Page 8 of The Fall of the Orc

He couldn’t at all read the orc’s expression, or the little twist on his hard mouth. “These are notlies,” he countered. “Every word of this is truth. You ken a good Bautul warrior should ever allow his enemy to steal back a fairly won battle-prize? Let alonetastinga human man, or” — he grimaced — “granting one his fresh seed? Hisscent?”

Gerrard kept glaring back — what did he mean, hisscent— and then his traitorous gaze reflexively dropped to that still-appalling sight at the orc’s groin. Prompting the orc to grasp his trousers, roughly yanking them up, even as his other hand gripped tighter to Gerrard’s arm, gave it a hard little shake.

“I granted you my scent, human,” the orc hissed. “And now, any orc who scents you shall know this. They shall know what I have done. They shall know how I have betrayed my own kin with you!”

His voice sharpened as he spoke, laced with frustration, with urgency, with… dread. And for an instant, Gerrard could only seem to blink at the orc’s face, while those preposterous words jangled through his skull. Orcs did have powerful scenting abilities, he knew, but surely it wouldn’t extend that far… would it?

“And what’ll the other orcs do to you if they smell me,” Gerrard snapped, not that he cared, hedidn’t. “What’s Slagvor’s punishment for blowing your load into a man.”

He was still carefully watching the orc’s face, and that grimace still looked uneasy, almost… afraid. “I… I do not know,” the orc said, quieter. “Some kind of death, I ken.”

Some kind of death. Suggesting, all too clearly, that it wouldn’t be the simple kind of death. The straightforward kind. The kind Gerrard had come here seeking, and — he swallowed as he held the orc’s eyes — surely the kind the orc would want, too.

“So what brings that about, then,” Gerrard demanded, without at all meaning to. “Another orc catches a whiff of me? At what range? For how long? Do I need to be alone, or can they smell it in a skirmish, too?”

The orc grimaced again, and rubbed his free hand at his eyes. “It hangs upon the orc’s scenting skill,” he replied thickly. “For most Bautul, this close” — he waved aimlessly between them — “would be near enough to scent. The further away you are, and the more scents there are around you, the less clear this becomes, but…”

He didn’t finish, his eyes now blankly fixed beyond Gerrard’s head, and Gerrard kept standing there, staring, while his heart kicked erratically in his chest. “So won’t they smell me on you, too, then?” he asked, his voice still too sharp. “Will they take one whiff of you, and haul you up before Slagvor to be tortured to death?”

He didn’t miss the shift in the orc’s eyes at the mention of Slagvor’s name, or the telltale spasm of that hand still gripping his arm. “It is not always easy to tell blood from other human scents,” the orc slowly said, as his gaze darted to Gerrard’s torn, still-stinging neck. “Most of all if it is not seed, and not put…within. I shall need to tell them we fought at close quarters, and I spilled your blood, and…”

His uneasy gaze flicked down to Gerrard’s sword, and Gerrard reflexively drew it closer, tighter into his side. “And then… maybe you can say I ran away screaming again,” he supplied, his voice bitter but steady. “Like the weak little coward I am. And while I was at it, I threw the sword into a river. Or maybe into a crevice or something. Something too small for you to get at.”

The orc blinked, as well he should, because damn it, Gerrard wasn’t — helping him. Trying to help fix this. Was he?

“And I can carry another weapon for a while,” he continued, to the orc’s still-blinking eyes. “Until your smell on me fades, at least.”

The orc’s astonishment abruptly shifted, into something much like gratefulness — but then he winced, and shook his shaggy head. “But… my scent, human,” his deep voice replied, very quiet now. “This shall… not fade from you, with time. Not ever.”

Wait. The orc’s scent wouldn’t fade from him. Ever.Ever?!

Gerrard startled and gaped at the orc, as something clutched and curdled, deep in his bloated belly. “Ever?” he demanded. “Wait, so you mean to say I canneverget this close to an orc again? Unless I want Slagvor to torture you to death?!”

The orc winced again, and Gerrard’s irate disbelief lurched higher, his hand gripping tighter at his sword. “How the fuck do you expect me to manage that?” he continued, even louder. “I’m a soldier, you prick! This is my calling, my livelihood, mylife!”

The words rang out between them, too bare, too exposed — and suddenly the memories were surging, flooding Gerrard’s face with yet more chagrined, mortified heat. Yes, that had been his life — but he’d left it behind. He’d rushed out here like a fool. And he’d all but begged the orc to kill him, to take him away from this stupid pointless war, this ever-deepening despair. And when the orc had decided to take his victory from Gerrard’s arse instead, Gerrard had willingly knelt and welcomed it. Begged for it. Just like the acclaimed successful lieutenant he was, right? Fuck.Fuck.

He braced himself for the orc’s judgement, his pity, his well-deserved mockery — but to his distant surprise, the orc still just looked… unsettled. Uncertain. And his big hand tightened again on Gerrard’s arm, drawing him a little closer, almost near enough for their chests to touch.

“I ken you must do as you need, human,” the orc slowly said, his deep voice very even. “And do not think of me or my fate in this, should you not wish. But” — his breath heaved, his fingers spasming against Gerrard’s arm — “I ken it may do you good, to stop fighting for a spell. To tell your brothers this tale of how you defeated me, ach — but mayhap also tell of how you gained some grievous hidden wound from me. And then…”

His voice faded, his mouth contorting, but as Gerrard kept staring, unblinking, the orc drew in breath, and fixed him with a sudden, ghastly frown. “And then, seek to rest, human,” he continued, harder. “Seek to rest, and eat, and watch, and beprudent. Seek to better wield your wisdom and your cunning in this, in place of your recklessness.”

Beprudent. In place of hisrecklessness. Those damnable words dragging Gerrard’s mortification even higher, burning in his cheeks, because this accursed orc was — chastising him. Admonishing him. Condescending to him, as if Gerrard was some rash foolish child, about to thoughtlessly abandon his life, to come up with some harebrained scheme, and rush off to his death. Or, as it had turned out, to be bent over and pounded by an orc, and…

And he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t bear it, any more than he could bear the bulge in his belly — and before the orc could say another single horrible word, Gerrard wrenched away, and ran.

9

Gerrard’s long, tedious trek back to the outpost offered him far too much time to think.

What the hell had he done. What the hell had he been thinking, to rush out here alone like this. To sprint headlong toward… his death.

But the more he brooded over it, trudging tiredly through the brush and muck, fighting to ignore the still-present ache in his shoulder, the distinct burning in his arse — the more he couldn’t keep denying it. That damned enraging orc had been right, curse him. Gerrard hadwantedto fall on his own sword. He’d wanted the orc to do it for him. He’d wanted a swift, merciful death, at the hand of a worthy foe.

And maybe — maybe the truth of that shouldn’t have even been a surprise. Everything had grown so much… darker, of late. Heavier. This war was useless, pointless, with no end in sight, and where did that leave a lieutenant like Gerrard? On the front lines, watching his men die, dreading his own inevitable end. And maybe it was no wonder he’d gone seeking it out, wanting it on his own terms. He’d always liked doing things, being in control of things — and yes, he could admit, maybe it made him thoughtless, sometimes. Foolish. Reckless.

He winced and cursed under his breath, as the orc’s craggy face again loomed in his thoughts — and fuck that hypocritical bastard, because he’d been foolish and reckless, too. He’d been the one to fuck Gerrard full of his — hisscent, even if it might get him killed. Even if Gerrard would now carry that scent forever.Forever.

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