Don Bassingthwaite - The Killing Song

“What did he just say?” Geth demanded

“That the hero of the Bonetree raid, the conqueror of Jhegesh Dol, wants to offer inspiration to the horde!”

“Me?” Geth’s voice came out in a croak. Before he could make any other protest, though, he was whirled around and the hands left him. The horde of Angry Eyes spread out before him, hundreds of orc warriors chanting his name.

Geth! Geth! Geth! Geth!

The chant rolled through him in waves that made the admiration he’d felt from Kobus and around the campfires the night before feel like nothing at all. It made him feel the same as the first time he’d seen the ocean or the first time he’d gone into real battle-incredibly small. And yet it also made him feel huge, powerful, as invincible as he felt when he shifted, but even more so.

And if it were possible, it made him hate Medala even more than he already did. All of these warriors with their red-striped horde marks would soon go into battle against a powerful enemy, an enemy that had to be fought, but that shouldn’t have been fought on Medala’s secret agenda.

But he couldn’t tell them about Medala. Caught up in the frenzy of the horde, they wouldn’t believe him. They probably wouldn’t even listen. Batul had thrust him into the one position where he could speak to everyone-but couldn’t say anything.

No, he could say one thing. If the battle had to be fought, it could at least be fought well. Geth pulled Wrath from his scabbard and thrust it over his head, crossing the purple byeshk blade with the black steel of his gauntlet. The sinking sun behind him painted both weapons red, so that bloody light dripped down his arms.

“Hit them hard!” he bellowed.

Ekhaas echoed his cry in Orc, and the roar that came back from the horde was like a wall of sound.

When the roar subsided, and the speaker for the Gatekeepers-not to mention a steady stream of warleaders making their way to the slope to imitate Geth’s passionate words-stepped forward again, there was no sign of Batul. He was gone, as if he had run away rather than speak to Geth.

“Maybe he had the better idea,” Ekhaas suggested as Kobus led them back down into the horde. “What could he have done with the information we have?”

Hands reached out of the crowd to touch Geth. He slapped a few of them back, but he didn’t feel the enthusiasm of the warriors. “He could have told us what to do.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to do that in front of Medala.”

“Maybe.”

Kobus punched Geth’s unarmored arm and said something in Orc. “Laugh, friend,” Ekhaas repeated for Geth. “We go to battle. Soon we’ll kill!”

“We should hope we’re the ones doing the killing,” Geth said grimly.

Ekhaas’s ears bent. “Do you want me to tell him that?”

“Don’t bother,” said Geth. Something in his tone had clearly already passed on to Kobus. The warrior wore a vaguely disappointed expression and was giving him a sideways glance. Geth didn’t try to correct him.

“Ekhaas duur’kala!” called a voice from behind them. “Ekhaas duur’kala, kato gosh!”

Ekhaas turned. Geth turned with her. One of the Gatekeepers, a crook-headed hunda stick in her hand, was pushing through the horde after them. Ekhaas answered her in Orc. Geth touched his hand to Wrath-now sheathed again-so he could follow their conversation.

“What do you want, Gatekeeper?” Ekhaas asked as the druid squeezed past Kobus to stand before them. The Gatekeeper’s eyes were bright, and her gray-green skin flushed as if with excitement, though she seemed a little old for youthful enthusiasm.

Her excitement extended to her voice, however. “A story,” she said. “Or stories.” She ducked her head in a gesture of awkward respect. “My name is Hona. I’m a lorespeaker among the Gatekeepers. Ever since Batul told us about your arrival yesterday, the other lorespeakers and I have wanted to meet with you, but we couldn’t leave the council lodge. Batul says you know stories of Aryd and the time of the Daelkyr War that we’ve forgotten.”

Ekhaas stood straight, her ears pricked up tall. “This is true,” she answered with the self-righteous arrogance that sometimes made Geth wonder how he endured her. Hona just looked even more excited.

“Will you tell us the stories as the horde marches?” she asked. “We’ll tell you what stories we can that you don’t already know.”

“I will be pleased to.” Ekhaas nodded gracefully. Geth was surprised her neck didn’t snap. It was an effort not to roll his eyes and reveal that he could understand what was being said. “How should I find you during the march?”

“Why don’t you come with me now?” Hona suggested. “I’ll introduce you to the other lorespeakers. You should be able to find at least one of us any time later.”

Ekhaas’s eyebrows rose, and she looked at Geth. “You were listening?” she asked, switching languages. “Should I go?”

Geth gave her a withering look as he released Wrath. “Would it matter if I said no?”

“Not really.” She looked up at the sky. “The sun will be down soon. The ceremony will end. I’ll be back before then.”

She said something to Kobus, then strode off behind Hona. Geth didn’t listen to what she told the warrior or even watch her go. There was a stone close by, and he seated himself on it, rubbing his temples with the fingers of one hand and trying to ignore Kobus’s murmured conversations with the other warriors. He would have killed for a tankard of ale. Even orcish ale. Unfortunately, all of the ale that had survived the growth of the horde would be left behind at the Sharvat when they marched. For the duration of their march, the horde would drink only water or gaeth’ad brewed to restore flagging strength.

He hoped House Deneith never decided to adopt some of the orcish practices for the Blademarks. It would make an already grim job even worse.

“Geth?”

He looked up. The warrior who had been the first to offer him ale in the camp stood before him, nervously exchanging glances with Kobus. Geth had learned his name-he tried to remember it. “Pog?” he said.

The warrior looked pleased. He stepped closer and, with a stilted accent and a look of concentration that suggested he was repeating words he didn’t really understand, said, “I … message. You … meet Batul. Follow Pog now.” He thumped his chest and gestured toward the rear of the horde. “Follow!” he repeated proudly.

A meeting with Batul? Geth was on his feet again in an instant. Ekhaas should have been here, but it was too late for that. “Yes! Yes, I’ll follow you!” he said, then repeated himself more slowly as confusion crossed Pog’s face. “Geth follow Pog.”

Kobus’s voice rumbled at the smaller warrior, and Pog spoke to him quickly in Orc. Geth put his hand on Wrath and listened in. Pog’s reply to Kobus included more detail than his broken instructions to Geth-there was a thick stand of trees just beyond the edge of the horde, and Pog was to take Geth there to meet Batul. It had to be done quickly too, because Batul would need to return to the other Gatekeepers before the sun slipped below the horizon. Kobus’s eyes narrowed. “Then we should go too,” he said.

Pog shrugged and nodded, then turned back to Geth. “Follow now!” he said.

Geth would have liked to tell Kobus that he didn’t need the extra company. He was reasonably certain that anything Batul would have to tell him would be for his ears alone. Unfortunately, with Ekhaas absent, he didn’t have any way of telling Kobus that. No matter, Batul would just dismiss the warriors if he didn’t want them close. Geth followed along behind Kobus and Pog as the smaller warrior led the way and the larger cleared a path for Geth and the other would-be followers who accompanied them.