Page 40 of Orc's Redemption

“You speak as if you know the mind of the Shaman. If you are so certain of his plans, tell me—what would you have us do?”

Another test and in this one there is a trap waiting to be sprung. I hold his gaze, my heart pounding. And I step forward.

16

ELARA

Three Urr’ki guards step inside, weapons drawn, their expressions blank, practiced indifference in their eyes. My stomach drops when I see that Z’leni is not among them. Two hold out heavy chains, staring warily at Ryatuv.

“It is time,” one says, voice low and devoid of even a hint of emotion.

My stomach knots. I don’t have to ask what for.

Ryatuv shifts his weight first, moving with a deliberate slowness, testing his limits. When he rises, he towers over them, his presence is diminished, but not broken. I force myself to my feet and square my shoulders. Whatever happens next, I will not face it cowering.

The Urr’ki bind Ryatuv in so many chains that it’s a wonder he can stay upright. The iron links wrap around his wrists and up most of his forearms. Shackles bind his ankles, connected with a short chain between them. Ryatuv watches with a quiet, dismissive attitude as if the chains don’t matter. I wish I had such confidence. Bile rises in my throat and burns as I swallow it. I don’t want him to die. I don’t want to die either.

They march us through the winding corridors and up a steep set of stairs. We pass decaying tapestries, their edges frayed and fluttering in unseen drafts. The walls have cracks in them that look like spiderwebs. Probably from the recent earthquakes. The air is thick with the scent of dust and old blood.

After at least four sets of slick stairs we stop climbing and walk along a wide, empty corridor. It’s wide enough for four abreast. Occasionally there are armored guards on some doors, while others are not guarded at all.

Two guards flank Ryatuv ahead of me. He rattles and clanks with every step. The third guard is at my side but his attention is on Ryatuv clearly not seeing me as a threat. Which is unfortunately true. It’s not even the unfair physical matching of a woman versus a man. Urr’ki are huge and hulking as a species. In a contest of strength I wouldn’t even be able to step up to the table.

Still I watch. Looking for even the glimmer of a chance to do something. I have no idea what it might be, but it’s all I have. The last, dying vestiges of hope flicker in my chest, making my blood run cold, my heart seize in terror. I cling to it in desperation, unwilling to give up even though I know I should. Something. There has to be a chance to do… something.

Towering doors loom at the far end of the chamber, silent and foreboding. Two guards flank the doors, clad in full armor, their faces hidden behind helmets save for their eyes—dark and gleaming with fierce intent.

We’re led to the doors and then there’s a pause. No one speaks, but it feels as if a conversation is happening. Without warning, the doors swing open—startling me—though no one touches them. I gasp but Ryatuv snorts in derision.

Open, they reveal a massive chamber beyond. The guard on the left pushes Ryatuv but he doesn’t move. Slowly he turns his head to stare at the guard. He hisses low, his tail lashing once against the stone floor.

“You,” Ryatuv says in a calm and even voice, “I will kill first.”

He says it so calmly, so matter-of-fact, that the deadly promise nearly slips past. The Urr’ki growl and the two guards by the door take one step forward, weapons sliding free from their sheaths. Ryatuv turns his head back to front and center then strides forward, chains clanking with every motion he makes.

I follow him into the chamber. The ceiling is so high it disappears into shadows despite the dozens of torches mounted to the walls, filling the air with the acrid smell of burning pitch. The floor beneath us is a sprawling mosaic, its colors dulled to shades of gray and ivory with age.

At the far end there is a dais rising up six platforms. On the top platform sits an ornate throne that looks like its carved out of wood, which would be rare and valuable indeed on the desert planet of Tajss. Almost as precious as water. One tier below, the Shaman reclines on a grotesque throne of bones, shadows clinging to him like extensions of the darkness in his own soul. Beside him are four Maulavi who stand like sentinels, their gazes void of emotion.

At the Shaman’s right stands Z’leni, the Urr’ki warrior who has watched over me. His posture is stiff, his gaze forward, unreadable. But I see the tension in his jaw, the twitching of his fingers as they slightly curl at his sides.

Fear and shock clamp down, stealing my breath. One of the guards shoves his hand into my back and I stumble. Trembling I walk the hall, stopping at the base of the dais. The guards force us to our knees. My heart pounds as the Shaman leans forward, his dark gaze settling on me.

“You, human… Elara,” my name slithers from his lips like a curse. “You mistake tolerance for mercy.”

I say nothing. Words are weapons here, and I have none sharp enough to cut through his cruelty. His gaze slides to Ryatuv.

“And you… Zmaj. An interloper. You thought you could take from me what is mine?”

Ryatuv lifts his chin. A fresh trickle of blood drips along the side of his face. One of his wounds has reopened. Still he looks regal, defiant, and impossibly, as if he’s in control.

“She is not yours.”

The Shaman laughs, a cold, hollow sound.

“Brave words from a broken thing.” Then, without ceremony, he turns to Z’leni at his side. “Kill him,” the Shaman commands, voice as cold as stone.

The chamber stills. Z’leni doesn’t move. For a moment, I think, barely dare to hope, he will refuse. He doesn’t speak, but his fingers twitch, curling into a reluctant fist. The hesitation is brief, but it is there. The Shaman’s smile fades.

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