Two more days passed, seeing the last tribal leader’s party arrive, bellowing horns and singing as they approached the gate. These had come all the way from the boundless bog to the west, and their skin was as black as the rotted vegetation that covered that dismal place. They swung jawbones of monstrous lizards through the air as they sang of victory and sorrows to come.

  “They certainly took their time.”

  Koruk looked up at the approaching orc. He had been engrossed watching the display from the ramparts on the walls, and hadn’t heard him approach. Runerg the gate guard gave him a friendly smile, and took a place beside him on the wooden battlements.

  “I have never seen the swamp dwellers before. They look so much different to us.” Koruk said, turning back to watch the procession.

  “Distant cousins by marriage. They’re White Moons, but they have their own customs. They hope to impress us.”

  “It’s working.”

  “I look forward to the council meeting. You and Moktark have kept us all in suspense for too long, Koruk. The latest rumour has you both fighting all the way to the stronghold of the Beast Tamers assisted by an army of the dead that crawled out of the sea.”

  Koruk grimaced.

  “The rumours have been greatly exaggerated. That story doesn’t make any sense. Who came up with this?”

  Runerg shrugged.

  “It’s just something I heard over drinks.”

  He was right though, Koruk thought. The long awaited meeting was here, and he would probably be called to give his story. Moktark was still away with the war parties, so he’d be alone. He again wished his friend was with him.

  It didn’t take long. That very night, a messenger summoned him and Oben to the war hall. Koruk gathered up his bow and arrows and threw on some thick leathers. It paid to look the part, he supposed. He explained to Oben what was happening, and the human meekly nodded and followed him out the door.

  The twin moons were low in the sky, casting long shadows down the abandoned streets. None of the village was asleep though, and as Koruk approached the war hall, he came upon a crowd of orcs that had gathered in front of the entrance. As he approached someone pointed him out, and they all cheered. As he and Oben continued on towards the imposing structure looming ahead of them, the crowd parted respectfully. All eyes were on him. Koruk felt embarrassed. He hadn’t even swung a single blow against the enemy, but he was being treated like a hero. It was such a bizarre reversal of fortunes that he didn’t know how to process it.

  The war hall was easily the biggest building in Wit’thod, an imposing round structure flanked by an attached square tower. The sloped walls were of sandstone, quarried into rough shapes and reinforced by broad buttresses. A great red roof topped the structure, sitting like a great red claw atop it. The entrance jutted out of the front like the maw of some great beast, rows of sharp spears implanted in the ground forming its teeth, and between those teeth stairs led downwards. As Koruk stood in front of it, he couldn’t help but feel he was about to be devoured alive. Two proud guards stood at the entrance, bronze tipped spears shining in the moonlight. They waved him in.

  Koruk had never been in the war hall before. It was a sacred place, reserved for the warriors, and he had never felt he belonged. He still didn’t, truth be told. He felt like a fraud who would soon be exposed.

  The main building consisted of a single round room sunken into the ground, with a ring of eight stone pillars arranged near the centre. It had many terraces, sloping down towards the middle, and on these terraces stood and sat nearly a hundred grim faced orcs. Braziers burned hot around the perimeter, filling the air with the smell of smoke and casting the graven images carved into the pillars into relief. The scowling faces of gods and heroes and scenes of battle greeted Koruk from their prisons of stone even as the eyes of living heroes were upon him. Beyond the pillars, sitting in a wide circle on the lowest tier of the hall, were seven powerful orcs engaged in a heated discussion. Their deep voices echoed through the hall, and the smoke and lighting did weird things with their faces, giving them the appearance of savage demons.

  One of them, an older orc with a long white beard, noticed him, and waved at him. The others stopped their argument over military deployments and turned to look at him.

  His footsteps felt leaden. He did his best to look into the eyes of the orcs sitting in front of him. Judging him. He only recognized one of them, Wit’thod’s chief, Avol the Skullsplitter. Despite his name, Avol always seemed to be in a good mood, and the village saw the grizzled warrior as something of a father figure. He smiled disarmingly. The older orc stroked his beard and looked thoughtfully at the pair, but particularly the human.

  Koruk looked at the others, the most dangerous collection of orcs he had ever seen. Their faces and bodies bore heavy scars, and they had easy, confident bearings. If they were at all interested in him, their faces did not show it. Their eyes were on the human. Oben looked frightened, if Koruk guessed right. He displayed his emotions much more subtly than an orc would. He sympathized with his small charge, but the human would just have to bear with it for awhile.

  “So, this is the dragon eh? Doesn’t look like much to me.” The white bearded orc said.

  “Neither does this orc. Is this the hero of Wit’thod then?” A voice grumbled. The speaker was a great, fat orc, with skin more black than green. He wore a tunic made of the interlocked teeth of some massive carnivore, and one of his own tusks had broken off. The leader of the swamp orcs, Koruk guessed.

  “Have some respect Thurg.” Avol admonished. “Now that we’re all finally assembled, Koruk and Moktark can tell us the story of their battle, and we can get an idea of how this conflict began.”

  Koruk’s eyes lit up as Moktark stepped down, and took a place beside him. His friend grinned broadly at him and nudged him in the ribs. Koruk noted that he sported a fresh scar, running from brow to lip over his left eye. His tusk had three red strings tied to them. Marks of honor and victory. Moktark had distinguished himself in battle, and risen to join the elite warriors of the village. Koruk’s heart swelled with pride, his anxiety and fear forgotten.

  Moktark noticed him looking at the strings, and winked.

  “Your brother does you credit, Koruk.” The whitebeard began. “He says it was you who discovered this, dragon’s egg, for want of a better term. We have heard his story already, but please fill us in as if we had not. It’s important no details are lost.”

  “I always appreciate a good story. Yes, tell us. Leave nothing out.” Avol said, leaning back against a pillar and stretching his legs out.

  “You are correct, it was I who saw the dragon’s egg fall from the sky and crash into the ground. What’s more, I have here a survivor from that crash. He has told me much.” Koruk said, gripping Oben by the shoulder lightly.

  Koruk related the story of the fireball he saw falling from heaven, and the adventure that followed, leaving out nothing. The chiefs listened with rapt attention, with the exception of the fat Thurg who seemed to zone out during the telling. When he got to the human’s story though, even Thurg’s broad ears perked up.

  “A sky boat? What is this fairy tale nonsense? Do you expect me to believe any of this?” The fat orc complained. Koruk was beginning to dislike him.

  “It is what I have been told. I see no reason to doubt the story.” Koruk retaliated, maybe a little disrespectfully.

  “Nor do I. The ancient sagas recount similar events.” Said the white bearded orc, who continued pawing at his luxurious facial hair.

  “You know the old lore better than any of us Soth, save perhaps the soot shamans. The story sounds real enough to me.. As real as that shiny… thing I saw up north.” A musclebound orc said. He was an imposing figure. His rippling chest bore deep claw scars, and two of the fingers on his left hand were missing. He wore a patch over one eye, and his hairline was receding. Despite his injuries, Koruk suspected he would easily be a match for anyone else present. He wondered who he was.

  “You witnessed it then, Karnald?” Soth asked, finally removing his fingers from his beard and resting his hands on his lap, clasped together.

  “As I witness you here before me. It was as these young warriors described it. It is to my shame that we lost it to the Beasts. They drug it away to their hold.”

  “We will get it back. I have appealed to the great chief of Orc’gar. The actions of the Beast Tamers go against the ancient laws of territory set out by our forefathers. The lawgivers must hear us!” Said another orc who had thus far remained silent. He was small, smaller than Koruk even, only a little taller than Oben. He didn’t look like a warrior, and Koruk silently wondered why he was a chief, and who he was the chief of.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  The council descended into a cacophony of discussion about sending more warriors to attack the Beast Tamers and proclamations of honour and future victory until Avol silenced them, standing and raising his hands.

  “Silence! There will be time for this later. This is still my hall, and I will not have you dishonour the guests before us.”

  A few of the assembled orcs looked a little ashamed at their outburst.

  “Now then. Have you told us the entire story?”

  Koruk hesitated. Should he bring up the dreams he’s been having? It hardly seemed relevant, but, somehow…

  “I… there is something. I have had dreams, and in them I saw a fireball similar to the falling egg.” Koruk said. The council was silent, judging him. He immediately regretted bringing it up.

  Thurg was the first to speak.

  “First fairy tales, and now dreams? This is absurd! I will hear no more of this.” He said, moving to get up. It was no easy feat for him.

  “You would be wise to listen, courageous ones.” A voice spoke from behind Koruk. He turned to see the Bone Mother, slowly hobbling towards the circle of leaders, leaning on a staff.

  “Who invited you here, woman? This is a hall for warriors. Have you lost control of your hall Avol?” The fat orc spat back.

  “I’m interested to hear it. Continue Koruk.” Soth said. Koruk barely caught the glance he cast at Thurg, and the smile that briefly played at his lips. He nodded at the old orc.

  Koruk related the dream. The pyramid, the red men, the desert, the burning sky. The words fell from his lips quickly, and when he was finished his throat felt dry. There was another period of silence.

  “The horned red men, they haven’t come this far north in many years.” Soth said, coughing and returning to stroking his beard. “Have you ever seen one boy? I doubt you have, although maybe you’ve heard the stories?”

  Koruk shook his head.

  “They are raiders, and slavers. Evil creatures, look similar to your friend there but have bright red skin and fiendish horns. In your dream you saw them, and this village burning? A bad omen, especially with the tribe already engaged in a war with the Beast Tamers.”

  “I don’t put much stock in these sorts of visions, but it might be worth keeping watch for raiding parties.” Karnald said.

  “Our priority needs to be the war with the Beasts. We can’t divert resources to a war against phantoms out of a dream.” Another orc chimed in.

  The Bone Mother picked her way forward, passing Koruk, and stood in front of him before the council. Shadows played around her in the flickering light, and her hunched over form seemed to Koruk like some dark monster preparing to strike.

  “It is no coincidence that young Koruk had this vision, and that it is he who brought news of the dragon egg’s fall.” She said, leaning on her staff. Her face was hidden by her cowl, and her voice grated in Koruk’s ears. “They are connected by the strings of fate, bound together in this boy.”

  “You speak of your war against our neighbours as if it matters. You fools know not what you even fight for. To you the dragon’s egg is a trophy to be displayed in this hall, but you know nothing of it, or this ugly creature that was drug out of it. Do you have any idea what you are dealing with?” She continued.

  “Do you?” Snorted Thurg.

  “No. I know not. But I mean to, and you would do well to follow. The key to these mysteries stands right there.” She said, pointing at Koruk and Oben. “These dreams and the falling star are connected. The ancient stories tell of the war in heaven, when many such stars fell, and the world burned. In those stories...”

  “The black temple.” Soth interrupted, seeming to talk to himself. He nodded sagely. “Yes, when the world of the gods burned and our ancestors emerged from the mountain, they found the world reborn. The gods were gone, and the new world was dotted with black obelisks. They kept us safe and instructed us, and then departed back into the heavens, giving the world to us.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” The Bone Mother said, annoyance at being interrupted in her voice. “If it exists, it must be found and its secrets plumbed.”

  “If it exists is the problem, noble Bone Mother.” Said Avol. “We are at war, and it’s hard to justify sending an expedition to who knows where to follow dreams and legends.”

  Thurg snorted his support, and nodded.

  “You don’t need to. Send the boy, Koruk. He’s all but useless in a fight, but he’s a clever boy and is all too good at finding hidden secrets, aren’t you boy?” She said, turning to Koruk. The words stung. Koruk flinched in anger.

  “You’re too hard on him mother. Without Koruk we wouldn’t be sitting here today, and we wouldn’t know about the dragon’s egg.” Said Avol.

  “Wouldn’t be involved in a pointless and bloody war you mean.” The Bone Mother spat back.

  Avol ignored the comment. He thought a bit, holding his shaved chin in his hand. “It’s a good quest though, and an honourable one. You haven’t completed your initiation rite as a warrior yet have you Koruk?”

  Koruk shook his head. Normally before being initiated into the hall of warriors as a full member, a young orc was sent into the mountains on a quest to win glory, generally by killing some large animal or finding some interesting bit of treasure. Since Koruk had never had serious aspirations about becoming a warrior, he had never gone through the rite.

  “Good, this will be your quest then, warrior Koruk. Go south, to the edge of the lands of the orcs. Beyond that you will find the Burning Desert. The red men in your dream, your vision, are said to dwell there. Perhaps you will find what you seek. Moktark will accompany you. I couldn’t separate you two in all the ages of the world! He is newly scarred, and will help protect you. When you return, we will consider your rite complete, and you will be fully a warrior among us, as befitting the title which has been given you recently by so many.”

  The other tribal chiefs nodded, but said nothing. It wasn’t their place to deal with the internal affairs of Wit’thod or its members, and none of their warriors were being conscripted.

  Unexpectedly, Oben spoke up.

  “I… want to go with. Koruk and Moktark. The weapon destroyed sky boat, it come from desert. Maybe, I think so. I thank you heal me. Big thank. If I not prisoner, I go with Koruk.” Oben stammered out in hesitating orcish. Avol nodded.

  “You are not a prisoner, unless Koruk wishes you to be. You are his charge and it’s his decision.” He said. Oben turned to Koruk, and Koruk nodded to him.

  “Ah, one last thing.” Avol said, a smile forming on his face. “The discovery of the dragon’s egg and the rest of your adventure are great accomplishments, worthy of song. You have been denied your triumph for too long, and I am sorry. We thought it best not to create a panic in the village until we knew more. Go, have fun! Enjoy your victory!”

  “What? No, we should not delay! They should leave as soon as possible to find the black temple. Who knows what is at stake?” The Bone Mother said, her voice rising.

  “You are not a member of this council, or this hall, mother.” Avol said, his voice dangerous. He rose to his feet once more. “Know your place. They deserve the honour of their triumph and they will have it. You have said your piece, now get out of this hall. We have matters of war to discuss which do not concern the womenfolk.”

  The Bone Mother hissed in rage, but slunk away. Koruk was glad to see her leave, and the room’s atmosphere brightened considerably after she was gone.

  As the discussion turned back to the war against the Beast Tamers, Koruk and his companions turned to leave. Soth, the old orc, stopped them, and motioned that they follow him. The big warrior, Karnald took a place beside them as well. Soth led them up a set of stairs to the tower of the war hall, and they ascended to the top floor. A much smaller room greeted them, dominated by a large table surrounded by shelves filled with scrolls.

  “Avol is wise to send you on this quest, but you could use some further guidance.” He said, reaching for a scroll and starting to unfurl it on the table. “The quest he has given you is far more difficult than he lets on.”

  The scroll unrolled to reveal a large map, showing in detail the orcish tribal boundaries and strongholds, as well as many landmarks. There was a large empty expanse drawn simply labelled “The Burning Desert” far to the south.

  “The desert is a forbidden place. No orc has ever returned from it alive in memory, living or otherwise. I don’t say this to scare you, it’s just a statement of fact.” Soth said, taking a seat at the table. The others remained standing, gazing at the map.

  “Why are you helping us? Isn’t this a Wit’thod matter?” Koruk asked. Soth sighed, and his face developed a complex expression.

  “Avol means well but he gets a bit ahead of himself. He has never been to the southlands. I think he expects you to get as far as the boundary of the desert and then come home with a story to tell. You’ll notice he didn’t ask you to actually go into the desert.”

  He was right, Koruk thought. He didn’t.

  “Does Avol not take the quest seriously?” Koruk asked, thinking aloud.

  “No, he doesn’t. But I do. That old woman, your Bone Mother, was right. Your visions are remarkable. Remarkably detailed. You managed to correctly describe things that you had no knowledge of. It doesn’t seem like a coincidence that you have them. We live in strange times.”

  Soth drew a line along the map with his finger.

  “When you leave, you should head south, following the blue run river to its fork, and then turn east towards Zernthod.”

  “The city of the soot shamans.” Karnald said. The big orc was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, watching the exchange with interest. “A strong city with strong walls. Their shamans can cast magics which melt rocks into gold and silver and other metals, and they protect their secrets dearly.”

  “Yes. When you are there do not stray from the merchant’s quarter, or they will kill you.” Soth said, not looking up from the map. “After you get through the city, travel southwest through the Shadowed Basin. You shouldn’t meet much trouble, and after a few days you should make it to Brittle Teeth.”

  Karnald guffawed and spat.

  “Brittle backs more like. They are a weak tribe. They have no feeling for battle, no honour. They buy and trade their way to power, even doing business with the red men. They might even be red men wearing green paint for all I know.”

  “Yes quite. Brittle Teeth is the richest city in the world, even outdoing Orc’gar for wealth. The red men do business there, and if you’re to discover any path into the desert, they would know it. I will tell you that you don’t have to go on this quest. You can refuse, and me and Karnald will smooth things over so there is no dishonour for you. This is something that should be undertaken by a war party, not two young orcs and a...” Soth hesitated. “Hu-man? You look remarkably similar to the red men. I wonder if you’re somehow related to them. A distant cousin perhaps?”

  “He’s not a red man.” Karnald said. “He’s not red.”

  The comment elicited a brief chuckle from everyone. Even Oben smiled. The joke wasn’t particularly funny Koruk thought, but it helped break the tension. He looked at Moktark.

  “It’s your dream and your quest little brother. I am willing to go through, and it seems like Drake is too.” He said.

  In his heart Koruk had already decided though. Somehow, he felt he needed to. He felt some pull he couldn’t explain, and he didn’t think he could say no if he wanted to.

  “We will go.” He said. Soth looked at Karnald and sighed, and Karnald returned the look.

  “Alright then. Avol was right about one thing though. You need some time to prepare for this. Go enjoy your triumph. Relax a little, gather your equipment.”

  “Bring weapons.” Karnald said. “You’ll need them.”