She stared at him, shock breaking through her composure. “Rakhal… what?—?”
“Attackers,” he said curtly, his voice cutting through her protest. “No time to explain. I will hold them off—and show you the true depth of my commitment to this plan.”
He raised his voice, making sure the humans above and behind the walls heard every word.
“She is safe. Keep her here. Keep your men inside, lest you want any to die. I will have no more blood spilled—unless they deserve it. Not Maidan. Not orc. I will contain the threat.”
The soldiers looked to their queen.
And Eliza—gods, she was quick—straightened her spine, her expression hardening with command. “Defend from behind the walls,” she ordered. “Watch. And wait. Fire upon the enemy—but not Rakhal’s people.”
Rakhal turned, glaring up at the watchtowers. “No arrows. Not yet. If I fail, then you may fire.”
His shadows stirred, hungry and ready. The plains beyond burned with torchlight, and the sound of approaching orcs rolled toward them like thunder.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Rakhal turned from the gate, the weight of Eliza’s gaze still burning between his shoulder blades. He strode back into the night, toward his own.
The warband stood in grim silence, weapons ready, armor glinting dully under torchlight. The tension in the air was raw, brittle—his warriors shifting, uncertain, caught between the humans on the walls and the thunder of approaching boots across the plains.
Shazi stood at their head, axe in hand, her expression carved from stone. Her dark eyes locked on his, cold and steady, waiting.
Rakhal’s voice cut through the stillness.
“You know our mission. You know its intent. My plan. I want peace.”
A ripple went through the orcs, subtle, wary.
“Our enemy approaches,” he said, letting the word fall heavy. “Our own people.”
The shadows writhed at his feet, restless, feeding on his anger. He let them rise, curling around his shoulders, black tendrils whispering in the air. He could feel more of themstirring, emanating from the ancient walls of Istrial itself. Old power, coiled in the stone. Good. He would use it.
“I intend to stand here and fight.” His voice deepened, carrying the weight of command, of inevitability. “But I will not force your hands. You have a choice.”
He let the silence stretch, the shadows crawling higher, answering him.
“Stand with me. Fight the betrayers. Or walk away. Stand withthem.” He jerked his chin toward the oncoming host. “The choice is yours. Each and every one of you. You can be with me… or against me.”
The shadows roared at his back, a silent storm, as the warband stood frozen—watching, waiting to choose.
Shazi was the first to move.
Slowly, she turned, her axe glinting faintly in the moonlight. Her voice carried low and hard, threaded with something he rarely heard from her—weariness.
“I’m tired of spilling blood and burying our own,” she said. “Rakhal wants peace. Our king is old. And if Kardoc rules, he will want a forever war. Even if this plan of his is a little mad…” Her mouth twisted, almost a smile. “I will stand with Prince Rakhal.”
She thumped her chest with her fist, the sound echoing across the still night. A pledge.
Rakhal’s jaw tightened, something fierce and unspoken burning in his chest. This was why he had chosen her. Not only because she followed orders, but because the others would followher. Into battle. Into death.
And so they did.
One by one, the soldiers nodded. Silent. Grim. Resolute. Their tusks caught the moonlight as they turned as one—toward the plains. Toward the oncoming attackers, now visible as dark shapes moving fast beneath the silver glow of the moon.
The betrayers had come.
