One week later…

Raucous laughter filled the chamber lit by floating balls of fire. The blazing spheres hanging over the assembled men and women as they sat around a ring of open carpet. The dark stone ceiling hung above them, trophies of past battles hanging from chains attached to the ceiling. Skulls, weapons, talons of great beasts. At the center of the chamber a solitary figure stood with a document in his hands. He was lean and toned with his dark green skin illuminated by the flickering flames. His dark hair was bound tight behind his head in a bun and his steely eyes were pinned to the parchment in his thick-fingered grip.

He looked up at the figure sitting immediately across from him. An aged orc of many winters with a wizened face and deep-set eyes framed by a thick crescent scar on the right. Massive compared to the one standing, his burly body was comprised entirely of taught muscle. He adjusted the heavy coat of fine skins over his shoulders and bore his teeth, flint-colored eyes glittering with amusement. “So she sends us a challenge of blood! The sleeping queen finally wakes!” The aged beast burst into laughter, joined by several others. “You interrupt this feast with this? Ichor! I figured you a wiser man!”

“Wise Man Ubet,” Ichor ground out, “We cannot just ignore this.”

Ubet frowned and glanced to his right at the equally massive orc sitting a few paces away. Then scanned the faces of the orcs who were all sitting along the outside of the ring, food before them and drinks filled to the brim. He reached for his own drink and took a long draft, chugging it down until nothing was left. He slammed it down onto the small table that rested just an inch from his knees. “We cannot ignore this? You say,” Ubet growled, eyeing his empty mug and waving for a young man to come over and refill it. He snorted and shook his head, “Are you showing fear in front of the wise men of the gathered clans? Ichor?” He demanded, looking Ichor in the eyes.

Ichor lowered the document to his side, his shoulders stiffening, “I’m using my mind, Wise Man,” Ichor shot back. He raised a thick finger to his temple, “Do you refuse to do the same?”

Ubet was about to leap to his feet when the big orc to his right raised a hand, “You seem convinced that this so-called Demon Lord is a threat to us. Yet their armies were smashed by the humans only five years ago. It is the height of nonsense to imagine that they could rebuild in such a short time.”

A female orc a dozen heads down leaned forward and put down a haunch of meat, “The challenge implies that we swear fealty upon our defeat. It sounds to me that she hasn’t rebuilt her army but is instead vying for one already made.”

“So she challenges us without an army?” Another Wise Man bellowed, “Insult!”

Ubet pointed at the one who bellowed, looking Ichor in the eye, “Aye! Insult indeed! Why should we take such a challenge seriously when one clan alone should be enough to handle this whelp. You stand surrounded by the wise ones of the thirty clans. Even the weakest among us have an army greater than what the fools of Osan could field after losing Thrake,” He frowned, “And you suggest that we should fear this person?”

Ichor stood up a bit straighter, he looked down at the document again and then back up at Ubet. Ubet hadn’t seen what he had seen. Hadn’t heard what he had heard. He and the wise ones had not been at the unity festival five years ago. They had not been one of the volunteers during the battle for Osan. They had not seen the Giant. The Rilk Queen. The slaughter of the human army. The terrible might of Teyva Akura. They didn’t understand, or refused to understand, exactly what was coming their way. As always, hard headed and full of misplaced pride. He shook his head and sighed.

“It is no wonder we are stagnant,” Ichor said in a hollow voice.

“You tread closely to a dangerous line, Ichor,” Ubet growled, pointing a finger in his direction, “Choose your next words carefully.”

Ichor firmed his resolve, “If this is how you feel, Wise Ones, do you accept her challenge and the consequences of defeat? You will not simply pretend away something like this. Not with all you gathered here.”

Ubet’s frown turned into a smile and he burst into laughter again, “You speak like a wise man some time and others like a fool. Let us hope your mouth does not get you killed some day!” Ubet barked and then looked among those gathered, not a single one so much as flinched under his gaze. He turned his eyes back on Ichor and raised an eyebrow, “I suppose that it would be the height of dishonor to ignore a challenge. Let her come then! Let the pale queen show her face at long last. If she says she can take Belrag then she can try! I welcome our Demonic Overlord if she somehow succeeds!”

The gathered wise one’s joined him in his mirth laughing and raising their mugs to the challenge. Ichor stood still for several more moments before nodding and bringing his fist up to his chest. “I will interrupt your meal no longer, Wise Man Ubet.”

Ubet’s mirth faded and he waved his hand, “Begone.”

Ichor left without another word. The feast, the single occasional moment of peace between the many clans, returned to its earlier din of noise. Ubet stared at his mug for a while before drinking deeply once more and turning to the orc to his right. “Cadol, Can your men be in Belrag by nightfall?” He asked quietly.

Cadol sipped his drink, and tilted his head in his peer’s direction, a smile playing on his face. “They can.”

Ubet sniffed, “Speak with the wise one’s you trust and ask for their support as well.”

“You actually think this might be a genuine threat?” Cadol asked, glancing around the room to see if anyone was listening in.

“Ichor is of my clan, I taught him well and he knows the meaning of power. He is no fool. Rationally, Teyva Akura should not be a threat to us, but if he stands so fiercely on this point I must at least consider the possibility that there is more to her than we expect,” Ubet said quietly. “Belrag and our independence are now on the line. Even if I must act in the shadows, I cannot ignore such a challenge.”

Cadol nodded, “I imagine many are thinking the same as you, though there is also something else to consider…” He trailed off.

Ubet frowned and turned back to his food, “Sari Troud,” Ubet said thoughtfully, reaching up and running a finger along the scar on his eye, “She serves this Demon Lord now, I know.”

“As the Wise Man of Belrag and the man she hates most in this world,” Cadol said sullenly, “You will be a target, without a doubt.”

“Then I will teach my greatest failure the consequences of refusing her role in the clans. The Demon Lord’s army can be allowed to retreat when we break their spirit, but Sari Troud does not leave this land again, she dies if she shows her face,” Ubet said, “Understood?”

“I will not let you down, Uncle,” Cadol said and called over the young man who was serving drinks, slipping something into his hand and whispering in his ear.

That night, twelve of the thirty clans that had camped outside of Belrag quietly sent their escort troops into the city to help prepare the fortifications for what was to come, lead by their wise men. The others who were either not invited or refused the invitation began their return home over the cover of darkness, spreading out into the badlands. Among those who remained, three thousand hardened orcish soldiers armed with warbows and other implements of death were prepared for battle by the time morning came. Among those soldiers were the twelve wise ones who stayed behind and among those four had become ascendants sometime in the past. Chief among them, Ubet.

Ubet stood on the outer walls of the city, built into a mountainside and looming over the countryside. Its outer walls stretched hundreds of feet high, the ancient stone holding up against the test of time. He leaned on the parapet, staring out over the rocky terrain and watching the horizon. Along the walls, hundreds of men and women stood at the ready, their bows prepared and their steely eyes looking for any movement. He glanced behind him at the ziggurat like structure embedded in the high mountain, the city that had been the heart of the orcish people since the dawn of their history. He ran his fingers over the black stone and frowned when a shout rose up among the archers.

“Movement spotted to the southwest!” One man called.

“Report!” Cadol’s voice carried over the wind that seemed to be increasing steadily.

“They’re coming out of the ground! Soldiers!” The soldier responded.

Ubet frowned, he had been wondering how the Demon Lord was going to deliver her troops past the clans further out in the badlands. Now he knew. She had some way of travelling beneath the soil. He turned in that direction and muttered a spell under his breath, enhancing his vision. A few hundred? No, closer to a thousand. He smirked, it was the height of foolishness to bring small numbers to a siege. He squinted, some of them were wearing robes. Casters then. That effectively increased their numbers to a degree but not-

Then the casting began. Rings of light that formed on the ground ahead of the approaching army. From them, monsters. Great beasts of muscle and teeth, humanoids with bladed arms, creatures from nightmare and fairy tale. He pressed his hands down against the stone, his eyes going wide. More and more and more, monsters and beasts lining up, taking to the sky, and letting out terrible roars of hunger and rage.

Finally, a solitary figure stood out before them, clad in white and raising her arms to the sky.

“She came? Herself?” Ubet blurted.

“They’ll be here in a matter of minutes!” Cadol called, “Prepare yourselves!”

The air distorted ahead of Ubet and he blinked, stepping away from the side just in time for the air to tear open as if cut by a blade. He looked up to see a figure form out of the rippling air, standing on the parapet and staring down at him. A pair of glowing, sinister eyes framed by green skin and rows of tightly braided hair. Sari Troud sneered, her blade at the ready, and every muscle in her body tensed with the threat of violence.

“You heard him, Wise Man. Prepare yourself.”