“The king commands more respect than he gives.” Anonymous diplomat describing King Roland Brass II of Valois.

Garassk watched from the battlements as the castle’s garrison was taken out to the courtyard and forced to wait for Morgwar to attend to them. Rathorn, having arrived once the fighting had stopped, stood beside him. Garassk saw the fear in the men’s eyes as they stood waiting. The fear got worse once Morgwar approached them.

“You fought well,” the orc growled in a low voice. “But you failed to keep the castle. What’s worse you were fighting against me! I have no tolerance for anyone standing in my way. But you can redeem yourselves. Tell me what Hrogvorth is doing, and I will see to it that you have your glory.”

Everyone shifted a little, but nobody dared to speak up.

“No one?” Morgwar asked, scanning the crowd. “Such a pity. A good king could use good soldiers, and the gods would surely value your services. But it doesn’t look like any of you will fall in battle. No. You’ll die after. No weapons in hand. No signs of courage. Your next life will be cold and cruel. Crueler than anything I could ever do to you.”

“Wait!” a voice shouted out in the crowd. The air went cold.

“Yes?” Morgwar asked, turning toward the sound.

“I know what he plans,” one human said, rising to his feet. “Hrogvorth set sail for The Isle of Bones in search of the Crown of Tusks.”

“The Isle of Bones?!” Morgwar bellowed.

“I swear on my life!” the man cried out. “I overheard him say it! He was sure he could get it!”

“That bastard,” Morgwar muttered. “We were supposed to do that together!”

“What are you talking about?” Garassk asked, but Morgwar wasn’t listening.

“What’s your name, soldier?” the orc called out.

“Bjorn Gunnarson, sir,” the man replied.

“Well done,” Morgwar said. “You’ll be remembered for this.”

“Sir?” one of his own soldiers asked.

“Get a longship ready,” he ordered. “We have a difficult journey ahead of us.”

The man nodded and hurried to carry out the order. Garassk looked at the soldiers. All of them were glaring at Bjorn.

“Bjorn, step forward,” Morgwar commanded. Several of Morgwar’s guards escorted Bjorn to the castle walls. He walked up to them with the confidence of a man who had charmed the woman of his dreams. When he arrived next to Morgwar, the orc turned to the other soldiers.

“Execute the others,” he ordered his troops. The men drew their weapons and descended upon their prisoners with savage glee. No respect or efficiency was on display in the butchering of Hrogvorth’s men. Garassk turned away in disgust, and saw a similar look of distaste on Thora’s face. The killing was over in seconds, but the screams of the prisoners and the scent of death still lingered in the air when it was all over. Garassk tensed and gritted his teeth.

“Now then,” Morgwar said, prompting Garassk to turn back to see him turning towards Bjorn. “You’ve seen what happened to the soldiers, Bjorn.”

“I… did,” the man said. Garassk thought he could hear a slight hint of fear in his voice. Or maybe it was relief that he had avoided sharing their fate. Morgwar turned around and sighed before speaking again.

“They fought for their jarl. They died for him,” Morgwar spun toward Bjorn and struck his abdomen, causing the man to gasp. “Which is more than can be said of you, traitor!”

He lifted the wounded Bjorn over his head and tossed him down from the walls. A brutal crunch followed a scream, and the combination of those sounds would haunt Garassk’s sleep for years to come.

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“Now that that’s taken care of,” Morgwar huffed. “We have an island to sail to.”

“So what exactly are we looking for?” Garassk asked. “Some sort of crown?”

“The Crown of Tusks,” Morgwar answered. “In times past, orc kings ruled over this entire land from an island at the center of this land now called the Isle of Bones. The crown is the most noteworthy relic of their reign, and long thought to be lost. There are few reasons to venture to that wretched land. But the crown? That is the best reason of all.”

“I’m guessing that it looks like a collection of orc tusks?” Garassk asked, shuddering at the thought.

“It doesn’t look like tusks. It was made from them,” Morgwar replied. “It was first created after a great war among many orc kings. The last one standing tore out the tusks of the losers, and made a crown from them. If you believe the stories.”

“I suppose there are worse ways to celebrate your victories,” Garassk said. “I can’t think of them, but I’m sure there are worse ways.”

“If we don’t hurry, you’ll find out how I deal with a loss,” Morgwar growled. “Captain!”

“Sir?” one of the soldiers said, saluting.

“You are in charge of this castle until I get back. Make sure that it’s fortified until then. Rally the thralls, and make sure that they around here work twice as hard. Put anyone to the sword who refuses.”

“It will be done, sire,” the man said.

“And as for you,” Morgwar growled, turning to Garassk. “Get to the boat.”

He stormed off, leaving Garassk and the others to follow him. The trip to the ship was tense, but mercifully short. A small group of soldiers was fumbling with a serpentine boat as they drew near the coast.

“Are we ready for sailing?” Morgwar asked, causing them to jump.

“Yes, my lord,” one of the soldiers said.

“Good. Then let’s get moving.”

Garassk watched as everyone got on the ship. Once it became clear that he had to join them, he sauntered over and climbed up onto the deck. Morgwar watched everyone board the ship before beckoning the varanians to come over as soon as everyone was on board.

“Do you have any experiences rowing?” he asked as they walked up to him.

“Not really,” Garassk replied, passing by Thora. “We prefer to swim. But this water is probably too cold for that.”

“Then stay out of everyone else’s way,” the orc growled before turning to everyone else on the deck. “Set sail for the Isle of Bones!”

The crew shifted uncomfortably for a moment before grabbing the oars and carrying out their jarl’s command.

The journey to the Isle of Bones was an uneasy one. Waves pushed the ship in every direction, and Garassk struggled to keep his cool. Morgwar stood at the very edge of the boat, glowering at his soldiers. Garassk looked beyond them, hoping to spot land. All he saw were darkening clouds, rising waves and the occasional bird flying overhead. Tension bubbled inside him for the entire journey.

“So I heard you say that you and Hrogvorth were supposed to do this together,” Rathorn said to break the silence. “What was that about?”

“We had a truce,” Morgwar grunted. “We intended to travel here together to find the crown and possibly some other artifacts that could prove that we’d been there. The Isle of Bones is believed to be a cursed land, and getting in and out alive would be sure to strike fear into other claimants for the throne.”

“Until you two inevitably fight amongst yourselves,” Garassk muttered.

“You say something?” Morgwar snarled, turning toward the younger varanian.

“Nothing important,” Garassk said.

“I believe that things that are important need be said once, and everything else needn’t be said at all,” the orc growled.

“Sorry, what was that?” Garassk asked.

“How attached are you to this impudent creature?” Morgwar asked Rathorn. “I’m in the mood to decorate my castle with some heads on spikes.”

“Best get them from somewhere else, or you’ll get nothing more from me,” Rathorn growled.

“Anyway, you seem to know a lot about Hrogvorth. Do you know each other?” Garassk asked.

“We’re cousins,” the orc snorted.

“Cousins? This is a family dispute?” Garassk tilted his head.

“It’s a fight for a crown, and nothing more,” Morgwar replied. “We were never close. No point in dwelling on it.”

Garassk spotted land in the distance. More tellingly, a similar looking longship hugged the land nearby, and smaller ships were nearby.

“Excellent,” the orc said. “Bring us in close, men.”

The ship picked up the pace, causing Garassk to stagger a bit. Arriving was no better. The ship crashed into the surface. Rathorn and Morgwar somehow didn’t even budge, but Garassk went right to his knees.

“We’ve finally arrived,” Morgwar said, moving to step off the boat. “Get your weapons, men. This is the most important battle of my reign.”