An Untitled Fantasy Story: Chapter 7

That very night in the northern mountain ranges Corg marched at the front of the massive column of orcs carrying high the dark blue banner of his tribe. Next to him the much smaller and younger Torgrack doggedly kept pace. Corg's tribe was indeed the first to reach the Red Moon tribe, but not by hours as was expected but by days. Corg had hoped to catch the Red Moon chieftain by surprise. But as his tribe approached the uncharacteristically silent camp he knew that Sarch had already known his tribe would arrive at this time. How could Sarch not know having the only seer of all the orc tribes sharing his bed?

"Greetings Chieftain Corg," a gravelly yet commanding voice called as he stepped from the shadows of one of the many watch towers lining the perimeter of the massive and highly populated camp of the Red Moon tribe. There in the light of a pair of campfires that suddenly burst into near blinding flames stood chief Sarch. The proud orc, dressed in his full battle regalia, a dark red and black kilt a heavy broad black belt across his shoulders and blood red war paint cutting three thick slash marks across his smug face. In his left hand he held one of the most feared weapons of Gaios. Raigos the Cleaver a deadly looking double headed axe with two near perfect circles where the blades would sit. Both blades consisted of red metal said to have fallen from the red moon itself.

Sarch held aloft the frightening weapon and the axe heads seemed to absorb the firelight, "it is good that you have arrived early, for I fear that the Barbed Scythe clan will be late in arriving and I would like to bring the full might of the gathered orc tribes to meet them as they march up from the borders of the human lands. For we go to war on the morrow and we have no need for delays."

Even as Sarch spoke Corg approached and he placed the tip of the blue crystal spear upon the haft of the axe, to the roaring agreement of both tribes. Even over the deafening roar Corg's voice could be heard even to the back of the marching column, "than we shall march as soon as the last of the tribes arrive!"

Sarch smiled grimly as he nodded, "please chief Corg come to the war tent, and we will go over the strategies of the upcoming war.

***

In Sarch's tent the Red Moon Chieftain lounged in the tall backed chair he made his throne, compared to the Frozen Spear tribe the Red Moon tribes camp was near a city, instead of tents and sentries stood huts and watch towers. Rocks had been replaced with cushions and chairs instead of the cold hard ground. Corg couldn't help but see the differences and from the smile on Sarch's face Corg knew that the Red Moon leader wished to make that impression. Steeling his face Corg sat on the ground directly opposite of Sarch, as is orcish custom to display which tribes had heeded the call of the ruling clan, the crystal spear across his lap and waved away the young orc girl offering him a goblet of wine.

"My daughter," Sarch commented as she slid out the front of the tent.

Corg watched the lithe young orc go through the corner of his eye and frowned. The Red Moon tribe orcs were much smaller than the Frozen Spear orcs in fact compared to the Frozen Spear orcs any other tribe seemed to be populated by dwarves. "She has no muscle," Corg commented dryly, "She would not last a winter in the mountains."

"That may be true but she has expressed an interest in coupling with you," Sarch responded casually, "Have you found a suitable wife yet my friend?"

"No," Corg chuckled, "You're daughter is not unappealing but I fear she would not survive the wedding night."

The two tribe leader's shared a hearty laugh before Sarch's daughter returned leading in another orc leader. Sarch smiled as into the tent walked the Leader of the Dark Lance, bearing the massive black iron lance over his shoulder.

"Welcome Kerig leader of the Dark Lance Tribe," Sarch announced as the new comer surveyed the tent.

Kerig barely hide his shock to see Corg already there, "I would not have believed it with my own eyes. The Frozen Spear is here and first to arrive among all tribes."

Corg's knowing smile betrayed little of what he was thinking, but he was grateful that the muscular Kerig had arrived, their two tribes were the furthest north and they dealt with each other almost exclusively, "I see you're great mountain cats, found you here as quickly as possible.

"Not quick enough it would seem friend Corg," Kerig laughed. Turning to Sarch he nodded, "when are we to expect the other eleven?"

"Any time now. Except Xarg and the Barbed Scythe tribe who we will meet near the border of our land. As per my request they should be sending scouting parties out to probe and determine the strength of the human settlements nearest our lands."

"Than all will be going according to plan," a fourth voice spoke as a dark skinned orc stepped into the light of the tent. Over his shoulder a quiver of black feathered arrows and in his right hand a dark wooden bow.

"Ah Talor, leader of the Night Arrow tribe," Sarch said with a smile.

As Kerig sat on Corg's right and Talor on Corg's left, the remaining tribe leaders slowly filtered in each alternating their seating from the right to the left.

As the last sat down Sarch leaned forward and smiled a great toothy grin, "welcome my fellow chieftains. Prepare your warriors for tomorrow we march south and in the evening when the moons cross we go to war."