Page 44 of The Fall of the Orc

But curse it, of course he was, and Gerrard should have known that all along. Or maybe — maybe he evenhadknown, with how he’d done his damnedest to set Olarr up after this, to make sure he didn’t face any repercussions from this, whether Gerrard won or lost. But part of that setup had been Gerrard selling himself as a foolish lovestruck weakling, and not a calculating enemy who could take down an all-powerful Bautul captain in single combat.

And yes, yes, if Gerrard wasn’t mistaken, that was suspicion, now glinting in several of the orcs’ eyes — and one of them was fully frowning at Gerrard, his mouth pressed thin. “Ach, this human fairly won this battle,” his deep voice said, “and we ken he scents of you, brother. But even if you have claimed him as your mate, this does not mean he has gained our trust. He is yet human, and a lieutenant in Preia’s army. He is not a Bautul. He is ourenemy.”

There was more silence flanking the words, followed by more uneasy glances, and then a few brief nods. Agreeing with this, agreeing that Gerrard still couldn’t be trusted — and Gerrard had to bite back his curse, the rising twitching frustration. Damn it, he hadn’t just killed Slagvor to get Olarr strung up over this. To fuck up his chances of being made captain. But a good captain surely wouldn’t cavort with the enemy against his clan’s wishes, right? Let alone claiming one as his mate?

So Gerrard somehow took a breath, pasted on his most affronted expression — and then he spun and pouted up at Olarr, and even slapped him irritably across the chest. “What do they mean, I haven’t gained their trust?” he demanded, in his sulkiest voice. “I thought you said if I beat Slagvor, that would be enough! And your clanmates would see how worthy I am, and let me be your proper Bautul mate!”

He could see Olarr’s confusion, swiftly followed by comprehension — and then his effort to shift his eyes, to jerk a dismissive shrug. But the affection in his eyes on Gerrard was real, almost painfully so, as he slowly shook his head. “The Bautul must yet agree upon such matters,” he said. “I cannot force them to my will, upon this. And most of all upon an enemy human.”

“But,” Gerrard protested, and he didn’t even need to bring the whine to his voice. “But this captain of yours was so horrid to you! Why does he get to be Bautul, and I don’t? All those things he said about you! About Harja! I would havelikedHarja, I’ll have you know, and” — he let his pout deepen — “I bet he’d have liked me too. And you know he’d be right here cheering beside me, and probably setting this ugly prick’s body on fire, so we don’t need to look at him anymore!”

There was yet more fraught silence, a few more exchanged glances that said Gerrard wasn’t wrong on this — and before any of them could speak, Gerrard slapped at Olarr again. “I almost died at least adozen timesjust now,” he continued. “You can’t just cast me off over that! There must be something else I can do, right? I mean, I told you I’d keep spying for you, didn’t I? And keep the human forces away from you, as much as I can?”

There were more shifting eyes and exchanged glances around them, but Olarr’s eyes were only on Gerrard, his big hands now settling heavy to his shoulders. “You have done well,litli maður,” he replied, his voice low, almost achingly tender. “You have done far more than I could have dreamt. But you ken my first fealty must always be to my kin, and my goddess.”

He even glanced up at the moon as he spoke, and a jerk of sudden sinking misery pulled at Gerrard’s belly, at his unsteady mouth. Because — because that was still true, wasn’t it? Whatever the hell Olarr was saying right now, or not saying, that was still true. In the end, this was always going to come down to this choice, between Gerrard and the Bautul.

And Olarr had already made that choice, long before they’d come here. He’d lied to Gerrard. He’d planned to use him for the Bautul’s gain. And now that he had, now that Gerrard had actually gone and done his bidding, fulfilled all Olarr’s cunning plans, his own goals — Olarr didn’t need Gerrard anymore. Did he?

“Right,” Gerrard said, through the sudden burning in his throat, in his eyes. “Yeah. I see. I’m sorry I thought — right. I’ll just —”

He dropped his eyes, jerked his head to the north, to safety — and then he shoved away, moving as quickly as his still-shaky legs would take him. But then he whirled back around, showing all these silent watching bastards his water-streaked face as he swiped unseeing for his sword, still stabbed in Slagvor’s gut. He was not fucking leaving it behind this time, if this was it, then it was fuckingit, and —

And then he reared back again, because he was facing — a wall of Bautul. All of them clumped together just before him, with Olarr at the front. And Olarr was wildly clutching for Gerrard’s free hand, his own eyes suddenly molten too, because maybe — maybe he hadn’t meant it. Maybe he hadn’t wanted Gerrard to leave, after all. And Olarr was even shaking his head, bringing Gerrard’s trembling hand to his own quivering mouth, kissing it as though Gerrard was some fine lady at a ball, and…

A — crash. Loud, crunching and crackling, from the south. And Gerrard and the Bautul all whipped to look in unison, at where a — a huge, hairy beast had emerged from the line of trees. Running on all fours at full speed toward them —shit— and Gerrard instantly snapped into his fighting stance, his eyes intent, his bloody sword raised. As the beast reared up toward him, and Gerrard braced for a strike, for —

For nothing. For nothing — nothing? — because the beast was now just standing there, and scowling at him. And Gerrard twitched as he stared back, as recognition finally flashed through his frantic brain. It was — an orc. A vaguely familiar orc. It was —Silfast?

But yes, yes, surely it was, except that Silfast was covered all over in mud and blood and horrifying fresh wounds. Including a vicious gash in his nose, a massive cut across his chest, and a visible head wound, causing a tuft of bloody hair to stand straight up from his skull. But he was alive, he was upright and moving, when Olarr had thought he might not survive at all. And Gerrard couldn’t help his choked laugh of relief, especially once he caught sight of the second orc now running over after Silfast, and coughing between his deep, ragged breaths. Thorvald.

“Silfast!” Gerrard heard his voice say, as he lowered his sword again. “Didn’t recognize you. But glad to see you’re all right, yeah? Thank the goddess.”

Silfast grunted, and then nodded at Gerrard — and his sword — with what almost seemed to be approval in his eyes. “Ach, Slagvor could never kill me,” he said scornfully, with a sharp kick of his booted foot at Slagvor’s body between them. “But I am most pleased to be greeted by his corpse, brothers. This was well done.”

Gerrard gave a wan half-smile back, and a nod toward Thorvald, too. But Thorvald was blinking blankly down toward Slagvor, at where that axe was still standing upright in his neck, its curved blade buried deep into the earth. “Who did this, then?” Silfast continued, his voice echoing through the clearing. “Mayhap all of you together, as vengeance for Slagvor’s great sins toward me? I yet cannot fathom that he sought to killme, for ploughing a human! As if” — Silfast loudly scoffed, waving his bloody hand toward the group of assembled Bautul — “every one of our fathers has not also done this!”

There was another instant’s echoing silence, heavy with something much like shame — until behind Gerrard, Olarr cleared his throat. “Aulis killed Slagvor, alone,” he said thickly. “He challenged him to a Bautul duel, before the goddess.”

Yet more silence rang behind his words, as Silfast’s eyes widened, and then dropped toward the sword in Gerrard’s hand. The sword that was still streaked with fresh red blood. Slagvor’s blood.

“Then I — thank you, human, for avenging me,” Silfast finally said, into the stilted silence, with a brief little bow toward Gerrard. “And I commend you, also. There are not many Bautul brave enough to face this. Or” — his lip curled as he glanced between Gerrard and the rest of the Bautul — “to next seek to keep safe all his kin, when he sees a new threat before them.”

Oh. Damn. Gerrard darted a glance over his shoulder, wincing at the belated realization of how this must look — one single human standing poised before a dozen huge Bautul warriors, ready to foolishly take on an unknown beast, on their behalf. And though he abruptly lowered his sword, he could feel his face again burning, his head twitching back and forth.

“Thanks, but I actually — was just leaving,” he gritted out, with a jerky shrug. “But I — hope this helped. It was — good meeting you all.”

He’d already turned away again, about to push back through the cluster of Bautul — but wait, they were all blocking him again, Olarr nearest of all. Olarr still with that pure molten misery in his eyes, while behind Gerrard, there was a loud scoffing noise, and then the sound of something being wrenched from the earth.

“You cannot yet leave without this,” came Silfast’s hard voice, and when Gerrard glanced backwards, Silfast was holding Slagvor’s axe, and thrusting it out toward him. “It is your fairly won battle-prize, human. And also” — his eyes narrowed — “why must you now leave us?”

His gaze had sharply flicked to Olarr, whose big warm hand now slipped around Gerrard’s side, drawing him close. “I have shared my wish,” Olarr supplied, his voice stilted, “to welcome Aulis amongst us, and claim him not only as my mate, but as a full Bautul, also. But” — his gaze slid toward the first orc who’d argued it — “not all our kin are in accord, upon this.”

Silfast’s scoff was instant, his lip curling, his arms crossing over his bloody chest. “Why is this?” he snapped back. “Why can we not welcome this man? Most of all after he has avenged me, and thus done our clan a great service, as any new Bautul warrior ought? Even when the rest of our clan was too weak and fearful to do this?”

He’d again cast a pointed glance down toward Slagvor’s body, while the orc who’d originally protested was purposefully avoiding any of the others’ eyes. At least, until another unfamiliar orc spoke, waving his clawed hand up toward the sky.

“This human has not yet been taken on an altar before us,” he said flatly. “In the way a Bautul mate ought to be claimed, before the goddess.”

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