Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
The orc soldiers readied themselves, blades drawn, tusks bared in grim silence. Their breath steamed in the cold night air, the low rumble of anticipation running through the line like thunder before a storm.
Rakhal stepped back from them. Away from their eyes, away from their waiting trust. He let himself lean into the dark.
The shadows welcomed him.
The wall of Istrial loomed at his back, casting a vast, weighty shadow across the plain.
It had stood for centuries, soaked in memory.
It whispered to him now—whispered of blood, of power, of conquest. A hungry shadow, filled with the residue of countless souls who had passed through, died upon, defended or assaulted it.
A dangerous thing. But useful.
He reached into it, and the shadows tugged, eager to be wielded.
Their whispers clung to his skin, pressed into his bones.
The sheer depth of it was frightening—this was not the raw shadow he usually bent to his will, but something older, deeper, threaded with the city’s long, brutal history.
Ancient shadows could devour those foolish enough to use them.
But he had no choice.
He would defend his orcs. Loyal Shazi and her soldiers who had chosen him.
He would defend Eliza, his soon-to-be bride. And right now, he would have it no other way. He had set his mind on her, and he wanted her. He had marked her. And by that mark, he was bound not only to her, but to her people. The city of Maidan. Even the innocents beyond its walls.
If it was Kardoc leading the attackers—if it was his own people—then this would cut deep.
But he had warned his father. He had spoken plainly, without deception. If Draak had sent Kardoc regardless, then his trust had been betrayed. And far too often, the price of betrayal was death.
Rakhal’s grip tightened, his breath steadying as he drew the power of the wall into himself. The shadows roared in his blood, whispering promises, demanding blood in return. He felt the surge—terrifying, vast, barely containable.
His goal was clear. Strike hard. Strike fast. Fill the betrayers with enough fear that they would break and scatter, fleeing before their resolve could harden.
Blood would be spilled.
But that was the price of betrayal.