Chapter 105

“Torvek! Vel!” I shouted the moment I appeared in the bailey.

Silence answered me. The yard was empty.

I strode into the keep, calling out again, my voice echoing off stone. A few long, tense moments passed before Torvek’s head appeared over the railing above.

“Where the hell is everyone?” I demanded.

“We’re up here,” he said quickly. “Mirri went to the villages. Ashlara and Serah left. I don’t know where the pack went.” His eyes locked onto mine. “What’s wrong?”

“Get everyone to the demesne. Now,” I said. “Myrddin are coming. I don’t know when. The others are your priority - keep them safe. I’m going to find Mirri.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I stepped.

I found Mirri in Pinefall, standing in front of her mother.

It wasn’t going well.

“…and now we’re supposed to abandon everything because your incompetent womb-waster is tearing down everything we’ve built?” Morghinna snarled, her voice sharp with fury.

Mirri’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

“If you’d pull your head out of your ass, you’d see he’s trying to save your carrion cunt,” she shot back, her voice cutting like a blade. “But if you’d rather get your tribe killed because you can’t stop chasing limp-dicked runt-makers, then go ahead. I’m done.”

I’d never heard her like this. Not even the day we met.

“Mirri,” I called.

She spun toward me, fury blazing in her eyes - then faltered as she recognized me.

“Seth!”

I closed the distance in a step, pulling her into a tight embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Behind her, Morghinna scoffed. “Of course. The tribe-breaker comes and goes as he pleases.”

I ignored her.

“We have a problem,” I murmured, low enough that Morghinna wouldn’t hear. “A big one. Myrddin are coming. I don’t know when, but it’s soon. We need to evacuate everyone. Now.”

Mirri’s eyes widened, the anger draining from her face, replaced with fear.

“Where did Ashie and Serah go?” I asked.

“I thought they were at the keep with the children,” she said.

I shook my head. “Torvek said they left. What about the ferals?”

“They took off not long after you did. I don’t know where.”

I exhaled slowly. “Alright,” I said. “I need to talk to the Iilvarions.”

Then, louder, just enough to carry, “Morghinna. As always, it’s been a pleasure.”

I turned to leave. Mirri caught my arm.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” she said. Her voice was ****, her grip tight on my arm. “You always keep your promises. So promise me.”

I knelt, cupping her cheek in my hand. “I promise.”

Her eyes searched mine, then she nodded.

I stood and stepped away.

* * *

I wasn’t supposed to be out here alone. He’d been clear about that. Something called the buddy system. Always in pairs. Never alone.

But we all had things to do.

I moved through the forest surrounding the keep, stepping carefully between roots and stones as I checked each pit I’d dug. They were deep - deep enough it would be tough to climb out. At the bottom, sharpened stakes waited, their points fire blackened.

I crouched at each one, inspecting the coverings, adjusting branches, brushing away anything that looked out of place.

Then I marked them. Just a little. Enough that animals would smell it and keep their distance. Enough that the Others would know.

We were supposed to protect the Others. Even if they weren’t part of the pack. I didn’t understand why. But He had said it. So we did it.

There were more than just pits now. Log traps rigged to swing down with crushing ****. Trip lines hidden low and tight. Even a few spell traps - simple, but effective. The mothers had been teaching us more advanced magic, and I’d been paying attention.

I moved farther out, toward the road. The path itself I left untouched. Clear. Safe. Anyone who stayed on it would pass without harm.

But anyone who stepped off… They wouldn’t make it far.

I flexed my wings and leapt, catching the air with two powerful beats that lifted me halfway up the sheer rock face that overlooked the road. I grabbed hold of the wall and climbed the rest of the way.

The rockslide I’d set up was still in place. A careful balance of weight and tension -stones stacked just so, waiting for the right push. It wouldn’t block the road entirely, but it would **** it, slow anything trying to pass. And anyone caught in the gully below when it fell…

I stepped closer, testing the edge, making a small adjustment to one of the anchor stones.

Then I stood there for a moment, looking down at the road.

Watching. Waiting. Ready.

* * *

A bridge to the east brought me within striking distance of the Illvarion army.

“Who’s gonna teach you how to dance,” I sang under my breath as I lifted into the air, launching forward like an arrow. “Who’s gonna show you how to fly…”

The wind tore past me as I crossed the remaining miles, the chorus carrying me the rest of the way.

I dropped to the ground a hundred feet from the army and continued forward on foot, arms spread wide, palms open.

No weapons. No threat.

The army was massive - nearly rivaling Arvellia’s. Thousands of horses shifted and snorted as their riders slowed, reining them in with practiced ease. The movement rippled outward like a wave until the entire **** stood still, watching. Waiting.

I stopped, planted Adhaneth into the earth, and let the silence settle.

Up close, I could see them clearly now. Olive skin. Dark hair. Hard eyes. There was a uniformity to them - not identical, but shared. Like they all belonged to the same long, unbroken line.

Three cloaked riders broke from the ranks and approached at an easy trot.

Their armor was light - reinforced leather accented with bright red cloth. Bows rested across their backs, quivers at their hips, and curved blades hung at their sides.

They dismounted smoothly, almost in unison.

The first rider pulled back his hood.

An older man. Dark hair touched with silver. A long scar carved down from his temple to his jaw, but it didn’t diminish him - it sharpened him. He stood just shy of my height, his dark eyes steady and assessing. He gave me a respectful nod.

The second rider followed.

A woman. Beautiful, but not in a fragile way. Real. Grounded. Her dark hair was braided tight and threaded with red ribbons. Small scars dotted her face like faint constellations. She stood maybe five-five, lean and strong, her gaze level and unflinching as it met mine. She inclined her head in greeting.

“Seth Grimm,” the third rider said. His voice carried easily, confident and warm.

He stepped forward, still hooded. “Arthyr reborn. Wielder of Adhaneth. Companion of dragons. Destroyer of Saint Aldric’s childhood home.” He paused, then added with a hint of amusement, “And the man who **** me to change professions.”

He threw back his hood. Tall. Lean. Salt-and-pepper hair spilling to his shoulders. His face was still handsome despite the years, and his smile was bright - too perfect, almost theatrical. His dark eyes sparkled with recognition.

I frowned, searching my memory. He clearly knew me. He was waiting. Then it clicked.

“Jackob?” I asked.

“Yes!” he laughed, clapping his hands together and bouncing once on his heels. “I told you he’d remember me!”

I stared at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“We’re here to help!” he said immediately. “The army of Illvarion is yours to command, my lord.” He dipped into a deep, dramatic bow.

“The army is not yours to command,” the older man corrected calmly. “We are here to offer aid.”

That… was not what I’d expected. It took me a moment to catch up.

“I - uh - appreciate it,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “Really. But I’m trying to stop a war.” I gestured vaguely westward. “Urzan-Brek is dead. His Faith is driving people into bloodlust. The Iron Nation is marching on my home because one of the gods killed a warlord’s son and blamed it on one of mine. Arvellia thinks I’m staging a rebellion. I might have convinced Morentis not to attack.”

I exhaled. “And there’s a good chance the Myrddin are about to show up.”

Jackob lit up. “Then you definitely need us!”

“No,” I said flatly. “I need fewer armies, not more.”

His smile faltered.

“When the orcs see Arvellia, they’ll attack. If you show up, they’ll both attack you too. I’m trying to keep people alive. Not pile more bodies on the ground.”

I met his eyes. “And if the Myrddin are coming, the world is going to need you to help defend it.”

“You’ve got two armies already moving against you - and the Myrddin,” Jackob pressed. “You need us.”

“The world needs you,” I said. “Please. Hold back. Don’t engage unless the Myrddin actually appear.” I hesitated. “And even then… think twice.”

I let out a breath. “Give me a few days.”

I pointed west. “The Morentis army is about a hundred miles that way. Join them. Tell Masters Crowhurst, Rookhaven, and Graveholt I sent you. They seem reasonable.”

Jackob opened his mouth to argue, but the older man placed a hand on his shoulder.

“We will join with Morentis,” he said. “You have three days. If we hear nothing from you by then, we will assume the Myrddin have come - and we will advance.”

I held his gaze for a moment. “Thank you.”

Then I stepped away.

* * *

He said the hordes were two or three days away. I figured I could make it by morning. I wanted to see what we were up against.

So I ran.

I ran until the world narrowed to the rhythm of my heartbeat and the pounding of my feet against the earth. Wind tore through my hair as I pushed harder, faster - vaulting fallen logs, clearing gullies in long, easy strides. Branches clawed at my arms, snapping and scraping, but I barely felt them.

A grin pulled at my lips.

This - this was what I was made for.

By the time the sun dipped behind the mountains, the world had split in two - dark swallowing the east while the west burned gold with the last light of day.

That’s when I caught it.

Smoke. Roasting meat. Unwashed bodies.

I slowed. Dropped low. Let the forest swallow me.

The sounds came next - voices, rough and sharp, speaking Drath. Firelight flickered through the trees ahead, orange and restless. I crept forward until I could see them clearly.

Orcs.

A lot of them. Too many.

The camp looked like Tansy had thrown a tantrum and walked away laughing. Trees were splintered and shoved aside. Trash littered the ground. Fires smoked and crackled unchecked. No order. No discipline. Just noise and chaos and stench.

Most of them were nearly as tall as Nim, but leaner. Scarred. Twisted. Ugly.

Nothing like Ashie. She was strength held tight. Quiet. Controlled. Smart.

These… weren’t. They were loud. Careless. Reckless.

I studied them, appraising them.

I could take one. Two, easy. Maybe three if I pushed it.

But there were too many. But there were as many here as there were stars in the sky.

We couldn’t fight this head-on. Not unless we broke them first. Thinned them. Cut away the weak until the rest could be handled.

I moved deeper into the camp, slipping between tents like a shadow. No one was watching. No one cared. I could’ve strolled straight through the middle, whistling, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed.

Still, I stayed careful. Kept to the edges. Let the darkness hide me.

I checked a few tents. Nothing worth noting. Dirty furs. Weapons. Trinkets.

Further in, the tents grew larger.

Important.

I drifted toward them and lifted the flap of the first, slipping inside.

The smell hit me immediately - different from the rest of the camp. Not rot and sweat, but something heavier. Smoke. Herbs. Earth.

Bones hung from cords tied to the frame, swaying slightly, clinking softly together like crude wind chimes.

I froze.

An old orc woman sat across from me.

Her hair was painted red and stiffened into jagged spikes. Deep lines carved through green-gray skin. Ritual scars marked her face, her chest, her arms. A necklace of bones rested against her collar.

She gripped a staff and pushed herself upright.

“Khar-vek,” she spat.

Blood cub.

“Grathra,” I replied.

Her eyes widened. “You can speak?”

I glanced around the tent, unimpressed. “Are you deaf?”

She pulled the staff closer, like it might protect her. “I have never met a khar-vek who could speak.”

I ignored her, scanning the space. Herbs. Powders. Tools. I recognized some of them from Mirri and Grams.

“You’re a healer,” I said.

“Shaman,” she corrected. “I heal. I advise.”

That got my attention. I turned back to her. “Then advise them to leave,” I said. My voice was low, steady. “Stay away from my home. Stay away from my pack.”

I bared my teeth, a growl building in my chest. “If you come closer, we will kill every last one of you.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft clatter of bone against bone.

Then I stepped away - back into the demesne. And went home.