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“It is a similar position to yours. I was the king’s bodyguard.” A largely ceremonial role, as Rognar can take care of himself and his Axe and Shield are the first line of defense against challenges and assassinations. But I was the last line of defense, my ax between any threats that came to my cousin.
The human captain absorbs my words. Then he says, “Our intelligence said that it was a cohort of the Northern Horde that attacked Fort Attis. Why was the General of the Southern Armies there?”
“My king was there. My role as Keeper takes precedence over leading my Horde.”
Marvik looks considering. He shifts slightly on the bedroll and grunts softly, obviously in pain, but working not to show it. I could reach out and soothe the ache again, but this conversation has me feeling on guard and I keep my distance. A little pain when he shiftswill not kill him and will teach him not to move prematurely.
Finally, the human says, “You gave up a prized position and place of honor just to desert and heal me? Just because you think I am yourAsh’ka?”
“I do notthinkit, I know it.”
“How?” he asks.
That is an easy enough answer. “I experienced the Recognition.”
“And what is that?”
“An unmistakable feeling, a knowing. It changes everything.”
His gaze is as clinical as it was when we fought, obviously pulling apart my statement, mulling over the implications. Probably strategizing how he can use the information to his advantage. As stone-faced as he is, he is easy to read. It’s all in his dark, fathomless eyes.
After a time he says, “I don’t feel anything different.”
I suspected as much, but having him say it aloud hurts me a surprising amount. But I absorb the blow stoically and nod. “You are human, with no elvish blood. It is to be expected that things would not be the same for you.”
“And if they are never the same for me? If I never feel that you are my soulmate and never want you?”
Another blow. I would almost think that he is trying to wound me. Maybe he is, testing my reactions and temperament. It’s what I would do . . . if I was a captive trying to escape a captor. I look at the man on the bedroll and see his calculating eyes gazing back at me. I have no interest in being the captor of myAsh’ka, but it is clear that is how he sees me. Disappointment washes over me. I don’t know what I really expected when he finally woke up, but I suppose I hoped . . . well, it doesn’t matter what I hoped. The only thing that matters is whatis. And that means that we are still enemies at odds, he and I.
His body language gets more and more wary the longer I take to respond. If I wanted to keep him off kilter, I suppose I could refuse to respond at all. But, again, I am not trying to be his adversary, nomatter how disappointing of anAsh’kahe is.
“Then my sacrifice will have been for nothing,” I reply, “and all my hopes are naught but foolishness. Now, go back to sleep. You are still healing and if you over-tax yourself, you could open the wound in your lung again.”
With that, I stand, heading back to tend the fire and cook more healing broth and say nothing else for the rest of the evening.
Chapter 5
Marvik
Aweek passes. Each day is the same. I wake and the orcress feeds me and sends more healing magic into my body. I know her name, but refuse to say it, even to myself. It humanizes her too much, and I need to remember that she is my enemy. A harder task than it should be, as she cares for me gently and most diligently, never being harsh or impatient. She helps me sit up and we work my unused muscles so that they don’t atrophy, or takes me outside when I need to relieve myself. We do much of this in silence, only perfunctory remarks made or commands on her end are given. My last question from our previous conversation seems to have taken a lot of goodwill out of our relationship and she no longer offers information when we speak. I cannot fault myself too much, though; I needed to know how far her delusion that we are mates would take her.
At night I lay on my bedroll and plan. I am grateful to the orcress for her efforts, but I have no intention of staying in the woods and playing “soulmates” with her. No, one thought consumes my mind and one thought only: avenging Adalind.
My poor, poor sister. She suffered under the reign of Yorian, that blackguard. He forced a veil over her face, made her into a shadow he could puppet at will. And, though I could not prove it, I suspected he might be beating her behind closed doors. I saw no wounds or bruises on her, but that didn’t matter. It was in her body’s carriage around him when he was in the room, the careful, almost brittle, way she talked about him, her flinches at sudden movements that she thought I didn’t notice. I saw the signs and wanted to kill him for it, but I was prevented from doing so by the magical oaths of the Blue Guard. But no such oathsprotect the orc king. The thought that he blamed Adalind for Yorian’s actions and executed her fills me with a well of rage, dark and murderous. I need to heal and then make my way to civilization, find out where the orc monarch is staying, and then thrust my sword through his black heart.
So, I drink all the broth that is given to me without complaint and submit to the orcress’ ministrations, all the while my mind is working. Toward the end of the week I can sit up without help and there is no longer a burning pain in my lung whenever I draw breath. When the orcress is sleeping, I quietly get up and walk around the cave, practicing my movement. Before my injury, I would have been able to run a mile in heavy armor while barely raising my heart rate, but now everything is different. Still, I will not wait long to leave; I have whiled away enough time in bed already.
When night comes, the moon is naught but a thin crescent, I decide it is time. The fire dies, leaving the cave cold and dark. The orcress is sleeping, sitting up against one wall of the cave, both her long knives clenched in her hands. She snores lightly and I know that this is my chance. I slowly untangle myself from the scant bedding of the bedroll, pull my ruined tunic over my head and make my way as silently as I can to the mouth of the cave.
Stepping into the night air, I feel a sense of relief . . . mixed with guilt. The orcress sacrificed everything in her life to save mine. My honor bids me to repay that debt and stay and see how I can help her now that she’s left her people. However, my duty as a brother outweighs any life-debt I may feel. Until I avenge my sister, neither of us can be at peace.
Slipping into the wood, I try to stay as quiet as possible, knowing that an orc’s hearing is likely more acute than my own. When I am a ways away from the cave, I look up and find the Easterly Star and get my bearings. I have no clue how far we are from Fort Attis or what direction the orcress went when she left the battle, but if I assume we are close to the fort and that she could not have gone far carrying a wounded man, with my inner compass set, I think Ishould be able to get to Kingsbury within a day or so.
I begin a light jog, wanting to put as much distance between me and the cave as I can. It is difficult. The ground beneath my feet is gnarled with the roots of ancient trees, the uneven terrain making each step a chore. It is taking me twice as long as it would if I was in an open field and my lungs and muscles are already burning from the exertion. I have been running for about an hour, when I finally notice something odd: there are no other sounds of life in the forest. No hooting of owls, no rustling bushes. That means either the woodland creatures fear me or . . . a predator is close. A panther or a werewolf or . . . an orc.
Paranoia grips my heart and I push myself to run faster, even as my body protests. Is it my imagination or did I hear a twig snap behind me? A crackle of broken leaves? I do not turn to check, not wanting to waste any movement. In front of me, I see a clearing and dash toward it. I am almost across when I hear a voice.
“Leaving so soon?”
