The candles in the tent sputtered, yellow flames dancing.
The soft drip of blood from the end of my blade was the only sound, other than the heavy rasp of the Kahns’s breathing. Urksol’s black eyes held a reluctant respect as he shifted his weight. He grunted in pain, lips pulling back from teeth.
“So,” he growled, watching me with intensity. “You want to know why? Because human, it is the will of the Gods that it be so. They granted me power, gave me the right to rule over my people and claim dominion of this land. It is by their will your city fell.”
“Is it their will that you sit in a pile of your own filth and wait for death?”
Uksol smiled, his sharp teeth stained red.
“If that is their price,” he said. “Then I would pay it willingly. You humans follow the will of men – weak men who cannot see beyond their wants and earthly desires. Some grow fat and lazy, never knowing the true joy of battle.”
“There is no joy in battle,” I said. Urksol’s eyes glittered.
“Is there not? Are you to tell me you have never felt the rush of the fight? The surge of bloodlust and the satisfaction of seeing your enemies broken before you?”
“Who are your Gods?” I asked. “What do they want with mankind.”
“Want? Who am I to know the whims of beings such as they? They who created the heavens and the earth and ruled over them with iron hands. No, it is not mine to say, Blue Shield. As a cub, I was touched by their hands and guided by their Will. A tool to be brought against the great enemy.”
“The God King,” I guessed, feeling my own unease rise. Urksol surprised me by making a hissing sound and lifting his head weakly in order to spit a glob of blood between us.
“Cursed one,” he growled. “False King. Mankind knows not what it bows to but he is no God, of that there is no doubt.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the weather was creeping up my spine, filling me with unease. I had heard that sentiment before, though it echoed much more mildly. I glanced behind me where the tent flap swirled in a soft breeze. I was running out of time and yet I needed to know.
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“What do you know of Enais?” I asked, fighting to keep the Urgency from my voice.
Ukrsol’s horned head dropped back to the rags, his breathing labored. Even that had taken something out of him.
“He is,” he rasped. “An Oathbreaker. An enemy of many Gods. He is not himself a God, nor is he a mortal man. He is something else entirely. That’s what we,”
He coughed again and I could hear the fluid in his lungs.
“That is what we strove to find. There were records of your False King once – though most of those were taken by your inquisition, burned, amended or otherwise lost to time. That and to reclaim what was taken from us all those years ago.”
Urksol drew in a shuddering breath and tilted his horned head. His eyes were weary and his breathing grew more strained.
“The Artifact,” he said, eyes drifting closed. On my HUD I could see the indication. He was close to dying, much closer than I assumed. By the sound of his labored breathing, I knew I had only moments.
I drew closer then, staring down at the Ork I had once called enemy.
“What artifact? I asked. “What did you find?”
Ukrsol’s hand shot out, closing around my wrist. With one swift movement, I let go of my dagger, catching it in my free hand and pressing it to his throat. My heart was thumping in my ears but the Firebrand did not react. Instead, he seemed to be drawing me in, his red lips pale and trembling.
“Do you hear them too?” he asked, his eyes unfocusing. “Do the Gods speak to you, human?”
I was losing him as the fever of death took him. I wrenched my arm from his grasp, leaning over him.
“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me what you found.”
The Khan’s head turned from side to side.
“I hear them,” he said, uncharacteristically soft. “They speak through me and give me purpose. And their purpose gives me power.”
I stared at him for a long moment, uncomprehending. Then, slowly it began to make sense.
“You receive Quests..” I said, barely more than a whisper. I waited for his response, every nerve on fire. If this was true.. if this was real. It might change everything.
“Yes,” said Urksol at last. He let out a sigh and then as I watched his body began to convolse. His head jerked from side to side, yellow foam forming at the corners of his mouth as his eyes rolled.
I knew what I had to do. I reached forward, gripping his horns to hold him still. His lance was nowhere to be found so instead I grabbed the hunting knife from my boot and placed it in his fumbling hands.
“I am,” he wheezed. “ready.”
His gaze was dull, pleading. I grit my teeth. I still wanted answers… and yet…
I drew the knife across the Firebrand's throat, letting the blood spill down his chest. He joked for a moment, drowning. But it was overly quick. His eyes went glassy, his limbs still.
Urksol The Firebrand Corpse flashed across my vision. It was done. It was over, my enemy was slain. A glimmer of something drew my gaze. The Firebrands horn, which I had been gripping tightly in my freehand had come away. It was dark, twisted like that of a ram. And even as I turned it over in my hands an Item message appeared.
Item: Ruinous Horn. Item 1/3 ingredients needed to form: Unbroken Blade, Mythic
Was this what I think it was? I didn’t know Mythic Items could be forged. I had always assumed that the Item itself was a drop from fighting a Monster with Legendary status. This changed things.
I tucked the Horn into my inventory and took a last look at Urksol the Firebrand. He was dead, but the trouble was far from over. Now, I had to deal with his son. The question was – how?
I wiped the blood from Iron Fang and turned, striding towards the entrance of the tent. I was looking down, lost in thought when I ducked through the flap. And that was why I failed to see it coming.