Darkscale’s breaths were slow and heavy. Her eyes just barely open and her mind, by looks of it, half gone to the ancestors.

  Bruna stood in front of her, an ogres axe ready next to him. He had gotten one of the corpses below. It wasn’t a good weapon for him. Far too many symbols and once bronzen runes were carved inside for him to truly appreciate its craft. It was made for beauty, not for battle. And it wasn’t won in battle either. Not by him at least.

  His eyes locked with the slowly breathing wyvern before him. “I’m sorry girl…” he finally said. The wyvern only huffed. He kneeled down before her and continued to look into her eyes. They were just as heavy as her breathing. Only half open, if even. She was pleading for an end. Not welcoming it like a warrior, but longing for it all to be over. To go on into the battles beyond and stand side by side with the ancestors and her children once again.

  It was the same look he saw all those many years ago in his Tash’Gavek. On the dying wyverns eyes. It was the same look he had seen in the dragon. And now the same he carried himself.

  He had carried it since he carried his daughters corpse. And now his eyes had become even more tired after he had carried his sister's chain. After the battle was won and the corpses of gods laid down, Aru’Gal had ordered them to chain the rest. It was on him to put the first chain on the first prisoner and the first prisoner was his sister. The traitor. The woman that had stolen his daughter. The girl that had to take care of him and Kara when his women was dead. The little thing that laughed when he carried her up the mountain.

  Her eyes were the worst. When he made a knot around her hands she looked at him, tried to lock her fiery gaze with his, but he couldn’t. He felt that she didn’t carry any anger, but trust. Somehow she still carried trust. Despite all he did, despite all they had lost.

  He removed his helmet and the evening sun brought a cold breeze from the west.

  After a moment of glancing to the downing sun he continued to share the wyvern's glance.

  She huffed again, long and deep as she saw him without his helmet. She opened her mouth as if she was trying to talk, but only the slightest hint of a growl escaped her.

  “I know…” he said and shook his head, not able to hold her stare any longer.

  Far in the distance to the north he could see the long line of prisoners. Surrounded by the riders as they flew above. Sometimes they settled close and their beasts roared, other times they landed on a big stone or small mesa to glance down as the line walked by.

  They had fought the whole night and he had seen how it had left his sister. He shook his head and felt how his eyes swelled up again. He tried to fight against them, he had cried enough these last weeks but it was no use. The weight of his weakness only grew with every tear he shed.

  “What kind of man am I?” he asked darkscale. It didn’t matter if the dying wyvern understood him or not. He wasn’t sure if she ever did, but he needed to believe she was. It was hard to look at her as he continued, so his glance remained on the distant prisoners. “What man lets another treat his family like that?” He huffed himself to anger a few times. “His sister!” He stood up and kicked away a stone. Shaking his head he thought of little Kara’s touch in the winds. “His daughter…” He whispered and longed to see her again. To hear her again, even to fight her at least once. To stand against her on top of the hollowed mountain, to see her as a grown woman fighting her father after years of hatred. He would have been the proudest loser any orc had ever been. Yet it wasn’t meant to be and the breeze of morning was gone. Only the burning sun of the day remained as she was going down across the savannah of the west. Every breeze she brought made his heart swell in hope for her touch. But there was nothing but the cold.

  Behind him, Darkscale used all of her remaining might and rose to her feet. She stumbled forward and nudged his back with her snout. He turned and looked into her eyes. They were further open than before and her glare was close to anger. She huffed, had a glow on her throat and smoke from her nostrils until she stood up properly and breathed fire into the air. She fell down on her wings again and looked at him with the same burning eyes.

  He nodded. “You are a strong beast, old one.”

  She growled.

  “I don’t know what..” his words trailed off. He knew what was needed to do and it should have been so very easy. Aru’Gal might had been his brother once, but those days were long gone. Now he was taking prisoners, slaves even, denying them of a well earned victory. A true warrior would have granted them the night to get a better fight the next day. But not the snake. Not the man they called their Khan. It was without honour, but so was war. They had pillaged the south for so long and they were always using their wyverns to be stronger. Yet at least the great hunters of the south had a chance. There was a time he wouldn’t have thought about it as dishonour, just as a well used chance. Maybe he would have this day too, if Mara wasn’t among them.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  He still wanted to be angry at her. It was her who had taken Kara with her into exile and it was that very exile that killed her. After all that he had to tell himself. He had deflected his sister's axe back then, and he sent it down to his daughter. He saw it before him again. Her lifeless face, frozen in shock and pain. Her empty eyes, bereft of the dragon's fire and the axe in her shoulder. It was all wrong. All so very wrong. She should have lived, she should have been here to fight alongside his sister, or against himself. She should have been the spark to burn Aru’Gal and his grand plans. She should have lived.

  His eyes were drenched and his mind was spinning. Once again Darkscale huffed to take him out of it.

  Smoke still rose from her nostrils and mixed with the distant but still burning savannah. Beasts of all kinds were fleeing from it, few of them into the west, others into mesa and the mess that was left there. Mountains of corpses, most of them ogres, many of them greenskins, some of them beasts and two of them sorcerers. Vultures had started their feast already and the sun had made sure that the dead were decaying fast. Neither sun nor vulture made a difference between the dead. The molded giant and the ogres’ mother were rotting and eaten just the same as the rest.

  It was a shame that so many warriors were denied a pyre and a man of honour would have granted them to mourn their dead. He thought for a second but shook the thought himself. His father was known as a brutal man, and he would have taken the chance as well. Would have taken prisoners as well if it was of use. Maybe he would have burned the corpses in a display of power and honour, but who was he to say?

  Finally his eyes turned fully back to Darkscale. “Can you ride?” he asked her.

  She huffed with the defiance of battle still lingering in her.

  “Then let us go.” He said and put the helmet back on his head. Carefully he saddled on Darkscale. He could feel how she tried to get ready but the sorceres’ short touch had taken a lot of her. “We will find you the river, and you will drink. Then we may fly north.” He told her and slowly guided her to the edge. She tried to run faster and take speed before their flight, but it was no use. She remained slow and once they reached the edge she simply spread her wings to glide down. They came close to the fire. He wondered how long it would burn. A normal fire would have already been hard to quell in these lands but dragonfire could burn for centuries. The Frostsong knew that well, and he had witnessed it himself as he went across the boiling sea so many years ago.

  Darkscale didn’t need much guidance and glided down to the river. Their landing was far from soft and she growled in pain. Slowly she then walked close to the river and planted her head inside to drink.

  Bruna saddled down again and walked next to her. Making sure she was on the lower end of the stream, he filled his waterskins. Like many riders he had three on his belt to be ready for longer flights.

  Their closeness to the fire brought his mind back to Karn’Arak and Aru’Gals words to him and Sha’Raph. “If you see it and still think I am wrong, beat me.” It wasn’t the dragon their Khan was wrong about, but everything else. The dragon was about to die. He had seen it even back in its own hoard. But what he was going to do for it, the sacrifices he was willing to pay and what for? Because he thought their kind needed a leader, a master, a slaver! Never. Bruna thought, and gazed over his back and the Savannah to the distant line of prisoners. The thought that his sister was among them angered him more and more until he got finally nudged by Darkscale again. Her huff looked almost like a smile as she saw his eyes. He nodded. “You are right…”

  She turned towards the north and the prisoners and he saddled her again. Slowly she tried to slap her wings. The wind she made started to push away earth and ash, yet it was almost too little to fly. Bruna knew this would be her last ride. If things would go as they were meant to be, he could at least bring her back to Gor’Mash for a last goodbye, but he questioned if she would even be able to ride across the Savannah. And he wasn’t sure if this would be anything but his last battle either. His eyes were as tired as hers, not from the battle, but time, losses and shame. What kind of man would lose his daughter like he did? And what kind of man would allow his sister to be in chains? His father would have beaten him to the edge of death if he would see him now and nothing in him could believe he could ever right the wrongs he did. But even if he couldn’t, he would see his end, and he would see it soon.

  He would give Aru’gal one last chance to return to honour. He was a great leader, he was a good friend, he would listen. And if not, he would fight. And Bruna’Gash the beast, would earn his warriors death. He hoped to be with his daughter once again. Because what else was left to do for a man like him? Then to fight, and die.

  Aru’Gal wasn’t even with the riders anymore, but had dashed ahead to the Dragon in Karn’Arak.

  And Bruna would follow. It was a long way, and Darkscale was weak. He petted her neck and she roared in defiance to her looming death. Just one last ride, so the beast and the snake would settle it all. As the fires of Karn’Arak would watch them. One way or the other Bruna’Gash the beast and Aru’Gal the snake, once blood brothers, would settle it all.