The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2) (25 page)

Tharok rose and marched back to his hut, which was being struck down by several other kragh to whom the duty fell. Nok was amongst them, making sure the work was done well, and Shaya was seated to one side, pale but alive. Tharok moved into the small group, clapped a large kragh on the shoulder, and took the load that a woman had been about to ease down. He let out a mock growl and laughed as she growled right back. He lost himself in the work, enjoying the sensation of sunlight on his skin and the heat that the work engendered in his core.

Soon they were on the road, and once more they moved ahead of the Crokuk. But this time Tharok moved at a slower pace, allowing the whole of both tribes to move together. Nakrok hurled some insults his way, but Tharok simply laughed and raised two fingers at him, the sign of an inverted peak. Nakrok blinked at the crudeness of the gesture, and the kragh around Tharok laughed and mimicked it back at the Crokuk. Nakrok soon learned to leave him alone.

They walked all day till Tharok called a break for lunch, and they rested by the head of a great waterfall, the thundering plumes of water unraveling as they fell as mist into the basin below. The two tribes settled down where they had stopped, drawing dried meat from their packs along with bags of tubers and fried cakes.

Tharok walked amongst the Red River, pausing to squat and exchange words with each clan. He asked the names of the children, listened to the warriors as they discussed their predictions for the battles to come, and to older kragh as they advised him on the protocols of a Grand Convocation. He watched the single kragh females, grinning at them to show the size of his tusks, and when he was done he arose from the last group and saw a caravan pulling to a stop at the back of their camp, a great stone troll standing alongside it, a hammer as tall as Tharok held over its shoulder.

The arrival of the caravan stirred the interest of the kragh, who stood and turned to regard it. The human seated high on the caravan's front stood up as well and called out in a bold and striking voice, "Greetings, travelers on the road! My wagon moves slowly because of all the expensive goods I carry. Who would line up and buy some of it from me so as to lighten my load? Come! Don't mind Grax. He has already eaten ten kragh this morning. Surely he won't want more. Come, come!"

Tharok placed his hands on his belt and watched. He had wanted to speak to the trader, he recalled, though he didn't remember why.

Grax was ponderous and powerful, and the Crokuk kragh milling around the caravan gave him wide berth. The human, however, was all movement and charm, opening up the side of his wagon so that it formed a display for the weapons contained within. Kragh crowded four deep, roaring and pointing at different weapons, demanding to touch and test, but they were denied unless they showed coin.

Tharok moved forward. None of the highlanders had approached the human. Their kind had a natural distrust for human vendors and traders, for their honeyed words and backstabbing ways.

After some fifteen minutes Nakrok gave word that his tribe should prepare to move out. The human trader began to pack up his goods, clearly having done some good business, humming loudly to himself as Grax looked on. Tharok took the opportunity to approach, slipping on the circlet as he went.

"Interested in a purchase, my good kragh?" asked the human. "I know you. We meet again."

"We follow a similar path. Ours takes us higher into the Peaks. We leave the Chasm Walk in a day. Where does your route lead you?"

"As I said, I'm also going higher into the peaks. I'm going to release Grax into the area known as the Wyvern's Hide and recruit a new stone troll before descending to the northern plains. There, I'll do a little business with the Tragon."

"The Tragon are the enemy of the Orlokor."

"The wheel turns, the stars spin in their constellations, things change yet remain the same. I have no political aspirations, and trade with all. Do you object?"

"No. But I would have further words with you tonight where we make camp. It would be to your great profit."

"What kind of business are we talking about?" asked the human, pausing in his activities to look over at Tharok.

"Two words. War profiteering."

"Two words, eh?" The human stroked his chin. "Those two words ring nicely in my ear. There's always good coin to be made during a war. My name is Gregory. I'll find your camp tonight."

"Good. I am Tharok. Find me amongst the Red River."

So saying, Tharok turned and strode back to his tribe, pulling the circlet clear of his brow as he went.

"On your feet, Red River!" he roared, clapping kragh on the shoulder as he went past them, marching toward the front. "Our last night on the road, and then we head home, up into the peaks and toward the Dragon's Tear!"

The afternoon passed without incident. The kragh, hundreds deep, crowded the Chasm Walk, an avalanche of green flesh and armor. They marched, indefatigable. A few called out raucous war chants, simple call-and-response songs that dated further back than memory went. They walked as the sun wheeled through the pale blue sky toward the western peaks, illuminating but no longer warming, and then when it dimmed behind the highest crags they struck down again and made camp once more, pitching their tents and huts right there on the floor of Chasm Walk.

Nakrok posted sentries half a mile ahead and behind, and allowed small fires for cooking but little more. The kragh set about the business of making camp, roaring out to each other on occasion, engaging in conversation, settling down to boil the dried jerky they carried in their pouches. Tharok moved amongst the Red River, ignoring the studied looks and reserved responses, simply enjoying their company and not giving thought to the future.

Toad found him by a fire, listening appreciatively to an old warrior's tale of how he had accidentally mated with a she-bear. The little kragh sidled up to him out of the darkness and whispered that the Women's Circle would have words with him.

With a sigh, Tharok rolled his eyes. "Just what I needed. And where have you been, Toad? I've not seen sign of your ugly little face in days."

Toad sketched a low bow, his grin uneasy. "Here and there and everywhere, Tharok. Telling all about your worthiness as our warlord, of course. Ha ha! Will you come? The women await."

Gesturing for Toad to lead on, he followed the stunted kragh away from the tents and huts into the darkness beyond, scratching at his side and wondering if he would be able to get back in time for dinner.

Toad pointed ahead to where a goat trail climbed the chasm wall. "They're waiting up there, warlord, in a small cave. Come, I will show you."

Tharok nodded absent-mindedly and began to climb, reaching out for handholds as the path got steeper, until he crested a small rise and stepped out onto a ledge before a crack in the cliff. Toad melted back into the shadows and departed. The Women's Circle was sitting in a semi-circle. He saw Maur, Iskrolla, and a half-dozen others, and as one they turned to look up at him, their faces set like stone.

"Good evening, wise women," said Tharok – and then his head exploded into blinding white light.

With a cry he pitched forward, tumbling down to his knees, his head ringing. A second blow fell across his lower back, sending explosive pain through his kidneys. With a cry of rage he tried to rise to his feet, only to have them swept out from under him. He crashed hard to the rocky ground and went to push himself up again, but a great weight settled across the small of his back as somebody sat on him and set an ironwood staff across his throat.

Gasping, eyes unfocused, he saw Maur rise and stalk toward him. She drew a curved blade from her belt. Choking, Tharok grabbed hold of the staff and tried to pull it down, but it was rammed higher and deeper into his throat.

Maur took her blade and touched it to his neck. "I could take your life, Tharok," she said. "The Women's Circle can choose to take your life, and perhaps we should do so. But for tonight, we'll hold back our blade."

A roar sounded from behind them, deep and reverberating, and then the weight that sat atop him was gone, falling off and to his side, and Tharok collapsed face-first into the dirt, breathing deep and beautiful gasps of air. A hand clenched him by the back of the neck and hauled him to his feet. Tharok caught his balance and turned to see Nok standing beside him, a great maul held in the other hand. Krilla was rising to her feet from where she had been knocked down, with murder in her eyes.

"Think you can kill the warlord?" asked Nok, his voice low and raw and dangerous. "If so, you'll have to kill his clan mate too."

Maur hissed, and the women all drew their curved blades. Krilla gained her feet and drew a blade as broad and long as her forearm.

"Wait," rasped Tharok, putting his hand on Nok's shoulder. His head was pounding. "They were just warning me, Nok. It is their right. They are the Women's Circle. We are but males."

Nok didn't move, so Tharok reached down to take up the ironwood staff. Maur stared at him with slitted eyes.

"That said, it's good to see that this is how this Women's Circle acts," he said, thudding the staff against the palm of his other hand. "With veiled threats and blades."

Maur straightened and lowered her dagger. "We meet you in kind, warlord. After your confrontation this morning with Nakrok, there is no way we can trust you further. We agreed to your summoning the Convocation, not your turning the Red River over to the Crokuk if you fail. You raise the stakes higher than our trust."

Tharok sighed and shook his head. He had to get this right. He took the circlet from where he'd tied it to his belt and slipped it on. It probably would have warned him against coming up here, would have helped him avoid this ambush. He stiffened as his thoughts expanded, but the rush was briefer this time. He was getting used to the transitions.

"Look," he said, reaching out to place his hand on Nok's maul and lower it to the ground. "You are upset. I'm acting wildly. You don't understand me. You see me making enemies. Now I'm summoning a Grand Convocation, which you think will result in the destruction of the Red River. I could tell you to trust me. Instead, I'll tell you exactly what I have planned. Then I promise that if you want to slit my throat, I won't stop you."

The other wise women lowered their blades, except for Iskrolla, who spat on the ground. Maur nodded grudgingly.

Tharok spoke calmly, almost tiredly, like one equal to another. "This is the situation. Together we have six hundred fighters with us. Our enemy the Tragon number in the thousands. We could probably capture a few clans before they came against us in numbers, and then it would be a big battle that would result in many deaths and our defeat. I don't want that.

"Instead, what I want is to capture them all, kill all their leaders, and force them to join the Red River. To do that I need more kragh. To get more kragh, I have to get the highland tribes to follow me, and in so doing force the Crokuk to do the same. That's why I'm calling the Grand Convocation."

"And why," asked Iskrolla, voice sour and dry, "do you think the other tribes will come, much less follow you?"

"Because," said Tharok, staring into her narrowed eyes, "I am going to bring stone trolls to fight by our side."

There was a stunned silence, and then Krilla laughed. Tharok turned to stare at her, but Maur cut in furiously, "What? And how will you do that?"

"The human trader controls a stone troll by the name of Grax. I will talk to him tonight and wrest his secret from him. Then I will climb the crags to where the trolls live, and force them all to follow me. Word will get out. The highland kragh will hear that the warlord of the Red River has summoned a Grand Convocation with the Crokuk and some fifty stone trolls to fight for him. Word will get out about how Ogri gave me World Breaker, and the tribes will come."

"You are gambling everything on that human telling you his secret," said Krilla.

"And your surviving your attempt to recruit the stone trolls," said Maur.

"I know," Tharok admitted. "But if I succeed, the tribes will flock to me. We'll gain some thousand highland warriors, which are worth three times their number in lowland kragh. We'll crush the Tragon, force them to join us, and then we will be some four or five thousand strong. With the stone trolls by our side, we'll be more than equal to the once mighty Hrakar. We will move to the east and capture them. By that point, Porloc will be facing an army of some eight thousand kragh, the same size as his own forces, the whole of the Orlokor. But we will be battle-hardened, with a force of highland kragh and stone trolls at the heart of our army and with thousands of lowland kragh fleshing out our numbers."

Tharok looked from wise woman to wise woman. "This is what will happen. We will descend the Chasm Walk and come in to parlay. I'll demand World Breaker. He will refuse, and will try to kill me in an ambush. I'll fake my death. He'll think he's won and try to celebrate. While he is celebrating, my thousands will fall upon Gold, and the Orlokor will fall."

His words rang out against the stone walls. Only Iskrolla nodded. "A good plan," she said.

"You like it because it will get him killed," said Maur.

"Like I said, a good plan."

"It sounds mad when I lay it all out," said Tharok. "Which is why I've kept it close to my chest until now. But what would you have thought a week ago, if while I was bound and Wrok's slave, I had told you that I would soon be leading the Red River to war with five hundred Crokuk by my side? You would have called me mad then, too. But here I am. Here we are. I'll build the new kragh empire one step at a time, and if you walk with me, you'll see this madness become reality."