Page 19 of The Outcast Orc

Borkul picked his teeth with a twig. “If you’re not gonna bed him, then chain him up and get yourself some shut-eye.”

While Borkul might not have acted concerned about the potential for the humans to slay us in our sleep, I noted he did bed down well on the opposite side of the fire, with a scattering of dried leaves around him to sound an alert should anything sneak up. As the others slept, I did the same, clearing just enough space for my body, surrounding it with noisy dead twigs and bark.

A few of those twigs were not twigs at all, but old bones.

Hardly a surprise to find bones in the forest. The world may well grow from a garden of death. But it was the marks on the bones that disturbed me. The gouge of sharp eyeteeth was not surprising, either. Many creatures, from predators to scavengers, would leave that sort of mark. But the twin tracks of paired fangs—four up top, four on the bottom—could only be made by trolls.

At least it wasn’t fresh. And many would say it was a good omen to come across the stale path of a wandering troll. The horrid beasts are territorial—which usually makes them easy to avoid. True, they’ll build their nests in places where prey wanders by, alongside a trail or tucked beneath a bridge. But when folks start disappearing, anyone with half a brain will figure out they should find a different route.

But a wandering troll—one driven out from the nest they’d claimed—was far more dangerous. Because a wandering troll could turn up anywhere.

I shuddered and chucked the bone into the bushes. None of the humans stirred. Neither did Borkul. I needed sleep, but could I really allow myself the comfort when my heart-brother was so vulnerable? With a sigh, I settled into a vigilant crouch to watch over my camp. Occasionally I prodded at the wound in my side to see if the dreamweed was wearing off. And occasionally I glanced at Quinn’s sleeping form.

It would be easy to deny it was arousal I’d scented on him…had Borkul not noticed it, too.

I supposed I should consider myself lucky there was no telltale scent to loneliness.

12

QUINN

The next morning, I checked Marok’s wound. It was obvious that between the flickering firelight and the dark of night, my eyes had been playing tricks on me. By the light of day, the orc looked nothing like a man. His hide was a mottled grayish green, and his limbs were so thick with muscle it was a wonder he could even move. “Does it hurt?” I asked as I peeled off the poultice.

His only answer was a noncommittal grunt.

I pressed the backs of my fingers gently to his side. The cut was still bleeding sluggishly, but at least the skin around it wasn’t hot or inflamed.

“Will I live?” he asked.

And again I was caught off-guard by the dryness of his humor.

Given that the wound hadn’t closed, he would have been better off leaving off his armor, but he was no more likely to go without it than to ride in the back of the wagon with Archie. If not for the thin trickle of brownish blood running down his side, I wouldn’t have even known he was injured.

But Archie was another story.

He wasn’t coughing, not anymore, but he shivered violently despite the warmth of the day. The orcs conferred briefly, then told Bess to keep watch on him while we traveled, and hoisted her into the wagon beside him. “We should grant him a mercy,” I heard Borkul say.

Marok shook his head. “He’s the whole reason we made this journey. If he wants to keep struggling like this, we let him.”

I wasn’t sure if they knew I was listening…or maybe it was more that they didn’t care. I might not be in irons, but regardless, I was still a captive. These were orc woods. If I ran, I’d be just as likely to runawayfrom the Fortifications as toward them. Besides, I’d be as easy for them to track down as a lame doe.

“You didn’t need to come,” Marok said to the other orc after a long silence. “But you did. When no one else stood by me…you did.”

Borkul whacked him on the shoulder with a blow that would’ve sent me sprawling. “Bah, what are heart-brothers for?”

Without goblins on our tails and no need to lighten the load, we could have all ridden. But I preferred to lead the oxen from the ground—and Marok took up his position at the opposite side of the team. Borkul was happy enough to ride, though, and he snoozed from the driver’s bench, head lolling.

We walked in silence for ages. Evidently, orcs aren’t much for chitchat. But eventually, my curiosity got the better of me. “Why Archie?” I asked.

Marok glanced across the team and briefly met my eye. “It was foretold.”

Not sure what reason I’d been expecting…but it certainly wasn’t that. “How?”

He answered my question with a question. “Does your village have a shaman?”

I came from a city, not a village. And awitch doctor? “Of course not.”

“Then you wouldn’t understand.”

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