Page 16 of Wed to the Orc Captive

“No,” I whispered.

“I’m a mercenary. If we can’t cook for ourselves, we don’t eat.” He snapped the bone open in his hands. “You hunt or you die. You can’t maintain strength on dried mushrooms and cricket bread.” He brought the marrow to his lips.

I didn’t know what cricket bread was, but I didn’t want to ask him. “I’ll learn,” I whispered.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And then he leapt to his feet. I was about to ask why, when I realized the pillars glowed again, the symbols I didn’t know, and there was a rush of cold in the warm air. And in the darkness where he’d come from, there were four figures.

GOL DROTH

Ihadn’t seen very many orcs in my life. Perhaps a few days ago, these looming figures and my groom would have seemed alike, more brutes with greenish skin, more bare chests strung with necklaces, more leather and furs. Now, that one’s eyes seemed smaller, that one’s forehead was broader. Maybe Vrathgar’s hair was thicker. Now I saw that my husband’s necklace hung with small carved beads, while the orc in the center’s was strung with human-looking teeth.

“Vrathgar,” the one in the lead spread his arms, switched to Common as his gaze found me. “We thought you were dead.”

Vrathgar didn’t move, arms hovering at his sides. “So did I.”

“Balnoc will be glad to hear you survived. He was angry, that you’d been taken.”

“Balnoc will find a place at my fire. We will share the hunt again.” His words were rolling, relaxed, didn’t match the way he stood, ready to act.

The lead orc’s smile widened, lazy. “All this brotherhood, and you were going to leave without goodbyes? Or…” His eyes went back to me. “Is it that you wanted to keep the plunder to yourself?”

The ones behind him laughed as I pulled tighter into myself, a few shouted comments in their tongue. Vrathgar didn’t move. “There is no plunder here,” he said, calm. “You can congratulate me. I am married.”

“Married?” He translated for the orcs behind him, then turned his full focus back to me. “But you cannot be married, Cousin. There is no marriage when you have not gone through the stones.”

“An oath is an oath, Orgar.”

“So you keep the rituals of the f’grik now?”

“When they have me captive, yes. I find I prefer rituals to blades.”

He chortled. “You are funny, Cousin. I always liked that about you. But now, the time for being funny is over, because I am serious, yes?” His wide grin didn’t waver, and it felt like, to my horror, he had too many teeth. “You hand over the woman.”

There was a whisper of sound on the air, the slightest metal ringing. And Vrathgar had a long, curved blade in each of his hands.

The smile on the leader’s face had disappeared. “You draw a weapon in this place?”

“What weapon?” Vrathgar didn’t move. “I’m cleaning my kill.”

There were four of them. There was one of him. But those blades flickered in the light, and none of them wanted to be the one who’d be cut down. Forehead growled something, and Vrathgar answered, “Threats work best on people with something to lose, M’zal.”

The central one’s expression had hardened into something like hatred. “You would insult Gralk?” he said. “For a f'grik?”

“Why would anyone be insulted?” he crooned, and I could hear that harsh smile in his voice. “I’m only keeping what is mine.”

They stood there.

“Wife,” Vrathgar said, “Pick up our equipment. We’re leaving.”

I scrambled to roll up the bedding. My vision was light, and the straps of the pack slipped under my fingers.

“You can keep the fire, and the birds,” he said. “A parting gift.”

None of them stepped forward. “You make a mistake.”

I dragged the pack over, the dowry bundle heavy on top. His arm snake around me, the blade faced away. “I am a mistake.” His other fist knocked the stone, and it glowed.

The lead shouted, as my ears started to ring. “Your mother⁠—"