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burned in the center, its smoke wafting up to the stone roof. This, then, must be where the legendary
Grom Hellscream and the remnants of the once-fierce Warsong clan had retreated.
But where was the famous chieftain? Thrall looked around. While several more orcs had emerged from
various caves, none had the bearing or garb of a true chieftain. He turned to Rekshak.
You said you would take me to Hellscream, he demanded. I do not see him here.
You do not see him, but he is present. He sees you, said another orc, brushing aside an animal skin
and emerging into the cavern. This one was almost as tall as Thrall, but without the bulk. He looked
older, and very tired. The bones of various animals and quite possibly humans were strung on a necklace
about his thin throat. He carried himself in a manner that demanded respect, and Thrall was willing to give
it. Whoever this orc was, he was a personage of importance in the clan. And it was clear he spoke the
human tongue almost as fluently as Thrall.
Thrall inclined his head. This may be. But I wish to speak with him, not merely bask in his unseen
presence.
The orc smiled. You have spirit, fire, he said. That is well. I am Iskar, adviser to the great chieftain
Hellscream.
My name is
You are not unknown to us, Thrall of Durnholde. At Thrall s look of surprise, Iskar continued, Many
have heard of Lieutenant General Blackmoore s pet orc.
Thrall growled, softly, deep in his throat, but he did not lose his composure. He had heard the term
before, but it rankled more coming from the mouth of one of his own people.
We have never seen you fight, of course, Iskar continued, clasping his hands behind his back and
walking a slow circle around Thrall, looking him up and down all the while. Orcs aren t allowed to
watch the gladiator battles. While you were finding glory in the ring, your brethren were beaten and
abused.
Thrall could take it no longer. I received none of the glory. I was a slave, owned by Blackmoore, and if
you do not think I despise him, look at this! He twisted around so that they could see his back. They
looked, and then to his fury they laughed.
There is nothing to see, Thrall of Durnholde, Iskar said. Thrall realized what had happened; the healing
salve had worked its magic all too well. There was not even a scar on his back from the terrible beating
he had received from Blackmoore and all of his men. You ask for our compassion, and yet you seem
hale and healthy to us.
Thrall whirled. Anger filled him, and he tried to temper it, but to little avail. I was a thing, a piece of
property. Do you think I benefited from my sweat and blood shed in the ring? Blackmoore hauled in gold
coins while I was kept in a cell, brought out for his amusement. The scars on my body are not visible, I
realize that now. But the only reason I was healed was so that I could go back in the ring and fight again
to enrich my master. There are scars you cannot see that run much deeper. I escaped, I was thrown into
the camps, and then I came here to find Hellscream. Although I begin to doubt his existence. It seems too
much to hope for that I could still find an orc who exemplifies all that I understood our people to be.
What do you understand our people to be, then, orc who bears the name of slave? Iskar taunted.
Thrall was breathing heavily, but summoned the control that Sergeant had taught him. They are strong.
Cunning. Powerful. They are a terror in battle. They have spirits that cannot be quenched. Let me see
Hellscream, and he will know that I am worthy.
We will be the judge of that, said Iskar. He raised his hand, and three orcs entered the cavern. They
began to don armor and reach for various weapons. These three are our finest warriors. They are, as
you have said, strong, cunning, and powerful. They fight to kill or die, unlike what you are used to in the
gladiator ring. Your playacting will not serve you here. Only real skill will save you. If you survive,
Hellscream may grant you an audience, or he may not.
Thrall gazed at Iskar. He will see me, he said confidently.
You had best hope so. Begin! And with no further warning, all three orcs charged at a weaponless,
armor-less Thrall.
TEN
For the briefest of moments, Thrall was caught off guard. Then years of training took over. While he had
no desire to fight his own people, he was able to quickly regard them as combatants in the ring and react
accordingly. As one of them charged, Thrall swiftly dodged and then reached upward, snatching the huge
battle-ax from the orc s hands. In the same fluid motion, he swung. The blow bit deeply, but the armor
deflected most of the strike. The orc cried out and stumbled to his feet, clutching his back. He would
survive, but that quickly, the odds had been reduced to two to one.
Thrall whirled, snarling. The bloodlust, sweet and familiar, filled him again. Bellowing his own challenge,
a second adversary charged, wielding an enormous broadsword that more than compensated for his lack
of arm length. Thrall twisted to the side, avoiding a killing blow but still feeling the hot pain as the blade bit
into his side.
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