Page 13 of Her Rugged Orcs

GRASH

The stench of blood from Eira's first kill mingles with the dank sewer air. Pride floods through me at her strength, but there's no time to dwell on it. Boot steps echo off the stone walls. Torchlight floods both ends of the tunnel, casting long shadows of armed guards rushing toward us.

"Behind me," I growl, pushing Eira into the middle of our tight formation. My muscles coil preparing to strike.

"Eight from the north, six south," Murok counts. "Bad odds."

"Good. More glory for us," I bare my teeth.

The first guard charges with a battle cry. I meet him head-on, catching his blade with my stolen axe. The clash of steel rings through the tunnel. His eyes widen as I overpower him, driving him back into his companions.

"Dren, keep them away from Eira," I command, though I hardly need to. He's already moving like a shadow, his daggers finding gaps in their armor with deadly precision.

A guard slips past my defense, his blade singing toward my ribs. I catch his wrist, crushing it in my grip. The sound of breaking bones is lost in the chaos of battle.

"Your left!" Eira shouts. I duck, feeling the whoosh of a blade where my head had been. She's still clutching her bloody knife, eyes wild but focused.

Murok dances through the fray like this is all choreographed, each movement calculated. "The sewers are just ahead. We need to—" He grunts as a sword grazes his arm.

Blood roars in my ears as I slam another guard into the wall. His helmet cracks against the stone, his body going limp. "No one leaves here alive," I snarl.

The tunnel fills with the metallic tang of blood and the grunt of combat. A guard's blade finds my shoulder, but I barely feel it. Pain is nothing compared to the need to protect.

Suddenly, battle cries echo through the tunnels. Our pit allies pour in like a flood of vengeance, their weapons glinting in the torchlight. The guards' faces shift from confidence to fear.

"About time they showed up," I mutter, swinging my battle axe. The weight feels perfect in my hands as I cleave through a guard's armor like it's paper. Blood sprays across my chest, adding to the growing collection of stains.

Arrows whistle past my head and find their marks in the guards. Our elf allies are precise and deadly. A guard stumbles back, an arrow protruding from his eye socket, and I finish him with a crushing blow to the chest.

"Duck!" Eira suddenly shouts. I drop instinctively, and her blade flashes over my head, catching a guard in the neck. The pride in me nearly bursts as I watch her fight. She's magnificent, all grace and fury.

Murok appears beside me, keys jingling in his bloody hand. "Got what we need." His braids whip around as he spins, slitting another guard's throat in one fluid motion.

A guard's head suddenly separates from his body - Dren's work. He emerges from the shadows like death itself. Three more guards fall before they even register his presence.

"Behind you!" I roar at Eira, but she's already moving. Her knife finds the sweet spot between a guard's ribs, and she twists it. The look in her eyes is pure steel.

The tunnel fills with screams and the wet sounds of death. Blood runs in rivulets down the stone walls, turning the floor slick.

"That's the last of them," Murok finally announces, wiping his blade clean on a dead guard's cloak.

I survey the carnage around us - the dark elf guards lie lifeless at our feet. The scent of copper hangs thick in the air, mixing with the sewage stench from the nearby tunnels.

Eira stands among the bodies, her chest heaving, splattered with blood but unharmed. My heart swells at the sight. She's not just surviving anymore - she's becoming a warrior in her own right.

"You fight well," I tell her, my voice rough with pride and something deeper.

She meets my eyes, a fierce light burning in those green depths.

I suddenly grip her wrist, my thumb brushing over her racing pulse. "We need to go now."

Her eyes lock with mine, a storm of emotions churning behind them. "They'll hunt us until we're dead."

"Then we make sure they never find us," I rumble. I drop her arm and move ahead toward the sewers.

The sewage sloshes around our boots as we navigate the winding passages. I keep Eira close, my body angled to shield her from whatever might come. Every shadow could hide a guard, every corner could mean death, but the keys Murok lifted will be our salvation.

Dren glides ahead like a ghost, checking each intersection before motioning us forward.

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