Chapter 15
Malek
The acrid smell of smoke invaded my senses, keeping me on high alert as we advanced through the northwestern region of Marukoksha, the same path where Kreshak had seen Grìosach's soldiers pass.
Unlike the Fae of Ceilte, whom we had fought for centuries, those of the Autumn Court cared little for the forest or the need for discretion.
They invaded sacred lands with troops and beasts, felling trees to feed bonfires and leaving waste behind; nothing in the sacred woods held any value to them.
As far as I knew, the only thing that truly mattered to them was their precious golden forest and their cursed court.
Despite being our enemies, the Fae of Ceilte at least saw the forest—Eldaerenth, as they called it—as something worth protecting.
We had been walking for days, me and the best trackers of Oksha: Uthak, Grik, Kreshak, and Ni’kira.
They could scent a squirrel from miles away, read the damp soil like an open book, and recognize an invader's trail at a single glance.
By the weight of a step and the track left in the earth, they knew how to tell whether it belonged to a High Fae or a lesser one.
We moved like shadows, silent and swift, our eyes sweeping the dense woods. I was less subtle than they were, but I kept alert for the scent of churned earth, worn leather, and the sickly-sweet perfume of the High Fae that lingered ahead.
Grìosach’s Fae were too vain to think about survival. They wore clinking armor and orange fabrics that didn’t blend with the forest's green.
Uthak, the eldest tracker, raised his hand in a closed fist. We all froze immediately, our bodies tense. He crouched, pressing a hand to the ground, eyes narrowed in focus.
"Recent," he murmured. "No more than an hour. About two hundred Fae."
I frowned, mind spinning with possibilities. Though Ceilte was allied with the two Courts bordering Lyraen, a convoy this large rarely crossed these lands. My stomach churned at what it could mean.
The others exchanged glances, apprehension growing amidst the stillness of the forest. Ni’kira pursed her lips, her sharp gaze fixed on the trail.
"What would they be doing here?" Grik, the youngest of the group at only forty springs, asked in a low voice. "They’re too far from home."
"A hunt, perhaps?" Kreshak suggested.
I shook my head. The Autumn Court didn’t hunt this deep into Marukoksha. Their habits were predictable, their movements limited to the edges of the forest, where sunlight was more abundant and the hunting easier. A group this size, advancing deep into the woods, meant only one thing.
"They’re going to Ceilte," I said, instinctively gripping the hilt of the long knife at my waist.
Ni’kira frowned. "That makes no sense, Ruk’hai. Grìosach and Ceilte are allies. Why would they cross our lands with a troop like that?"
It was a valid question. The High Fae of the Courts avoided Marukoksha. The forest was the largest in Tir Na Sì, and acted as a living barrier between rival territories. If Autumn wished to attack Winter, they would have to cross the woods or go around by sea.
In the ancient wars, before Lyraen became neutral territory, many Fae had died there. Their bodies were never recovered, swallowed by roots and silence. The trees grew over forgotten armor, nourished by soil steeped with memory and blood.
Since then, Marukoksha has been feared—except by the Fae of Ceilte. Not because of empty legends, but because they knew the truth: the forest was alive. It watched, remembered, and reacted. Those who entered with no respect rarely left, and when they did, they never returned the same.
“They’re marching.” My tone allowed no argument.
“But against whom?” Kreshak frowned, his green eyes—so like Kroshak’s—searching mine. “They wouldn’t dare attack us in our own lands. That would be foolish.”
“Ceilte,” I said.
Shock spread across my trackers’ faces. The alliance between the two Fae Courts and Ceilte was ancient, a pact that ensured peace among them and allowed them to focus their strength on containing the orc clans, such as Oksha.
"If Autumn is moving against Ceilte..." Grik began, his implication clear.
A war between the Fae Courts—a rupture in the alliance that had kept the balance of power for centuries.
"The King of Grìosach has held a grudge against Alasdair for years," Uthak said, crossing his arms. “We always knew the peace was fragile.”
"But why now?" Ni’kira pressed.
"It doesn't matter why. What matters is what this means for us."
If the Courts were at war, Ceilte’s border would be left unguarded, and its defenses would weaken. It would be the perfect opportunity for an attack.
I weighted my options. Grìosach's troops were still an hour away. If we advanced then, we could intercept them and perhaps gather some information. However, if a confrontation was inevitable, two hundred Fae against five orcs was suicide.
“We’re splitting up,” I ordered. “Uthak and Ni’kira, go back to the village. I want fifty warriors here by midnight, prepared for battle.”
"But, Ruk’hai..."
"Go. Now," I cut off Ni’kira’s objection.
The two of them reluctantly nodded and slipped to the rear, disappearing into the foliage as if made of shadow. I was left alone with Kreshak and Grik.
"The three of us will follow the trail," I explained. "We need to know their final destination."
"And if they see us?" Grik asked, appearing worried by the possibility. It reminded me that he hadn’t yet seen a real battle, not like the rest of us.
The last time we had fought seriously against the Fae of Ceilte was when I was still a child.
Back then, battles happened so often that I, as the son of the Ruk’hai, had been forced to fight at only ten.
In recent years, however, Alasdair had avoided confrontations and merely maintained a guard around Ceilte's border with Marukoksha.
“Then we fight,” I replied, bluntly.
Every orc knew that fighting and protecting the clan was their duty, even if it meant offering their own life to do so.
We followed the trail, moving like predators who knew the forest by heart. The scent of smoke grew stronger, mingling with the smell of warhorses and iron. At last, we reached the top of a rocky hill, hidden behind thick bushes. From there, we could see everything happening below.
The Fae convoy was big. Two hundred soldiers clad in leather and golden armor marched in rigid formation. Following them were heavy wagons overflowing with supplies and a cavalry unit. What surprised me most was the presence of an iron cage pulled by four horses at the center of their formation.
The cage was large, made of something that shimmered beneath the filtered sunlight, reflecting the Fae magic that enshrouded it. I tried to make out what was inside, but the distance made it impossible. Above it, a banner displayed the Autumn Court’s coat of arms.
“What’s that?” Grik whispered, both curious and apprehensive.
“I don’t know,” I replied, my heart beating a tad faster. “But it can’t be anything good.”
I watched the convoy move slowly. The rigid formation, the sheer volume of supplies, and the cage all made it clear—they weren’t just traveling. They were transporting something—or someone—important, and their destination was unmistakably Ceilte.
If Grìosach were to attack Ceilte, the Winter Court would certainly retaliate. If war broke out between them, Lyraen would become a battlefield, and we would be in the middle of the crossfire.
“We need to know what’s in that cage,” I said. “And why they’re heading to Ceilte.”
We kept following the convoy, staying at a safe distance. The destruction they left in their wake was blatant—felled trees, blazing bonfires, scattered litter—an outright insult to the forest. With every new offense, my anger flared.
At one point, they came to a halt in a clearing. The Fae dispersed, setting up camp. The soldiers formed a circle, creating an impenetrable barrier around the cage.
"They're going to spend the night here," Kreshak murmured.
"This is our chance," Grik said, but I shook my head.
"Not yet. We wait."
We waited for hours until my warriors arrived, moving silently like forest sprites. My eyes met Drak’s as he approached, giving me a brief nod. His presence reminded me I had left him in charge of Fiona’s training, and the thought of her made my heart leap unexpectedly in my chest.
I remembered the day I rescued her from a nuk’hir just a few miles from the village.
I had been patrolling when I heard a female's cry of despair, and I didn't think twice before running to help.
The cursed wolf was about to give her the killing blow when I arrived and took its life with a savagery I hadn't known I possessed.
However, seeing her lying on the ground, vulnerable and terrified, reminded me of my mother the last time I saw her. Besides, her scent…
I pushed the thought away. This wasn’t the moment for distractions.
The moon remained hidden behind dense clouds, and the High Fae camp became a blur of flickering lights.
I raised my hand, signaling that we were about to attack.
One by one, my warriors spread out among the trees, taking up their rehearsed positions.
The wait was long and silent. Adrenaline kept me alert, but the exhaustion of days without sleep crept in, a heavy, nagging weight on my shoulders.
The clearing quieted as the night progressed. Bonfires crackled low, and most of the soldiers retired to sleep. Only four sentinels remained, patrolling the perimeter in pairs. They moved with the confidence of those who didn’t expect an attack, a fatal mistake in Marukoksha.
"I want one alive," I whispered to Drak, who was at my side.
He nodded, moving to his position. He was the best choice for this: fast, lethal, and discreet. The rest of the group remained at a distance, ready to intervene if anything went wrong.