“Yeah!” the other orcs shouted in unison.

Velixar turned to his disciple. “What do you suggest?” he asked.

Qurrah shrugged. “If they want land, give them land. Ulamn and his soldiers only seek to crush the established order to sow chaos. They have no interest in such claims.”

“Indeed,” Velixar said. He raised his arms to the orc masters and gestured from east to west. “All about are lands, and I give them to you. Bring your brethren in from the Vile Wedge. Swarm the northern plains with your axes! Crush the Green Castle. Burn Felwood Castle to the ground. Neldar is yours.”

“All of it?” Trummug asked.

Velixar nodded, a small smile on his face. “All of it.”

The orcs raised their weapons and cheered. Gumgog led them away, screaming for death and blood. Qurrah watched him go, strangely envious of their careless nature.

“Ulamn is prepared to move out,” Velixar said, also watching the orcs leave. “His pride is stung from his defeat. He won’t admit it, but he is pushing his troops hard. He wants surprise on his side when they invade Omn.”

“What hope do they have to stand against this army?” Qurrah asked. “Surprise will mitigate some losses, but it is no matter.”

“Forget them for now,” Velixar said. “Ulamn is not the only one with an army to raise.”

The army sworn to Karak camped opposite Thulos’s war demons. Over a thousand undead stood perfectly still, raised from the slaughtered civilians, soldiers, and unfaithful. Filling the western streets were the dark paladins’ tents, each flying a flag of the lion’s skull. In the other direction, smaller, meager tents stood for the hundreds who passed the test of faith. These new converts wandered about with bandages over their hands and gray robes given to them from the storehouses of the priests’ temple. The remaining priests of Karak bunked with them, constantly preaching Karak’s glory.