Page 39 of Orc's Little Human
The insult hits its target. Varok's face twists with rage as he raises his weapon, the curved blade catching firelight along its edge.
"I challenge you for leadership of this clan," he snarls, his voice carrying to every corner of the encampment. "I challenge you before the War God and these witnesses."
Challenge.The word hangs in the air like smoke, heavy with implications I don't fully understand but can feel in the sudden tension that grips every warrior present.
"You challenge your own chief?" Korrath's voice carries a note of dark amusement. "Your own blood-brother?"
"I challenge a man who's forgotten what it means to lead," Varok spits. "A man who'd sacrifice his clan for a cursed human."
Korrath steps into the firelight, and for the first time I can see the full extent of his controlled fury. His golden eyes burn like molten metal, and when he smiles, it's the expression of something that's found prey worth hunting.
"Then face me,brother," he says, the last word dripping with contempt. "And we'll see who the War God favors."
18
KORRATH
The circle of warriors expands, giving us room for what's about to happen. Ancient tradition demands space for blood to flow, for the War God to witness which of us deserves to lead. I draw my blade slowly, letting the rasp of metal fill the silence like a promise of violence.
Varok circles me with the patient hunger of a predator who thinks he's already won. His weapon—a massive two-handed sword with serrated edges—reflects firelight across its scarred surface. He's fought with that blade for fifteen years, carved his reputation into enemy flesh with its edge.
"Last chance to yield, brother," he calls out, loud enough for every warrior to hear. "Kneel before your betters and I might let you live as an exile."
I don't waste breath on words. Instead, I shift my weight, feeling the familiar settle of combat readiness flow through my muscles. The blade in my hands feels lighter than it should, balanced perfectly for the killing stroke that's coming.
But beneath the surface confidence, doubt gnaws at my bones like acid. Varok isn't just another challenger—he's one of the finest warriors the Blackmaw has ever produced. Withoutmy blood-forging, this fight becomes a question of pure skill and endurance.
And I'm not certain I'm the better warrior.
My eyes find Thali at the edge of the circle, tears streaming down her small face as Grakul holds her steady. She shouldn't be watching this. No child should see their brother fight for his life, watch blood spill in the firelight while the clan decides who lives and who dies.
"Listen to me," I call to her, my voice cutting through the crowd's murmur. "If things go badly—if I fall—you run. Take Selene and go to the cliffs. Hide until morning, then follow the coast south to Clan Bloodstone."
"Don't say that!" Thali's voice cracks with desperation. "Don't you dare say that!"
But it's Selene's response that stops me cold. She pushes forward through the crowd, her gray-blue eyes burning with fierce determination despite the terror I can see lurking beneath.
"Don't talk like you're already dead," she snaps, stopping just at the circle's edge. "Fight like you mean to win."
Fight like I mean to win.Easy words from someone who's never faced Varok's blade, never seen him tear through enemy warriors like they're made of paper. But there's something in her voice—a certainty that makes me want to believe victory is possible.
I move toward her, ignoring Varok's impatient snarl behind me. When I lean close enough that only she can hear, the words spill out like a confession.
"I don't know if I can defeat him without my magic," I admit, the admission tasting like defeat.
Selene shakes her head. "Why couldn't you use it?"
I touch her face. "Because I can't bear for it to hurt you."
Her hand finds my arm, fingers pressing against scarred skin with surprising strength. "Use it. I can handle whatever you need to to end this."
She can handle it.The simple confidence in her voice makes something tight in my chest ease, even as fresh worry takes its place. Using blood-forging in front of the clan will brand her as cursed beyond any doubt. It will make our exile inevitable.
But looking into her eyes, seeing the fierce determination burning there, I realize something has changed. This isn't about protecting her anymore—it's about fighting beside her. About choosing the family we've built over the clan that would destroy it.
"If I do this, there's no going back," I warn her. "Win or lose, we'll be outcasts."
Her smile is sharp as broken glass, beautiful and dangerous in the firelight. "Then we better make it count."
