Page 29 of Claimed By the Orc Emperor

I tell Olog as much and he nods as our carriage trundles down the road, the Rhipponeks pulling us at a fast clip. “That is smart, Your Grace. Rainn may not know exactly how the kingdom works or all of our laws, but he is very smart and level-headed. Your subjects in Daz Vrorkrad already adore him—they will elsewhere as well.”

A smile crosses my face as he talks about my mate. Everyone who has met Rainn loves him. He already knows some of the workers at the market by name, asking after their families and if there is anything he can do for them. He has worked several booths with some of the orcs there, lending his support and learning about them and their livelihoods. He is the perfect emperor's consort.

I am a lucky orc to have him.

Settling back into the soft carriage seat, I say, “When we get back, I need you?—”

The cry of the Rhipponek sends chills down my spine just before the carriage jolts and tips violently on its side, sliding across the road. Larek, Olog, and I slam into each other, landing in a tangle of arms and legs.

When the carriage stops its forward momentum, we untangle ourselves, making sure we are unharmed. Larek has a cut on his forehead, and Olog’s lip is split. Other than that, we are uninjured.

“What—” My question is cut off by the sound of war cries, full-throated and angry. Ice sings through my veins because I know what those cries mean. I have heard them before, though it has been more than twenty years since the sound last reverberated through my ears. “We are under attack.”

“Stay here, Your Grace. We will protect you,” Olog says, getting to his feet.

“Nonsense,” I say, standing as well. “We will fight together. Are you armed?”

I pull a Dulagsvane knife that is strapped on my hip from its sheath. It is a formidable weapon and I never venture out without it. I am glad to see both Olog and Larek are similarly armed.

The door to the carriage is now above us, so Larek pushes the door open and hoists himself out quickly. Olog and I do the same, dropping to the ground just as ten orcs surround us.

I get the measure of them. They are all around Larek’s height of six-foot-eleven, though one towers over the rest. Their breathing is harsh in the still evening air as they stare us down, rage dancing in their eyes. Like us, they do not have armor, but they are all armed with an assortment of weapons—knives, swords, axes, and halberds—as if they stole them or scavenged them from somewhere.

With a shout, one of the orcs runs at us, swinging a long, gruesome-looking sword. Larek steps forward, ducking the sword’s swing, and brings his knife up to slice across the throat of his attacker. Blue blood sprays from the wound, splashing over Larek. He jumps back just in time, avoiding a strike with an ax from the orc that took the downed orc’s place.

The other orcs run towards us, swinging their weapons with shouts of fury. None of them are coordinated with their attacks, flailing around with their weapons instead of swinging with any finesse. I assume they hoped to overwhelm us with sheer numbers. Unlucky for them that Olog, Larek, and I were trained by the best.

An orc with an axe rushes at me, swinging first at my belly, then at my head. Another approaches me from behind, managing to slice me across the arm with his sword before I can avoid the blow. I curse and spin, causing them to run into each other, the orc with the axe burying it in his accomplices chest. I scoop up the downed sword and behead the axe-wielding orc.

Before I can assess my wound, two more orcs are on me, swinging their weapons with more aggression than skill.

The fight is a blur, filled with slashing, stabbing, and parrying. On the forefront of my mind is getting back to Rainn, as well as getting Larek and Olog back to their mates. We will not be lain low on a deserted road by people that?—

“Larek, behind you!” I yell after I disembowel one of the few remaining attackers.

As if materializing out of nowhere, the tallest orc comes up behind Larek with a halberd, poised to bring it down upon the back of his head.

Without thought, I throw my Dulagsvane, hitting the orc in the chest. He was mid-swing, so the halberd still comes down across Larek’s chest as he’d turned when I shouted his name.

Larek cries out, scrambling back to avoid the body of the orc with my knife sticking from his chest. Olog grabs Larek, pulling him towards the carriage.

One orc remains, looking at the bodies of his counterparts. Instead of trying his luck at bringing us down, he turns tail and runs.

“After him,” Larek rasps and tries to rise to his feet, hissing as his wound hinders his movements.

I shake my head and push him down. “No. Let him go. It is more important to assess your wound than it is to capture him.” I stand to my full height and look around. There is a town a kilometer or so back, light visible from our position on the road. I wonder if they heard the attack or if they are too far away.

“Olog, go to the town we just passed and ask for their assistance. First inquire if they have a healer. If they do not, we need transportation to get Larek to one immediately.”

Olog nods and takes off, running as fast as his legs will carry him.

After I check that all of our attackers are dead—finishing off those that are not—I kneel beside Larek, stripping off his tunic so I can see the damage. The wound is long, but not deep, though it is bleeding profusely. I rip off my tunic and, after finding a clean portion, press it to his chest. “We shall have you home soon, my friend.”

“Thank you…Your Grace,” he says, breathing through clenched teeth. “You saved…my life.”

“I did what anyone would have done.”

Half an hour later, Olog and a few villagers come back on several Rhipponeks.

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