Black Ember Tribe

At Kulan's warm invitation, Kas brought Seneya along to observe the Larona Clan's goblin hunt from beginning to end.

Although most of the clan warriors, clad in fearsome plate-and-mail armor, were uneasy at the sight of the werewolf, believing that getting close to a cursed creature would curse them too,

it seemed the other head on Kas's shoulder had done the trick. Wherever Morse Ironbone went, everyone he met clenched a fist and pounded it against their chest, paying tribute to the legendary warrior.

Their fear of the witch's curse diminished as well, and they puffed out their chests, ready to put on a flawless hunt in front of Ironbone.

Goblin hunting was also known as "catching hole rats."

Usually, an experienced warrior would lead a group of thirteen- or fourteen-year-old kids into a goblin den, where they could put the clan's tactics and skills into practice during "fierce" battles—in other words, train for war.

Kas remembered being taken to catch ground rats a few times by the War Chief. The process went something like this: the War Chief threw him into a goblin nest, then watched the show and drank nearby, not caring in the least whether the young Barbarian lived or died.

But clearly, the Larona Clan had no intention of rounding up a group of kid warriors from the tribe to show Ironbone their pathetic hole-rat-catching skills.

Every warrior from the Larona Clan who took part in the hunt wore black half-plate-and-mail armor, its surface engraved with red patterns. The air of slaughter around them had grown even more oppressive after the battle. They were the Drahok Tribe's proudest fighting force.

Drahok meant "Black Ash" in the Rishiman language. The Larona Clan's craftsmen used a special process to forge iron ore into black steel. The equipment made from it was exceptionally hard and strong, and famous throughout the Sorrow Mountains.

But that alone wasn't enough to let the Larona Clan endure for a thousand years on the brutal Iron Peak Mountain. At some point—perhaps in the time of Kas's great-great... grandfather—

a Larona Clan craftsman returning from a raid in the south discovered a terrible form of witchcraft in some abandoned southern ruins: a way to strengthen steel with blood.

It was a cruel technological advance. The lives of innocents were thrown into the furnace, black steel was infused with sacrificial blood, and ancient runes were carved into the victims' bones to forge sturdy armor that rivaled the dwarves' rune armor.

Armed with deadly weapons, the Larona Clan was among the first to join the Comet Rebellion.

In that chaotic bloodbath four hundred years ago, which left the Rishiman People severely weakened, they angered many clans in their quest for powerful sacrificial victims.

At the final judgment, they were forced to promise King Vanak that they would limit their Blood-Forged Black Steel techniques and sacrifice only southerners to the furnace.

As for the Comet Rebellion, that was a much longer story...

But the Blood-Forged Black Steel techniques had certainly shaped the Larona Clan's style. They were among the Sorrow Mountains' rare heavily armored warriors, favoring heavy weapons such as halberds, two-handed axes, and hammers.

To be honest, Kas was quite envious of the Larona Clan's cool gear. But when he thought about the crimson runes on their armor and weapons being watered with human blood, he felt a little uneasy.

The Her Tribe was gentler. We just picked up a few ironwood clubs in the forest and got to fighting.

A few minutes later, the Black Steel Warriors were ready. Their leader stood before the abandoned mine, pounding the back of his battle axe against his tower shield.

Boom, boom, boom!

The muffled sound echoed through the cavern. The goblins' shrill cries of terror pleased the grim warriors.

Before entering the mine, the shield-bearer gave Ironbone, perched on Kas's shoulder, a slight nod. He pressed his tower shield, its edges sharpened to a fine point, against the rock wall. Sparks flew as stone scraped against steel, and the sinister grinding noise sent fear spreading without end.

The dozen or so warriors behind him likewise pressed their battle axes and chains against the walls. Their rough, chaotic clamor gradually poured into the prey's ears.

Fear was a weapon too, and the Larona Clan's warriors were masters at wielding it. They could crush your spirit in all sorts of ways, smash your limbs with battle axes, then throw you into the Blood-Ash Furnace, where you would make them even stronger.

There was nothing worth mentioning about the rat-catching. The Larona Clan's way of fighting was as silent and dull as their temperament.

Walk up to the enemy, beat them until they were a bloody mess, drag them out with chains, and be done with it.

The dying goblin boys' trademark bulbous noses had been flattened by iron fists. Their once-sly, venomous red eyes were full of terror. Shackled around the neck with iron chains, they crawled out of the mine as they were dragged along.

Seneya looked a little uncomfortable. Kas could hear the faint sound of her gagging.

The stench of shit and piss clinging to the goblins made the keen-nosed werewolf feel sick.

It was still the tall warrior with the tower shield. He gripped a chain and dragged two bear goblins who looked even sturdier than he was out of the cavern.

The warrior looked over the battlefield, which had already been cleaned up. He had little interest in the dead, but their armor and weapons could be salvaged.

"I hear the voice of the herald of death. Gouge out the dead men's eyes, then tell the people of Bafri to come collect the bodies."

"Yes."

Kulan led a group of men, using daggers to remove the eyes of the dead one by one and placing them on their chests.

This was done not only to the people of the Bafri Tribe; the people of the Black Ember Tribe suffered the same treatment.

In theory, this was no torture. The tribes in the southwestern Sorrow Mountains were so devoted to war that they held Lady of Death Lagrey in the highest regard, second only to Pierce, who presided over war and courage.

Offering the dead men's eyes to the crows was a plea for Lady of Death not to leave those who had died bravely in the cold Yellow Springs. They should go to Vagha's hall or Pierce's arena, where they could enjoy good wine and keep fighting.

After feeding the crows and tallying their losses, the warrior in charge nodded at Kas, but did not remove his helmet.

This showed that he respected the Zagwell Clan, but did not consider Kas, who had not yet become a warrior, his equal.

"I am Xipel Blackheart, son of Zakli... son of Malik Axe-Breaker."

There was a hint of hostility in Blackheart's voice, a resentment hidden beneath his calm tone. Clearly, he and Malik had some unpleasant history.

"I heard your father died. Who killed him?"

"Who knows? Maybe he died in some woman's bed."

Kas's seemingly teasing joke failed to make Blackheart laugh. Beneath his black bull-horn helmet, his eyes suddenly changed, turning fierce and oppressive.

"But Kas... who was your mother? I've never heard anything about Broken Axe's wife. Perhaps I should call you Kas Broken-Leaf?"

Kas, who had been smiling flippantly just a moment before, instantly turned cold.

Broken-Leaf was a derogatory nickname for illegitimate children in the Ferode Canyon region, usually referring to the offspring of Rishiman people and slaves or southerners.

By blood, Kas could indeed be called Broken-Leaf, but there were exceptions.

For instance, the Ancestor, whose eye sockets now blazed with furious red light. His cracked skull radiated a terrifying pressure, and Blackheart's knees suddenly buckled.