Koruk shielded his eyes as they adjusted to the glare of the sun. Somehow, after uncountable dead ends, misdirection, and backtracks, they had managed to reach the surface. The wind in his hair had never felt more welcome.

  “Any sign of the others?” Koruk asked. Kiwai shook his head.

  “We can’t know where they came out. These cliffs are riddled with holes. We can only hope that they made it safely to the sandskimmers.”

  Koruk nodded. From what they could tell, they’d come out far to the south of where they started. In the distance to the northeast he could see the savannah open up, cut through by the blue streak of a river. He had never been so high up before, but despite the chill air stinging his lungs, it felt great to be out under an open sky again.

  They encountered no enemies as they slowly made their way down through the jagged rocks of Claws, and were able to catch several rabbits and rattlesnakes to replenish their supplies. The tough meat had never tasted better to Koruk’s tongue, and he wished they had time to roast it over a fire, but as his hand closed over the stone in his pocket, he felt compelled not to linger. And so they pushed onward, stopping only when darkness made the going too treacherous to risk.

  A few days later, one of the imps called a halt, pointing out a long trail snaking through the mountains, evidently one of the secret paths used by the raiders during their pillaging expeditions. Koruk bit his tongue, an angry accusation dying in his throat. There would be time for recriminations over the raids later. For now, he had to keep his mind on the mission at hand.

  The journey through the mountains was remarkably peaceful. Birds chirped and darted between scraggly mountain shrubs. The sun and stars shone bright. Summer was in full swing. It was hard to imagine that a few miles away, demons from beyond the sky were laying waste to Koruk’s people. If he looked closely, he imagined he could see smoke on the horizon, but it could just as easily have been his imagination or the haze of summer heat.

  Eventually the narrow mountain pass opened up, revealing the wide expanse of the great desert that stretched out into the horizon. A row of sandskimmers were neatly parked at the bottom of the rocky foothills rising up the western face of Orcus’s Claws. Here the group parted ways. The imps would travel to the various oasises and secret places where their people lived, and rally an army to fight the humans. The orcish miners would return to the mountains, and search for more survivors of the Rock Crushers and attempt to lead them into the caves. Koruk and Kiwai bid them farewell, watching a trio of barges hoist sail and roll out into the sand.

  Kiwai hopped aboard one of the remaining ones, checking that the wheels and joints were properly oiled, before unfurling the sail.

  “Never thought I’d see this place again.” Koruk said, gazing out into the vast sand sea.

  “Nor I, though I am grateful to see the wide open land again.”

  Koruk sat in silence for a moment. He rotated the stone between his fingers as he thought.

  “Do you think we have a chance?” He asked finally.

  “It’s not for us to question the oracle. I place my fate into her hands, as did all those before me.”

  “And if the oracle really is dead?”

  “Then this world is lost.”

  The deck began to move under Koruk’s legs as the sandskimmer slowly started to roll forward. Koruk hoped Moktark was alright.

  Moktark ripped off a hunk of leathery mystery meat with his teeth. It tasted nasty, and seemed to be more gristle than flesh, but he wasn’t going to complain at this point. A pair of orcs joked with each other across the hall as they roasted a beetle over a fire like some enormous crayfish. Moktark looked dubiously toward the piece of meat in his hand. Bug meat, maybe?

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  Probably best to assume it was he decided, taking another bite.

  When he had ordered the army to grab what they could, many of them had taken the order very literally, and the bodies of the beasts that had rampaged ahead of the goblin army now filled the bellies of the horde. One singular horde now, Moktark reflected. The Rock Crushers had named him warchief after Hemust’s death, and he had combined the two armies together into one, mixing the different tribes together. If there was any resentment, it rapidly fell away in the face of the circumstances they found themselves in.

  They had faced several more small raids from goblins, but had bested them easily, the ugly creatures scattering as soon as they were revealed. The road they had found themselves traveling down fortuitously appeared to be some sort of major causeway, straight and narrow, and most importantly, sloping gradually upwards. The miners thought that they might reach the surface in a couple days, although how they determined that Moktark had no idea. Being in these tunnels had solidified in his mind the idea that orcs were meant to be out in the sun, and being cooped up indoors probably did something funny to the mind.

  Moktark’s ears perked up as he heard someone approach behind him. Someone cleared their throat.

  “Good news I hope, old man.” Moktark said with a mouth full of gristle.

  “I’ve managed to create a tonic for the goblin’s poison. The injured are starting to recover.”

  Moktark nodded. He glanced at the bandages caressing his arms and chest. Had those weapons been poisoned, he might have met the same fate as Hemust.

  “Koruk put together a fine army. They did well out there. I long to test them against the humans.”

  “You’ll find you’re not the only one thinking that. The horde is well and truly behind you, Warchief.”

  “Koruk is the warchief. I’m just filling in for him.”

  “Moktark…”

  “It isn’t right. Just being… handed a throne like that. No battle, no duel of honour.”

  “You’d rather fight Koruk for it?”

  “Nope. That’s why he’s still the warchief, and I’m just keeping his seat warm while he goes off on his magic rock quest.”

  Semthak sighed.

  “You know he might not…”

  “Don’t say it.” Moktark growled. “He’s coming back. We’re all going to feast together over the victory fire after this is all done.”

  “Right. Well, I’d better check on the wounded.” Semthak coughed.

  “Get them ready to move.” Moktark said. He popped the last of his dinner into his mouth, and got to his feet. He ached from a dozen wounds, but he stood tall and steady. “Faster we get out of this festering cave the better.”

  Five days later, Moktark would get his wish. The horde practically stampeded out into the sunlight, pushing and shoving at each other in their excitement to get back under the open sky. How long had they spent underground? Moktark had no idea. At that moment, he didn’t really care. He closed his eyes and soaked in the rays, his arms open at his sides.

  As his vision adjusted to the glare, he saw a familiar structure rising up beyond the hills.

  “Broken Lookout.” He said. “Never thought I’d be glad to see this place again.”

  “We’re close to Zernthod now, I reckon. I’ll be glad to see the place of my birth again, although part of me dreads what we’ll find when we arrive. We’ve wasted too much time crawling through caves fighting monsters.” Semthak said. Moktark opened his eyes, a halo forming on his retina.

  “Plenty more monsters out there.” Moktark said, smiling grimly. “We could use the practice.”

  “We lost too many good souls.”

  “We’ll lose many more before this is over with.” Moktark said grimly. He stared at the crumbling edifice of humanity looming up above him, and a memory flashed in his mind of a similar tower, bleak, grey, and unyielding, that had cast its shadow over Brittle Teeth. A tower he had been forced to help build during his enslavement. His grip tightened on his axe, and his fingers began to cramp up as disjointed fragments of memories flooded back into his mind again. If Semthak noticed, he said nothing.

  “The humans were destroyed once. They will fall again.” Semthak said. Moktark breathed deep, and relaxed his grip. He forced himself to calm.

  “At what cost old man?”

  Moktark turned away, toward the crumbling old road. Semthak was left staring at the ruined tower, the last vestige of a civilization long gone.

  “At what cost indeed.”