Book One – Chapter 14

Straightening, Nagrak tightened his grip on the staff, its gnarled roots writhing faintly beneath his fingers, as though alive. The faint pulse matched his own, a synchrony that steadied him. He did not falter. Keeping the cliff wall to his left, he began to walk. He followed the call, the pull of something far greater than himself.

There was no fear in him now, no doubt. The mountain’s will was absolute, and he trusted it with a faith as unyielding as stone. It was his purpose to make this will reality. He would follow where it led, and when he returned, he would not merely be an orich. He would be a master of all magic, a force to reshape destiny itself. Gorak, the orichs, the horde—they could never comprehend the enormity of what had happened here. But they would see. He would rise as the krag of all krags, the harbinger of the Era of Orks.

Unfortunately for Nagrak, the mountain did not lay out his path as straightforwardly as he believed, in the most literal sense. In daylight, the Snowtrail was treacherous. Under the Full Dark, it was a death sentence. Blind faith got him as far as a hundred faltering steps. No destiny could compensate his clumsy steps, counter his malnourished frame, and cancel out his utter lack of awareness; it was gravity that took over before any divine calling intervened.

As he began to navigate the Snowtrail with a confidence that was not entirely his own, his foot caught on a loose rock, sending him reeling forward into an unexpected dip in the terrain. As he twisted to regain balance, his ankle buckled, and a sudden, lancing pain shot up his leg. Instinctively, he clawed at the ground, his fingers scrabbling for purchase, but the snow gave way and the ground beneath was of slick ice.