Bruna had seen the fires when they came close. When they followed the wake of blood and destruction the ogres had left in the Savannah. He could see the distant dragonfire lighting the last hour of the night.

  “That fool!” Aru’Gal had shouted and spurred his snakelike wyvern to dash onwards. The riders of Karn’Arak followed and readied for battle. Bruna took his fathers axe and was ready to finally earn his warriors death. It was long overdue that he fought alongside his daughter among the ancestors.

  When they came closer they could hear a shaman song and saw the distant fire stirring higher. Only a moment later they reached the mesa and he could recognize the voice in the wind. The small girl he once carried up the mountain. His father's daughter. The small thing that he was meant to protect. The sister that had taken his little Kara towards her doom.

  His heart started to race with many different drums. He snarled. He was about to unleash his anger at her, yet something stopped him from coming down at her.

  Finally he saw a swarm of birds and a giant bat flying at his sister. He roared like his father would have and dashed on like a mountain on wings. He flew ahead of Aru’Gal and the other riders and was the first to join the fray. Gor’Mash’s old dark red Wyvern breathed fire at the birds before it clashed with the bat. Bruna stood up and walked over his wyvern towards the bat and brought his axe down at its head. It cut half through and old Darkscale tore the rest off. While it started to munch it down he jumped off and glanced at his sister. They shared a long look while behind him dragonfire and sorcery lit the savannah. Above the eastern mountain the first pink hew of morning was cast yet the sun was still absent. Wind was running through their hair as the other riders dashed above. Yet even when the wyverns flew by their eyes didn’t leave each other.

  While his sister looked at him her song ended for but a moment. She was torn by battle. Weak on her legs and in her voice. He could see she was hurt and see how her eyes formed a dew of tears. The thunders of sorcery struck behind him and he glanced back where the three entities fought over their shackles. He pointed his axe towards the battle. “Who?” His voice seemed quiet yet deep enough that she could almost feel it in the earth below her feet.

  It took her a moment to speak. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He breathed slowly with nothing but anger in his eyes. “Who hurt you?”

  She took some air and wasn’t sure how to answer at first. “The Dragon protects..” She finally uttered. “But it doesn’t care. The other two..” She gasped as the twisted thunder of sorcery struck behind him. “Bruna I need to sing, but I don’t think I can beat them.”

  He nodded and walked back to old Darkscale. “Don’t worry.” He saddled the Wyvern and continued. “I will.”

  Darkscale roared while he gave her one last look. Their eyes were filled with a thousand unspoken words, with worry and anger, with love and hatred. But this wasn’t the moment for any of them. Finally he nodded and turned to fly into battle. Behind him his sister's melody started to be carried by the wind once more. It followed him and became the wind in his back, the storm at his command. He held one hand on Darkscale’s reins while the other held his fathers axe ready to strike. Before him the riders had started to fight alongside the dragon. Some surrounded the sorceress, others aimed to defend it against the stampedes and swarms that followed the giant's whispers. Dustfang was the most aggressive around the sorceress while Sha’Raph and the strange creature that called itself Raimond tried to come close for a strike of their own.

  Even though the witch kept defending herself with lightning it became clear that even she couldn’t fight alone. The sky was bereft of her dark clouds and not even her own sons were chanting anymore. Every bit of sorcery that she tried to force upon those around her coursed through her stolen body. It scorched on her skin and rang the toll of age on her. The once young body of Lady Portfall had grown thicker when she drained an ogre before, but now wrinkles and yellow warts grew on her. And they became more with every cast she was forced to unleash. Soon enough she couldn’t avoid every breath of wyvern fire and her once fair body was torched. She gasped and screamed more akin to a monster than a human and once she heard the shaman sing again a banshee’s wail was cast by her. It forced the wyverns away and made her fly back towards the mesa. Bruna squinted his eyes. He saw she was going for his sister. He knew well enough that it was that witch who must have fought her. Who must have scarred her and he became so very angry.

  He guided Darkscale through the sky at the witch yet to his surprise she wasn’t even flying for his sister but the central mesa instead. While he tried to cut her off halfway, the Dragon escaped the stampedes and aimed to follow the witch when Aru’Gal flew before his eyes.

  “What are you doing here?!” He asked with anger and panic. “They are the only danger you have and yet to fly right into them?!”

  “Do not try to stop me, oh so grand Khan!” its voice boomed over the burning savannah and to the mesa. “This day, I’ll take revenge! And no little orc shall stop me!!” It flew ahead and made both Aru’Gal and some of the riders almost fall from their wyverns as they were pushed aside. One did and splattered down into the ash. The red splatter where he fell was instantly covered by ash again as the dragon's wings stirred up what had already been burned. Aru’Gals wyvern was the one that held onto the dragon. Like a leech it held onto its scales and just followed.

  Down in the mesa Rika was defending Kazzok and Branak. Sometimes against Ogres, sometimes against beasts. Her muscles were beyond burning and close to falling. She had dragged the two to safety, she had fought them and soon, she thought, she would avenge them. Her swings became weak and she was forced back more and more by every ogre axe or beastial maw. She fell to her knees but smiled. Even as the ogre’s axe came down she smiled for she heard Mara’s song in the wind. She didn’t saw the dripping axe but the distant pink hew of morning and knew it was fine.

  Kazzok rushed by and answered the axe with his own. After the axes had clashed, Branak jumped at the Ogres' throat. The ogre met his end by the wolf and Kazzok kneeled down next to Rika. He laid a hand on her shoulder. His mind was still fighting the beast but his eyes spoke of care and gratitude as they met hers. She formed a grin, weak but honest. His eyes answered the same before they went to gaze through the arena and at the giant. Her eyes followed his and her grin became wicked while Branak stood next to her. The wolf growled, Kazzok grunted and she barked “I will kill him.”

  “It whispered of the hunt..” Kazzok grunted with a deep angry voice. “Let the pack hunt, I say hehehe…” His low laughter was echoed by herself and Branak barked between his growls. Then Kazzok aided her to her hurting feet and they started to take their way through the battle of the Mesa. The only beasts that still listened to the whispers while the shaman song echoed through the arena were those that had offered their blood to the menhir. Chieftain Scale-Eye among them. Kazzok looked at him with anger and saw how the strange creature of orc and wing he had become fought against Thick-Skin. He nodded towards them and Rika looked at him with anger. “He will answer.” She uttered with pure anger. “But not by his calls. Only to our fury!” She roared after her words and Kazzok started to grin. He was proud to stand next to her again. Despite the shame the hunt tried to cast into him, despite the horrors of the night, he knew their pack would fight once more. One last time, for one last push.

  While they came close, the sorceress flew above the arena. She still tried to float yet soon fell down with a crash near a battle of her sons and the orcs. “Mother!” A close legionnaire screamed out with concern and rushed to her. He was answered by her hand on his face while age was quickly cursing him. He gasped as long as he could, yet tried to fight back far too late. Slowly she rose to her feet again. While the ogre turned old and dry she became even fatter. By now none of her stolen beauty remained. Only an old hag full of warts and wrinkles.

  Scars and burnmarks adorned her now almost naked body. The few bits of black silk she was wearing with Lady Portfalls beauty were too small to protect her now.

  “Kill the shaman!!” She screamed at the gathered ogres and pointed her finger to the sky again. As her voice sang the twisted tongue of sorcery it now carried the rotten voice of her used skin. Only barely was it heard like a song yet still clouds gathered above. First cast, who stood nearby and behind a circle of Ogres, shouted after her. “You heard her, my brothers! Take the shamans head! The battle is far from won but it will be today!!” Then he started to sing as well. Next to him Third-Fist remained silent while his eyes followed the creature their mother had become.

  While the ogres started to chant the molded giant started to aid with its whispers.

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  Kazzok grunted in pain and looked from the ogres’ sorcerers back to the giant. Rika followed his looked eyes and sighed. “Them first..” She said and started to run for a nearby caster. Few Ogres were around him and with the aid of her pack they started to fight for their friend above. Mara’s song still echoed through the winds and still they felt its strength running through their veins and their heartbeat to drum with her fury. They would not let her down for they knew neither would she.

  Up at the Mesa Mara could feel her throat go sore again while slowly the sorceress started to float up and landed on the edge of the Mesa.

  The shaman's eyes opened and her song became a whisper. She glanced at her enemy. The hag was all the way back at the other end of the Mesa. Far behind her the red shadow of the dragon tried to rush back into battle but was held back by more swarms of birds and beasts that followed the whispers of the hunt. The riders and their wyvern were too far away to protect for the moment after they were pushed aside.

  This fight had to be her own.

  For but a moment Mara stopped her song and took long slow breaths. The distant scent of the burning savannah caught her nose, but so did the voices behind the mesa. The animals that had not yet joined the hunt and were running into the night for safety. The river that was running close, its sound of rushing water and the hoofs of panicking does. These were not the lands of her home, and the dragon would not be to her aid, but she was a shaman and both the land and the ancestors would answer her call.

  Slowly the wind rose around her. It started to circle her and gathered both dust and ash. She felt the strength of the earth below her feet, the rushing water that echoed her veins, the burning fury of fire and finally she heard a whisper in the winds. Not by the hunt, nor by sorcery. But of the ancestors. “Fury…” it whispered. It was fleeting enough to be an illusion but to her it carried little Kara’s voice. It made her heart drop and forced its own drum to her. The breeze was like a gentle touch to her face and and she smiled knowing that her niece was there. One voice became many as she heard the dead shout for battle. The ancestors, both of the frostsong and the north, as well as the greenskins from the south. Old enemies united in their battle beyond.

  A single tear ran down her eyes and for a single second the moonlight reflected its silver sorrow. One tear became many and her whispers rose to a new song, sang in unison with the ancestors and the land. Her tears started to rise with the wind, the ash and the earth.

  Before the fat monster the sorceress had become could do anything, Mara answered her niece’s demand and unleashed the elements of the land right at her. Wind and ash took the rocks towards the witch and started to melt them on their way. But this time the hag didn’t use the clouds to shield herself, instead she shifted around in a form of the stinking darkness and vanished into the ground. Her dark echo was jumping from one shadow to the next and left a scorched path through the earth. She tried to shift directly at Mara. But the young shaman could feel the twist in the earth, the pain the sorcery left inside the land. She stomped the ground and brought her fists to the sky with a roar. The earth answered and split open where the sorceress shadow was shifting.

  Gasping in a cloud of her own darkness she was cast from shadows back into flesh. As her eyes shot back at Mara there was nothing but the pale greediness of a monster. She tried to utter words but only spat out slurs in a tongue Mara couldn’t speak. Neither was she waiting to grant her any chance to cast more. Again the wind shifted at her demand and clashed against the sorceress. This time the hag protected herself by a sudden wail that drowned Mara’s song for but a second. It was enough for the sorceress to shift close once more. She was close when she did and now close enough to force her warted hand around Mara’s neck.

  The shaman gasped and tried to use her strength to free herself of the sting and stench of the sorceress’ hand but it was to no use.

  The sorceress licked her lips and laughed in victory. Yet instead of panic a calm washed over Mara and the winds turned down to a breeze. They circled the witch and the shaman and once they spoke they were speaking through Mara. “Fury…” she whispered with many voices and the heat around her rose to a fire until she herself roared aided by the drums of fury in her heart. The sorceress cursed and was forced away by a few steps. The circling fire around Mara rose more and more and more until its glow was cast even down to the Mesa below. The wind tried to push it at the sorceress and she hissed in anger only to hear her sons chant again. Among the chants of sorcery the whispers of the hunt aided her. Still, fear was in the sorceress’ eyes. Before her the fire only grew and grew and she could do nothing but hiss at it.

  Away from it all Mara stood in the heart of fire. It didn’t burn her, yet casted its warmth. It didn’t touch her, yet she felt its embrace. Like the warmth of a friend's arm around her shoulder. Like the hug of a brother's hands around her, or like the small hands of a girl that was taken far too soon. The shaman’s tears rose, she knew she had to accept the fire but the more it casted its warmth the more the night of the oak returned to her mind.

  The fires around her as she cried next to Kara. Her face when her very own axe hit her. The shock. The void. And how she slowly had to realise that the little girl would never return. Never would she laugh again, never again would she cry or be angry. Never again would she roar like her father.

  She tried to remember the aid Kazzok and Rika had given her and the fires grew. She tried to think of her brother yet only saw the pain in his eyes. Pain she shared but pain she could never heal. Pain that was set in by her foolish choices. Pain that one day would end him.

  Slowly Mara sank to her knees. She heard little Kara’s voice again. Too distant to understand. Too fleeting to grasp, like the breeze that it carried. On her knees the fires went down again and vanished with the winds.

  She lost.

  Before her the witch’s fear turned into a hungry grin. She was ready to chant and drain the young shaman’s life yet while the hag stomped close, Darkscale breathed fire at her followed by Bruna jumping down with his axe. He aimed for the witch’s neck.

  The witch didn’t move to get away and for a small moment Mara felt hope. This was how it had always been. Her brother would protect her, no matter if she deserved to be saved or not.

  Yet her hope was fleeting as she saw the grin on the witch’s face. And she realised today his axe would shatter.

  Once it touched her neck their fathers axe made of black obsidian splintered into pieces. Both darklings looked on in horror as the axe of Ara’Gash the mountain laid broken before the sorceress. She laughed and glanced over to Mara. “You know the tale, little shaman.” Her voice had lost any resemblance to a human or even an ogre and was closer to the dragons now. “No orc would harm them…” She grinned and stepped ever closer to Mara. “Your little chants, the dragon…even my own kind are different. But to rule you, to take the all of you, we made the pact and your ancestors accepted.”

  The breeze grew again and anger was carried with them. Mara sighed on her knees. There was no one who could save her, no one who could end the fight but her. Yet she was spent. She couldn’t get back up and she had casted away the fires only because her heart wasn’t strong enough to endure the pain. Even now after all that Kazzok and Rika had done for her. After all the warmth their voices, their smiles, their arms and even Branak had given her. She couldn’t.

  Next to her Bruna looked over to his sister and saw her tears. He grunted with deep anger as his eyes returned to the witch. He wasn’t sure if he could beat her, but he knew he would protect his sister. At least one of his girls would live. Even if it would cost his life. Especially if he could pay with his life.

  “Bruna..” Mara whispered and looked at him with a weak smile. “She is watching..”

  He raised a brow and glanced back at the witch before finally he understood. The breeze touched his face like the smallest hand he ever held. “Father..” she whispered in the wind. Distant and too far away to know if it was real or merely an illusion of hope. But it was enough to fog his eyes and give him strength.

  The witch stomped the ground and created a gust of wind that casted away the fleeting promise. “AWAY!” she shouted in a voice rough as the dragons. “Your ghosts are those who lost their battles and here you think they will help?!” She laughed and Bruna’s anger grew to something he had never felt before. He was beyond roaring. He wanted to kill. Without a warning he started to rush in, jumped and threw a punch at the witch. Once his hand connected to her chin he felt his bones break and shatter just like his fathers axe. He stumbled away from her holding his arm. She laughed and drank in her victory. While she looked down at Bruna the breeze came back. It didn’t whisper yet he felt his daughters touch. Slightly she lifted up his face. Once he looked ahead it was as if he could see her round face once more. The scar left by the beasts. The burning eyes and her wild hair. She smiled.

  When he blinked it was gone, but behind her he saw Dustfang dashing for the Mesa and the sorceress. It took his mind a moment to understand before he grinned up at the witch.

  “Oh you poor little mongrels!” She spat out. “Everytime you think to die will be an act of defiance and every time your enemy laughs in their victory!” She did as much and started to laugh. Bruna was letting her laugh, taking her time for vanity while he waited for Dustfang and his two riders. He glanced over his shoulders to Darkscale who was laying still after the sorceress’ touch. But the old wyvern still breathed. Maybe it could even move.

  Once his eyes turned to his sister she was on her feet again and stumbling in front of him. His heart sank as she stood before him. “I’m not done..” The breeze around the two darklings grew and they knew they were three.

  Bruna laid a hand on his sister's shoulder and stood up next to her. Her heart sank at his touch yet she smiled and they stood next to each other. The last heirs of Ara’Gash the mountain, ready to meet their end. Watched by the ancestors. By those they had lost. By mothers and their father. By those who died protecting the mountain and those who were slain defending the south. By those they loved and those they hated. By the girl they both missed so very dearly. By Kara.

  There were still a thousand words they had to share, still a hundred things they wanted to stay but here they stood. At the end of the world. Looking not at the witch before them, but the sun behind her. Where the sun would declare the day any moment now. Here they stood. Together.