Gathering At Ghun-Ra
with several other mountains, connecting with them in wide ridges. It didn’t stand solo like some of the other mountain castles of Drelek, but rather the town was built throughout the slopes, spreading out from the fortress that was dug into the side of the Ghun-Ra peak. The several attached peaks had tunnels and steads dug within, making it an interweaving network city.
The town, one of the southernmost in all Drelek, served as a frequent operations base for orc troop movement. Raiding parties were often launched from the base and sent over the southern ridges.
Ghun-Ra also had a long and cherished history among their peoples. During the Second Great Black War, the commanders and generals operating out of Ghun-Ra were the ones that landed the final blow to the mighty elvish city of Palori. When the war was coming to an end, it was at Ghun-Ra that the enemy forces were halted and kept from riding farther north into Drelek. The town had much pride.
Gar Nargoh’s dragon swooped over the valley, casting a strange shadow in the moonlight as they came in for a landing. The morning was not far off, and it had been a long night. They would need to get some rest before meeting with Gar Jergahn in a few hours.
Karnak and Smarlo floated to a wyvern landing zone perch Nargoh had pointed them toward. He and the adolescent dragon flew to a larger zone nearby. A couple of goblin guards directed the orcs from Calrok to open stalls where their wyverns could rest.
Karnak recognized many of their Scar Squadron wyverns. Having been to Ghun-Ra once before, he knew many of the other areas would also be filled with wyverns from other squadrons around Drelek.
The orcs settled their wyverns in. Karnak grabbed an extra hare from a barrel nearby and flipped it to Ker before bidding her goodnight. She had earned it. She caught the rabbit in her maw, chomping it with her many teeth and working it down her long neck and into her belly. Ker clicked happily as she made herself comfortable in the stall.
Smarlo motioned the lead to his gar as they followed a dark hallway. The tunnels were barely illuminated by a torch far inside. Orc eyes, like goblins’, could see even in the blackest pitch of tunnels at night. Doors led to chambers lining the length of the corridor. Smarlo found his door and nodded his regards to his gar before slipping into the small room for the night.
Karnak found the gar chamber at the end of the hall. Gar chambers were always deeper in the tunnels that they might be protected from an ambush or attack. In open battle, Karnak did not know a single gar who would not take the lead in a charge.
As Karnak crashed onto his bed for the night, discomfort swept over him. He couldn’t tell if it was the millions of tons of rock that hung above him or if it was the weight of everything he’d become privy to in recent days. One thing was sure: if he had any kind of role to play, he would need rest to be at his best.
He closed his eyes, seeing his wife Tanessa and his little monster, Gernot. He breathed in deep, a smile scrawled across his tired face, and he followed the two into his dreams.
The sun poked over the ridges of the narrow valley of Ghun-Ra, finding its way into the plethora of window holes that had been carved throughout the city. Light poured through some, wider than others. In other places, goblin engineers had fashioned intricate mirror systems to illuminate deeper chambers.
Smarlo had gotten up early enough to fill Belguv in on what he and Karnak had experienced on their mission with Gar Nargoh. Belguv was stunned to hear of the dragon and baffled that none of Nargoh’s orcs had mentioned anything about it. It was not uncommon for orc squadrons to boast about their prowess when brought together. He thought, surely, they would have considered a dragon worth boasting about. Clearly, they were all bound to secrecy on the matter.
Belguv didn’t have much to report to his commander. The Scar Squadron had not had any issues. Their youngest rider, Tark, had gotten a little rowdy one night in the excitement of his first mission. Smarlo laughed. He remembered being that young. Other than that, Belguv reported there were at least four squadrons from different places around Drelek stationed there at the moment. As he’d asked around, none of them knew exactly why they had been summoned. He assumed they would all find out during that day’s meeting with Gar Jergahn.
When Karnak joined his two orcs, they filled him in as they navigated through the winding tunnels, headed for the meeting chamber. They ran into the gar from Dak-Tahn and his commander as they passed the barracks tunnel where that squadron had stayed. Gar Dahno seemed to know his way, and they continued along the same path, weaving through the maze.
Gar Dahno cringed and raised a hand to protect his face as sunlight poured through a window in a long straight hallway. Dak-Tahn was a mountain fortress in the far north of the Drelek Mountains. They had almost no windows, and their wyvern riders operated almost exclusively at night. While Karnak and the orcs from Calrok lived mostly in the sun, Gar Dahno and the orcs from Dak-Tahn lived almost entirely in darkness.
As the tunnel widened, they came upon a set of large double doors guarded by two goblins. They stood rather straight for goblins, seemingly very proud of their positions, and rightfully so. The rich military history of Ghun-Ra was not only for orcs, but for all the members of Drelek. Goblins and trolls had integral roles in the Second Great Black War, and there didn’t seem to be any division among the races. They were all on a mission, all the time.
“Good morning, Gars,” one of the goblins said, placing a finger to his brow and giving a slight bow. The other swiftly opened one of the large doors and ushered them into the meeting cavern.
The chamber had been a natural cavern originally. The floor had been ground down to a flat surface, but the ceiling was covered in patches of stalactites. Light filled the chamber from several different holes in the ceiling, obviously paired with mirror contraptions to bring the sunbeams into the deep room.
Gar Nargoh chatted with Gar Jergahn near a table in the chamber’s center, as Karnak and the others entered the cavern. They crossed to the table, and before they had reached it, the last gar, a rather fat orc named Klentja of Borok, and his commander arrived.
The whole group was present and waited patiently for Jergahn and Nargoh to finish their side conversation.
“Welcome, Gars. Commanders,” Jergahn started, turning to the table before them. “I trust your travels were swift?”
The grunts and nods around the table were all the reply necessary.
“And the barracks and food have been to your liking?”
“There wasn’t much left after Klentja got to it.” Gar Dahno roared. Laughter resounded at the ribbing, except for Klentja’s commander, of course. Klentja, himself chuckling, held a hand out to stay his offended young commander, Genjak. Dahno and Klentja had been friends for many years.
“The early orc gets the glorb! We weren’t hiding from the morning like you vampires.” Klentja shot back in his rough orc voice, to the delight of all present.
“And at least we know how to navigate tunnels to make it to a meeting on time,” Genjak added with a pop of his eyebrows. The others rolled with laughter at the young commander’s bold jab.
“I only wanted to make sure the Calrok sun-lovers would be able to find it in the dark tunnels,” Dahno chimed.
“Yes, how we love the sun’s scary light and horrible warmth. Is that why you hide away in that frostbitten hole up north near the Frozen Lake?” Karnak threw in. Several of the orcs held their aching ribs as they tried to control their mirth.
“Good, good,” Jergahn continued, as the laughter died down. “I know some of you might be wondering why King Sahr has ordered us to gather here.”
Again, the grunts and nods around the table answered his question.
“Drelek is about to come into its glory of former days. For too long, the people of the south have spat in the face of our traditions and honor.” A couple orcs spit in response. “No longer. King Sahr’s new ally has procured for us the means by which we will assert our power and might over all Tarrine!”
While the others leaned in to hear of the mighty weapon, Karnak tightened his knot of black hair, crossed his arms in front of him, and leaned back, thoughtful. Smarlo shot him a glance, trying to read his gar but also displaying his own concern about what they had seen the other night.
“A dragon,” Gar Nargoh proudly answered their inquisitive looks.
“What?” Gar Dahno’s commander reacted.
“A dragon?” Gar Klentja repeated, processing the answer.
“Yes. A dragon,” Gar Jergahn continued, while Nargoh brimmed with pride and satisfaction at their reactions. “Gar Karnak arrived before the rest of you, and he and his commander witnessed the creature’s mighty power.”
The others looked to Karnak for his input. The young gar was slow to speak, not initially wanting to comment on the matter until he was more aware of the intricacies of what was going on. All the leaders from the far reaches of Drelek stared at him, awaiting his thoughts. The silence was deafening as his muscles twitched and rolled under his deep green skin. Karnak adjusted uncomfortably in his seat.
“I’ve seen the beast,” Karnak finally gave them.
The answer did not satisfy the onlookers.
“And? What of the beast, young Gar?” Gar Dahno prodded, not liking the unresolved reply.
“It is young and still has wild horns,” Karnak continued, thinking aloud. “It would not be wise to rush into open war while the creature is still so untrained. It’s mighty, to be sure. But should its unbridled power remain untamed in the midst of battle, it could mean disaster.”
Disappointed huffs rolled around the table. A growl emanated from deep within Gar Nargoh.
“So, the monster must be trained,” Gar Klentja cut the tension.
“The beast is trained!” Nargoh shot back, unable to stay his mounting rage.
“Unless it wants a snack,” Smarlo rebutted.
Nargoh shot up, his chair flying backward and his hands gripping the table’s edge. Gar Jergahn placed a big hand on Nargoh’s tensed arm, his steely eyes regaining control of the meeting.
“Gar Nargoh has been training with the dragon for many weeks now, and the incidents of the other night have been reported. I still believe it to be a capable weapon against our enemies,” Jergahn reassured them.
“If the beast isn’t ready and we start a war against the man-kin, we could lose before we start. And Borok doesn’t intend to fight a war that’s already lost,” Klentja stated the obvious concern in the back of all their minds.
“The creature is ready,” Nargoh growled, again receiving a staying hand from Gar Jergahn.
“This is why we won’t test its battle prowess on man-kin yet,” Jergahn said.
“The dwarves? Elves? Who?” Klentja questioned, an incredulous look on his aging face.
“The rebellion.”
Silence filled the room. Gar Klentja leaned back in his seat, his chin raised at Jergahn’s answer. The others waited for more.
“As you know, Gar Nargoh and Gar Karnak are here with us now because the traitors abandoned their seats. They lost faith in our king. They lost faith in their brothers—in us!”
While others around the table nodded in agreement, Karnak noticed Klentja’s demeanor shift. His pensive look eased Karnak’s concerns about his own misgivings. He would have to speak with the older gar more about the whole situation later.
“This is why we are meeting this morning: for all of you to witness the might of the dragon and to spark the flame of courage in our bellies for the war to come. For the glory to come! For the honor to come!”
Approving grunts at Jergahn’s words rolled around the table from many of the younger commanders.
“Gar Nargoh will lead his squadron in a battle against the rebels at Renjak. The Scar Squadron is the most rested and will provide backup should Gar Nargoh need it,” Jergahn nodded the order to Karnak, who listened intently. “Though I don’t foresee any problems arising. Gars and commanders will stay airborne with the Scar Squadron to witness the events. Should all go accordingly, we’ll reconvene here for the next phase of the plan.”
The chamber was quiet, almost somber. Belguv and Smarlo looked to their gar. Karnak dipped his chin to avert their looks. They would discuss the matter privately. Karnak was caught in the stare of Gar Klentja, and Karnak worried the older gar might be able to read his expression, and by extension, his thoughts. The gar nodded slightly toward him, almost as an invitation for the younger gar to seek him out later.
“Start preparing yourselves,” Jergahn said resolutely. “We will fly for Renjak and put an end to this rebellion.”
Karnak walked through the tunnels alone. Shortly after Gar Klentja left the dining hall reserved for special guests, Karnak also excused himself from lunch. The commanders and the other gars paid no attention and continued their own conversations. Karnak hoped he would be able to catch the gar from Borok and speak with him alone. Did Klentja know something he didn’t know about the rebellion? What could he tell Karnak that might put the younger gar’s heart at ease within him?
When he first entered the hallways, he had expected to see Klentja right away. Instead, he found an empty stone walkway. Karnak weaved and poked in and out of side passages that crisscrossed his path, hoping to catch a glimpse of the older gar. When he had found no trace of him, Karnak decided to search for him in the Borok squadron’s barracks tunnel.
He found the barracks empty as well. Karnak noted with appreciation that those rooms were also unkempt, relieving his concerns about the messy young orcs in his squadron. Realizing he may not get a moment alone with Gar Klentja if he was with his squadron, Karnak decided to visit Ker in her stall and try to catch the older gar later.
He walked through the maze of tunnels, knowing that route well. His big paw of an orc-hand slid across a natural, rippled pillar of stone as he rounded the corner to a long hallway. The passage was unique. One side of the hallway was completely exposed to the air. The backside had a few side passages. In the afternoon sun, the shadows of those tunnels were a hard contrast to the open-air hallway.
Karnak leaned on the low wall that overlooked the slope below. He took a deep breath; feeling the sun on his face infused vitality to his bones. He smelled the fresh mountain air, a relief from the damp tunnels. He gazed across the narrow valley, seeing orcs scattered around. He spotted some catching fish in the river and noted how deep green they were, much like him and the other orcs of Calrok. As one pulled in a fish, Karnak was struck with a sort of homesickness. How different Calrok was to many other orc strongholds. But then again, how very similar were those orcs wading in the river, filling baskets of fish.
“I knew you cared.”
The gruff voice behind him snapped Karnak from his thoughts as he whirled around to confront it.
Gar Klentja emerged from the dark shadow of one of the side passages. His gaze locked onto the younger orc. He inspected Karnak and slapped his hand on the large orc’s shoulder, gripping down to feel the muscle. Karnak stood, accepting the inspection from his elder. When Klentja appeared to have seen what he needed to in the younger gar, he leaned against the wall next to him, squinting his eyes in the bright sun.
“I was hoping you cared,” the older orc said, hairs from his greying head catching some of the mountain breeze. “There can be no doubt you are a son of Calrok. Born to the sun, those ones.”
The wrinkled smile on Klentja’s face put Karnak at ease. Again, he leaned on the wall next to the older orc to enjoy the view.
“Your father was sensitive, too,” Klentja continued. “Plak cared deeply about those around him. He was a good friend. I was very sad when he died.”
Klentja rubbed the back of his thick neck, turning away from the younger orc to hide the sadness that welled within him.
“You knew my father well. I remember his stories of you.”
“Ha!” Klentja laughed and slapped his big belly. “I wasn’t always this old and fat! Back in the day, Plak, Zotar, and I were unstoppable. Your father was a mountain of an orc. Just like you, I suppose ...” He paused, recognizing his old friend in the young orc. “We were a force to be reckoned with.”
As he turned, the older orc’s gaze was no longer on the narrow valley, but rather years away in a distant past.
“Best orc I ever knew,” Karnak said honestly.
“Yes ...” Klentja agreed. “He was wise. Always thinking, Plak was. He had great instincts. Always knew what was right and wrong ... I miss him ... I miss my friend.”
“As do I.”
The two leaned on the wall, feeling the mountain breeze, enjoying the moment in the sun and the quiet memories each of them held dear.
“I saw my old friend again this morning,” Klentja broke the silence. “When I saw you, it was like seeing Plak again. It stirred something in me I can’t quite explain. I could see his same thoughtfulness. You chose your words deliberately and spoke what you thought right, whether Gars Jergahn and Nargoh wanted you to or not. You get that honestly.”
Klentja’s shoulders and belly rolled as a chuckle worked its way through his body. Karnak decided he could ask some questions, the older gar having opened the door.
“Zotar is one of the rebel gars?”
The question stung Klentja, and he winced.
“Zotar and Maktom, yes.”
“But why? What happened? What would make them rebel against King Sahr and the rest of Drelek?”
Gar Klentja inhaled a long draw of mountain air, his lungs emitting a low wheeze under the strain.
“I cannot say for sure. Before Zotar left, he told me of King Sahr’s new sorcerer adviser, an orc by the name of Jaernok Tur.”
Karnak’s heart stopped, a million thoughts flooding his mind. He had met Jaernok Tur as well and worried more about the sorcerer from Kelvur than any potential enemy they might face. Karnak wasn’t sure Jaernok Tur had the best interests of Drelek in mind. Further, he feared the sorcerer was leading their king down a path of destruction. Where the head goes, the body follows. He did not want to see Drelek led into destruction, especially not Calrok.
The older gar stared at Karnak, studying his face. Karnak straightened, and worry flooded his thoughts.
Does he see my reservations?
Would Klentja recognize the young gar’s worries? Would he share them? Or would he see them as traitorous thoughts about Drelek? Too many things were at stake.
“You’ve met this Jaernok Tur?” Klentja asked in recognition.
“I’ve met the sorcerer,” Karnak replied, choosing his words carefully.
“And what are your thoughts, son of Plak?” the older orc pressed. His eyes narrowed as he tried to read the younger gar.
“I ...”
Smarlo and Belguv rounded the corner, laughing about something they had been discussing. Klentja straightened and turned to face the two Scar Squadron leaders coming down the hall.
“You’ve found the best sun in this fortress, my Gar!” Belguv roared excitedly.
“Gar Klentja,” Smarlo acknowledged him with respect, placing a long finger to his brow and dipping slightly.
“Commander,” Klentja returned the greeting. “I’ll be taking my leave now. It was a pleasure to reminisce with you, Gar Karnak. I look forward to more times like this.”
Klentja’s even stare told Karnak nothing of what the older orc was thinking as he left them. Karnak knew in his bones something wasn’t right with the whole situation. But Karnak was no traitor to his people. How could Zotar, one of his father’s best friends, have betrayed Drelek? Karnak had heard many stories about their exploits while he was young. It was hard to imagine how their situations had all gotten so messy.
An image of a raven pecked at the edge of his mind. It crept in like some mutating monster and took the shape of the sorcerer, Jaernok Tur. Karnak shuddered at the image, shaking it from his thoughts.
“Belguv.”
“Yes, Gar?” he responded promptly, pulled out of his side conversation with Smarlo.
“I need you to fly to Ruk.”
“Yes, Gar. What shall I do once there?”
“I need you to find out everything you can about the rebellion. Something doesn’t feel right about all this. We need to know why.”
“Yes, Gar.”
The wind blew through the open wall and whistled along one of the side passages, reminding Karnak that anyone could walk up on their conversation from many routes. He pressed closer to the other two, intentionally placing the low wall at his back so he could keep a wary eye on the side passages.
“Our squadron could use a refreshed supply of glorb wine,” Karnak continued, using his eyes to express the ruse. “The best glorb wine maker we know is in Ruk, and I think we should procure some.”
Belguv nodded, recognizing the shift in his gar’s countenance.
“And since our supplier is so good to us, perhaps you make it known to everyone you run into while you are there why it is that we would send you on such a trek to get us that glorb wine—the best in all Drelek, after all.”
Belguv nodded again and then added, “Maybe I should stay a day to ensure the supply will continue to flow. We’ll need as much as possible.”
“Yes,” Smarlo joined in. “Once it flows out, it’s out. Leaders at Ruk will certainly enjoy the glorb wine and gather for it.”
“But new friends don’t know that glorb wine loosens lips,” Karnak finished, his gaze turning back to the narrow valley that sprawled below them. “I hope our supplier is able to get us what we need.”
His genuine concern hung on the wind with his words.
Reglese and Kig had gotten to work straightaway once they arrived in Ruk. The capital stronghold was large and bustling with life but had a tendency to chew up and spit out those that weren’t as skilled at their craft as they had believed themselves to be. That created a transient culture around the place, especially in the market areas. Orcs and goblins, and even the occasional extra-spirited troll, would come in, set up shop, and move on to another place if it didn’t work out.
Finding a location for their tavern was easy. The spot had been used as a tavern in the past by previous entrepreneurs. None of those failures had Reglese’s proprietary glorb wine. He knew he could succeed. After all, his Spinefish Tavern, back in Calrok, had done quite well. He knew what he was doing.
Once they garnered the location, the goblins began preparations. Reglese immediately started making more glorb wine, while Kig fixed up the kitchen for the mass amounts of cooking the old goblin dared to dream would take place. He had sold his wagon when they had arrived. He was all in. Between his money from the wagon and the gold Reglese had brought with him from Calrok, they easily acquired all the things they needed.
They furnished the tavern to Reglese’s specifications, him having the experience of producing an attractive environment for patrons. The kitchen was entirely Kig’s project, Reglese deferring to the old goblin’s judgment and preferences. Of course, Reglese marked off a large area for the glorb wine he would need to continue making. He already had six new barrels going.
They even managed to find a young orc woman named Getta to serve the patrons and offer great hospitality. It was all coming together, quite to Reglese’s liking.
He stepped outside the tavern doors to look at where his new enterprise would make its fortune. The tavern was on the edge of a main tunnel leading into a massive cavern that housed many shops. The high ceilings made the place feel spacious, and the numerous beams of light that spilled in from windows gouged into the rock illuminated it well. A singular stalagmite was left in the center of the cavern, rightly so, as it was enormous, standing a few hundred feet in height.
A heavy clanging of a hammer grabbed Reglese’s attention from the awe-inspiring cavern. He looked across to the other corner space, an open-faced shop. A large troll, a blacksmith by trade, methodically hammered molten metal. He stopped when he noticed Reglese observing him and returned the stare, a dumbfounded look on his large troll face. Reglese flashed a toothy grin to his new neighbor and gave a short wave.
The troll didn’t immediately return the gesture, confused at the random goblin making faces at him. When he decided that, perhaps, the goblin was just trying to be nice, he returned a hideous smile, his face scrunching up in odd places, and waved his hammer. Reglese was taken aback by the troll’s inability to smile but nodded kindly to him, nonetheless.
As Reglese turned and marched off, intending to make his face known to all the other shops that meandered around the center monument in the large cavern, he heard the blacksmith’s methodical clanging start again. There was a lot of activity here, a rather busy market cavern in Ruk; and as Reglese strolled along, greeting others as he went, he felt good about his position. His glorb wine was going to do well here. He couldn’t help but think about all the coin he would make.