I stepped away from him and gestured for Kreshak to replace the cloth in his mouth, muffling his immediate protest.
"What are your orders, Ruk’hai?" Drak asked, his hand resting on the hilt of the short axe he carried on his belt.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing in my heart. On one hand, I could let the convoy reach Ceilte and threaten Alasdair; he would likely yield, and then the alliances as we knew them today would shift drastically. Ceilte would ally solely with Grìosach, which would make the Winter Court feel betrayed and lead them to attack.
A war of that scale was enough to end a kingdom. For centuries, we had fought against Ceilte. Many orcs, including my father and mother, had died battling the High Fae.
The memory weighted like lead in my chest. My father, as he raised his war axe one last time, arrows lodged in his body, piercing him like a sieve. My mother running toward him, driven mad by the loss of her life partner. She died kneeling beside him, refusing to let go even as death claimed her too.
It wasn't just politics, it never was. It was a bloody legacy, an ancient cycle we could never break, and that this time threatened to swallow everything around us.
I turned my gaze back to the male High Fae, seeing those desperate blue eyes filled with fear. Yet, mixed in with that terror, there was a spark of disdain. Even bound and at our mercy, he looked at us like he was better than us.
That was the problem with the High Fae. They hated and despised those they called inferior. To them, orcs were nothing more than wild animals, creatures who dared to occupy lands they swore belonged to them by right.
"Get him up," I ordered, drawing my war axe.
The metal sang a low, deadly note as I drew it from my back. The male understood my intent instantly. His body shook violently, tears streaming as he babbled incoherent words behind the gag.
Perhaps I should have felt compassion, done what they never did for us, and chosen mercy. However, when I remembered my mother’s desperate gaze and the screams of the orcs dying one by one under the magic of a High Fae, all I could feel was hatred.
“May you make better choices in your next life,” I said, before ending it once and for all.
The Fae collapsed to the ground, lifeless, his eyes frozen wide with a terror death hadn’t yet erased. The silence that followed was absolute, as if even the forest itself mourned the loss.
I wiped the red blood, so different from our own, from the edge of the axe with practiced ease, then secured it back on my back. I lifted my gaze to my companions.
"Prepare yourselves," I ordered. "We’re going to intercept the convoy."
None of them questioned the command. Determination shone on their faces as they melted back into the shadows, merging with the forest. Whoever the prisoner was—capable of pushing entire kingdoms to the brink of war—they would not reach Ceilte tonight.
???
Time dragged on. For me, the waiting was always the hardest part of the battle. I preferred the action, the violentdance of blades, the heat of fury rushing through my veins. Yet patience often meant the difference between survival and death.
The High Fae camp was almost entirely asleep. Only the surviving sentinels continued to patrol; their steps were slow, their attention visibly compromised by the boredom of the night. They hadn’t even noticed one of their own was missing, so lax was their watch.
I opened my hand, signaling the remaining guards. Drak and Uthak fired their bows with precision, and the sentinels dropped to the grass silently—dead before they could even gasp.
The path to the heart of the camp lay open.
I advanced, axe in hand, my warriors close behind. We moved silently. The camp was an easy target—an army relying too much on numbers to worry about attacks. The first High Fae to notice us barely had time to widen his eyes before my blade struck his chest in a swift arc.
Chaos erupted.
A scream spread through the camp, shocking in the stillness of the night. The High Fae woke in confusion, fumbling for their weapons, but we were already among them.
There was no complex strategy, only brute force and orcish speed. We were fifty, and they were two hundred, but the surprise attack and our knowledge of the terrain gave us an edge.
My war axe moved in a frenzy, tearing through my enemies like a hot knife through butter. Each strike carried years of fury behind it.
The sound of steel against steel, the screams of pain, and the bellows of war merged into a hellish symphony. The High Fae, despite their initial panic, began to organize. Their captains,identifiable by their golden armor and shouted commands, attempted to form a defensive circle.
Kreshak and Grik were at my side, fighting with a ferocity that filled me with pride. They moved together, covering each other's backs and eliminating the Fae who tried to flank us. Ni’kira used her speed to infiltrate their lines, taking down the enemies with swift strikes. We advanced like a wedge. Fae armor, though resilient, was no match for the brutality of orcish axes.
I struck down a captain, shattering his helmet. He crumpled where he stood. Using him as a brief shield, I surged ahead toward the cage.
I finally reached the iron structure. It was massive, forged from some High Fae metal that didn’t break easily, and a protection spell radiated from it, making the skin on my arm tingle.
