CHAPTER ONE
It was dry and miserable as the sun sunk slowly to the horizon over the dunes and sparse grasslands that extended away from camp. Flies swarmed and bit Gnak’s bare back and shoulders, causing small bumps to rise upon his blue-black flesh. Shrugging repeatedly, and whipping his head from side to side, he attempted to fend them off while shoveling the last of his meal into his waiting mouth with a spoon carved of human bone. In less than an hour, when the light faded, the flies would abate and allow him to better concentrate on what awaited. The anticipation was killing him.
Though just days away, a ceremony that would change his life forever would begin, he had no time now for thinking of such distant events. For Gnak life was about here and now. It was about survival. It was about cunning, and hunting, and killing. As an Orc approaching Catunga, the ceremony that marked him as an adult and established his rank among his people, Gnak knew his every action was being watched. Those who performed Catunga with him sought his weaknesses, and tonight’s hunt would be no different.
Rising from his position upon the ground he straightened the necklace around his neck, reminding those who watched him of the many boars and bears he had brought down. Grinning a wicked grin, he flashed his large, tusk-like teeth as his silver eyes flashed in the failing light. Bending to retrieve his crude sword, he shoved it in his belt before flexing his muscles in a feigned stretch. Sure his watchers were thoroughly reminded, Gnak strode to his tent with his shoulders back and head held high. Being proud, with a strong family name, he knew few among his clan were his rival. Even his home spoke of his strength.
With a base of stacked stones and poles thrust down into the sand, his tent was one of the more impressive in the camp. It was covered entirely in the hides and skins of those greatest among the beasts he slaughtered. He remembered every kill down to the breaths he took. Such victories were to be savored.
There were those who had tents that were grander, though. His own father had one such tent. A few other elders in the camp had great sprawling domiciles as well, but the only one Gnak refused to admire was just paces away. It belonged to Korx, his rival from the time they could crawl. Shaking the thoughts from his head, Gnak tried not to recall the broken bones, swollen eyes, and bloodied faces they had exchanged over the years. There was no time for distraction. There was only hunting and Catunga.
Snatching the spear from beside the flap of his tent Gnak peered across his small camp to see who else prepared to collect game for the feast. Just as he suspected, all who would enter the ceremony with him had come out to provide for their clan. Like him, most of his clan mates carried spears with a short sword in reserve. But not Korx. He instead preferred two short swords. It showed he was not afraid to get close to the beasts he killed, and most would agree that it was a proud act, and one deserving of respect. Most. Not all.
Turning to watch the last sliver of the sun slip into the beyond, Gnak turned and looked off to the foothills of the mountains to the north. Tonight he would seek out an enormous beast. Tonight he would kill that which would bring respect to him and his father. Tonight he would show them that he had what it took to be a captain.
Grinning again, Gnak jogged out beyond the edge of the camp. Setting his sights on a point in the distance, he leveled his breathing and leaned forward as he gained speed. Digging his toes into the sand with every stride he rushed towards his destination, the sharp, dry blades of desert grass slicing at his scarred legs to little effect. He had been the first to leave the camp this night, but he knew nearly four dozen would be hunting the same grounds as he in the hours to come. Redoubling his speed, he moved as fast as his massive legs would carry him. He needed to find the most magnificent beast. His elders and his clan would expect no less. He would not disappoint them.
Little more than an hour into the night and more than a dozen miles later, Gnak broke free from the sand to set his feet upon more solid ground. Here the sandy grass turned to hills of brush and rock. Only a handful of miles ahead, the base of the mountains began. Raising his chin into the cool breeze that flowed down from the mountain he sniffed hungrily, the air rushing into and out of the two slits for nostrils that adorned his face. With no sign or scent catching his attention, he turned briefly to witness as dozens of forms raced through the darkness behind him. It was one thing, looking out for the beasts he was hunting. But it was entirely another knowing that the others of his own clan were just as likely to be hunting him. After all, there was no shame in eliminating your competition. It was more or less the primary means for promotion in the Orcish hierarchy.
Gnak silently dared them to come, he was raised to have no fear or compassion, and would show them neither. How much more glorious would the return from the hunt be if he brought with him not only a magnificent beast, but also the tusks of those who wished to gain position by his death? Turning again, he began to run once more into the night with a wolfish grin upon his purple lips.
Another half an hour, and he rushed past the first trees that marked the edge of the base of the mountains. From here on he knew it would be slower going, forced to climb uphill against both gravity and the breeze. But even so, he would not back down from the challenge. In fact, he intended to climb higher than he would normally hunt, for there were stories that said only the strongest of his prey could survive higher up.
Catunga began in three nights. So no matter what prey he found, he would need to return to camp with it in time to skin it, and have it prepared for the feast. Most large game needed a full day and night to roast upon a spit, cutting a full third off of the time he had. No, he needed to bag his trophy tonight and return to camp, even if it meant staying up the entire day that followed.
His deadline set, Gnak turned towards the largest trail that climbed the mountain. If he planned to climb higher than the rest he needed an easy approach to remain ahead of them. Besides, it was more than likely that only a few would dare venture as high as he. If any at all.
Reaching the trail he once again increased his pace, finding the well beaten path much easier to traverse. It was only an hour into his climb that he heard the roar from below. He recognized the sound instantly, and knew it to be one of the great brown bears that inhabited the mountain’s wooded slopes. By the pitch he guessed it to be a smaller bear, perhaps a yearling or slightly older. Any bear was a prize to be had, but he was glad his brethren were so easily satisfied. With so little ambition, those such as the bear’s slayer were not likely to pose a threat in the days to come.
Climbing higher and higher it was near the middle of the night, with the twin moons of Thurr, one blue and one red, directly above, that he saw the first immense track. Reaching down he placed both of his hands inside the impression in the soil, his fingers spread to their full extent. He did not even touch the edges of the track with both hands within it. At nearly nine feet tall, with broad shoulders and massive arms, Gnak was not small for an Orc by any means. His hands were large, even for an Orc and yet the track in the damp soil before him proved from a beast that would dwarf him by half.
Looking up the mountain side it was evident where the beast had passed, its tracks obvious in the damp soil. Gnak could not be certain if it was good or bad that he would be able to track the creature so easily. If he could track it, so could the others, and he would not want to find himself pinned between the beast and those who wished him harm. There was little choice in the matter, however, as this was precisely the type of creature he had sought. He knew, without even making a conscious decision, that he would track the creature back to its den if he needed to.
Without fear he altered course and began climbing once again through the darkness, away from the trail and into the ever thickening forest upon the mountain slopes. Here were mostly pines and ferns, interlaced with various vines and a smattering of mushrooms. The beast’s trail blazing through the undergrowth was easy enough to follow, and as such Gnak felt he was making good time.
Sniffing the air as he climbed, it was only an hour later
when he picked up the distinct scent of the beast. Even by its smell it was monstrous, its odor reeking of decaying flesh, urine, and feces. Looking up through the canopy he located the stars he needed to mark his location, before his attention was broken from his calculations of his distance from camp. His head snapping down as he heard a branch crack with a snick, he slowed to a stop to listen as the sound was followed then by a rustling. Ahead, not far, was movement. It was slow and deliberate. Another branch snapped. Gnak sprang into action.
Ducking off the trail of prints and stench he followed, he quietly crept through the undergrowth, carefully selecting every footfall. Creeping, he sought to flank the creature and land a killing blow with one quick strike between the ribs. Following the ever moving sound he climbed slowly up and around his target, following it into a dense copse of firs. Ducking from shadow to shadow beneath the moons he crept on, growing nearer and nearer to the sounds ahead. It was not until he broke free of the dense trees into the clearing beyond that he realized his mistake.