Page 17 of Bound By Blood
Three days.
The pendant Helka placed around my neck feels heavier now, weighted with promises I might not live long enough to fulfill. The healer's sash wrapped at my waist contains the noble crest that could either save my life or seal my fate, depending on who gains possession of it.
Think. Plan. Survive.
But for the first time since my capture, I'm not sure survival is possible through any means I'm willing to employ.
4
DROKHAN
The war council chamber echoes with voices raised in heated debate, stone walls amplifying every harsh syllable until the sound becomes a weapon itself. I lean back in the carved throne that belonged to my grandfather, watching clan elders tear apart Eirian's fate with the same ruthless efficiency they'd used to butcher a deer.
"Sixty horses from Bloodfang, seventy plus iron from Ironjaw." Elder Grimm slams his gnarled fist against the council table. "Either offer would arm our warriors for the southern push. We'd be fools to refuse."
"Fools to accept," counters Elder Nasha, Helka's voice carrying the authority of someone who's seen more battles than most of these gray-beards. "The human possesses knowledge worth more than horses. Her healing techniques saved Thrak's life when our own methods failed."
Thrak.My lieutenant's recovery still amazes me. Three days ago, infection claimed half his left side, poison spreading through his blood like fire through dry grass. Our healers spoke of amputation, of last rites, of preparing his family for loss.Then the human, Eirian, stepped in with techniques that seemed impossible.
She drew poison from wounds using heated stones and strange herbal pastes. She guided his breathing through meditation that somehow strengthened his body's natural defenses. Most remarkably, she taught our healers her methods rather than hoarding them like precious secrets.
"Sentiment won't win wars," growls Commander Skarn, my most aggressive general. "Pretty healing tricks don't matter when Bloodfang raids our borders because we refused their tribute offer. They want the human? Let them have her. We keep the alliance, gain the horses, and avoid unnecessary conflict."
"Unnecessary conflict?" I speak for the first time since convening this council, voice cutting through the debate like a knife through silk. "Since when do Stoneborn consider any conflict unnecessary?"
Skarn's scarred face twists into something resembling a grin. "Since we became outnumbered three-to-one by tribes that used to fear us. Times change, Chief. Adapt or die."
Adapt or die.The phrase tastes bitter on my tongue, carrying echoes of my father's voice during the last clan war. He spoke the same words before making the decision that cost him his life and nearly destroyed our people.
"Tell me, Skarn," I say, rising from the throne to pace around the circular table. "What happens when Bloodfang discovers the human's true value? When they realize she's not just any noble, but Lady Eirian Thorne of the eastern holdings?"
The silence that follows tells me everything. Half of these elders don't know who we're harboring. The other half understands exactly what kind of storm we've invited into our mountains.
"House Thorne controls the Greenway passes," Elder Korrath says slowly, realization dawning in his ancient eyes."Trade routes worth more than a hundred tribes combined. If we return her unharmed..."
"If we return her at all, they'll demand explanations for her capture," Skarn interrupts. "Better to sell her quickly and claim ignorance. Dead humans tell no tales of mountain strongholds."
Dead humans.The phrase hits me like a physical blow, conjuring images I've spent years trying to forget. My mother's body broke on bloodied stone. Human steel cut my sister's scream short. The taste of ash and grief that still coats my throat when I wake from certain dreams.
But Eirian isn't those humans. She saved Thrak's life when she could have let him die, when his death would have weakened our clan and improved her chances of escape. She learned our customs, spoke our names with respect, treated our people with the same care she'd show her own.
"She saved our brother," I say, voice carrying absolute conviction. "Thrak breathes because this human chose mercy over revenge. How do we repay that gift with betrayal?"
"Pretty words," Skarn snarls, rising to face me across the table. "But what happens when her people come looking? What happens when House Thorne armies march through our valleys demanding her return?"
"Then we face them as we've always faced threats to our people." I step closer, letting him feel the full force of my presence. "With strength, with honor, with the knowledge that we chose the righteous path."
"Righteous?" Skarn's laugh carries no humor. "Righteousness buried my son when you led that raid against the eastern settlements. Righteousness scattered my clan's ashes when we chose honor over pragmatism. I won't watch more Stoneborn die for your principles."
The accusation hangs in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre. Every elder in this chamber knows the cost of mydecisions, the lives lost under my command. The raid that claimed Skarn's boy was my plan, my tactical miscalculation that led thirty warriors into an ambush.
Guilt is a luxury we can't afford,my father used to say.Leaders carry the dead, but they serve the living.
"Your son died fighting for our people," I reply, keeping my voice steady regardless of the old pain rising in my chest. "Would you dishonor his sacrifice by abandoning the values he died defending?"
"Values?" Skarn spits on the stone floor. "My boy died because you believed humans could be trusted, because you thought their word meant something. Now you want to extend that same trust to their noble lady?"
"I want to extend mercy to someone who earned it."
