Page 52 of Bound By Blood
A bone-deep roar shakes the very stones beneath my feet.
I look up to see something that turns my blood to ice as a massive war-beast charges up the pass, its hide scarred from countless battles, tusks gleaming like ivory daggers. The raiders must have been saving it for when our defenses cracked.
The creature stands twice the height of a mounted warrior, its bulk enough to shatter our stone barriers through sheer momentum. Worse, panic spreads through our ranks as it approaches. Even seasoned fighters back away from something that primal and destructive.
"Fall back!" Drokhan's voice cuts through the din. "Reform on the secondary?—"
No.The word crystallizes in my mind with perfect clarity. If we abandon this position, the beast will break through into the main stronghold. Children shelter in the caves beyond. Mothers with newborns. Elders too frail to evacuate.
The totem burns against my skin, power thrumming through its ancient carved surface. I've felt this energy before, during my mother's secret rituals, when she thought I wasn't watching. But this feels different. Amplified.
I step forward, directly into the beast's path.
"Eirian!" Drokhan's warning barely registers as I advance toward certain death.
The creature's eyes lock onto mine, yellow, intelligent, filled with pain that has nothing to do with physical wounds. This isn't mindless rage. Cruelty and suffering have tortured it into fury and driven it beyond rational thought.
Just like the soldiers I tend,I realize.Broken by violence, lashing out because pain is all they know.
My hands find the totem, pulling it free from beneath my robes. Moonlight seems to gather in its carved channels despite the blazing sun overhead. The beast slows, massive head tilting as if recognizing something familiar.
"Thurok nalar vethis," I whisper, the words flowing from some deep memory of my mother's midnight teachings.Peace to your spirit.
The ancient Orc phrase carries weight beyond its meaning. The totem grows warm, then hot, energy cascading down my arms in visible streams of silver light. The power feels like standing in a river during flood season, overwhelming, dangerous, but flowing toward some greater purpose.
The war-beast stops mid-charge, confusion replacing fury in its massive features.
I take another step forward, close enough now to see the scars covering its hide, the fresh wounds where spurs and whips have driven it to madness. Tears streak down my cheeks as understanding hits. They tortured this creature into a weapon, just like any forged blade.
"Thurok nalar vethis," I repeat, louder now. The totem's light extends toward the beast like reaching fingers.
Its magnificent head lowers, bringing those yellow eyes level with mine. Intelligence flickers there, awareness fighting through layers of imposed rage. The silver light touches its scarred forehead, and something fundamental shifts.
The beast's breathing slows. Its massive body settles onto the rocky ground with surprising gentleness. Those terrible tusks,which moments ago promised destruction, now frame a face that looks almost peaceful.
Silence spreads across the battlefield like ripples in still water. Enemy and ally alike stare at the impossible sight, a human healer gentling a war-beast through nothing but words and strange light.
"Impossible," someone whispers from the enemy ranks. "The northland magic is real."
Northland magic.The phrase sends chills down my spine. My mother spoke of such things in her secret moments, stories of power that flowed between human and Orc bloodlines in the earliest days. Stories I thought were children's tales.
The beast's massive form blocks the pass completely now, creating an impenetrable barrier the enemy can't breach without dealing with a creature they can no longer control. But more importantly, the fighting spirit drains from their ranks as they witness something that challenges everything they thought they knew about the world.
"Withdraw!" The enemy commander's voice cracks with uncertainty. "Fall back to secondary positions!"
They retreat down the pass in ragged order, discipline crumbling in the face of inexplicable events. Within minutes, the immediate threat passes, though I suspect they'll regroup and try again with different tactics.
I sink to my knees beside the massive beast. The totem's energy has drained something vital from my core, leaving me shaky and hollow. But alive. We're all alive.
The war-beast, no, not a war-beast anymore, just a creature freed from torment rests its head near my feet with surprising delicacy. Its breathing carries the rhythm of deep sleep rather than the harsh panting of battle-fury.
"How?" Drokhan approaches cautiously, his voice filled with wonder and something that might be fear. "What did you do?"
"I don't know." The truth tastes strange. "The totem responded to pain. To suffering. I think it wants to heal things."
Around us, the clan warriors emerge from defensive positions with expressions I've never seen before as awe mixed with a new respect. Not the grudging acceptance of a useful captive, but something approaching reverence.
An old priestess hobbles forward, her ancient eyes fixed on the totem still glowing softly in my hands. When she speaks, I hear the generations.
