The next few days were hard on Wolf Rock. The palisade and moat had to be cleared of the spell’s magical residue, and the fortifications required immediate rebuilding. Then there was the issue of the dead. Funeral ceremonies dragged on from dawn until late afternoon. By dusk, almost no one ventured outside the walls.
They burned and buried their own according to the rites. The enemies, however, were stripped of anything useful and abandoned in a heaping mound beyond the moat. With the sheer volume of carcasses and the necessity of tending to their own kin first, there was no time to burn the invaders. This attracted herds of scavengers from miles around, who feasted on the macabre mountain of flesh by night.
Voracious ghouls and worse, nameless monsters that feed on carrion, were a plague in the Great Marches. In normal times, Urg’hur’s warriors ensured they didn't run rampant, but the Chieftain decided not to waste resources fighting them now. They would be dealt with once the stronghold was secure. So, every night, wailing, howling, and the sound of cracking bones drifted to the guards on the palisade and the nearby homesteads. The cacophony grew louder each day as the scavengers multiplied, until a week later, only bones and scraps remained for birds and rats to feast on.
Urg’hur sent his son away with the Riverbend warriors who had aided in the defense. He extracted a vow from Ner’hur. His son was to choose a wife in accordance with the promise Urg’hur had given his allies and settle on a ceremony date that suited them. He sent him off with gifts and a small escort. Ner’hur did not complain; without enthusiasm, but with obedience, he fulfilled his father's expectations and set off for the allied settlement.
In his absence, refugees from the conquered Blood Oak clan began to trickle in. First came lone survivors who had fled into the wild after their loss to the Crescent Moon clan. Then came larger groups, drawn by the news of the invaders' defeat. A conquered clan had few options: pay a tribute of blood and sweat as inferior orcs, barely ranking higher than goblins; vanish into the wilderness to live as bandits; or join their invader's enemy and seek revenge. The newcomers smelled an opportunity for the latter.
Urg’hur accepted these refugees but placed a stark choice before them. The ancestors had clearly turned their backs on them, condemning them to wander. They could join Wolf Rock and swear loyalty, or they could refuse and try their luck elsewhere—he would force no one, even offering provisions for the road. The true allure of the offer, however, was equality: in Wolf Rock, those who joined—like Gra’sha’s mother—were subject to the same laws and privileges as those born into the clan. Many accepted. The rest moved on to Riverbend. In this way, Wolf Rock gained nearly a hundred new pairs of hands for work and defense.
The day was ending. Urg’hur, having received the oath from the last arrivals in his main hall, intended to eat and retire. But as he prepared to stand, he noticed his advisor lingering, clearly wishing to discuss something. Urg’hur settled back into his armchair and, with a grunt of dissatisfaction, signaled him to speak.
"There remains one more matter, Chieftain," the middle-aged orc began, lowering his voice though they were alone. Though formally of the warrior caste, the chieftain valued him for his ability to read the clan's mood and maintain internal order, not battle prowess.
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Urg’hur gave him a pointed look. Get to it.
"While we commanded the defense from the rear, at the front... it was not your son, nor any of our veterans who distinguished themselves most," the advisor said, leaning over the table. "It was a young warrior named Gra’sha. Many, especially the youth who held the front line, speak of her feats. Rumor has it—likely exaggerated, of course—that the ogres were defeated only thanks to her."
The Chieftain grimaced, having hoped his son would shine in the hour of trial. But he quickly composed his face. "So, this youngling... we must simply reward her appropriately. What is the problem?"
"We suffered heavy losses, Chieftain. Around her, one could say, a movement is forming. The son of Gar’zak reported that her supporters accosted him. That was even before the siege."
"Did they break any of his bones? Maim him?"
"No. Fortunately, only his pride suffered. But her supporters are numerous now, especially among the young warriors who have been starved of honors. They will expect the ancestors know what."
"If we appreciate her too much, the veterans will feel the whelp skipped the line," Urg’hur mused, "and her admirers will see it as a sign that she is truly favored. If we do too little, the veterans will be content, but the youth will see it as a breach of our ways—proof that even for heroic defense, new blood cannot count on advancement."
"I couldn't have put it better," the advisor concurred.
"What do you advise?"
"You promised Riverbend a unit to protect their merchants. Let her lead it. Give her a handful of her most ardent supporters and send her into the field. To the veterans, I will frame this as a lowly task, almost an exile. To her and her followers, it will be presented as an honorable promotion, a sign of your trust. She won't be in plain sight, and the fervor will die down."
Urg’hur sighed. "I would prefer to simply give her a handful of gilded cubes and keep her close. Times are coming when ogre-slayers, regardless of position, will be needed by me. And later by my son."
"With all due respect, Chieftain... we lost half our warriors. The veterans are uncertain of the future, and the young blood scents an opportunity for a new order. We do not want a figure other than your son for them to rally around." The advisor lowered his gaze, embarrassed but firm.
Urg’hur understood. Strength still held to him, but he wouldn't live forever. To avoid a power struggle, he had to ensure Ner’hur’s position. The veterans guaranteed this, but at a price: the choicest cuts of power went to those who supported the succession.
He himself had won the chieftainship by popular vote, despite no blood relation to his predecessor; his battle fame and the taming of the dire wolves had elevated him. He knew exactly how dangerous popularity could be.
He rubbed his temples. "When everything calms down, and she hardens herself in this new role, ensure she becomes a supporter of Ner’hur. He will need the likes of her in the future. But for now... assemble this new unit."
"Of course, Chieftain! I will see to everything," the advisor declared with enthusiasm. He bowed deeply and left, leaving Urg’hur with the bitter aftertaste of compromise.
