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

one tribe raiding another for goods, but not for us. Not if we want glory. Not if we want change."
    The Crokuk warlord stood still, speculation written on his face. "Then what?"
    "We descend upon their camp. They get up and flee, expecting us to stop and take their women, their goods. We don't. We give chase, force them into a prepared ambush – more of our kragh waiting for them. We encircle them, and trap them all."
    "And then what?" asked Nakrok, looking quickly at the other kragh: Barok, Kharsh, Rabo, all of whom were staring at Tharok with fierce interest. "We slaughter them? I underestimated your lust for blood."
    Tharok laughed and shook his head. "Slaughter them? What would that gain us?"
    Nakrok blinked. "You're not mad. You're just stupid. What would that gain us? We would defeat the Tragon, reduce their numbers till none could oppose us."
    "The Tragon are what?"
    "What do you mean?" The Crokuk was rapidly growing confused. "Why do you keep asking these stupid questions? They are our enemy!"
    "No!" Tharok lunged forward and grabbed Nakrok by the front of his armor, raised him off the ground and shook him. His four kragh drew their weapons again and surged forward only to be checked by the rumbling growl that rolled forth from the gathered warriors who encircled them. "I'll ask you one more time, Crokuk! What are the Tragon?"
    Nakrok pulled back from Tharok's face, turning away from his tusks. "What - what are they? Our enemies! No? The Tragon? They're kragh! Is that what you mean?"
    Tharok dropped Nakrok to the ground, where the smaller kragh collapsed into a heap. "Yes," said Tharok, turning away, looking at each of his own kragh in turn. "They're kragh. Like us. A different tribe, but kragh. We think that war against them profits us, profits the Orlokor, but we're wrong. It profits only one group."
    Nakrok pulled himself to his feet. He was truly bewildered now. "Who? The Hrakar?"
    "Are you so stupid?" asked Maur. She passed Tharok and caressed his shoulder with one hand, her gaze boring into the Crokuk warlord's. "Do you still not understand? Do none of you?" None could match her gaze but Tharok. "Only one group benefits from the death of kragh, and that is the humans."
    Silence fell across them all. Nakrok stared at Maur as if bewitched, his brows raised, unaware for the first time of the blades that ringed him. He blinked, turned and looked at his men, and then shook his head, passing his hand before his eyes. "Are you saying that you don't wish to kill the Tragon? That... Then what? Why are we here? This is meant to be war!"
    Tharok turned away from the smaller kragh and moved to sit on one of the logs. He allowed Nakrok's words to sink into the silence.
    "We drive them from their camp. Into an ambush, where we surround them with greater numbers. They surrender to us. We move in and kill their leaders. Then we force the survivors to join the Orlokor."
    Stunned silence greeted his words. Even Maur stared at him. He could feel Kharsh shaking his head behind his back. But he had eyes only for the Crokuk leader, who held his gaze as if mesmerized, unable to look away.
    "Why," asked the smaller warlord, "would they agree to do that?"
    "Simple," said Tharok. "I'll adopt one of their children into my own personal clan, so that they will be married into the Red River. That connection will allow our tribes to merge. And if they disagree, we will slaughter them all without mercy."
    Nakrok shook his head and looked to the others, his gaze finally settling on Kharsh. "This is madness. This is complete madness. To make Tragon into Red River? To have them join the Orlokor? This has never been done!"
    "It has been done," said Rabo, speaking for the first time. His voice was quiet and soothing, like a river passing over flat stones. "Ogri the Uniter drew all the tribes under his banner and made them one."
    "But this fool is not Ogri the Uniter. He doesn't even carry World Breaker!"
    "No," agreed Rabo. "He does not. But I