Rebellion & Conquest
Ghun-Ra was a solemn affair for Karnak. He initially flew near the front with the other orc gars but eventually hung back to get away from their prattling glee. They spoke of the power and might of the dragon with such joy and excitement, Karnak was certain they hadn’t been affected by the massacre at Renjak. Klentja, for his part, was quiet too but flew near enough to continue listening.
They had left Gar Nargoh and his wyvern squadron in Renjak. The dragon had proved itself to Gar Jergahn’s satisfaction, and the next phase in the plan was approved for launch. Nargoh, along with the dragon and his wyvern forces, would rest and regroup in the nearby fort of Porak, while gathering and preparing ground forces. Once they were rested and the ground forces were ready, they would make way for Galium, and everything would really begin.
When they returned to Ghun-Ra, the gars met to discuss their individual parts in the next phase. Gar Dahno would take his squadron immediately to Whitestone. A mixture of confusion and excited whispers broke out among the gars and their commanders.
“The command is issued. When we first arrived, it was reported to me that our forces are now in control of Whitestone and that your squadron will be going there to shore up our hold on the city of our longtime nemesis, the Griffin Guard,” Jergahn explained.
“And where are the Griffin Guard?” Gar Dahno’s commander asked. Around the room, heads nodded. It was a fair question.
“Jaernok Tur ensures they are falling in line with King Sahr’s plan,” Jergahn said shortly.
“They turn against their own people?” The commander asked.
A snarl rose up in Karnak at the notion. Had he and the other gars not just witnessed a slaughter of their people at their own hands?
“Jaernok Tur is working with the king of Whitestone, and the Griffin Guard follows him blindly.”
“Fools,” the commander cackled, and others laughed with him.
“Gar Karnak and Gar Klentja will head to Lakjo to wipe out the remaining rebel forces,” Jergahn went on.
Karnak rebutted, quicker than he intended, “We won’t.”
Silence fell in the chamber. Klentja glared at him, trying to relay something with his eyes.
“The Scar Squadron is weary from travel to and from Renjak,” Karnak quickly added. “We’ve had no rest, save today. We can’t be expected to head straight into battle after such a trip.”
His quick recovery made sense to the others in the room.
“That is why the Borok wyvern squadron will lead the way. They will be first contact, while the Scar Squadron flanks the enemy. Borok will already have engaged the enemy rebels, and your squadron will come in to finish them,” Jergahn explained, confident in his plan.
Karnak could not argue with him, and to say more in that setting would certainly land suspicion upon his head and the heads of his orcs. He would not do that.
“I will be by your side, young gar,” Klentja added comfortingly. Everyone nodded at the plan. For some reason, Karnak felt he was the only one who really heard the words the rotund gar said to him.
Gar Jergahn handed out a few other orders, but Karnak heard next to nothing. The Scar Squadron would rest the night and be on the move in the morning, flying with Klentja and his Borok squadron.
Belguv arrived later that evening. The gruff orc was greeted with a hug from his large gar. Karnak was happy to see him. Belguv, however, bore a weight upon his countenance, which quickly shifted the joyous reunion into deep conversation.
“Tell me of Reglese,” Karnak said, concerned for the goblin.
Belguv laughed. “The goblin does well for himself. His tavern booms. I was able to find him among the caverns of Ruk quickly enough. Word of his glorb wine has spread with great haste. The tavern was full, though he said the leaders from upper tunnels were only just beginning to frequent his place.”
“Well, his glorb wine will speak for itself. It must take great effort to set up a new tavern,” Smarlo suggested. Karnak nodded along with his friend.
“Yes,” Belguv replied. “But the journey bore more fruit than we could have hoped. While I was there, King Sahr himself appeared at the tavern.”
Karnak stopped mid-stretch, hanging on Belguv’s every word. Smarlo doled out three tankards of glorb wine from the barrel the gruff orc had brought back. “The king was at the tavern?” Smarlo sounded surprised.
“Yes. I tabled with him and bought him drinks. He was very willing to share his sentiments about many things.” Belguv grabbed his mug and took a swig.
Karnak was thrilled that his plan to send Reglese to Ruk had worked—perhaps not as he had expected, but possibly more fruitful than he had anticipated.
Belguv’s casual tone transformed to a grave timbre. “The king wants to see the rebels destroyed. He spoke of burning generations. He spoke of tearing down old honor.”
“We’ve seen this.” Karnak said, hardly able to look at Belguv as he explained. “Renjak was a slaughter. The dragon and its fire consumed the mountaintop. Women. Children .... It did not matter.”
“I am sorry, my Gar. I flew as fast as I could but knew I would miss Renjak. King Sahr plans to smash the rebels at Lakjo next.”
“Those are our orders,” Smarlo confirmed.
Belguv looked as though he were trapped between thoughts. His unease was apparent to Karnak, for the young gar had felt the same tension many times over the past several days.
“I do not yet have all the answers,” he assured Belguv. He leaned in closer. Looking around and lowering his voice, he added. “But I do not intend to slay generations.”
Belguv visibly relaxed, clearly satisfied with the words, whether he knew what they entailed or not. Smarlo’s lips pursed, however, for he understood what was at stake. “Karnak,” he started, more as a friend than a commander in the moment. “Do you intend to let Klentja destroy the rebels’ women and children?”
Karnak leaned back and took a long sip of his glorb wine. He thought on the question for a significant amount of time while the other two watched their gar. He swished the glorb wine in his mouth before he downed it. And then, the answer came to him clearer than he expected.
“No. No, I do not.”
The flight north to Lakjo from Ghun-Ra was easier for the wyverns, as they weren’t flying at the clipping pace of a larger dragon wingspan. Ker easily soared through the air, happier with the speed of the trip. She hadn’t gotten much rest before they set out but managed the pace without trouble or complaint. Karnak was grateful for her good attitude.
They flew in the front with Gar Klentja, whose large face had been set like flint all day. He’d said almost nothing to the younger gar. Smarlo shot curious looks at his gar on occasion, but Karnak had no idea what was going through Klentja’s mind. He had not gotten the chance to speak with him privately in Ghun-Ra before they left. He would have liked the chance to read the older gar in a conversation.
The Borok squadron followed them, and Belguv led the Scar Squadron behind them. On long flights, there was no need to fly in formation. It only stressed the wyverns to remain in proper sequence. Letting them fly freely in clumps and lazy lines kept them loose and efficient. They would arrive at their destination with more energy that way.
After flying most of the day, they took a break near an alpine lake that rested in a remote valley. Pines swayed all around them in the mountain breeze, and the orcs watered their wyverns before setting up cooking fires. Food would restore them before battle. Karnak expected they would gather their forces and go over the plan before they flew onward, but Klentja still had not approached the younger gar. He seemed to be avoiding Karnak. While that suited the large orc fine, Smarlo’s nervous glances started to make him anxious as well.
Before Karnak could tumble down the rabbit trail of worry, he noticed a falcon flying above the temporary camp. He thought back to the huntsman.
Strange, he thought to himself. I do wonder where the man-kin is and if he survived the perils of Elderwood Forest.
And then it dawned on him, men were not the only race to practice falconry. Though the bird could very well be a wild falcon, it was also entirely possible they were being watched.
“Find Gar Klentja,” he spoke with authority and fervor to Tark, the youngest among their ranks.
The young orc ran off through the pines, looking side to side. Karnak quickly retrieved a seeing glass from one of his orcs to monitor the falcon. He watched it for a minute and then scanned ridges in the area for any movement that might betray a scout.
Tark ran back with Klentja in tow.
“What is it, Karnak?” the older gar huffed.
“I’m not sure yet.”
Tark looked nervously between them. Karnak continued to scan. “Ah,” Klentja noticed the falcon. “A scout?”
“I can’t spot any on the ridges.”
Karnak handed over the seeing glass, and Klentja began to scan. The young gar from Calrok turned to his oldest friend. Smarlo shook his head, not liking the situation at all.
“It’s moving away,” Tark pointed to the falcon high above, moving off to the north.
“In the direction of Lakjo,” Smarlo added.
“We must move on, now,” Karnak said.
Klentja fiddled with the seeing glass for a minute. He was visibly thinking of the proper course of action. Though Karnak was a gar as well, in that situation, Klentja held seniority and would be the final decision maker.
“Clean it up. We fly on,” he said without a look in Karnak’s direction.
Smarlo barked orders at all around. Orcs that were leisurely spread around the area lurched into motion, cleaning up what little they had unpacked.
Karnak followed Klentja. He needed a minute with the older gar. “Klentja!” he yelled.
Gar Klentja stopped in his tracks, not turning to meet the younger gar’s gaze. The pines swayed above them in the mountain breeze. If the circumstances were different, their location might have been a beautiful place to visit.
“You won’t even look at me!” Karnak accused. “What are we doing?”
Klentja tensed as though he were about to turn around, but he only said, “We must fly on, Plak.” They both winced at the older gar’s mistake. Finally, he did turn around to face him. “Karnak. I meant Karnak. I’m sorry. We must fly on.”
The large orc saw sorrow in Klentja’s features, deeply etched, rooted somewhere far within him. The old gar spun on his heel and traipsed through the pines toward his wyvern. Karnak watched him disappear around a bend in the path.
They flew on to Lakjo, not having the cover of night. The Borok and Calrok squadrons’ approach to the rebel stronghold of Lakjo in the early evening, while the sun still shone, could prove to be an advantage. The Lakjo orcs would have to adjust to the brightness in contrast to the interior of their mountain fort.
There was no advantage to be had, though. There had clearly been a scout. As Karnak and Klentja led their squadrons near to Lakjo, a singular figure wearing a long fur cloak about his armor rose through the air on the back of his wyvern. Klentja raised a hand signal and stayed the two squadrons, who were several leagues behind them. The wyvern squadrons began to circle in the air, holding their position, looking very much like buzzards awaiting some near-death meal.
The fur-cloaked orc rose to meet the two gars, not getting close enough to aggravate the already tense wyverns. Ker’s reptilian skin shook on her neck, her small spikes and horns bristling.
“Klentja, it is good to see you, my dear friend!” he yelled over the mountain winds.
Klentja did not reply. Karnak wondered what he was thinking, but the round gar’s face betrayed no emotion. The fur-cloaked orc nodded, also unsure of Klentja’s thoughts. He turned to Karnak and gave him a genuinely amused smile.
“If I did not know better, my eyes would have seen my old friend, Plak. You must be Karnak, all grown. You look so much like him,” the fur-cloaked orc continued.
Karnak looked to Klentja, hoping for some sign of what was to come from him. But finally, he could take it no more. “You must be Zotar?” Karnak asked more than stated.
“I am.”
“Then you must know why we were sent here.”
“I do,” he replied calmly.
How can he be so calm if he knows why we’re here? Where are his forces? What are you doing, Klentja? Karnak’s mind raced. None of their situation sat right within him.
“Do you know why you were sent here, young Gar?” Zotar asked.
Klentja suddenly shifted himself in his saddle so he could also look upon the young gar. Both of the old orc warriors waited for him to answer.
“We were sent to end the rebel threat,” Karnak replied with the obvious.
“On the surface, this is true. But why were you really sent here? Think of the sorcerer.” Zotar pressed.
All of a sudden, it was as if the words Belguv had shared about King Sahr’s thoughts lined up with the story Jaernok Tur had told him when they had first met. “I was sent to exterminate the ones that would stand against Jaernok Tur.” It was curious how raw the words were when they came out of his mouth.
“Now, why would King Sahr want that? What does the sorcerer offer him?”
“Whatever it is, he no longer cares for his own people.” Karnak surprised himself at how easily the statement came out. He may have said too much.
“Doesn’t sound like a king worth following to me,” Zotar gave a sideways shrug.
Karnak shook his head in confusion. He understood that, in order to accomplish a mission, a leader needed his followers to be in unity behind him. That was true of king or gar. It was also true some would not follow and would need to be cut out of the ranks for more effectiveness. He struggled as he teetered at the edge of treason against Drelek, the same Drelek for which his father had died. He shot a pleading look to Klentja, who watched the young gar with great compassion.
“Please ...” Karnak barely uttered.
“Karnak,” Zotar broke him from his internal wrestle. “The Scar Squadron is of great renown. If you are willing to slay the people here, I will be the first to lay out before you. Take your axe and end me now. You would cut through us with ease. I have seen that axe in action many times when your father wielded it. I always knew your father to be an orc of honor. Not only big in stature, but in character as well.
“But Karnak, you are your own orc. You must forge your own path, your own legacy. We do not rest on the laurels of our fathers. Out of the great respect I had for yours, I will gladly lay down my life for what you think is best, for I knew well the orc that raised you.”
Karnak’s chin quivered as he looked between the two old warriors who had fought side by side with his father. He was not his father and could not live up to his father’s memory. But, Zotar was asking him to be Karnak, not Plak. Klentja only waited for his response, taking neither side.
“And you?” Karnak asked the rotund old warrior. “You give me nothing. Is this some test of loyalty? As you were a friend to my father, I thought you were becoming one to me.”
“Oh, but I am!” Klentja choked out. It was as though he had endeavored to be emotionless all day and wall up his words as securely as he could, but that wall had cracked. “I see in you a future for our people, unlike any we have known. I am old. And old orcs speak of honor and legacy. As the After draws near to us, we no longer think of what we have but what we leave behind.
“I won’t be able to carry our future. It does not matter whether the threat comes from within or from Tarrine or even from Kelvur. Things are in motion we do not yet understand. Greater battles wait ahead that we do not yet see. But I have seen how you care first. I have seen compassion. Sympathy. Character. And regardless of what you choose now, young Gar, I will stand beside you. I will hope for a legacy greater than myself.”
Karnak gripped Dalkeri in his great hand. He felt the power of the axe vibrate through his fingers. The orange stone glinted, and magic flame burned bright around Fire Storm. And in that fire flashed a memory in his mind. Or was it a prophecy? He did not know.
He saw the young orc boy standing in the collapsing square of Renjak, flames all around. The young orc’s devastation was as clear as when Karnak had seen it that horrible night. But something strange happened in the vision, and the boy’s face morphed into another. One he knew. One he loved. The face of his son, Gernot.
Karnak slammed Dalkeri back into the saddle loop, recoiling his hand to erase the image from his mind as quickly as possible. But the phantom thought was seared into place. He thought of Tanessa and Gernot at home in Calrok, playing in the field of flowers that sloped behind their cozy home. They would be out there, enjoying the last bit of sunshine before the night covered the coastal orc city.
Tears flowed freely from his eyes. All the while, the old orc warriors watched him.
“You would slay your oldest friend? And his people? The women and children? To stand with me?”
Not knowing exactly what the young gar was thinking, Klentja let out a heavy sigh and visibly slumped into his saddle. With a quiver and a hint of exasperation, he replied, “I would not prefer it.”
“And you,” Karnak turned his tear-streaked face toward Zotar. “You would just lay down your life?”
“As my old friend has said, I would not prefer it. But,” Zotar chose his words carefully. “I want to see Drelek thrive again. If the only way for you to get close to the king is through my death, then so be it. What kingdom can thrive with a king who does not care for his people?”
Everything had changed so much since his visit to Ruk. Jaernok Tur, the sorcerer from Kelvur, had brought war upon them. Karnak wondered for a fleeting moment what Kelvur looked like. How had that land fared under the march of Jaernok Tur? Regardless, Drelek was Karnak’s land—the land and the peoples he was responsible to protect—and he could not deny the threat was from within.
At the end of the day, though, his decision would change much. The worst part was, he could not see how. All he could see was the decision before him, and he knew in his heart there was only one option that was right.
Tanessa, forgive me.
“Zotar,” the tension between them balanced on a dagger’s edge. “I hope you have a good plan. For now, you have the orcs to carry it out. But I will give account for how they are treated. Make no mistake, I will not let them be thrown into the mire. I will fight for them like a storm fights the flower. I will be a relentless fury.”
Karnak placed a large orc finger to his brow and bowed slightly in the customary action to signify honor toward another.
Zotar returned the gesture. “I have no doubt you will. And I would expect nothing less.”
“Thank you,” Klentja said aloud, grateful for the outcome.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Karnak replied. “If Zotar can’t lead us to victory, we march straight to our own deaths. Even worse, our families become traitors to the king.”
“I have a plan already in motion,” Zotar said, assuring them both. Suddenly he laughed as he remembered something rather funny to him. “I also have a letter for you.”
Karnak’s features scrunched in confusion.
Zotar enjoyed the look and the playful suspense but continued, “Perhaps you know of a Reglese from Ruk?”
Karnak, Son of Plak, Gar of Calrok,
I write to you with all haste, My Gar. I learned that you would be moving our brave Scar Cliffs warriors to Lakjo and needed to get this message to you.
King Sahr has quickly become a frequent visitor to my tavern here in Ruk. Better than we could have hoped for! I, of course, have shown him great hospitality and have engaged him in many conversations. As you no doubt know, Belguv and I were able to learn much from our interaction with him.
But I write this letter and seal it, hoping it finds you alone. I have learned of another part of the king’s grand plan for conquest.
The sorcerer orc from Kelvur has promised many things to King Sahr, who seems to be wildly excited about his new friendship. The sorcerer’s promises come with tasks to complete.
I have learned that once the king wipes out the rebellion, Jaernok Tur—I think that is the sorcerer’s name—will bring soldiers over from Kelvur. Those soldiers will be at King Sahr’s command. I hear they even have giants! Worst of all, King Sahr said he planned to give Calrok over to the incoming troops! He wants them to have a home that is easy to reach from Kelvur. He wants them to bring more and more troops.
He is mad with conquest. I think back to the stories of Torak the Terrible. I don’t think the king knows what gift he opens with this Jaernok Tur. I fear it’s not a gift at all but rather a curse.
I do not know what you would have me do next. My first thought was to run back to Calrok, to defend our home. Which, of course, you know, is a strange notion and against my nature. But I realize I am our only source here at Ruk. I will stand firm. I hope you do not destroy the rebellion before we are able to come up with a solution to this new problem.
This is the third copy of this letter. The pigeon keeper here in Ruk assures me his birds know the way to Lakjo, but I wanted to make sure you received this terrible news.
Save our home, My Gar. We are all counting on you.
With all honor,
Reglese