Heat flares in my chest. “You dare claim the moral high ground, Vaelen, after your secret bargains? You feed these orcs gold, promise them leverage in our city, then brand Freedmen as rebels.”
A ripple of murmurs stirs among onlookers, many Freedmen scowling at Vaelen. The orc chieftain huffs, shifting his weight. “We care not for your internal quarrels. We want the woman. If she is not given, we will raze your walls.”
Mira steps forward, pushing her hood down, eyes lit with fierce defiance. Gasps ripple among the senators. The orcs snarl in recognition. Vaelen smirks, as if expecting her to seal her own fate. But she raises her voice boldly, “If you’re so intent on war, you don’t need me as an excuse. Let’s be honest—you’re working with Vaelen to subdue Milthar for profit. We have proof of your conspiracy.”
Her words spark an immediate outcry. Some senators flinch, others protest angrily. The chieftain’s gaze narrows, flicking from Vaelen to Mira. Vaelen steps in, voice brimming with false indignation. “Lies! She’s the saboteur who’s corrupted Freedmen into rebellion. She and Remanos conspire against the city’s peace.”
I clench my fists, fighting the urge to roar back. Instead, I inhale, stepping into the center of the arena sand—unarmed, no champion’s hammer at my side, only my Freedman leathers. My heart pounds. In the stands, watchful eyes mark my every move. Freedmen stand behind me on the colosseum steps, refusing to yield.
I address the crowd in a resonant voice, ignoring the orcs’ menacing presence. “Mira is no saboteur. She revealed Vaelen’s secret dealings with orcs—contraband weapons, hush gold, infiltration routes. He seeks to dethrone legitimate rule and place Freedmen under orc intimidation.”
Vaelen snarls, pointing at me. “You have no rank to speak! You were stripped of champion’s status for defying the Senate. You are nothing.”
I swallow the spike of humiliation, letting my anger morph into resolve. “Yes, I lost the Senate’s favor. But Freedmen, crafters, and guards of conscience stand with me. We see the orcs at your beck and call. Look around—why else would they gather so brazenly in our colosseum? Because you’ve paved the way.”
The chieftain stamps a hoof, snorting. “We serve no minotaur. We take advantage of your city’s weakness. Surrender the woman or face our blades.”
I step closer, arms spread to show my lack of weapons. Gasps ripple through the onlookers. “If you truly need her to justify war, then your war is built on false pretenses. Why not fight Freedmen openly? Because Vaelen promised you an easy infiltration.”
A charged silence grips the arena. Senators shift uneasily, uncertain whether to side with Vaelen’s story or sense a deeper truth. Mira breaks in, voice carrying an edge of scorn, “We have logs of shipments bearing your forging marks, orc. We have old treaties linking Vaelen’s lineage to coerced orc raids. The real sabotage is within the Senate.”
She lifts a battered sheaf of papers, letting them flutter for the stands to see. Some spectators crane forward, whispering among themselves. Ortem stands on a raised platform, face ashen, seemingly realizing the scope of Vaelen’sbetrayal. Freedmen below clap and holler, stirring the crowd’s uncertainty into a rising murmur.
Vaelen scowls, face reddening. “This is nonsense. A desperate ploy from a dethroned champion and his foreign accomplice.”
I pivot to him, voice cold. “Then deny your role in orc infiltration. If your hands are clean, you’d never let orcs stride so confidently into our heart. Yet here they stand, waiting to claim Mira.”
He hesitates, flicking a sidelong glance at the chieftain. The orc sets his jaw, betraying a flicker of tension. They exchange a brief look that reeks of guilt. The crowd notices it too. An uneasy murmur swells. Freedmen in the upper tiers start chanting, “Truth! Truth!” The crafters among them wave ledger pages.
At last, a senator I don’t recognize steps forward from the dais, voice wavering, “Vaelen, is it true? Have you bartered with orcs behind our backs?”
Vaelen shouts him down. “Silence! We do not question the Senate’s decisions.”
Another senator breaks ranks, edging away from Vaelen, realization dawning. “By the goddess, we’ve been misled.”
Seeing cracks in the Senate’s unity, Vaelen stiffens, turning to the orc chieftain. “Take the woman now. Let this farce end.” He gestures at Mira, fury contorting his features. The orc grunts, stepping forward with two armed warriors.
My Freedmen bristle, weapons lifting. Their eyes flick to me, awaiting my command. Tension whips the air taut. I raise a hand, heart throbbing with equal parts rage and fear.I will not watch them drag her away.
I step ahead of Freedmen, meeting the orc chieftain’s gaze. “You want her? You go through me.” My voice resonates in the hush.
The chieftain bares tusks. “You have no hammer, no rank. You are not champion. Step aside or die.”
My pulse hammers, but I hold my ground.I might die here, but I will not yield.Freedmen cluster behind me, unwavering. Mira, to my left, clutches the sheaf of proof. Her jaw is set, eyes ablaze. If this degenerates into bloodshed, orcs might tear half the colosseum apart. But I won’t step aside.
Vaelen’s voice pierces the hush: “Senators, see how Remanos incites rebellion! Execute him and hand the woman over. The orcs will depart peacefully.”
An uproar erupts. Some senators look tempted, others horrified. Freedmen roar denials. Tension nears the breaking point. Before violence explodes, Mira thrusts her ledger pages high, shouting to the crowd, “Look at these records! Shipments with orc forging marks, signed off by Vaelen’s men. He’s the true conspirator. He invites orcs in to break Freedmen loyalty. If we let him do this, Milthar falls!”
A wave of Freedmen cheers surges, the noise echoing off stone walls. Citizens in the stands crane to see the evidence. Senators fidget. Ortem steps forward at last, voice tight, “Vaelen, if these accusations have merit, you must address them. Did you invite orcs to forcibly claim the city? Answer us.”
Vaelen’s face twists with hate, no longer attempting to feign innocence. “This city needed a scapegoat. Freedmen threatened the old order. The orcs… offered a solution. We’d keep them at bay by giving them that woman—milk the Freedmen’s fear until they submit.”
A hush of horror ripples through the colosseum. The orc chieftain glares at Vaelen but doesn’t deny the arrangement. Freedmen seethe, some cursing Vaelen’s name. Ortem staggers back, face pale. The Senate’s complicity is laid bare.
Mira’s breath catches. I sense her relief that truth emerges, yet we stand in an arena ringed by orcs. The chieftain snarls,stepping forward, “Vaelen promised spoils. We want her. Or Milthar burns.”
I swallow, stepping deeper into the arena’s center. The sand feels cold beneath my hooves, a twisted echo of so many fights I waged. Freedmen tighten their circle, but I wave them back, tail flicking with determination. “You will not have her,” I say, voice carrying. “Nor will you claim this city. Milthar belongs to its people, Freedmen included, not to a Senate that sells it to orcs or to an orc warband that preys on fear.”
