With some effort he slowly managed to dress himself and make his way out of the tent, though it was later in the morning than he had hoped when he finally emerged into the sunlight. Two elves were posted just outside, standing guard, and looked up at him expectantly as he exited.
“Prince Taegan is still inside,” he said as one stood to greet him. “Make sure someone brings him food and water, and… maybe a healer to check up on him, too.”
“Yes, of course,” the elf agreed, nodding.
Zorvut did not look back as he kept walking, making his way to the center of town and trying to mask his limping gait as best he could. He would be beholden to the rite of proving for another day, so that there would be enough time for each and every orc to come speak to him if they wanted to. It was symbolic more than anything—Zorvut could not recall if anything anyone ever said during the proving had ever truly impacted the way a warlord ruled, but it at least gave the illusion of the people being heard. Maybe he could be the one to finally change things. Maybe.
When he arrived, a handful of both elves and orcs were standing watch, but the first orc he noticed he recognized.
“Gorza!” he exclaimed, a surprised smile crossing his face. His youngest sister glanced over and hesitantly returned the smile, stepping closer to him. It had been nearly a year since he’d last seen her, and she’d gotten some new tattoos around her shoulders and neck.
“Zorvut,” she said carefully as she approached, her hands open at her sides. “I’m glad you lived.”
“You’re brave to show up here,” he said with a snort. “You’re the first I’ve heard from.”
“It’s no secret I had no love for him, especially not after what he did to Mom,” she replied with a disdainful glance toward the city gate, where they had fought less than a day ago now. “It was only a matter of time. I’m glad it was you who took the plunge.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you,” he said, and extended his arm. She glanced at it before stepping closer to gingerly hug him from the side. He winced, the contact making every sore muscle in his torso ache all over again, but returned the embrace.
“Listen,” she said, her voice low in his ear. “Let’s talk in private when you get the chance.”
He hesitated, taken aback at the words. “Of course,” he agreed after a beat of silence, and as she pulled away he offered, “Tomorrow morning? I’m still figuring out where everything is, but I’m guessing the warlord’s tower is still the best private meeting place.”
She nodded. “I can have it cleared out for you before tomorrow.”
Zorvut paused, considering. Though the only tower in the city was fairly small and had only been used as a private meeting space and occasional guest quarters for as long as he could remember, it might work better as a temporary home than the tent they were staying in. Certainly Taegan would find it more comfortable. It was small, but it could be expanded to a larger residence. He would have to talk to someone about it, eventually.
“Yes, if you could do that, I’d appreciate it,” he replied with a nod.
“Great. I’ll get on it,” she said, and smirked. “I know you’re busy so I’ll stay out of your hair for now. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Before he could reply she had already turned to go, and he watched her leave with a pensive frown. It certainly seemed as though Gorza was on his side, and they had always gotten along well, but for her to be so cryptic and careful with her words was not like her.
But it would be tomorrow’s problem, he thought as he took his place in the town square—a line of orcs had already formed to speak with him. He sat down in the plain wooden chair that had been left for him, and gestured for the first of them to approach.
Zorvut was unsure how many orcs he ended up speaking to in the time that he sat there. It started with some he recognized, warriors who had been loyal to Hrul, who mainly asked him about his plans for the war, or rather for the peace treaty he had expressed his intention to reinstate. Most seemed unhappy that he would be ending things even after his explanations, but largely they accepted his decree. He had killed Hrul, and they would not try to fight him, at least not yet.
Next were soldiers, all of them unfamiliar to him. But they asked him largely the same questions, his plans for the elves, the fighting, the other orcs. He did not have many plans just yet, and he could tell his answers did not always satisfy their questions.
And then—a smaller figure approached him, a child, and his heart sank at the familiar face. The first messenger he’d sent ahead, the boy whose sister he’d killed. He met the boy’s silent, dark gaze for a long moment until he could bring his name to the forefront of his memory.
“Vurak,” he said finally, his voice low, and the boy seemed to flinch at the words but took a step closer to him. “…I’m glad to see you’re alive.”
“You killed my sister,” the boy said faintly, just loud enough for him to hear. “Our parents have been gone for a long time. I don’t know where my clan is anymore. I…” Vurak’s eyes suddenly gleamed with unshed tears, and he looked away with a scowl. “I’m hungry. I don’t have anywhere to live. And it’s your fault. Why should I have to follow you?”
“You don’t,” Zorvut replied, leaning back in his chair. The boy shot him a glare, but Zorvut shook his head. “You don’t. You can go back to your clan, or any other. I cannot force anyone to stay if they don’t want to be here.”
“How?” he spat, anger clearly overtaking him as he took another step toward Zorvut, more aggressively this time. The elf standing watch behind him took a step forward, hand on his weapon, but Zorvut lifted his own hand in a placating gesture and the elf backed down. “I have my horse, but nothing to feed her, nothing for me to eat. I don’t have the gear to go more than a day or two away.”
For the second time, Zorvut pulled his coin purse from his belt, and offered the whole thing to Vurak. It was less than what he had had the day before, but certainly far more coin than the boy could have hoped to procure hunting or foraging. Vurak stared silently at it for a moment, his angry yellow eyes flickering between Zorvut’s unmoving face and the bag of coin.
“Take it,” Zorvut said. “It should be more than enough for food, shelter. You can get everything you need to travel to another clan.”
Vurak moved to snatch it from Zorvut’s hand, but he kept his grip on it, the boy’s eyes flashing with anger again. But Zorvut pulled him closer, their eyes meeting.
“Listen,” he said. The boy’s face twitched with consternation, but he didn’t look away. “I’m sorry. About your sister. It was not her or your clan I wanted to fight, or anyone other than Hrul. I’m sorry it happened this way, but I want to change things, to make it so nothing like this ever happens again. Can you understand that?”
The boy’s face twisted, and when he wrenched on the coin purse again Zorvut let it go.
“I don’t care if you’re sorry,” he spat, tears finally spilling from his eyes as he backed away. “I hate you.” With that, he turned and ran. Zorvut sighed, pressing his hands to his face as the weight of the boy’s words settled onto his shoulders. Some rational part of him knew that of course not every orc would be on his side, that of course those he had to cut down to get here would still hold a grudge—still, it was an uncomfortable realization to know he would carry the weight of that guilt forever. He took in a few deep breaths, then tried to push the though from his mind as he gestured for the next orc to approach him.
