The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2) by Phil Tucker

gaze to Barok, who held it steadily, and then looked to Rabo, who gave a small shrug, showing that he didn't disagree with Kharsh. Maur continued to gaze out into the night.
    "Understood, Kharsh," Tharok replied. "I meant no disrespect. Tonight I shall speak my mind plainly, and you will know everything that I intend."
    Kharsh's scowl pulled at the stiff scar tissue on his face. "We shall see."
    They all turned at the sound of approaching kragh, and soon Nok emerged from the gloom with five lowlanders behind him: Nakrok and his chieftains.
    "Welcome, kragh of the Crokuk. We talk of war," said Tharok, moving forward to stand before the other warlord.
    "War?" said Nakrok. "This is a farce. What is there to discuss? We find the Tragon where they hide and kill them. This meeting is a waste of time."
    Tharok presented his back to the lowlander and moved away, looking at the ground in thought. The Crokuk remained grouped at the edge of the fire's light, refusing to validate the meeting by moving forward to join them.
    "Find them and kill them," said Tharok. "I am young. I've not seen much war. Remind me how we do that, exactly."
    Nakrok hissed. "I'll not play your games. We return to our camp."
    "Leave this fire and you die," said Tharok, his voice so soft that Nakrok paused so as to catch his words.
    Their meaning understood, Nakrok's ears flared up in alarm. "What are you talking about? Die? Who would kill us? You?"
    "No," said Tharok, his face grave. "They would."
    From the darkness emerged sixty highland kragh, armed for battle, swords drawn, moving sufficiently forward so that their general outline could be discerned. They ringed the fire some three deep, silent but for the sound of their breathing.
    Nakrok's kragh drew their blades, but it was a pitiful gesture. Their warlord snarled and stared at Tharok. "You are mad. There are sixty of you. There are five hundred of us."
    Tharok stepped forward. "Your five hundred are useless to you here. I don't want to kill you, but if you insist on walking away from this meeting, you are more useful to me dead. Now, make your choice. Listen or die."
    The Crokuk warlord glared at the sixty highland kragh and then cast his own kragh a furious glance. "Sheath your weapons." Nakrok then stepped into the firelight and placed his hands on his hips. "Speak, then, highland scum. Explain to me why my ally threatens me with death. Explain how you expect to live after letting me return to my Crokuk."
    Tharok ignored Kharsh's furious glare and focused only on the other warlord. "Answer my question, Nakrok. What is our traditional style of warfare?"
    "The way we raid. We locate their camp. We descend upon it in greater numbers. Their kragh flee to avoid slaughter. We take what we like from their camp, and depart with their riches and any slaves we wish to take. This continues until we either tire or can no longer carry their goods. Simple enough even for you, highlander."
    Tharok was breathing deeper now, his mouth opening as he stuck his tusks out aggressively. "And what does that accomplish?"
    Nakrok laughed with disbelief. "Oh, this boggles the mind. To be sent into the mountains with such an ass – what does that accomplish? We gain their gold! We humiliate them! We ruin them!"
    Tharok raised his hand and curled it into a fist. "Say I punch you in the face right now, and then let you go. What would you do?"
    Nakrok took a step back. "I would gather my kragh and come slaughter you."
    "And what if I ran away before you returned?"
    "I would take your camp and burn it."
    "And then if I came after you with greater numbers?"
    Nakrok stopped, considering the highlander. "I would flee."
    Tharok nodded. "You begin to understand, warlord of the Crokuk. There is no end to this cycle. One warlord steals from the other, never gaining the upper hand, never ending the war. We take from the Tragon now. They come and take from us. We return. They return and steal what we stole from them. This might make sense for