Mountain Eater
Andy Smillie

	The beast emerged into the light and screamed. It was an ugly thing, a creature meant for dark places, for the deep earth, not the radiance of the sun. It screwed its eyes shut, smothering them with malformed claws and fracturing a bone in its left cheek in a vain attempt to kill the pain. Still the world was too bright. Cowed, it stumbled back into the caves where it had spent its miserable life. The soothing darkness returned and it uncovered its face. Crouching, it watched the wind whip icy wash past the threshold of the cave. The baleful sun reflected off the white landscape. 
	The beast turned its back on the outside and looked down at the mangled ogre carcasses strewn around the cavern. Licking its lips, it remembered raking open their bloated bellies, exposing the juicy innards within. It ripped a piece of cloth off the leg of the nearest corpse and tied the blood-soaked rag tightly around its head. In utter darkness the beast settled. 
	With the absence of pain, the flesh hunger returned. Its heart beat faster as the beast remembered the carnage, its flesh sickly wet, rimed in the ogre’s blood, the sour tang of gnoblar flesh wedged between its teeth. Its mouth twisted into a horrible parody of a smile. The worthless creature was little more than a morsel. Biting through its tiny ribcage was easy. Its head had cracked like an egg in the beast’s mouth, hot juices flooding its palate. 
	The wind growled into the cave, disturbing the beast’s remembrance. It carried the same message, the one it had whispered to the gorger for days. Somewhere, up in the mountain where the ice was thick, there was more meat, more blood. 
	It needed only to climb. 
	Darhur cupped a hand over his brow, squinting as he tried to see the cave mouth. Fierce crosswinds blustered around him, tossing a deluge of gritty snow into his face. He snarled. The hunter could just make out an entrance, a dark spot at the foot of the mountain. Darhur gauged the distance. It was maybe a few hundred paces away. 
	‘Snikkit…’ Darhur growled at an ageing gnoblar struggling through the snow in the hunter’s wake. The diminutive creature immediately shrank further into the bear pelt heaped around his tiny shoulders. The ogre snarled. ‘Take a look.’ 
	Snikkit opened his mouth to protest, when a muscled feline beast idled up beside him and silently bared its massive incisors.
	For a sabretusk, Golg’s persuasive powers were surprisingly restrained. 
	‘Yes boss, right away boss.’ Snikkit held up his hands in a vain effort to ward off Darhur’s beast, a mixture of cold and fear turning his green skin grey.
	‘And take those other two with you,’ Darhur gestured to Brija and Najkit. He hadn’t survived his years in exile by being reckless. Gnoblars were little good if you couldn’t use them as bait. Watching the three ease their way towards the cavern, Darhur ran his leathern hand through Golg’s coat. ‘Don’t you worry. You can eat ’em later.’
	Najkit kept his distance from the other gnoblars. If there was a gorger in the cave, he wasn’t getting eaten by it. Well, at least not before that idiot Brija. Najkit shook his head as Brija shuffled past him, mumbling gibberish as he tried to lick the snow off his knife.
	Snikkit dug his hands into his pockets. Shiny things were hidden within that not even Darhur knew about. They were secrets, precious loot for Snikkit, and Snikkit alone. A pity they couldn’t carry a fire or a broth-filled cauldron. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he was hungry. Then he shivered. It was freezing too. He hated the mountains, and had been perfectly happy hunting idiot humans in the lowlands. Darhur must have angered the Great Maw when he killed Skarg Backbreaker and earned banishment from the tribe. Tyrant Grut Face Eater favoured his Ironguts above all, save his own bloated gut. Famously, the Tyrant had proclaimed that he would only eat one of his precious bodyguard if the cooking pots were empty and all else had been consumed. Snikkit cursed his luck, regretting the decision to throw in his lot with the hunter. A butcher’s pot would have been preferable to this slow freezing death. It irked him to be punished for Darhur’s pride. The wind rumbled around in the cave mouth and coughed back out, arresting Snikkit’s wallowing. Fishing his best shrapnel from his pocket, he loaded his favourite sling and approached the entrance. He shuffled inside, flanked by Brija and Najkit, eyes struggling to adjust after the glaring white of the outside. 
	‘Watcha sees?’ Najkit whispered.
	‘Nuffin yet.’ Snikkit kept his eyes fixed on the gloom in front of him. Slowly, the features of the cave resolved through the darkness. Stalagmites colonised the ceiling, several larger ones protruding like talons above his head. The cavern walls were pitted and irregular, as though hewn from the rock of the mountain by giant fists. Snikkit trembled as he thought about the mighty storm giants that once roamed these benighted crags. He took a cautious few steps forwards… the gnoblar let out a grunt of pain as his head struck the ground. 
	He’d slipped on something.
	‘You alive?’ Not waiting for a reply, Najkit threw his knife in Snikkit’s direction.
	‘Wotch it!’ The grubby blade missed Snikkit’s scalp by inches and clattered next to him. ‘Sumthin’ on the floor.’ He sat up, rubbing his head and a small cut above his eye, which had already frozen closed. Snikkit ran his palm over the ground where he’d lost his footing. Peering through the darkness, he saw why. He followed the glint of the blood-ice to a pile of mangled bodies. He was already getting to his feet, backing away from the slaughter. 
	Ogres. Dead ogres. Lots of them. 
	‘We shud get da boss.’ Snikkit turned to Brija. He had no desire to be back out in the wind and urged the idiot to go instead. ‘I keep watch.’ 
	Brija though, took no notice, engrossed in trying to prise a knife off his tongue.
	Snikkit hoped he’d cut it off, at least then they’d have something to eat.
	‘I go.’ Najkit was a particularly selfish creature, not given to helping anything or anyone but himself. Survival dictated leaving the warmth of the cave, one that a gorger had only recently made into its lair. Even if the monster was gone, there was bound to be more of them lurking somewhere nearby drawn to the smell of blood, and Najkit wasn’t about to be next on the menu. 
	The torch flickered in the darkness, casting strange shadows on the walls. Monstrous shapes appeared in the half light: the mastodon of Kruk’s Peak, Gutslaab the slave giant and the winged fiend of Harrowing Crags. Darhur had killed them all and devoured their strength. He held the torch aloft, relishing the warmth of its flames as he followed Najkit further into the cavern. 
	‘Hurry up,’ Darhur snarled, kicking Najkit in the back to make his point, ‘or it’s somethin’ sharper than my boot next time.’ 
	Najkit muttered a curse under his breath, thinking about all the soft places he could stab Darhur with his knife when next the ogre hunter slept, and headed to where he’d left Snikkit and Brija. Unless, he thought, the gorger had returned and… 
	Najkit smiled. If the beast was feasting, Darhur could sneak up and kill it. He could rummage through what was left, the sinew and the grease, for Snikkit’s lovely coat. Just imagining this grim turn of events made Najkit feel warmer. But then again, what if… 
	Picking up the pace, the gnoblar drew his knife and prayed the others were already food.
	‘Boss, boss. Over ’ere,’ Snikkit waved Darhur over and let out a sigh of relief. The ogre was a welcome sight. Snikkit was mostly sure that whatever dangers lurked in the mountains, Darhur would kill them before they could eat him. 
	Darhur ignored the creature and swung the torch low over three ogre corpses. The bodies were dumped one on top of the other, the way Darhur discarded the legs of cave pheasant when he’d picked clean the meat. They’d been dead a good while but the cold had slowed decomposition. A deep incision to their abdomens had killed them. Darhur bared his teeth in anger. The beast had savaged then bled them – they had all died in pain. The bodies were top heavy, their guts and thighs devoid of meat while the tougher gristle around their shoulders and arms had been left almost untouched. A blood trail ran further back into the cavern. There was no spatter on the walls and none of the damage to the stalagmites above that he’d have expected from a fight. The ogres hadn’t died here. 
	The hunter turned over the remains with his foot, stopping when he saw a cracked gut plate. It was badly mangled and studded with claw and teeth marks but the glyph was unmistakable – Wallcrusher Tribe. Darhur shivered, though not from cold, only too aware that he’d suffer the same fate should he fail to slay the beast. Grut Face Eater had no sympathy for weaklings who let a dirty gorger eat them. He’d sent Darhur after the gorger because it’d eaten something else, something that did matter. Darhur sifted more carefully through the viscera and was rewarded with a small fragment of green rock. It belonged to Grut’s personal gnoblar, Sneejit. The tyrant thought it turned Sneejit into some sort of lucky charm. Darhur thought it made the irritating little creature more so. He was almost sorry he was going to have to kill this beast.
	‘Golg.’ Darhur bent down and picked up a handful of ragged cloth, holding it out for the sabretusk. 
	Golg padded over to the hunter. Burying its snout in the bloodied rags, it took a long sniff, filling its nostrils with the stench of sweat, piss and blood. Its heart quickened at the familiar scents. Sneering as it caught the faintest tang of unwashed gnoblar, Golg turned to Snikkit and growled. 
	‘Eh, boss…’ Panicked, Snikkit hid behind Brija. The idiot gnoblar was blissfully unaware of the drooling sabretusk, fretting at his flayed tongue. Excising the knife had cost him at least one layer of flesh.
	‘Not now.’ Darhur cuffed Golg on the back of the head. Stooping, he pulled a large bone from the half-eaten feast. The hunter turned the femur over in his hand. It had been picked clean, scoured by a tongue so coarse that it had been left unnaturally smooth. Darhur grunted and tossed the bone to Golg. Catching it in his powerful jaws, the sabretusk devoured it, crunching and swallowing without pause. 
	Darhur snarled. His muscles bunched in anticipation of the fight to come. ‘Find the gorger.’
	Weakness was not something Darhur was accustomed too. But this was a foe he could neither crush with a hammer nor skewer with a spear. It was the mountain. It was the earth, and the peaks of endless ice. He braced himself against a large boulder, drawing reassurance from its solidity. This high up, the air was whisker thin. Every breath came quick and shallow, his lungs struggling to feed oxygen to his massive frame. Darhur regarded the mountain. It soared past the limits of his vision, stabbing into the lifeless grey of the sky and disappearing into ugly cloud. He hoped the gorger hadn’t climbed much farther. Darhur had crested Gut Spire, the highest peak roamed by none but the thickest skinned mammoths. Not even the cantankerous mountain carrion circled overhead, their nests confined to lower aeries. Darhur wondered what could have driven the beast onwards into the unknown mists. Even layered in thick hides and pelts, the hunter’s skin was cracked and raw. A dozen times during the ascent, he’d been forced to stop and beat blood back into his aching muscles. He was amazed that the naked gorger, wiry and without a hardy gut, had not simply died from exposure. Truly, it was a resilient beast and worthy of his hammer. Golg growled from up ahead, urging his master to continue. 
	Darhur summoned the strength to bark at his companion, ‘Take us the right way this time.’
	More than once he’d followed the sabretusk to a dead end, the gorger’s trail suddenly swallowed up by the wind and snow. The beast was seemingly a wraith, a figment of Darhur’s fevered imagination given form and allowed to wander the frozen passes of the desolate upper peaks. Even doubling back, they’d found it almost impossible to get their bearings again, as though the mountain itself was trying to waylay them. Passages that had been open were suddenly closed, crags had become denser and caves disappeared only to re-emerge elsewhere. 
	Darhur knew such things were impossible. Mountains were like the ogre tribes, permanent and unchanging except in the face of cast-iron might. The hunter crushed his suspicions, disregarding them as inane fantasies of his cold-numbed mind. Pulling the pelt tighter around his shoulders, he pushed his feet onwards through the thickening snow. The wind picked up, its blustering howl joined by the faint rumble of thunder from farther up the mountain. Darhur could barely see the ground beneath him anymore. One wrong step and he’d plummet over the edge into ignominious death and oblivion. A jag of lightning tore across the sky, opening a great wound that speared freezing hail down onto the hunter. Chunks of ice the size of fists battered his weary body. 
	‘Maw!’ Darhur cried out in defiance. A shard bit into his arm as he tried to shield his face from the sudden storm. Another cut his forehead, but the blood was like ice. It hammered into his broad back. It slashed his cheek and he roared, but the elements could not be silenced by his anger. It was as if the very mountain wanted to deny him his prey.
	Numb with fatigue, Darhur’s legs gave out. Crawling on all fours, he eked out a few more feet before grinding to a halt. His resolve broken, the hunter lay in the snow, letting the relentless storm batter him. Slowly, he was swathed in a film of white, invisible against the winter landscape. He should have been angry, furious that he would die in frozen shame, but the fire in his belly had cooled with the long climb. The mountain had defeated him after all. 
	Pain stabbed through Darhur’s shoulder, stirring him from his sorrow. Then he was moving, jerking over the rough ground. Something was dragging him. The hunter’s instincts kicked in in an instant, his mind conjuring images of the fell beast that sought to haul him to its lair and make a meal of his flesh. Fumbling for his hammer, Darhur struggled to see beyond the snow that cascaded over his face. Straining, he glimpsed Golg. The sabretusk’s jaws were clamped around his shoulder. Wincing, Darhur swung his arm up and slapped an open palm against the sabretusk’s head. Growling, the beast let him go. The hunter got to his feet, swearing that he would wring the upstart feline’s neck. Withdrawing, Golg dropped onto his rear legs and waited until the ogre was almost within arm’s reach before skulking behind a bowed rock that concealed the path ahead. Darhur growled in annoyance, rolled his shoulder loose and strode after the impudent beast. 
	The hunter emerged onto a ledge that had been obscured from view. Thrashing winds tested his balance as he advanced to find Golg waiting for him in the lee of a cave. He let out a rasping laugh as he staggered into the cavern and slumped to the floor. Pulling his legs in against his chest, the hunter fought to rid the chill from his bones, massaging blood back into his arms. Golg dropped down next to him, bowing his head. Darhur considered striking the beast for its insolence but instead moved closer to the sabretusk, eager to share the heat from its pelt. The three gnoblars shivered in moments later, stood almost shoulder to shoulder in a huddle. Darhur snorted. He’d forgotten about them.
	‘Make sure there’s nothin’ back there,’ Darhur snapped, the layer of frost riming his eye lids hindering his ability to see in the gloom of the cave. 
	Snikkit took a few cautious steps towards the back of the cavern, silently wondering how long it’d be before Darhur or Golg got hungry enough to eat him. Brija was beside him, muttering nonsense between chatters of his gnarled teeth. 
	‘I’s watch front,’ Najkit took a swig from his flask and sat down opposite Golg. He wanted to keep the sabretusk where he could see it. 
	Snikkit muttered a curse and turned his attention to the cave. He wasn’t afraid, just desperate to do as he was told and then get some sleep away from Brija. The ceiling was irregular, sloping down and then suddenly reaching up into the mountain. The ground was wet where the freezing cataracts from above had pooled. Snikkit sniffed the air – it was fresher than the choking grit of the blizzard, and there was something else…
	‘’Ere, ’ere,’ Brija had wandered ahead and was pointing at what looked to Snikkit like a pile of rocks.
	On closer inspection, the rocks turned out to be bones. Snikkit kicked a few of them, the way he’d seen Darhur kick a body to see if it was still breathing. ‘Ain’t nuffin but bones ’ere boss,’ he called to Darhur, ‘Sum animal musta crawled in an’ died.’
	The hunter was only half listening, his exhausted body beginning to slip into the great sleep, his mind already dreaming. 
	In his delirium, Darhur saw Skarg, laughing as Golg lost an eye to the irongut’s upstart gnoblar. He relived the moment that his hammer had crashed through Skarg’s gutplate to pulverise his organs, his ironshod boot trampling the irongut’s head into the ice fields.
	The hunter’s frostbitten lips twisted themselves into a grin.
	Darhur’s joy was short lived, Tyrant Face Eater’s words of admonishment rising in his mind like a dark cloud. Thoughts of home filled the hunter’s head. He watched himself stand by his tribe’s roasting fires, the smell of fresh human wafting from the butcher’s pot, the cooking flames reflecting off the butcher’s outsized cleaver– 
	A shadow fell across Darhur’s face. His eyes opened to a hulking figure. It filled the mouth of the cave, a sliver of hardened ice in each clawed hand. Instinctively, Darhur drew his knife, its sickle blade deflecting a downward blow meant to sever his head. Before the attacker could strike again, Golg sprang into its chest, knocking it backwards. The hunter got to his feet, fighting to shake the malaise that had taken hold of him. 
	‘Yhetee!’
	Darhur ignored Snikkit’s yelping. He was wrong anyway. The creature was too large to be a yhetee, its hide too dark. It was a greyback, a larger and far more dangerous foe. The beast was fully a head taller than Darhur, and underneath its layer of insulating hair lay tight bunches of sinew and dextrous muscle. The greyback recovered in an instant, issuing a malevolent roar from a mouth lined with dagger teeth. It caught Golg with a backhanded blow to the head as the sabretusk pressed his attack. Scolding himself for falling asleep in the beast’s lair, Darhur unhooked the hammer from his belt and attacked. The greyback blocked the hunter’s opening swing, its blade snapping against his hammer. Moving in, Darhur slipped inside its reach and shot his forehead into its face. He felt teeth splinter as his stony brow smashed apart its jaw. Moist fur that reeked of stale blood and piss filled his face. Darhur fought down the urge to gag and shouldered the beast against the cave wall.
	Snikkit tried to load his sling, but his fingers were too cold. At least he tried, he thought, retreating to the far end of the cave where Brija sat, holding his knees against his chest, head bobbing nervously. Snikkit envied Najkit, who was still lying on the floor, blissfully unaware of the mortal danger he was in. The mixture of the yhetee piss he’d been drinking and the thin air had rendered the snide gnoblar unconscious. 
	Together, Darhur and Golg pinned the greyback against the wall. They moved for the kill, but the creature avoided them. Leaping to the ceiling, it used its claws for purchase and swung over their heads. Dropping behind Darhur, it raked its talons down his back. The hunter let out a snarl of pain and spun around, lashing out with his hammer. The beast stepped back out of range, as Darhur had expected it to. Continuing his turn, the ogre threw the blade from his other hand. The knife cut through the air and sliced into the greyback’s chest, burying itself up to the hilt. The beast roared, blood bubbling from its mouth, and rushed towards Darhur. Brushing aside the greyback’s desperate thrashing, the hunter clamped his hand around the knife’s handle. Bellowing a curse, he lifted the beast into the air and slammed it down into the ground.
	Sweating, Darhur fixed the greyback in place with his foot and pulled his knife free. ‘The Great Maw provides.’
	The hunter began carving up his prize. The greyback was no different from the dozens of rhinox and mountain bears Darhur had slain before. Though, unlike the great mammoth whose horn adorned Darhur’s gutplate, the beast would not take a week to pare. With practiced precision he cut away the pelt and sank his teeth into an artery before the blood could run cold. Piercing the larger artery on the beast’s leg, Darhur bathed in the warm blood as it spat onto his face and thawed his features. With his bare hands, he ripped off chunks of muscle and fat, gorging himself on chunks of raw meat. Blood and viscera spilling from his mouth, Darhur ripped off an arm and tossed it to Golg. The sabretusk wasted no time in consuming the flesh and devouring the sweet marrow from within the beast’s bones. 
	As the sun climbed in the sky and pushed needles of light through the dense cloud, Darhur was reinvigorated. The greyback’s meat had silenced the ache in his belly and lent new strength to his limbs. He’d fashioned an extra cloak from the beast’s hide, the layer of dried blood matting the pelt acting as further insulation against the cold, and used the thick tendons to bind it firmly around his shoulders. Filled with renewed purpose, the hunter continued up the mountain. 
	‘Maw!’ Darhur roared in frustration and slammed his forehead into the mountain. Blood burst across his brow, freezing instantly as icy winds scraped across his face. He glared at the wall of rock and ice in front of him.
	‘I am Darhur Beastkiller of the Wallcrusher Tribe,’ Darhur beat his chest with clenched fists, dislodging the layer of snow that had settled over his clothing. ‘I higher up your peaks than any Wallcrusher ever go.’ He tugged at the heavy pelt around his shoulders, ‘I ate the greyback you sent to kill me.’ He gripped his hammer as tight as his cold-sapped fingers could muster, ‘I will not be beat by a pile of rock!’ 
	Darhur attacked the rock face. Again and again he struck out, his pride rendering him proof against the shards of rock and ice that stabbed out at him as he smashed apart the snowdrift. In response, the mountain shuddered and threw a blanket of snow down upon his head. Darhur winced as the freezing shrapnel cascaded over his shoulders. 
	‘Master Darhur, boss?’ Snikkit had to shout to be heard over the winds. 
	‘What?’ Darhur spat, his gaze still locked on the wall of rock blocking his path.
	‘Rhinox,’ Snikkit pointed a shaking finger towards a giant beast as it disappeared from view. ‘See boss, they not stuck. We follow?’ Snikkit nodded with such vigour that the snot-icicles that had formed around his nose snapped off.
	Darhur stared at him for a moment. ‘Maybe I won’ts let Golg eats you after all.’ The hunter turned to the sabretusk, ‘Find a path.’
	At his master’s command Golg took his paw off Najkit’s chest and bounded after the rhinoxen.
	Darhur had been surprised to see a rhinox so high in the mountains, shocked to have encountered entire herds of them. Most were thin and weak from exposure, suffering from a climb they weren’t bred for. There had been others too, packs of skeletal sabretusks and ice cougars, clinging to life as they headed north. The crags were beset with the corpses of creatures that hadn’t the constitution to complete the climb. Darhur patted his gut. Even his burly frame was fading under the strenuous ascent. Without an answer to why the cavalcade of beasts weren’t attacking one another, the hunter had been careful to keep his distance, unwilling to count on it continuing.
	The tide of beasts led Darhur up the mountain to the bottom of a sloping plateau. The storm had grown worse as he climbed. The hail was constant, punishing him for every step forward. Fierce crosswinds sped across the open plateau to topple him. Lightning stabbed from a fell sky and lit up the ground in arcing flashes that boiled the snow. On three sides the mountain had all but disappeared. To the front it continued to rise like a titanic monolith with no end, but to the sides it vanished, dropping away into the mist below. If he had believed his eyes and not the dizzying pain in his head, it would have been easy for Darhur to forget that he stood higher than the clouds his tribe followed to war. He watched as the beasts marched to the base of the mountain upon a mountain and stopped. They were not alone - hundreds more creatures had gathered there, heedless of the lightning that periodically reached down and cremated one of their number. 
	‘Poof,’ Brija clapped his hands together as another creature burst into flames.
	The gorger appeared from nowhere barrelling into Darhur, knocking him to the ground. Caught off guard, the hunter lost his footing. He recovered quickly, dropping to one knee for balance and raising his crossbow. But the gorger was quicker, fed by momentum; it was upon Darhur before he could fire. It batted away his weapon and thundered its malformed skull into his jaw. Dazed, the ogre staggered backwards, slipping over on the ice and tumbling downhill towards the edge of the pass. Darhur struggled in vain to arrest his fall, hands trying scrabbling to find purchase. The ground lacked even basic vegetation and the wind had long since filed the rocks smooth. In desperation Darhur drew his knife and stabbed it into the mountainside. He felt the muscles in his shoulder tear as they battled gravity to arrest his fall. Grimacing, he punched the rock face with his free hand. The impact broke his knuckles but rewarded him with a hand hold. 
	Golg bared his fangs and leapt at the gorger, intent on ripping out its throat. The beast turned, lifting its left arm in defence. The sabretusk’s jaws closed around the limb, its over-sized incisors puncturing the bicep. The gorger let out a snarl of hate, turning with Golg’s momentum to avoid being bowled over. Golg’s grip loosened as the gorger’s fist connected with his ribs, splintering them. Sensing its foe weaken, the gorger threw its arm towards the edge of the ledge with enough force to wrench it from its socket. Gasping for breath, Golg was thrown free from the arm, his teeth raking its length and tearing off strips of flesh as he spun away over the edge. 
	Pain shot up the gorger’s leg, a rusted bear trap locked around its left foot and ankle.
	‘Got ’im, got ’im.’ Brija was still grinning when the gorger’s other foot connected with his face, broke his nose and sent him skidding across the plain. 
	‘Nuffin big enuff for this. Ain’t nuffin.’ Seized by panic, Snikkit dug around in his makeshift pockets for something to fire at the gorger. ‘Wot Snikkit do? Wot boss do?’ Desperate, the gnoblar raised his arms in the air, spreading them wide to make himself as big as possible, and ran screaming at the gorger. 
	Bemused, the gorger caught the undersized warrior by the waist and yanked him into the air.
	‘Don’t work, don’t work,’ Snikkit cried out as he struggled to free himself from the gorger’s clawed grip. 
	With the gorger distracted, and with the aid of several more handholds, Darhur pulled himself back onto the plateau. Scrabbling to his feet, he drew his knife. With a shout, the hunter charged the gorger, his heavy strides leaving deep furrows in the snow as his legs powered him towards his prey. The gorger tossed Snikkit aside, opened its mouth and roared. Every muscle on the creature’s swollen torso rippled to attention, veins threatening to burst through its pallid skin. Clawing at its chest with maddened vigour, the gorger ran at the ogre. They slammed into each other, two titans of sinew and hate. The gorger howled as the tusk protruding from Darhur’s gut plate impaled it, the sharpened ivory spearing through the beast’s abdomen and out through its back. The gorger bit down into Darhur’s neck, severing tendons and drinking deep of his blood. Darhur gritted his teeth and fought to stay conscious. He brought his arm up to grab the gorger’s head, but the beast was quicker, catching his arm in an unyielding grip and snapping it at the elbow. Darhur’s mouth dropped open as he cried silently in pain, his strength all but exhausted. 
	Najkit weighed up his options – run now or join the fight. If Darhur died, the gorger would likely eat him. There was a chance he could convince Brija to have another go at slaying the beast, which might just give him enough time to scamper. He cast his gaze at Brija, who was even now preparing to rush the gorger. No, that idiot would be dead far too soon to be of any use. Running, then, seemed like the best option. He looked around for Snikkit. The gnoblar was unconscious, his prized coat torn and smeared in blood. Najkit kicked a pile of snow in frustration – he didn’t want the coat now, he’d never get rid of Snikkit’s wretched stench. He turned to go and stopped. What if…? 
	He took a few steps and paused. What if somehow he managed to help the hunter kill the gorger? He might get a coat of his own. There were plenty of rhinoxen around, and Darhur could easily skin one for him. Resolved, Najkit took a swig of yhetee piss for luck and loaded his sling. Squinting through one eye, he tried to take aim through the blizzard. Snow washed into his face and filled his eye faster than he could blink it way. Giving up, he closed both eyes, muttered a prayer to the Great Maw that he didn’t hit Darhur, and fired. The shard of metal shot through the air and struck the gorger in the mouth. 
	Coughing blood through splintered teeth, the gorger released Darhur’s arm. Seeing his chance, the hunter shouldered the beast away, the horn from his gut plate inflicting more damage as he ripped it out of the gorger’s abdomen. 
	Najkit punched the air in triumph. Remembering himself, he looked around to make sure no one saw and went back to looking sullen.
	The gorger swayed unsteadily on its feet, its warped physiology straining against numerous grievous injuries. Allowing the beast no respite, Darhur swung his hammer into its face and finished what Najkit started, the gorger’s teeth exploding through the air like a hail of bloodied ice slivers. The gorger stumbled, its claws clumsily raking the air as it blindly lashed out. Darhur sidestepped and brought his hammer up into the beast’s midsection, cracking its ribs before driving his forehead into its ruined face. The gorger crashed to the ground, defeated. Tearing the bear trap from the beast’s ankle, Darhur opened the trap’s metal jaws and thrust it over the gorger’s head. With a snap, the trap clamped shut, severing the head at the neck. The hunter watched for a moment as the headless body spasmed through its death throes, before kicking it off the slope.
	‘Feast well,’ Darhur offered a prayer to Golg as he watched the gorger’s body fall through the mist to join the sabretusks in the crags below. 
	Snikkit picked himself up out of the snow, frantically patting himself down in search of injury. There was a long cut on his ribs where the gorger’s claws had gripped him, and numerous nicks and scraps on his exposed arms and face. Relieved to still be in one piece, the gnoblar shuffled over to Darhur. The hunter was in bad shape, one arm dangling lifelessly at his side.
	‘What’s now boss?’ Snikkit asked, careful not to stand too close to the edge.
	Darhur wasn’t listening, his attention fixed skyward.
	Snikkit looked up. Stumbling backwards in shock, he hunched his back in an unconscious effort to be further from the sky. A fulgurant web hung in the air. Its arcing strands spat and crackled as incandescent fire erupted along their length. Converging, the sparking flames erupted, detonating the web in a thunderclap that hammered Snikkit to his knees. A string of tumultuous booming followed as the clouds wrenched apart. 
	‘Run!’ Darhur bellowed as bolts wreathed in flame tore down and struck the earth, sparking off the ice to form jets of steam.
	There was no cover on the plateau. Darhur cursed his luck and headed for the nearest great mammoth, his tired legs fuelled by the desire to survive. Ducking under the beast’s enormous torso as another hail of fire stung the earth, the hunter caught his breath. The mammoth didn’t move, its four colossal legs set upon the ground. Darhur watched from the creature’s shadow as all around, the other animals stood immobile. Even as another of their number was ignited by the fire-lightning, they remained oblivious to the destruction raining down on them. 
	‘Boss…’ Snikkit ventured.
	Darhur growled. He had no idea what to do next.
	The ground growled back, a tremor shivering out from the base of the mountain across the plateau. 
	‘What now?’ Darhur snarled as the mountain flung him into the air, the earth cracking apart as fissures opened up all around him, stone and ice breaking and forming at random. Landing on his broken arm, the hunter cried out as pain fought to rob him of consciousness. The tremor was followed by a teeth-jarring noise, like the grinding of an ancient, rust-strewn cog. It scraped at Darhur’s ears and threatened to drive him mad. Lying on his back, deaf from the constant noise, Darhur stared in disbelief as this mountain upon a mountain shifted and reformed. Rocks bunched and unfolded, throwing off their blanket of snow in rumbling swathes. A tower of rock stepped forward, cracking the ground. Another column followed, bringing with them an immense torso, two arms unfolding from behind to fall in below hunched shoulders. Caves mouths dotted the… thing like a disease. The dark spots moved together, sliding to the summit of the mountain-thing to form a single dark lens. The thing opened its mouth, wisps of onyx fog drifting from its eye, and bellowed a heartless war cry to the world it would tear asunder.
	Darhur stared up at the stony construct. ‘By the Great Maw,’ he murmured. Transfixed by its enormity, the hunter watched as the mountain-thing snatched up a great mammoth. The mammoth, which was large enough to carry most of Darhur’s tribe to war, looked insignificant in the giant’s gargantuan fist. The construct stuffed the mewling mammal into its mouth whole. The other animals gathered on the plateau seemed not to notice, remaining rooted to the spot, awaiting their turn to be eaten. 
	Darhur, however, was not on the menu, He swung his crossbow up and fired. Over two dozen strands of iron-sinew, wound tighter than a Marienburger’s purse, snapped forwards and propelled the iron bolt with enough force to punch it through layers of the finest dwarf plate mail. Darhur grinned in grim resignation as the bolt impacted harmlessly off the giant’s rock-skin. It seemed that the Great Maw had not finished testing him. Drawing his hammer, the hunter beat his fist against his chest twice and charged the stone colossus. Each step Darhur took fanned the fire in his belly. He was a raging inferno, the Great Maw’s instrument of destruction. He would– 
	The rock-construct raised its right foot and thundered it down into the ground. The mountain trembled beneath Darhur’s feet, throwing him to his back. The hunter landed hard on the rock and lay still, his shoulder and hip smashed by the impact. 
	Seeing Darhur cast aside like a human child, Snikkit stood immobile, gripped by fear and uncertainty. Najkit was running before Darhur hit the ground, moving as fast as his legs would take him to the far side of the plateau. For once, Snikkit agreed with his inebriated companion and sped off after him.
	Brija rubbed the side of his face as he watched the two gnoblars run off. He had no idea what the big deal was. The stony giant was huge, bigger even than Tyrant Grut, but it was made of stone and probably very slow. Yes, judging by its size, it would be very slow indeed. Brija drew his knife and started towards it. All he needed to do was climb up to its head and stab it in the eye.
	Najkit rounded a snow drift and stopped to catch his breath. He was about to set off again when a hand pulled on his shoulder.
	‘Najk-’
	Snikkit. Najkit knew that sniffling excuse for a gnoblar would try to kill him one day. He spun round and drew his knife, levelling the blade at the older gnoblar’s face.
	‘Wait, wait,’ Snikkit held up his hands in protest. ‘Looks.’
	Najkit slashed Snikkit’s cheek for good measure and then turned to see what the old-timer had been pointing at. Sighting a lone figure at the far end of the plateau, Najkit questioned his sanity and cursed the thin air. Wiping his eyes, he looked again. The man was still there. A purplish glow traced his outline, robes blowing against the direction of the wind. Curious, Najkit crouched low and shuffled forward. The figure was wearing a pelt. Najkit smiled – this was his chance, he’d slay the wandering fool and keep the pelt for himself. Whipping out his sling, Najkit unleashed a salvo of teeth and bone at his quarry. To his horror, the projectiles fell from the air a hand’s width in front of the man’s face. Diving for cover, Najkit narrowly avoided the hail of purple lightning his would-be prey sent lancing towards him. Maw be damned, he needed Darhur’s help.
	Darhur rolled over, letting the blood that was filling his mouth run to the ground. Pushing himself up, he began to clamber to his feet, shaking his head in an effort to clear his senses. 
	‘Boss, boss. This way, this way,’ Snikkit said, tugging on Darhur’s pelt.
	‘I will not run!’ Darhur pushed Snikkit away and looked around for a weapon. Finding nothing but a panting Najkit, he considered for a moment using the useless creature as a club. 
	‘No, no. Not run. Win yes. Come,’ Najkit motioned for Darhur to follow him.
	‘There,’ Najkit pointed towards the hide-covered man.
	Darhur glared at the figure, sizing him up. Judging by his puny build and weakling bone structure, he was clearly human. The hunter took a whiff of the air and snarled, the man stank of magics. Pulling a charm from under his furs and wrapping his fist around it for luck, Darhur offered a prayer to his tribe’s Slaughtermasters for protection. Reaching down to his gut plate he grabbed hold of the mammoth tusk and with regret, snapped it off. 
	‘By Maw, I will slay!’ Darhur swore his oath, hefting the tusk in his hand. It was poorly weighted, but would suffice. The sorcerer kept one hand aloft, working his enchantment, as Darhur ran towards him. Lowering the other one, the human unleashed a ball of flickering fire towards the ogre. Darhur kept an even stride as the fireball struck the ground in front of him, tossing splintered ice into his path. He powered on, striding through the sorcerer’s second blast as it struck him full in the chest, thankful for the warm glow of the charm against his skin as he emerged unscathed. Tendrils of dark lightning leapt from the sorcerer’s outstretched fingers and enveloped him. Darhur felt their icy touch against his skin. Like devious blades they sought a way to his innards. With blood seeping from his pores, Darhur struck – wrapping the charm around the tusk and throwing it at the sorcerer. End over end it spun, covering the distance in a heartbeat and smacking the human across the shoulders. Knocked to the ground, the sorcerer was unable to defend himself as Darhur locked a meaty hand around his neck. The ogre squeezed until the man’s eyes shot out from their sockets, the snap of the human’s neck inaudible over the wind. Darhur dropped the sorcerer to the ground, stamping on his face to be sure.
	The rock-giant shuddered and bellowed an inhuman roar, a thousand birds screeching in disharmony. Its body trembled, mini avalanches of snow and rock dropping away from its torso at an increasing rate. The construct tried to turn, to back away but succeeded only in tearing off one of its legs. It stumbled and fell forward, catching itself on an outstretched hand. Turning its other massive palm upwards, it stared at the rocky appendage as it crumbled to pebbles and fell away. The rest of the titanic creature followed, breaking apart into rock-powder and dust.
	Darhur stared at the packs of sabretusks, rhinoxen and worse that blocked his path back down the mountain. The creatures were milling around, confused, but a few of the larger ones seemed to have reverted to their baser instincts, sizing the others up, circling them with intent. Soon the rest would shake off whatever spell the sorcerer had placed them under and descend into a feeding frenzy. Darhur didn’t want to be there when that happened. The ogre’s heart sank. He could barely stand. His arm was broken badly, his bones brittle from the cold and his insides felt like they’d been trampled by a giant. Pulling his pelts tighter around his shoulders, Darhur did the only thing he could. He turned away and started off in the opposite direction. He had a head to deliver, and it would be a long walk back to the tribe. His tribe.