The wind howled across the mountains, driving sheets of white before it. Urgon crouched in the snow, ready to spring into action, watching his prey—a stout, woolly goat with a massive set of horns. It would have been an easy kill had he a bow, but in his rush to flee Ord-Dugath, he had left without one. So now he waited, shivering, with his spear in hand instead.
His prey moved closer, seemingly oblivious to his presence. His muscles tensed as he prepared to rise up and throw his weapon. The goat raised its head, suddenly on the alert. Urgon knew he would have only one chance at this. He staggered to his feet, weighed down as he was by the thick furs that fought to keep the chill at bay.
He chucked the spear, throwing with all his might, but the goat bounded away, disappearing into the blowing snow. Urgon cursed his luck. Now he must fight through the snow to recover his weapon, a job made all the more difficult by the flurries swirling around. As he trudged through the drifts, he cast his eyes about, but there was no sign of the spear. A low growl brought his advance to a halt, and he struggled to peer through the blizzard, desperate to find its source.
Again, a snarl. Now, he could have no doubt—a mountain cat had found him. He whirled around to see a large shape rushing towards him. It reached out, raking its claws across his chest, shredding the furs. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet back into the snow. Only his presence of mind saved him, for even as he fell, his hand went for his sword.
Out the weapon came, its blade singing as it struck, easily slicing through flesh and bone. The cat's momentum carried it forward, and it fell on him with a great weight, its teeth a hand's breadth from his face.
The pressure on his chest suddenly increased as the massive head lolled lifelessly to the side. Urgon summoned what remained of his strength and heaved the carcass off of him. Now relieved of the burden, he sucked in the frigid winter air in huge gasps, his mind still trying to cope with what had just happened.
He struggled to his feet, gazing down at the body. The great mountain cat was dead when, by all rights, it should be him lying there in the blood-soaked snow. He had come here seeking a goat, but instead, this large predator had now provided him with the needed meat.
Urgon remembered the claw attack and glanced down at his chest. The furs there had been shredded, but his chainmail shirt, worn beneath, saved him, blunting the force of the creature's strike. His knife came out, and he began the process of gutting the carcass.
Zhura looked up as Urgon entered the cave.
"What have you there?" she asked.
He dumped the creature on the floor. "Fresh meat."
The corners of her mouth curled up in a smile. "I thought you were going to hunt down a goat, and here I see a mountain cat. Can you not tell the difference?"
"Do they not both have four legs?"
Her smile quickly disappeared as she saw the state of his furs. "Are you hurt?"
"Only my pride. The beast surprised me."
"You are lucky to still be alive."
"I was saved by my sword."
"I would say the armour was what saved you," said Zhura. "Fate was in your favour today. Had it not been Dwarven mail, the links would likely have parted."
"Fate did not bring me the chainmail, Gambreck Ironpick did. He was the one who returned my father's body to Ord-Dugath."
"So your father's death led to your life being spared today. Do you not perceive the fate in that?"
"When you put it that way, I suppose I must. Looking back, I can now see my entire life has been a string of chance occurrences. Had any of them changed, I would not be here today."
"True," said Zhura. "You would be tucked up in your bed with a normal bondmate instead of me."
He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her. "You are the one who captured my heart."
"And you mine, but do you ever stop to consider what drove you to look inside that mud hut all those winters ago?"
"No, and never have I regretted it."
"Good, because I intend to remain amongst the living for a good many winters yet."
"And here I thought you would have gone mad by twenty."
"But I did," she said, the smile creeping back. "I am mad for you!"
He looked around the cave, intending to pull her down into some soft, warm furs, but then he noticed she had cleared a spot on the cavern floor. She immediately noted the shift in his attention.
"What have you been up to?" he asked.
"Come, and I will show you."
She grabbed his hand, guiding him to where the furs had been cast aside. The exposed floor was covered in scratches, and he wondered why she would do that. He was about to say something when he recognized a familiar design.
"I have seen these shapes before," he said. "They were in the cave of the Eternal Light."
"They are magic runes, much like those that decorated the door on my old hut."
"Why did we not see them earlier?"
"They were covered in dirt that had accumulated over the winters. Had I not spilled some of the stew, I would likely never have discovered them."
"So this cave is magical?"
"Possibly, but it would take a shaman to know for sure."
Urgon crouched, reaching out to feel the markings. "I can feel… something, although I have no sense of what it is."
"Let me guess," she said. "It makes the hairs on your arm stand on end?"
He nodded.
"I felt the same thing. It might be some kind of protective ward."
"Protection from what?" asked Urgon.
"I have no idea, but you must admit it strange that an animal had not taken up residence in this cave."
"But why would someone create that here, in the middle of nowhere? It makes no sense."
"Do you recall the legend of Dugath?"
"The founder of our tribe?"
"Yes," said Zhura. "I suspect he and his followers might have lived here for a while."
"But his arrow founded our village. Ord-Dugath is far too distant for that to have worked."
"Most likely it was before the founding. I also believe he may have had a ghostwalker amongst his people."
"What makes you say that?"
"This cave," said Zhura. "It insulates me from the spirits. If I step outside, I can still hear the echoes of the Ancestors, yet inside all is quiet."
"And you believe these markings have something to do with that?"
"Possibly."
"You talked to the spirit of Dugath before," said Urgon. "Could you not do so again?"
"Were I a shaman, I might, but I am a ghostwalker, unable to choose when and where I communicate with spirits. Only happenstance allowed me to speak with Dugath, and that was while I still lived in the village."
"I suppose that makes sense," mused Urgon, "but why do you suggest he had a ghostwalker amongst his people?"
"Our people are all descended from those original Orcs."
"And?"
"Ghostwalking is said to be in the blood. In that sense, I am a product of my ancestors. I will never know for sure if one of Dugath's people was like me or whether they had it in their blood, but it had to come from somewhere."
"That would make sense," said Urgon. "That being the case, would we not have seen or heard more about it in our history?"
"Not necessarily. Orcs have a variety of eye colours, and not every blue-eyed Orc has younglings who match. Sometimes such traits skip an entire generation."
Urgon frowned. "But Shular told me ghostwalkers are barren. How, then, did they pass on their blood?"
"Through siblings. Think of yourself. You have certain physical traits you share with your sister—eye colour, for example. Even though you may not have younglings, who is to say she might not?"
Urgon laughed but stopped when he saw her serious expression.
"You find this funny?" she asked.
"Only the thought of my sister bonding."
"I only used her as an example," said Zhura, "though I understand your amusement. Kurghal can be quite obstinate at times, and now that she is the senior shaman of the tribe, I doubt she will consider bonding."
"It is her loss," he said, reaching out to her. "I find it very fulfilling."
"As do I, although I would welcome the chance to have a youngling."
He noticed her mood darkening. "Come, now. We are both getting a little old to worry about such things. You have me. Am I not enough of a handful?"
She brightened considerably. "Look at me, feeling sorry for myself. I should count my blessings. Without you, I would have wasted away to nothing, my mind completely gone. I have much to be thankful for."
Urgon glanced at the floor again. "So this stew you were making, did you spill all of it?"
Two days later, the storm abated. Blessed with clear skies, Urgon emerged from the cave with Zhura by his side.
"It is so bright," she said. "It hurts my eyes."
"Mine too," replied Urgon, "but they will soon adjust. Come, breathe in the fresh air."
Zhura took a step, her feet sinking knee-deep into the snow. A smile crept over her face, and Urgon was about to say something, but then Zhura's eyes darted left. Concerned she had heard something, he swivelled his own gaze, but there was nothing there except snowdrifts as far as the eye could see.
"What is it?" he called out.
"A spirit."
He wanted to know more but held his tongue. In all the time they had been here, there had been no sign of the Ancestors. Why, then, would one appear now? He felt affronted as if their privacy had somehow been invaded, then silently berated himself for his selfishness. Zhura had no control over the spirit world—she had not conjured this ghost.
Zhura took three steps to her left and called out, her voice echoing off the hills, carrying in the crisp, cold air. Whoever was there evidently answered her call, for she angled her head as if listening intently. Urgon waited, knowing she would reveal all to him once she was done.
Her voice grew soft and rapid, further evidence she was conversing with a spirit. He had seen it often over the years, yet still, it drew him in, fascinating him.
Finally, she turned to him. "It is the spirit of your father, Urdar," she said.
Urgon felt an icy grip over his heart. "What did he want?"
"The Ancestors have been searching for us. Only he was brave enough to come this far into the mountains."
"Why would they be looking for us? Are we in danger?"
"Kraloch told them of our plight," she replied. "It has taken them half a year to find us."
He moved closer. "So we can get word back to Ord-Dugath?"
"If you wish. What would you have me say?"
"That we are safe, but let our location remain a secret, at least for now. I would not have Agrug's Humans learn of our whereabouts."
"A wise precaution," said Zhura. "Anything else?"
"Have them ask Kraloch to notify us when the tribe starts moving."
"That will probably not be until spring, and we would be hard-pressed to catch up to them once they begin."
"You raise a valid point," said Urgon. "I shall have to rethink our strategy."
"Is there another option? What if we return to the vicinity of Ord-Dugath come spring. There, we can keep an eye on things from a distance."
"No, the risk of running afoul of a hunting party is too high. Unless…"
Zhura smiled. "You have an idea."
"I do, but it largely depends on your ability to get a message to Kraloch. Timing will be important."
"Tell me your thoughts."
"Hunting parties are common around Ord-Dugath's immediate area, but we have the advantage."
"We do?"
"Yes," said Urgon, warming to the challenge. "If we get word to Urzath, we could ensure only those friendly to us hunted in whatever area we choose to inhabit."
"I do not see how. Hunters go where the game is, do they not? How, then, do we stop them from hunting in a specific area?"
Urgon grinned. "Unless they are operating in a group, Orcs will seldom hunt near others, else they would be in competition for the same prey. As long as Urzath announces where she will hunt, there will be little chance of running into anyone else."
"And this is common behaviour for hunters?"
"It is, especially concerning Urzath. She is our greatest hunter. Who in their right mind would want to interfere with her craft?"
"You have, I believe, come up with a good idea, but it needs work. Where, for example, would we live? Any shelter we build would attract attention."
Urgon pursed his lips. "A valid point. It would have to be somewhere that it could be concealed, like amongst rocks or in a thick grove of trees."
"Or in a depression," added Zhura. "That way, it might not be seen until quite close."
"The real problem would be the smoke of our fire. It would be visible for some distance."
"Could we make do without a fire?"
"We could certainly exist on raw meat if we had to, but we would need heat to survive the cold, and that means fire."
Zhura re-entered the cave, leaving Urgon to scan the frozen landscape. His mind raced. He valued his time with Zhura, but the thought of returning to Ord-Dugath made his pulse quicken. His people needed him!
Eventually, he followed her inside.
Urgon stared at the flames as the night air picked up, sending a chilly breeze into the cave. He had hung several skins over the door in an effort to block it, but the results had been only partially successful.
Zhura sat opposite him, her hands engaged in sewing together a bag. A gust hit the fire, wafting smoke into her face, and she coughed.
"It is as if this smoke is destined to burn my eyes regardless of where I sit."
"It is not your fault," said Urgon. "The hills here funnel the wind. It has little choice but to enter our cave."
Zhura looked at him, her eyes tearing from the smoke. "The wind always blows in the same direction here."
It took a moment for the idea to sink in. "So it does," he replied.
"Is it the same in Ord-Dugath?"
"It is. It always comes from the west, blowing up towards the mountains."
"Are you thinking what I am?"
Urgon grinned. "I believe so. As long as we remain downwind of the village, we can build a fire. It appears the Ancestors have provided the answer we needed after all."
"It was not the Ancestors," said Zhura, "but your bondmate."
He smiled. "So it was! You are quite remarkable, Zhura. Glad I am that we are bonded. You complete me." He stood, moving around the fire to gaze down at her with love in his eyes.
In return, she looked at him and held up her hand. "Not so fast, my love. There will be plenty of time for that later. Come and sit by my side so we may further discuss this plan of yours."
He sat, taking her hand in his. "All right, although I consider the plan not mine, but OURS." He stared into her eyes to see worry reflected back, then his gut tightened. "No," he said. "I think it best if we just stay here instead."
"Why would you say that?"
"I know the toll the spirits take on you. Returning to the village would only make your burden greater. Here you have peace and quiet. Is it not best if it remains so?"
Zhura forced a smile. "I am happy wherever you are," she said. "And in any case, the mud hut will protect me. I have enjoyed these last few months, but it places a heavy burden on you to provide for us. It might be different if I were a hunter, but look at me—I have barely enough muscle to walk for more than a few hundred paces, let alone sneak around looking for food. You belong amongst our people, Urgon, and I by your side. We shall return to Ord-Dugath, and then you must save our people from disaster."
He squeezed her hand. "You once told me to follow my heart," he said, "and that led me to you. I will not abandon you now."
"You will not be abandoning me but providing for our future. You need to claim the leadership of the tribe, Urgon, else this will become our life." She gazed around the cave.
Urgon sighed, seeing the practical side of things. "I see now that you speak the truth."
"Do I not always do so?"
He grinned. "Of course. What I meant to say is that I agree with you. The only way for life to return to some semblance of normalcy is to become chieftain. Only with Agrug removed from power can we stop this madness."
"Good. When do we start?"
"In the spring," said Urgon. "Once the snows have melted."