27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Brokil

Staring down at Bravrith from the hilltop, Brokil struggled to keep the world from spinning.

Silvyr was somewhere down there, somewhere hidden away, somewhere held against his will and subject to cruelty. Gripping the reins of his warhorse, Brokil took a long breath to steady the roiling fury inside him, lest it be so powerful that it overwhelmed his good senses. Beside him, Salthu brought up her horse, wearing her leathers and strapped with weapons upon weapons. Behind them, the might of Ghizol waited for their command to charge.

It would be foolish for Bravrith to assume that Ghizol would not retaliate, especially concerning something so important. But if what Murzush said was true, then Vakmu acted without the approval of his Elders. He acted purely on his own, pairing with Murzush to ensure his victory. He would not live to claim such a victory. It was utterly reprehensible on Vakmu's part to act without his Elders and to make a decision that would lead to the deaths of many warriors who didn't know what they were dying for.

Before they left on their campaign, Brokil had given orders to his troops to suppress, not destroy. If they were able to, they would simply hold them, find Vakmu, and make him pay for his transgressions and actions. Actions that would have not only destroyed Ghizol, but could have brought hellfire on Bravrith as well.

Taking Silvyr in the first place was a risk Ghizol only took after many months of discussion, but Vakmu apparently did it on his own. More than that, he cared little for remaining in the good will of the Tyrant King. Brokil couldn't say that he was perfect in his planning, or that everything so far had gone accordingly, but he knew he wouldn't be as foolish as Vakmu, nor as cruel.

"Are you ready?" Salthu asked him.

"Yes. Are you?" Brokil responded, still scanning the overlay of Bravrith for where Silvyr could be.

"Always."

"Good. You know our missive. We retrieve the prince, then we leave. As little bloodshed as possible." Brokil turned to look at her, meeting her fierce gaze. "But we need to be ready for Vakmu to react violently."

"I have your back, Chief," Salthu was quick to reply, smacking her fist over her chest as though to prove her point.

"Worse comes to worse, you will be a good leader for Ghizol."

She grinned widely at him. "I know, but now isn't that time."

"You're right," Brokil said, taking a steadying breath as he looked back at the city before them. "Let's go. If we find Vakmu, we find the prince."

Brokil kicked his horse forward and Salthu followed, though their troops remained on the hilltop to await his call. Should he need them, he need only blow the horn on his hip, and Bravrith would fall. If all went well, there would be no bloodshed to speak of. And if there was to be bloodshed, it would be Vakmu's and no one else's.

They ignored the quizzical looks given to them by the citizens of Bravrith as they approached. The citizens didn't speak to them, most of them pulling back into their homes or averting their gazes from Brokil and Salthu. The two barely got into the city proper before warriors began to replace the citizens, watching carefully as they moved toward their mark.

The Council Chamber. Located, much like Ghizol's, in the center of the city.

The warriors of Bravrith followed close behind, though they said nothing and made no aggressive movements toward them even as they drew closer and closer to the Chamber. It was understandable, and Brokil didn't find reason to worry yet. He and Salthu were dressed in their battle leathers and wearing their weapons on display, so it was clear to everyone who saw them that if the reason for their visit went poorly, a fight would follow.

One man caught Brokil's eye, a look of shock and trepidation on his face before he ran for the Council Chamber, surely to announce their approach. Brokil preferred that, knowing that their Elders would be surprised but not completely caught off guard. Either way, he believed he would have the upper hand when he arrived.

By the time they reached the Council Chamber, the Elders had already exited the building with Vakmu front and center. Brokil dismounted his horse, meeting Vakmu on his feet. The other orc made no move to meet Brokil halfway, standing still with his arms crossed and a scowl firmly set on his face.

"Chief Brokil. To what do we owe this surprise visit?" Vakmu asked, his voice tight and short.

"I'll speak plainly, Vakmu," Brokil said, stopping a few paces before him. "Murzush was apprehended with your demands to the Tyrant King."

The murmuring of the Bravrith Elders might have made him laugh at how similar they were to Ghizol's, but his attention was solely on Vakmu and the hard lines in his face.

"You are speaking nonsense, we've issued no such demands," Vakmu said, and Brokil had to give him credit, the man lied so naturally he may as well have been a snake in man's flesh. "It is insulting that you would come here with your false accusations."

"Are they false, Vakmu?" Brokil questioned, his hands tightening into fists at his side. "Or are you afraid of the Elders discovering you have been moving without their knowledge and consent?"

Again, the Elders shuffled, and their voices carried with concern and disbelief. Vakmu's eyes narrowed, and the lines in his face deepened as he snarled. "This is outrageous. You come here with what intention? To destroy Bravrith? To take it for yourself?"

"I'm here to return Ghizol's ward back where he belongs," Brokil said, taking a step forward so he was eye to eye with Vakmu. "He does not belong to you, and he will be returned." Brokil kept his voice low, too low for the Elders to hear him, but Vakmu understood. "I have the message you gave Murzush, Vakmu. I have evidence of your actions. I am willing to let you walk away from this. Return my ward."

"You will not blackmail me, Chief of Ghizol. You will start a war for nothing," Vakmu hissed under his breath. "Murzush said you were weak and couldn't do what needed to be done. I never imagined you, of all men, would be so easily swayed. Especially by someone as pathetic as the Tyrant King's son."

"You won't bait me, Vakmu," Brokil told him. "I am here for my ward, nothing else. I'm willing to let you deal with your Elders however you see fit."

"Then you have come for nothing. Your ward is mine now. You want him back, try to take him, and let these people see what you are."

The flash of a blade had Brokil jumping back, narrowly missing the blade that swiped the air in front of his face. "Bastard," he cursed, catching his footing and bringing the war horn to his lips. He didn't waste any time before giving it a long blow, its echo soon answered by the loud whooping of his troops descending into the valley.

"So, you did want a war," Vakmu said, his lips curling into a sinister grin that set Brokil's nerves on edge. "Return to your homes," he called, barely sparing his Elders a second glance as he brought his own war horn to his lips, "we rally the troops!"

He blew hard and loud, and another set of war cries joined the previous.

Over the hilltop, Brokil's troops flowed into Bravrith on horseback, shouting and whooping as they went, pulling swords from their sheaths. Brokil did not dare to turn and watch them, did not dare turn his gaze away from the man before him.

"We could have avoided bloodshed," Brokil growled, pulling the sword from his hip, brandishing it before himself as Vakmu did the same. Behind him, the Elders fled, but neither Brokil nor Salthu would stop them. They were not warriors and they would not fight those who had also been deceived by Vakmu.

"Blood would be spilled no matter what. You're a fool if you think you can avoid it." Vakmu threw himself at Brokil, bringing his blade in a wide arc and spinning away when Brokil parried the blow.

Unwilling to let Vakmu get another word in, Brokil swung his blade, grunting when Vakmu blocked him and returned with a flurry of swings, forcing Brokil to dig his heels into the dirt to hold him off. Each blow and strike they threw at each other was blocked and parried, sending them spinning into a new swing with no chance for reprieve. Around them, the sounds of battle filled the air and he didn't have time to spare a glance for where Salthu was. There was only Vakmu and the cries of their swords slamming together.

Brokil cursed under his breath. If Vakmu had been willing to be diplomatic, this could have been avoided. Each time a battle cry sounded around them, each time metal struck flesh, Brokil's heart dropped deeper into his stomach. Could Silvyr hear the fray from wherever he was? Was he hiding from the battle like he had back in the tent, crawling into a small space to protect himself? Was he even able to from wherever he was being held?

Brokil was torn from his thoughts when Vakmu's blade nearly sliced through his leathers. He pulled back, narrowly avoiding the next strike to his chest.

"You're distracted." Vakmu grinned, his eyes wild with the fight when Brokil threw himself at him, their blades clashing as they pressed against each other, nearly nose to nose. "You must be thinking of that pretty little elf. Let me tell you, his screams are beautiful."

Snarling as his vision flared red, Brokil swung his leg to strike Vakmu's, forcing him to stumble. He barely caught Brokil's next attack. Over and over Brokil swung, rage filling his chest and fueling the beast inside him. Glowing hues of oranges and reds surrounded them as Bravrith fell into flames, unavoidable with Vakmu's directive for all-out battle. Around him the echoes of war fell away, replaced with a ringing silence that muffled everything except for Vakmu's grunts and groans each time he blocked Brokil's attacks.

The bastard would pay. He would pay for everything he had done. There was no doubt that Vakmu had hurt his Flower, and he would pay for it.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" Vakmu pressed as he returned to his feet. Brokil wanted to rip his tongue out of his mouth, let the politics and decorum of war be damned.

"You will be dead before the sun sets," Brokil snarled, their blades clashing again.

"I wonder, did he scream louder when I cut him, or when you fucked him?" Vakmu continued to prod, his grin sinister and dark, holding only the cruelty of his soul.

Wild with fury, Brokil slammed his blade against Vakmu's, his knees buckling under Brokil's might, his arms shaking against the weight of Brokil's steel. For a moment, his eyes flashed with something more familiar to Brokil. Fear. His words were a fatal mistake, but his realization came too late.

"I've had enough of your voice," Brokil said through gritted teeth, kicking Vakmu's trembling knee, bringing forth a satisfying howl as the bone beneath his foot snapped.

Giving him no time to retaliate, Brokil slammed the pommel of his blade into Vakmu's chest, sending him skidding on his back, his own blade clattering out of his hand. In the same moment, Brokil was on top of him, gripping his throat with one hand, the other holding his sword above his head.

"Tell me where he is," Brokil demanded, squeezing his fingers around his worthless fucking throat. He lifted the orc a few inches before slamming him back into the dirt. "Tell me!"

Vakmu's eyes darted to the Council Chamber, now burning bright with the rest of Bravrith. Brokil went cold, his insides once burning with fury now frozen with icy fear. A sick grin spread across Vakmu's face as he wheezed out a single word.

"Dead."

"No," Brokil said, to himself or Vakmu, he wasn't sure.

Pulling his hand away from Vakmu's throat, he replaced it with the tip of his sword and plunged it straight through, forcing wheezing gurgles out of the Chief of Bravrith.

If he were a better man, he might have put Vakmu out of his misery. If he weren't operating on selfish desires, he wouldn't be sheathing his blade and bolting into the burning Council Chamber while Salthu screamed his name, demanding that he stop. If he had even the smallest chance to bring Silvyr back into the light, he would have done it again and again.

Breaking through the doors, Brokil covered his mouth with his hand to keep the smoke and soot that surrounded him from entering his lungs. It barely worked, but he didn't care. The heat through his leathers was nearly unbearable but he refused to stop, running through the longhouse in a desperate search for his elf.

He pulled his hand away just long enough to breathe a lungful of blackened air, and screamed over the sound of crackling wood. "Silvyr!"

When no response came, he ground his teeth and kept running, kicking open every door he came across. Sparks fell around him and singed the furs on his leathers, the smoke burned his eyes, bringing tears to them.

Kicking the final door, Brokil found the stairwell and threw himself down, taking them two at a time to reach the bottom. Just like Ghizol, Bravrith also held their cells beneath the Council Chamber. He should have known Silvyr would be kept here. He prayed Silvyr was here, under the earth where the smoke above would not reach him.

"Silvyr!" he called again when he reached the bottom.

Nothing.

Pushing forward, Brokil scanned each cell until he found the one with the crumpled form of his elf. His knees nearly gave out at the sight, his heart lodging almost violently in his throat. Silvyr, curled on his side and facing away from the door, stripped of his clothes yet so covered in dirt and blood that Brokil couldn't tell how injured he truly was. It didn't matter, as long as the elf was alive, they could figure the rest out later.

Unsheathing his blade, Brokil slammed the pommel of the sword against the padlock over and over with all the strength he had until the metal cracked and fell away, letting Brokil push into the cell. He didn't bother sheathing the sword, letting it plummet to the ground as he dropped beside Silvyr. Up close he could see the gentle, barely there, expansion of Silvyr's chest, and relief soared through him as he scooped the elf in his arms, trying to cover him as best he could.

"I've got you," Brokil told him, expecting Silvyr to react in some way. But there was nothing. No groan or grunt of pain. No wince or fluttering of eyes.

His gaze fell to the gash across Silvyr's cheek, the matching ones along his shoulders and chest. He was covered in slices and bruises, unresponsive to the way Brokil shook him, called for him.

Clutching Silvyr tighter to himself, Brokil grit his teeth and stood, the elf tucked as close to his chest as possible. Any guilt he might have had about Vakmu's death vanished. There was no room for guilt when he had Silvyr's motionless body in his arms.

Ripping the furs from his leathers, Brokil pressed them to Silvyr's face, keeping the smoke from reaching him as Brokil threw himself back up the stairs. The blazing heat around them was more intense than before, fire licking up the walls and beams creaking under the weight of a roof they could no longer carry. The double doors leading to the outside air still hung open and Brokil bolted as the building began to crash and crumble around him.

As soon as he passed through the threshold and into the sunlight, Brokil ripped the fur from Silvyr's face while he drew in breaths of the fresh, clean air. A moment later Salthu was in front of him, her hands slamming onto his shoulders and gripping tight.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" she snapped before her eyes fell to the prince. "You found him."

"Find a blanket, I don't care where it comes from. And bring Solaro here, now," Brokil said through his heavy breaths, shifting his arms to try to cover most of Silvyr's body from view.

Salthu didn't argue and turned to run, doing what she was commanded to do. Dropping to his knees, Brokil kept the elf close to his chest, silently begging him to open his eyes and say something. Hoping Silvyr would chastise him for taking so long, then ridicule him for the tears in his eyes. Anything but the fucking silence and his strained breathing.

When Salthu returned with the blanket, Brokil tore it from her hands and wrapped Silvyr in it, protecting him from the outside cold and the view of anyone looking on. Still, the elf did not move. Not even when he slept was he this still, this lifeless.

"Where is Solaro?" Brokil asked, pulling Silvyr back in his arms once the blanket was firmly wrapped around him.

"On his way. Is he…?"

"He's alive," Brokil said quickly. Too quickly. Too desperately. "Hurt, but alive."

Around them, when the realization that Vakmu had been slain hit, the battle died away, replaced with the recovery efforts to stop the burning buildings and tend to the wounded. Solaro would have his hands full, but he needed him to make sure the elf would survive the journey back to Ghizol first. Brokil could have Urzul spend more time caring for his injuries once they were home.

When Solaro arrived, Brokil forced himself to let go of the elf, though his arms ached to keep him close and laying him on the ground felt sacrilegious. Brokil pulled back the blankets and watched Solaro examine each cut and scrape, every bruise and slash. Watched Solaro lift Silvyr's hands to examine the fingers that had the nails ripped from the beds, and Brokil had to shove his fingers into the earth to keep himself from yanking the elf from Solaro's prodding touch.

"I can't do much here, but they're surface wounds," Solaro finally said, pulling the blanket up to Silvyr's shoulders. "Bring him to Ghizol and make sure he rests. You'll need to clean the wounds."

Brokil lifted Silvyr into his arms and brought himself to his feet. "Thank you, Solaro," he said, then turned to Salthu. "Can I entrust you with finishing up here?"

Salthu nodded. "Go on, I've got it from here. I'll stop by when we're back," she told him, putting her hand on his shoulder. "He's okay?"

Looking down at the elf, Brokil couldn't say. Solaro said he would heal and that these were surface wounds, probably the first round of what would have been many rounds of torture, but he couldn't say how Silvyr would recover. There was no doubt that the elf had never experienced this kind of pain and brutality, how he would react when he finally awoke was still to be seen.

"I don't know," Brokil finally said. "I'm going to bring him to Urzul."

"Good. We'll be back in Ghizol shortly," Salthu nudged Brokil's shoulder, setting him toward his horse.

Holding Silvyr in one arm, Brokil lifted himself onto the horse, setting the elf sideways between himself and the saddle horn. Grabbing the reins, Brokil urged his horse toward Ghizol, steadily passing through the Bravrith streets. He ignored everyone he passed, even a few of the Elders who gaped when they saw the elf in Brokil's arms, a confirmation of Vakmu's actions that led to the battle. A confirmation that Brokil had been justified in his choices.

Outside of Bravrith, the cool breeze made Brokil tuck the elf closer to himself to keep him warm. It would be hours still by the time they got to Ghizol, plenty of time for Brokil to remain in his thoughts while he waited for Silvyr to open his eyes. He should have asked Solaro how long it would take for him to wake up. How much pain he might be in when he did. What to expect when someone so fragile soaked up so many wounds that should never have had the chance to touch him.

Wounds that might not have touched him if Brokil had been there. If Brokil hadn't failed him.

Just the idea that Silvyr could have been lost, not just to Ghizol, but to himself, tore into Brokil's heart in a way he never expected. Now he understood why. Why it was that when Silvyr disappeared, Brokil's throat tightened and his heart threatened to stop altogether. Why it was that if the Tyrant King accepted their terms, the idea of sending Silvyr to Athowen made Brokil's hands go numb. Why it was that when Murzush and Vakmu acted on their own interests, Silvyr's safety was at the forefront of his mind over his own ability to lead his people.

It should have terrified him. It should have been reason enough to remove him from his position as Chief. Maybe it would be. Maybe when Salthu returned he would have to talk to her about passing over leadership. If he couldn't prevent this, if his heart was swayed so easily, did he deserve the role of Chief? He couldn't even protect Ghizol from one of his own. Murzush could have destroyed them and it would have been his fault.

When the elf shifted in his hold, Brokil brought his horse to a jerking stop, watching Silvyr's eyes open only to squeeze back shut when confronted with the sunlight.

"Silvyr." Brokil breathed, letting go of the reins and gently turning the elf's face to look down at him. Thank the gods, he was awake. "Open your eyes."

"Brokil?" Silvyr's voice was small and cracked as he opened his eyes, blinking until he focused. Focused on him. "Brokil!" Silvyr suddenly thrashed in the blankets, his arms struggling to break free from the confines, and Brokil fought to keep Silvyr on the horse.

"Silvyr. Silvyr stop," Brokil told him, but the boy didn't relent, only trying to push the blanket off of himself. "You're going to hurt yourself, stop." Brokil hurried to pull the blanket away from Silvyr's arms even as Silvyr thrashed and squirmed.

Once he was free and the blanket pooled around his waist, Silvyr threw his arms around Brokil's shoulders, clinging to him and pressing his face into Brokil's leathers, his body shivering against the cold. Almost as quickly as he latched on, his tiny body went limp against Brokil's chest, though his hands clung desperately to hold himself up.

"Brokil." Silvyr's voice was suddenly wracked with sobs, his entire body trembling as Brokil wrapped him in a tight embrace.

"I've got you," Brokil whispered into Silvyr's hair. "I've got you."

Silvyr pulled back, just enough to look Brokil in the eyes, his fingers gripping the straps of Brokil's leathers. "You came for me," Silvyr whispered, and Brokil lifted his hand to cup his face again, swiping his thumb to brush away the tears that continued to stream down his face.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Brokil said, letting his forehead rest against Silvyr's. "I'm so sorry, Silvyr. I'm so sorry, my Little Flower."

"I don't want to be away from you again," Silvyr told him, his bottom lip quivering. "Please, I want to stay with you."

"Then stay with me," Brokil said, knowing the words should have never left his mouth. He did not regret them. "Stay with me, Silvyr."