since his father's death in battle against the gronn and their ogres, now dwelt.

Durotan was referring to the letter that had recently arrived, borne by a long, lean courier on a long, lean black wolf. He again perused its contents as he ate porridge made from blood and grain.

Unto Durotan, Chieftain of the Frostwolf clan, the shaman Ner'zhul gives greetings. I have been granted visions by the ancestors that concern us all, as orcs,rather than as individual clan members. I would speak with the leaders of all the clans on the twelfth day of this moon, as well as every shaman of every clan. You are to come to the foot of the sacred mountain. Meat and drink will be provided. If you cannot attend, I will take it as a sign that you do not care for the future of our people and act accordingly. Forgive my brusqueness, but this matter is of the utmost urgency. Please respond via my courier.

Durotan had made the courier wait while he discussed the matter. The courier seemed quite put out, but agreed to stay for a brief time. The aromatic smell of the porridge, wafting from a large cauldron, perhaps helped convince him.

"I do not know, other than that obviously Ner’zhul feels this is of extreme importance," Drek’Thar admitted. "Such a thing has never happened outside of the Kosh'harg ceremonies. Always the shaman have a meeting then, in the presence of the ancestors who wish to attend. But never outside of that. And I have never heard of anyone summoning the chieftains. But I have known Ner’zhul all my life. He is a wise and great shaman. If the spirits were to speak to any of us about something that threatens us all, they would speak through him."

Draka growled, "Summoning you like you are pets to come at his call." she muttered. "I mislike this. Durotan. It smacks of arrogance."

"I do not disagree with you," Durotan said. His hackles had risen at the tone of the letter and at first he had been inclined to refuse. But as he read it again, he looked past the haughty words to the intent of the letter. Something was definitely troubling the one orc everyone respected, and surely that was worth a few days' travel.

Draka watched him. her eyes narrowing. He looked at her and smiled.

"I will go, then. And all my shaman."

Draka frowned. "I will come with you."

"I think it would be best if—"

Draka snarled. "I am Draka, daughter of Kclkar, son of Rhakish. I am your intended, soon to be your life partner. You will not forbid me to accompany you!"

Durotan threw back his head and laughed, warm inside at the display of Draka's spirit. He had chosen well, all right. From one born weak had come strength and fire. The Frostwolf clan would flourish with her by his side.

"Call in the courier, then, if he has finished his meal," Durotan said, humor still lacing his deep voice. "Tell him that we will come to this strange meeting of Ner’zhul's, but we had best be assured of its necessity when we are there."

The Frostwolf leader and shaman were among the first to arrive. Ner’zhul himself greeted them, and the moment Durotan laid eyes on the shaman he knew that he had been right to come. While Ner’zhul was not a young ore, Durotan thought he had aged years in the few months since the last Kosh'harg. He looked . .. thinner, almost wasted, as if he had not been eating for some while. And his eyes looked haunted. He grasped Durotan's broad shoulders with hands that trembled, and his thanks were sincere.

This was no arrogant play for power, but a genuine feeling of threat. Durotan inclined his head, then left to see his people settled in.

Over the next few hours, as the sun sank toward the horizon, Durotan watched a steady stream of ores progress to the flat mcadowlands at the base of the sacred mountain, almost as if gathering there for the Kosh'harg festival. He saw the bright banners that announced every clan fluttering in the breeze, and he felt a smile curve his face when he saw the symbol of the Blackrock clan—Orgrim's clan. Since they had become adults, the two boyhood friends had found their time together limited, and while Orgrim had attended Durotan's chieftain ceremony, they had not seen one another since, Durotan was pleased but not altogether surprised to see that Orgrim marched only a step behind Blackhand. the hulking and intimidating leader of the Blackrock clan. Durotan's old friend was now second in command, then.

Draka followed her future mate's gaze and grunted, also pleased. She got along very well with Orgrim, for which Durotan was grateful. He was fortunate that the two people who mattered the most to him could be friends with one another.

While Blackhand was speaking with Ner’zhul, Orgrim threw Durotan a glance and a wink. Durotan grinned back. He was troubled by Ner’zhul's appearance, but at the very least, this gathering would give him a chance to visit with Orgrim. Even as Durotan had that thought, however, Blackhand turned away with a snort and waved for Orgrim to follow. Durotan felt the smile on his face ebb; if Blackhand demanded that Orgrim attend him throughout this meeting, then even that pleasure would be denied him.

Draka, who knew him so well, reached for his hand and squeezed it. She said nothing, she did not have to. Durotan looked down at her and smiled.

Word came from the same long, lean courier that Ner’zhul would not hold the meeting until tomorrow, as various clans would still be trickling in through the night. The Frostwolf encampment was smaller than most but more harmonious than many They had

brought traveling tents and furs, and the courier had seen to it that they had been given plenty of meat, fish, and fruit. A haunch of talbuk now turned slowly over the fire, its tantalizing scent keeping the appetite sharp even as the ores feasted on raw fish. There were a total of eleven—Durotan, Draka, Drek’Thar, and eight of his shaman. Some of them looked very young to Durotan, but while shaman certainly could grow in skill over time, once the ancestors had appeared to them in visions they were all accorded equal honor and respect.

A shadowy form appeared beyond the ring of the fire's illumination. Durotan got to his feet and drew himself to his full imposing height, just in case the visitor had had too much to drink and had come with belligerent intent. Then the wind shifted and he laughed as he caught Orgrim's scent.

"Welcome, my old friend," he cried as he went to roughly embrace the other ore. Tall as Durotan was, Orgrim was still bigger, as he had been in their youth. As he regarded the Blackrock second in command, Durotan privately marveled how he had been able to best Orgrim in anything.

Orgrim grunted and clapped Durotan on the shoulder. "Your gathering is small, but it smells the best of any of them," he said, looking at the roasting meat and sniffing appreciatively.

"Then tear off a hunk of talbuk and leave your duties behind for a while," Draka said. "Would that I could," Orgrim sighed, "but I do not have much time. If the Frostwolf chieftain would walk with me a bit, I would be honored."

"Let us walk, then," Durotan replied.

They left the encampment and walked in silence for a time, until the campfircs were small, twinkling lights in the distance and they were assured that there were no prying eyes or cars to witness them. Both ores sniffed the wind as well. Orgrim stood silently for a while, and Durotan waited with the patience of the true hunter.

At last, Orgrim spoke. "Blackhand did not want us to come," he said. "He thought it demeaning, that Ner’zhul would summon us like we were pets to his call."

"Draka and I had that reaction as well, but I am glad we did. You saw Ner’zhul's face. One look at him was all I needed to determine that we had been right to come."

Orgrim snorted derisively. "For myself as well, but when I left the camp, Blackhand was still raging against the shaman. He does not see what you and I do."