Renjak
excitement. Reglese happily poured more glorb wine into new mugs and loaded a carrying tray for Getta. The barmaid was a lovely orc, but it was unwise to credit her for her looks alone. She had more than proven she could handle her own when orcs got too rowdy.
Already, she had socked an overly zealous orc right in the nose, sending him sprawling to the floor, and kicked his rear all the way to the door as he scampered out of the place. She intended to keep the tavern a respectable establishment. There was room for fun, as long as they remained respectable.
Reglese loved her. He had never been in love, but he thought for sure how he felt about the brash orc woman must be it. He loved, too, that the tavern was making waves in Ruk.
Kig’s dishes got better every time he made something new, and the younger goblin had thought himself very clever indeed for extending the partnership offer. Reglese had loads of barrels of glorb wine going, and the patronage had grown each day to the point where the place had been full for several days running. They were a hit.
Patrons left filled, quenched, and happy, and they would tell others and return the next day with more friends. Even some of the higher tunnel leaders were coming to the tavern to experience Reglese’s glorb wine. The goblin brimmed with pride as he overlooked the lively room.
His mood shifted, however, when he noted a cantankerous-looking orc sidle through the doorway, his deep green skin giving him away. Belguv snarled at a rather loud group of goblins at a table near the entrance.
In all his excitement about the new enterprise, Reglese had remembered little of the purpose of his presence in Ruk. Truly, he had not had much opportunity for spying, as launching a new tavern was a time-consuming endeavor. Plus, the upper tunnel leaders had only just discovered his place in the last two days. He had very little to report and didn’t like the idea of making Belguv, already sporting a gruff exterior, more irritable.
Reglese shuffled to the opposite end of the bar where it met the cold stone wall, slipped a fresh mug into the hand of the shaky goblin sitting there, and said, “This one is on the house. You will find yourself a new seat.”
The goblin marveled at the full mug with wide eyes. He thought for a split second, hopped out of the seat, and ran off to find a new spot, content with the arrangement.
Belguv maneuvered through the crowd to take his seat at the end of the bar. “I hear you have the best glorb wine in all of Drelek.”
“Yes. ’Ere we ’ave the best glorb wine in the ’ole kingdom. And if you’re ’ungry, we can ’elp with that, too.”
“I could eat.”
Reglese whirled around and slipped into the kitchen, receiving a rather bewildered look from Kig as the younger goblin dished out a bowl of the thick hare and rice concoction. Reglese shook his head before Kig could ask and left him there to fill more bowls for the packed house.
The nervous goblin reappeared behind the bar and slid the steaming bowl to the cranky orc. The rushing motion wafted more of the fine scent into the room, causing more orcs to raise a hungry hand toward Getta to place their orders. Reglese quickly spun away to fill a tankard for Belguv, as well. His delay was obvious enough to the seasoned orc warrior, who was surprised by his first bite.
“This is good.”
Reglese paused. “I found myself a master cook.”
“Yes. I see business is good.”
“It ’as been a flurry,” he sighed, hoping Belguv would understand his predicament. “I ’aven’t ’ad time for much of anything other than business.”
Belguv chewed a nice piece of rabbit in his mouth, while steadily staring at the goblin proprietor who had begun to feel faint. Reglese had never been a warrior and did not know how it felt to be stabbed by a spear. He decided it must feel exactly like the formidable orc’s stare.
He shifted uncomfortably and realized he still had the full tankard in his hand. “Ah, a drink for you.”
Belguv downed the drink and handed the dripping tankard back to the goblin for replenishing. Reglese took it promptly. As Belguv was about to start grilling the goblin for answers, a hush fell over the entire room, drawing their attention to the entrance. There, lo and behold, was King Sahr, with his pipsqueak of an assistant standing in his wake.
“It has landed on my ear that there is a new glorb wine here that will be the rave of all Drelek!” The king hacked a disgusting cough. “Where is the owner?”
In unison, the entire room shifted in their seats and looked to Reglese on the raised level behind the bar. Though he was not short for a goblin by any means, he seemed to shrink in that moment.
“Right ’ere, my King!” his voice wavered.
“Well, is your glorb wine the best in all Drelek, as it’s been said?” King Sahr yelled back to him across the room.
Reglese’s mind raced. If he answered in the affirmative and then the king didn’t like it, he’d be a dead goblin. And even worse, his business would be ruined. But if he answered no, he could be called a liar, for he had boasted to all who had entered the place. He was stuck.
Belguv grabbed the tankard out of Reglese’s quivering hands, and making a big show of it, stood, drank it dry in one go, and slammed the tankard back onto the bar. Everyone stared at the deep, green-skinned orc in shock.
“It’s the best!” Belguv roared. “All hail the king. This round’s on me!”
A cacophony of cheers rang out and bounced off the stone of the tavern’s walls and ceiling as patrons around the room signaled to Getta for their free drinks. Belguv stepped to a nearby table, growled at the goblins sitting there—who promptly made their exit—and invited King Sahr to join him at the empty spot.
King Sahr’s drooling grin did not fade as he waddled over to join the Calrokian orc. His one good eye darted here and there, greeting the overjoyed customers and subjects. It was good to be the king, he thought. He stood near the table, while his attendant slithered around his heft to pull out the chair before he sat. “Join us, Calrokian,” he croaked to Belguv.
“An honor, my King.”
The king swayed in his seat, looking to Belguv as though the monarch was already in the buzz of a stupor. The opportunity was too good to pass up. Belguv waved Reglese over, who had already started preparing a tray filled with glorb wine for the king. He ambled over with the tray, four tankards full. He slid one to King Sahr, one to Belguv, one to the attendant, and when the king indicated the goblin join them, he kept the other in front of himself.
King Sahr took a long draw on the mug and moved his mouth awkwardly, attempting to taste all its flavor profile. Everyone at the table watched and waited. The king lingered on it, enjoying all the attention being on him, and finally said, “It just may be.”
Reglese relinquished a heavy sigh of relief. They all relaxed. Before the aide could lift his mug, the king swiped it out from in front of him, sliding his empty one in its place before the sniveling goblin. Getta craftily swung by with a couple of extra mugs that she placed in the center of the small table and whirled about, bringing more drinks to the clambering customers. Reglese was glad for her indeed.
“Calrokian I’d wager!” King Sahr started. “I saw another orc from Calrok a while back. Gar Karnak ...”
“Yes. My gar,” Belguv confirmed, even though the king had called him Calrokian earlier. The king was obviously not at his best.
“Brute like you, I’d have thought you to be a warrior. But the Scar Cliff Squadron is out in Ghun-Ra ...?” He shot a questioning glance at the aide, who affirmed him.
“We are. At the service of the king,” Belguv responded. “Reglese here has quite the eye for business. His first tavern is in our home of Calrok. Our orcs know his glorb wine well, and I am on errand to retrieve some for our forces there in Ghun-Ra.”
“Splendid idea!” King Sahr spurted some out of the side of his mouth as he spoke. “They will certainly need it!”
The king grabbed another tankard without a second thought. His stupor continued to grow, and Belguv was happy to let the king have first take of the filled mugs. Occasionally, Reglese would excuse himself and beg the king’s pardon, but he always brought back more glorb wine to Sahr’s great delight. Even the attendant was able to get a tankard with the king’s cognizance lowered.
They went around and around on the same topics for a long while, but when the conversation came back to Ghun-Ra, Belguv took the opportunity to press for the information he’d patiently aimed to receive.
“The dragon should easily destroy the rebels,” Belguv commented casually.
“Rebels. Rebels!” King Sahr’s one good eye rolled erratically. “They don’t understand what one has to do as a king! They hold on to some archaic—hic—notion of ‘orc honor’ that makes them cling to old ways! There’s no progress in that. What legacy do they leave their children? Nothing! Hic! They will be smashed and burned ... their children included. We will end their bloodlines!”
Belguv and Reglese had an unspoken moment, taken aback by how readily the king spat such venom at his own people.
“And they’re just the start,” King Sahr wobbled in his chair, his head heavy with drink. “They are just a test! Then, the battle for Tarrine really begins!”
“Good,” Belguv feigned agreement, though the very idea of wiping out orc bloodlines sat like a spike in his gut. “Where to, after the rebel dogs are burned out?”
“Haha!” the king cackled. “Then it’s off to Galium! We’ll smash the dwarf pests that have, for so long, lived on the edge of our mountain range! Our mountains!”
King Sahr waved a sloshing mug high, and Belguv clinked his own against it. He would do what he was sent to do. He would gather as much information as he could by whatever means necessary. He would leave first thing in the morning and return to his gar’s side.
The early morning air had a crisp bite to it. Clouds rested lazily upon the peaks of the Drelek Mountains. Perfect conditions for a stealthy flight. They’d been flying toward Renjak since well before dawn, Gar Nargoh’s dragon setting a brisk pace for the wyverns to follow. His squadron followed closely, the accompanying gars behind them, and finally the Scar Squadron fell in at the rear.
Ker’s long neck shook at a splash of early morning sun that peeked through the clouds and landed its beam of warmth on her. As the sun came up, the clouds would dissipate, and the cutting wind would be less bitter. There was strategic advantage to traveling at such a time when enemies could not see them coming, of course. Karnak, however, would welcome the sun.
The big orc’s uneasiness about their mission chilled him. Their plan was sound, of course, and he could not deny the logic of it. Giving the dragon every opportunity to train was important if it was to become a viable weapon for the kingdom.
Revealing the dragon too early to Drelek’s foes would certainly spur action against them, for which the creature would be utterly unprepared, and could cost them everything before a campaign really got started. To test its mettle in real battle against a rebel orc faction made perfect strategic sense. Killing two griffins with one spear, as it were.
The Scar Squadron was in tow for the sheer purpose of support, should anything go awry. They were to hold back, high above, awaiting a signal from Gar Karnak should Gar Nargoh’s squadron run into trouble. The four gars, Karnak, Klentja, Dahno, and Jergahn, would fly lower where they could observe the action and witness the power of the mighty beast as it worked alongside Nargoh’s group.
Karnak thought the show had already started as Ker grunted with effort. Nargoh rode the dragon at a clipping pace to display its superiority. Karnak imagined the dragon-riding gar was enjoying proving him wrong. The younger gar didn’t see the wisdom in tiring all the wyverns before a battle. But then again, there can be no wisdom found in pride. So, the mass of riders flew onward.
Ker’s membranous wings glided easily for a moment as they tilted. The whole stream of warriors banked to the north, course correcting to follow Nargoh.
Karnak raised clenched fists above his shoulders, flexing his massive green muscles, breathing in a deep stretch in his chest and back. He shook it out as he settled back into the ride. They still had a good distance to go. He adjusted the way his axe, Dalkeri, sat in the saddle. There wasn’t much to see when flying through the morning mountain clouds. And while flying in such a caravan, there wasn’t much to do, save for pondering, which suited him just fine.
His previous encounter with Gar Klentja back in Ghun-Ra sat uneasily with him as well. The older gar seemed to engage him with kindness and a sort of respect Karnak wasn’t sure he had earned. He imagined much of it came from Klentja’s relationship with Karnak’s father, Plak. Much had been left unsaid between the two of them in that open-faced hallway.
Had he seen my hesitations? Karnak wondered.
He reached up and tightened the knot of hair on his head, frustrated he felt so in the dark about all the things that were happening. He wondered how Belguv’s side mission was going. What information would he bring back?
How was Reglese doing in Ruk? The goblin had been one of the very few of his kind Karnak had enjoyed meeting. He worried about Reglese being found out and captured.
Would Karnak be marred as a traitor?
He hated all the doubt that flooded him. He closed his eyes, trusting Ker completely and letting her wings’ steady flapping soothe his mind.
Tanessa, I miss you, he thought. And truly, he did. He would rather be near her. With her, he knew he was right where he was supposed to be.
He missed his son, Gernot. Karnak’s features brightened with a silent smile as he imagined wrestling with the little tyke. He thought of Calrok and home.
They flew on for most of the day, stopping only once for a rest and to water the wyverns at an elevated alpine lake. The lake was so remote there was no foot traffic, but it was large enough to supply all the riders of their company.
Gar Nargoh made sure to check on the other gars, obviously not caring about their well-being or that of their wyverns. Rather, he remarked his ulterior apologies about how the dragon was so powerful a flyer it took a very firm hand to keep the beast held back so—for their sakes, of course.
Once all the wyverns were watered, the orcs gathered to rehash the plan, making sure they understood their responsibilities. Wyverns perched all over the mountain bowl surrounding the lake while they rested. Once the meeting was over, the orcs dispersed to find a place to rest for the next few hours. Night quickly approached, and what a night it would be.
They would fly to Renjak, and once the moon was high, the battle would begin.
Though it was the middle of the night, the moon illuminated the quiet stead of Renjak, bathing the mountain town in a silvery glow. The stone structures dotted the sluggish slope. Renjak was one of the more remote forts of Drelek, skirting the far western reaches of the mountain range. Usually, it was quiet, and tonight was no different.
The attacking company swooped in like a wraith of the night. Their dark blurs blinked out stars in a way only trained eyes could see. They swung north and approached the fort from that direction to avoid being silhouetted by the shine of the massive moon.
Just like they had discussed, the Scar Squadron waited some distance away to provide backup if they were signaled. Gar Karnak would lift his axe, Dalkeri, and let its magic blaze brightly through the night sky. It would be seen if the time came, but for the sake of stealth, he had covered the weapon with a thick cloth.
Karnak and the other gars flew in close with Nargoh’s forces, only separating from them when the final descent began. They would watch from a safe distance. Nargoh would prove his claims and his pride, or he would not. Karnak wasn’t sure which he preferred.
The monstrous dragon fell upon the sleepy fort, which, unfortunately for the orcs of Renjak, was built more on top of the long, wide mountain than inside. The beast swooped in with a fury unseen in generations. It opened its giant maw, burning light blazing from within, and unleashed a fire blast that exploded a guard tower at one end of the fort and set several nearby buildings ablaze.
Screams erupted from the nearby buildings, and panicked shouts reverberated throughout the fort. Guards from other towers sounded alarms, sending orc warriors pouring out of their homes like ants on a hill. Wyverns from nearby perches were spurred into action, many swooping in to find their riders; others being cut off by Nargoh’s prepared squadron. Those that did manage to connect with their riders turned quickly to face their attackers head-on.
The dragon looped back, Nargoh setting its course to run straight over the fort. It barreled in like a gargantuan winged javelin through the sky, spewing flame over everything in its path. One unlucky wyvern went into a plummeting spiral into the valley below, its momentum only fueling the fire that engulfed its wing. The dragon crunched down hard on another riderless wyvern, crushing the life out of it.
This wasn’t a battle. This was a massacre.
Ker roiled anxiously, recognizing Karnak’s shift. He hadn’t realized his massive body had tensed and his legs squeezed hard against her ribs. He adjusted uncomfortably in the saddle and shot Gar Klentja a concerned glare. The rotund orc, gliding nearby, caught the look and continued to watch with grave visage.
Karnak saw on one edge of the fort a fierce orc riding an older wyvern, barking directions at a rallying group of defenders. That, Karnak figured, was Maktom, the rebel general. Even in the face of such overwhelming odds, Maktom fought and led his rebels with a ferocity and zeal few orcs would be able to muster.
Several of his riders swerved into the sky, headed for Gar Nargoh and the dragon, who was making a wide sweep to pass back over the fort. They flew in with fury, hurtling spears, axes, or whatever they had at the giant beast, quickly grabbing its attention. But that fight turned swiftly, and the dragon gave chase to the scattering wyvern riders.
Meanwhile, Maktom had set another contingent into motion to help orc families escape the burning buildings. That didn’t leave many riders to fight off Nargoh’s squadron, and they were losing that battle in haste. Maktom was forced to recall his troops not already engaged with the dragon.
It all seemed chaotic as Karnak watched from above. Half the fort blazed in bright orange flame, the silvery glow no longer radiating the greater light. Orc families frantically sought shelter in more fortunate neighbors’ homes. Scattered among the inferno of ruins, he heard wails and frenzied cries.
Nargoh’s wyvern riders cut through the rebels easily, in some cases coming up against them four to one. Maktom barked something to his few remaining riders, and they scattered amongst the carnage, all of them swooping into crevasses and loading a passenger or two onto their wyverns. Nargoh’s riders were relentless, though, and didn’t allow the rebel riders to leave the ground again. They dove on the rebels, tearing at them like wild beasts.
The rebels of Renjak didn’t stand a chance.
Nargoh and the dragon swept back over the fort, having killed the pesky rebels that attempted to distract the monster. The dragon unleashed a wave of flame, igniting more of the fort. Some of Nargoh’s own squadron skittered away, nearly caught in the dragon’s frenzy.
It was as though everything slowed down at that moment for Karnak. His eyes fell upon a young orc child framed in a small market square, surrounded by debris, crumbling stones, and burning buildings. The child was no older than his son, Gernot, and he stood in the middle of the square, covered in ash, tears streaking his tiny face.
Karnak gripped his axe. Dalkeri hummed silently in his hand, joining the welling rage flowing from the orc into the axe and back—the two melding together like hot pieces of iron.
Is this the legacy of the dragon? He thought to himself. Is this the future of Drelek?
Karnak started to rip at the cloth covering the razor-sharp, double-bladed head of his axe but was stopped by a lance that landed heavily on top of it. Gar Klentja had extended the lance to stop him. Karnak blinked in rage at the old orc.
“How can you stand by and watch this happen to our own people!” He hissed through clenched teeth.
“You can do nothing here!” Klentja spat back, trying to keep his voice down as not to draw the attention of the other gars, who were enraptured by the dragon’s destructive show. “The outcome of this battle is already written.”
“This isn’t a battle! It’s a slaughter! There are children down there!”
“And you can do nothing for them—or the ones that may need your help in the future—if you throw your life away tonight!”
The words of his father’s old friend stung, shooting waves of sickness into his stomach. He knew the old gar spoke truth, even if he hated it was so. Ker clicked and clacked at Klentja’s wyvern, not loving the close encounter, especially with all the tension she already felt. Karnak shot a glare at the old gar, hating him in that moment, and shifted himself in the saddle to try to spot the little orc boy.
His eyes fell upon him just as Gar Maktom swooped in and grabbed the child in a particularly acrobatic move for the old orc. The two raced wildly, weaving through fiery pillars, trying to escape the attackers giving chase. But their flight was of no use. Before they could even get into open sky, Nargoh’s dragon fell upon them like a cat on a mouse, blasting them with his raging flame and then clamping down on them with his devastating jaws.
Karnak winced and looked away. Klentja had released him to watch the encounter as well but turned to the younger gar.
The screams continued from various collapsing holes in the fort below, drowned by the sound of the dragon’s breath raining down more destruction.
Karnak stared into the night sky. A single tear rolled down the mighty orc gar’s face, sliding around his tusk, dripping off his chin, and plummeting like a lifeless raindrop into the darkness.