Page 39 of The Outcast Orc

But that, too, was bullshit.

I rounded the final bend, expecting to see the broken gate we’d clumsily tried to vault, and maybe a couple of orcs banging it back together. What I found instead was an army…and at the lead, shoulders squared, head held high, was Marok.

…who Roy very nearly trampled as we skidded to a hasty stop. He was still getting the hang of things.

Strangely enough, when Marok strode up to us, Roy didn’t balk like he had with Ul-Rott’s personal guard. Maybe because Marok’s body language was more confident than aggressive.

Or maybe because Marok smelled like me.

“Ul-Rott is on his way back,” I said breathlessly, “But the Two Swords troops are right on his tail.”

Marok didn’t flinch at the news. Of course he didn’t. Taruut had put him back in power for a reason. Whatever disgrace he’d suffered before, it was gone now—he was a general again.

“Orcs don’t have tails,” Marok said—though he was smiling. Mostly with his eyes. “But we will go and remind them which side of the river is ours.”

I was still clutching desperately to the warhorse’s mane when Marok reached up and grabbed a fistful of my rough linen shirt. He wasn’t trying to haul me off the horse, but rather pull me down to eye-level…so he could press his forehead against mine.

His craggy features blurred as his face filled my awareness, but I saw enough to know that his eyes stayed open. My lower lip grazed his through the frame of his tusks, and he gave a small gasp. “Make sure you come back alive,” I said, “and we can compare techniques later.”

I would’ve liked to stick around and see Marok off with a jaunty salute, but Roy had other ideas. He’d been worked hard—a lot harder than he was used to—and he was hell-bent on heading back to the stable. Orcs gave us a wide berth as he cantered toward the chieftain’s lodge, eager for the familiarity of his stall. The fence around the exercise yard was still in shambles, and he cleared the pile of wood with an easy hop. He was so big, I had to duck down to avoid getting brained on the stable’s door frame. Thankfully, the side slats of his stall gave me a ladder of sorts to climb down off his back, once I finally worked open my painfully clenched fingers.

We’d shared a big adventure, Roy and me, but I wasn’t sure if he’d tolerate a brushing. At the very least, though, I could top off his water trough. I grabbed a bucket and headed for the cistern, walking gingerly. Everything hurt. Back, hips, legs…everything. Dare I suggest Ul-Rott grant me a soak in the sulfur pool to soothe my aching muscles? I was bent over the cistern, deliberating whether I’d get away with asking for a boon, when a shadow fell across the water and blotted out my reflection—the shadow of an orc.

I straightened quickly, expecting one of the chieftain’s guards….

But it was Borkul.

And this time, he wasn’t smiling.

“Every other slave knows enough to keep their mouth shut and do what they’re told. Why ya gotta be so stupid?” An ugly, curved blade flashed in his hand. “Why play the hero?”

I was asking the same question myself—though I suspected I knew the answer. “If I were you,” I said, “I’d get out of here while the getting was good, not be wasting time with the likes of me.”

He considered the statement, then said, “That’s ’cause you think like a pathetic, weak human. Not me—I’m an orc! When someone wrongs me, I punish them. When someone strikes me, I strike back. When someone stops me from taking the revenge I deserve—”

I barely had time to dodge. His knife flashed in a strong arc and sliced open my shirt. I countered with a clumsy swing of the bucket, but it bounced right off Borkul’s massive thigh. Water splashed, slicking the dirt into mud. As I scrambled to duck another blow, red blossomed on rough linen, and I realized the shirt wasn’t the only thing he’d managed to cut. The blade was so sharp, I couldn’t even feel it.

Any of the orcs in the village were capable of killing me, but this was the first one I actually thought would do it. Because now…it was personal.

My foot slipped in the muck and I went down on one knee. Ah,nowthe wound stung. Borkul did smile, then…a smile that chilled me to the bone. All the chieftain’s guards had followed Marok out to protect their leader. Anyone left in the village—the kitchen staff, the children, the latrine slave—would hardly get between me and a bloodthirsty warrior.

I dropped all the way down, narrowly avoiding another swing of the sharp blade, then rolled clumsily through the mud to my feet. “Roy, ho!” I yelled, feeling ridiculous even as I called out the words. The horse had made it pretty damn clear he wanted nothing but his stall, but I had to at least try—

With a blood-chilling whinny, Destroyer the orcish warhorse burst from the barn, massive hooves flailing. I balled myself up as small as possible and prepared to be trampled, but Roy knew exactly what he was doing. Hoof met skull with a sickening crunch, and Borkul toppled like a felled oak.

“Easy,” I called out, projecting a composure I most surely didn’t feel. Roy pranced in place, snorting. But though he was still clearly agitated, he didn’t rear up again.

Straightening gingerly, I kicked out and sent Borkul’s sharp blade spinning off into the mud, but I needn’t have bothered. Rust-red orc blood drooled from his mouth where one of his huge tusks was snapped clean off, and though his eyes were still open, one looked straight ahead while the other lolled to the side. I’d seen head injuries like that before. Orcs might have incredibly robust constitutions, but even so…I doubted he would ever recover.

Roy whinnied and tossed his tangled mane. “Easy,” I repeated, and sidled up to give him a pat on the neck. He probably would have preferred a crabapple…but he allowed it.

22

QUINN

Though I did end up recuperating in the shaman’s caves, I didn’t get my nice hot soak in the sulfur spring, thanks to the big slice across my ribs. It wasn’t deep, but Taruut took one whiff of it and declared it would just keep bleeding if he dunked me in the pool. Instead, he parked me on one of his stone slabs and got to work smearing me with his reeking unguents.

Even with nothing more than a hard bed of rock to cushion me, I slept like a baby…thanks to periodic doses of some powerful herbs he’d been cultivating in his garden.

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