Page 39 of War Seer

Chapter 17

Wodred

Eight Years Ago

The fortress at Ilustan is as big and impressive as I remember. Black rock walls with huge fluttering banners off the ramparts. The picture of Orikesh strength. I haven’t been back here in over twenty years, not since before the war in Trillin, when I was still part of Guruk’s cohort. But today is a grand day, one that I cannot avoid. Prince Rognar has completed his training and gained a resounding victory in his first-ever war. He brought Turin to its knees and reclaimed lands that they had previously taken from us many decades ago to be added back to Orik. It is expected that Rognar will be granted his own cohort for this victory and, though I am not one to revel in violence, I am as proud of him as I would be of a son of my own.

We enter the Throne Room, where loud revels and chatter are happening. Deep horns blow as we enter, silencing the din, and a steward announces, “General Wodred ka Xonok of the Northern Horde and his second in command, Prince Rognar!”

A rousing cheer overtakes the hall, and we step forward, a procession of soldiers moving toward the throne where Guruk sits. As we get closer, I struggle to keep the shock from my face. Guruk is very changed from the last time I saw him. He looks . . . gaunt. Haunted. Even a little thin. He still makes an impressive figure on the kingwood throne, but something about him gives off an almost sickly air.

Still, I school my features, not giving away my inner thoughts, and kneel in front of the throne, making the sign of respect. To my right, Rognar also kneels and does the same, just a few paces back, as do the rest of the soldiers.

“We bring news from the front, My King,” I begin formally. “Turin is defeated, the Southern Lands returned to us after many years of struggle. We also emptied their coffers to bring you a worthy tribute.”

“Excellent, Wodred,” Guruk says. His voice still has the smooth veneer of sibilance in it, but something about the way he speaks just solidifies to me that he is not doing well. Has he contracted some illness that he is keeping from court to avoid seeming weak?

The king continues, “You have pleased me once again, General. And you have even managed to make a strong orc out of my useless son. I commend you.”

My muscles tense in anger at his words. Rognar is ten times the orc that Guruk ever was. Strong, wise, compassionate, fair. He will lead Orik into a golden age when he takes the throne. Which will probably not be too long now, if Guruk’s appearance is anything to go by.

“I will bestow the prince with a cohort within your Horde,” Guruk continues. “May you all continue to bring victories to Orik until we have spread across all of Teurilia!”

There’s a roar of approval from Guruk’s cabinet, and a stomping of feet. I keep up the sign of respect, even as my heart sinks. Am I doomed to spill blood and steal gold all my days?

“Now,” Guruk finishes, “we feast and revel! Let us adjourn to the Great Hall!”

Rognar and I stand at this, the rest of the captains and footsoldiers we brought with us doing the same. Chatter resumes as everyone stands, to let Guruk be the first to leave the room, as is dictated by tradition. Guruk stands from his throne, and I swear I see some stiffness in his movements, as if it pains him. He begins to descend from the throne when Rognar surprises everyone by actually speaking.

“My King,” he says, addressing his father formally. “Where is Moth . . . I mean, the Lady Melelea? I have not had a missive from her in months.”

The whole room goes eerily silent and tense.

Finally, Guruk sneers, his face contorted in derision. “What, boy? Still want your mommy, even though you are almost full-grown?”

Rognar stays impassive even under the public mockery of his father, almost as if he is used to it. “I merely wonder where your wife is, My King.”

“Insolent orc,” hisses Guruk. “Well, wonder no more. She is dead.”

She is dead.

The words hit me like a blow. My Mating Instinct howls with grief, shock coursing through me. Lady Melelea, dead?

“What happened?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Guruk laughs, the sound cruel, “She began to bore me, so I had her executed.”

My mind is spinning. Executed? But . . . but they were so happy. Weren't they? An unconventional marriage, but strong, I thought. I kept away from them to give them respectful distance and to keep from having their love flaunted in front of me. Yet, he killed her because she ‘bored’ him? How is that possible? Was I wrong all this time? Was it all a lie?

“Well, I tried at least,” the king continues, almost sounding amused and annoyed at the same time. “Damn trolless ran when she found out, but my hunters ran her down. She killed herself rather than be taken back to her execution, though, and the hunters brought me back her heart. So, by her own hands, ‘Lady Melelea’ is no more.”

At the mention of his hunters, my eyes fly to his side, where Salthu, my old friend, stands with the other hunters of the court. Salthu avoids my gaze, guilt written on his features. Though he never knew about my feelings for the trolless, he knows that she was an innocent. In that, moment I know that it is true. The trolless I pined for is gone, and my friend was the one who caused her death, running her down like a hunted deer, while her supposed husband laughs at her demise.

Rage explodes within me, and murderous intent seizes me. I’m about to kill my king and Salthu. Both at once.

But before my hand can fly to my ax, however, Rognar beats me to it. His weapon is in his hand, and he begins charging up the throne steps.

“Murderer!”