Page 45 of The Orc's Bride

Seeing Zadran and Kluga lying dead side by side, I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t see just orcs. I saw people with whom I had traveled, talked, laughed. People who died protecting me, too.

Urgan was set on burying them, and I couldn’t agree more. I said I would clean their bodies, but Urgan forbid it. He wanted me to stay far away from their infected blood. So, I offered to help with digging, but Urgan ordered me to sit still and sip water.

“You hit your head, and your human heads are fragile. You will sit here and rest. Besides, we’re not going to dig.”

They walked farther into the wood, but not far enough that I couldn’t hear them. Urgan was making sure I was close enough that he could get to me fast in case of danger.

I heard them moving around and discussing something. Then came sounds of heaving, grunts of effort… and then, a series of creaks. The forest floor shook when something hit the ground.

Some time later, Urgan and Grikh emerged from the trees, their bodies muddy where earth had mixed with sweat. They picked up Kluga, careful not to touch his blood, and carried him. I followed.

When we arrived, I gasped. They had torn out a tree from the ground. It was lying on the forest floor, its roots sticking in the air, earth clinging to them.

And it wasn’t just a flimsy sapling. It was a full-grown tree. A bit on the shorter side, granted, but its thick trunk made up for it. Tearing it out of the earth would have been impossible for a human.

Just how strong were the orcs?

The hole where the tree used to be seemed deep enough to fit two large orcs. Urgan and Grikh must have deepened it after pulling out that tree.

Now, they lowered Kluga into the hole and went back for Zadran’s body. When both fallen orcs were down in the ground, Urgan started a solemn, slow chant.

I didn’t understand one word of it. It was a deep, gravelly chant with an intense rhythm that resembled war drums. It made my skin break out in goosebumps. In that chant, I could hear grief, sadness, the memory of battles fought and blood spilled.

It spoke deep into my soul.

Hearing this chant, I was struck again by how little I used to think of the orcs. Never had I expected how deep their feelings went. How profound and soulful they could be.

The chant ended, leaving me hollow, strangely wiped of all emotion. My tears had dried, my grief had been lulled.

Urgan and Grikh grabbed the tree they had torn out of the earth and lifted it back into place, the muscles on their backs cording with the effort. They heaved and pushed until the tree was back in its place, most of its roots back in the hole, together with Kluga and Zadran.

Urgan held the tree in place while Grikh stepped on the earth around it, packing it tighter. Then, he put supports made of thick branches to lean against the trunk, holding it in place. When Urgan let go and stepped away, the tree stayed put.

With time, it would grow stronger and taller, a living headstone and a monument to the fallen orcs’ memory.

We didn’t speak after that, just made our way back to where Grikh’s horse was waiting. Urgan gathered his bags from Brrthak and salvaged some supplies from Kluga’s dead horse. Then, he dragged each horse off the road, breathing hard.

“Lake Maldava?” Grikh asked when he was done, and Urgan nodded.

Without a word, he put me in the saddle of Grikh’s horse.

“Hold on tight. It’s an hour away,” he said.

Urgan and Grikh walked fast on each side of the horse, and I swayed in the saddle, letting my body rock easily to the rhythm of the horse’s steps. Letting myself just be numb and unthinking for a while.

After some time, we veered off the road onto a path leading into the trees. It looked to be used often. Soon, the trees thinned and something glittered through the branches.

A lake, sunlight reflecting off its rippled surface.

“Orcs from the capital sometimes come here in the summer,” Urgan said. “But not many. It’s a few hours of travel. There are bigger lakes closer to the city.”

I sighed. Wind was rustling in the tall grasses and cattails growing by the water. A lone bird was singing a plaintive song. The wind smelled of fresh water and mint.

“It’s beautiful.”

Urgan helped me get off the horse. He unloaded some bags off the horse’s back and spread his cape on the grass.

“Sit,” he ordered me. “We’ll gather wood and you can mind the fire while we hunt.”

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