AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“But if this cave is in a pleasant forest where hunting is so easy, wouldn’t we risk running into townsfolk in such a place?”
I shake my head. “The eastern edge of the wood goes over the border into Barakrin. People tell tales about meeting vampires in those woods, of being spirited away to be a blood slave, never to return. The fear of the Barakrini vampires outweighs the need for game and the townsfolk give it a wide berth, preferring to take their chances in the Deep Wood.”
“Even with the werewolves?”
“Even so.”
“But why?” Dura asks, obviously confused. “Barakrin is a peaceful country and its king encourages his subjects to feed on animals. They are pacifists and isolationists, to boot. The Barakrini vampires are nothing to fear.”
“Now they are not,” I agree. “And haven't been for the past few centuries that their king has ruled. But it is said a long time ago, during the God War, they were in league with demons and were creatures of nightmare. Pitiless as demons, with an unquenchable thirst. All the old tales of Barakrin are grim warnings about them becoming monsters once again.”
I can hear the wry smile on her lips. “But you went into these woods, anyway? Even with the old tales that frightened everyone else?”
An answering small smile quirks my lips. “I considered myself a brave knight, even as a boy. Thought of it as a test of my courage to explore a forbidden, feared place. But I never ran into another soul in the thicket, in all the times I went in. It should be safe for us.”
“Alright,” Dura replies, “but we have to go quickly. My invisibility charm is about to end and I don’t want to be seen as we leave. It appears that the orcs that are stationed here mainly work at the gates.”
I nod and crouch down to put my parcels into my new knapsack, packing everything in tightly, before shouldering the load. We didn’t leave anything in the room at the inn, so we should be good to travel immediately.
So, with that, we head out of town and on the road again.
Chapter 13
Dura
Marvik acts strange all day. Though he is more burdened, and therefore slower, than he was in the forest, he tries to make conversation occasionally as we walk. About innocuous things, like the meat pies at the inn or whether I have ever fought with a sword. I give him short, succinct answers, not trusting his new chattiness. But every time I end one topic, within the hour he tries again with a new one. It almost seems like he is trying to get to know me. After a month of him barely saying anything to me, it is disconcerting. Is he just feeling guilty for how he has been treating me, in light of the news about his sister? He shouldn’t; I understand now why he craved vengeance. Not that I didn’t understand the urge before I knew the full story, but now that I do? I just wish that he would leave and be done with it. His new superficial overtures of friendship are almost painful. They are hollow offerings that fall far short of what my Mating Instinct and Recognition really want.
By the time we are in sight of a village called Portia, it is evening. I greatly miss my warbeast. With her gray fur and scales and bright blue eyes, I raised her since she was a pup. If we had Kava we would have already made it to Grimblton. The thought gives me pause. I wonder what will happen to Kava. Usually a warbeast is passed to a warrior’s next nearest kin after they die, but I only have my parents and my cousin, none of whom would need Kava. I hope whoever inherits her takes good care of her and feeds her the fresh rabbit meat she loves.
As we near the village wall, I go to use my amulet again, but then remember that I have already used its power today and it willneed to be recharged.
“I can’t become invisible,” I say, hesitating.
Marvik stops, but then looks at the gate into the village. “There doesn’t appear to be an orc here, though you could probably tell better than I could. Your eyes are better in the twilight. Maybe Portia’s too small to have warranted their own orc guard.”
I look where he is indicating, squinting, and see that he is right. The gate to the village is still open, one haggard looking human standing guard with no orc companion. Maybe Marvik is right, and this place is too much of a backwater.
“What will our story be?” I ask. I heard him lie back in Kingsbury, and he seemed quite adept at it.
He considers my question for a time, then says, “Maybe I could be a merchant and you are a mercenary I hired to escort me to Grimblton. That should be believable enough.”
I nod. That makes sense. I know a few orcs that make their living being sell-swords. It’s a simple lie, but perhaps those are best.
“Give me the bow, then. It wouldn’t make sense for a merchant to be armed.”
Marvik does as I say, taking the bow off over his head and then giving me the quiver of precious arrows. I equip them adeptly, no stranger to a bow, though my true strengths lie in hand-to-hand combat.
“Lead the way,” I say, taking a step back, so that I can appear to be protecting him from behind. I was Keeper of the King for many years. I know how to hold myself like a bodyguard.
As we come to the gate, however, the town guard’s face lights up and he says, “Gods, what luck! I’ve been wanting to see one of the War Brides!”
That brings both me and Marvik up short. “War . . . brides . . ?”
The guard looks at us and then blushes. “Sorry. I should say War Groom? War Fella? Something like that. One of the humans that volunteered to marry an orc as part of the treaty. Or get chased bythem, or whatever the deal is. One of my sisters headed up to Garden Manor to join. Heard that the War Brides are treated real well and, well, food’s scarce in the south these days, isn’t it? But I heard some men joined up to marry some of the shieldmaidens. Didn’t think I’d get to see it, but here you are.”
The humans have a program where they can volunteer to mate with orcs? Willing mates? It sounds kind of like the traditional Bride Chase, but instead of the general population, orc warriors pick from this pool of volunteers. It’s a genius idea, one that will probably lead to more lasting matings. I wonder how Rognar thought of it.
Marvik doesn’t miss a beat and reaches back to grab my hand. I hastily sheathe my claws to avoid hurting him, as he says, “Yes, I am one of those volunteers. This is my wife, Dura. We are traveling to meet her parents in Orik. Isn’t that right, sweet?”
