Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Khorrek’s Beast stirred restlessly as they emerged from the narrow mountain pass.
Two days of hard riding. Two days pushing the horses to their limits while keeping watch for Lasseran’s patrols. And now finally—finally—they’d reached the plains.
The plains spread before them like an ocean of grass, golden in the afternoon light. The stone circle was still three days ahead. Maybe less if they didn’t encounter resistance.
So of course we’re about to encounter resistance.
Because the horizon had just sprouted riders.
His hand automatically went to his blade, years of training overriding conscious thought. Beside him, Egon had already drawn steel. The scarred orc’s amber eyes were black, his beast close to the surface.
“How many?” he growled.
“Fifteen. Maybe twenty.” Khorrek studied the approaching group. Fast horses. Organized formation. Disciplined. “Not Lasseran’s men.”
“No. The People of the Plains.”
Khorrek had heard stories. Everyone had. The nomadic tribes who roamed the grasslands between the Five Kingdoms. Who owed allegiance to no king. Who moved like ghosts through territory that should have been impossible to cross. Who were supposed to avoid outsiders.
So why are they riding straight toward us?
“Should we run?” Lyric asked as calmly as if she were asking about the weather.
“No,” Thea said thoughtfully. “I don’t think they mean harm to us.”
“You don’t think?” He kept his eyes on the riders as they drew closer. “What makes you so certain?”
“I’m not certain. I just… feel it.”
He wanted to argue, wanted to grab Thea and get her to safety, but he was learning to trust her instincts. Those strange certainties that came from nowhere.
The Old Gods were guiding her. Or so she believed.
The riders slowed as they approached, expertly handling their horses without reins or stirrups. Warriors, all of them. And they were nothing like Khorrek had imagined.
Golden skin. So pale it almost glowed in the sunlight. Hair the color of fresh snow, flowing long and free. Pointed ears. High cheekbones.
Like elves from ancient stories, beautiful and deadly.
The leader dismounted in a single fluid movement. He was tall, lean rather than wide, and his silver eyes held an unsettling intelligence. When he smiled, Khorrek saw the fangs.
“Peace, warriors,” the leader said in a melodious voice. “We mean you no harm.”
“Forgive us if we’re cautious,” Egon said, his voice dangerous. “We weren’t expecting company.”
“No. But we were expecting you.” The leader’s silver eyes shifted to Thea. “The one who walks between worlds. The vessel of ancient knowledge.”
His Beast surged protectively. How did he know about Thea?
“Who are you?” Thea asked calmly.
“I am Rashad. Leader of the Windrunner tribe.” He inclined his head respectfully. “And we have been waiting for your arrival.”
“Waiting?” Lyric leaned forward in her saddle. “How did you know we were coming?”
“The same way you knew we meant no harm.” Rashad’s smile widened. “The Old Gods speak to those who listen.”
Thea and Lyric exchanged a glance and something passed between them. They believed him.
Khorrek didn’t like it. He didn’t like strangers approaching with useful knowledge and mysterious purposes. But Thea patted his arm reassuringly.
“It’s all right.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” Her grey eyes met his, calm and certain. “They’re here to help.”
“Why would they help us?”
“Because balance serves us all,” Rashad said. “Lasseran’s corruption poisons the land. Twists the magic. Drives the wild creatures mad.” His silver eyes were serious. “We have watched the Five Kingdoms tear themselves apart. Have seen the bloodshed. The suffering.”
“And you’ve done nothing to stop it,” Egon observed, his voice still hard.
“We are nomads. We do not interfere in the affairs of settled peoples.” Rashad’s expression didn’t change. “But this is different. This affects us all. The magic Lasseran wields threatens everything.”
“So you’ll help us reach the stone circle?”
“We will accompany you. Protect you. Ensure you arrive safely to perform your ritual.”
“And what do you want in return?” he asked suspiciously. Nothing was ever free.
“Balance. Harmony. The restoration of the natural order.” Rashad’s gaze was steady. “That is payment enough.”
Khorrek didn’t believe him. He didn’t trust this convenient assistance from strangers.
But Thea was nodding, and Lyric looked equally convinced.
The Old Gods. Always the Old Gods.
He shared a glance with Egon and saw his own doubts reflected back, but he also saw the resignation on the other orc’s face.
“Fine,” Khorrek said. “You can ride with us. But if you try anything—”
“You’ll rip us apart with your bare hands. Yes, I understand.” Rashad’s smile was amused. “Your reputation precedes you, Khorrek of Kel’Vara.”
Khorrek tensed. “How do you know my name?”
“The winds carry many stories. And yours is particularly interesting.”
“I don’t—”
“Peace.” Rashad raised a hand. “I mean no offense. Merely observation.” He turned to his riders. Called out something in a flowing, musical language.
They responded immediately. Falling into formation around Khorrek’s small group.
A protective escort. Or a prison.
He couldn’t shake the unease, couldn’t trust this sudden assistance, but Thea’s hand was still warm and steady on his arm.
“Thank you,” she said to Rashad. “Your help is appreciated.”
“It is our honor to serve the will of the Old Gods.”
They rode through the afternoon and into evening, the plains stretching endlessly around them. The People of the Plains moved like water, graceful and efficient with no wasted motion. And they were fast.
He’d thought they were pushing hard before, but the Windrunner tribe set a brutal pace, pushing their horses to their limits, but Thea never complained or asked them to slow. She just leaned into the ride with her usual quiet determination.
She’s so strong. So brave. And she doesn’t even realize it.
As the sun touched the horizon, Rashad called a halt.
“We camp here.”
The Windrunners dismounted and began setting up camp with astonishing speed. Tents appeared, fire circles were dug, and the horses tended. In minutes, a small village had materialized from nothing.
“Impressive,” Egon muttered.
“They’ve been doing this their whole lives,” Lyric observed. “Generations of knowledge.”
He helped Thea down from the horse, keeping his hands on her waist to steady her. She looked tired and there were shadows under her eyes, but her smile was as bright as ever.
“I’m fine. Stop worrying.”
“I’ll stop worrying when this is over.”
“So never?”
“Probably.”
She laughed, and pushed her glasses up her nose. He loved that gesture, the little tell that something was happening in her busy brain.
One of the Windrunners approached, young and female with curious silver eyes.
“We have prepared a tent for the vessel and her mate.”
“That’s not necessary—” he began.
“It is.” Rashad appeared silently beside them. “You will need rest. Privacy. The stone circle demands much. You should be prepared.”
He wanted to refuse, wanted to maintain their independence, but Thea was exhausted and swaying on her feet. She needed a proper rest. A comfortable bed. Safety.
“Thank you,” he said grudgingly.
Rashad bowed in response, not quite hiding his amusement.
The tent was larger than he expected with a carpet covering the ground, a thick pile of furs for sleeping, and a small brazier for warmth. Luxurious by traveling standards.
“This is too much,” Thea said, looking around.
“The Old Gods favor you. We honor that.” The young female—Khorrek still didn’t know her name—bowed slightly. “Rest. We will call you for the evening meal.”
She left and he remained in the middle of the tent, tense and uncomfortable.
“You hate this,” she said quietly.
“I don’t like accepting help from strangers.”
“They’re not strangers. They’re allies.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” She crossed to him and put her hands on his chest. “The same way I knew we needed to go to the stone circle. The same way I know the ritual will work.”
“Your Old Gods again.”
“Yes.”
He wanted to argue, wanted to demand proof and a rational explanation, but he’d learned better over the past weeks. Her instincts were never wrong, even when he didn’t understand them.
He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. Clean and sweet despite the long ride.
“I’m terrified I’ll fail you,” he admitted quietly. “That I won’t be able to protect you.”
“You won’t fail. You couldn’t.” Her arms wrapped around him. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
“I’m a weapon Lasseran forged. Nothing more.”
“You’re wrong. You’re so much more.” She pulled back and met his eyes. “You’re the orc who chose freedom. Who broke his conditioning and is fighting for what’s right instead of what was ordered.”
“Thea—”
“You’re my mate. My partner. My love,” she said fiercely. “And I trust you with my life.”
He kissed her hard, claiming her, and she melted into him, accepting his claim. And for a moment, the fear receded.
The Windrunners shared the evening meal gathered around a large fire, swapping stories and laughter. He watched them, studying their dynamics. They moved like a pack with each person knowing their role, but there was also warmth and genuine affection. Family, or perhaps chosen family.
Something he’d never had until Thea.
Rashad sat beside him, uninvited but not unwelcome.
“Your mate is remarkable.”
His Beast stirred protectively.
“Yes.”
“The knowledge she carries. The power flowing through her.” Rashad’s silver eyes were thoughtful. “Does she understand what she is?”
“A scholar. A linguist.”
“A vessel. Chosen by the Old Gods to restore balance.” Rashad smiled. “But yes. Also a scholar.”
He didn’t respond as he watched her across the fire. She was talking to Lyric, excited about something. She was beautiful, her hair turning to copper flames in the firelight.
“You fear for her,” Rashad observed.