Page 102 of The Orc Warrioress and the Elf Lord

“I traded,” said Adalir. “The orc princess for the safety of our city. They are collecting her even now.”

Iahir’s throat tightened. “You… you overheard what I was saying to our father. What did you do with her?”

“She’s with her own people,” said Adalir. “She’ll be all right. She’s a princess.”

“She’s a deserter,” said Iahir. “And certainly you heard that her father barely knows she exists.”

“They agreed,” said Adalir. “I did this.” He touched his chest. “No one thinks I’m capable of doing anything, but I have found ways to adapt, you see.”

“Where is she?” said Iahir. “Where is she?”

Adalir shook his head. “They were to come for her as the tide went out. They will have taken her already.”

“The caves,” said Iahir, because he and his brother used to play there, and once they’d gotten cut off and been stuck there for a long time, for hours and hours. Adalir had been so frightened. And then, one of his altering personas had come over him and he had kept them both calm, saying that they’d be rescued, saying that someone would be looking for them, and it had all come to pass.

Adalir shrugged. “I tell you, they will have already taken her.”

But Iahir went there anyway.

And when he got there, there was a squadron of several orcs who were cutting the bonds on her feet and hands. They seemed to be concerned for her, speaking to her in the orc language, which he didn’t understand. She spoke it back to them with an accent, he noticed, and she seemed to pause a lot, looking for words. It was not her first language.

However, when she went off with them, it was clear she was not a prisoner. She was not being mistreated.

He followed them as they went off, followed them until they came to the larger army, the one who was, indeed, only a few hours march away from the city walls. She was given food and she was not molested. She was free and she seemed all right.

Still, he waited.

He waited because he was going to speak to her. This was going to be a goodbye, but they must have known that was coming, anyway. They were both better off with their own kind, in the end. If she was not in danger, if they were as welcoming to her as it seemed they were, then he would leave her be. He would go his way. She could go hers.

29

GATHREN HAD MANAGED to get herself to the lip of the cavern when the tide receded, but she had not managed to get the knots that bound her untied.

She was utterly surprised when a group of orcs came for her, and they cut her free and put her on her feet.

“We come from the brigade led by Hathrak ap Regrish,” they told her, and she recognized the name of her half brother. Hathrak was the legitimate son of the High Chieftain, and she had known him in Arzakh.

They went to the encampment, and she was given her own tent, and she waited for her brother to come to her, but he did not come to her. Instead, she was sent to him.

His tent was in the middle of the encampment, which was set up in rows, all of the tents a deep color of burgundy, like rows of crimson in the setting sun. His tent looked just like the rest of theirs, even if he was the highest ranking commander with this brigade. This might have been an attempt to make the men feel he was on their level or it might have been some kind of strategic way to keep the enemy from knowing where the commander’s tent was.

She suspected the former, because there was no enemy to speak of, near as she could see.

Hathrak greeted her warmly, clasping both of her hands and giving her the traditional orc greeting for loved ones. He called her “beloved” in the orc language. She had to admit that felt nice. She hadn’t been welcomed anywhere like this in some time, not even by her own mother.

She felt the orcishness of the place settle around her, too, in a way that was pleasant. It wasn’t truly like coming home, she didn’t suppose, because her own home had never been very traditionally orcish. Her family seemed to think that the best way to fit in Lothnehil was to eschew all the orc traditions so as not to stand out. They even spoke Valaedor at home most of the time. Gathren had learned the orc language, but it was mostly used when her mother was very angry or whenever she was very sad, as if the language was a retreat for her mother when she was emotional.

After she had gone to Arzakh, however, she had gotten used to the way it felt to be around orcs. It wasn’t a feeling of home, but it was a feeling of belonging, and she did find she was relieved to feel it.

Her brother spoke the orc language, of course. It was natural for him. She spoke it back, even if she had a very broad elvish accent when she tried. If she had learned it in Arzakh, perhaps she wouldn’t have, but she had learned it from her mother as a small child, and things learned that young are difficult to change.

“You are not going around telling people you are a princess, I don’t suppose,” said her brother, after they had made their greetings and poured their ale and sat down on the rugs on the floor of his tent.

At first, she had trouble with the orc word for ‘princess,’ because it literally translated as daughter-of-the-buck and she forgot that it was also a word that was used for positions amongst people. But then, she understood, and said, “What? No, definitely not.”

“But people know that about who your father is,” said her brother, “because that it why you are here with me. Some idiot elf tried to negotiate with me to not attack Cirlahir if he traded you to me. He called you a princess.”

She furrowed her brow, unable to make sense of that. “Well, someone must have told him that, I suppose, but it is not something that I am going around telling everyone, I assure you.”