Dawn of War by Tim Marquitz Read Free Book Online

commanded.
    The warriors glanced back and forth between each other, none speaking. After a long moment, a pale-furred soldier stepped away from the others and met Vorrul’s stare. He lifted his snout and bared his throat in respect to his leader.
    “The meat caught us off guard,” he admitted. “He struck fast and killed two of us before we knew he was there.” Vorrul drew closer, his twitching snout just inches from the soldier’s. He sniffed. The warrior swallowed hard, but held his ground.
    “So one Lathahn slaughtered your men while you watched, and you let him get away?” His question was little more than a whisper.
    “He used magic.”
    Vorrul’s glare shifted in an instant. His eyes went wide. “Are you sure?”
    The warrior nodded. “He had a collar around his neck. It glowed with the same type of symbols as the relics you and the Bloodpack wear.”
    Vorrul glanced at the other warriors for confirmation and they muttered in instant assent, a choir of barked agreeance. He snarled at them and turned back to the one who had stepped forward. “What is your name, soldier?”
    “Rragal.”
    Vorrul growled. The sound rumbled deep inside his chest. “Well, Rragal, it seems the failure of your unit was perhaps a gift in disguise.” The warlord reached out and laid his claws against the warrior’s throat. “You understand though, I cannot reward incompetence, however fortunate the results.”
    Rragal grunted and lifted his snout higher. Vorrul laughed at the soldier’s courage. The sound was a graveled bark. He showed his teeth and leaned in as the warrior stood rigid.
    Then without warning, he released Rragal and leapt past him, his claws sinking into the stomach and shoulder of the surprised warrior behind him. The soldier shrieked as Vorrul dug his claws in deep, creating handholds which he used to drag the warrior to the ground. The symbols at Vorrul’s wrists and ankles grew brighter, showering them both in a green glow.
    The rest of the guard broke ranks and started to flee their leader’s wrath, held in check only by the sharp growl of Morgron. They reluctantly stayed put, their wide eyes on the slaughter of their companion.
    The warlord’s teeth sliced into the warrior’s throat. His horrified scream went silent as Vorrul whipped his head back, tearing the soldier’s larynx out. The tendons stretched and snapped with a wet pop. Crimson gushed from the warrior’s throat as he twitched and thrashed against Vorrul’s grip. His eyes spasmed in their sockets and he went into convulsions.
    The warlord pulled his claws from the soldier’s flesh, tearing loose dripping chunks of muscle and furred-skin. Vorrul rose up to stand over him, casting the handfuls of meat aside. The relics’ glow subsided.
    The warrior’s death throes subsiding, Vorrul spit the larynx out and turned to Rragal. Blood ran from his snout in warm streams. The smell of it excited Vorrul, but he repressed his urge to eat his fill, Grol a poor substitute for the soft meat of the Fhen.
    “For your courage, you can join your brothers in the city.”
    The warlord waved Rragal away. The warrior muttered his thanks and raced toward Fhenahr without glancing back.
    Vorrul glared at the remaining soldiers. “No meat for a week.” He bared his bloodstained teeth. “Do not fail me again or it is you who will warm the bellies of the pack.”
    At Morgron’s barked command, the warriors scattered. The general snorted as he came to stand before Vorrul.
    “This Lathahn, did he truly use magic?” the warlord asked.
    “Those who saw him confirm he had a glowing silver collar at his throat and moved far faster than any meat they’ve ever seen. He killed four of the men before a roving patrol chased him away. He would have likely killed them all had the patrol not returned when it did.”
    Vorrul glanced back at Fhenahr and drew in a breath of acrid air. “He was alone?”
    “The men believe so. They saw no one else.”
    Vorrul looked to