Page 33 of The Outcast Orc

Soon, the rushing of Lame Stag River sounded in the distance and the scent of water was on the air. The scent of water…and orc.

I went still, placing my steps carefully so as not to rustle a leaf or snap a twig, and eased my way toward the riverbank. The Lame Stag’s course was much the same here as it had been before the droughts that shuffled our territory with that of the Two Swords Clan. This land was swampy and rough. Had it even been fought over at all, the skirmishes would have been cursory, at best.

As I eased closer to the river, the scent of orc intensified. I parted the trees and found a dozen orcs on the opposite bank—Two Swords orcs—and they were hard at work fording the deep river. From the looks of it, they’d been laboring for days. A good ton of rock had been shifted, and nearby wagon ruts ran deep. They weren’t just creating a crossing for a hunting party, either. They were paving the way for an army.

How long would it take them to finish their task—a week? Not even. Maybe as little as a few days.

I’d come hunting in a search for purpose…and I’d found it. My senses sharpened, and I was aware of everything, from the midges swarming around my eyes seeking their salty moisture, to my position and bearing and the direction of the wind. I eased away with excruciating care, so taut my muscles sang with tension, until finally I deemed myself well out of earshot. I let out a shaking breath, then gathered my strength…and ran.

The gate guards were so alarmed at the sight of me barreling up the path that they forgot to act indifferent. They swung the doors wide without challenge, and watched, wide-eyed, as I rushed up the road to Ul-Rott’s lodge. The guards at the chieftain’s gate were all veterans, older than the gate guards, and not so easily impressed. A pair of formidable warriors stood in my path, and they showed no signs of moving.

“I will speak to Ul-Rott,” I said, and they ignored it. “I will see him now.”

The tone had always worked with my troops—but not now. Not anymore.

I would not beg. Yes, I had failed the clan. But I wasnotweak.

Through the doorway, a flash of armor caught my eye. Very distinctive armor with straps of green tooled leather. I knew its owner well. “Raboth!” I called out. “We must speak. Now.”

Raboth and I had trained together, and given each other our fair share of bumps and bruises along the way. Not only were we well-acquainted, but he held some authority. Enough to be able to think for himself.

“Two Swords is planning an attack,” I told him as he strode out with a curious look on his face.

He spared me an appraising glance. “Oh?”

“They will cross the Lame Stag and attack from the south. We only have days, maybe just hours, to prepare. Our south flank is our weakest. We must get word to Ul-Rott and deploy the soldiers.”

Raboth didn’t answer. Simply stared.

“Take credit for it if you must,” I said. “But Ul-Rott needs to know.”

Raboth barked out a laugh. “As if anyone would take credit for your strategy after Two Swords fed your warriors to the crows!”

“But I saw—”

“You’re lucky I don’t have you beaten for disrupting my soldiers.”

He wouldn’t dare. The urge to challenge him to settle his insult with a fight was strong, but I tamped it down for the sake of the clan. “If you don’t tell Ul-Rott, then I will. Stand aside.”

“Now, now. You and I both know that if you barge into the lodge, the chieftain’s personal guard will cave in your skull before you get within shouting distance. Tell you what. You declare that I’m the better swordsman, and I get you in without a fight.”

Raboth might have the fancier armor—but my skills were sharper. His swings were wild and his form was lacking. But pride had its place. And my pride would do me no good if my whole clan suffered the same fate my troop had at the hands of the Two Swords Clan. “You are the better swordsman. Your arm is strong and your blade is keen. And your troops are proud to call you leader.”

Raboth stared at me for a heartbeat, then threw back his head and guffawed. “The mighty Marok has learned humility? What’s this world coming to?” Chortling to himself, he gestured for me to follow him. “Come, then, never let it be said that I don’t keep my word.”

He led me around the perimeter. Normally, I went straight through to the grand hall. But I was no longer privy to the day-to-day workings of the lodge, and figured he had his reasons. Though I sensed something was not right when instead of taking me inside, Raboth led me to the stables.

A flick of Raboth’s hand had the guards parting to let us pass, but there was no Ul-Rott in the exercise yard. There was no one but a scattering of guards, a few grazing mules, and the backside of the stables.

“Today’s the day your folly bears its bitter fruit,” Raboth said gleefully.

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

“The horseman has done nothing since he got here—nothing but stand there in the pen while Destroyer trots circles around him. It’s only fitting that you should be present to see this pet human of yours fail. If he doesn’t bridle the useless horse by sundown, he’d better hope for a fast death. Though given who brought him here, I doubt Ul-Rott will be inclined to show him that mercy.”

Dread settled, cold, in my gut. But if I didn’t warn the chieftain the Two Swords Clan was coming, Quinn would likely die either way—along with most of my clan. “Forget the human. Take me to Ul-Rott.”

“I never claimed I would take you to Ul-Rott. Just that I’d get you inside the lodge.” He looked me square in the eye with a nasty smile. “Maybe while you’re here, you should make yourself useful and muck out the stalls.”

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