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Chapter 2
Dura
Horror, unlike anything I have ever felt before, fills me. I have never known panic, even though I am no stranger to danger. But this feeling of fire and desperation in my veins, as the human in front of me slowly collapses to the ground, must be panic.
What should I do? WhatcanI do? I catch him as he falls and see that his eyes are already starting to lose their light. Instinctually, I reach out with my healing magic, another gift I inherited from my mother, and feel instant relief when I feel that he is still alive, but unconscious. But his life is slipping away. His lung is punctured and slowly filling with blood, my still-protruding dagger the only thing keeping him from a swift and final death. I push healing magic into his chest cavity trying to shore up the wound, but it is like trying to bail water from a three-masted tall ship with a cup. He is slipping through my fingers, the Nether already clawing at his soul, trying to take him where all the shadows dwell.
Around me, I am vaguely aware that the battle is still raging. I glance down at the courtyard below and see that the Horde is winning, the human soldiers either dying or surrendering. Behind me the door to the black stone tower is obliterated, yawning open to the dark interior. I have no doubt that Rognar and his Axe and Shield will make quick work of the rest of the blue-uniformed guards and take King Yorian soon. Our victory is assured, yet all I can feel is loss. I look back down at the brave human captain, who is apparently my mate. His eyes are closed and a trickle of blood exits his mouth. Anyone would see that he is a lost cause, not to mention a high-ranking enemy.Ash’kaor not, I doubt I will be allowed to use any of our resources to try to save him. Theother orcs just won’t understand. Elves have soul mates, only one mate they are meant to be with. My father is my mother’s, which is why she stayed with him, one of only a few mates to do so during the last king’s reign. But orcs can be mates with anyone that wakes their Mating Instinct. Would anyone even believe me that I have anAsh’ka? I have never heard of anyone but a full-blooded elf having one. But the gods are laughing at me because it would appear, against all odds, that I do.
I am swiftly running out of options; I could try appealing to the mercy of my king, but with how angry he is at the humans, I doubt he will believe me. I could let my mate die and wash my hands of it. People can be happy without their fated mate. Fulfilled even. Not every elf finds theirAsh’ka. Certainly, most orcs do not have a mate at all. I don’t know this man, have no allegiance to him, what does it matter? Or. . . I could take the human and run. Take him somewhere where I could continue to heal him, try to save him. It would mean losing everything I have ever worked for, but my Mating Instinct is shrieking in my chest and I find, for at least this moment, I don’t care. I have never been spontaneous, but everything in me is screaming to save this stranger I am meant to love.
Without thinking too much, I reach to my neck, where my Amulet of Invisibility rests. It is one of my clan’s most precious treasures and it is an honor to have been chosen to wear it. Now I have to use it to desert. I banish the thought as quickly as it comes; I can’t dwell on that or I will lose my will. Quickly, I tap on it twice, activating the charm within the stone. Invisibility rolls down my body like mist, hiding my form and disguising my scent before I move to the next stage of my half-formed plan. I can’t hesitate; the charm only lasts for an hour before needing to be recharged by moonlight and the dying captain will not last long. I lug the man’s prone body over my shoulder, carrying him like a sack of potatoes. As he rests on my shoulders, the invisibility swallows him up,the same as me. I stand, straining under the weight of him and his armor, glancing wildly around. The battle is winding down.Good. I can carry the human more easily out of the fort if the fighting is not as thick. With weighted steps, I cart the man down the stairs.
As I reach the bottom of the steps I hear an orc call, “Where is General Dura? Was she not at the top of the wall?”
Another answers, “She was! She was fighting the human captain! One moment she was there, but the next she was gone!”
“She must have fallen over the battlements while fighting him! Send a search party, quickly! She might still be alive! And inform the king, he will want to know something happened to his cousin!”
Ah, to the Nether with it. I have even less time than I thought. I should be grateful, at least, that their first thought is not that I used my amulet and deserted, but thinking I fell over the wall while I fought makes me sound clumsy or reckless, which I am decidedlynot. At least, not usually. The man on my shoulder makes a weak, rattling sound, which breaks into my thoughts. The sound thankfully blends in with the groans of the men and orcs dying all around us. I know that I have to go. Now. Pressing my hand up and funneling as much healing energy as I can into the dying man on my shoulder, I then make my way through the winding passageways of the fort.
It seemed so quick when we entered, making the push toward the inner sanctum, but now, with panic and worry in my veins, the fortress seems maze-like and unending. I almost shout my thanks to the gods when I finally see daylight, the front gate still yawning open, its once-thick doors lying in ruins around it. I exit and then stop for a moment. Where am I going? Now that I am out of the fort, I realize that I do not know what I am doing. I can't bring him to the camp, that much is clear. The man groans again and once again I shore up his life force with my healing. Looking up, I see theJarthaki, what the humans call the Deep Wood. It is a dangerous and savage place, filled with beasts and magical creatures. Some even say that the trees are so ancient that they have developed aform of sentience. Retreating there is a death trap, but the foliage is also dense and the terrain hard to move through. It would be a good place to hide, one where it would be difficult for anyone to track us. Then I glance to my left, where the orc camp is. Dare I go back there for supplies? Do I have time before myAsh’kaexpires?
I move to a tree and set him down. As soon as he is off my shoulder, he comes back into view. But no one is going to notice one more dying human. Crouching down, I put my hand right by the knife still in his chest and scan. The knife is in tight, holding things together. There is minimal internal bleeding since I’ve been pushing healing magic into him, though it is fast-growing without my intervention. I estimate I could leave him for about ten minutes before he dies without my magic. Alright, ten minutes. I can do that.
I take off at a sprint, heading into the camp. There’s no time to go to my tent to get my things, as it is too far into the camp, right next to the king’s tent. So, stealing it is. I careen through the camp, dodging orcs until I make it into the healer’s tent and duck in. Within, all is chaos. The head healer is barking orders, all while staunching the bleeding of a dying orc. Other healers are bustling around. No one is focused on anything but the injured soldiers in front of them. It is easy to grab some healing herbs here, an extra bed roll there, and then make a hasty escape. I’m heading back to where I left the captain when I pass a firepit, a mess kit carelessly left at its side. Perfect. That will have flint inside for lighting fires and I can use the bowl and plate inside to cook. I snatch it up, stow it on my belt, and run.
When I reach the tree where I propped up the human, I am alarmed to see that he has slumped down to the ground. Dropping my ill-gotten gains, I hurriedly reach out and touch him. He’s slipping. His heart is stopped, but his soul is still attached by the thinnest of webs. I push my healing with all my strength, bringing him back to stability and restarting his heart. The effort leaves me panting, already exhausted from using more magic than I ever havein my life. I am a warrior, not a healer. And yet things are still not over. I must carry the captain into the woods and find shelter. I reach into my belt pouch and withdraw a handful of bloodroot. More than is wise to use. But I need all the strength and energy that I can. Into my mouth it goes as I furiously chew. My blood quickens in my muscles, sending strength where I was flagging before. I spit the dark remnants on the forest floor. Alright, this is as good as it’s going to get.
Picking up the herbs and bedroll in one hand, I lash them to my back. Then I put the human again across both my shoulders, an easier way to carry his weight. I turn to head deeper into the woods but hesitate for just a moment. I look back up at the fort. Are they searching for me even now? Will they know I deserted, or will they simply think I fell in battle? I am destroying my entire life for a man that I have never met before, simply because of some instinct inside me. But I have known what the Recognition is my whole life, my mother having described the feeling often. It will never happen again for me. Though I could mate with a thousand other males, they will never be myAsh’ka. There’s another groan from my shoulder and my heart jolts.
That decides me. I am in too deep now. Though I know I am betraying my cousin, my country, and my ambitions, I turn and run into the woods.
???
It takes me longer than I would want to find shelter, but I eventually find a long-empty cave. All the scents in it are at least months old and large bushes obscure the opening. I set down myAsh’kaand get to work, building a fire and placing one of my knives in the heart of the flames, leaving it to grow white hot. While that heats, I undress the wounded man in my care, pulling off hisuniform, chain mail, and under-tunic. It is difficult to do with my other knife in his chest, and I jostle him more than I would like, but I make do. I need to get ready to cauterize the wound. All the healing magic in my blood will do nothing if he bleeds out the moment that I remove my knife.
I take the bedroll and lay it on a pile of leaves in the corner. Then I move the unconscious human to the meager bedroll, covering him halfway with his cloak to keep his lower half warm. It’ll have to do for now.
I glance at the fire and see that my knife is ready. I find myself wishing I had paid more attention to my mother’s healing lessons when I was an orcling. There’s never been a call for me to heal such a grievous wound and this is a shit time to start, but I have no choice. I reach out and touch the human again, using my healing magic to sense his status. It’s not good. His soul is even more fragile than it was, and his body is shutting down, his own body not even trying to fix his wound anymore. His heart is trying to stop again. It’s as if he has given up and is trying to slide into the Nether. Iwon’tlet that happen.
Taking, again, one fortifying breath, I pull my knife out of the fire. The hilt is hot, uncomfortable to the touch, but manageable in its pain. The blade is red, the very edge a blinding white. It’s time. I take my other hand and put it on the hilt of the knife that is protruding from his chest. I bite my lip, fear unlike anything I’ve ever known flooding my heart. But fear is not my master. I am a shieldmaiden of Orik and my only master is me. With all the speed I possess, I withdraw the dagger and then put the hot edge of my other knife over the wound. The man groans deeply in his unconscious state, but stays still. It takes a moment and the acrid smell of burnt flesh assaults my nose, but then the wound is cauterized. Tossing my knife away into a corner where it can cool, I put both my hands on his chest and flood him with my healing gift.
My gift is not the strongest—orcs are known to not be very blessedwith magic—but I give it all I’ve got. I don’t need to heal him completely, just enough that he’s no longer dying, and his body’s own natural healing wakes up again.
I push so hard that my vision whitens on the edges and my heart feels like it is stopped in my chest. I feel as if I am shoving bits of my own soul into his to shore it up again. A few times I try to stop, only to feel him begin to slip away. So, no stopping. I am strong, I can do this, impossible though it feels.
I could not say how long goes by, though the cave is getting darker around me as the sun sets and the fire behind me dies. It is completely pitch black when I finally feel a tendril of natural healing reaching back toward my magic. It is small and weak, but it is there. I pull back and realize I am panting, my body shaking, soaked with sweat. I barely have any mana left in my body, but I reach out one trembling hand and use my gift to scan his body again. For tonight, at least, he will live.
It is the last thought I have before I collapse.
Chapter 3
Marvik
Pain is the first thing that I feel as consciousness crowds my senses. A deep, aching pain in my chest, like fire between my ribs. A quick flash of memory comes to me. Of a knife flashing in the sun, flicking under my parry and finding its home in my chest. Of bright green eyes looking into mine with a mix of shock and horror and maybe a little hate. Of my falling to the ground, sliding away into darkness, welcoming the embrace of the Nether as I entered death, unafraid.
But this is too much pain to be dead. I open my eyes and find myself looking at the rocky ceiling of a cave, stalactites pointing down at me threateningly, like swords of stone dangling above my chest. The light is dim and orange, lit by a torch or firepit just out of my range of vision.
