent chaos of nature to it’s peripheries. It was on these peripheries, where order and chaos met, that magic was first seen. Existing precisely on that edge, magic lives within the natural flow of order into chaos, and chaos into order. Depending on the skill of the wielder, a mage can shape some of those flows to his or her own ends. It is said that the smallest form of magic can occur in a conversation between two people, when a change is brought forth and honed by the tools of word and expression. However, the text warned, all action brings reaction. Each piece of order extracted from the chaos is payed for by another piece rendered to it. Thus, a skilled mage utilizes both a wilful structuring of chaos, and a wilful destructuring of order. Any leftover imbalance is eventually righted by the universe, beyond the mages control.
Klem closed the leather folder. He looked down at Seb, who was eyeing him expectantly.
“Are we going to see the letter guy?” Seb repeated the question.
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Klem replied. He had a strange feeling about this text.
“Klem! You’ll get in trouble! He said you should bring whatever you have, so he probably needs to see it for something important!” Seb said, the shrillness of his youthful voice filling the dusty writing room.
Klem thought carefully about it. He remembered the conversation where Gruk’Nasht had warned him not to trust Laach’Hass, but he had said something else as well... What was it?
“Seb, do you know who this is?” Klem asked, pointing to the signature on the bottom of the letter.
The young Gruker’s brow furrowed. After a moment he said: “He’s old and has a big beard.”
“That- well... yes, those are true. But do you know what his role is in the Pride?”
“He... hmm... He tells stories around a big fire in the evenings!” Seb announced with complete self-confidence.
Klem rested his head on his knuckles for a moment. Then he said “Seb, this is the clan leader of Laach clan. He is Laach’Hass. That makes him one of the four most powerful people in the whole Pride.”
The boy looked blankly at Klem, saying: “So...?”
Klem made an exasperated sound, “So, Seb, that means we need to be very careful around him. It means we can’t just go along to this 233 place to say hello like he’s some old friend. Do you understand?”
Seb’s brow furrowed again. Then he spoke in a measured way, as if feeling out each word. “If he’s so powerful, doesn’t that make it even more important that you do this job for him?”
Klem inhaled sharply, ready for a retort, but the reasonableness of his little brothers words was difficult to rebut. Klem said: “That’s... a good point actually.”
“So we are going to see him now?” Seb asked, excitement radiating from his face.
“I’m going, but you can’t come. We shouldn’t trust Hass, he’s someone to be careful around, and I don’t want you getting into a bad situation because of me.” Klem said.
Seb made a sad face. Pouting, he lifted the leather portfolio and said “but I did all this copying...”
Klem winced. He knew it was a lot of work, and Seb clearly wanted to be included. Klem tried to compromise. “Okay, how about this, you can come along to 233 with me. Then I’ll go inside, and I’ll ask if you can come in too. If you aren’t allowed, you have to go home right away. How does that sound?”
Seb’s frown vanished and a broad smile crossed his face. “Good plan!” He said.
Klem began to move downstairs to tell Chaalsa they would be going out for a walk when Seb grabbed his arm. “Klem, wait.” He said in a whisper. “If we tell Mum she won’t let me go, she always says I can’t go out in the evenings.”
Klem looked down the stairs and couldn’t see anyone. “We could just walk out the door?” He suggested.
Seb shook his head, saying that the front door was too loud. “I know a secret exit, but you have to promise not to tell anyone!” He added.
Klem nodded, curious to find out about what his brother was talking about. He followed the boy to the back corner of the upper floor. Klem watched as Seb stuck his arm behind a dusty, unused bookshelf, and with a grunt pushed it slightly away from the wall. “In here!” He said, and then ducked down, vanishing behind the corner of the bookshelf. Klem followed and saw that there was a narrow hole between the column and the wooden wall next to it. He squeezed himself through, and emerged onto the roof of the library. Klem saw the sun was already beginning to set, and looked around to find Seb was clambering down the ledge a few meters away. Klem hurried over.
“Be careful!” Seb said “There's a loose board here, don’t stand on it!”
Klem climbed down the boards on the side of the library. When he arrived at the street, he had a sudden flash of recognition. This was the spot where Nasht had opened the secret door to the library’s basement. He turned around to find Seb was not there, and sighted him heading toward the street.
Klem and Seb walked quickly through the evening streets. After the announcement of Vor’s fall, the streets had been nearly empty once the sun began to set, except for the constant flow of runners carrying messages throughout the Pride. Klem took the lead once they left the small side-street which housed the library. They made it to Jessra and found themselves near building number 576. The duo walked up the street, watching the numbers shrink until they found 234. The buildings on either side were 232 and 235, so Klem suggested the entrance to 233 must be in the alleyway. He was correct, when they found a small door with 233 hand-carved into the wood.
Klem turned to his brother and said. “Seb, wait here okay? I’ll come tell you if you should follow me.” Then he saw Seb was holding out the folder which contained the copy of the manuscript. Klem took it, then he added “Stay hidden.” Seb nodded, and Klem turned to knock on the wooden door. There was no answer, and Klem reached to knock again when he noticed the door was already ajar, and moving slightly inward. He pushed, took a deep breath, and stepped into the room.
The room was dark. A layer of dust hung in the air, and Klem coughed as he breathed it. The entrance led down a narrow corridor, and there was an opening to a small room at the end. Klem stood in the entrance, trying to make out the interior. Then, like a ghost, a figure appeared from the gloom. A woman, she was tall, and Klem’s eyes were drawn to her angular face. She was beautiful, far more beautiful than he had ever thought possible. Her black hair hung simply behind her face, and she affixed him with eyes which threatened to swallow. To engulf. With a jolt of fear Klem realized he was already beneath the surface. Then the figure vanished.
A voice, slow and wavering, bubbled up from the dark corner of the room. It said Klem’s name. He stepped forward. There was a small table in the room with two chairs next to it. One was occupied by a large figure, who’s white beard flowed down his front. The other moved, shifted by the hands of the tall woman, who beckoned Klem to sit, and then retreated to the shadows. Feeling tense, Klem approached the chair and sat, placing the folder on the small tabletop.
“What do you think of my daughter, young Gruk?” The ancient voice of Laach’Hass asked.
“Your-, uh... she is... why do you ask?” Klem managed to reply.
Leaning on his staff, the bearded form pulled himself erect, and looked directly at Klem. Hass said: “You’re mother, was she not originally Laach?”
Klem’s tension grew. He felt his face twist. Taking control of himself, he said “What do you want from me?”
Hass eyed him for several moments. Then he said “Gruk’Nasht will not return from the envoy mission. You will learn by runner tomorrow.”
Klem stood, causing a sudden squeak from the chair as it was pushed back.
“Liar.” He said. “I’m leaving.” and began to walk toward the door.
A sudden movement flicked on the outskirts of his vision, and he suddenly felt a presence right behind him. The presence was warm and Klem could smell a vaguely floral scent. A soft voice spoke in a whisper, like a rustle of leaves by an unfelt movement of air, or the shifting of water in a still pond. The voice asked a question. “Will you walk away from your own name?”
Klem spun, his face contorted in rage. “I walk away from nothing.” He spat. “I am Gruk. The name comes with me. I know the truth. I know what is real. You are a shadow, an image. You are nothing.”
Klem spoke these words, and they carried forth the blaze which burned in his chest. Hatred like he had never felt. Anger, fury. The spittle flew from his lips and landed on the dusty floorboards. The woman was not there. Klem stood, chest heaving, alone in the darkness, until Hass’ voice emerged from the gloom. It sprung up like a gnarled weed penetrating stone, cracking and twisting.
“Good. You know one thing well. You are next in-line for the chieftain of Gruk, it is well you remember this. You are young and inexperienced, as Nasht was when he inherited the burden. I have asked you to copy this manuscript in order that you read it. I will leave you with one last advice. The leader is one who can speak the voice of his people better than any other.”
Klem stood frozen while Laach’Hass was helped to his feet by his daughter, and they went into the hallway. Thoughts raced through Klem’s head, running up against each other, overlapping and cluttering. They raced as the embers of that inexplicable rage ushered them faster. As the glow began to fade, Klem could feel things returning to their ordered state. “The voice?” He wondered to himself. The murmuring of voices seemed to intrude in his thoughts. He looked around, and saw they were coming from outside. The dim moonlight spilled into the hallway, and he exited the dark room.
Klem saw the Laach woman holding the door open. Her beauty was stark, but Klem felt her magnetic draw to his mind had been lessened. He realized that the sound had been coming from Laach’Hass, who stood over by the wall of the adjacent building. Klem saw he was talking to Seb, and ran outside.
“Did you like the copy?” Seb asked, showing no sign of fear or reverence.
“The copy... Yes, I thought it was quite beautiful, did you help in it’s creation?” Hass replied.
“Yep! Well... uh, no. I mean, I helped a little bit, but it’s Klem’s job!” Seb replied, stumbling over the obvious lie.
Klem had reached the entrance, and nearly tripped over the wooden frame of the entrance-way. “Seb, it’s time for us to leave.” He said breathlessly.
“Okay!” Seb said. Then he looked between everyone and asked “Where’s the copy?”
“Seb. We need to leave.” Klem said, but his brother stood firm.
“We came here to deliver that copy, we can’t just leave it!”
Klem assented and went back into the dark house. He had placed the bundle on the small table in the room where he spoke with Hass. When he came outside again he heard the Lach chief continuing to talk with Seb.
“Gruk’Seb, do you have any siblings?” The old man asked.
“Just Klem and me!” The young boy replied.
Klem arrived at the door with the bundle of papers. He walked up to Hass and said “you’ll be wanting this.” And firmly shoved the one-third-copy of Histories, Originations, and Effects of the Spellblaze, Volume 2 into Hass’ gnarled grasp.
Hass looked into Klem’s eyes and said: “Of course, I would like you to make a copy of all three volumes. It is of key importance to see the full story, Gruk’Klem.”
After Lach’Hass and his daughter had left. Klem walked with Seb back toward the library. “Did Mr. Laach like the copy?” Seb asked.
“Yeah.” Klem said idly, his mind on other things.
“Yay! I’ll make the full copy of all three volumes then! Am I allowed to?”
Klem and Seb were right below the bell-tower when it began to chime deafeningly. The ringing went ten times, and Klem suddenly remembered Murin.
“Oh, Seb, I have to go.” He said.
“Okay, you won’t be mad if I copy those volumes then?” Seb asked.
“Yeah, it’s fine, I’ll see you later Seb, okay?” Klem turned and began to walk quickly. He heard his brother call out goodbye from behind him. Suddenly, Klem had a brief flash of memory, and he turned to call back “The first volume might be in the basement! Goodbye!” Before making his way toward Murin’s apartment.
It was more than two hours after sundown when Klem arrived back at Murin’s apartment. His legs struggled to carry him up the stairs after carrying him about old Kruk all day. When he finally reached the door to the apartment, he knocked. Hearing Murin’s muffled reply gave Klem a strange feeling. It was warm and pleasant, but at the same time it was off-putting and strange somehow. He felt like there were two different forces in his mind which could not meet.
He put the strangeness out of mind when Murin opened the door. She was wearing an apron with flour-stains along the front, and there was sweat beading on her forehead. “You’re here! Do you know how late you are?” She exclaimed. Klem apologized and followed her inside. She said “I made all this dinner for you, but I didn’t know where you went, so I figured I would start on it myself.” Klem noticed she walked with a slight sway. In the kitchen there were dozens of plates arranged on the table, and dozens more empty on the counters, in states of washing and drying, and ready to receive food from the oven and stove top – where there seemed to be pots and pans at work.
“Sit down, sit down! You’d best get started so we are finished before midnight.” Murin said, gesturing to an empty chair at the table. Klem obliged. He didn’t have much of an appetite, but he thought to have something as a polite gesture. Murin was in a flurry of cooking, washing, eating, and moving between various parts of the kitchen. Klem asked her how things went with her that day while he poked at a meat-filled pastry on his plate.
“Oh. Well enough. We made some progress with Shelbar’s voice. Men are slow learners, you know? Then we had dinner with Shulo and... right, I came back here after that. What did you do all day? I didn’t realize you would be out so late, what were you doing?” She looked over at Klem to see his untouched plate, and added “eat some of that, then tell me.”
After a few bites Klem began to explain. He didn’t think it was a good idea to divulge too much, and he wasn’t sure he knew where to start if he did, so he just said “I was at the library. I have to copy books, you know, that’s the main job for Gruk I think.”
“Oh.” Murin replied. “That’s interesting.” She looked at his plate again. “Why aren’t you eating?”
“I’m really not that hungry.” Klem replied, gazing forlornly at the pastry.
There was a strange tension in Murin’s voice when she replied “We can’t let this go to waste, you’d better help me finish this.”
Klem looked up to see her face with an unreadable expression. He changed the subject. “Murin, will you tell me some things about the voice?”
Her gaze broke as she returned to the kitchen’s many concurrent dishes and plates. “I don’t know what to tell you, it’s just something we can do. I thought every clan had something similar, but I don’t know.” She looked back at Klem and added: “Eat.”
Klem took some bites, but his stomach was still unsettled from the days events. After nibbling away he asked Murin another question. “When does the voice happen? Do you choose to summon it? How does it affect you to use it?”
Murin said in a thoughtful voice “Yeah, I can probably tell you that. It usually happens in times of strain. The bigger strain leads to a more powerful voice, but it is harder to control. We use the voice of command so obviously we must have a good command over it, but it is not totally by choice. We choose to ask for the power, but the Mother chooses whether to grant it. It’s affects are mostly exhaustion. And hunger.” As she said this Murin placed a plate of steaming breaded rolls next to Klem, and shot him a meaningful glance.
Klem picked up a roll, gazing at it for a time, then put it back on the plate.
“Murin, do you know anything about the voices of other clans?”
She turned with a start.
“No Klem, I won’t answer any more until you eat some of this.”
“Why?” Klem asked.
“Why? Because it has to be eaten. Because you are in my kitchen, and I made this food to feed you. What, do you intend to talk the night away?”
Klem squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He said “Murin, why does it have to be eaten? Why does it matter if I want to talk? What’s going on here?”
Murin spoke in a strained way, the words seemed to vibrate the air as they passed. “It must be. You will eat what is in front of you.”
The nausea in Klem’s stomach rose. His mouth was dry. “Murin, I can’t.” He said, looking directly at her.
“Take a bite.” The words struck Klem like a physical blow. He felt his muscles tense, then relax, then tense again. He saw that his arms were moving to obey. He made a sound of protest, but his mouth was full of pastry. “Chew.” He obeyed. “Swallow.” Again. “Another bite.” The stream of commands flew forth, and soon Klem had involuntarily finished the meat pastry. His stomach made a strange groaning sound. Klem couldn’t believe she had used the voice of command on him in such a situation. At first, he moved to obey before he even knew what had happened. But with each subsequent command, his awareness grew.
“See, that wasn’t so hard?” Murin asked in a poisoned tone. She gestured to the dishes on the table and counter. “Now, help me finish this.” Klem felt the words rattle with fury in his mind. This command had been stronger than the last ones. Strangely, he did not see his body move. The words echoed in his mind, pulling his focus back to the command again and again, yet something in him resisted. There was a small part of Klem’s mind that was obscured from the turmoil, hidden away in the deep recesses. It managed to summon the energy required to produce a thought. Sliding past the chaos, that thought reached his body. Klem stood. He walked toward Murin, grabbing a plate from the table as he passed. “Yes, now start on that.” Murin said, looking to the plate he was holding. It was a mashed potato mix with fish steaks on top.
“I shall.” Klem replied. He strode up to her, taking a spoon and scooping a large portion of mashed potato onto it. Murin turned from the sink, her hands under the soapy water. “What are you-” she started, but was interrupted by the spoon of mashed potato entering her mouth. She mumbled, swallowed, and tried to say something else. It was likewise interrupted. Klem watched this exchange, he felt as if he was standing on the other side of the room. He knew the skinny orc with dark hair was him, that it was Klem, that he was Klem, but at the same time it seemed like he was watching two strangers having an argument in the kitchen. After the third spoon, Murin moved a soapy hand to shove Klem backwards. He watched the skinny orc stumble and fall, the plate landing sideways on the floorboards, and a plume of mashed potatoes scatter across the planks.
“Klem!!” The large orc woman roared, pointing a finger at the spilled plate. “Look what you’ve done!.”
Klem thought: “You pushed him lady” and the skinny orc spoke the words.
“How dare you.” The woman’s voice grew quiet. “How dare you. You ingrate. You will clean it up, now!” The last words came with a force, the voice of command seeming to momentarily darken the room with it’s intensity. Leaning on the windowsill at the far side of the room, Klem thought idly: “Well why should he? If she cared so much about the food being eaten, she should eat it. If she cared about it falling on the floor, she should clean it.” He looked out of the window, at the night sky. The stars were especially bright tonight. Klem enjoyed the silence for a moment. The cool breeze, the night air. For a brief moment, all was peaceful. Then a strange sound shattered that moment.
Klem turned back to the kitchen. He saw that the skinny orc was standing upright, staring right at the big lady, who seemed totally stunned. The man said something that Klem couldn’t quite make out, and the lady collapsed to her knees. She started to crawl toward the spilled plate, apron dragging along the floor. Her eyes were filled with a mix of rage and fear. Whenever she tried to stand, that strange sound happened again, and she was forced to the floor. The woman began to shovel the spilled food by hand into her mouth, even putting her face to the floorboards to scoop the potatoes directly into her mouth. Klem tried to look at the skinny man’s face, but something prevented his gaze from travelling there. A sense of unease was spreading across his mind. Klem saw that the woman had cleaned the floorboards of most of the spill. The man had seen this, and said something which Klem couldn’t quite make out, then he pointed to the bedroom door. The woman began to crawl in that direction, as the man picked up another dish. Klem watched as he dropped it deliberately in front of her. Klem had a sudden feeling that he shouldn’t be watching this any longer, and he headed for the exit.
Outside, Klem walked in the cool night air. He didn’t know where he was going, but he felt that a direction would make itself known to him in due course. As he went, he began to feel a torrent of exhaustion pour into him. It was as if he was suddenly endowed with weightedness, and the pull of his arms and legs toward the earth was momentarily unusual to him. His stomach growled in a strange mix of nausea and hunger, but he ignored it. Klem had a feeling the destination he sought was nearby. Some runners passed him on the street, and Klem thought he should stop to ask them something, but couldn’t quite remember what it was.
The distant sounds of drums, the rhythmic shouting, the stomping of Army drills. The roar of the bellows from the manufacturers forging their tools. The constant pitter-patter of runners feet winding through the nighttime streets. Klem soon found himself looking along a narrow path which led into a field. He looked out at the large dark silhouette there, now recognizing where his feet had carried him. Klem walked along the path, and entered the Gribrul house by the main door. It was silent. The flickering of lamps illuminated a front desk, where three Gribrul men sat. Only one appeared to be awake, noticing Klem’s entrance. As Klem approached the desk, one of the man’s eyebrows raised dramatically.
“I’m here to see Askneer and Hekan.” Klem whispered simply.
The man at the desk’s eyebrow quirked at a sharp angle, then he nodded, standing up from his seat and gesturing Klem to follow.
They travelled down the dim wooden hallways of the building, keeping quiet past the rows of sleeping-room doors. Eventually the desk man stopped and whispered “wait a moment.” Before vanishing into a doorway. Some moments later, Askneer, Hekan, and the desk man emerged from the doorway. Hekan looked as if he was still asleep, but Askneer watched Klem with a complex expression. A moment later Askneer whispered that they should go outside to speak. The man from the desk slid past them to return to his post, and Klem followed the duo further along the hallway. At it’s end, there was a large door, which opened smoothly into a huge flat area, and the stars.
The group walked for a time in silence, in the cool night air, away from the clamour of the city. The path they followed led around the edge of a huge circle of sandy ground. “That’s one of the sparring circles.” Hekan said, breaking the silence.
“The soft ground helps to prevent what injuries skill cannot avoid. There are dozens of fights every day here, so this is paramount.” Askneer added, gazing out into the distant night.
Klem said nothing.
The path they were on branched, and began heading toward the foothills, where the beginnings of forest could barely be seen under the half-moon’s light. The trio walked along the path, passing brushes and young trees. Eventually Klem found a question creeping into his mind.
“Tell me about the voice.” He said, addressing the air in front of him.
“The voice is not about speaking. It is about the absence of speaking.” Hekan replied.
They walked for a time.
“There are... many things between men which occur without words.” Askneer said in a gentle voice. “The meaning of each, of any, who can say for certain?”
The group slowed, and Hekan leaned toward the two men. “I apologize brothers, but I have training duties at dawn, so I must be heading back now.” He paused a moment before adding: “It seems you two are suitable conversation partners, good night.” Askneer bid him farewell, and they watched as Hekan trotted away on the forest path. Klem and Askneer stood watching the pathway until Hekan had vanished, and the silence of the forest returned.
A short time later, Klem spoke again: “What occurs without words?”
Askneer took his time to answer. He spoke smoothly and gracefully, like a practised dancer. “The movements of the body. The face.” As he spoke, he turned to face Klem. Klem half-turned, but felt a hand pull his shoulder forward in a firm but gentle movement. “The eyes.” As Askneer spoke, Klem felt his eyes return from seeking the forested darkness, and met Askneer’s. “The mouth.” Askneer added, tilting his head slightly. His face held the look of an unspoken question, and he held Klem’s gaze. Klem felt this question demanded an answer, and the longer they lingered in that unspoken silence, the greater the demand grew.
“Okay. Y-yes.” Klem replied, stammering slightly.
The husky man met Klem’s lips with a kiss. Klem felt his body begin to fall backward, but the sudden presence of a stone-hewn arm prevented it. Their lips parted, and Askneer began to swing Klem to one side of the path. In that moment, Klem found his mind was beginning to rush with thoughts. “What am I doing? Why am I here? Is this wrong? How do I leave? Can I? Do I want to?” Before he could address any of the questions, Askneer embraced him again, this time there was a couple of saplings behind Klem, giving support. He could feel the softness of their fresh needles on his hands, their waxy, dusty coating. When Askneer pulled back from his lips, Klem felt the rush of thoughts begin again. He began to wonder where they had gone. It was as if the force of this person, this polite, insistent, hungering force simply overpowered his concerns, whisking them away like so many flakes of snow in the spring rains. When Askneers lips met his again, Klem tried to surrender to the force. He began to loosen his grip. Klem reached a hand out and placed it on Askneers back. This seemed to excite the man, who kissed and stroked with increased fervour. Soon enough, Klem found himself watching again.
Klem watched as his body and Askneers tangled together on the grassy ground. Before, he watched himself from outside. Now, however, he watched from within himself. It was as if his body had become an immense shell from which he sat, small and peering through gaps in the eyes. Klem noticed that Askneer seemed to be growing frustrated. Thinking to repeat the earlier strategy, Klem tried to let go, to surrender a deeper part of himself to this alien force. What was left to give? Klem peered around the inside of the shell, the vast, empty, dry hollow at the centre of this form. He could see nothing else to relinquish. Nothing else to feed the encroaching beast which mouthed and pawed at the entrances. Lacking further direction, Klem simply gave up. He stretched himself on the floor of that immense shell and gazed through the windows of his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars.
After a while, Askneer seemed to notice Klem had gone completely limp, and his movements began to slow. Klem saw the dark eyes of that man peering into the gaps. They were beautiful, in a strange, dark way – Klem thought. He peered back, but he guessed he was too small for the Gribrul-kin to see. Eventually the man said “perhaps it is time to go back.”
Klem awoke in an empty room. He had been given a spare bed to sleep in, and now it was late into the morning. While he gathered his things, Klem noticed it was quieter than it should be. He peered out into the hallway, seeing it was empty. Then he walked to the door at the end, and exited onto the same path he had tread the previous night. The daylight cast the scene strangely. Klem saw it as if it was a completely different place. He took the connecting road from Nareesh street to Leshra, and then he would cut through the square to go to the library. The connecting road was a narrow alley, and Klem was only halfway through that dingy place when he felt a sudden blow to the back of his head. Watching the stars, Klem saw the ground came to meet him, and then all was black.
Klem slept for a time. When he finally regained consciousness, he felt a hard surface on his back. It was cold, which was pleasant against the throbbing of his head. His body was sore and stiff. Klem blinked and his eyes struggled to focus. He realized he was looking upward, at a slanted wood-planked roof. It bulged inward under the weight of a darkness above it. Klem felt about the floor. It was stone, cold and damp. There was a dripping from somewhere nearby, and a thin layer of water was on the surface beneath him. Klem tried to sit up, but his strength failed and he collapsed onto his side. Rolling over, he was able to look around and see he was in a small room. It smelled of mud and rank sweat.
“Hello?” Klem called out weakly. “Where am I?”
Klem heard soft voices from nearby. He looked to see there were figures, indistinct in the cell across the hall. Klem thought he must have been hit too hard, because they seemed to be speaking in a language he did not recognize.
“Hello? Do you understand me?” He called out to the figures.
“Peace, Krukling. We speak your tongue.” A voice called out in a strange accent.
“Where am I?” Klem repeated.
“Dungeon, prison, jail. Whatever you call it here.” The voice answered in a sardonic drawl.
Klem slumped back against the cold stone wall of his cell. “I’m in jail? Why…” A moment later the strange voice spoke in answer.
“You were brought here in the morning. Seems they conked you about the skull pretty hard eh? We wasn’t sure if you would get up.”
Klem felt gingerly at the back of his aching head. There was dried blood in his hair.
“Who was it? Who brought me?” He asked the stranger.
The man in the other cell scoffed. “How should I know? You are outlanders to us, I do not know your clans or delineations. Orcs brought you here to the jail where they keep other orcs.”
Another voice chucked softly in the cell behind the stranger.
Klem thought about his experiences at the Gribrul house. He was betrayed. His blood began to boil, but he was too weak to fuel the fire. Feebly, he asked: “Were they short and dark? Two men?”
The other voice exchanged some words in that strange tongue with his comrades. Klem could make out the shapes of three silhouettes in that cell across the hall. Then, the speaker replied.
“Faces they kept covered, but there was three. Two men. Wide set, very tall – not short like you say. A woman was with them too.”
“A woman? Was she… How uh, wide was she?”
A sudden burst of laughter came from the other cell. Klem’s eyes were beginning to adjust, and he saw that the three occupants were men who wore the distinctive flared garb of Gorbat.
The speaker wiped tears from his eyes and said: “She was indeed… wide… in certain ways. When they put you in there, the door is too narrow for those men, so the woman lifted you down. In that moment I considered provoking the guards, to see if I could be set down in that way myself.”
The three men laughed again, slapping each other on the shoulder.
Klem tasted a bitter flavour in his mouth. Trying to swallow, he found he couldn’t.
“Do you have water?” He croaked across the hall. There was a sudden thunk on the bars, and Klem reached through to grab the waterskin which had fallen on the ground. He drank thirstily at the first two gulps. Then, as the need of the situation dawned on him, he stoppered the waterskin.
“How long have you been here?” He asked when tossing the object back to the other cell.
“We arrived some hours before you. Less than I day I wager. Hard to see the sun’s passage in this place.” The man at the front of the cell replied.
“They didn’t knock you out like me? Do you know why we’re in here?” Klem asked.
“We assented to come.” The man replied. “Not willingly as such, but, the kind of willingness of one who is under the claw of a great beast, you know?”
Klem nodded. His head was throbbing less than before.
“So they forced you. Not that different than me. But why? What purpose does it serve? Damn those Graal-kin. They will pay for this.”
The man in the other cell turned when he heard this. There was more murmuring between the three, and then a different one spoke. “We know Graal. They have orchestrated this?”
Klem shrugged. “I think so. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Graal is using the war as an excuse to take over the Pride’s leadership. Laach must be helping them. I don’t know about Gribrul, maybe they aren’t really involved.”
The other man replied. “We were told that non-Krukers would be forced to leave from their homes and go with the army to the mainland. We refused, and now we are here. It appeared to be an effort of the whole Pride, not just Graal.”
The first man chided him. “Chaklavar, we know you defend them because of that pretty Graal girl you were sleeping with, but you can drop the act. How do we know it’s not some kind of coup?”
Chaklavar retorted. “Don’t speak of her that way! She fought for the preservation of outlanders in this place, how could she be party to it?”
Then, from the back of the cell a gravelly voice spoke. “If Shyel opposed so strongly, why is she not in here with us?”
Klem called out: “Do you know Shyel? Is she okay?”
The men were silent for a moment, then Chaklavar replied. “Last we spoke she was well. She had been called to the kitchens for rotational duty, preparing rations for the army. Do you know her?”
“Oh. It’s nothing. We-… we used to talk sometimes.” Klem said, trailing off.
The first speaker then asked. “Well why are you here? If this is Graal’s doing, you must have angered them eh?”
Klem began to reply, but the words evaded him. He felt as if he was looking through a tangle of thread, but could not find the end or beginning. After a time the orc who spoke to Klem across the narrow jail hallway introduced himself.
“I’m Hulundo, of the Shibisha clan. These are my brothers Chaklavar and Nareeth. What shall we call you?”
Jolted back to awareness, Klem said his name reflexively, then he added “of the Gruk clan.”
The prisoners sat in silence. The slow drip continued. Klem could hear occasional sounds of footsteps above. He peered out the narrow slit in the top of the cell wall, and could see sunlight at the end of a short tunnel in the earth. He gazed for a long time at that light, but he could only see the grey of distant stone. Eventually, Hulundo spoke up again. “Would you tell me of your clan? I will offer a story of my own in exchange. It may lessen the burden of waiting.”
Klem was intrigued, but he really didn’t feel like talking. He called out for the man to go ahead, and he listened while looking out at the tiny strip of sunlight.
“Even in this light I bet you can see the scales, eh?” Hulundo waited for Klem to make a noise of assent before continuing. “You must have wondered, everybody does. Once we left Gorbat it was all we got asked about ‘what’s with the scales?’ ‘are they real?’ ‘do they hurt?’. I’ll tell you the real story, not the easy explanation we give to send people away, you know – I’m gonna give some real truth, are you ready for it?”
Klem sighed, and said he was. Hulundo waited a moment, and then said: “You’d better come over and have a look so you know what I’m talking about.”
Klem didn’t move. After some moments of silence the voice of Chaklavar spoke out. “You’d really better do it, Klem of clan Gruk. I’ve traveled with this guy for years, and once he’s started on the trail of a story he won’t be pushed off it for anything.”
Klem finally said “Okay, okay, okay” and turned from the narrow glimpse of sunlight back to the dingy cell. His eyes had lost adjustment to the dark, and he couldn’t see anything except a lingering patch of blue in his vision. Klem sat by the cell bars, and when Hulundo asked if he could see the scales on his arms and forehead, Klem lied and said yes.
“These scales are really important in Gorbat. In a way they are a symbol of the pride. Only Gorbat-kin have these, but not everyone in Gorbat. Only those of certain clans within the pride. Old clans, with histories dating back to the founding of Gorbat many hundreds of years ago. They are called the clans of the dragon.” He paused for dramatic emphasis. Klem nodded slowly. “Yes! The clans of the dragon. These clans carry scales as a marking of the ancient pact. A pact forged in ritual magic between the Primarch Gorbat and the dragons themselves. This pact was writ large in the bonds of our flesh, and for all generations to come the descendants of that Primarch carry the blood of the dragon within them. We bear the marks of the dragon on our skin, and with it – the ability to dragonride.”
Klem looked up, gazing vaguely ahead while his eyes continued adjusting to the gloom. “So…” Klem said “your ancestor… slept with a dragon?”
The shadowy form of Hulundo jerked suddenly. “These vulgar terms have no place speaking to the ancient pact!” He shouted. The voices of the other two spoke to calm him, and a moment later he said to Klem: “You must be familiar with these kinds of magic, you are Graal, are you not?”
“Me? No I’m Gruk.” Klem said. “What does Graal have to do with anything?”
Adopting his enunciatory tone, Hulundo began. “They say that the clan of Graal is the most recent to undergo a blood-ritual. That the progenitor split from clan Heshara of Gorbat and made the journey across the narrow sea. Progenitor Graal settled on this island, where they performed the ritual with the local giants in order to gain power over other orcs. Well, it’s only a rumor, but from the stature of the Graal we’ve seen, I think it could be true.”
Nareeth added “If Shabra isn’t at least half-giant I’ll eat my boot.”
Klem found himself suddenly interested. He asked “what does the ritual do? What does it confer to the clan that performs it?” but soon regretted his eagerness when Hulundo assumed an even more theatrical manner, and began to speak.
“The dragon is a beast of primal nature, a being of the land itself. The lands of Gorbat are mountainous and surrounded by desert. The dragons soar across the desert skies like a roaring tempest. A thunderstorm in the flesh. They can move through an area in an instant, burn it all to ash eating anything that moves, then be on before an hour has passed. Legend speaks of the danger our ancestors faced in those mountains. Each cave a potential sanctuary from the scorching heat, or a deadly peek into the dragons hoard. Each grove a respite, or a tinderbox. Thus, in order to survive, and ensure a place for themselves and their offspring, some chose to deal with the beasts. Dragons are not mere animals, no, they are brutally intelligent. They are cunning and divisive. A dragon can learn our languages in a day, and trick a whole clan into becoming a meal in another.”
Klem interrupted the monologue. “Okay, I understand that dragons are powerful and intelligent, why would they willingly deal with orcs? Why would they grant them power?”
“Aha!” Exclaimed Hulundo, not missing a beat. “You have stumbled on an insight. Indeed, the pact does not grant power. It is a bond of cooperation. The dragon allows itself to submit to the rider, but for only as long as the rider submits to the dragon. To the riders, to sit atop that monstrous hide is not a thing of power or coercion. The rider holds on with his life, it is literally so. The dragon has many tools and tricks to kill, but their cunning is their weakness. A dragon will grow bored with mere killing, sheer animal power, and so it allows itself to be ridden.”
“Why? Just because it’s bored? Surely it could do something better than be a flying horse.” Klem asked.
“Once again, you show great insight young Kleg!” Hulundo said. “You see, the dragon does not simply obey the rider. It resists him. But dragons value novelty, and there is scarcely more novel than an individual mind. The beast cannot resist the temptation to probe the mind of an orc, so it tries to tempt it’s rider. It flies near cool waters and hoards of treasure, slow and low to the ground. So close that the passanger on it’s back might feel they could step right off. Yet, the moment one releases their grip on the dragon, in that singular second – their death is sealed. To ride, one must learn to hold on despite everything. Despite temptation and sanguine words, despite threats and whispers of doom, despite violent jerks and razor-scales lacerating the skin. Despite the scorching heat. Despite the freezing cold. Despite the roaring winds. One does not simply hold their own life in their very hands, no, but the sanctity of the bond itself. The will of the dragon, that ephemeral beast of change. Nature’s chaos.”
Klem cleared his throat. Hulundo doubled down, leaning in and pointing at Klem.
“Does it end there? Nay! This is merely the skill it takes for your first dragonride. No indeed, the line which separates the amateur rider from one who is truly skilled is… no, you guess it.”
When the room went silent Klem realized he was supposed to say something. “Uh, sorry, what is it?”
Hulundo nodded sagely. “Indeed, your skill at insight can only take you so far. I will tell you a story to illustrate the lesson.”
Klem sighed.
“Each year there is a festival. They host it on the outskirts of Gorbat, in the shade of mount Hekate. The festival of the dragon is a time of ritual and celebration for all Gorbat clans-kin.” Hulundo paused, looking at Klem, who returned his gaze with a blank expression. Hulundo continued: “Ah, yes, I will be getting to the point. In the festival there is a dragon competition, an aerial show of dexterity and talent. One year, and I remember this, I was only seven at the time. That year it was quite unexpected when a dragon came of it’s own volition to watch. A huge thing, black as the night, it must have flown from a great distance as no-one had seen it before. This beast caused a stir, but did no harm, it simply watched. The riders often begin their show from the peak of Hekate, and everyone could see they were unnerved by the presence of this black dragon, even from such a distance. Yet the show goes on.”
“Doesn’t it.” Came a wry mutter from behind Hulundo. Klem smirked.
“Yes, yes, okay.” Hulundo said in a flustered voice. “So, the riders did their show, but right at the end the show-runners announced a new entrant. It was a great master, one of the greatest riders of our age, for certain.”
Klem heard a faint scoff from the cell behind Hulundo.
“For certain he is! This orc, Tyrvan, he strode with the perfect poise and confidence of a master, right toward the black dragon. It watched him with these immense amethyst eyes, slowly following his approach. He climbed on it’s back, and the beast did not move. He attached his harness to no reaction. Then, he kicked the beast in it’s side once, twice, and it did not move an inch. By this point the crowd had grown thick around him, and he raised his arms to the crowd, signalling a show. We chanted, “fly beast, fly!” and the other masters jeered insults, while Tyryan struck it in time with the crowd. After some minutes, it was clear the dragon would not move. It’s will was too powerful, and people began to lose interest. The crowd began to disperse, and even the other master riders started to walk away. Tyryan beat at the thing, showing his resolve would match the beast’s, but it did not move. Eventually, he looked up and the sky and gave a roar of laughter. There was almost no-one left watching at this point, but you must believe: I stood there. I was going to see it through, with half a dozen others, and four of the nine master riders.”
“So what happened?” Asked Klem into the dramatic pause. “Did he ride the dragon?”
“You won’t believe me when I tell you.” Hulundo said with a mischievous smile.
“Oh come now, tell him.” Said Nareeth.
“Don’t leave us hanging brother.” Added Chaklavar.
“Yeah, I want to know how it ended.” Klem put in.
“Alright.” Said Hulundo. “What happened on that late afternoon, with Tyryan sitting astride the great black dragon. He stood, and undid his harness. He tossed it to the ground. Then, he stretched, and lay down atop the dragon, facing the sky. And would you believe it or not, he simply went to sleep.”
“No, no no, that’s now how the story ends.” Klem said, feeling genuinely upset at this development. “What really happened?”
“That’s true, word to the Gods.” Hulundo said, with a face of complete sincerity.
“But… I mean, what happened next? Did Tyryan wake up and go home? Did the dragon fly away? What happened after he went to sleep?”
Hulundo’s face split into a huge grin. “Now you’ve got your grip.” He said, shaking a fist. “Yes, I was like you. I had to know. So I waited. The small crowd dispersed even further. The festival grounds were deconstructed into the night, and after many hours there was only a handful left in the desert. Me, two other boys, and another master. The night was growing cold, and we lit a fire to keep light and warmth. As we sat there, huddled about the tiny blaze, we heard a sudden movement. Like an earthquake, that great black dragon, nearly invisible but for the glinting of our flame off it’s scales, it leaped into the air, throwing a gale upon us and extinguishing our flame. In the dark, I remember it so vividly, the silhouette of the monsters form against the stars, lit by the pale light of the moon. We could see a dark shape, like a sack, falling from it’s back. It was Tyryan. From that height, he would surely die. But in that moment, frozen under the cold moonlight, in those aching seconds, he awoke. His arm snapped to the beast’s flank, and he grabbed it. His flesh must have been ribbons from the razorscales. The beast flapped once, twice, holding it’s place in the night sky with immense wingstrokes, and with each beat of it’s wing, Tyryan climbed further up it’s form. He wrapped his arms in a dead-mans grip about the narrowest part of the dragon’s neck, and he began to laugh. The beast twisted and thrashed, swooping and diving into the distant night. As it soared away from our sight, we could hear the mad laughter of that rider. He roared out: ‘Remember me dragon. I, Tyryan of clan Blakar, never lose my charge!’, and then he was gone into the night.”
The little prison hung in silence. Then, a slow clap began to emerge from the Gorbat cell. A second pair of hands joined. Klem found himself clapping along too. Cheers and applause rang while Hulundo bowed back and forth, narrowly avoiding bashing his head on the cell bars.
“I always love that story.” Said Chaklavar.
“Mmm. Yeah.” Intoned Nareeth.
“Thank you for sharing it, I had fun.” Klem said, feeling more lighthearted than he had in a long time. “By the way, what happened to Tyryan after that?” He asked.
Hulundo was wearing a glowing smile, and said: “Your insight is remarkable sir Klom. It was on that day that I learned the difference between a skilled rider and a master rider was simply this: both know how to grip and hold, but the master knows when to let go.”
“That, uh…” Klem said.
“He never returned. After that day Tyryan of clan Blakar was never seen again.” Said Nareeth somewhat bluntly.
“Yeah, that guy’s certainly dead. Everyone said he was always a bit crazy so they knew it would happen sooner or later.” Chaklavar said, scratching at his scaly forehead.
“Maybe he is dead.” Hulundo conceded. “But maybe he is alive! Riding that great black out there somewhere, over the distant ranges. Why shouldn’t I hold on to the hope? Ah. Now, Kalm of clan Grul, I have told you a great tale from my home, I would so love to hear a great tale from yours, while we have the time.”
Klem stammered, buying time while his mind scrambled for any story that was both interesting and easy to tell. Suddenly, there was a loud bang as the door to the jail was thrown open. Light and sound spilled into the dank hallway, and Klem squinted away from the intrusion. A Laach runner entered the building and came to peer into the cells. Klem realized it was Jukim. “Klem. Here you are. We have to go, right now.” Said Jukim as he began unlocking the cell door.
Klem was led by the arm, following Jukim’s stooped form into the sunlight. He couldn’t see, and tried to shrink away from the unexpected blast of light and sound.
“Jukim. Stop, slow down. Jukim.” Klem stammered. The tall man stopped and turned on him.
“What? What do you want? Can’t you see this is urgent?” Jukim snapped, looming over Klem, who was still cringing in the sun.
“We can’t leave those guys, those Gorbat in the jail.” Klem said, still squirming in Jukim’s grasp.
“What? Shut up, I’m bringing you to Hass right away.” Jukim said, yanking on Klem’s wrist.
“No.” Klem resisted, but Jukim was stronger, and had not been trapped in a cell for the last day. Klem felt himself being pulled, and a strange feeling began to bubble up from the bottom of his mind.
“Jukim.” He spoke simply. The taller man stopped, beginning to slowly turn around. “We will see those men free, and then we will go speak to Hass. There is no conflict between these things, so why can they not both occur?”
Jukim had a strange look on his face. It held for several moments before the tall man gave a sharp nod. He took two long strides to look out into the street, from which the sounds of chaos flowed. Jukim grabbed a slender man in the runners uniform by the arm, and seemed to whisper something to him. Then he handed over a set of keys, and gestured to Klem.
“He will unlock them.” He said, and Klem could see it was the truth.
“Jukim, what’s happening?” Klem asked. As he followed the man, they seemed to cut through a river of moving bodies. There was clutter all over the ground, the voices of orcs accompanied the sounds of feet and carts every which way. Shouting and the crying of children filled the air.
“Bad news.” Jukim said, guiding Klem through an alley to cut into another street. “No need to hear it from me.” He added in response to Klem’s next question.
The path they took was increasingly unfamiliar to Klem. They exited narrow alleys, hidden from the street by upturned carts or alcoves of shelving, only to enter another alley moments later. Klem felt the path was etching a serpentine, weaving in and out of streets randomly.
“Where in the Gods name are you taking me?” He asked, stumbling to catch up with Jukim, who seemed to know the route with an animal familiarity.
“Into the spiders web.” Jukim answered with a sardonic mirth. “Come.” He held open a narrow panel of wood from a disconnected piece of wall. Behind it was a dark passageway, barely wide enough for Klem to slip shoulder-first.
Klem chuckled ironically, copying Jukim’s mannerisms. “No, after you.”
The two entered into the narrow slit.
The passageway was dark, and descended rapidly. Klem could feel a strange breeze coming from deeper within, it was wet and cold. Suddenly, Jukim vanished from ahead of him, and a moment later Klem fell forward into the open. He stumbled, catching himself on a stone pathway. They stood next to a narrow fast-running underground river. Cold spray struck Klem’s face.
“Underground tunnels. We call them the runnerways. Didn’t you ever wonder how runners got around so fast?” Jukim said, looking at Klem with a curve to his lip. Klem could hear the softened footsteps of runners echoing from the distance. He shrugged. They walked onward. Their tunnel connecting to another. The footsteps of runners grew louder, and occasionally one would pass them. When they entered into a larger tunnel, the runners grew more numerous. Klem could see the tunnel was wide, with a sizable flow of water in it’s middle. There was a strange sound from ahead, like the rushing of wind. As they approached, Jukim slowed and pulled Klem close to him.
“Stay close to me and stay silent. If you must speak, whisper as softly as you can. It will be crowded, hold onto my hand and stay close behind.” Then Jukim grabbed Klem’s wrist, and began to walk forward rapidly.
The stream of runners had slowed, and now Klem passed by rows upon rows of stationary Laach-folk in that dark taught outfit. Each of them was whispering, faces bowed in concentration. Each whispered something different, seeming to repeat it over and over. The combined sound was like a distant breeze, but grew louder as the tunnel widened. Eventually it overpowered the sound of the river which now rushed through the middle of that wide tunnel. The ranks of the whisperers grew dense, Klem and Jukim having to squeeze through narrow openings between the shoulders of their ranks.
They entered into a room, the ceiling seeming to vanish into the dark above, and the chorus of whispers grew into a roar. Klem felt his mind going blank, and he must have stopped walking, because a sudden jerk of his arm nearly pulled him off his feet. Looking up, he hurried forward. At the edges of the room, in that torrent of hushed voice, there seemed to be queues of figures whispering into the ears of those ahead. They were like mannequins, all clothed in identical runners uniforms, with headdresses which obscured all but their face. Yet, as they went further into the room, the crowd thinned, and the roar lessened. Klem could see that there was a scattered arrangement of forms, those closer to the outside listened to the whispers of many, and spoke to those ahead of them. The pattern repeated, with each circle of attendants growing sparser. They began to walk into more open space, but Jukim’s grip had not loosened. Klem tried to look around. He saw that there were sometimes multiple people arrayed in small groups, whispering to each other in a mutual fashion. He saw some wildly gesturing, their faces expressive, but their voices imperceptibly soft. The outfits of these orc grew looser, some wearing runners uniforms with the headdress pulled back, some wearing casual clothes, some in labour outfits. Klem realized with a start that many of the orc he had passed had been women. Those striking, hauntingly beautiful Laach women, indistinguishable from their male counterparts under the headdress of the runner. Yet, as they neared the centre of the room, as the sound grew quieter and quieter, Klem saw that there were few messages which made it this far, and whenever a head leaned forward to speak into another’s ear, they exchanged a lengthy back-and-forth message.
Klem could see it in his mind’s eye. The word of many someones, carried through runners, then whispered, collected, aggregated, transmitted, each message containing a broader view, painted with a broader stroke, speaking of a deeper substance, until eventually it made it’s way to... Klem looked forward, thinking to ask Jukim something, but he saw the man had stopped, and stood with an arm outstretched, beckoning. Klem’s gaze followed, and saw the center. In the dead middle of that stone floor, at the apex of all the Pride’s whispers, there sat a huge chair. Resting atop was Laach’Hass.
The ancient orc smiled, his long fangs parting the edges of his lips. He waved a hand for Klem to approach. As he stepped forward, Klem heard a strange sound. The chorus of whispers, not more than a distant rush of wind, suddenly vanished. It was as if he had stepped under water, all sounds of the world only distant memories. Hass said something, and Klem could not hear a single sound. He spoke again, with exaggerated mouth movements, and Klem could understand. He approached the chair, leaning with both hands on it’s covered arm to steady his shaky legs. Laach’Hass leaned close, his long beard was soft against Klem’s neck. It ticked his earlobe. Then, like blood rising from a fresh cut, Hass’ voice entered into Klem’s mind.
“Welcome to the circle of whispers. Speak softly or you will not be heard, chief of clan Gruk.”
Klem lost his footing, falling down on his rear, hands clutching the large arm of the chair. “What?” He cried out, but his voice vanished before leaving his throat. He could see laughter in the expression on the old orc’s face, but of course he heard nothing. Klem righted himself, leaning into the long ear of Laach’Hass, and whispered as softly as he could.
“What do you mean I am the chief? What about Nasht? What is this place, and why have you brought me?”
The old orc turned to reply. “I apologize. There is much we need to discuss. Nasht is dead. The envoy was killed by the giants. I am told they have some new kind of weapon, a huge device only weildable by one of their stature, which flings metal scrap at unimaginable speed. They say it is powered by the steam from boiling water, but we do not know how it is possible. The giants move quickly. They were able to hold a position in the valley where the army must pass to reach the bridge. However, the generals had become alerted to the presence of the giants by an unlikely event. A small group of rebellious Graal were aiming to stage a coup in that pass, and they caused enough commotion to make both battalions aware of each other. Shabra was in a right state when she learned of this. I am told she had the group ringleader executed, and held a feast of his corpse in the Graal dining house for all to attend. Of course, I knew you were affiliated with this group, and I had you arrested by Graal loyalists to prevent further scrutiny. I hope you will forgive this rough treatment. By the ancient law, you officially became the acting chief of clan Gruk the moment Nasht’s death became known to all, and there is much you must do.”
Klem stared hollowly ahead, trying to take it all in. The old orc paused, looking thoughtful. Then he added. “Of course, you are a chief now. It is your choice what you do or do not. However, you are young. You are younger than Nasht was when he became chief, and younger still than his father was. If you are willing to hear my advice, I will provide suggestion for what you should do next. Also, it is pertinent that you know. The human incursion has continued. Grushnak has fallen. The refugees which escaped Vor had largely settled in Grushnak and Gorbat, hoping the crisis was at an end. Seeing now it is not, there are at least tens of thousands crossing the desert toward the bridge, seeking to reach Kruk.”
Klem tried to swallow, but his throat was extraordinarily dry. He felt as if he had just made such a journey himself. In a rasping whisper, he said: “What is your advice?”
The old orc looked directly at Klem for a long moment. Klem felt something, far below the chaos of thoughts which lay barely suppressed on the surface of his mind. He felt as if Hass was looking deep within him, plumbing those depths in search of something particular.
“You will encounter a man tomorrow by the name of Laba. He will claim to be a master of sorcery of some kind. I would advise you to listen to his words with the highest care. Treat them as if each one holds a knife above your heart. If you do this well, he will make a proposition. He will ask if you are truly ready to accept his proposition. In that moment, you must know the meaning of truth. You must know it deeper than you have ever known it before.” Hass paused, drawing a deep and hoarse breath. “May the fates favour you, Gruk’Klem.” He finally said.
Klem stepped back from the chair. He saw a path begin to open before him, and he walked toward it.
Klem emerged from the underground into the chaos of Kruk. The sun was setting, and orcs skirted about, dashing along the streets with veiled gazes. They rushed past, carrying belongings or pulling carts with children and sacks of food, all with a look of fear in their eyes. Klem kept his head down and went to the library. His mind was a torrent of thoughts. It felt like he was finally able to see the walls of his cell, and with it – the way out.
The route to power lay in the voice, apex of a clan’s will. The way of Graal was the voice of command. It let you give an order that would be obeyed, with the threat of size and numbers behind it. Shabra was chief because she spoke that threat louder than any other, and thus could not be disobeyed.
Klem had seen this, but he did not know how this fit into the bigger picture until his encounter with Hass. The way of Laach was the voice of whispers, it allowed you to hear all that was spoken quietly, but silenced those who tried to be heard. Thus Hass was the leader of a clan of betrayal and secrecy, but himself could not be betrayed, and secrets could not be kept from him. Klem thought on Gribrul. He remembered something Askneer had said after the clandestine meeting on Jolshk and Ganad, “the empty presence”. The way of Gribrul must be the voice of silence. It was the voice which spoke without words, with the movement of the eyes and body. Klem had thought Gribrul was ruled with brutality after learning their marriage rites involved ritual combat, but now he saw that it was a power of refinement which led them. Melko must be the most skilled of all, the master of masters, and by that virtue alone he was chief.
Klem stopped walking. He stood in the street, dead to the world. A single question blazed like a beacon of flame in his mind. “What is the voice of Gruk?”
He wracked his mind. When had he spoken, and people had reacted? When had the words come of their own accord? What was the pattern which unified them? What had Nasht taught him?
At the entrance of the library, Chaalsa opened the door to Klem. She was speaking rapidly in a hushed tone. “Klem, you’re here. The record-keepers are in disarray. The team supervisors and clan liaisons need to meet with you as soon as possible. There will be a huge demand for recordkeeping of the new immigrants fleeing the humans, so we will need a plan to hire and train as many scribes as possible. The head copyists are in the meeting room right now and – Klem, where are you going?”
Klem’s eyes were glazed, and his head felt as if it was filled with an obscuring fog. He paused, halfway up the libraries staircase, turning to look into the distance above Chaalsa’s head.
“What is the voice?”
He continued up the stairs, heedless of Chaalsa’s calls. She began to follow him.
Klem felt as though he was pulled toward the shelves. “There must be something here...” He thought, but he could not see it clearly.
Chaalsa came close to him, her voice held a clarity of purpose that was rigid as iron and clear as glass. “Klem. You must speak to these people. It’s your duty as chief. I know this responsibility is thrust upon you, but we’re here to help. Anything you don’t know, we can find people who can give advice and guidance. Klem, you are the symbol of Gruk now. In times of chaos what is most needed is order. Even if you feel there is none, you still have to act as the chief, do you understand?”
Klem shook his head. He needed to get out of this, get a clear head for just a moment.
His mother made an exasperated sound. Then, with a hesitant voice she began to speak. “Klem. I understand this is very straining for you. It was suggested to me that you might need some help to get into the right frame of mind for what is coming.”
This change in tone caught Klem’s attention. “What help?” He said.
Chaalsa’s lips thinned. “I would invite you to visit the store room. There is a woman there who says she knows you, perhaps she can lend you some outside perspective on things.”
Klem looked at Chaalsa’s face. Then he slowly backed away, heading toward the store room. His mind was running slow. Who would... He opened the door, sliding inside the room. Part of his mind expected to see Murin leaning against the shelf in the far corner. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see her, but maybe it would give some kind of relief. Instead, there was a strange presence to his side. Klem turned slowly, and saw a hauntingly beautiful woman emerge from the shadows. “Hello Klem.” She said with a voice that rang like distant chimes. A floral scent washed over Klem. He felt his mind slowing. This intoxicating presence... It was Hass’ daughter. A sudden force rushed through Klem. His body tensed, flinging the slender woman backwards. She crashed into a shelf of parchment, sending sheaves scattering onto the floor.
“NO!” Klem roared, blind rage fuelling him. He flung open the storeroom door, and saw Chaalsa’s shocked expression around the corner.
“A LEADER SPEAKS THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE. BUT THE PEOPLE DO NOT EXIST!” Klem shouted at his so-called mother. He took a deep breath, and began to speak in an unfaltering manner, eyes fixed on some distant place. “There is no Gruk. I am no-one, the chief of no clan, I lead no-one, and I am a symbol for none. You will have your true chief, the one who speaks the voice of the people. Thus I speak the un-voice, the voice which does not exist. Goodbye.”
He turned and walked up the stairs. Chaalsa stood stunned at the bottom. Klem saw the top of Seb’s head peeking out from behind a corner in the writing room. “Klem?” His brother asked. Klem only gave a bark of a laugh, too loud for the small space, before passing without a word. He navigated to the back of the library, finding a shelf that could be pulled forward. He squeezed through the gap, stepping outside onto the roof.
Klem stood, shoulders wide and head back. The air was sweet. A cool breeze ruffled his hair. He looked up at the evening sky, the stars beginning to appear in the pale blue. He roared in a mad laughter, the mirth of his absurd existence spilling forth. When he looked down there was a small crowd of orcs looking up at him from the alley aside the library. They held papers and clipboards. He grinned at them. They began to call out, voices overlapping with questions and demands. Their voices ticked his ears. As he began to climb down the wooden boards, Klem saw Seb’s eyes peering through the secret exit on the libraries roof. Klem called out to him. “Look behind the fourth stone under the loose board, there is a secret!” Before leaping the remaining way down onto the street below. Faces of the small crowd stared at him. The distinctive visages of Graal, Gribrul, and Laach, all looked in expressions of confusion, shock, and anger. Klem bid them farewell, walking through the small crowd and exiting into the street.
Klem breathed in, feeling the blood pumping through his veins. He walked with long, deliberate strides, his gaze pointing out toward his destination – the mountains. He walked until he could walk no more. Long after old-Kruk faded into the outer districts. Long after the districts faded into farmland, and the farmland into foothills. Klem walked along a solitary road, a winding path which soon plunged into dark alpine woods. The sun had set some hours ago, and Klem drank in the pale moonlight with a fervour. When his body was at it’s limits, he collapsed onto the damp, mossy ground. With face to the stars, he drifted into sleep.
The night was long and cold. Klem slept fitfully, waking at the sudden sounds of the night. Calls of birds, a rustling in the brush. With each the fear grew in him. They would come for him. He knew he would wake and see those faces, stares of expectation laid upon his form. Each time he woke and they were not there, the fear grew. He knew they would hunt him like a pack of wolves. He was their chief, a symbol to be devoured by all who spoke it’s name. They would lash him to a spit above the flame and scream for their meaning. Meaning, direction, sense, purpose, order in the chaos. They would look deep within him, but he knew they would not find anything there. They would cut him and flay him, break his body and drain his life in search of it. In the end he would die like his father. A senseless death in a senseless world.
Klem did not realize he had slept through the sunrise. The darkness had abated, as if waiting for his attention to slip. When his eyes fluttered open he was bathed in a verdant glow. Golden light and vibrant leaves beneath that rich blue tapestry. He blinked, transfixed in the moment. Then a small movement tugged his attention, and he scrambled to hands and feet, suddenly afraid. There was a man sitting against a nearby tree. Klem snarled at the stranger, he was hunched and ready to spring into action. The stranger turned it’s cowl on Klem, slowly raising a hand which held a steaming mug. A voice cut through the silence in the clearing.
“Got some tea here if you want it.”
“Who are you” Klem barked, not moving from where he crouched.
“It’s better I don’t say. I’ll put the tea here if you’re thirsty.” The figure replied, stretching out and placing the mug at on a stone a pace from him.
“Speak your name.” Klem ordered, the voice of command ringing strong in his words.
The figure chuckled. “Boy, your mountain magics won’t work on me. I go nameless for your benefit, but I can see that my presence does not fare you well.”
The figure stood, and turned to look at Klem. Klem saw it was a man of middling years, who’s face was almost perfectly nondescript. It had an unmemorable shape, unmemorable features, a brownish-greenish skin tone that could be from anywhere. Klem’s impression changed when he met the man’s eyes. It was like looking across the ocean, or down from a mountaintop. Klem saw in those eyes the same thing one can see in the eyes of any animal. Wide, dark, and completely empty, the eternal presence of one who merely was, the eyes of something feral, something ancient.
“Wait.” Klem found himself saying. “I’ll have some tea with you.”
The man shrugged, resting against the tree back and sipping from his own mug. Klem retrieved the other from the rock, and rested himself against another tree, facing the stranger. They sat in silence for a time. Klem sipped the tea, it was brewed strong but it was not bitter, and with a hint of citrus Klem found himself enjoying it immensely. The stresses of the world let him be for a time. He was the first to break the silence.
“Did you come from Kruk?”
The man shrugged. “Not originally, but I was passing through.” He said. “I stay up in the mountains when I’m not travelling, since I could not find what I was looking for in Kruk, I began the journey home.” The man looked over at Klem. “That’s when I saw a strange orc sleeping in the bushes at the side of the road and decided to brew some tea.”
“What were you looking for?” Klem asked.
The man paused, a thoughtful expression briefly crossing his placid face. Then he said: “Something ordinary, but especially rare.”
“Rare? Like a gemstone or a certain metal?” Klem asked.
The man shook his head. “Not a material rarity. I was looking for some quality in a person, there are people everywhere, but very few who have this quality.”
Klem thought for a moment, then asked. “Were you looking to fall in love?”
A joyous laugh suddenly came from the stranger. He looked at Klem with those animal eyes and said. “In a way you are right, although I might not have phrased it that way.”
“How would you have phrased it?” Klem asked.
“I was looking for someone to have a good conversation with.”
Klem thought that was a strange answer, but he felt oddly comfortable with this fellow, so he asked: “What do you like to talk about?”
The man gave a soft chuckle. “Oh, only the things worth talking about. Life, death, meaning, the past, the future, time.”
“Times are changing.” Klem said, nodding to himself.
“They are, they are. But in their own way, times are always changing: this remains the same.” The man mused.
Klem wanted to change the topic, so he asked. “Earlier you said something about mountain magic, what did you mean?”
“Ah, you have a special name for it, right? Speech, or...” The man began, trailing off.
“Voice.” Klem finished.
“Yes, those knowledgeable Krukers I’ve spoken to have mentioned The Voice.” The man said.
“There are multiple, each clan has their own.” Klem added. “Voice of Command, Voice of Whispers, Voice of Silence.”
“And?” The man asked.
“And what?” Klem said.
“There are four clans of Kruk, are there not?” The man asked, tilting his head slightly to look at Klem.
“I-” Klem started, then scowled and looked away. “Those are the only ones I know. Besides, why do you call it magic? It’s just a voice.”
The man chuckled again, looking up into the canopy. He began to speak as if reading from something. “The smallest form of magic can occur in a conversation between two people, when a change is brought forth and honed by the tools of word and expression.”
The words rang in Klem’s mind. He knew them from somewhere, but could not remember where. Then the realization began to dawn on him, and before he knew it he had spoken the words: “Histories, Originations, and Effects of the Spellblaze.”
“You are better read than I would expect from someone sleeping in the bush.” The stranger said with a mirthful ring.
Klem was on his feet, suddenly wary. “Who are you?”
The stranger sighed, gazing out toward the road. “I could leave, you know. Just walk away and leave you to your own struggles, it’s clear you are still fighting with them even now. Wouldn’t that be better? If I tell you my name, it will open a path for you which now lies obscured. Once you see it, I fear you may not be able to resist from following.” The cloaked man stretched, retrieving his mug and draining it, then he began to slowly ease himself to his feet. Klem gazed at the man, his thoughts running their course. Gradually each thought collapsed from exhaustion and lay still. Klem’s gaze continued, his mind stretching wider, a vast empty sea beneath the open sky. He felt as if his whole body was on the verge of sleep, or a battle, his muscles balanced on the precipice of tension and relaxation. He was still. The man held his gaze. It felt like time had frozen in that forest glade, the two strangers regarding each other in silence.
Eventually the cloaked man spoke. “Interesting. You are proficient in more than one. Let us play a game. I will tell you my name, but you will only be able to hear if you can use the third of those voices you mention.”
Klem shook his head, coming out of a daze. He didn’t know what he had just been doing. He began to say something, but his mind slipped away through his fingers, and soon he was floating on the surface of the great sea again. The waves lapped gently at his sides, and he breathed in, relaxing into the sensation. There was a distant sound all around him, the accumulation of the sound of tiny waves for miles around. He closed his eyes and listened to that sound, like a distant whooshing, from everywhere and nowhere at once. The whooshing began to change, taking shape. There were eddies and flows in the whoosh, high points and low points. Klem began to regard it as a kind of music, a great cooperative of thousands of individual little waves, singing together. It was beautiful and strange. The music grew and grew, the synchrony of the waves coming together, tighter and tighter with each repetition. Then, in a great crescendo, all the waves spoke in perfect union. A single voice filled the air, stretching from horizon to horizon. “My name is Steer, my family name is Laba.”
Klem inhaled sharply, and opened his eyes. The glade was bright, the plants seemed to glow with green light. Everything around him was brought into sharp focus, and when he looked at the cloaked stranger, he saw the man was regarding him. He looked impressed.
“It seems you are more skilled at some voices than others, young Klem.” The man said.
Klem felt a kind of exhausted calm, as if he had just run a long distance. He knew he had not said his own name, but in that moment his mind was slow to react. Then the figure turned away and began walking toward the road. Klem rose and followed the man.
“I recognize your name. Hass sent you, didn’t he? I won’t fall for any more tricks. You can go back and tell him.” Klem hissed at the man, but Steer did not react, simply continuing to walk up the mountain path. Klem felt this incense him, his anger fuelled by the rejection of this man.
“What does it take to be the chief of Gruk? It seems like everyone knows it! Everyone except me! They all push and pull, they want this or that, they all try to use me to their own ends. They want what they can suck out of me and then they don’t care about the rest. Is it my name? Is it my service? My connections? My work as a copyist? Even my interest in the lores is used against me! You just did it not five minutes ago! Histories of the Spellblaze, what a blasted waste of time! Can a person be allowed to make one choice of their own will? Is Kruk filled with slaves, with livestock? Are they chained to the behest of those around them by ignorance or by stupidity? Is there a difference? Is it the same in the other prides? Is there one free orc under this Gods damnned sky?! Maybe the humans are doing the right thing by exterminating us. We build societies that destroy the land and enslave our own, perhaps it’s fitting that we die at the hands of our own incompetence. Blast it all.”
Klem slowed to a halt, breathing heavily on the steep mountain trail. His head was down, and he saw only the dusty gravel of the path. When he looked up, he saw Steer was standing several paces ahead, looking back at Klem with crossed arms and a patient expression. “Got it all out of you?” He asked in a calm, if somewhat amused voice.
Klem made a dismissive sound and turned away, saying “Who are you to care?” He heard Steer’s voice continue from behind him.
“It is an age-old problem you wrestle with Klem. I have encountered it in thousands of writings, in the lives of others, and in my own life. There is a way through, you need only to find it.” Steer Laba said.
Klem turned on the man, bitterness strong in his voice. “What use are those words. Useless. They do not help me in any way.”
“Perhaps it is not words which can help you.”
“Then what? Oh blast it, you’re just going to walk me in a circle right back to Hass, aren’t you?”
“I don’t work for Hass, or anyone else. He’s merely an acquaintance to me.”
“Then why did he speak of your name?”
Steer looked pensive, stroking his chin. Then he asked “What do you really desire, Klem?”
“I’m not going back.” Klem said, crossing his arms and holding Steer’s gaze.
The strange man’s eyebrow raised. He started to speak, then stopped himself. When he finally did, his voice held an urgency which had not been there before. “Klem, please listen to me. The bonds of power are dangerous, this is a path fraught with peril.”
It was Klem’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I never said I sought power.” He said.
Steer looked at him. “Yet you do, or am I mistaken?”
Klem sighed, looking up at the darkening sky. He spoke wistfully. “Not that kind of power. Not the petty kind, the kind that Graal gains with the voice, the kind that throws people in jail or conscripts them into the army.”
“Then what kind of power do you seek? Power is control over something, yes? So what do you seek power over?” Steer replied.
“Nothing.” Klem answered.
“Over others? In your clan or elsewhere?”
“No. I just said it was not that kind.”
“Over women? Over society?”
Klem hesitated. Then he said “No.”
“Over the world? Do you have all-conquering ambitions like the warlords of old?”
“Hardly.”
“Then it must be yourself. To have control over ones-self is a quality revered by the sages of old.”
Klem looked thoughtful. “I think that is close to it. Maybe not power over myself precisely, but over something within me.”
“What is within you?”
Klem swallowed, continuing. “Well, I’ll call it nothing. It is an emptiness, a dark hole in my center into which everything flows. In that place, there is no meaning. There is no substance, no difference. All is one and one is nothing. When I try to bring meaningfulness into that place, I just pass right through to the other side.”
There was a long silence on the mountainside. Steer and Klem stared at each other, fixed points of light in an infinite dark. Two mirrors under the light. After a long time, when the sun was beginning to dip behind the mountain peaks, Steer spoke.
“I think I understand. Please follow me.”
Klem followed the strange orc along a narrowing mountain pass. He was beginning to struggle to see the rocky ground, but Steer produced a lit lantern from somewhere. The flickering light was enough to prevent Klem’s untimely demise on the steep cliffs. Steer spoke quietly, but the only other sound was their crunching footsteps, so Klem could hear every word.
“These things you speak of, they are known to all, in some way. Those who study the magical arts are made clearly aware of it, more than most others. That absence which pervades all things. There are methods, teachings to guide one on a path that eases the journey of this awareness. Techniques to cope with the emptiness. But...”
“But what?” Klem asked with earnest curiosity.
“Well... This is a discipline which takes years of careful study. Many apprentice mages go into isolation for years to hone their contemplative skills. I can guide you, set you on the beginning of this journey, but it is a road you must travel yourself.”
“No.” Klem said, staring at Steer’s back.
The man paused, looking back to meet his gaze. “What do you mean? If you do not want my teaching you should turn back.”
“I want your teaching, but there must be another way. I do not have years. You were in Kruk, you have seen the state of the world. I do not know if I will have a place to return to if I hide in the mountains for years.” Klem said.
Steer’s eyes narrowed. He spoke carefully. “This may be true...”
The two stood on the mountain pass, lost in thought. Klem felt, deep within him, there was a fire of rage that had lit and would not go out. There was something profoundly unjust about this life. Thrown into a cauldron of boiling oil and everyone you met tried to push you under to save their own skin. What did he truly want? The word revenge sprung to mind, but Klem considered it for a moment. Revenge would not bring his father back. Revenge would not stop the clans from manipulating and sabotaging each other. Revenge would not make people see that there was only this one pathetic life that anyone got. It would not stop their squabbling among each other in the face of the greatest enemy there was. Not humans, but death.
After a long pause Steer spoke again. “I do know of a less well-trodden path, an alternative route which leads to the same end. Please tell me this: why do you want this power? What will you do with it?”
Klem’s face hardened. “If I have power over the nothingness... I can banish it in myself, and act with pure conviction. I can do what needs to be done.”
Steer followed with a question. “What needs to be done?”
Klem inhaled, he looked to be gazing out at something distant. “Unity. Unity of purpose.”
“Does the impending human attack not provide the unity you seek?” Steer asked.
“No. No. I have seen only the opposite. When pressured, we only factionalize and plot against each other. There is only the illusion of unity, there is no truth to it. But if they could all see the truth... I must learn it. The voice of nothingness. The voice which will wash away all illusions, and expose the emptiness beneath all things. The voice which can only bring complete unity, because divisions cannot exist where there is only emptiness.”
Steer looked at Klem for a long moment, with no expression on his face. Then he said. “You may well be suited for this other path.” They continued up the mountain. When the duo arrived at a bend in the path, Steer beckoned to Klem, and seemed to step into the stone itself. Klem looked closely, and he saw a narrow passageway which was invisible from the mountain path. He followed. The path was narrow, and doubled back on itself before widening into a small tunnel. The cave walls were smooth, as if someone had meticulously polished them. They sloped upward toward a strangely high roof. The floor was flat but roughened. The cave struck Klem as highly unnatural, and he wondered if Steer had used some strange magic to create it.
Inside, several ornate lanterns illuminated the scene in a warm glow. There was an indigo carpet spread on the cave floor, patterned with tiny stars to resemble the night sky. The walls were lined in shelves, filled with books and strange tools Klem could not discern the use of. There was a large stone table in the centre of the room. Steer instructed him to wait, gesturing at the table. Klem soon a clattering and clanging sound from the other room. Over the din, Steer’s voice rung through the cave.
“What do you remember of volume three of Histories and Originations?”
Klem replied with a lie. “Uh, of course.”
There was a brief silence. Steer came back into the room, looking somewhat flustered.
“Klem, let me explain what will happen next. This path, the one that leads to that power you seek, it has a cost. The normal path costs time, but if you cannot pay time, you have to pay something else.”
“What is it?” Klem asked cautiously.
“It is... The cost is not that straightforward to say... but I can tell you it will primarily affect your body.”
“My body?”
“Yes. You must know, the basic concepts are described in the third volume. A mage of greater power, that being me, can channel magic and seal the flow via a rune which is imprinted on the body. This will aid you to tap into a greater well of power than you could at your current level of training. However...”
“I’ll do it.” Klem said.
“Young Gruk, this is a dangerous path. There are many things which can go wrong. The chance for success hinges heavily on your ability to control your own will. This is a bond of cooperation, ultimately. It can only succeed if we are both able to stay in-control throughout the process. I will ask several difficult things of you, and I need to know that you are prepared to perform them. If you fail, all will be lost.”
Steer regarded Klem for a long time. Eventually, Klem said with a vacant calm: “What more is there to lose?” Some moments later, Steer said “I suppose nothing will change from standing here. Please close your eyes and lay back, I will prepare the ritual tools.”
Klem did so, and heard clanking and rustling in the small cave. Then he heard Steer’s voice come in a harsh whisper. “Keep your eyes closed.” Something hard and cold was being attached to his wrists, then ankles. Finally he felt the same coldness wrap around his neck. Klem’s eyes jerked open and he looked at Steer. The orc shot an admonishing look. “Keep still. This is essential.” Then he closed the chain around Klem’s neck.
“What is this? Why have you chained me?” Klem yelled at the man. Steer ignored him, turning to begin sorting through some things on a nearby bench. He had lit a small fire in a hearth which was embedded in the cave wall, and pushed a bellows with his foot, stoking it.
“The process will involve some bodily discomfort. The runes must be applied precisely, so this will ensure you do not move too much.” He said simply. Klem tried to relax, but a tension had crept into him that he could not release.
“The next step will be your first challenge, then we will repeat the process.” Steer said. “I will ask you to empty your mind, then I will name something. It will be part of you, part of your very being. You will have to bring it into focus, seeing it clearly in your minds-eye. Once you have grasped it, I will give a signal, and you must let it go completely. Relinquish it into the void, and allow your mind to return to the blank state. When you release, I will apply the rune. This will be your final chance to turn back, boy. Once the first rune is applied, the process must continue to completion. Is there any doubt lingering in your mind?”
Klem thought carefully, there was something in the back of his mind, a kind of vague fuzziness. He wasn’t totally sure what it was, it clung to his mind like mold growing on old fruit. He tried to look closely at it, but he could not. He did not think it was doubt. “I am ready.” He told Steer.
“Then let us begin.” The man said. Klem glanced down to see he was moving about, there seemed to be a pot resting in the stove, and there were strange rods that Steer was moving about.
“Close your eyes, do not open them.” Steer ordered, and Klem obeyed.
Klem heard a voice float through the cave. It was low and rasping, and he could scarcely believe it came from Steer at all. The voice chanted in words that Klem did not know, and he began to feel a kind of lull come over his mind. Then the harsh voice spoke out:
“Fear. Remember it, bring it clearly into your mind. Recall when you feared, what brought it out. Recall it as if it sat in the room before you. Keep your eyes closed. Feel the fear as if it was the first time. Remember fear.”
Images began to flash into Klem’s mind. Strange thoughts, flashes of moments. Standing on the precipice of a waterfall as a child, transfixed by the churning water that suddenly ended, the patterns in the foam, the spray in the mountain air. The fear arrived when Grun called him to hurry up. It was like a jolt, a sudden urgency which made every step precious. He knew the next footfall on those slippery rocks could be his last. Another, gazing out across the narrow sea. Tracing his eye over those distant mountains, the calls of sea-birds and the whisper of the ocean filling him. Salt in his mouth, the waves growing taller. Shyel’s screams from the dock in-between avalanches of water. He saw the depths below, and he knew they could swallow ten thousand orcs without change, what difference would he make? He felt himself kneeling in terror before great statues, altars of men. His father. Laach Hass. The earth began to shake, cracks spreading like roots of a great tree through the foundations. Did he fear the icon or it’s destruction? Then he saw Askneer. Those wide, piercing eyes. That animal hunger, his pawing hands, that gaping mouth, those bared fangs.
“RELEASE!” The rasping voice rang out. It was like a thousand shattering planes of glass, a hundred tolling bells. Klem reflexively sucked in air, and, all was quiet.
A sudden flood of pain washed over Klem. He felt like he had swallowed hot coals. It burned his abdomen, his body tensed and thrashed, pulling against it’s bonds. His eyes fluttered opened and closed, but he was blinded by the pain. An eternity in a single moment passed, and then it was over. Klem’s body went slack, going limp upon the table.
When Klem’s eyes finally opened, he saw the small cave was filled with smoke. He could smell burning meat. He looked down to see the glint of something metallic under a smouldering hole in his tunic, right over his intestines. He spoke in slurred groggy words. “What... did... you do?”
A figure appeared before him. It was tall, and the cloak hung loosely from it’s frame. A voice rasped out “We must go on.”
Klem could see the figure was huge and skeletal. It’s hood was disturbed by two gnarled horns, and Klem could see something like a cow skull beneath. It gazed at him briefly with empty eye sockets, then turned away. Klem briefly caught a metallic glimmer from it’s forehead. Oddly, he realized that he did not feel afraid.
The chanting began again, and Klem found it relaxing. He wanted to know more, so he fought the sudden urge to close his eyes and sleep, craning his neck to see what this figure was doing. The cloaked figure moved throughout the small space. It reached into the fire and pulled a red-hot branding iron free. The figure inspected it, then put it back into the fire. The voice rasped out again.
“Desire. Remember it. Bring it clearly into your mind. Recall when you desired, what brought it on, the intensity. Recall as if the object of your desire lay right in front of you. Remember desire.”
Klem did, spurred onward by that transfixing movement of the chant. Images flashed into his mind. He saw his first intimate experience with Shyel, in the dense grove behind the lake. He saw the curve of her back, and felt the great force flowing within him. He saw that he wanted her, more of her, he wanted to be inside her, but it wasn’t enough, he wanted even more, he wanted to crush her, bend her mind and body to his will. He wanted to dominate. He wanted to be within her, to move her body as his own, to call it his own, to become her. He felt these things as if they had just happened, but he was no longer afraid of his desire. He remembered seeing the fear in her eyes when she saw it within him. Then he saw Murin, with that hunger in in her eyes. He felt the strange stirring in his body, the instinctive movement toward her. He felt her appetite spill into him, feeding and growing. He felt his own desire, devouring hers and growing in turn. He watched as she devoured it. He remembered how her appetite for him grew fast and unstable. He remembered seeing the end. He remembered his fear. He remembered it overwhelming him, drowning him until he had to step outside of his body and see himself as a stranger on the other side of the room. Then he remembered Askneer, how the desire within him felt strange, foreign, but when the fear came it was the same. However, instead of stepping outside himself he surrendered to the fear, stepping deeper within himself to escape it.
This odd symmetry struck Klem as curious. Just as he was pondering it, he began to feel as if he was looking at himself from the outside. The twisted form of his body, hair dishevelled, a thin trail of smoke still rising from it’s abdomen. He looked over at the tall skeletal form, illuminated by the diffuse red of the fire. He saw the form again, this time peering through the hollow eye-sockets of his form like a great shell, or a cave from which he stared out the mouth. He saw that skeletal figure twist around, head swivelling back and forth. It gazed through the eye-holes and met Klem’s gaze.
“Keep it together! We’re almost through this stage! Remember desire!” The figure shouted, urgency in it’s voice.
Klem suddenly felt something stirring in his chest. Images flooded into him. Books, papers, letters, words. The lore. The library. The desire poured like a fountain from somewhere into him, flooding out the other thoughts in his head. Truth. The eternity of true words. Stories which spoke truth could never end. He wanted to embody truth, he wanted to become those words and live forever. Truth would never die. The flame of his desire burned hot, a golden inferno blazing in his chest. Distantly, he heard some cry of adulation from the rasping voice, but he paid it no heed. Words more beautiful, more true than he had ever heard started to well up within him. He knew in just a moment they would burst forth in a golden spray, illuminating all.
The figure dipped the hot iron rod into the pot above the fire and pulled it out. Brandishing the rod now coated in a liquid bronze, it approached Klem. “RELEASE IT! LET IT GO!” The voice screamed out. Klem tensed, he gripped tighter around those golden words. “YOU CANNOT HOLD IT, LET GO FOOL!” The voice screeched out, the rasp echoing in the small cave. Even as it spoke Klem knew it to be true. He could feel the heat of that desire had already begun to fade. He looked for the words, but it was as if they had never been, there was truly nothing there. Klem lay in silence as the emptiness grew in him. He let it wash over him, and surround him. When the blast of searing pain struck his chest, he twisted, but he did not cry out. A moment later it was gone.
The silence lingered for an indeterminable time. When the rasping voice finally spoke again, it was quieter than before. “You have climbed a steep mountain, but there is no time to rest. Next, I will ask you to think on your name.”
Klem did. He thought of when he was young, and people treated him differently but he did not know why. He remembered when bullies finally grew bold enough to ambush him, beating and taunting him for his clan. He remembered all the tense relationships. He remembered the comments by Graal at the docks, in the rebel meeting. He remembered when Nasht told him Gruk did not exist. He remembered seeing the face of Laach in his family, in Nasht, in Chaalsa, in Seb. His whole life, based on a fantasy. The name was a lie. The name meant family, but his family was nothing anymore. They would die, same as his father, same as himself. What difference would it make? Who would he uphold it for? What was there to uphold? Chaalsa would run the clan without him, she already did while Nasht was around. Seb would be better off without Klem fighting to keep the truth from him at every moment. He had been gone for a day, but in spirit he had been gone for much longer. The pride was in chaos despite any choice he could have made. He did not need his name anymore. He did not need his home anymore.
“Release.” The voice spoke. Klem cleared his mind of his name. His family. His pride. He was emptier than he thought possible. When the pain struck, it barely registered in his mind. He simply was. The voice of the figure rasped again.
“I am Steer Laba. You shall be my son, Bull Laba.”
Bull grunted in assent. Steer paused briefly, surveying the body of his newly christened son.
“You have done well, my son. But you cannot utilize the runes yet. There is one final step. This will surely be easy compared to those which came before. Are you ready?”
Bull grunted again.
“Good. You have seen that having a name is not so different from having no name. You have seen that desire is the same as no desire, that fear is the same as no fear.”
Bull grunted.
“You must cooperate with me one final time before I release you. Bring this final idea to focus in your mind. Bring it to the upmost clarity, so that we may release it completely. It is: Life.”
Bull’s mind flashed. The moss on the river stones. The fish in the deep below. The seabirds in the air above. The bustle of the city. The trees of the grove. Orcs, people he knew, strangers. The humans across the sea. The murderers and thieves. The doctors and the workmen. Graal, Gribrul, Laach, Gruk. His friends. His family. Himself. They all pulsed with a singular rhythm. A continuum of life ran through each and every one. He suddenly felt the muscle on his bones. The skin on his flesh. The steady beat of his heart. He could smell the thick cave air. He could feel the cold of the stone under him. The great pulse of being rang out. And again. He saw that words were alive. The pages from pulped trees, the ink from burned wood. The words themselves moved and shifted, a slow dance like the movement of the mountains, the rise and fall of the seasons. Stories lived. Stories like the Gorbat dragonrider, who saw the eternal struggle of life represented in one man’s grapple with a great beast. Stories of creation, stories of destruction. The story of life was both. Continual creation and continual destruction, and endless flow of one into the other. He saw life like a great rope, a twisting ribbon of pure energy which flowed through all things. Only now did he see that the ribbon of life was entwined with the ribbon of death. Life was surrounded by death, death permeated life to it’s very core. Yet... Death was surrounded by life, life penetrating to the core of death. Bull began to feel an eerie calm wash over him.
Death, life, they were one. To live was to die, to die was to live. What would be the difference if he released life? It could not be so strange, death was already with him. It was already in him. He would die, everything he knew would die, all orcs would die – perhaps quite soon. But this means... They would all live? Life was in him, he would live, everything he knew would live, did live. The rasping voice came again: “Are you ready to release it? This is the final step.”
Bull looked down and saw the great ribbon, an unbroken flow, the two strands of brilliant life and inevitable death twisted together into one. He saw that it ran through him, countless strands twisting through each part of his form. All these threads came together in a single thick chord that he had grasped in his hand. Bull marvelled at the thing. Distantly he heard himself make a grunt of assent.
“RELEASE!” The strange voice cried out. Bull flexed his hand, but his grip would not loosen.
“LET IT GO BULL! THIS IS THE FINAL STEP!” Steer cried out, panic starting to enter his voice.
Bull felt a great force, like everything had been leading up to this moment. He saw that each single moment of his life inevitably resulted in this. He looked forlornly at his hand, and it sprung open.
“YES! GOOD!” Steers voice cried out. It sounded so far away to Bull. He looked down, and he saw the great chord still ran through him. He watched in a trance, seeing it was moving on it’s own, flowing forward as if it was being pulled from some far away place.
The form chained to the stone table suddenly wrenched, pulling it’s chains taught. It made an ethereal sound, sourced from deep within itself. Klem regarded this strange form from the other side of the cave. He leaned casually against the wall of the entrance tunnel, as if he had just entered or was just about to leave. “Damn, that thing’s gonna break free.” Klem said, eyeing the straining metal of the chains. The creature was pale, but it’s muscles rippled with an unnatural strength. Klem saw it’s face was distorted, and it’s body was covered in burns. Parts of the skin had broken, and frayed muscle hung attached to exposed bone. The creature roared again. Within it’s husk, there was a small creature. It did not have a name, but it bore the hooves and horns of a bovine with the arms and chest of an orc. The tiny creature gave a snort, and began to charge into the deepest darkness within that encompassing husk. “I’m leaving now.” Klem said, straightening himself by the entrance. “Try not to burn it all down, hey?” He said, before walking from the cave.
Steer Laba ran about the small cave in a frenzy. He was preparing several rune-brands, and stumbled over his cloak going around the edge of the table. The form of Bull Laba twisted toward Steer, reaching out with a singular intent. “No, no, no, no!” Steer cried. “No this can’t be happening again. No.” He turned toward Bull.
“BULL, YOU HAVE TO LET IT GO! KEEP YOURSELF TOGETHER! LET THE LIFE GO! PLEASE!” He screamed with a desperate strength. Bull did not hear him. It was already too late. With a sudden jerk, the chains on Bull’s right arm snapped, ringing as they struck the stone walls of the cave. The minotaur roared with a piercing metallic sound, and swung it’s free arm toward Steer. The arm fell short, but it’s impact on the stone table send a splitting crack running down the centre. The beast pulled back, inhaling through it’s frayed nostrils in preparation for another surge of strength.
Steer sobbed, the sound came as a rasp from his desiccated vocal chords. He grabbed all three of the remaining brands, and looked up at the form on the table. Bull pulled forward with another surge, snapping the chains on his left arm. He screamed with triumph, the deafening roar reverberating throughout the cave. With a deft movement, Steer surged forward at lightning speed, driving all three brands into Bull in both shoulders and the forehead. The beast’s roar became one of pain, but Steer pressed forward, climbing on top of the his son’s torso on the stone tablet. He forced the body down, bones cracking and muscles fraying with the effort. “Need. Only. Release. Life. You. Damn. Fool.” The undead minotaur hissed through it’s jawbone. It held the brands until the body of Bull stopped moving. With a clatter of metal and bone, Steer collapsed to the cave floor in a heap. Both bodies lay still.
It was many hours later when the creature known as Bull Laba began to move again. When it was eventually was able to stand, it tested it’s limbs. Finding them functional, the beast turned it’s hollow eye-sockets on it’s surroundings. It was atop a lonely mountainside, surrounded by snow and cliffs of stone. It looked up at the sky, and saw it was blue. It looked down and saw that there was a swath of green in the distance. The creature saw movement in that green below. It snorted, attention drawn by that distant movement. It gave a metallic screech which echoed among the mountaintops. Then it lowered it’s head, and began to charge forward.
The pride of Kruk moved with a frenzied energy. The streets swelled with orc, all were rushing, but there was order in this chaos. Chief of clan Laach, Laach’Hass worked in tandem with chief of clan Gruk, Gruk’Seb and his mother Gruk’Chaalsa to meticulously record and organize the refugees from the mainland. Rumour had it the young leader Seb spoke strongly with the Voice of Reason, which came to be known as the fourth voice. With his innate talent, and the efforts of his clans-kin, the young Seb was able to step up to the task that Kruk demanded of him.
During this time, the human incursion continued, felling each mainland pride in turn. The army of Kruk was met with a torrent of refugees and deserters, all fleeing toward the promise of safety on the island. Following the news of Rak’Shor’s fall, the leaders of the Kruk army saw that there was nothing left on the mainland to save, so they turned around and began the march back to Kruk. Once the army made land on the island, the great bridge was burned as a last-ditch effort to stop the human advance.
With a rapidly swelling population, including the presence of a dozen mainland clans, Graal was first to adopt military structure into their labour corps. This allowed the line between soldier and citizen to vanish, and all hands were put to work managing logistics, distributing food, building temporary shelters, and fortifying the pride. Everyone was kept occupied, and with no news of the human’s wherabouts, for a time all seemed well.
When the giants reappeared on the peripheral logging camps, they came in force. They had constructed dozens of their new kind of weapon, called the “steam gun”, and used it to devastating effect against the Krukers. Graal’Shabra and Gribrul’Melko rallied every hand that could be spared, and led the first and only counter-offensive against the giants. Graal’Murin had risen through the ranks and now led the vanguard to establish a fortified camp on a hilltop. This location made use of the high ground, which early reports suggested was essential against the steam gun weapon.
Murin manned the command post of the fort, receiving reports as various squadrons arrived to location, and sending them to reinforce regions of the surrounding area. Gribrul scouts had indicated that the giants seemed to be travelling down a large valley, the entrance of which was just barely visible from the hilltop fort. The fort was situated at a narrowing of the mountain range, so that any giants who wished to move north toward Kruk would have to pass the fortified region.
That evening, the alarm was raised, and shouting rang through the camp. A giant had been spotted in the nearby forest, and it was travelling toward the fort. Murin issued the orders to surround it’s position. Some minutes later she saw a sudden flash of light in the darkening woods, followed by the sound of several consecutive explosions. Trees collapsed in splinters where the giant had fired it’s weapon. “Mother be damned...” Murin spoke in awe, she had never before seen anything like it. The forward troops had spoken with such fear and reverence of these steam guns, and she now understood why.
The command tent became a flurry of reports and decisions. Murin had ordered the soldiers to stand down until they could get an advantageous position on the giant. It continued approaching the base of the hill, and was nearly in range of their fortifications. Murin watched it from the entrance of the command tent. The flurry of voices quieted as everyone held their breath. With a lumbering step, the giant emerged from the trees into the open ground at the base of the hill. It looked around, sizing up the strange structures before it. A voice whispered in Murin’s ear: “If it fires that thing our fort will be blown to splinters.” She hushed the voice. Murin had arranged soldiers in a shallow dugout at the base of the walls. She knew the gun had a long period after it fired that it could not be used again, and once it fired the soldiers would spring to action and incapacitate the giant.
The giant hefted it’s weapon, toggling something on the side, and Murin could see it take a deep breath, preparing to fire. Before it could, something moved through the evening light. Like a swarm of black-feathered birds, a flurry of dark fabric shot out from the treetops and surrounded the giant’s head. The fabric spun, twisting the giant’s head around two full rotations, then the black shapes vanished back into the trees. The giant’s body collapsed onto it’s weapon, crushing it. A huge explosion rang out, muffled by the corpse of the giant. Steam began to rise from it’s fallen body as the trenched soldiers leapt out, weapons raised, and charged toward the corpse.
“What the...” One of the military advisors began to say, when suddenly a Gribrul man sprinted into the open space, collapsing to his knees before Murin.
“Message...” He panted “The sisters come... assist with giant...” He leaned on the ground with one arm, and Murin could see it was Gribrul’Askneer.
Looking down at the corpse far below, Murin said “I think they just did.”
“Report!” Someone yelled, drawing the attention of everyone present. “Large group of giants sighted in the valley! At least three dozen! Orders from Shabra to fortify this hilltop until she arrives!”
Murin dispatched orders, but the news put an air of fear into the command post. It took a half dozen shadow-sisters in wait to deal with a lone giant, what could they do about three dozen? The Krukers held fast, reinforcing the existing troops with the intermittent arrival of other groups of soldiers. Enough mainlanders had enlisted that there were entire squadrons of battle-hardened orc who originally hailed from across the narrow sea.
“Grushnak band led by Sargothey’Renka reporting for duty.” Said a voice. Murin turned, issuing a deployment location for the band. She paused when she recognized the face of the orc.
“Do I know you?” She asked.
The tall orc bowed slightly, saying “Ah, yes, my name is Graal’Grun. My wife and I are deployed in this squadron.”
Murin smiled at the unexpected joy of a familiar face. “It’s good to see you Grun. Let’s hope I can see you again tomorrow.” She told him, before issuing the orders for the band.
In the dimming light, they could see the silhouettes of giants, their round heads and broad shoulders clear above the tops of the trees. They came in loose groups, no more than three at a time. The first few shapes moving through those darkening woods was nearing the treeline at the base of the hill when Shabra arrived. Murin gave her the pertinent information, then excused herself from the command post.
“No, stay here daughter. You have a talent for this.” Shabra said approvingly. She squinted in the failing light at the forest. “Ugly brothers they are..”
As the first giant stepped free of the trees, the order was given. Dozens of orc began to pull on ropes that had been stretched into the forest, and the weakened tree-trunks upon which the ropes held began to splinter and groan. With a series of violent heaves, a whole swath of woodland was felled, collapsing onto the unaware giant and crushing it. Shabra and Murin grinned.
As the evening turned into night, the hillside became a battleground. Great traps and barricades were constructed by orc and subsequently demolished by giant. The immense booming of the giants weapons turned whole swathes of trees to timber, and whole squadrons of orc to corpses. Massive holes had been torn into the fortified walls of the hill-base. Despite the overwhelming firepower of the giants, the orc had tactics, numbers, and cooperation on their side. Nine giants had been felled by the time Melko appeared in the command post. His nostrils were flared, and his chest rose and fell ever so slightly.
“Shabra. I have heard from the scouts. Another fifty giants comes through the valley. It is too many. I have coordinated the flanking squads to buy time, but we must begin a retreat.”
Shabra grimaced, mouth opening for a reply, then she suddenly turned to look toward the mountains. “What was that?”
Murin heard it too, a high-pitched metallic scream—like tearing iron, or a malformed trumpet. It came from the distant mountain peaks, far beyond the valley entrance. All present looked in awe toward that sound. Trees began to fall, only one or two wide in a completely straight line from that distant peak toward the bulk of the giants present, which were now approaching the hilltop. Before anyone could speak, there was a crash. Purple lightning seemed to crackle in the air for a split second, and then the world seemed to explode. A massive shockwave hit the hilltop fort. Wood splintered all around them, canvas tore, weapons and armour were flung into the air, and the earth itself seemed to shake.
When Murin lifted herself back to her feet, she saw that Shabra was on one knee, gazing out into the distance with a look of horror. Murin looked toward the source of the blast, and the forest was gone. Where it had stood was an immense crater, filled with smashed stone and rubble. A red-grey smoke seemed to drift from that place. In the centre of the crater there was a figure. It was taller than most orc and stood on two legs, but had horns and hooves. It was covered in blackened, burned flesh and decaying muscle.
“Gods above...” Shabra said. “Who knew such a thing could exist...”
“What is it?” Murin asked. Before anyone could answer, the figure began to move. It swung it’s skull-head slowly back and forth, as if trying to clear it’s mind of something. A sudden movement caught it’s attention. A group of two giants, readying their weapons on the edge of the crater. The beast lowered it’s head, and there were tiny purple flashes of light from around it’s horns. Then, quicker than seemed possible, the beast moved. It blasted toward the giants, ramming it’s horns into one of them. The air seemed to crackle with purple, but there was no explosion like before. Instead, the giant’s body snapped in half, a spray of blood erupting from behind where the monster struck it. The other giant turned and began to fire it’s weapon. Murin saw the beast struck with half a dozen chunks of flying metal. The metal was flung with such force that it went straight through the skeletal form, tearing muscle and snapping bone. The strange creature, now shredded into pieces, fell to the torn earth.
Everyone in the command post watched in silence. Once the giant’s weapon stopped shooting, Murin heard someone whisper “is it dead?” As if in answer, the form of the monster began to move. It twitched and shivered, severed limbs seeming to fly on jagged threads of purple light back toward the torso, rotted muscle knitting itself together. The giant seemed to be as stunned as the orcs. Then it reached for it’s weapon, and flipped several switches on it. Murin heard Melko inhale softly. “Fourth squadron is down there...” He said, leaving the rest unspoken. The Gribrul warriors of fourth squadron rushed toward the giant, making a simultaneous attack at it’s ankles, weapon, and eyes. The giant stumbled and fell to one knee, swinging an arm around to try and swat at the attackers. At that moment, the monster regained it’s strength, and seemed to travel instantaneously toward the nearest movement. It struck a Gribrul warrior in the back, and his torso was transformed into a spray of viscera. Then the monster spun, lancing another warrior with it’s horns, and grabbing a third in an unbreakable grip. It surged toward the giant, swinging the warrior at the giant’s skull. With a crack that was audible even at the hilltop command post, the warrior and the giant were no more.
“It knows no friend or foe.” Melko said, his eyes wide.
“It kills the giants. Perhaps we can use it.” Shabra said, a look of disgust painted on her face.
“It is a monster, we must retreat lest it turn it’s attention to the fort.” Melko said, looking sternly up at Shabra.
“Never turn your back on a wild beast, Melko.” Shabra said. “If we retreat it will chase and destroy us.”
Melko shook his head. “It is not a beast. It does not feel death. We must retreat.”
The monster gave another metallic scream, and charged deep into the woods. Another explosion of purple lightning appeared in the distance, scouring the ground of trees.
The clan leaders stared out at that distant crater. After a moment Melko spoke.
“Shabra, sound the retreat to Kruk. I will order the forward squadrons to group the giants at the valley entrance. We need only pull it’s attention there for a moment.”
“How do you propose we keep it away from the retreating forces?” Shabra asked.
“This, I will do.” Melko said simply. His face was certain.
Shabra gave the retreat orders. The giants which moved about the forest seemed to be distracted by the appearance and disappearance of Gribrul squads in the dark woods. Terrifying sounds broke the silent night. The booming of the steam guns firing, the cracking of scores of woodland falling, the metallic screech of that monster, and the occasional deafening blast from it’s purple lightning explosion, which shook the earth and forced all the orc to the ground. Battered and wounded, the soldiers took their retreat. As they got further away from the giants, the fear in the air lessened.
Melko dashed through the woods. Occasionally a squadron member would appear by his side to receive orders or relay information. Melko instructed them to push the giants toward the valley entrance, but then to retreat back to Kruk. He received some looks from the squadron message-carriers, but they knew not to challenge his honour by objecting. Another blast shook the earth, and Melko pivoted his direction toward it. He did not know what kind of monster that thing was, but he knew magic when he saw it. Melko knew that all his years of training led to this point. He could do nothing but act: if his strength was enough, it would be enough, if it was lacking, it would be lacking.
Melko parted with the final message carrier. He soon entered a clearing filled with dust and smoke. He slowed, squinting in the gloom. In the centre, the monster stood. Melko noticed that it seemed to remain completely still after one such explosion, and that it could not perform another one until a small period of time had passed. He looked to the stars to orient himself, circling around the edge of the crater. He would position himself between the monster and the group of giants, hopefully bringing the beasts charge closer to that crowd. When the beast began to move, it shook it’s head slowly again. Then lifted it’s skeletal snout and began to look around. Melko deliberately moved his arms as he was already perfectly prepared in a stance. The Gribrul combat technique which he had honed to a razors edge, utter stillness. The beast saw his movement, and snorted loudly. It scraped a hoof against the stone rubble, and lowered it’s head.
Melko began to move before he thought the charge would come. His movements were near-instantaneous, he thought, but the beast was faster than seemed possible. It managed to reach him as he was still shifting out of the way, and with a twist of it’s skull gashed the surface of his arm. The momentum of the beast carried it flying into the forest, destroying trees as it hurtled straight through their trunks. Melko reflexively tensed the part of his arm that was cut, shutting the wound. He was in disbelief. He knew he was faster than any animal, any orc master of any martial discipline he knew of, and any creature he had encountered before. He had even anticipated the monster’s move, but it was still able to touch him. This would not be a gentle night.
Chapter 16
Gribrul’Melko chased that ferocious monster through miles of woodland. As he neared the stopping point from that first charge, he heard the sounds of fighting. Slowing to listen, Melko heard that distinctive series of rapid explosions from the giants steam guns. Moments later he heard them die to that monsters hand. When all had gone quiet, Melko moved stealthily toward the location where the sounds had been. He needed to position himself so that the creature’s charge would bring it closer to the valley entrance. Suddenly, a movement through the trees caught Melko’s eye, and the beast came flying through the woods, smashing trees to splinters with it’s skull. In that precious instant Melko saw his death once again. He greeted it with a curt nod, and bade it to be patient with him. Then, he breathed. In the utter stillness, the words of his master the great Gribrul’Reklevo, rang out. “Rivers flow where mountains let them pass, the mountains carved by rivers past.”
Melko adopted the stance of the mountain, and caught the monster’s skull between the heels of his hands. Although his body could become hard as the hardest granite, he saw this creature moved with enough force to shatter him. Instead, he allowed the force to move through him, to pass by without resistance. He felt himself as the sand of the riverbed. The flow carried sand to the sea, but there was always more sand, for it came from the earth itself. The monster flew through Melko and continued. With an effort, Melko hardened his form again. He staggered with a sudden exhaustion. Then, a loud crack came from the distance. It was different from the explosions of steamgun or the monster’s horns.
Melko ran along the path of fallen trees, rapidly approaching a stone cliff that formed part of the mountainside. He saw there were large cracks across the surface, converging near the base. When he exited from the treeline, Melko spotted the form of the monster with it’s head embedded into the stone cliff. It moved, struggling to free itself, but for the moment it was stuck fast. Melko saw this was his opportunity. The giants would not go far into the foothills, they represented a threat which was contained only to the mountains. This monster, he did not know how far it would go. He did not know if it would slaughter every giant and then come for Kruk. He breathed, and heard his master’s words once again. “Swift as the thunderhead, sudden as the avalanche.”
Melko adopted the stance of falling rocks. He twisted, building momentum and hardening his arms. On the final spin, he allowed himself to become the stone, crashing like a boulder into the sea. He struck the cliff wall with all the force he could muster. The strike shook the stone, sending a wave of cracks and fractures twisting up the wall of rock. Melko leapt back, his body slowed from the exertion, as the cliff began to crumble. He retreated into the trees, seeing that the cliff-side had become transformed into a pile of rubble large enough to swallow old Kruk. He stumbled again, the exhaustion of these techniques permeating his bones. From the near distance came the sound of giants on the move. This was close enough to the valley entrance that the giants must have heard the sound of the cliff falling. Melko retreated, he did not want to be caught unawares.
Grubrul’Melko wandered through the lonely woods, searching for a spot to rest and observe the monster’s burial ground. As he walked, it seemed like the stars were twinkling more vibrantly than usual. He looked up, and as he gazed into the night sky, tiny sparks of purple seemed to flicker in and out of existence. The moments passed, and the sparks grew longer, connecting together into jagged spindles which seemed to align toward... Melko turned, seeing the lines of purple faintly connecting to a single point within that distant mound of rubble. He turned away, and moved. Swift as the thunderhead, a sudden desert storm, Melko ran at the limit of his strength. His legs falling beneath him, barely managing to strike the ground before being hurtled away in the forward movement. The purple sparks grew, and tiny bolts of lightning seemed to arc through the air and between the trees. Melko felt a prickling sensation where it contacted his arms and legs.
Suddenly, the air grew still, then moved in a great rush. Melko fought against the great headwind, seeing the purple lightning growing larger around him. He knew if he remained in this place, he would surely die. He drew deep, remembering the words of his master. He pushed against the earth, and instead of remaining stoic, the ground aided his progress. Each step struck the ground, and when Melko pushed off, the ground shifted forward slightly on a thin layer of sand. The purple sparks grew thick around him as the air thinned, and the trees ahead slid out of the way. Melko leapt forward with a final burst of strength, adopting the stance of the mountain mid-air and bracing himself for what was to come. An instant later, the explosion came.
A great blast of wind flattened trees and scoured stone. Melko was sent flying, tumbling over himself and crashing into stones and the trunks of trees. He remained steadfast, enduring the tumult. When his movement stopped, he could see something in the distance through the mounds of shattered trees. Melko righted himself, and was overcome with awe. Past the miles of flattened woodland, an immense area of land was simply gone. A gigantic vortex of sand slowly spiralled, rising into the sky. Melko saw that the valley entrance had been erased in the blast, and caught sight of a handful of giants climbing to their feet on the far ridge of that immense crater. Melko saw that the crater was already filling with sand, and in the deepest point, a lone figure stood inert.
The chief of clan Gribrul knew that he must seize this opportunity. The size of this explosion must have taxed that monster to it’s limit, and it would be at it’s weakest point. He began to run, the exhaustion radiating through his body. He drew on the knowledge of his mission, the single intent of his mind, and ran toward that hole in the earth.
The sand began to fall as a torrential rain. Melko was reminded of the legendary “sandstorm” told about in stories passed down through his clan. With eyes narrowed to slits, he ran until he reached the edge of the crater. Melko half-ran, half-slid down the side of that place, the sheer edges and sand-covered rubble made for unpredictable footing, but years of practice had prepared him for worse. The base of the crater was buffeted by swirling winds, and the sand had begun to form into dunes. Melko understood now the name of the “sandrunner” stance, as he adopted it to traverse the terrain. When he crested the next dune, the monster appeared.
The monster was was buried up to it’s waist in sand, seemingly unaware of the world around it. Melko approached slowly, but it did not react. He stood near the thing, wondering how he could ensure it never escaped this place. Melko saw that the sand falling would eventually bury it, and it’s explosion seemed to create sand, not destroy it. Yet, how long did he have until the beast awoke from it’s stasis? As if in answer to the question, the horned skull seemed to turn slowly toward Melko. He froze, watching. The skull turned past him, then began to turn back the other direction. “The head shake!” Thought Melko. The monster did this after it’s explosion attack, and then it was alert again. This time it seemed to be moving much slower than before. He had to stop it. Melko moved toward the form, combining sandrunner and the flying crane stance to deliver a spinning knee to the beasts skull. With a satisfying crack, the skull went spinning over the dunes and into the distance.
Melko landed, twisting to see the torso. It was still. Had he done it? Melko saw the torso possessed several metallic sigils which seemed to be burned into the beasts twisted flesh. The sigils on the torso glowed with a faint pulse, but their light seemed dim. Then, thin bolts of purple electricity began to arc from the sigils into the distance, toward where the skull had flown. The torso jerked and began to climb free from the sand. Instead of moving toward Melko, it moved as if pulled by the purple light.
Melko saw he must prevent the skull from rejoining the torso. He began to move toward the figure, thinking to knock it away, but he knew from his exhaustion that it would not be much use. Instead, he ran over the dune and toward the skull. Cresting the dune, he saw it floating slightly, jaw trailing in the sand. He ran forward and seized the skull in both hands. Holding the skull, he was dragged along the sand by it’s pull. He had only a short time until the torso reached him. Melko looked down at the skull, seeing it’s eyeless gaze. It had a metallic sigil in it’s forehead which glowed brightly. Not knowing what else to do, Melko began to squeeze the skull in his grip. It was harder than he expected. He squeezed, and cracks began to show along the sides of the skull. Then something happened which caused Melko to freeze. The jaw began to move up and down, and a sound emerged from the it. A strange, rasping, crackling sound. It came again and again, and finally the skull managed to utter “Mal-ko”.
An intense mix of emotions flooded Melko. He squeezed with all his might, and the skull shattered into pieces. The pieces immediately flew away from Melko, each touching a thin strand of that purple lightning, and soared back toward the torso. Having just crested the dune, the torso stood as the skull assembled piece by piece on it’s apex. Melko turned in a rage. He rushed the form, arms out to grapple it. The monster was faster, it sidestepped and smashed an arm into Melko’s side. The arm was harder than steel. Melko felt his bones shatter and one of his organs rupture. He went flying, managing to land on his hands and feet in the sand. The pain was incredible. Melko’s vision began to blacken.
“No.” He thought. “I do not fight for my honor. I do not fight for my life. The lives of my children, my wives, my clan, my pride. They will be in danger if I fail.”
Melko calmed himself. He used the ancient technique of blood-stemming to halt the bleeding from his organs. Now was the time for calm. Now was the time for the most dangerous of techniques. Now was the only time that had ever been. He looked toward the monster, and it was rushing him. He stood to blocking the beasts swinging arm with his own. He felt his arm shatter. Some deep memory within him arose, and Melko turned his broken arm to granite beneath the crushing force. Cracks spiralled through it, but his arm remained. When he used the stone-body technique, he saw that his arm was momentarily surrounded by purple sparks.
The monster pressed the assault. It swung with reckless abandon, each strike powerful enough to kill if it landed. Melko moved fluidly between every stance he knew. The beast was fast, but it seemed to have slowed since their earlier encounter. It struck with the speed of a master of masters in the dance of the woodpecker, or the swordfish’s play, but Melko had defeated those masters. He weaved, using his stone arm to block the most severe blows. Even so, the beast was relentless, each blow harder than the last. It seemed to have an endless well of energy. Melko saw that it adopted a totally unique fighting style, apparently fighting in no stance at all, yet at the same time it used some aspect of the movements of each stance in it’s furious barrage. In the trancelike state of combat, Melko’s mind flew. He remembered a pivotal duel in his thirtieth year. A mainland master was visiting the pride, and wished to see a marriage ceremony. Melko had just proposed to his eighth wife, and the event had been scheduled for the next day. During the usual proceedings, any who wish to challenge is offered a one-on-one duel with the husband before he must fight the prospective wife and his current wives. The mainlander issued a challenge. Melko did not expect much, the man adopted no firm stance, and when Melko landed the first blow the man went flying. However, he got up. From that moment he seemed to be able to mimic Melko’s stance exactly. Each time Melko switched a stance, the newcomer adopted it in just a few seconds. Eventually Melko defeated him by a minutes-long series of rapid stance-switches and feigned hits that the mainlander could not keep up with. Impressed with the man’s skill, Melko asked about his combat style.
“It is called the mimic’s sight.” He said. “My master tells us: a fighter’s greatest weakness lies within his own strength. Sometimes only simple mimicry is needed to expose that weakness.”
Melko’s mind snapped back to the battle before him. He saw it now. The purple lightning was the source of the beasts power. Yet, it was only after he had run with sand that the beast was able to create an explosion of it. He had seen that lightning arcing from his stone-body technique. He knew what must be done.
Melko performed a perilous evasive maneuver, a double-kick back-turn. He felt the monster’s arm strike his calf, shattering the bone, but the kick was enough to propelled him into the sand, and sent the monster stumbling backwards. Hardening himself, Melko clambered up the dune. Then he turned to face the beast. It stood at the bottom of the dune, head shaking back and forth slowly. It used a hoof to scrape the sand. Melko saw purple lightning arcing about it’s horns.
“The gods have granted me this chance.” He thought. The timing was perfect, the beast was going to use it’s explosion attack. The distance was perfect, the beast was going to charge him. The rest was up to fate.
Melko stood, shoulders up, head facing the sky. It was a pale blue, and he could feel the sun was beginning to rise behind him. He adopted the “un-stance”, known in the desert lands as the stance of the serpent. Feet apart, arms wide, hands open, palms toward the enemy. Total defencelessness. He saw the beast lower it’s head, and Melko breathed in. One final breath of sweet mountain air. Melko drew deep, tapping into every reserve of energy he had. The beast charged. Melko became one with the earth.
In that moment, the monster channelled the latent energy of the surroundings into it’s horns. The greatest well of this power was Melko, and all his focus was directed toward one manifestation. When the beast struck him, the power in it’s horns exploded outward. Melko, the monster, the sand beneath them, and all all things within the base of that immense crater became solid stone in an instant.
As years turned into decades, and decades into centuries, the legend of crater lake lived on. Generations of orc would pilgrimage from the crowded streets of Kruk to the mountains. There lay a perfectly circular lake, filled with crystal clear water. The bottom of the lake was solid granite, so nothing but algae could grow. The legends said on a clear, bright day, when the sun was at it’s zenith, you could gaze into the depths of that lake and see a statue commemorating the final moments of the great Gribrul’Melko, the progenitor of the Grib clan. A clan who’s children and legacy spread all across the island, and who eventually led the construction of an immense stone bridge to cross the narrow sea. What would they find in that ancient and legendary land on the other side of the bridge? That is a tale for another time.