Page 4 of The Fall of the Orc

But Gerrard wasn’t being deterred at this, not now. And after another moment’s glaring around at the abandoned camp, he strode toward the trees. Following the clear path the orcs had left behind, the greenery visibly crushed beneath muddy booted footprints.

It was slow, tedious tracking, but Gerrard doggedly kept going, picking his way through the muck and brush. And as he went, his still-furious thoughts swarmed over his plans. His vengeance.

He would track the orcs. Stay very quiet, keep a careful distance. And then he’d watch, and wait until the orc was alone, and attack.

And this time — he hunched his shoulders, gripped at his sword-hilt — he’d do his damnedest to kill the inhuman swine. He’d watch the light fade from those ugly orc eyes, and then he’d hack off that huge hideous head, and take it north. He’d take it all the way to Preia’s capital city, and straight to Duke Warmisham himself.

Gerrard had personally met Warmisham on multiple previous occasions, most recently at the ceremony when he’d been granted that lieutenant’s badge. And while Warmisham seemed just as smug and spoiled and self-centred as every other noble Gerrard had ever met, he also hadn’t missed the…interest, there. The way Warmisham’s speculative eyes had run up and down his tall, uniformed body, lingering with obvious appreciation. With… opportunity.

The realization had only irked Gerrard at the time, not only because Warmisham’s own laws technically prohibited such liaisons between men, but also because Warmisham had recently remarried, in a grand public to-do. And it was so typical — and so damned enraging — for a rich titled commander to be playing house with a pretty young wife, while also fucking his way through his subordinates.

But. It also gave Gerrard an opening. A way to get directly to Warmisham. He could easily find the right people, and drop the right hints. Allude to a highly memorable past liaison, one that had been thoroughly enjoyed by Warmisham. One that Warmisham would very much like to repeat.

And once Gerrard had Warmisham alone, he’d do everything he could to make his case. He’d hand over the orc’s head as a personal gift for the vaunted ducal mantel. He’d tell as many graphic tales about Livermore’s gross incompetence as he possibly could. And if it came down to it, he would even grit his teeth, and fuck Warmisham into oblivion, too. He would demonstrate — very vividly — why it would be in Warmisham’s best interests to keep him around. To let him keep his hard-won rank as a lieutenant. Maybe promote him to commander, or even general.

And if it turned out that Warmisham liked it the other way — liked to get off to high-ranked soldiers begging on their knees — well, Gerrard would force his way through that too, and then avoid Warmisham for all the rest of his days. He would do whatever the hell it took to crush that cursed orc, and to crush Livermore, and get his pride back. Get his life back.

He kept repeating that thought as he slipped ever deeper through the trees, as the grey sky above — predictably — began pelting raindrops onto the thick foliage above him. He would do anything. Anything.

And if he failed, if that damned orc jumped out from behind a tree and killed him — well, then so be it. There was nothing else anyway. Not even that fear from the day before, that terror of a slow agonizing death. Because if the orc had wanted that, he could have had it. He could have had it so easily…

But he hadn’t. Instead he’d saved Gerrard, insulted him,destroyedhim. And where the hell even was the orc, how much ground had these blasted orcs travelled already, if Gerrard had to track the bastard all the way to Orc Mountain he was going to bevery fucking irate—

“Ach, human,” cut in a voice, a deep, devastatingly familiar voice, rumbling low in Gerrard’s belly. “You seek this, I ken?”

Gerrard whirled around, his heart leaping into his throat, his hand already closing on his borrowed sword’s hilt — because it was him. Theorc. Huge and grey and grim, and brandishing Gerrard’s stolen, priceless sword in his big clawed hand.

Gerrard’s breath choked, his gaze holding to that sword —hissword — and then darting up and down the orc’s massive, muscled body. He seemed even bigger than before, despite wearing only a pair of cropped, badly fitting trousers — and in the brightening morning light, Gerrard found himself noticing many more details than before. The rich sheen of the orc’s pearly grey skin. The thick shaggy mess of his loose dark hair. The heavy dusting of yet more dark hair across his powerful chest and calves and forearms. The way the muscles shifted in his hard abdomen, and those broad shoulders. And — most distracting of all — that distinct shape of an overlargecock, rounding out the front of the orc’s grubby trousers.

Gerrard forced his gaze upwards again, and suddenly he felt even more enraged than before, the fury surging wild and stark in his chest. He would have his vengeance. He would.

“You bastard,” his voice hissed, all on its own. “That sword ismine.”

And in return, the orc —smiled. His beady eyes crinkling as his grim mouth broadened into something bright and horrifying, full of menace and mockery and sharp white teeth.

“Then come, human,” he said, almost a purr between them. “And win it back from me.”

6

Gerrard didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate.

He lunged forward with as much speed and power as he could muster, his borrowed weapon light in his hand, his focus narrowing on the orc’s huge, shifting body. On the way the orc was holding his stolen sword, how he would probably block, what he was likely to do next…

The orc swung up that sword, met Gerrard’s with a loud, shirring scrape, but Gerrard was already leaning into the impact, and using the momentum to spin away. Sweeping his blade around toward the orc’s bare shoulder — his actual target — and crowing aloud at the sharp, satisfying sensation of steel striking bone. At how the orc grunted and shifted backwards as blood sprayed, and pain — and then appreciation? — flashed across his glinting black eyes.

But Gerrard couldn’t spare a moment, a breath, and he was already rushing in again. Aiming for that too-obvious bulge in the orc’s trousers this time, but the bastard lurched away just in time, his sword belatedly catching Gerrard’s, knocking it sideways. And again Gerrard charged in, now aiming up toward the orc’s neck, and missing it by just a hair.

He could see the orc’s expression shifting again, sinking into that familiar grim focus, and this time he parried properly, if still a little too late. Giving Gerrard just enough time to duck in again, drawing a thin red line against the orc’s torso. Flashing another flicker of pain across the orc’s eyes, and surging more deep satisfaction — or even a strange, reckless triumph — into Gerrard’s chest, into his racing heartbeat.

“Bet you’re missing that axe right now,” his voice spat, as he tossed his mediocre sword to the other hand, and managed to land another strike to the orc’s opposite shoulder, spraying out another satisfying arc of bright red blood. “Not nearly as good with a sword, are you?”

Damn him, what the fuck was he doing, he wasn’t here to rile up this orc, he was here to kill him — but then he almost lost his footing at the sight of the orc… smiling. Smiling, again, with all those sharp teeth, and perhaps less mockery in his dark eyes than before.

“Ach, no,” the orc’s deep voice replied, as if — as if inagreementwith Gerrard’s mockery. “But I thought this should be more… fair.”

More fair. As though the orc was pandering to Gerrard, condescending to him, laughing at him. Taunting him, the way one might taunt an excitable little kitten, and Gerrard’s fury surged again, tangling with mortification, with something much like despair. And he couldn’t at all identify the sound that escaped his mouth, a bitter bark of rage, or pain, or… or grief.

“Fuck you,” he shot back, as he lunged in again, knocked aside the orc’s attempt at parrying, and again made impact, against the orc’s thigh this time. “Fuck.You. If you wanted to be fair, you” — he gulped for air, charged in again — “you should have damn well killed me yesterday, when you had the chance!”

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