Page 31 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 31

E very fiber of my being wants me to return to Garrox and take him on right now. To beat him into submission and kill him for hurting Tasha. But I can’t, because the Rite is my only hope of getting her back safely, in my arms, where she belongs.

I take a last look at where Tasha is being held at his residence. Then I walk away, my blood boiling, and try to focus. The Rite is a sacred tradition, meant to settle the most serious of disputes and honor our ancestors. But I know Garrox will try to cheat. He has already proved himself a coward and a liar. I don’t trust him, but I know the clan will hold him to his promise and he won’t risk an uprising.

As I walk through Frosthok, I see the square being prepared — the platform cleared; the arena marked out. Gone is the steel stage I stood upon hours ago. The battletreader the chieftains arrived in, all cleared away. In its place is a simple circular fighting pit, surrounded by wooden beams and electrified barbed wire marking the boundary. The crowd has gathered around the edges, their faces illuminated by the glow of torches. The air is charged with excitement and anticipation.

But I have one task I need to complete before I meet Garrox in the Rite circle.

My steps falter as I approach the doorway of my family home. I need solitude to compose myself before the Rite. Inside, the damage from my earlier altercation with Garrox’s guards is obvious — broken chairs, debris strewn across the floor. The sight enrages me. I should have been here to protect her.

Leaning heavily against the door frame, I fight to control my emotions.

“Father, guide me,” I whisper, eyes closed, taking a deep breath. I have to stay focused on my goal—defeating Garrox.

I sit alone in the quiet of my family home, the weight of what’s coming pressing down on me. There’s still a task I must complete before I enter the Rite.

Removing my datapad, I begin a message to Officer McCoy. It pains me, making these final arrangements, but I must prepare for any outcome. If I fall tonight, I can’t let Garrox’s treachery go unpunished.

My fingers fly as I outline Tasha’s innocence and Garrox’s crimes. I include all the proof I’ve gathered —records from the mines, footage from our ship’s sabotage, everything. Enough evidence for the Planetary Police to act, to bring Garrox to justice. To set Tasha free.

It’s all I can do for her now, my last gift. A chance at the life stolen from her, the justice she deserves. My heart aches, thinking I may never see her again. Never hold her, kiss her, tell her...

“I love you, Tasha,” I whisper. “If this is my last message, know that you were everything to me. My light in the darkness. Stay strong, my fierce little human, my heart.”

I press send a solemn farewell if tonight is my end. But I cannot dwell on that possibility. I must believe I will win the Rite, that we will be together again.

With a last look around my childhood home, I close the door and stride towards the arena. Apprehension and adrenaline war within me, but I refuse to give in to doubt. Garrox’s reign ends tonight. I will win this Rite and finally get justice for my father and for Tasha.

Still, the fear of failure is there, cold and heavy in my chest. Not for myself, but for Tasha. If I fall, Garrox will most likely kill her, or worse. I cannot, will not, let that happen. I will fight with every ounce of strength, every shred of skill I possess.

The twin suns set, painting the sky a deep lavender, and the temperature drops as I make my way back to the arena. But I don’t feel the cold. My adrenaline and rage are keeping the fire warm in my veins.

I’m not yet ready to make my presence known as I reach my destination. I watch as the Chieftains stand shouting directions, demanding more torches, and my clansmen rushing to accommodate. Their attendance is both crucial for the Rite’s legitimacy and historical significance. Only one other Rite has been held in Frosthok, long fallen out of living memory.

As I observe the controlled chaos, my thoughts inevitably drift to Tasha. I fervently hope Garrox hasn’t harmed her further. The memory of our last stolen moment together fills me with warmth — her soft lips pressed against mine, the silk of her hair between my fingers. I long to hold her again, to lose myself in her.

An enormous shadow falls over me, breaking my reverie. Drexan appears at my side, his face more stoic than usual.

“It is good to see you again, brother, though I wish it were under better circumstances. What of your human?” he asks.

“Tasha is unharmed, as far as I can tell. She is being kept at the High Chieftain’s residence. If I fail this Rite...” My voice trails off, the thought too awful to voice.

Drexan grips my shoulder firmly. “Do not speak of failure. You must have faith in yourself, in your training. I have seen you best Garrox before in the sparring ring.”

I meet his earnest gaze. “That was many rotations ago during training. The stakes now are much higher.” Doubt threatens to overwhelm me. Can I defeat Garrox when Tasha’s life hangs in the balance?

“Droilin, listen to me,” Drexan says fiercely. “You are ready for this. You are skilled and honorable. Garrox is the one who should be afraid.”

His absolute conviction bolsters me. He is right —Garrox’s trickery is a crutch for his lack of true skill. I must face him with courage and integrity.

I embrace Drexan tightly, drawing strength from his unwavering support.

As we pull apart, his eyes bore into mine. “Now go claim the victory that is already yours. Fight with valor and do what must be done.”

I nod. With Drexan’s steadfast belief in me, I have a renewed confidence. Squaring my shoulders, I step away from Drexan and head towards the arena. It is all but complete, the wooden benches full of eager spectators. The suns are setting, casting long shadows over the settlement. The air is thick with tension, the crowd restless.

I reach the edge, the heat of the torches, the roar of the crowd washing over me. The crowd parts as I approach. The air is thick with tension, the electric fences of the High Chieftain’s residence crackling ominously. Yalrog and Keklor stand at the edge of the circle, watching the final preparations.

“You did not think we would abandon you, did you?” Chieftain Keklor smiles warmly as I approach, clapping me on the back as I stand beside them. Though aged, his sturdy frame and commanding presence reflect a lifetime of leadership. His piercing yellow eyes contrasts against his pale green skin.

I met the elderly Degok leader occasionally, always finding him reasonable, if private. He challenged Garrox often to the High Chieftain’s irritation, and now I newfound appreciation for Keklor now.

“No, but I did not know if Chieftain Yalrog could convince you of Garrox’s betrayal,” I admit, as we stand on the platform overlooking the sea of faces.

“Convincing me was no straightforward task. The Rite is not something to be invoked without just cause. But Yalrog made a compelling argument.” Keklor sighs wearily.

“Getting here in time to ensure this Rite happened... that was the challenge. Your friend Drexan is quite a driver,” Yalrog admits.

I nod, trying to keep my focus on the Chieftains despite the tension twirling in my gut.

I smile thinly at the thought of Drexan driving the ancient battletreader to the rescue. It feels good to have friends here with me now, allies. But even with their support, the burden rests squarely on my shoulders.

“Morcrest needs a new beginning, Droilin. This is a dark time. We need a strong High Chieftain we can trust, someone who will fight for us. Not a greedy, power-hungry tyrant. And that someone is you.”

Keklor’s words shock me. I never wished to become Chieftain, although that would be my title in victory. But the faith they place in me to be High Chieftain? That is overwhelming.

I am filled with a mix of gratitude and apprehension. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? To be free of Garrox’s control, but should I be the one to lead Morcrest in a new direction?

“Tonight is your chance to prove yourself worthy of Morcrest’s trust,” Yalrog adds. “When you defeat Garrox, we will support your claim as High Chieftain.”

“I wish I shared your confidence, but I thank you,” I reply. I can’t let self-doubt distract me from killing Garrox and rescuing Tasha. But the weight of leadership feels like a crushing burden.

“I will fight with honor and do my best to prove myself.” I bow my head, praying my best will be enough.

“We have faith in you, Droilin,” Keklor affirms. “You will win. Do not doubt yourself. The Rite will restore honor to us all for our failure to deal with Garrox sooner.”

I cling to his words, using them to steel my resolve. I must banish my doubts and focus only on victory. Too much depends on the outcome of this battle. The fate of Tasha, of Morcrest, rests in my hands.

The sound of the Rite reaches us — the chanting of the clan from the arena, the pounding of fists, grows louder.

“Well, the time has come, Droilin. May the spirits guide your blade.” Yalrog clasps my arm, his eyes burning with intensity.

“Remember, honor and victory are within your grasp. Do not falter now,” Keklor urges.

I take a deep breath, my nerves steeled. I look each of them in the eye, hoping they can see the gratitude and determination in my gaze. “I will not fail, my friends. Tonight, justice will be served.”

I will not die this night.