Chapter 118 Steel.

Torches guttered around the great stone hall. The pit of the arena sank into the ancient masonry, cracked with the weight of ages. Crimson stones stood at intervals around the rim, glistening like blood in the smoky air.

Stands rose from the pit, filled to bursting with the seething mass of spectators, the torchlight licking among their faces as they crowded in the darkness, pushing forward to watch the spectacle taking place in the pit below.

Steel clashed.

Again.

Again.

Hard, brutal blows. The sparks lit the tusked faces of the two orc combatants. They snarled at each other, broke apart, axes low, ready as they circled, seeking an opening, their eyes squinting against the gloom of the torches.

Sweat glistened from their forms, adding to the bestial stink of the crowded underground hall. Naked from the waist up, their green hides were covered in dozens of wounds, the blood only whetting the appetite of the crowd more.

Around the ring the roar of the watching multitude thundered. Their boots beat the floor like drums. Their fists rose, pumping in the air. Brandishing gambling tickets, food, and overpriced booze.

Goblins screeched, hanging over the lip of the arena, throwing insults and occasionally rubbish at the combatants, their jaws parted, slathering with eagerness for the blood sport to reach its fever pitch.

Orcs bellowed, some with faces painted. Among them were humans, some dwarves, and more. All focused on the scene below. All howling in glee.

Meena watched it all intently.

Half hidden by the structuring of the box she reclined in, the sorceress sat languidly, her chin in her palm, her eyes lidded. Raised on a crumbling platform high above the arena, her throne was the second of two, the larger one beside her notably empty. She tried to ignore it.

Her corset did nothing to hide her slender, lovely body. Bare thighs were crossed, and many would ogle them if they dared. Braziers on either side lit her like some queen of this hellish realm.

Short black hair fanned her face as she tilted back her head, watching as the two orcs battled. Her cloak hung about her, her eyes cold and cruel, her face lovely and hard as a blade. She tapped her toe in the air, thoughtful, watchful.

Waiting.

"Rorgar will win."

She glanced idly over her shoulder. From the shadows emerged an orc big even by the standards of the brutes below. A fur cloak hung over his shoulders, clasped with a golden chain, his bare chest below was pale with dozens of scars.

His head was shadowed by a barbarous helm of horns, his eyes glinting like gimlets in the gloom. At his side was hung an axe, his leggings plated with black steel.

"Will he, Lokrar?" Meena said. "Do you think you could beat him?"

The orc warlord chuckled low and deep. "There’s not a one in this place that could best me!"

Meena knew this was true. Orcs were refreshingly simple about that. Lineage meant nothing. Same with degrees, tenure, or any other bullshit humans and other races used to sort themselves. Hierarchy was established by whoever could break the heads of everyone else. She liked that about them.

It was also what made them so handy for her purposes.

"But I might get in the arena," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. If the Horned One would come to watch."

She glanced at the larger throne beside her, empty. Black metal worked into a brutal, curling mass with two arching peaks like horns. She shifted impatiently, snorting.

"The Horned One has no time to indulge in such things," she said. "This is a matter he has entrusted to me, and I intend to fulfill it."

"Hmm..."

She gave him a sharp look. "You doubt me?" she growled, gripping the arm of her throne, magic crackling down it in an arc of green lightning.

Lokrar eyed her, unimpressed. "...No," he said. "But some may."

Meena glowered at him, then wrenched her attention back to the arena and the battle taking place. Savage brutes. But they had their uses. Let him doubt. If he challenged her, she’d show him the real reason she stood second in command of the Black Horde.

Meena licked her lips as the two combatants closed again. Her finger teased down her front and began to stroke the dark leather that masked her mons. Her breath grew deeper as arousal curled like a snake of flame in her stomach, her teeth nibbling her lower lips.

The emerald bodies battling below seemed dipped in shadows thanks to the torchlight, but she could sense the end. The final triumph.

With a sudden bellow, the orcs rushed together again. The largest swung his brutal axe down, only for his opponent to step into his guard, slamming his fist into the other orc’s face. Cartilage crunched and the warrior reeled back, blinded by pain. His foe swung his axe.

Ah.

Meena gasped softly as the orc’s head went flying. It landed in the stands, and a roar went up as the lucky recipient lifted the bloody prize into the air.

The winner grinned at the arena as his headless foe toppled. He raised his bloodied arms, seeming to soak in the roaring praise of the crowds.

Meena shifted in her seat, reclining like a contented cat. Bloodshed always made her feel better. She eyed a faint crackle of sorcery crawling in the air, gone, vanished before any might notice. She smiled in satisfaction.

"What now?" Lokrar growled.

"Hm?"

His hand landed on the top of her throne. The huge orc leaned in, the scent of sweat and musk and metal lingering around him like a haze.

Meena stirred, a shiver working through her as she met the orc’s eyes.

"Such sport won’t satisfy my orcs, Meena. We have lingered too long in the mountains. Plunder and raids await us. My warriors grow impatient. The tribes chafe against each other. We’ll be fighting ourselves soon enough."

"Are you saying you’re too weak to hold them together?" Meena said.

"No orc can stay restrained forever," he said. "Not even the Horned One himself will be able to hold them back soon."

Meena met his eyes, tension crackling between the warlord and the sorceress. At last, she scoffed, reaching over the side of her throne and fishing something out.

"No matter," she said with a wave of her hand. "They’ll not have to wait long. Plunder. Women. It will all soon be theirs."

The stone of the throne creaked under Lokrar’s grip. "When?" he growled.

Meena fished out what she’d been looking for. She unfolded the cheap paper, smirking at the front page of last week’s edition of the Morning Wood.

New Portal Technology to be Unveiled!

Testing Imminent. Transportation in the Blink of an Eye!

"Oh," Meena said, running her thumb along the inked image of a huge stone ring writ with runes. "Not long at all, I should say..."