Page 76 of The Orc Outcast's Mate

“That decision is to merge Rove Wood Clan with Baelrok.”

A dreaded silence descended. The harsh intake of air before chaos reigned.

And reign it did. Rove Wood Clan erupted. The cacophony of voices rose to dizzying heights, roaring into the branches of the Great Rove Tree, and spilled discontent and anguish into the air so thick Govek had trouble catching his breath.

Karthoc was going to merge Rove Wood with his forge.

The whole fucking clan would be there.

With Govek and his new mate.

Fuck.

“Karthoc, you must be jesting!” Chief Ergoth’s voice carried above the others and quieted the fervor. “You cannot possibly mean for my clan to leave Rove Wood?—”

“I am your warlord, and my decision is final. You will come with me to Baelrok.”

“What of the tinctures you so desperately need? What of the healing magic you require to keep the Waking Order at bay?”

“You will make them at my forge.”

“They will never have the same potency. The Great Rove Tree is required to keep our magic hale. And what of future generations? No orcs will be born with magic if they are not conceived and carried within these woods!”

The smug smile plastered to Karthoc’s face and forced Govek to gulp. The warlord’s eyes snapped to Govek once before returning to the chief. “In the past that was true, uncle, but something has shifted in our race. In the last four seasons, we have found seventeen orcs who can wield magic. Warrior orcs born far outside Rove Wood that have no connection to this great tree.”

What? Govek went cold as shock twisted into his gut and the blood drained from his face.

“That isn’t... that isn’t possible,” Ergoth said with a shaking breath. Govek could only just make it out. “Only my clan can produce conjurers. Mine alone.”

“Why such shock, uncle? Your own son was born a warrior with magic.”

“Yes, and Govek is—” Ergoth’s mouth snapped shut, and his fists curled.

Govek’s heart thundered in his chest as agony gripped him.

“Govek is what, uncle? Speak full what you would like to say of my cousin. Your only living son of whom you should be proud. Govek is strong, just as the magic wielders we have discovered are. These males could win us the war. Their power could overthrow the Waking Order and yet you regard them with scorn.”

“I would not scorn them,” Ergoth stammered.

“You have rejected your own son, refused to train him in his skills. Govek could be the most powerful male in my legions if you had not forced him into squalor at the edges of your clan.”

“Govek is a different case. You do not know him as I?—”

“I know enough. Enough to be assured that I cannot trust you to treat these other seventeen males with fairness. They need to be trained, and I cannot trust you, Ergoth of Rove Wood, to follow through on that. So, you will join me in Baelrok, where I can oversee their treatment myself.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t...” Chief Ergoth stood tall. “You are unreasonable, Warlord. Surely only a few of my conjurers would be needed to train them. Why, I would send Sythcol to see that the work is done well.”

Govek saw the lead conjurer tense in his seat.

“Forcing us all to leave when only a few are needed is preposterous.”

“All will come.” Karthoc’s voice held no room for argument. “I will not have this clan fractured apart, as I know well how being in groups enhances the magic. And being outside the Rove Woods will already stifle the training enough as is.”

“If you know that, then allow them to come here to train,” Chief Ergoth said desperately over the swelling voices of the crowd. “This place under the Great Rove Tree holds the strongest magic. The closest connection to the Fades. It is where the seasons themselves are birthed. Why, our sons are out communing in winter as we speak. Denying these conjurers of yours access to Rove’s gifts will only stunt them.”

“Yes, I agree,” Karthoc said. Govek was flummoxed.

Ergoth breathed deep. “Then you will send them here.”

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