Finally emotion seemed to cross her face as her eyes narrowed, glistening with unshed tears. After a moment of hesitation, she took the coin purse from his outstretched hand, grasping his fingers for a moment with unexpected tenderness.
“I’m sorry,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I understand if you don’t want to see me again, but… Iamsorry.”
Zorvut pursed his lips, glancing away. “I know,” he replied faintly. He could understand it, he thought, as much as it pained him. “You should go.”
She looked away before he could see her cry, nodding. “Yes,” she agreed, and turned to go. “Goodbye, my son.” She glanced at Taegan as she stepped away, looked between them for a brief moment, then simply nodded toward the elf in acknowledgment before pushing her way through the crowd and disappearing.
“What just happened?” Taegan asked with a frown, watching her go. Zorvut sighed.
“She’s free now, but it wouldn’t be safe for her here,” he said slowly, switching back to elvish. “When power passes to the next warlord, usually their whole family is slain along with him. Even though she’s my mother, there’s no place for the former warlord’s wife when the next one ascends.”
Taegan seemed to consider it for a moment, then he could practically feel the realization click into place as the elf swiveled his head to look up at him, eyes wide.
“That’s you, isn’t it?” he asked, the shock in his voice taking Zorvut by surprise. “You killed him, so now you’re…?”
Zorvut let out a bitter laugh. Somehow, it seemed, he kept ending up with power he had never asked for. “Yes, that’s correct. That would make me the new warlord, now.”
11
Taegan
The rest of the day passed in a blurry whirlwind. Taegan could barely keep track of the events as they happened—between the invasion of elves quashing the last of any rebellion against Zorvut, to the spreading news of Hrul’s violent end and Zorvut seizing power throughout the city and beyond, there was hardly a moment for them to stop and breathe until well past nightfall.
“Where are we even going to sleep?” he asked in despair when he realized the sun had gone down several hours ago. Food had been brought to them, but they were sitting in the town square where Zorvut had moved to speak with some of the other leaders in the city, orc generals and soldiers to arrange spreading the news of his ascension and his decree of ending the war.
“The warlord’s tent,” Zorvut sighed, looking over at him. His wounds had been briefly checked over and quickly cleaned up by a shaman, who had inspected and bandaged Taegan’s burned arm as well, but they were both still dirty and bloody, and Taegan could feel bone-deep weariness emanating from him. “I asked to have it cleared out as much as possible, so we should be able to sleep there tonight. I’ll figure something out for the long term. I don’t think we’ll be here much longer, but I can have someone take you there if you want to go lay down.”
“No,” Taegan replied, hardly letting Zorvut finish his sentence. “No, I’m staying with you.” The half-orc gave him a wry smile.
“I won’t be much longer, I promise,” he murmured, leaning down to gingerly kiss Taegan’s forehead. “I don’t think anyone else is going to come to speak with me, but I just want to make sure everyone who wanted to has the chance.”
Taegan nodded, though he felt restless and anxious to go. He had understood little of what had happened, since it was mainly orcs speaking orcish who had come to speak with Zorvut, with a far more complicated mix of sentiments than he could understand just through their bond. Some had sounded angry, even violent, but he had never felt any sort of fear coming from Zorvut, and nothing had escalated.
At first he had thought it was just leaders of the orcish armies who had wanted to converse with him, but he realized even common foot soldiers and non-warriors entirely were coming to speak with him as well. Zorvut had explained that he had to prove his worth to his people, and this process was customary, but still Taegan did not really understand. But he waited patiently, despite the nervousness that still simmered in the back of his mind.
Finally, when it felt like it must have been near midnight, Zorvut turned to him and said softly in elvish, “I don’t think I can stay awake much longer.”
“Let’s go,” Taegan urged, putting a hand on his forearm, and this time Zorvut nodded in agreement. A few orc soldiers had maintained a sort of watch around him, and he spoke to them in a few harsh, guttural words before turning back to Taegan.
“They’ll tell anyone else who comes to return in the morning,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Zorvut stood, and Taegan followed. They were undisturbed as they left, and before long they were alone on the street, which worked out in their favor as Zorvut stumbled more than once as he walked. Taegan could feel his exhaustion from the bond as if it were his own. Some pain in his arm still lingered, but whatever salve the shaman had slathered on it seemed to have done the trick for now, and it only bothered him if he thought about it too long. Focusing on Zorvut’s sore tiredness was somehow easier.
“Do you know how to get there?” he asked, coming up alongside Zorvut and placing his hand on his arm, partly as a gesture of comfort and partly in hopes of steadying his wobbling gait.
“Yes,” Zorvut answered with a nod, blinking a few times. He steadied himself and continued walking, Taegan following him hesitantly.
Eventually they seemed to arrive, as Zorvut led him to what looked like an abandoned tent much larger than the surrounding ones and walked inside. Taegan glanced around, his brows furrowed, but it didn’t seem like anyone was around—or inside, since there was no commotion as Zorvut entered the tent as if it were his own. So he pushed open the tent flaps as well and took a few steps inside.
It was dark, but Zorvut was already lighting a few candles to illuminate it. Although it was a tent, it seemed halfway a permanent fixture with curtain-like room dividers set up to create a sitting area in the front and what seemed to be private quarters toward the back. Wooden fixtures held up the thick cloth of the tent in an amalgam of colors, ranging from deep purples to vibrant yellows and oranges, too gaudy for Taegan’s taste but certainly with the intention of conveying importance and class. But the room seemed to have been sacked from what Taegan could tell—tables and chairs had been upended, and any sign of personal belongings such as clothes or trinkets were totally gone.
“Is it alright for us to be here?” he asked nervously as he looked around the room. Zorvut glanced back at him, a soft smile breaking his features.
“It’s fine,” he reassured him. “No one else will be using this tent. Itistechnically mine now. I think whoever emptied it just decided to start clearing it out without thinking to tidy it up again.” He gestured toward the back where a curtain was draped as some sort of door. “There should be a wooden tub back there, and a well out back. Do you…” He trailed off, suddenly seeming embarrassed as he looked away.
“What’s wrong?” Taegan asked, frowning.
“Could you help me bring in some water?” he asked faintly, looking away. Taegan forced himself not to laugh, though a tender sort of amusement welled up in him at the question.
