Page 50 of The Fall of the Orc

His watchful gaze was now lingering on Gerrard’s chest, and when Gerrard glanced downwards, he belatedly recalled that his uniform was slashed wide open, showing off his still-bloody bare skin beneath it. And not just there, but down his arms and legs too, and — Warmisham’s eyes narrowed as they flicked up toward it — that bare, exposed skin at his neck, with that fresh orc-bite still marked deep into it.

Right. There was no point trying to dance around it, and Gerrard was doing this, he was. “Nothing to worry about now,” he replied, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “We did have an orc band coming for us earlier tonight, but I’ve gone and dealt with it.”

Warmisham’s manicured brows rose, his head tilting with unmistakable interest, or perhaps incredulity — and since no one else spoke, Gerrard took a breath, and plunged onward. “We’ve had a lot of attacks down here, on Slagvor’s orders,” he said. “And today I got some reliable intelligence that Slagvor himself was on his way here. But we don’t have the men or the resources for another pitched battle at the moment, so I went out to meet him alone instead.”

There were a variety of shocked gasps and murmurs all around them — Slagvor’s reputation most definitely preceded him — and Warmisham’s guards exchanged uneasy glances, while beside Gerrard, Cosgrove’s round face had gone pale. “You didn’t — you didn’t actually fight Slagvor, did you, Lieutenant?” Cosgrove demanded. “CaptainSlagvor?!”

But his wide eyes were now staring at Gerrard’s new axe, giving him a clear opening — so Gerrard attempted another reassuring smile, and obligingly brought the axe down off his shoulder. Swinging its massive weight as smoothly as he could, showing off the sharp, blood-stained blade in the torchlight.

“Yeah, Captain Slagvor,” Gerrard replied, the weight of truth ringing in his voice. “But lucky for me, the Bautul clan has a long tradition of single-combat duels, and the rest of them will stay out of it, if a challenge is fairly made. Let’s just say Slagvor didn’t expect a human to win his weapon, and then chop his ugly head off with it.”

There were more buzzing murmurs all around, now, and even Warmisham looked reluctantly impressed, his eyes darting between Slagvor’s axe and Gerrard’s exposed chest. “How very valiant of you, Lieutenant,” he said smoothly. “But I don’t recall ordering General Livermore to authorize any assassinations, even on targets like Slagvor. Do I?”

There was an instant’s uneasy silence, but it was again broken by Cosgrove, loudly clearing his throat. “General Livermore has been — unwell, for quite some time,” he said quickly. “Lieutenant Gerrard has been running this place and keeping us all fed for weeks. And he’s right, we didn’t have the manpower or the resources for another attack, as we’ve beenseverelyunderstaffed and under-supplied since the day we got here, so —”

But Warmisham was looking at Cosgrove’s stout body with far less favour than he’d looked at Gerrard, his lip curling higher with every word — and Gerrard abruptly clasped Cosgrove’s shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. “No, General Livermore didn’t authorize me to go,” he said, his voice flat, his eyes narrowing on Warmisham’s face. “But I did what needed to be done, to protect our men from the monster coming to torture them in the dark. If you need to sanction me over that, I’ll fully accept it — but none of my men were involved, or even aware of it. At any time.”

More silence rang out after his words, and even Warmisham seemed at a loss for a response, now glancing uneasily at the dark forest all around them. Until finally Gerrard turned back to Cosgrove, and purposefully nudged him toward Livermore’s tent. “Go wake the General, and get him over here to greet our guests, will you?” he said, under his breath. “And then divide the tent and put up a fresh cot, so the Duke can use it, and we can all get some sleep.”

Gerrard could again feel multiple eyes on him, prickling, assessing, judging. But he did his damnedest to ignore it as he called for a proper meal for their guests, and a decent fire, while the tent was prepared. And soon he was ushering Warmisham and his men toward the fire, settling them on the best stools the camp had, and then asking the usual polite questions about their trip, and why they’d travelled so late, rather than setting up camp for the night, and waiting until morning to finish their journey.

“Our scouts encountered several signs of…enemy activityaround our planned stop,” Warmisham supplied, his mouth thinning with distaste. “Along with a sighting of several armed orcs, as well.”

This revelation was met by more echoing silence, and even more uneasy glances and obvious fidgeting from Warmisham’s men. Who were thinking, no doubt, of Gerrard’s tale about Slagvor, and how they themselves might very well have ended up facing Slagvor firsthand, had Gerrard not gone off and addressed the situation.

Gerrard let that awareness hover there for another long, unpleasant moment, and then he cleared his throat, and ordered his men to bring over the last keg of Livermore’s ale. A development that was greeted with genuine relief, and soon their guests were all rapidly downing frothing mugs of ale, no doubt with visions of death by Slagvor’s axe marching behind their eyes.

It all seemed to be going well, perhaps even better than Gerrard had dared to hope — and for a brief moment, as he stood guard over the drinking, chatting men, he let himself consider the possibility that maybe, maybe, this would be enough. He’d singlehandedly rescued Warmisham and his men from a genuine threat, and now he was showing himself a competent lieutenant, keeping them comfortable and safe. And even if he’d ruffled Warmisham’s feathers a bit, it also meant he’d been clear about his priorities, and his commitment to his men. And surely any reasonable commander would see that, and appreciate it, and yes, Warmisham was even glancing over at Gerrard again, his tongue brushing his lips —

When of course, at that very moment, Livermore emerged from his nearby tent, and stalked over to join them. He too was impeccably dressed, much in the manner of Warmisham himself, and he didn’t hide his disdainful glance toward Gerrard as he halted before Warmisham, and gave him a deep, flourishing bow.

“We are most delighted to welcome your exalted presence to our humble outpost, Your Grace,” he said, in his silkiest, most simpering voice. “We have been most eagerly awaiting the favour of your blessed presence fordaysnow, and Lieutenant Gerrard hererepeatedlyassured me that he had made all the arrangements I requested for your comfort and protection.”

Gerrard stared at Livermore for an instant too long — the hell, this lying prick had neveroncementioned such a thing — while Livermore’s mouth curled into a cool, contemptuous little smile. “But instead,” he continued blandly, his cold eyes flicking toward Gerrard, “I’ve been informed, Lieutenant, that tonight you have once again flouted my direct command, abandoned our base without permission, and run off to play the part of the lone conquering hero. Leaving your men without the support and direction they sorely need, most of all with multiple enemies lurking about our gates, and threatening our esteemed guests!”

Oh, curse it. Gerrard shot a brief, reflexive glance at Warmisham, whose expression had decidedly darkened — no, no,no— but even as Gerrard opened his mouth to speak, Livermore cut him off with a light, tinkling laugh. “But as usual, you betray yourself,Lieutenant,” he drawled. “Next time you supposedly ‘kill’ an ‘orc captain’, why don’t you actually prove your outrageous tale, and bring back his head? Instead of just waving about a useless, rusty old memento that anyone might find lying around anywhere?”

Gerrard’s disbelieving gaze dropped to the axe he was still holding — that wasblood, not rust, and an orc-forged axe like this would sell for a hefty price, and Livermore damn well knew it. But the bastard was already lightly laughing again, and waving one of the men away so he could sit down beside Warmisham, primly crossing one leg over the other. “Or,” he continued, waving a hand at Gerrard’s chest, “why don’t you actually give yourself the wounds, too, rather than just arbitrarily tearing up your perfectly good uniform? The uniform our very generous guestpaidfor, at that?”

Gerrard gritted his teeth, glowered down at Livermore’s vile smug face — but curse him, he couldn’t seem to find a single damned response. Because that Efterar orc had gone and healed all his wounds, and the rips in his uniform indeed only showed smooth clear skin, fuck,fuck—

“And the uniform,” Livermore went on, smirking at Gerrard’s visibly rounded belly, “that you’re even growing out of, Lieutenant. No wonder we’ve been short on food stores lately, with you lazing about and putting on weight likethat.”

Goddess fuck this lying piece of reekingoffal, and Gerrard’s next attempt to speak was blocked by a forceful signal from Livermore’s imperious gloved hand, as his icy gaze turned back to Warmisham. “I dislike discussing such matters publicly, Your Grace,” he said archly, “but as I’verepeatedlywritten, Lieutenant Gerrard has been an ongoing and ever-worsening problem. He’s failed to follow major orders on multiple crucial occasions, along with multiple counts of recklessness, ingratitude, disrespect, and insubordination. And once again, I am officially requesting his demotion, if not his removal from service altogether.”

The horrified fury flashed behind Gerrard’s eyes — no, no, this couldn’t be happening, not now, not when he’d been so damned close. And he was one breath away from hollering, from hurling all his rage straight in Livermore’s face, when something grasped him from behind. And when Gerrard whirled around to face it, it was Cosgrove, his eyes wide and alarmed.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, high-pitched, “but could you please come help with the tent, Lieutenant?”

Gerrard still wanted to start shouting, or better yet, to slam Slagvor’s axe down on Livermore’s pompous head, but Cosgrove was already jabbing him hard in the back, and yanking him toward the tent. And finally Gerrard followed, after another brief bow toward Warmisham, who still looked far more forbidding than before.

“Fuck that odious little swine,” Gerrard hissed at Cosgrove, once they were safely in Livermore’s tent. “He still wants to demote me? After I killed fuckingSlagvor?”

But even Cosgrove had cast an uncertain glance down at Gerrard’s nonexistent wounds — damn it,damnit — and Gerrard waved a furious hand at his neck, still with that fresh orc-bite in his skin. “Do you think I did this on purpose?” he demanded. “Or that I just picked up a massive orc-forged axe on the side of the fuckingroad?!”

Cosgrove looked almost frantic, now, flapping his hands, and shaking his head. “No, Lieutenant,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “But we can’t think of that now, all right? I need to tell you —”

“The powder!” Gerrard cut in, as a bright, staggering relief blazed through his chest. “We can still salvage this, if we can slip Livermore some powder before he goes back to bed. They’ll both be here in this tent, with just the partition between them, so Warmisham will see all of it firsthand! He’ll see how Livermore behaves in an emergency, and realize that he’s not fit to be General!”

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