Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Vidorak
The arena echoed with incomprehensible shouting from the gathered crowd. It seemed the entire orc clan was currently here, and Vidorak had to force his way toward the chieftain’s throne.
His uncle sat on the throne surrounded by his jarls, but Vidorak didn’t spare them more than a glance.
When he spotted Calypso’s small body, he felt fury overtake him.
The magic-nullifying shackles were back on her wrists, holding them above her head, chained against the stone wall.
He vowed to destroy those shackles once he got her free.
She remained still, and only when he cleared the crowd did he notice her chest gently rising and falling. It was the only thing that stopped him from descending into a mindless rage.
He hated himself for failing to protect his mate. The mountain was dangerous, and he should never have brought her here.
He advanced toward her when somebody stepped in front to block his way. Without pause, he swung his heavy fist straight into Mabanok’s face. The orc went down, and Vidorak continued toward his mate.
She was indeed unconscious, with a light red swelling on her cheek showing someone had hit her. He cupped her face, and she let out a small groan at his touch.
“My little witch. I am sorry I didn’t protect you.” He spoke softly as he caressed her face. “Open your eyes. Please.”
The seconds it took before he heard her voice were torture.
“Vidorak,” she muttered, and her eyes fluttered open. “Why do I always end up bound around you?”
In the distance, voices called him, but his focus was completely on her.
Leaning in, he stared desperately into her eyes. “Listen to me. Do you see the tunnel at the far corner behind the throne? That will take you out of the mountains. There should be horses there as well.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
The guards were approaching him. He had seconds left.
He slipped the amulet into her dress pocket. “I will find a way to free you. Then you must escape. Tell me you understand, Calypso.”
She nodded.
He made to turn from her, but she called out, “Wait! Vidorak, it was your uncle. He killed your father.”
Truthfully, that statement didn’t come as a surprise to Vidorak.
With all of Urim’s brutality and thirst for power, it made perfect sense.
Vidorak had always wondered how Captain Von Ahlen could best a strong warrior like his father.
He would naturally be less cautious with his own brother, and Urim took advantage of that.
Calypso seemed to take his hesitance as disbelief and added hurriedly, “I dreamwalked in his mind last night and saw.”
Someone dragged him away before they could speak more. Her words were still ringing in his head as he was forced in front of the chieftain. Hearing the truth in her voice, which confirmed suspicions he’d carried for years, made reality sink in.
It was all so disgustingly pathetic. The countless years of war, the suffering of their people, the degradation of their culture—all done so Urim could grab power.
In an alternate reality, his father would be leading the clan toward prosperity within the realm, and Vidorak would be bringing his mate home with the respect she deserved, not under the guise of a slave.
Vidorak had closed off all emotions for years, and now, seeing his uncle sitting on the throne and his mate shackled at his side, he felt the wall break. His body shook with a chuckle at the horror that he’d spent most of his life unknowingly in servitude to his father’s killer.
Suddenly, his head snapped back, but he barely registered the pain, even as Mabanok pummeled him again.
“Stop, Mabanok,” Urim commanded, and the orc stepped back, roughly pulling Vidorak onto his knees. “I want to hear why my own nephew destroyed the clan’s chance for peace.”
Vidorak spat out the blood that welled in his mouth. “A peace you wouldn’t have honored. All you have done is led our clan to ruin.”
Urim stood up and stalked toward him. He crouched so that his face was inches from Vidorak’s and snarled, “Be careful what you say, nephew. Your relation to me will only protect you so far.”
Vidorak went to his feet and, without hesitation, bellowed his challenge before the clan. “I, Vidorak Ushnarsson challenge you for the throne.” Then he lowered his voice. “Something I should’ve done years ago.”
All chatter and commotion completely died. There was a hushed shock that spread through the arena.
“No!”
He recognized his mother’s scream that broke the silence but didn’t turn to look at her.
When no further protest came, he knew either Nazghor or Grushag had taken her away.
His mother played a part in delaying his challenge for the clan.
She had broken after losing her mate, and he feared what would become of her if he died as well.
The sound of metal unsheathed rang through the air as Kinar took out his short sword and approached. Urim put out a hand, stopping the jarl. “Does anyone second him?”
A challenge to lead the clan must be backed by one of the jarls or it wouldn’t be valid. If no one backed him, there would be no fight, but an execution instead.
“I do.” All eyes went to the older, well-respected orc. Throughout the years, Jarl Bruk had attempted to steer Urim away from his more savage decisions. He did it wisely, never overstepping enough to be ousted.
Jarl Bruk was putting his life on the line with this statement. Vidorak’s loss would mean his death as well.
Even Urim turned, the fury in his stare making it clear he hadn’t expected that. But the statement had been clear, and there was no refuting it.
“You heard my nephew. He has challenged me in the way of orcs, seconded by Jarl Bruk. I will respect his challenge as custom dictates. Bring the shaman!”
Mabanok and the other orc guards drew back, giving them space. Urim undid the fur cloak that rested around his shoulders, threw it to the side, and stepped forward bare-chested.
Wearing the ritualistic bone mask, Rhunga entered the arena. His hair was piled on top of his head, held up by two needle-like daggers. For once, there wasn’t a glint of humor in the young shaman’s eyes.
Dipping his fingers into a pot of red dye, Rhunga painted both of their chests and faces. “The blessings of the gods are among us. May they favor the strongest and wisest to lead the clan.”
As was the custom, they brought out a choice of weapons. Vidorak declined the choices, opting to use his father’s dagger, the one kept on him at all times. His uncle took hold of his axe.
They moved to the flattened ground where just the other day he’d fought with Nazghor. Above them, black crows circled as if expecting the death that was to come. The tension felt thick in the cool air, and small droplets of rain hit Vidorak’s chest.
No one had dared to challenge Urim for over a decade. Even at his advanced age, he was incredibly strong and utterly vicious.
A benefit of his uncle's merciless training was that he’d raised Vidorak to be as fierce as him.
“I had high hopes for you, Vidorak,” Urim broke the silence in the arena as he circled Vidorak carefully. “I saw you as a son.”
In a way, Vidorak believed him, and was glad that Urim never had children of his own. There were years he spent training until he lost consciousness, years he was forced to kill, to be brutal at too young an age.
“Raise your weapon and start the challenge,” Vidorak roared, eager to get his uncle's blood on his hands.
Urim gripped the axe tightly, his body tensing. “Your father would be so disappointed.”
Without further warning, Urim lunged, axe slashing swiftly at him. Vidorak dove away, but not before the tip of the axe grazed his arm. If he had been a second slower, the axe would have separated his shoulder from his body.
Urim’s comment was meant to distract him and make him sloppy. It angered Vidorak that it had worked. He allowed himself to stagger more than he needed to, letting Urim think he was thrown off.
When Urim’s following attack came, Vidorak was ready and blocked him at the forearm. It gave him an opening, and he took it, coming at Urim with everything he had. All the rage and anger that had boiled inside him for years spilled out.
He swiped a leg, and Urim’s colossal frame tumbled back. Vidorak was on him, slamming his fist into his uncle’s face. In this position, his axe did nothing to help him, and Urim was at his mercy.
“Do not mention my father!” Vidorak snarled between blows. “You didn’t have the courage to challenge him.”
Urim remained unfazed at the revelation that Vidorak had discovered the truth. The rain had become a downpour, and rivulets of blood flowed from Urim’s wounds.
“Why?!” Vidorak demanded, slamming his uncle’s head against the ground. “Why did you kill him? Was it all for greed?”
His uncle lashed out and grabbed Vidorak’s neck, pulling him down until they were inches apart. “Because he was weak.”
The words were audible only to him and dripped with malice despite Urim’s swollen face. Shaking with rage, Vidorak recoiled and gripped his dagger tighter, poised to kill his uncle.
A sharp inhale of pain stole Vidorak’s attention in a sudden and primal way. His eyes flew up to see Mabanok with a knife pressed against his mate. While Mabanok wouldn’t interfere directly with the challenge, his threat was apparent.
The distraction was enough for Urim to take advantage and hurl Vidorak off. He crashed onto his back, the wind knocked out of him, and his dagger tumbled away, having slipped from his grasp.
Something deep and evil within Vidorak unleashed. Nothing else mattered but getting his mate to safety.
He sprang up just as his uncle attacked him with a swing of his axe.
He couldn’t maneuver away quickly, and a deep slice cut into his chest. Without pause, his uncle aimed for another strike, but Vidorak grabbed onto his uncle’s wrist, stopping the descent of the axe.
The deadly blow was blocked, but it came at the price of Vidorak leaving himself open, and Urim took advantage.
His uncle struck his face, battering him relentlessly.
Vidorak’s vision dotted, but he continued to hold, not letting the axe get any closer.
With his sight obscured by blood, Vidorak slammed his head forward, hearing a satisfying crunch as he shattered his uncle’s nose. The blow was hard enough to temporarily lose hearing, but the pressure of the oncoming axe lessened.
“This is for threatening my mate.” Vidorak slammed his fist into Urim’s jaw.
“This is for breaking my mother’s heart.” He kicked Urim’s chest, sending him flying backward onto the ground.
Vidorak stalked forward, bending down to pick up the fallen dagger. Urim made to sit up, but Vidorak was there in one smooth motion and slammed the dagger down to the hilt into his uncle’s heart.
“That is for the clan,” he nearly whispered. For the sorrow, the suffering, and the hardships he had brought them, his uncle deserved this death.