Chapter 15 #2
We watched the sentinels for another half hour, mapping their movement patterns. The pair on the eastern side paused, and one of the Fae informed the other that he needed to relieve himself. It was the perfect moment.
When he stepped away, Drak became a shadow in the darkness, moving through the grass with surprising lightness for his size. Within seconds, he reached the sentinel. One hand clamped over the orc’s mouth, while the curved blade of his knife pressed against his throat.
He dragged the male into the shadows, where Kreshak was waiting with a piece of cloth in his hands.
We moved away from the clearing, carrying the High Fae with us. Once we were far enough from the convoy, I gave a quick signal, and they bound him efficiently. A cloth was shoved between his teeth before he could scream and alert the others.
His golden eyes widened as he realized who had taken him.
I knelt before him, bringing myself to eye level even as he stood. I gripped his chin firmly, enough to hurt, forcing him to meet my gaze.
"If you scream, you die," I said in Common. "If you lie, you die more slowly."
He swallowed hard, nodding rapidly.
"What are two hundred soldiers from the Autumn Court doing crossing Marukoksha?" I asked, pulling the cloth from his mouth so he could answer.
"W-we..." he hesitated, his eyes darting toward the forest as if he expected help to appear. I tightened my grip on his chin. "We’re just passing through."
I landed a punch squarely on his nose, feeling the snap of cartilage and hearing his whimper of pain.
"I told you not to lie," I growled, squeezing the bridge of his nose between my fingers so the pain would linger, reminding him of what was at stake. "Next time, I'll break your leg. Answer me."
He finally seemed to understand that I wasn't joking; the moment I pressed my foot against his right leg, he began to stammer an answer.
"W-we are taking a prisoner to Ceilte. S-someone important."
"Who?" I demanded.
"I-I don't know!" He shook his head violently, his gaze consumed by despair. "T-they didn't tell us! W-we were only given orders to escort them and keep them alive."
"Is it a High Fae?"
He nodded rapidly.
"And why is the Autumn Court taking a prisoner to Ceilte? What happened to your alliance?"
The male gasped, struggling against his panic. "Lord Alasdair broke an agreement. Something about protecting an orc..." He glared at us as if he were accusing us.
I snorted, unable to believe what I was hearing. Alasdair protecting an orc? The odds of that happening were about as likely as an orc being born blue.
"Alasdair would never do that," I retorted. "High Fae hate orcs. Why would the Lord of Ceilte protect one?"
"It’s what they say," the Grìosach soldier insisted, his voice faltering. "The prisoner is a bargaining chip, something the Lord won't be able to refuse."
My mind raced. Alasdair—the most prejudiced Fae in all of Lyraen—risking an alliance to protect an orc? Not likely. The only explanation was that this orc was worth more to him than any alliance.
"And if the Lord refuses?" I questioned, though I already knew the answer.
"Then we have permission to attack."
I exchanged a quick look with Kreshak, then with Drak. Everyone reached the same conclusion: if the Autumn Court had permission to strike Ceilte, then this so-called “escort” was just the spark for something far bigger.
I stepped away from him and gestured for Kreshak to replace the cloth in his mouth, muffling his immediate protest.
"What are your orders, Ruk’hai?" Drak asked, his hand resting on the hilt of the short axe he carried on his belt.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing in my heart.
On one hand, I could let the convoy reach Ceilte and threaten Alasdair; he would likely yield, and then the alliances as we knew them today would shift drastically.
Ceilte would ally solely with Grìosach, which would make the Winter Court feel betrayed and lead them to attack.
A war of that scale was enough to end a kingdom. For centuries, we had fought against Ceilte. Many orcs, including my father and mother, had died battling the High Fae.
The memory weighted like lead in my chest. My father, as he raised his war axe one last time, arrows lodged in his body, piercing him like a sieve.
My mother running toward him, driven mad by the loss of her life partner.
She died kneeling beside him, refusing to let go even as death claimed her too.
It wasn't just politics, it never was. It was a bloody legacy, an ancient cycle we could never break, and that this time threatened to swallow everything around us.
I turned my gaze back to the male High Fae, seeing those desperate blue eyes filled with fear. Yet, mixed in with that terror, there was a spark of disdain. Even bound and at our mercy, he looked at us like he was better than us.
That was the problem with the High Fae. They hated and despised those they called inferior. To them, orcs were nothing more than wild animals, creatures who dared to occupy lands they swore belonged to them by right.
"Get him up," I ordered, drawing my war axe.
The metal sang a low, deadly note as I drew it from my back. The male understood my intent instantly. His body shook violently, tears streaming as he babbled incoherent words behind the gag.
Perhaps I should have felt compassion, done what they never did for us, and chosen mercy. However, when I remembered my mother’s desperate gaze and the screams of the orcs dying one by one under the magic of a High Fae, all I could feel was hatred.
“May you make better choices in your next life,” I said, before ending it once and for all.
The Fae collapsed to the ground, lifeless, his eyes frozen wide with a terror death hadn’t yet erased. The silence that followed was absolute, as if even the forest itself mourned the loss.
I wiped the red blood, so different from our own, from the edge of the axe with practiced ease, then secured it back on my back. I lifted my gaze to my companions.
"Prepare yourselves," I ordered. "We’re going to intercept the convoy."
None of them questioned the command. Determination shone on their faces as they melted back into the shadows, merging with the forest. Whoever the prisoner was—capable of pushing entire kingdoms to the brink of war—they would not reach Ceilte tonight.
? ? ?
Time dragged on. For me, the waiting was always the hardest part of the battle. I preferred the action, the violent dance of blades, the heat of fury rushing through my veins. Yet patience often meant the difference between survival and death.
The High Fae camp was almost entirely asleep. Only the surviving sentinels continued to patrol; their steps were slow, their attention visibly compromised by the boredom of the night. They hadn’t even noticed one of their own was missing, so lax was their watch.
I opened my hand, signaling the remaining guards. Drak and Uthak fired their bows with precision, and the sentinels dropped to the grass silently—dead before they could even gasp.
The path to the heart of the camp lay open.
I advanced, axe in hand, my warriors close behind. We moved silently. The camp was an easy target—an army relying too much on numbers to worry about attacks. The first High Fae to notice us barely had time to widen his eyes before my blade struck his chest in a swift arc.
Chaos erupted.
A scream spread through the camp, shocking in the stillness of the night. The High Fae woke in confusion, fumbling for their weapons, but we were already among them.
There was no complex strategy, only brute force and orcish speed. We were fifty, and they were two hundred, but the surprise attack and our knowledge of the terrain gave us an edge.
My war axe moved in a frenzy, tearing through my enemies like a hot knife through butter. Each strike carried years of fury behind it.
The sound of steel against steel, the screams of pain, and the bellows of war merged into a hellish symphony. The High Fae, despite their initial panic, began to organize. Their captains, identifiable by their golden armor and shouted commands, attempted to form a defensive circle.
Kreshak and Grik were at my side, fighting with a ferocity that filled me with pride.
They moved together, covering each other's backs and eliminating the Fae who tried to flank us. Ni’kira used her speed to infiltrate their lines, taking down the enemies with swift strikes.
We advanced like a wedge. Fae armor, though resilient, was no match for the brutality of orcish axes.
I struck down a captain, shattering his helmet. He crumpled where he stood. Using him as a brief shield, I surged ahead toward the cage.
I finally reached the iron structure. It was massive, forged from some High Fae metal that didn’t break easily, and a protection spell radiated from it, making the skin on my arm tingle.
"Axes!" I ordered. "On the hinges!"
My warriors and I struck the cage's hinges. The metal groaned, but it held. The High Fae swarmed around us, and I had to turn to defend the cage from them.
Sweat stung my eyes, and my body began to feel the weight of exhaustion. However, the sight of the Autumn Court banner draped over the cage reignited my fury. I would not fail, not after everything we had risked.
I surged against the Fae with renewed fury, my axe acting as an extension of my will.
I cut down three more, clearing a space for Drak to approach.
He charged toward the cage and raised his axe, using all the brute force he possessed to strike the latch.
The instant the metal touched the lock, a flash erupted.
The magical impact thundered through the air, throwing Drak backward as his body slammed violently against the ground. He groaned, rolling over, while the shockwave made my ears ring. The runes on the cage glowed with an aggressive gold, pulsing like a living heart.
For a moment, everyone—including the High Fae—paused, staring. When the runes finally dimmed, the silence shattered: a scream pierced the air, and chaos erupted, blades clashing as orders rang out amid smoke and blood.
The High Fae, seeing the failed attempt to break the spell, attacked with renewed fury. I realized they were fighting to defend the cage with more fervor than they would defend their own lives.
"Fall back!" I shouted to my warriors. We couldn’t focus on the cage and the Fae at the same time.
We pulled away, retreating to the edge of the clearing where the forest cover offered us an advantage. They followed us, falling right into the trap. The woods began to whisper to us once more, and my warriors used the trees as both shields and platforms, cutting down the enemies one by one.
Drak recovered from the impact, leaning against a tree, his face pale with pain. Kreshak and Grik returned to my side, their axes dripping with blood.
"We can't break the protection," Kreshak panted, his chest heaving with the effort. "It’s strong magic."
I stared at the cage, observing the faint glow of the runes. I couldn't break it. But there was a way to take it from Ceilte.
"We don't need to break it," I said, a cold smile spreading across my face.
The remaining High Fae were few and disorganized. The battle dragged on for hours of relentless violence. Using brute force, we pushed them back toward the center of the clearing, eliminating them until only their bodies and the scent of death remained.
I stood over the last High Fae, who was crawling on the ground, and he stared up at me with animal terror in his golden eyes. I raised my axe, and the blade came down, ending his life and the sound of battle.
When it was over, I looked around, assessing the damage. My warriors were exhausted, covered in sweat, dirt, and blood, but none of them were seriously injured. In the forest, the advantage was ours.
"Clear the area," I ordered, and they obeyed immediately, wiping their weapons and gathering anything that might be useful.
My gaze, however, was already turning to the silent cage.
We had won a battle, but something told me that the true war was yet to come.