Page 43 of The Orc's Bride

There. She was lying on the road, between Brrthak’s unsteady legs. Brrthak was standing over her, neighing again.

A squirrel ragghit was sitting on his back, its teeth sunk into the horse’s flesh.

Urgan stomped down on his instinct to roar and rage. Slowly, carefully, he put down his sword and moved toward Brrthak, speaking evenly:

“Good Brrthak. Loyal mount. Stay. Do not move. Stay as you are.”

If Brrthak moved now, he would trample Una. She was unconscious, right between his hooves. Urgan had no way to see if she was hurt.

Brrthak was still now, looking less nervous. Less in pain. But he wasn’t calm, exactly. He seemed muddled… The ragghit poison was working.

With one jump, Urgan was at Brrthak’s side. The squirrel, which was biting into Brrthak’s flesh with gusto, looked up a moment too late. Urgan seized it by its tail and nape, and broke its spine with a crunch.

“Good Brrthak,” he said, keeping the tension out of his voice. “Stand still. It will be good soon. Everything will be well.”

He crouched by the horse and quickly pulled Una out, throwing her over his shoulder. Then, he grabbed his sword and slit Brrthak’s throat, ending his life with one, deep cut.

He looked around. They were alone, save for Kluga, who was as good as dead. Urgan walked over to his friend and brother in arms, who was lying on the forest floor, his breathing shallow, his wound black with ichor.

Without hesitation, Urgan stuck his sword between Kluga’s ribs, piercing his heart. The harsh breathing was cut off.

The forest on the right, where Zadran had been facing the other ragghit, was silent. Urgan stretched out his senses. Something rustled deeper in the wood. And then, a roar of pain. Grikh.

Urgan cursed and tore into the forest, Una still slung over his shoulder, her body limp. He couldn’t leave her alone. And he had to help Grikh.

He pushed through the undergrowth, finding his way to a small clearing. There, the ragghit deer lay slain on the grass. Zadran, his arm bleeding black, lay by it, his eyes glassy and unseeing. He was dead.

And by his side, Grikh was kneeling, rocking on his haunches, his face twisted into a grimace of pain. His clothes were spattered with the black gore. Urgan’s heart became heavy with grief.

“Brother,” he called. “Did it bite you?”

Grikh turned. He looked lucid and in control of his movements.

“No. But Zadran is dead. Kluga was bitten, too.”

“I know. I killed him.”

Grikh nodded once, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“And I killed Zadran.”

“You did right,” Urgan said, and Grikh nodded again. They both knew killing their infected friends had been necessary. But it didn’t make it any less painful.

“Keep watch,” Urgan ordered, laying Una on the soft forest floor.

He looked her over first, checking for any marks or wounds seeping black blood. But there weren’t any. She hadn’t been bitten. Her breathing was deep, and her eyelids were moving. Urgan ran his fingers gently over her limbs, checking if her bones were intact.

She seemed fine. And yet, she wasn’t waking.

He nodded to Grikh.

“Let’s go find the horses.”

Urgan took Una into his arms, and together with Grikh, they walked back to the place of carnage. Brrthak was dead, and so was Kluga’s horse. That only left Grikh’s mount.

Walking further down the road to leave the place that still reeked of blood and danger, they stopped where Grikh had been when the ragghits appeared. Grikh called his horse. Urgan put Una on a patch of soft grass by the road and sat by her side, watching her face without blinking. Waiting for the signs of consciousness returning to her.

Soon, Grikh’s horse trotted over, looking spooked but no worse for wear.

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