Page 79 of Savage Devotion
Treason.The word carries weight in any language, but among humans it seems to encompass everything from tactical disagreement to breathing in a manner deemed insufficiently patriotic. I've watched human commanders execute subordinates for crimes as minor as questioning orders or fraternizing with the enemy.
Fraternizing. What Ressa and I have done in the ember-stone chamber extends far beyond mere fraternization.
"How bad?"
"Depends on what he's heard and how he's chosen to interpret it." She straightens, shoulders squaring to prepare for confrontation. "Heldrik sees the world in absolutes. Human versus non-human. Loyalty versus betrayal. Order versus chaos."
"And which category do I fall into?"
"All the wrong ones."
A horn sounds from the command tent—three short blasts that make every human in the camp snap to attention. Ressa's expression goes carefully neutral, the mask of military discipline sliding into place with practiced ease.
"Formation call," she explains unnecessarily. "He wants an audience for whatever he's planning."
Theatre.Every commander understands the value of public displays, whether they're executions or promotions. The performance matters as much as the actual decision, sometimes more. Make an example visible enough, and you don't need to repeat the lesson.
We walk toward the command tent together, our footsteps loud in the unnatural quiet. Soldiers form rough ranks oneither side of our path, creating a corridor that feels more like a gauntlet. I catch fragments of whispered conversation, speculation about our disappearance, theories about the tunnel collapse, rumors about orc involvement in recent raids.
Nothing good. Nothing suggests this confrontation will end with handshakes and shared ale.
The command tent dominates the center of camp, its Vaelmark banners hanging limp in the still air. Guards flank the entrance, hands resting on sword hilts with the casual readiness of men expecting trouble. They nod respectfully to Ressa but watch me with attention reserved for dangerous animals.
"Commander Vaelmark." The voice that emerges from the tent carries the crisp authority to immediate obedience. "Report."
Ressa enters first, and I follow close enough to catch the slight hitch in her breathing when she sees whatever's waiting inside. The tent's interior is larger than expected, furnished with campaign furniture that suggests both military efficiency and aristocratic comfort. Maps cover a central table, marked with colored pins that probably represent troop positions and strategic objectives.
Commander Heldrik Vaelmark stands behind the table, studying the maps with the intensity of a predator planning an attack. He's tall for a human, built like a siege engine, all hard angles and efficient brutality. Gray streaks his dark hair, and scars mark his hands and forearms with the accumulated damage of decades spent in combat.
When he looks up, his eyes fix on me with the sort of cold assessment usually reserved for tactical problems requiring permanent solutions.
"Uncle." Ressa's voice resounds with respect but not warmth. "We've returned from reconnaissance as ordered."
"Have you?" He doesn't look at her, attention remaining fixed on me like a crossbow bolt seeking its target. "And what did this reconnaissance reveal?"
"Tunnel networks more extensive than mapped. Evidence of organized smuggling operations. Signs that recent raids may be coordinated rather than opportunistic."
"Coordinated by whom?"
The question hangs in the air like smoke from a signal fire. Ressa's hesitation lasts only seconds, but in those seconds I see her weighing options, calculating consequences, choosing between truth and survival.
"Unknown. Investigation was interrupted by structural collapse."
"Convenient." Heldrik's tone suggests he finds nothing convenient about any of this. "And during this interrupted investigation, you found it necessary to ally yourself with enemy forces?"
"I found it necessary to survive."
"By collaborating with orcs."
The wordcollaboratingcarries poison in his mouth. I've heard humans use it before, usually right before they sharpen blades or building pyres. It's the sort of accusation that transforms allies into traitors and tactical necessity into moral failure.
"By accepting assistance from Ironspine Clan representatives operating in the same area under similar circumstances."
"Representatives." Heldrik finally looks at Ressa, and his expression suggests he's seeing something that disgusts him. "Is that what we're calling them now?"
Them.Nothim. NotKaelgoror eventhe orc. Justthem, as if I'm a category rather than an individual, a problem rather than a person.
I've been in enough human camps to recognize the signs. The careful dehumanization that makes violence easier to justify. The linguistic preparation for whatever comes next.
