Page 47 of The Fall of the Orc

Its worship. Its blessing. And in a brief, dangling glimpse of clarity, Gerrard saw all the orcs bowed over him on the altar, honouring him, anointing him in the moonlight. While he squeezed out one final shudder of seed, the very dregs of all he had — and in return, his mate reverently swallowed, and gave him one last, lingering kiss. And then rose to his knees on the altar, his hand over his heart, his craggy face lifted toward the moon.

“Goddess of Bautul,” he breathed, the words hushed, awed, reverberating with the waiting, shining forest all around. “I bring my brave, beloved Aulis here before you this night. I beg your blessing upon him. I beg you to grant him your favour, and welcome him here amongst us. To welcome him as my own bonded Bautul mate.”

His words hung there in the silence, waiting for an answer — and after another instant, it seemed to… come. Shimmering softly around them with the rustle of the trees, the steady silver gleam of the moon. A light that almost seemed to brighten as it smiled down upon them, as it saw Gerrard’s offering, and accepted it. Welcomed it. Drew it into its bosom, its secret hallowed home, and flowed out light and favour in its wake.

He was blessed. He was brave. He was… Bautul.

“Oooooh,” cut in a voice, a new, unfamiliar, human-accented voice. “It’s Slagvor’s head! Does this mean it’s time for a party?”

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It was, it turned out, time for a party.

The new arrivals turned out to be a band of reinforcements from Orc Mountain, and among them were multiple new Bautul, along with a gruff, heavily scarred orc from the Ash-Kai clan who was apparently a healer. And close beside the healer was the first orc who’d spoken, a lean, long-haired, excessively handsome orc who beamed between Olarr and Gerrard with unmistakable glee.

“Oh, this is perfect,” he said brightly, casting an appreciative eye up and down Gerrard’s still-bared body, now seated on the altar. “Oh,lookat him, Eft. And smell him! I only wish we’d gotten here in time to see Slagvor’s face before you chopped his ugly head off. Absolutely brilliant work, sweetheart.”

Gerrard couldn’t recall the last time he’d been calledsweetheart— if ever — but he gave a polite nod and smile back, despite Olarr’s distinctly disgruntled grunt beside him. “My mate is calledAulis Gerrard, of Clan Bautul,” Olarr said repressively. “And Aulis, this is Kesst, and our mountain’s Chief Healer, Efterar. Who is also Kesst’smate.”

Gerrard gave a polite nod toward this Efterar too, even as a distant part of his brain was still whirling to catch up. Because Olarr was — he wasn’tjealous, was he? After he’d just gone and let a dozen orcslickGerrard, and taste his fresh spunk?

This Kesst seemed to share Gerrard’s confusion, because he rolled his eyes, and tossed his long black hair over his shoulder. “Oh, get over yourself, Olarr,” he snapped. “The only one around here losing his head over a handsome human isyou. Well” — he wrinkled his nose, and glanced around at all the Bautul now milling about — “you, and your entire band! You didn’t actuallyshareyour gorgeous killer man with them, did you?”

An unmistakable redness was creeping up Olarr’s neck, and he jerked his head back and forth, his own lip curling with distaste. “Only his seed,” he said stiffly. “And only amongst my closest Bautul warriors, to aid in his offering before the goddess. But this isall, for he ismine.”

There was a surprising hostility in Olarr’s voice, as if he suspected this Kesst might well make an attempt to seduce Gerrard away from him at any moment. To which Kesst rolled his eyes again, and unceremoniously pushed Efterar toward Gerrard, before stalking off toward Slagvor. “Who’s going to help me light this old ghoul on fire?” he called out. “Anyone got any really flammable fuel?”

Beyond an affectionate look over his shoulder toward Kesst’s back, this Efterar looked thoroughly unperturbed by any of this, and was already holding up a hand, hovering it up and down over Gerrard’s bared body. “Mind if I touch you, Bautul, to help deal with some of this?” he asked Gerrard, nodding toward some of his cuts and bruises. “It won’t hurt, I promise.”

Gerrard shot a questioning glance toward Olarr, but he was nodding, his eyes steady again, clearly far more approving of this Efterar than of Kesst. And when Gerrard nodded too, Efterar settled his warm hand to the bruise on Gerrard’s shoulder. Holding there for a long, hanging moment, as something seemed to prickle beneath the touch — and when his hand drew away again, the bruise was — gone?

Gerrard twitched and gaped at it, but Olarr again didn’t look slightly alarmed, and waved Efterar toward a gash in Gerrard’s thigh. To where it soon was miraculously healed too, followed by multiple more cuts and bruises, most of which Gerrard had entirely forgotten about during the proceedings. Until the only stinging left was in Gerrard’s neck, where Olarr had again bitten him, in what felt like the exact same place as before.

“Do you want this addressed?” Efterar was asking now, his eyes glancing between Olarr and Gerrard. “Or your abdomen? I could probably make it so the seed doesn’t swell you quite as much, going forward. The trimmer you are, the more likely it is to show like this.”

Now it was Gerrard’s face rapidly heating, and he jerked a quick, dismissive wave of his hand. “No, it’s fine,” he said, as steadily as he could. “It’ll sort itself out eventually, it always does.”

As he’d spoken, Olarr’s hand had even slipped over to spread against his rounded waist, as if to protect it from Efterar’s unwanted interference. And once Gerrard had managed a thank-you, Efterar shrugged and went off to join Kesst, where a small but growing fire was already crackling away in the clearing.

Olarr had cleared his throat, obviously about to speak — when up ahead, even more orcs suddenly crashed into the clearing. All of them calling out greetings and questions, accompanied by loud exclamations about Slagvor — though again, none of them seemed particularly disappointed by his demise. While beside Gerrard, Olarr was looking both aggrieved and relieved, and finally he groped for Gerrard’s uniform and helped him dress, before drawing him over to meet the newcomers.

There were at least a dozen more new orcs, most of them more Bautul, but one of them was Olarr’s longstanding ally Grimarr, too. He turned out to be a big, serious, capable-looking fellow, also from the Ash-Kai clan, and he greeted Gerrard with what seemed to be genuine warmth, before loudly congratulating him on his victory in such a fairly won Bautul duel. Making it all sound very natural and above-board, as though there could have been no other possible outcome — and that there was nothing bizarre whatsoever about having an enemy lieutenant standing here in his bloody, ragged uniform, watching as a half-dozen Bautul orcs dragged their former captain’s heavy body onto the now-roaring fire.

Someone had brought out a set of drums, ostensibly as a send-off to Slagvor, but if anyone else noticed that Grimarr spat on the fire afterwards — followed by a few other Bautul — they didn’t let on. And as the drumbeats thrummed through Gerrard’s feet, he felt himself slightly relaxing again, sinking into the certainty that the mood had shifted decisively in their favour. Perhaps because of this Grimarr’s decidedly authoritative presence, and his obvious desire to smooth over the situation — but surely also because of what had happened with Gerrard on the altar. Because of how the Bautul had kissed him, and tasted him. Welcomed him.

And Gerrard could still feel it, even now, glancing around the fire. Several of them were still watching him, some with unmistakable warmth in their eyes, and Kalfr was even smiling softly toward him — at least, until his sharp-eyed companion knocked him in the shoulder. Several more were looking toward Olarr, some with envy in their eyes, some with something almost like cunning. As if they were slyly plotting ways to gain another taste of Gerrard’s spunk, or maybe even to steal him away from Olarr altogether.

But that sure as hell wasn’t part of Gerrard’s plan, and he cleared his throat, leaned in a little closer to Olarr. “So, now that Slagvor’s gone,” he said, too loudly, “who gets to take his place as captain?”

He hadn’t quite expected the jolt of sudden watchfulness around the fire, the way multiple orcs’ heads instantly swivelled toward him, and even the drummer had fallen silent again. But Gerrard again fought to keep the bland innocence in his eyes as he vaguely smiled back, and then grinned up at Olarr beside him. “I just think you’d do a brilliant job of it, captain,” he said lightly. “You’ve been working yourself ragged caring for your kin for years, yeah? And you’re so strong and cunning, too.”

He punctuated this with an eager caress of his hand to Olarr’s bulging bicep, stroking appreciatively up and down, while Olarr swallowed, and cast him a look he couldn’t at all read. “This is not a choice that is made in one night,” he replied, his voice low. “Or even amongst only us here. This is upon all the Bautul to choose.”

Right. But Gerrard hadn’t missed how the Bautul were glancing at each other again, how the idea of appointing Olarr as their captain clearly wasn’t an unwelcome one — when Olarr swallowed again, twitched a shake of his head. “And mayhap I should not be the one best suited for this,” he said, heavier. “I ken I have oft been too… prudent. Too careful, too cunning, at the cost of those I care for most.”

His eyes were very steady on Gerrard now, glimmering with that familiar sadness, with regret. And then he shot a pained-looking glance toward Silfast, too, who — despite how Efterar was currently working over him — was still visibly bleeding from multiple wounds, his gaze now very intent on the light of the moon above them.

Gerrard could see the other orcs’ eyes glancing toward Silfast too, clearly remembering the obvious danger Olarr had brought upon his clanmate and friend. And curse Olarr, he was not about to fuck up all Gerrard’s efforts over his damned unhelpful guilt, and Gerrard desperately fought to keep the ease in his eyes, the blithe smile on his mouth. “Well, maybe you just need a good co-captain, then,” he said, as smoothly as he could. “Someone who balances out your cunning with a little more recklessness.”

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