Page 24 of Bound By Blood (Orc Warrior Romances #1)

"There's another consideration," I say carefully. "If we recover the crown, if it truly holds the power to unite the clans... what then? Do you use it to press for total victory over human settlements? Or do you use it to negotiate a lasting peace?"

This is the real question. Everything else, the search, the political complications, even the crown's actual existence, pales beside this fundamental choice between war and peace.

He stops pacing, turns to face me directly. "What would you have me choose?"

Peace. But I bite back the immediate response, recognizing the complexity of his position. He's responsible for his people's safety, their prosperity, their future survival. Simple answers rarely suffice in complicated realities.

"I'd have you choose wisely," I say instead. "Based on what serves your people best in the long term, not just what satisfies immediate desires for revenge or conquest."

His smile holds approval and something deeper, respect for my refusal to offer simple answers to difficult questions.

"When do we search?" His tone carries finality, a decision made despite incomplete information and considerable risk.

We. He includes me without hesitation, accepting both my knowledge and my presence as integral to the plan's success.

"Tomorrow night, after the council meeting. Fewer people in the corridors, less chance of discovery if things go badly."

"And if we find it? If the crown is real and intact?"

I consider carefully before answering. "Then we face the hardest choice of all. Whether to reveal its discovery immediately or wait until we understand how best to use its influence."

Political wisdom wrapped in personal trust. Keeping such a discovery secret, even temporarily, requires absolute faith in each other's discretion and judgment.

"You realize the danger," he says quietly. "If we're discovered in the burial chambers, if the search goes wrong, if the crown brings more problems than solutions... we'll face those consequences together."

Together. The word encompasses partnership, shared risk, mutual responsibility for whatever comes next.

"I understand." And I do completely. This isn't just about ending a war or recovering lost artifacts. It's about choosing to trust each other with our lives, our futures, and our people's welfare.

The council meeting drags through the afternoon like a wounded animal seeking shelter.

I sit beside Drokhan's carved chair, officially present as healing advisor, actually memorizing every elder's expression as they debate trade routes and winter preparations.

Elder Korrath speaks longest, his weathered hands gesturing emphatically as he argues for increased patrols along the southern passes.

None of them suspect what we plan for tonight.

The crown's location burns in my memory like a brand.

Three stones north of spring is where ancestors sleep.

I've walked those corridors dozens of times tending wounded warriors, noting the sealed passages marked with warning glyphs, the subtle shift in air temperature that suggests deeper caverns beyond.

Beneath the watching eagle. That reference puzzles me most. The burial chambers contain countless carved reliefs, but only one depicts an eagle with eyes that seem to track movement in lamplight.

When the council finally dissolves into smaller discussions, Drokhan catches my eye with the slightest nod. Tonight.

I spend the remaining daylight hours preparing. Oil lamps, rope, my sharpest knife, bandages in case something goes wrong. The obsidian-ink scroll stays hidden beneath my sleeping furs, too dangerous to carry but too precious to destroy.

Mother, what were you thinking? The question haunts me as I gather supplies. How did she learn the crown's location? Why entrust such explosive knowledge to her daughter rather than revealing it herself?

Maybe she tried. Maybe revealing it would have meant her death.

The fortress settles into evening rhythms as warriors return from patrol and families gather for shared meals. I eat sparingly, my stomach tight with anticipation and fear. Through my tent's opening, I watch the sun sink behind jagged peaks, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold.

Soon.

Drokhan appears at my tent just after full darkness, moving with surprising stealth for someone his size. He's traded his ceremonial armor for dark leather and soft-soled boots, carrying a shuttered lantern and coiled rope across his shoulder.

"Ready?"

I nod, shouldering my pack and following him through corridors I've walked countless times in daylight. Everything looks different in shadow and lamplight, familiar passages transformed into potential threats. Our footsteps echo softly despite our efforts at silence.

The healing grotto feels abandoned at this hour, mineral springs steaming gently in the darkness. I've worked here through countless nights tending wounded warriors, but tonight the space holds unfamiliar menace.

"The sealed passages begin past the main spring," I whisper, pointing toward a section of cave wall marked with carved warnings. "Three stones north."

North. In a cavern system where directions blur into stone and shadow, we navigate by the subtle air currents that suggest deeper chambers and the orientation of carved glyphs that mark sacred spaces.

We find the first stone marker easily enough, a pillar of black granite carved with clan symbols and warning glyphs. The second stands twenty paces further into the tunnel, its surface worn smooth by centuries of careful hands.

The third proves more elusive.

"Here." Drokhan's lantern illuminates a section of tunnel where an ancient rockfall has created a barrier of loose stone and debris. Beyond the rubble, deeper shadows suggest continued passage. "But the way is blocked."

I study the rockfall carefully, noting how the stones have settled and where gaps might allow passage. "Not blocked. Hidden. Look at the arrangement."

Someone cleared a path and then concealed it. The stones rest against each other in a pattern that appears random but actually creates a narrow opening near the tunnel floor. Wide enough for a person to crawl through, disguised to discourage casual exploration.

"Recent work," Drokhan observes, running his fingers along the stone edges. "Within the last few decades."

Mother's generation. The timing fits perfectly with my growing suspicions about her connection to this place and its secrets.

We squeeze through the hidden opening one at a time, emerging into a passage that descends steeply into the mountain's heart. The air tastes different here, older somehow, thick with the centuries and sacred purpose.

Ancient trap glyphs line the walls like malevolent stars.

I recognize the carved symbols from my mother's medical texts, warnings embedded in stone to protect burial chambers from desecration. Some glow faintly with phosphorescent moss. Others remain dark as secrets.

"Touch nothing," I warn, though Drokhan already moves with careful respect through the sacred space. "The glyphs aren't just warnings. They're active protections."

How do I know that? The knowledge feels inherited rather than learned, like something passed down through bloodlines rather than textbooks.

The tunnel branches repeatedly, forcing choices between paths that all lead deeper into darkness. I follow Mother's encoded directions with growing confidence, recognizing landmarks described in her cryptic message.

Where ancestors sleep. The burial alcoves appear in the tunnel walls, carved niches containing wrapped forms and ceremonial weapons. Some hold clan chiefs from recent generations. Others date back to the highland clans' earliest days.

"Magnificent," Drokhan breathes, his voice hushed with reverence. "I've never seen the deep chambers."

Neither had I, until tonight. The scope of the burial complex exceeds anything I imagined, corridor after corridor lined with the preserved dead and their treasured possessions.

We find the watching eagle carved into a chamber wall three hours after beginning our descent. The relief depicts a massive bird perched on a mountain peak, its eyes formed from polished obsidian that reflects our lamplight like living things.

Beneath the watching eagle. I kneel before the carving, running my hands along its base until I find what I'm searching for. A hidden catch, disguised as part of the mountain's stone.

"Stand back."

The mechanism activates with surprising smoothness, revealing a cavity behind the eagle's talons. Inside, wrapped in oiled leather and ceremonial cloth, waits our prize.

The Crown of the First Chief.

Not a crown at all, but a totem carved from moon-touched stone that seems to glow with inner light.

The artifact fits comfortably in my hands, warm to the touch despite the chamber's cold air.

Intricate engravings cover its surface, depicting scenes of battle and negotiation, conquest and reconciliation.

Peace and blood, bound together in eternal balance.

"Gods preserve us," Drokhan whispers, his warm eyes reflecting the totem's soft radiance. "It's real."

More than real. It's alive. The carved stone pulses gently in my hands like a sleeping heart, responding to our presence with ancient recognition.

I wrap the totem carefully in my healer's cloth, tucking it safely into my pack. But as we turn to leave, the chamber's acoustics change. Our footsteps echo differently, as if the space itself has shifted in response to the artifact's removal.

We've awakened something.

The trap glyphs flare brighter as we pass, their phosphorescent warnings pulsing in rhythm with our heartbeats. Drokhan draws his knife, though steel won't help against magical protections woven into stone itself.

"Move faster," I urge, recognizing the signs of activation in the carved symbols. "The chamber knows what we've taken."

Ancient magic designed to protect sacred relics from theft. But are we thieves, or are we fulfilling the totem's purpose by bringing it back to the living world?

The tunnel ahead splits into three passages, none of which I remember from our descent. The paths are changing. Stone walls shift subtly in the lamplight, creating alternative routes while closing others behind us.

"This way." I choose the leftmost tunnel based on air currents and intuition, praying that Mother's hidden knowledge extends to escape routes and treasure locations.

We run through shifting corridors while carved warnings flare and fade around us, their ancient protections slowly awakening after decades of dormancy. My pack bounces against my back, the totem's weight both burden and promise.

Behind us, grinding stone echoes through the tunnels.

"Faster." Drokhan's breathing grows labored as we climb toward the surface, his massive frame working hard in the thin mountain air.

The grinding sound grows closer, accompanied by the whisper of settling rock. The burial chambers are sealing themselves, protecting their remaining treasures by cutting off access to the deep passages.

We reach the hidden entrance just as the first stones shift behind us. I squeeze through the narrow opening, feeling the mountain's weight pressing down, then help pull Drokhan through as the passage grinds closed with finality.

Safe. For now.

We collapse against the tunnel wall, breathing hard and listening to the diminishing echoes of ancient mechanisms returning to sleep. The normal healing grotto air tastes sweet after the chamber's dense atmosphere.

"The totem," Drokhan gasps, his eyes fixed on my pack. "Still intact?"

I check carefully, unwrapping the moon-touched stone to examine its surface for damage. The carvings remain clear and sharp, the inner glow steady as ever. Unharmed by our escape.

"Perfect condition." I rewrap the artifact with careful reverence. "Now comes the harder question. What do we do with it?"

Such power demands wisdom in its application. The totem could unite the highland clans under Drokhan's leadership, ending generations of internecine warfare. But unity achieved through magical coercion might prove as dangerous as continued division.

"We sleep on it," he decides after long consideration. "Hidden safely, while we plan how best to reveal its recovery to the clan elders."

Tomorrow's council meeting will be very different from today's.

We make our way back through familiar corridors, moving with careful stealth despite our exhaustion. The fortress sleeps around us, warriors and families resting peacefully while we carry knowledge that could reshape their entire world.

At my tent entrance, Drokhan pauses with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Thank you. For trusting me with your mother's secret, for sharing this burden."

Burden and opportunity both. The totem represents hope for peace, but also the responsibility for achieving it wisely.

"Thank you for believing the secret was worth pursuing." I touch his arm gently, feeling the tension in his muscles despite our successful mission. "Whatever arises hereafter, we confront it as one."

As one. The words carry extra weight after tonight's shared dangers and discoveries. He pulls me into his arms. Our lips meet for a brief, passionate moment before stepping away.

He disappears into the darkness while I secure my tent and hide the totem beneath my sleeping furs. The moon-touched stone continues glowing softly even when wrapped and concealed, its light visible through layers of cloth and fur.

Sleep proves impossible. I lie awake listening to night sounds and wondering about the future we've just made possible. Will the clan elders accept the totem's authenticity? Will Drokhan choose unity or conquest? Will the crown's power prove blessing or curse?

Too many questions, too few answers.

But beneath uncertainty lies deeper satisfaction. Tonight we recovered something precious that was lost, revealed secrets that were hidden, chose trust over fear despite enormous risks.

Mother would be proud. The thought brings unexpected tears, grief and joy mingling like spring rain on fertile ground.

Outside my tent, the fortress sleeps on while I hold vigil over an artifact that could end a war or start a larger one. Tomorrow's council meeting will test everything we've built together, every alliance forged and trust earned.

But tonight, we succeeded. Against ancient protections and shifting stone, against fear and uncertainty, we reached into the mountain's heart and brought back hope.

The totem pulses gently beneath my hands, warm as a beating heart, patient as stone, powerful as the bonds that tie people together in common cause.

Ready for whatever comes next.