He straightened, the dark clinging to his shoulders like a mantle, and spoke so that the men around them could hear—not rage, not pleading, but cold, absolute command. “Kardoc,” he said, and his voice carried across the churned earth, “you will stop this. Lay down your hatred and your axe. This ends tonight—my way.”
Kardoc laughed then, a sound without humor. “Your way,” he spat, and charged.
Rakhal met him without flinching.
The first clash rang out like thunder: steel on leather, a savage roar, shadows exploding in a spray of black that licked and recoiled as Rakhal met the first swing. He moved with the terrible grace of a thing half-orc, half-dark, letting the shadow shield his advance, letting it take the brunt of the blows he meant to answer. Around them, the horde hesitated, then surged, theline between brother and brother thinning to a single, brutal collision.
In that moment—the scrape of Kardoc’s blade, the hot breath, the raw intent—Rakhal understood the price of his choice: blood would fall. Betrayal demanded a reckoning. He would make sure it bled into something endable, not endless.
He struck back.
His blade found its mark, piercing Kardoc’s shoulder.
The bigger orc staggered back, bellowing, his axe swinging wide. Kardoc had always been stronger, broader, built like the mountains themselves. But Rakhal was faster—and the shadows gave him more. Not to blind his brother completely—no, Kardoc, like many shadow-blooded, could see through them—but enough. Enough to give him speed, enough to trick the eye, enough to land the strike.
He could have gone for the heart. He hadn’t. Not yet.
Now his brother reeled, blood soaking through his leather armor.
“Tell Father he will live to regret his decision,” Rakhal said icily, his voice ringing across the battlefield. He knew, as the words left his mouth, that he had crossed the point of no return.
Through blood and pain, Kardoc smiled again. Mocking. “Not possible. Father is dead.”
Rakhal froze. Just for a heartbeat.
And in that heartbeat, an iron bolt tore into his shoulder. He staggered, snarling at the pain. A human crossbow bolt. Fired at the horde. Of course—they could not tell him apart from the enemy. Eliza’s orders, no doubt. He could not blame her.
“What?” he gasped, the shadows flickering around him.
Both brothers swayed, bloodied, wounded.
Still grinning, Kardoc spat the words out like venom. “I know you didn’t kill him. But the Varak—the entire clan—thinks you did.”
You snake,Rakhal thought, fury blackening his vision. He surged forward, shadows writhing around him, reaching to engulf Kardoc. To kill him for this deception. This was not the orc way.
Another bolt hit him, this time in the back. He staggered, shadows flaring wild. Around him, more orcs fell under the hail of iron. Another rushed him, axe raised.
Kardoc retreated into the chaos, his laughter trailing back.
Rakhal’s vision blurred. He had no choice now. He had to pull back.
He fell back toward his line, the shadows snapping around him like broken chains, and let Shazi and her soldiers take up the charge.
“Shazi!” he screamed, as he wrapped the shadows around himself, pulling back toward the wall. Energy drained from his body with every step. The shadows were seeking their advantage now, pulling at his will, whispering of surrender.
He ripped the bolts out with a growl and bound the shadows tight around his wounds, stemming the bleeding with their unnatural grip.
Shazi and her troops streamed into the chaos, cutting through the press of enemy orcs.
“Kardoc!” someone shouted in the distance, and Rakhal’s gaze snapped that way just in time to see his brother stagger and fall.
“Retreat!” Kardoc bellowed, even as orc soldiers swarmed around him, lifting his bulk and carrying him away.
The betrayers fell back, running fast into the dark.
Shazi turned toward Rakhal, motioning with her axe:follow?
She wanted to hunt them down.
