Page 37 of The Outcast Orc

But as I wondered what Ul-Rott was doing all the way out by the stables, I realized that the other voice wasn’t the chieftain’s at all. Not unless he was doing a damn good imitation of one of the stable guards.

Specifically, the female stable guard.

“Why did the human wench come to you?” she asked Borkul.

“She feels safe with me. Why else?” As he spoke, I eased off my horse blanket and crept toward the voices. A couple of mules in the stalls below put up a racket—those two were always arguing—which covered the sound of my motions. The far end of the loft overhung the guard quarters. Borkul and the guard were the only ones inside…and they were standing awfully close together.

Not just because they were sharing a secret, either.

He ran a hand down her arm, pausing at the joint of her armor to prod a finger inside in a weirdly intimate gesture. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of a human. Even my wife wouldn’t care if I coupled with it.”

At the mention of his wife, the guard jerked her arm out of his grasp.

Borkul must’ve known he’d hit a nerve…but unlike the friendly orc I’d traveled through the forest with, he didn’t seem to care. “Besides, the human’s branded to the house of the blacksmith, and once the dust settles, I’ll need him on my side.”

“On our side,” the orc guard said in annoyance.

Borkul took her face in both his hands and pressed his forehead to hers—just like Marok had me. He gentled his voice and repeated, “Onourside.”

With two pairs of tusks, this was about as close as a pair of orcs could get. Which meant, this forehead butt was their equivalent of a kiss. A full-on kiss. On the mouth.

And Marok had done that…to me.

I wasn’t a sentimental guy—no one had ever given me any reason to be. But the memory of that closeness I’d shared with Marok—of him cupping my face while we breathed each other’s air—squeezed at my jaded heart.

But before I could get too carried away with my silly daydream, the female guard said, “Just so long as the wench hasn’t told anyone else. If Ul-Rott’s guard is up when Two Swords crosses the river, he might fend them off.”

“His defenses will be down. Who would warn him—myheart-brother?” Borkul hawked and spat. “Marok’s reputation is finished. Even if he said the sky was blue, the chieftain wouldn’t take his word for it.”

The guard’s voice gentled. “It still bothers you. Even though you’ve made sure he was stripped of all his honor.”

“My sister is in the ground while he still lives. The pain of that will never dull.”

They butted heads again, but I was no longer interested in their orcish customs of affection. Too busy marveling over the discovery that Borkul wasn’t the incompetent lout he pretended to be after all.

He was a traitor.

21

QUINN

The chieftain was in danger, but who could I tell? I doubted Borkul and his mistress were the only traitors, and I had no way of knowing who among Ul-Rott’s guard were in league with them.

I was hardly well acquainted with the orcish stronghold, but I did know someone with plenty of his own guards—someone who might be willing to speak to me…if he deemed that the stars had aligned.

I’d have to cross that bridge when I came to it. First, I’d need to get out of the chieftain’s lodge.

If I developed a sudden bout of “stomach pain,” would the chieftain’s guards hustle me off to Taruut’s cave, or laugh in my face? It could go either way. Meanwhile, precious minutes would be ticking away.

As if he sensed my indecision, Roy whinnied and gave his stall a good smack with his dinner-plate hoof. The whole damn barn shook—and I knew what I had to do.

I swallowed hard.

A smarter man would let the damn orcs from across the river go ahead and attack. After all, they’d make a pretty good distraction. But while I might stand a chance at slipping off into the woods once the fighting started, I knew Marok wouldn’t join me. Even with his whole clan shunning him, even in disgrace, he would stay and fight for the chieftain who didn’t appreciate him. Because that’s just who he was.

I climbed down from the loft and crept up to Roy’s stall. He whuffed at me, curious what I wanted with him now that our afternoon session was done. Curiosity was good. Horses didn’t attack out of curiosity. I pulled a crabapple out of my pocket, opened his stall, and backed toward the exercise yard.

The warhorse followed.

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