Bab 4: An Uneasy Alliance
The wasteland did not forgive or forget. Days bled into nights as Torak and Nakarro worked together to secure the meager resources needed to survive. Though mistrust lingered in the corners of their conversations, necessity drove them to cooperate. Each shared a quiet understanding: they needed one another, at least for now.
It started with hunting. Nakarro's sharp eyes and intimate knowledge of the land complemented Torak's raw strength and uncanny skill with weapons. While stalking a small herd of desert gazelles, Torak displayed his prowess with a makeshift bow fashioned from scavenged materials. The arrow flew true, and their camp had fresh meat for the first time in days.
Later, it was Torak who marveled at Nakarro's ability to locate hidden water sources. The former bloodrider led them to a shallow spring buried beneath the brittle roots of a dying tree. It was a rare reprieve in the otherwise unforgiving wasteland, and Torak begrudgingly admitted that Nakarro's experience was invaluable.
Their camp, a modest circle of stones shielding a flickering fire, became a sanctuary in the barren expanse. Alaena rested within its protective bounds, regaining her strength as the men worked to ensure their survival. She watched the two warriors with quiet amusement, her sharp Braavosi eyes noting the gradual thaw in their interactions.
That night, the firelight painted flickering shadows on the rocks as they shared their modest meal. The gazelle meat, though tough and gamey, was a welcome change from the dried rations they had scavenged. Alaena rested nearby, her gaze alternating between the men as they exchanged a rare moment of camaraderie.
Nakarro broke the silence first. "You fight like your father, Torak," he said, tearing a strip of meat with his teeth. "But your mind... it is something different. Calculated. Cold."
Torak raised an eyebrow, his voice measured. "And you watch me like a hawk. What are you trying to figure out?"
Nakarro chuckled softly. "I've seen many men rise and fall. Your brother included. But you..." He gestured with the bone in his hand. "You're still a mystery."
Torak leaned back, the firelight catching the sharp planes of his face. "Then it seems we have something in common."
The tension lingered for a moment before Nakarro sighed, his expression turning uncharacteristically somber. He stared into the flames, as though searching for answers in their flickering dance.
"I wasn't always an exile," Nakarro began, his voice quieter now. "Your father trusted me. I was his sword, his shield, his brother in arms. Together, we built a khalasar that the world feared."
Torak listened intently, his instincts warning him that this was more than a nostalgic recollection. Alaena shifted slightly, her attention sharpening.
"But power breeds enemies," Nakarro continued. "And jealousy festers in shadows. Zhalor was one of those shadows, even then. He was cunning, always whispering poison into the ears of those who would listen. I didn't see it at first."
Torak's jaw tightened at the mention of Zhalor. "What happened?"
Nakarro's hands clenched into fists, the veins standing out starkly against his weathered skin. "I was accused of plotting against your father. False witnesses, forged evidence—Zhalor's handiwork, I'm sure of it. Khal Drakhan had no choice but to banish me. It was his law, and he upheld it, even for me."
The fire crackled, filling the silence that followed. Nakarro's voice turned bitter. "I swore vengeance that day, not against your father, but against the coward who took everything from me. And now, that coward whispers into your brother's ear."
Torak's gaze darkened. "Zhalor."
Nakarro nodded, his eyes meeting Torak's with a grim intensity. "He is dangerous, not because he is strong, but because he is patient. Calculating. And now he stands at your brother's side, wielding power that should never have been his."
Alaena spoke then, her voice calm but firm. "Vengeance alone is not enough, Nakarro. It blinds as much as it drives."
Nakarro inclined his head, acknowledging her words. "Perhaps. But vengeance is all I have left."
Torak's thoughts churned. The pieces of his new life were beginning to fit together, painting a picture of betrayal, ambition, and opportunity. Zhalor's scheming had exiled Nakarro, and now, indirectly, him as well. But if the wasteland had taught Torak anything, it was that survival demanded strength and alliances.
"We'll need more than vengeance to face him," Torak said finally, his voice steady. "If Zhalor truly is pulling the strings, then he's already anticipating our moves. We'll need to be stronger, smarter, and more united than he could ever imagine."
Nakarro's lips curled into a faint smile. "Then it seems we have work to do."
As the fire burned low, the two men exchanged a rare look of mutual respect. Their paths had been forged in blood and betrayal, but in the wasteland, they had found the beginnings of something else: purpose.
PERTIMBANGAN PENCIPTA 
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