Month 1 Week 2

The Hive – Horde Territory

Could there be anywhere in the world more similar to hell than the dungeons of a Horde Hive? Kron didn’t think that there was. They were wet, slimy, reeking of putrid filth and those within them were treated like the most contemptible creatures in existence. He was now a contemptible creature, loathed throughout the Hive by one and all. And by no one more than himself.

After all, because of the reprehensible thing he was, four lovely darling younglings would never be hatched into the wondrous world. His young. Though he hadn’t crushed their eggs with his own hand, he might as well have. No, it turned out that he was so dangerous, so vile, that his eggs could not be allowed to hatch and spread his evil curse to another generation.

Berserker. Bloodhound. How was he to know that he was one? It was his first true battle, the first time he had faced an actual enemy. Once the battle had started, he couldn’t stop. Even after the enemy retreated, Kron had pursued them mercilessly. They had tried to surrender and the animal that he was hadn’t let them.

Then when Loft had tried to come after him, stop Kron from his deadly rampage… His guards had filled Kron in on what he had done while in the Blood Rage. Despite being warned to stay away, Loft had had faith in Kron. He had believed that Kron wasn’t so far gone that he wouldn’t recognize him. He had trusted Kron not to harm him.

But he’d been wrong. And now Kron wasn’t just a berserker. He was a murderer. Grief had washed through him for days after he learned what he had done. His best friend. His only friend really. The son of a Clan Chief.

There were only two people he had ever loved and now one was dead by his own hand. Not just dead, mutilated beyond recognition because Kron hadn’t been able to stop even once the male was dead. Just thinking about what he had done made the orc warrior sick to his stomach. Only knowing that he had four precious eggs and the beautiful Kerim waiting for him kept him from losing his mind.

That comfort didn’t last for long. The jailors seemed almost to gain pleasure when they told him of what Kerim had done to their young. How she had smashed his eggs so that her lineage would not be tainted by the seed of a berserker. She was taking another male as her first husband.

Kron had lost what little grip he had on his sanity then. As the guards laughed and laughed at his tears and heartache, had screamed until he was hoarse. Then everything had gone away. Hours later he regained awareness to find himself shackled to the wall inside the cell instead of just loose inside as he had been before. There were also fresh bars bolted to the rocks of their cavernous home to hold him captive.

Now instead of jesting at his hardship and treating him with disrespect, the new guards kept a distance. When they spoke, it was in subdued and quiet tones. It seemed as if they were afraid of him. Before they had reviled him. Now, none were bold enough to get close even when giving him his food. They stayed well back and pushed a bowl toward him with a long, forked stick. The bowls piled up because none would dare his grasp to retrieve them and Kron had taken to licking them clean to prevent the growth of mold within his cell.

Days more passed before he was summoned from this dank miserable existence where all he could do was contemplate the fact that he had lost all the things that mattered to him. No best friend. No wife. And most heartbreaking of all, no eggs. He’d intended to name his first hatched son Loft, after the friend who had convinced the female Kerim to give Kron a chance.

The heartbroken orc didn’t know what he’d done during his last blackout, but it must have been pretty bad to warrant the kind of silent terror that seemed to follow him in a soft hushed blanket everywhere he went. They were taking him before the High Chief and the Queen he was sure. It was his day of judgment and he was going to be executed.

Orcs of every clan and caste packed the tunnels leading to the great chamber where the High Chief and his Queen held court. The Chamber itself was filled to overflowing but a solid block of warriors filled the center, buffering the civilians with the bodies of the military clans. They were protecting his own people from him.

It was enough to make a grown orc cry. How sad he was. Heat from thousands of bodies made the air stifling. The putrid stink of too many organisms and too many unwashed mouths fowled the atmosphere while pale angry faces glared at him with eyes full of animosity and far more fear than he thought he deserved.

Every warrior stood with tense anticipation as if they expected him to lose his mind at any moment. Even the High Chief and the Clan Chief’s flanking him and his Queen seemed worried. In fact, the only person in the whole of the Hive who did not seem in the least bit worried was the Queen.

She stood tall and sultry with her powerful arms and legs bare of covering and decorated with the gold and jewels her High Chief had pillaged and plundered for her. Her muscles rippled sensuously as she smiled at him with orcish beauty around her tusks. She was the epitome of everything desired in a female orc. Yet she did nothing for Kron.

He didn’t even gladly serve her when he was on the field. The Queen was literally nothing to Kron. The young orc warrior had not even spoken to her before, though it seemed at the moment as if his entire world depended on her today. That self-satisfied smile indicated that she had already decided his fate.

“Kron of the Iron Fist Clan.” Here it came, from that growling deep voice the High Chief was about to declare Kron’s fate in guttural condemnation. “For the crime of murdering the son of a Clan Chief, I would have you exiled. But as a berserker bloodhound, you are far too dangerous to be allowed to join an enemy Hive and be used against those who cast you out.” Here the High Chief sighed, his large nostrils flaring under the effort of supporting such a wide nose.

“It was my choice, and that of my Clan Chiefs, to have you executed. You pose so great a danger. Especially after your second attack cost our Hive half of the warriors of the Black Sword Clan.” That was the first which Kron had heard of what had happened when he had let the rage take him after hearing what Kerim had done to his children. “But my queen has cautioned against anything quite so permanent.”

“Kron…” Licking his lips nervously, the High Chief seemed as if he were trying not to look at his Clan Chiefs and gauge their reaction to his words. From where Kron stood he could clearly see that they were not one bit pleased with the decree. “…you are the strongest warrior our Hive has produced in generations. But there is a reason for that. Your kind, the berserkers, the bloodhounds, the ones who lose themselves to the rage… They are so dangerous even to their own kin. Their best friends. We thought we had eliminated those genes from our Hive long ago, but it seems you still carry that line.”

“And you will continue carrying it. Our Queen believes that you can be useful to us, that the reason you went into the rage to begin with, was because you were expecting your first clutch of eggs. As proof of this theory, you went into a second rage when you heard what had happened to those eggs. A male instinct as strong as yours to protect the Hive and the young at all costs is a good trait to keep, as long as it is carefully controlled. So, you will be allowed to live and perhaps even breed one day, if we can guarantee the safety of the Hive.” A collective breath seemed to be drawn in from around the large cavern and for a few moments, the air was temporarily cleaner.

“You will be allowed to live if one of the scout patrols, which spend most of their time beyond the walls of the Hive, are willing to take you on.” It came out in a rush as if he feared that saying it too slowly would allow someone a chance to meet those circumstances. The Clan Chiefs straightened smugly, knowing already that none of their subordinates would be crazy enough to have someone so dangerous on their patrol.

It was quiet as the patrol leaders looked around at each other, most visibly taking a step backward to avoid it appearing like they might be tempted. Kron was almost relieved to think that this endless aching pit of dread that welled up inside of him would end soon. The executioners’ sharp blade wouldn’t come soon enough. He would surrender to the bliss of eternal darkness and close his eyes forever.

“I’ll take him.” The voice was gruff, not too old but certainly not young. Kron’s eyes snapped open as he was startled from his dreary acceptance.

“Krol of the Grey Bloods,” The High Chief almost sounded surprised at this development, though why was anybody’s guess. Patrol leader Krol was known to gambol far too much. Someone had probably dared him to do it on a wager just then.

Those three simple words removed the death sentence from Kron’s head. Somehow, he couldn’t be happy about it. The shackles fell away as he was released from captivity, and it was with a numb distraction that he felt himself being led away from the center of the room.

“Move a little quicker boy,” Krol murmured as he placed a good-natured arm around Kron’s shoulder while smiling a tusky grin at the parting crowd to show that there was nothing to fear from this male. “We want to be outside the walls before they start changing their minds now, don’t we?”

The younger orc stole a glance over at his savior and the wild glee in his gaze made Kron wonder just what kind of game the gambler was planning to play with his new piece.

Inheritance

Gambling on Fate