Bar’nar sat on the sidelines of the feast, contemplating what tomorrow would bring. It had been less than half a year since the new shaman, sent by the circle, had taken over the duties of his predecessor, and already they had provoked a one-sided war against their largest southern neighbor, all based on his advice and the visions his ancestors had supposedly brought him. The old warrior did not share the joy of his younger colleagues, who were currently drinking to the rich spoils brought in after today's raid, and he worried for the future of the clan.

  Of course, he revered the ancestors, and unlike the freaks from the south, he knew that only a trained shaman could correctly interpret their will and advice. But he could not comprehend what news the spirits in their realm could possibly have to convey to the living to justify this aggression. He kept his doubts to himself, however. The chieftain and the council punished any criticism of the shaman severely; he enjoyed their full support.

  First, he had saved the chieftain's life by prophesying that he should abandon his journey into the mountains to pay homage to the ancestors. When the chieftain, though displeased, had listened, a rockslide occurred high on the trail, right where he would have been passing at that time, leaving a massive pile of rubble. After that incident, he had won the full trust of the clan's chieftain. As if that weren't enough, he had negotiated an alliance with the Bone Goblins, who had often caused them trouble in the north. They were called that because they made armor, weapons, and tools from the bones of their fallen, claiming it brought them closer to their ancestors. In his opinion, they were simply savage, and thankfully they were not allowed into their stronghold; instead, they were used for fighting and patrols. He had also recruited several mountain ogres, who now accompanied the Bone Goblins on their raiding expeditions.

  The first to fall was a small settlement to the west. The orcs of the Bloody Oak clan there did not recognize shamans or their circle, but they had never caused trouble. On the contrary, they and their goblins ran a small quarry and produced excellent millstones, supplying the entire region, including his own clan. But it turned out that the ancestors of the Crescent Moon had shared in a vision that many generations ago, the quarry had belonged to them. And so, after brief negotiations and a few dozen severed heads, the stonemasons submitted to their clan's rule. It didn't surprise him, then, that the shaman held such a high position, but he had lived long enough to know that in a war between clans, the ones who benefited most were the harpies and other carrion-eaters. And Urg’hur's orcs were not some mere stonemasons.

  Everyone knew that although they were apostates from the true path of the ancestors, they upheld the finest warrior traditions: training from a young age, discipline, rigor, and constant improvement. And now we've plundered their lands as if we were taking them from some weak goblins, he thought and sighed heavily. This whole vision of them conspiring with Riverbend to attack us... maybe the chieftain believes it, but those fishermen can barely protect their own stronghold. How could they possibly march on us? He shook his head again, finished his beer, and slipped away from the feast, lost in his own thoughts, to get some sleep before they marched south again in the morning.

  * * *

  Like the rest of the new warriors of the seventh unit, Gra’sha received her personal equipment the next day. The armorer's goblin assistants quickly selected pieces appropriate for her height and figure. A proper leather gambeson protected her torso and thighs, over which they placed a mail collar. For her head, they fitted a simple, iron spangenhelm with an ocular. Since she had her own short weapon and shield, she was only given a spear with a freshly sharpened point and a beautifully decorated socket bearing wolf symbols. She not only was, but now also looked like, a warrior of the clan. In this gear, around noon, she met with the rest of her unit, where they listened to their orders together.

  They were to set out that evening to secure the northeastern border, to engage any potential enemy, or, if the commander deemed their forces insufficient, to try and draw the enemy deeper into their territory, where scouts acting as liaisons would bring reinforcements. As was explained to them, one unit would always remain in the stronghold in case of a surprise attack, while the other six would secure the outer borders by patrolling and protecting their assigned regions. This way, even if one unit had to retreat deeper into clan lands, the two neighboring ones could come to its aid, and in the event of a full-scale invasion, all would fall back to the stronghold. They were also assured that this was a temporary solution, until more information was gathered about what the hell those scoundrels from the Crescent Moon clan were planning, after which a plan for a counter-offensive would be developed. So much for the theory.

  Goblin scouts were to accompany them, but due to recent events, it would be only them. The hands of their smaller cousins were needed elsewhere than in seeing to the comfort of warriors in the field. So everyone was given travel bags and food rations, and in each rank, the two burliest men also carried a shared tent and small equipment set, which was meant to accommodate all eight of them during nights in the field.

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  As planned, they set out in the early evening. Kor’got was a proponent of opening a battle with his best warriors, so he placed almost exclusively veterans at the front. Gra’sha, along with the rest of the newly-minted warriors, ended up in the rear, assigned to the last rank. This included Mal’gor, a fact that Sha’dru would not let him forget. He was walking in the middle between them in a loose formation when she began to tease him, quietly enough that the conversation wouldn't carry too far.

  "Our new commander really has a good eye, assigning you straight to the fifth rank, along with the still slightly wounded company from the clearing and the young girls."

  "Who else would carry the tent then? You wouldn't last an hour with it. You're lucky they assigned me to you; you won't be sleeping under the stars," he replied, unfazed by her malice, then added slyly, "Besides, not all of them are so young anymore."

  This pleased her for a moment, and she treated Gra’sha's short, suppressed laugh with a somewhat theatrical, exaggerated look of, "You too, against me?" which amused her even more, so she turned her head to avoid looking at them.

  Despite the circumstances, she was in a good mood. She felt sorry for the families of the victims of the attacks, especially that shepherdess, but she couldn't hide her excitement about her promotion and, above all, the prospect of battles in which she could further discover her potential. After what she had gathered in the clearing, she didn't feel any stronger. She saw her inner energy thicken a little again, but whatever effect it had remained beyond her comprehension. The mere memory of the battle sent a pleasant tingle through her body.

  They moved at a very brisk pace, and before it got dark, they were far from the stronghold, in their assigned region. They passed the clay pits, from which the entire yield had been plundered, and Kor’got gave the order to make camp. He explained that they would stay here until the workers returned, which was supposed to happen tomorrow, and would only move on after making sure that they could continue their work safely. The goblin scouts rotated among themselves, scouting the nearby area, especially the northern side from where a threat might come, while the orcs set up camp.

  Mal’gor sat on a rock and let the others handle setting up the tent under the watchful eye of Sha’dru, who directed the work while doing little herself.

  Gra’sha stood behind him and, pounding his weary shoulders with her fists, began. "Good work. On behalf of all the young girls, thank you for hauling the tent here," she announced in a mock-official tone.

  "It's nothing," he replied, and offered a particularly tense spot, into which she dug her elbow so hard he gasped for air, but after a few painful moments, it brought relief.

  When they still lived in the same barracks, they had helped each other after almost every training session. He had been like an older brother to her then. He blamed himself for not finding enough time for her after he moved out. Now he had ended up in the last rank at his own explicit request, but he had no intention of sharing that information with her. Instead, he glanced toward Sha’dru and brought up the subject.

  "She's stuck to you like a burr. Isn't she imposing on you?" he asked casually.

  "No, I like her company. We support each other in the unit," she answered honestly.

  He just nodded at that, and after a long moment, added, "Good. Thanks, that helped." Then he loosened both his shoulders, got up from the rock, and, smiling at her, stated, "Time to grab some grub. They've finished setting up that contraption."

  The tent, not without a few adjustments during assembly, now stood solid. Everyone gathered inside and dropped their things onto the hardened, waxed hide that served as the floor and was meant to protect against moisture. Then they sat in a circle and ate a cold meal together. The mood was good; many people, like Gra’sha, were still pleased with their entry into the warrior caste, so they engaged in lighthearted conversation, speculating on if and when there would be an opportunity to pay back those from the north in kind. Shortly after, a watch schedule was set, from which Mal’gor and the other porter were excluded so they could rest from the hardship of carrying the equipment.

  The night passed peacefully, and the weather was good. The next day, they broke camp, and after the goblin workers arrived at the clay pits and resumed their work, and the scouts confirmed that there were no enemies in the area, they moved on, to the northeast.

  In the afternoon, a clearly exhausted scout caught up with them on the way to the next rendezvous point. The march was halted. He relayed a message to the commander, catching his breath heavily between words. They pointed out details to each other on a map he had with him. The commander considered what he had learned for a moment, then announced it to the assembly.

  "The sixth unit has a tail. They're drawing the enemy deeper into our lands. We'll catch them in a pincer. The warriors from the fifth should join the fray from the east, if they can keep the enemy's attention with harassing actions. We're picking up the pace, but not so much that you won't have the strength to fight in an hour. Two columns formation! March!"

  The unit followed the order, and in proper formation, they set off after one of their own scouts. The one who had brought the news sat down where he stood, and they left him behind so he could regain his strength. A rush of mixed excitement and anxiety was common in the rear ranks, while the veterans, with restraint, set a proper but not-too-fast trotting pace. Mal’gor glanced at his younger companion to say something encouraging, but when he saw the gleam in her eyes and the satisfied smirk on her lips, he stopped himself. He definitely didn't know this side of her, and it was the first of many surprises that were to meet him that day.