The door exploded outwards, falling to the burning ground below the dragon’s egg. Koruk and Semthak crawled out of the smoking craft coughing and hacking as the smoke from the grass fire threatened to overwhelm them. Koruk had been right: the ride had been bumpy. They had come down hard and screaming, violently thrown around the craft as it plunged to the ground in a fireball. Koruk had never been inside a fireball before. He knew for certain it was an experience he never wanted to experience again.

  The pair dragged themselves across the blasted landscape, singing their feet on the cooked grass, until they reached the boundary. They sat down together, thoroughly rattled, and tried to get their bearing.

  “Where are we?” Koruk asked the obvious question on their minds.

  “How should I know? Close to home, I should hope.” Semthak replied. Koruk flopped down on the grass. His head was spinning, and his borrowed white vest was stained green with vomit. The grass felt nice. It felt like it had been an age since he laid down under the sky.

  A sky he’d never look at quite the same again. He didn’t fully understand what had happened, truthfully. The blue orb in the sky had gotten bigger and bigger, until he could make out seas and mountains and deserts. It was like being a bird, but soaring higher than any bird ever could, at least that he knew about. The black sky had gradually started to fade to blue.

  And then the screaming started. The dragon’s egg started screaming. He started screaming. Semthak started screaming. There was a lot of fire and it felt like they were going to be ripped apart. The ground got closer and closer as they fell out of the sky, and he had prepared for death. Then there was more screaming, and when he opened his eyes they were on the ground. Partially buried in the ground, as a matter of fact.

  He wished it was the most surreal thing that had ever happened to him, but…

  Koruk sighed. The grass felt nice. It was nice to feel something familiar. Something normal. Somehow he knew it wasn’t going to last.

  “Someone’s coming.” Semthak said. Koruk opened his eyes to look at the old orc standing above him. He yawned and sat up. His throat burned from thirst, but he felt rested.

  A loose column of figures were approaching from the distance. Koruk squinted, and made out a banner. The Rock Crusher tribe.

  “Should we leave?” Semthak asked.

  “Let’s see what this is about.” Koruk replied, sitting back on his haunches.

  The column halted when Koruk waved to them, and they kept their distance while a towering, bald-headed orc approached them with an easy gait. A massive stone hammer rested on his shoulder, and he was nude save for a wolf fur cape and a loincloth. The huge brown skinned man stopped in front of them as Koruk rose to his feet, self conscious of how he must look wearing puke stained rags.

  “I am Hemust Stonearm, acting warchief of the Rock Crushers. Who are you, who is dressed so strangely?”

  “Koruk, warrior of the White Moons.”

  “Semthak, Soot Snake. I have heard tales of you.”

  “You look to have tales of your own.” Hemust said, taking in the wreckage behind them. “Let us share them together.”

  And so they sat together, and Koruk explained the long story of their adventure in all its details. They were fed and given water. The food, meagre though it was, felt good on his empty stomach. Hemust listened patiently to the tale, while the other orcs crowded around them and jockeyed for position to better hear.

  “An excellent tale my friends. In different times, I would never believe a word of it, but under the circumstances I cannot afford to doubt.”

  “What circumstances? What has happened to the Rock Crushers?” Semthak asked.

  “You are looking at them. We are all that remains now.”

  “Then Gel’thod…”

  “Fallen. The hold fell in a day.”

  Some of Hemust’s pain burned through his stoicism, and he took a moment to collect himself before continuing.

  “I have heard only Zernthod still stands strong, but it has been several days since I had news. I do not see how even the walls of that great city could hold up against the terror birds of the sky giants, or their engines of destruction. It may have already fallen.”

  “We must know for certain. If there is any chance they still live free…”

  “We are heading to the mountains to seek shelter in the caves. These people are not warriors.” Hemust said, broadly gesturing to take in the haggard crowd surrounding them. “It is my duty to see to their survival.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “We will travel with you.” Koruk declared, rising to his feet. “We’re looking for our friends. We were separated during an attack on Brittle Teeth. Maybe we’ll find out something.”

  “I fear your friends are already dead then, young warrior. Or worse, enslaved.”

  “All the same, I refuse to give up hope for Moktark and Kiwai.”

  Hemust nodded, and smiled sadly.

  “You’re welcome to come, but please let us offer you a change of clothes.”

  Koruk felt his cheeks reddening with embarrassment, and smiled.

  “That… would be appreciated.”

  Together with the refugee caravan, they travelled up into the hills, the grasslands quickly giving way to red rocks and scattered tufts of razorgrain and weeds. From what Semthak could gather, they were somewhere north of Gel’thod, close to where they had emerged from the Old Road during their journey south. Twice during their journey there was a howling noise in the sky, and they were forced to scatter, taking cover under bushes and behind rocks as the monstrous metal birds of the invaders passed overhead.

  As the steep faces of Orcus’s Claws came into sight ahead, Hemust thrust his hand into the air and called a halt. The remaining warriors of the Rock Crushers hurried to his side, Koruk and Semthak with them.

  “What is wrong, warchief?” One of the warriors asked. In response Hemust gestured to a rocky hilltop ahead of them. On it were perched a dozen or so slender figures, their spears glinting in the harsh red sunlight.

  “Imps.” Semthak breathed. “What could they want?”

  “Our food and gold.” Hemust replied. “They shall be disappointed, because we have little of either. Form up! They’ll not take us down without a fight!”

  “Wait! We can’t afford a fight right now.” Koruk said. “I will talk to them.”

  Hemust watched his warriors take up positions among the rocks, setting bowstrings and readying their shields and weapons. He saw the desperation in their faces. Saw the hunger and sadness gnawing at their resolve. This was a fight they would be hard pressed to win.

  “Good luck to you then, young warrior.” He said, sighing. “I hope your words stand firmer.”

  Koruk set out from the battle line alone. Semthak patted him on the back and wished him good luck, and Koruk hoped he’d have it as the bronze spears and arrowheads of the enemy party began to grow into sharper focus. He bundled his new cloak around his shoulders against the cool mountain air blowing down from the Claws, and trekked onwards. The imps made no attempts to stop him as he crossed their perimeter, looking at him with something like curious amusement.

  “Can anyone here speak orcish? I wish to parley with you.”

  A savage looking red man strode forward in answer, cradling a long bronze sword between his hands. He motioned for Koruk to sit, and then seated himself on a flat stone. He gazed at Koruk for a time, his violet eyes boring into him, as if looking for something. Finally he leaned back, smiled cruelly and spoke.

  “Leave your food and valuables, and you will be free to go.”

  “We cannot do that. I have come to warn you! The huma… the sky demons are here. They destroyed these people’s city and left them stranded. We have nothing left to give you.”

  The imp scoffed.

  “This is a joke, yes? The sky demons?”

  “It is no joke. They have come on wings of silver, and they have destroyed Gel’thod. You must go back to your people and warn them!”

  The imp whimpered something to one of his warriors, who ran off somewhere.

  “A very creative story. Unfortunately for you, I don’t believe in sky demons. You will go back to your horde and tell them that they have until the sun sets to leave their belongings where we can claim them and go back from where they came from. If you do not…” He grinned. “Then I will show them a real demon.”

  Koruk returned in dismay, and explained the situation to the orcs.

  “We fight then.” Hemust turned to the crowd of refugees. “Grab whatever you can to defend yourselves! Rocks! Sticks! We will show these thieves no mercy, for we can expect none!”

  With surprising discipline the orcs began to arm themselves, and constructed a hasty barricade at the base of the hill to protect themselves from missile fire. The imps noticed what they were doing, and charged down the hill towards them, howling shrill war cries and loosing arrows and stones on the orcs.

  “Stand your ground! Let them get close!” Hemust yelled, brandishing his hammer. A stone impacted him on the chest with a thump, but he didn’t even flinch.

  “This is madness! These people aren’t our enemies!” Koruk said to Semthak. The old orc shrugged.

  “Tell that to the imps.”

  “I tried!” He said. By habit he reached to his side to grab his sword, but found it wasn’t there. Instead he felt the unfamiliar weight of the barker he had taken from the human. Desperation grabbed the hand of inspiration, and he withdrew it, feeling it in his hand. Before he knew what he was doing Koruk had run out in front of the orcish battle line straight at the imps.

  “What is he doing?” Hemust yelled from behind him, but he paid it no heed. Nor did he heed the stones and arrows that were now clattering on the stones around him like deadly raindrops. He raised the weapon above his head and yelled an incoherent scream, and pulled the trigger.

  The barker let out a noise like a thunderclap which echoed throughout the mountain pass, cutting through the din of the approaching battle like a hot knife through lard. The imps halted midstep, some of them falling over each other. The orcs stood silent as well. All eyes were suddenly upon Koruk.

  “STOP!” Koruk yelled, perhaps unnecessarily.

  “Do you see this!?” He pointed at his weapon. “This is my barker! I claimed this weapon from the body of a sky demon! With this magic they have struck dead my people. With this, they destroyed Brittle Teeth and Gel’Thod and maybe every hold in Orc’gar! And they’ll do the same to you unless you shut up and listen!”

  Nobody moved as Koruk caught his breath. His hand trembled, still holding the barker in the air.

  “Join with us. We have a common foe that is beyond any of us, but together…” He said, looking over the crowd. The imps had lowered their weapons, as had the orcs. “Together maybe we can stop them.”