“We are fresh from victory in the Moonwood!” Toogwik Tuk proclaimed, and every orc along the eastern reaches of Obould’s fledgling kingdom knew well that hated place. Thus, predictably, a great cheer greeted the news.

“All hail Chieftain Grguch of Clan Karuck!” Toogwik Tuk proclaimed, and that was met with an uncomfortable pause until he added, “For the glory of King Obould!”

Toogwik Tuk glanced back to Grguch, who nodded his agreement, and the young shaman started the chant, “Grguch! Obould! Grguch! Obould! Grguch! Grguch! Grguch!”

All of Clan Karuck fell in quickly with the cadence, as did the orcs who had already joined in with the march, and the villagers’ doubts were quickly overwhelmed.

“As Obould before him, Chieftain Grguch will bring the judgment of Gruumsh upon our enemies!” Toogwik Tuk cried, running through the mob and whipping them into frenzy. “The snow retreats, and we advance!” With every glorious proclamation, he took care to add, “For the glory of Obould! By the power of Grguch!”

Toogwik Tuk understood well the weight that had settled on his shoulders. Dnark and Ung-thol had departed for the west to meet with Obould regarding the new developments, and it fell squarely upon Toogwik Tuk to facilitate Grguch’s determined march to the south. Clan Karuck alone would not stand against Obould and his thousands, obviously, but if Clan Karuck carried along with them the orc warriors from the dozen villages lining the Surbrin, their arrival on the field north of King Bruenor’s fortifications would carry great import—enough, so the conspirators hoped, to coerce the involvement of the army Obould had likely already positioned there.

That sort of rabble rousing had been Toogwik Tuk’s signature for years. His rise through the ranks to become the chief shaman of his tribe—almost all of whom were dead, crushed in the mysterious, devastating explosion of a mountain ridge north of Keeper’s Dale—had been expedited by precisely that talent. He knew well how to manipulate the emotions of the peasant orcs, to conflate their present loyalties with what he wanted their loyalties to be. Every time he mentioned Obould, he was quick to add the name Grguch. Every time he spoke of Gruumsh, he was quick to add the name of Grguch. Mingle them, say them together enough times so that his audience would unwittingly add “Grguch” whenever they heard the names of the other two.

His energy again proved infectious, and he soon had all of the villagers hopping about and chanting with him, always for the glory of Obould, and always by the power of Grguch.

Those two names needed to be intimately linked, the three conspirators had decided before Dnark and Ung-thol had departed. To even hint against Obould after such dramatic and sweeping victories as the orc king had brought would have spelled a fast end to the coup. Even considering the disastrous attempt to enter Mithral Hall’s western gate, or the loss of the eastern ground between the dwarven halls and the Surbrin, or the stall throughout winter and the whispers that it might be longer than that, the vast majority of orcs spoke of Obould in the hushed tones usually reserved for Gruumsh himself. But Toogwik Tuk and two companions planned to move the tribes to oppose their king, one baby-step at a time.

“By the power of Grguch!” Toogwik Tuk cried again, and before the cheer could erupt, he added, “Will the dwarven wall hold against a warrior who burned the Moonwood?”

Though he expected a cheer, Toogwik Tuk was answered with looks of suspicion and confusion.

“The dwarves will flee before us,” the shaman promised. “Into their hole they will run, and we will control the Surbrin for King Obould! For the glory of King Obould!” he finished, screaming with all his power.

The orcs around him cheered wildly, insanely.

“By the power of Grguch!” the not-quite-so-out-of-control Toogwik Tuk cleverly added, and many of the villagers, so used to the chant by then, shouted the words right along beside him.

Toogwik Tuk glanced back at Chieftain Grguch, who wore a most satisfied grin.

Another step taken, Toogwik Tuk knew.

Taking many offered supplies, Clan Karuck soon resumed their march, and a new pennant flew among the many in the mob behind them, and another forty warriors eagerly melded into Chieftain Grguch’s trailing ranks. With several larger villages before them, both the chieftain and his shaman spokesman expected that they would number in the thousands when they at last reached the dwarven wall.

Toogwik Tuk held faith that when they smashed that wall, the cries for Grguch would be louder than those for Obould. The next cheers he led would hold fewer references to the glory of Obould and more to the glory of Gruumsh. But he would not lessen the number of his claims that all of it was being wrought by the power of Grguch.

Jack could see that the sprout of hair on one side of Hakuun’s misshapen, wart-covered nose tingled with nervous energy as he walked out from the main host, among dark pines and broken fir trees.

“By sprockets and elemental essences, that was exciting, wasn’t it?”

The orc shaman froze in place at the all-too-familiar voice, composed himself with a deep breath that greatly flared his nostrils, and slowly turned to regard a curious little humanoid in brilliant purple robes sitting on a low branch, swinging his feet back and forth like a carefree child. The form was new to Hakuun. Oh, he knew what a gnome was, indeed, but he had never seen Jaculi in that state before.

“That young priest is so full of spirit,” Jack said. “I almost walked out and joined in with Grguch myself! Oh, what a grand march they have planned!”

“I didn’t ask you to come up here,” Hakuun remarked.

“Did you not?” said Jack, and he hopped down from the tree and brushed the twigs from his fabulous robes. “Tell me, Shaman of Clan Karuck, what am I to think when I peer out from my work to find that the one to whom I have bestowed such great gifts has run off?”

“I did not run off,” Hakuun insisted, trying to keep his voice steady, though he was visibly near panic. “Often does Clan Karuck go hunting.”

Hakuun gave ground as the gnome walked up to him. Jack continued to advance as Hakuun retreated.

“But this was no ordinary excursion.”

Hakuun looked at Jack with dull curiosity, obviously not understanding him.

“No ordinary hunt,” Jack explained.

“I have told you.”

“Of Obould, yes, and of his thousands,” said Jack. “A bit of mischief and a bit of loot to be found, so you said. But it is more than that, is it not?”

Again Hakuun wore a puzzled expression.

Jack snapped his stubby fingers in the air and whirled away. “Do you not feel it, shaman?” he asked, his voice full of excitement. “Do you not recognize that this is no ordinary hunt?”

Jack spun back on Hakuun to measure his response, and still he saw that the shaman wasn’t quite catching on. For Jack, so perceptive and cunning, had deduced the subtext of Toogwik Tuk’s speech, and the implications it offered.

“Perhaps it is just my own suspicion,” the gnome said, “but you must tell me all that you know. Then we should speak with that spirited young priest.”

“I have told you…” Hakuun protested. His voiced trailed off and he retreated a step, knowing what awful thing was about to befall him.

“No, I mean that you must tell me everything,” Jack said, all humor gone from his voice and his expression as he took a step toward the shaman. Hakuun shrank back, but that only made Jack stride more purposefully.

“Ah, you do forget,” the gnome said as he closed the gap. “All that I have done for you, and so little have I asked in return. With great power, Hakuun, comes great expectations.”

“There is nothing more,” the shaman started to plead, and he held up his hands.