Page 20 of Shackled to the Orc

I pour the boiling water on a cloth and clean up the edges of the wound, as the half-orcs return.

“Khan. I need you to break the spear off at the bottom. As close to the wound as you can get.” I’m going to need to pull it up from the spiked tip, which is pointing out of Brenn’s cheek.

“Orin. Sylas. Keep him still,” orders Khan, and the half-orcs drop the spears and blanket, crouching down and holding Brenn’s legs and shoulders against the sand.

“Don’t touch it, it hurts,” says Brenn, his voice so garbled I can barely understand him. Khan grabs the spear, and in a quick movement, he snaps it like a twig. Brenn moans in pain, fighting against the half-orcs, who hold him down as he flails.

I search for Garvin in the crowd. He’s standing nonchalantly. “Garvin. Your strongest booze. Now.”

“I ain’t wasting my—” Khan gives him a look, and with a grumble, he reaches into his pant pocket for a second flask, this one big and leathery. He cracks it open, takes a big swig, his face screwing up with the burn as he hands it to me. It assaults my nostrils, so strong it must be near pure alcohol, exactly what I need. I pour it on two strips of cloth as Garvin winces at the waste, thinking better of saying anything.

I check the wounds again, the familiar panic rising in me, the fear that I don’t know what I’m doing, that he will bleed out, and that it will be my fault.

I force it down.

Blood drips, but it’s not the steady, pumping gush of a deep hit. I grab the top of the spear as his eyes roll back in pain, and I pull upwards, until I’ve removed it. Instantly, blood gushes from the two open holes, and I press the cloth onto the holes. I take the tweezers and pull splinters out that will fester, and when I am satisfied, I wrap it, until the bottom half of his face is swaddled in white cloth, which slowly turns red. I exhale. The wound in his cheek is the bloodiest, but that, I can handle myself. The one under his jaw that grazes his throat, I’ll have to trust to Shug’s doctors.

Hand steady, I sanitize the needle and stitch his cheek closed as he groans in pain. “That’s some professional needlework,” says Garvin, looking down. He leans in and snatches the flask back, weighing it in his hand morosely. “Don’t worry, Brenn, you’ll be back for the next fight. You owe me some top-quality moonshine, by the way.”

Brenn looks over at him, pissed. “Don’t say anything, Brenn, just rest,” I tell him, giving Garvin my most venomous look. He just grins, swaying a little, the stiff drink getting to him.

“Stay still,” I say to Brenn. “It’s over now. All done.” I look at the half-orcs, who take their hands off him, as he lays back, silent, staring upwards.

Using the spears, rope, and the big fur blanket, I get to work on a makeshift stretcher. “You don’t have a stretcher or anything? What do you normally do?”

“Not many accidents with blunt weapons,” states Khan, picking up what I am doing and getting to work on the other side, lashing the fur tightly against the spears.

“Just broken noses, and I’m an expert at getting those back in place. Had my own nose broken three times, and I’m still a handsome bastard,” laughs Garvin, running his finger over his nose, which I have to admit, as much as it annoys me, is straight.

“Good to have you here,” grunts one of the half-orcs, looking down at me with respect. Where before, the gladiators treated me politely because they were terrified of what Khan would do if they didn’t, now they are looking at me in a new way. I can remember the same thing happening in my village, when the older men and women who remembered me as a kid saw me at work.

I hold Brenn’s head in place as Khan and one of the half-orcs lifts him onto the stretcher, then Orin and Sylas walk him away. I resist the urge to tell them to walk slowly. Their steps are certain, and he barely jostles.

When it’s done, only then do I let myself feel the full range of fear and stress, and my hand trembles, dropping the needle. Khan takes my shaking hand in his huge grip, gently stroking my skin, saying nothing as he helps me stand.

The two half-orcs, Orin and Sylas, return. “Guards bringing him to the med bay.”

“The doctor’s a fucking drunk,” says Garvin. “And I’m the bloody expert on that.”

“He’ll be alright. The biggest risk was taking the spear out.”

“You heard her. He’s alright. Back to work,” says Khan, and the gladiators pick up their weapons like nothing happened, going back into their pairs to train.

Orin walks to me, and Khan moves himself between us, almost as if by accident. “What?” Khan asks.

“The boss wants to see her. After dinner.”

“What about?”

Orin shrugs.

“Pair up with Sylas, I want you to be able to get out of a chokehold even when the world’s going dark. Train it.”

He nods his head, and Khan takes me by the shoulder, marching me out of the arena, limping heavily.

“I can walk by myself,” I say, and he releases my arm, striding next to me until we’re back in his room. I sit down in the chair, before he can order me to. He stands, leaning his weight against the doorframe.

“Why would Shug want to see you?”

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