Heart of Flame

XXII. Rirk

Sorne smiled when she saw Murdak sitting with his arm around Thadash, the shaman held tight against his side. She had survived Banaak giving her an earful. It was to the tune of "What were you thinking?" repeated several times over in variation at a volume best described as thunderous. Eventually he'd stopped his rebuke, but only when he ran out of breath. As it happened, Banaak had rather a lot of breath.

Graaol chuckled. The shaman seemed older than she remembered, a little thinner as he lost his muscle to age. He still worked hard to preserve most of it, but the end of his long life was creeping up on him. "It is not as though she intended it."

Banaak just grunted before looking at Áshildr. "If you're going to be part of the tribe, I suggest you talk to Murdak. He's goth around here."

"I have a goth already," Áshildr said calmly. "Sorne Fire-Heart."

Banaak sighed and ran his hand over his head. "I don't like it," he said. "I don't believe Sorne's ready to be a goth and you're a damn fool for following her like this, but I can't stop you."

Sorne wasn't going to argue, considering she'd had the same thought countless times on their journey home. "What happened to Rirk?" she asked.

"Kor patched him up, he made it through the rites. Murdak's been putting him through hell, but he's njoshari now. And angry as hell at you," Banaak rumbled. "You'd best watch your back, Sorne, or meet it head on. And this time, keep Khagra the hell out of it."

"How is Khagra?" Sorne said softly.

"Worse," Banaak said. "The rages are getting more and more frequent. Mercifully, they've all been close to Kor, who can drug her into calm. Right now she's out hunting with Zajar. Murdak sent for Dunak, a friend of their father's. His dragon is Zajar's sire. Supposedly Dunak is some kind of monk, one capable of maybe teaching Khagra how to control her rage. But his home is far to the east. It means that she will be leaving us, and I am not certain how long it will be before she returns. Should she choose to."

"Ash Kordh is her home. I can't imagine her staying away forever," Sorne said. At least, that was what she hoped. "When is Dunak coming to get her?"

"He should be here next week or so, if he flies as fast as he's able. Dragons don't have to follow the course of road or river," Banaak said as he sat down on a stump usually used to balance wood for splitting on. They were in the great courtyard of Throkk, the paving stones cracked and weathered. Grass grew up between them, though not far. There was enough foot traffic to keep the plant life small. It was busy, a group of traders staying in the square itself and hawking their wares. Orcs had little use for money, but they very much believed in barter. Sorne's tribe had weapons and furs that could make merchants money further east and south. Most of the traders were wildlings who knew enough of the more southern languages to trade in the upper reaches of Talin. Genev was far more unfriendly.

"I see an angry orc approaching," Áshildr said. "With a sword."

"Rirk," Sorne said grimly. "I suppose he hasn't learned his lesson." She had been leaning on her spear and Hjorr's shield was slung across her back. If he wanted a fight, she was prepared for it. Sorne took a breath and started Unshiir, finding the beat and locking it immediately. She still hadn't learned to weave chants, but she locked Khashin too. Weaving allowed two or more chants to behave as if they were a single one, reducing the energy drain substantially. However, her reserves were vast enough that she didn't mind just locking the two separately.

"Shall I teach him a lesson for you?" Áshildr asked. She'd set down her shield and spear, but her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. "It need not be a long one. I was thinking something short and permanent."