Twisted Fate (Orc Destiny Volume I) (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) (4 page)

There upon the ground lay the severed head of a sand giant. Its
giant eye had swiveled back into its head, revealing an orb of white
crisscrossed with purple veins. Below the eye was a beak-like nose structure,
and below that was a great round mouth filled with row after row of razor–sharp
teeth. Upon its head were knobby spikes used for bashing, and even now it
looked dangerous. It was small for a giant, probably not yet an adult among
their kind, but it was a giant nonetheless. Giants were men, and so were
thinking and reasoning creatures. They fought with weapons, even the young
ones. His ancient bear was not the best prize among the kills this hunt. Not by
a long shot. Though sand giants were smaller than their mountain cousins, they
were near impossible to bring down alone. Gnak knew only one Orc besides
himself that would dare try. Korx. Once again he had been thwarted by his
lifetime rival.

Angered, Gnak stomped away from the roasting giant, ignoring
the enticing scent of its steaming flesh. Across the camp he strode, yanking
the flap aside as he stormed into the shaman’s tent. He had not expected to see
what he found within, and it angered him further still. There in the tent sat
Korx with the shaman, having his own wounds dressed. Gnak would have to wait
his turn.

Turning upon his heel to leave, preferring to wait outside
rather than look upon his enemy, he was prevented a clean retreat when the
giant killer spoke,

“Gnak kill big bear. Korx kill giant,” Korx bragged.

“Gnak kill biggest bear. Korx kill smallest giant,” Gnak
replied with a snort.

“Small giant better kill. Big bear no better. I win.”

“Giant much bone, bear much meat. More clan eat bear. I
win,” Gnak replied, knowing the statement was not entirely true. Sure, a bear
had more meat, but the giant was obviously the tougher target. Even so, he
watched as Korx struggled to piece together a response.

“Bear easy, giant hard,” he finally managed.

Though the words barely created any meaning, Gnak understood
them and knew them to be true. Even so, his was a proud kill. There were still
two more stages to Catunga, a task and a fight to the death. It would be the
task that set them apart. He would focus on the celebration and feast ahead,
until his task was given. He still had time to eliminate some competition,
though it was not allowed
in
the camp and as such he could not use this
opportunity to kill Korx, though the thought brought a wicked grin to his lips.

“I come back after,” Gnak grunted, and strode back out of
the tent feeling Korx’s eyes upon his back.

Gnak had returned to the shaman later that first night and
had his arm wound cared for along with a few more minor injuries, but that had
been a full day ago. Now the preparations had been completed and, as the sun
shrank slowly over the horizon, Gnak could not help the anxiety building within
him. He wanted to know his task. He needed to know it. The Catunga ceremony
tasks were what really made a difference. Such tasks required intelligence,
cunning, strength, and endurance. All of which Gnak had, but he still could not
wait to know the details. Pacing inside his tent, not wanting the others to see
his impatience and mistake it for weakness, he waited for darkness to come.

When it did come, it was announced by the pounding of great
war drums, a sign that the ceremony was starting. Kneeling before the bone shrine
within his tent he prayed to Gogoc, the god of battle, Burliq, the god of hate
and rage, and Keeka, the goddess of health and endurance. The gods had never
seen fit to answer his call, but even so, Gnak knew that not praying to them
was taking a chance he would rather not. A rare few of his kind were blessed by
the gods, receiving gifts of strength, speed, and power. He wanted such gifts
for himself.

Rising once again, he dipped his fingers in a bowl of blood collected
from the ancient bear’s head and delivered to him the day before, and splashed
it upon the shrine respectfully. Then turning, he ducked through the flaps of
his home, adorned with his tooth necklace that now held the six tusks of his
traitorous clan-mates. Striding across the camp towards the constant booming of
the drums, he watched ahead as his clan gathered for the ceremony.

Though the ceremony would last the whole of the night, he
wore every bit of armor he owned. It was mostly oiled leather, but the joints
contained bits of chain armor made by the humans who had wandered into their
lands a few years previous, and he even owned steel bracers, though steel here
was rare and usually used only for weapons. He imagined himself an impressive
sight, and making his way to the center of the camp he was assured of his
conclusion. Most of his peers, similarly prepared, wore only leather and bone. Gnak
grunted at his success. The elders would surely take note that he was worthy to
win the proud title of captain.

Approaching the huge fire pit that marked the center of
camp, he located his peers who joined him in Catunga. Finding himself a seat
among the ring of his peers, he kicked at them, making them create a wider
space for him. Of course there had already been suitably sized spots for him,
just not where he wanted. Within moments the remaining stragglers arrived and
Gnak noted that their number had already dropped by nearly a quarter. The
elders filled in behind the ring of those to do Catunga, and six females of
their tribe took up positions between those seated at the fire.

He watched as the females began to sway to the thrumming of
the drum, and the shaman dumped some strange leaves in the fire as blue smoke
began to roil out of it. The females then started discarding their clothing,
retrieving large woven fans to spread the smoke into the gathered ring of those
facing Catunga. The nude females danced, an entrancing, sexual collection of
movements that seemed altogether a natural part of their fanning of the smoke. The
women swayed in the firelight, their dark flesh a medley of dancing yellow and
red light as their dark shadows crept across the surface of those who sat
surrounding them. Gnak could feel the effects of the smoke almost instantly. Breathing
it, he could feel his body calm, the tension dissipating with every breath. He
felt his mind opening, the many what ifs and questions fleeing him to make room
for the words that were surely to come soon.

The motions of the swaying and dancing women seemed to
become blurred, as if behind a haze of smoke, as the shaman added yet more
leaves to the fire. The smoke changed color and still the nude women danced,
their bodies enticing the crowd around them. Gnak tried to focus, but the haze
would not let him. He turned his head to see if any of his peers were
unaffected, but the motion nearly made him topple over, his balance all but
lost. It were as if the world around him had become a dream, but still he tried
to remain alert, to concentrate as the voice of their clan chief began to boom
over the thunderous drums.

“We proud. Tribe of Gathos. We proud cause we strong,” the
chief began.

Gnak tried to focus on his words and follow their sound to
the source with his eyes, but now he swayed with the drums and dancers, and
could not seem to stop. Closing his eyes he found some relief, but now the
chief’s words punctuated by drums were all that seemed to exist. So he clung to
them as the leader of his clan continued.

“We strong cause Catunga. Begin Catunga, make clan proud. Watch
you go. Make proud you return. Make clan stronger still. No finish Catunga, no
return camp. Weak make clan weak. Gathos have no weak. Gathos strong. Hear my
words. You task three. First go find enemies. War coming. Great chief say it. Capture
enemy and return,” the chief began to explain.

Gnak understood the chief’s meaning even with his head
swirling. He did not hear the words so much as see them within his head. He saw
the Gathos tribe, proud and strong, and watched as they struck down their old
and infirm. He envisioned himself leaving the camp with few provisions, his
sword and spear at the ready. Then as the vision swirled again he saw the
visage of a great black castle before him. He had never seen the thing, only
been told of it by elders when he was young. It lay to the north in the lands
of the humans. It was his destiny. It was his Catunga. Proud, he listened as still
the chief spoke.

Again his dream-like vision changed and he saw the great
chief standing before the chiefs of all the Orc tribes. The great chief was
blessed by the gods and stood double the size of his kin, commanding them into
battle. Shaking his head, Gnak struggled to listen on.

“Three part is sacrifice enemy to god you choose. Ask god
give power. Win power. Make Gathos more strong. More proud.”

The chief’s voice was lost, the drums beating louder and
louder, faster and faster as Gnak’s heart began to race with the beat. The new
smoke smelled spicy, burning his nostrils, but the fog began to clear. Before
he could open his eyes, he again pictured the massive black castle. He had his
task. Capture an enemy and bring it back for sacrifice to the gods. Most would
likely visit the goblins and trolls, their nearest neighbors who they fought
most often. But Gnak knew that was not where he was supposed to go. No, he
would venture north, across the mountains into the land of the humans where he
had never ventured before.

With sweat beading upon his forehead he opened his eyes, his
heart racing as if he fought the ancient bear once again. The fog abated and
with it the dizziness, and he rose as the dancing women ceased their rhythmic
movements.

Looking up to the stars, Gnak calculated that more than half
of the night had passed in what felt to him was only minutes. Shaking his head
once more, he felt somewhat lethargic as his heart began to slow. His tribe
began gathering around the spits of roasting meat, hacking and pulling hunks
off the carcasses before biting into the fistfuls of flesh. He hoped a belly
full of good meat would chase away the odd feeling inside him, and as such
sought out the great bear he had killed. Many surrounded the spit, pulling and
slicing, but at his approach they cleared a path for him. It was his kill. He
could take what he wanted.

Pulling his sword, still stained from Orc and bear alike, he
carved a strip of meat from the beast’s back, close to the spine. Taking a huge
bite he gnashed his teeth loudly, grunting his approval as he waved to allow
the others to begin anew. Most would stuff themselves in preparation for the
journey to the lands of their enemies, but Gnak had a different approach
entirely. Heading back to his tent, he gathered up what few supplies he could
muster. Tossing the bone spook and knife into a leather hide, he gathered up
bits of dried meat he kept for days where the hunt was scarce. It was meager,
but would sustain him for a few days. Beyond that he would have to rely on game
for food.

Bundling the small hide with a leather cord, he tied it to
his belt before again kneeling before the shrine of the Orc gods. A few mumbled
thoughts and a splash of blood later, and Gnak strode from his tent into the
path that would lead him out of camp. Without veering he struck out on a
comfortable jog, straight east out of town towards the nearest goblin
neighbors. If any watched him go, let them think he was taking an easy route. Gnak
grinned into the night. Cunning and intelligence would win him the title of
captain.

The sun was lighting the sky above Gnak when he made the
decision to take up his actual course. Turning to his left, he was careful not
to leave a trail alerting any that followed that he was actually traveling
north. Though if any found his trail here, more than forty miles out of camp,
they would assume he was seeking the mountain giants that were known to inhabit
the pass through the mountains nearby. The very pass he hoped to make by
midday. Whereas Orcs were primarily nocturnal, giants were more active during
the hours of sunlight. How they dealt with the burning sensation in their eyes
all the time, Gnak was unsure, but if they were too dumb to sleep during the
day it was their own fault.

Either way, he hoped to locate the pass and slip by the
slower-of-thought giants unaware. Once beyond the pass, he believed he could
travel fairly unimpeded into the lands of the humans. He did not know precisely
where the giant black castle was, but if it was as large as stories would have
him believe, it would not be difficult for him to locate.

Deciding his trail had been obscure for long enough, he gave
his steps no further thought and began running northward with the searing sun
baking his right side. The day was expectedly uneventful, with nothing of note
other than a few goblin tracks and the growing mountains before him. The more
miles he crossed, growing ever nearer to the base of the Rancor range here, the
more obvious the pass through them became. At first it was a subtle change in
the ground, the soil becoming packed and hard beneath his feet. Then an obvious
path began to emerge where all plant life had been destroyed, leaving only a
dusty trail that wound up through the hills ahead into a great chasm between
the mountains. Once he reached the hills, the pass was even more obvious, and
he began to realize that his plan would not be as simple as he had hoped.

Peering off into the distance from atop a rise, he could see
the bodies of smashed and splattered goblins all along the mouth of the pass. The
sounds of screams echoed out from its stone confines, and the clangs of metal
carried their high pitched tune across the day’s stagnant air. Gnak reevaluated
his plan.

Not only were there giants within the pass, but goblins too.
All the more eyes to see him. He could try and find another way through the
mountains but time was limited. Catunga only lasted one moon cycle. He had
twenty eight nights. No more.