Chapter 8

  Orkfield was indeed a nice place to rest. It was not opulent or rich, but it radiated a rare, honest warmth that was barely found in the conflict-ridden territories of Tirros anymore. It was a place where everyone knew and helped each other.

  The local inn was cheap—or rather, its qualities were bad, but the bed was dry and the beer was cool. We had found a friendly smith named Borin, who was, unusually, not a swindler and, even more unusually, offered simple enchantments for our weapons and armor. And finally, there was the mayor, who mostly personally took care of his people's concerns and regarded the administration of the small community as a personal duty.

  But the history of this village, as so often, lay hidden right beneath the dust of current coziness.

  “It is said that during the Great Expulsion, the fields here were soaked in the blood of thousands of Orcs. Right beneath our feet,” explained the village elder, a small, weather-beaten woman with eyes like polished stone. She said this with great pride and an eerie smile on her face, as if reporting a wonderful harvest.

  The good old Expulsion, I thought, shaking my head, as we prepared to depart at the village’s central well, a day after the hopefully last goblin hunt. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. It was terrifying how normal this pride in genocide was in human society.

  The Expulsion was significantly longer ago than the Dragon War, but no less bloody. Possibly there were even more casualties in the Expulsion—but not on the side of humans or elves. It had been a one-sided, systematic war, conducted to ensure the purity of the continent.

  In the Expulsion, the two most powerful factions of Tirros united for a common, cruel purpose: the human kingdoms and the elven kingdoms. Additionally, the Dwarves reluctantly agreed to join the coalition—not for moral reasons, but for pragmatic ones; they wanted to secure their share of the abandoned mines and resources of the defeated.

  Their common goal: to annihilate or permanently banish the 'Impure'.

  This cruel category included all sorts of species and factions that did not fit into the strict, self-righteous worldview of the United Realms:

  The Orcs: The main target of the campaign. They were considered primitive and uncivilized, but their sheer numbers and cultural distinctness were a threat to human expansion. Orkfield was a perfect, bloody testament to this.

  The Dark Elves, or Drow: Hunted because of their abominable, dark magic and their subterranean societal structure, which deeply offended the light-dominated order of the High Elves. Their annihilation was a religious necessity for the Elves.

  Ogres and Trolls: They were hardly strategic, but their brutality and uncontrollability did not fit into the new, ordered world. They were relentlessly driven back into their isolated mountains.

  Lizard Clans: Persecuted and driven out into their humid swamps and toxic areas because their ancient, alien, and thus suspect magic could not be controlled by human circles.

  Necromancers and Cultists: All forms of dark magic were eradicated. The fear of death was the strongest fuel for the unification.

  Arik’s Ancestors: These specific creatures of ash and allegedly demon-blood lines were mercilessly persecuted because of their unstable, demonic powers that defied all control. They were the living proof that power could exist outside the rules.

  In the end, perhaps one-third of the 'Impure' survived. But they were forever disgraced and banished. Most were sent to places where they fought for survival every day: to the icy wastelands of the North, to the salty, dry deserts of the South, or to the poisonous swamps that allowed no civilized life.

  It was a war that was taught in the history books of Elven and Human schools. It was called the "Great Unification" or the "Time of Purification."

  And it was depicted far too positively. The textbooks spoke of the glorious concord of the free peoples who defeated savagery and chaos. They concealed the systematic extermination, the rape, and the permanent destruction of entire cultures.

  The lies must run so deep, I thought, seeing the uncanny joy of the Elder. They truly believe the genocide beneath their feet was a glorious foundation.

  I shook my head and focused on the next stage of our journey. The past of Tirros was bloody and unjust. But the future promised to be even worse if we couldn't stop the new wave of tyranny.

  -

  Vin was deeply filled with a heavy sadness and a cold, creeping unease.

  The sadness was personal and hurt in a spot Vin thought she had buried deep: Vex. Her best friend among the Axos rebels, the man who never questioned her moral choices, had presumably died in the last, futile battle, and she hadn't been by his side. This absence was not a shame, but an agonizing guilt that settled like poisoned blood.

  Yet, this grief was nothing compared to her fundamental, existential unease about Caleon.

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  She was also very worried about Arik. The broken heart of the East was a human kingdom—and not just any human kingdom, but the realm of the Black Woods. Caleon's racial purity and historical isolation, born of the Great Expulsion, made it dangerous territory for someone like Arik, whose volcanic blood was openly on display.

  This was probably also one reason why the realm was chronically unstable, even if the great houses would never admit it: Isolation was eating them from within. They strictly rejected every trade, every offer from the High Elves, whose diplomacy was based on magical superiority, and the Dwarves, whose offers mostly concerned gold and mountain resources. This rejection was not an economic decision, but a matter of ideology. The pure humans of the Black Woods tolerated no contact with foreign races in their governance.

  It was not uncommon for outside delegations to attempt to establish a unified, rational government in Caleon—diplomatic attempts mostly initiated by the Elves to create a counterbalance to the power of the West. Those who did not leave after the cold, brusque rejection were never heard from again. Vin knew: The Sothars maintain the borders of Caleon, not just externally, but also internally with an iron, deadly hand.

  But what tripled Vin’s personal unease was a name: Sothar.

  Thivan Sothar, heir of the Supreme Lord, ruler over the Black Woods… theoretically speaking. Vin knew Thivan from her time in Caleon. In that desperate, secret liaison, she had determined that House Sothar commanded no more than its own lands and the realm's huge, ostentatious capital.

  That is the paradox of Caleon, Vin thought. A vast territory ruled by a king without a kingdom.

  The rest of the Black Woods was constantly contested by the other princes—the Barwans, the Ironfist Houses, the Grey Lords. It was an endless, bloody power struggle between feudal barons who recognized no central authority.

  Meanwhile, the entire south of the realm was full of refugees and often ruled by arbitrary clans and criminal gangs—a lawless zone where the great houses had disclaimed all responsibility. Caleon was not a kingdom; it was a patchwork of self-proclaimed warlords and administrative failures.

  Yet Thivan Sothar had a vision.

  The vision of a unified East. Thivan was not interested in maintaining chaos, but in the total, ruthless centralization of power. If he were to unleash this potential, Caleon’s military and magical reservoir would be unimaginable.

  Vin expected anything: Perhaps the King’s heir had achieved his goal and was now the uncrowned sole ruler; the vision of a unified East had become a brutal reality. But perhaps he had also been overthrown by the other houses, who perceived his ambitions as a threat.

  If he was in power, or even more so—strengthened and steeled by a successful power struggle—then they had to come up with something. The memory of the desperate yet dangerous prince and his dark dealings ten years ago let Vin know that Thivan Sothar was not an opponent to be underestimated. He was cold, brilliant, and had almost nothing to lose.

  Thivan was not only the biggest threat to their mission on Tirros, he was also the living proof of Vin’s own moral mistakes. Her flight with the stolen gold had only increased his desperation. And desperate men with great power were the most dangerous on the entire continent.

  -

  In the evening, the sun had already disappeared behind the pale horizon as a glowing red streak when we finally set up our camp near the fields of Orkfield. Strategically, the location was ideal: We camped between the dirt road and the wide, flat fields. No surprise attack from the forest would reach us undetected.

  Although the forests in this area of the Midlands were considered the least dangerous and safest in all of Tirros, my newfound, cynical paranoia—intensified by Gravor’s constant presence—let me know that you could never really be sure. The history of this place practically screamed betrayal.

  So, we slept outdoors. We made ourselves somewhat comfortable with blankets we had bought with the last of the goblin bounty money. They weren't luxurious blankets, but they were warm and smelled neutral.

  I remained in my armor, however. The cold, heavy metal was uncomfortable, but it was a psychological shield, a promise to myself that I was ready at any moment. The others pulled their clothes as tightly as possible to their bodies to conserve residual body heat.

  Arik, in his ash form, was fortunately immune to all temperatures. He sat there stoically, a dark silhouette in the fading light, the natural world ignoring him. Maira had activated her meditation, in which she was more resistant to external influences like cold and minor pain. Her dark energy seemed to coat her body like a cold, impenetrable field.

  Vin, on the other hand, made herself a plant blanket. With a gentle touch of the earth, she wove low-growing mosses and robust leaves into a natural, insulating protection. Yet, I sensed that she was not well inside. Not physically unwell; she could easily ward off the cold. It was emotional. Her body was calm, but her thoughts were racing. She was afraid of Caleon, of what Thivan Sothar might have become. Understandably so, given her personal history with the broken prince.

  Should I comfort her? Should I say something to take this burden off her?

  “Sure thing, man!” Gravor replied unironically in my head, yet as always, there was that unmistakable piece of sarcasm in his voice. A dry, ancient humor that saw through human sentimentality. A sarcasm I had grown fond of, just as I had grown fond of him.

  I don’t know how, I thought back, I’m the last person who should be offering comfort. I’m a construct of rage.

  “Oh no, don’t get all sentimental now,” Gravor replied with exaggerated disappointment. His mental sigh was audible in my mind. “We are not here to spread the teachings of love. And hardness is not your problem. You know what I mean. Our complete unity is… fresh. We are not friends. I am your vessel.”

  “Wrong,” Gravor interrupted harshly and clearly. His voice became serious—those rare moments of absolute truth. “We are now one with each other. We share the same energy, the same rage, and the same mission. And yes, you can consider us friends if you insist on such superficial concepts, but I would prefer the term partner. You lead us, and I give you the power for it. A partnership of convenience on the highest, existential level.”

  I nodded mentally. The definition was cold, but accurate. Partner.

  So, Partner. What's the use of being gentle now?

  “It is of no use to you,” he answered promptly. “But it is useful to her. She needs the physical confirmation of loyalty right now, not your analytical coldness. You don't have time for long, psychological conversations. Proximity is enough. Show her that you trust her and won't leave her alone with her nightmares.”

  He hesitated briefly, then answered again, the sarcasm now perfectly dosed.

  “Good. And now: lie down next to her, my dearest, rage-warped Paladin. Use your massive, fucked-up body of steel and muscles as a shield. That's the easiest path to acceptance.”

  I was happy to obey him. My thoughts were now somewhat clearer. I carefully removed my helmet and set it down beside me. I gently shifted out of the uncomfortable sitting position of the armor and carefully lay down next to Vin on the leaf blanket.