over the feral sounds of the gnolls’ language.
“Do what you will with the spoils. Disperse them among your warriors if it will help keep them in line. The Order wants no one harmed unless absolutely necessary. Understood?”
“Yes, Mahgra.”
The ogre looked over the crowd of huddled fishermen and tradesmen. He frowned. “A pity these fisherfolk breed few warriors, Gyusk. A little resistance might have quelled the boredom of waiting.”
Gyusk’s brow furrowed at the statement and Mahgra smiled at the gnoll’s obvious disagreement. He respected Gyusk’s desire for swift victories and low casualties. Indeed, that very quality had compelled Mahgra to recruit the gnoll and his warriors for the Order. Gyusk’s mind for strategy in the land of the Blacksaddle baronies had made him a thorn in Baron Thaltar’s side for several months. They’d struck upon the weak swiftly and the strong warily, avoiding the armored patrols of Thaltar’s soldiers. Mahgra, however, believed that such battles, while profitable, were ultimately hollow.
“Petty fear breeds anger in the hearts of one’s enemies,” he’d said to Gyusk. “The true battle lies in the heart of the strong foe. Destroy that and you will have won. Shying away from conflict in favor of survival will ultimately destroy you.”
Lightning flashed and the rain fell harder. The wind whipped at Mahgra’s cloak and hair. He could feel the magic of the storm like a singing in his blood.
This never could have occurred in Innarlith, he thought. The best we could have hoped for there is pale compared to what we might accomplish in this place. Morgynn may think me a fool for insulting the puffed-up Ransar, but Innarlith was never the place for the faithful of Gargauth. Morgynn merely uses the Order, stringing along the affections of Talmen to her own ends, but our ambitions will clash one day, and the Order will be free of her and her pet.
He stared at the roiling clouds. They were tinged with an eerie red glow. Mahgra’s dark heart rejoiced as visions of conquest filled his mind. He could hear Gyusk speaking, saying his name and clearing his throat noisily. Reluctantly he turned from his reverie and faced the large gnoll.
“What is it?” he bellowed, causing everyone to flinch.
Gyusk pointed his clawed finger to the western end of the street, past the central square and toward the closed and sealed gate, where a lone figure stood in the darkness.
“Someone seems to be resisting.” His tone was low and serious, a stark contrast to Mahgra’s irritated yelling.
The ogre squinted his eyes, blinking through the heavy rain, but saw the figure only briefly before it seemed to disappear into thin air. A low growl, more common among his less civilized cousins, escaped him. “Someone is out there, Gyusk. It appears your warriors failed to find everyone.”
Gyusk snarled, his hackles raising at Mahgra’s mention of failure, but he focused that anger on his subordinates, barking orders in their bestial language. They loped into the streets in groups of three. Only ten remained behind to guard the hundred or so frightened prisoners.
Thunder rumbled as they waited. Mahgra was lost again in his thoughts of arcane ambition, clearly uninterested in the current effort. Gyusk, though, stared intently into the rain and darkness, his hand gripping a long serrated sword. Large puddles were forming in the streets as the rain grew heavier, pounding down with unnatural fury. A fierce cold infected the wind, freezing the blood and numbing the extremities.
Time passed slowly as Mahgra tried to ignore the gnoll’s strict attention to the streets, as if an army had slipped past the town gates and threatened them all. He glared at Gyusk, annoyed by his battle-ready posture, and intently stared into the shadows and rain. Above the thunder, he yelled at the gnoll, “It is only one man!”
Then Mahgra saw him, closer this time, perhaps halfway between the west gate and the town
“Do what you will with the spoils. Disperse them among your warriors if it will help keep them in line. The Order wants no one harmed unless absolutely necessary. Understood?”
“Yes, Mahgra.”
The ogre looked over the crowd of huddled fishermen and tradesmen. He frowned. “A pity these fisherfolk breed few warriors, Gyusk. A little resistance might have quelled the boredom of waiting.”
Gyusk’s brow furrowed at the statement and Mahgra smiled at the gnoll’s obvious disagreement. He respected Gyusk’s desire for swift victories and low casualties. Indeed, that very quality had compelled Mahgra to recruit the gnoll and his warriors for the Order. Gyusk’s mind for strategy in the land of the Blacksaddle baronies had made him a thorn in Baron Thaltar’s side for several months. They’d struck upon the weak swiftly and the strong warily, avoiding the armored patrols of Thaltar’s soldiers. Mahgra, however, believed that such battles, while profitable, were ultimately hollow.
“Petty fear breeds anger in the hearts of one’s enemies,” he’d said to Gyusk. “The true battle lies in the heart of the strong foe. Destroy that and you will have won. Shying away from conflict in favor of survival will ultimately destroy you.”
Lightning flashed and the rain fell harder. The wind whipped at Mahgra’s cloak and hair. He could feel the magic of the storm like a singing in his blood.
This never could have occurred in Innarlith, he thought. The best we could have hoped for there is pale compared to what we might accomplish in this place. Morgynn may think me a fool for insulting the puffed-up Ransar, but Innarlith was never the place for the faithful of Gargauth. Morgynn merely uses the Order, stringing along the affections of Talmen to her own ends, but our ambitions will clash one day, and the Order will be free of her and her pet.
He stared at the roiling clouds. They were tinged with an eerie red glow. Mahgra’s dark heart rejoiced as visions of conquest filled his mind. He could hear Gyusk speaking, saying his name and clearing his throat noisily. Reluctantly he turned from his reverie and faced the large gnoll.
“What is it?” he bellowed, causing everyone to flinch.
Gyusk pointed his clawed finger to the western end of the street, past the central square and toward the closed and sealed gate, where a lone figure stood in the darkness.
“Someone seems to be resisting.” His tone was low and serious, a stark contrast to Mahgra’s irritated yelling.
The ogre squinted his eyes, blinking through the heavy rain, but saw the figure only briefly before it seemed to disappear into thin air. A low growl, more common among his less civilized cousins, escaped him. “Someone is out there, Gyusk. It appears your warriors failed to find everyone.”
Gyusk snarled, his hackles raising at Mahgra’s mention of failure, but he focused that anger on his subordinates, barking orders in their bestial language. They loped into the streets in groups of three. Only ten remained behind to guard the hundred or so frightened prisoners.
Thunder rumbled as they waited. Mahgra was lost again in his thoughts of arcane ambition, clearly uninterested in the current effort. Gyusk, though, stared intently into the rain and darkness, his hand gripping a long serrated sword. Large puddles were forming in the streets as the rain grew heavier, pounding down with unnatural fury. A fierce cold infected the wind, freezing the blood and numbing the extremities.
Time passed slowly as Mahgra tried to ignore the gnoll’s strict attention to the streets, as if an army had slipped past the town gates and threatened them all. He glared at Gyusk, annoyed by his battle-ready posture, and intently stared into the shadows and rain. Above the thunder, he yelled at the gnoll, “It is only one man!”
Then Mahgra saw him, closer this time, perhaps halfway between the west gate and the town
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