Page 3 of Orc's Redemption

Sitting next to the fire I stare into the flames, letting my thoughts wander. A few loyal warriors followed me into this uncertain exile, but we are nothing against the Zmaj. I couldn’t defeat the Zmaj with the armies I once commanded. No, if nothing else is clear, I am certain that fighting is not the way. Besides, I am tired of war.

War is exhausting. It has gotten us nowhere. It brought us to the brink of extinction. That exhaustion is what pushed me to trust Kire. I would do anything for my people. Anything to protect them, to ensure their future. And he played on that.

The fire crackles, casting long shadows against the stone walls. Vapas sleeps close by on a thin mat blocking the door to the room. The warriors with me have been taking turns with guard duty, never leaving me alone. Pride swells in my chest looking at his sleeping form. Even in rest he is poised for battle. One hand rests on the hilt of his blade, as if ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

I envy his sleep.

The weight of my failures presses in, heavy and cold as a tomb. A suffocating thing that no fire can burn away. If I close my eyes, I see Kire’s face, hear the silken poison of his voice whispering promises in the dark. So reasonable at first, his words laced with conviction, his promises dripping with poisoned hope. I let him rise. He used our traditions. Twisted our faith into something unrecognizable.

I let him destroy us as certainly as if he was working for the Zmaj.

I exhale, forcing my thoughts away. Regret is a burden I must carry, but it will not serve me to dwell on it. What matters is the present, survival, and creating the future.

Footsteps and the whisper of a dragging tail echo outside the chamber, heavy and deliberate. The Zmaj are always near, watching, waiting. They do not trust me, not that I blame them. But I am not their enemy. Not anymore.

Rising to my feet, I wrap my cloak around my shoulders. I carefully step around Vapas, emerging onto the ring that rises from the cavern floor. I go to the edge, which has no protection and look over the Zmaj compound. The bioluminescent fungi glow in shifting hues of blue and green, casting an eerie beauty across the hollowed city of my once-enemies. The Zmaj move below like restless specters, their eyes reflecting the light as they go about their lives.

Somewhere among them is the Al’fa. Hot-tempered, brash, unyielding. He does not see me as an equal. He does not see the necessity of this alliance.

He will. He must. I will make him see.

A rustle behind me breaks my thoughts. I glance over my shoulder as Vapas steps through the heavy leather that serves as a door, his expression tight with barely restrained frustration.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he says, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes searching the dim light for any threat to my safety.

“Do you think the Zmaj will strike me down in their own halls?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

His jaw clenches, the tension rolling off him like a storm barely held at bay. His hands ball into fists. He blinks, slowly, a low growl slipping free.

“I think they already believe we are defeated. I do not like being at their mercy.”

“Neither do I,” I admit. “But we have no choice.”

“Their Al’fa will not listen,” he says softly. “He does not trust us.”

I smile—a thin, humorless twist of my lips. “Then it is on me to convince him.”

I turn back to the cavern, gaze sweeping across the Zmaj city. Their Al’fa is down there somewhere, speaking with his advisors, making decisions that will shape the fate of this world. The one thing I am certain of is that I will not let my people fade into oblivion. I will make him listen.

“You don’t blame me,” I say, watching him carefully.

Vapas lifts his gaze, the firelight from the partially open door reflecting off the edges of his face.

“Would it change anything if I did?”

His voice is quiet, but the weight behind it is undeniable. I exhale, turning my attention back to the cavern.

“No,” I answer, staring over the edge at the long drop below.

Blame is a luxury for the dead. We are not dead yet, but still it unsettles me. His lack of anger, his lack of reproach, from all of my warriors. Vapas was a Kapatan in the army, but I did not know him personally. I have seen that he is pragmatic and even-tempered. But even so, how can he not carry at least some resentment for what I allowed to happen.

“I should have stopped him,” I admit, my hands tightening around the edges of my cloak. “I should have seen what he was becoming before it was too late.”

Vapas shifts and it only takes a glance for me to see his discomfort. I am the Queen, expressing regrets and doubts is not something I should do. It breaks all custom and traditions but perhaps if I’d been willing to break them before none of this would have happened. If I’d not clung to tradition and pride.

Never forget pride.

“You are not the only one who failed to see.” I glance at him sharply. He meets my gaze without hesitation. “The Shaman deceived all of us, not just you. He was patient, cunning. By the time his true intentions were clear, it was already too late.”

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