Chapter 21 Vargath
VARGATH
The inner ring of Azhgar blurs past me as I storm through corridors that suddenly feel too narrow, too confining.
Guards flatten themselves against walls as I pass, smart enough to recognize the look of a man with nothing left to lose.
My boots pound against ancient stone, each step echoing like a war drum through halls that have witnessed countless betrayals.
The council chamber doors stand before me—thick oak reinforced with iron bands, carved with the old symbols of authority. Voices drift from within, calm and measured, discussing trade routes and border patrols as if the world hasn't just cracked open beneath my feet.
I don't knock.
The doors explode inward under my shoulder, wood splintering against stone. Seven council members look up from their maps and wine cups, faces shifting from annoyance to alarm as they take in my expression.
My axe sings from its sheath, the blade catching torchlight as it embeds itself in the center of their precious table. Ancient wood splits with a sound like breaking bones, sending scrolls and goblets flying.
"Who took her?"
The words wrench out from clenched teeth, raw and deadly. Silence stretches between us, thick as blood.
Elder Grothak clears his throat, his weathered face a mask of confusion. "Vargath, what—"
"The human is gone." I lean forward, both hands on the axe handle, letting them see the murder in my eyes. "Someone dragged her from the temple while she slept. There's blood on the floor and fear in the air thick enough to choke on."
Councilor Vex shifts in his chair, rings clinking against his wine cup. "Perhaps she simply... left? Humans are unpredictable creatures."
"With scratches gouged into stone? With her blood spilled on sacred ground?" I twist the axe deeper into the wood, watching them flinch. "Try again."
Zharra sits at the far end of the table. She studies her fingernails with elaborate disinterest, but I catch the tension in her shoulders, the way she won't meet my gaze.
"This is unfortunate news," Elder Korma ventures, her voice carefully neutral. "But surely you don't suspect—"
"I suspect everyone." My gaze sweeps the table, cataloging every nervous glance, every guilty fidget. "Someone in this room knows exactly where she is. Someone decided that Maedra's murder wasn't enough of a message."
Grothak spreads his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Vargath, you're distraught. Understandably so. But accusing the council—"
"The council that wanted her gone from the moment she arrived?" I pull the axe free, wood chips scattering across their maps. "The council that called her a threat, a contamination? The council that sat silent while Zharra suggested removing her quietly?"
Zharra's head snaps up, eyes flashing. "I made no such suggestion."
"You called for her removal. Your exact words." I point the axe at her throat, close enough that she can feel the steel's chill. "What did you do with her?"
"Nothing." But her voice wavers, just slightly. "I've been here all evening, as these witnesses can attest."
"Witnesses." I laugh, the sound bitter as winter wind. "How convenient."
The rage builds in my chest like molten iron, threatening to spill over and consume everything in this chamber. My fingers tighten on the axe handle until my knuckles crack, the urge to paint these walls red nearly overwhelming my last threads of control.
"Cowards." The word drops like a stone into still water. "Every last one of you. Sitting in your warm chairs, making decisions about blood you've never spilled, lives you've never saved."
Elder Grothak's face flushes purple. "Vargath, you forget yourself—"
"I forget nothing." I sweep the axe in a wide arc, sending more scrolls flying. "I remember every battle you sent me to fight while you counted coin. Every warrior who died following your orders while you feasted. Every promise you made and broke."
Councilor Vex pushes back from the table, chair scraping against stone. "This is madness. You threaten the very foundation—"
"What foundation?" I laugh, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. "This crumbling monument to your own importance? These traditions that excuse murder and call it politics?"
Zharra's eyes narrow to slits. "You speak of murder as if you know—"
"I know enough." I step closer, letting her see her death reflected in my blade. "I know Maedra died because she spoke truth. I know my woman was taken because you can't stomach the thought of change."
"Your woman?" Elder Korma's voice drips disdain. "A human broodmare who's addled your wits?"
My vision goes red around the edges, and for a heartbeat, I see myself splitting her skull like a melon. Instead, I plant the axe point-first into the stone floor between her feet, close enough to part the hem of her robes.
"She carries my child." Each word falls like a hammer blow. "Harm her, and I will raze this place to ash. I will burn every hall, every tower, every stone that bears your stench. I will salt the earth so thoroughly that nothing grows here for a thousand years."
Grothak scoffs, his weathered face twisting with contempt. "Listen to yourself. A warleader brought low by sentiment. Maedra filled your head with nonsense about divine flames and prophecy, and now you—"
"Now I what? Care about something beyond your approval?" I yank the axe free, stone chips scattering across their feet. "You call it weakness because you've forgotten what strength looks like when it has purpose."
"Purpose?" Vex's voice cracks like a whip. "Your purpose is to this clan, to these people. Not to some human who spreads her legs and claims divine blessing."
The chamber door creaks open behind me. Gargan steps inside, his scarred face grim as he takes in the scene—the shattered table, the scattered council, the hunger for murder.
"Vargath." His tone is filled by years fighting beside me, of knowing the man that I was. "Whatever's happened, this isn't the way."
I don't turn, don't take my gaze off the council members who huddle like sheep before a wolf. "They took her, Gargan. They crept in like cowards and stole what's mine."
"Then we find out what happened." He steps closer, hand extended as if approaching a wounded animal. "But not like this. Not by threatening—"
"Relics." I spit the word at the council table. "Traitors hiding behind ceremony and calling it honor. They murdered Maedra for speaking truth, and now they've taken Seris because they can't bear to see their precious traditions challenged."
Gargan's broken tusk catches the torchlight as he frowns. "Vargath, think. If you kill them all—"
"My loyalty is not to tradition." I finally turn to face him, letting him see the finality in my expression. "It's to blood. To the child she carries. To the woman who trusted me to keep her safe."
And I'll be damned if these ignorant fools think they can take her away from me.