Page 40 of Bound By Blood
Instead, it bends and holds. Healers who've spent years steadying their hands against death's pressure don't flinch when death comes calling. Human guards who've trained for ceremony fight for survival, and ceremony melts away, leaving only necessity.
Beautiful.Deadly, chaotic, terrifying, but beautiful in its raw honesty.
An Ironmaw champion breaks through our left flank, obsidian war-hammer spinning in wide arcs. I drop from the gallery, landing cat-light behind him.
"Gorthak sends his greetings," he snarls, pivoting to face me. "And his terms. Surrender the human healer, and your clan lives."
"Counter-offer." My axe splits the air between us. "Withdraw now, andyourclan lives."
He laughs, genuine amusement, not mockery. "Eighteen against forty, and you threatenus?"
"Numbers aren't everything."
I prove the point by removing his head.
The battle rages for another twenty minutes, vicious, close-quarters fighting in confined spaces where skill matters more than numbers. Eirian moves through the chaos like a guardian spirit, her healing light keeping our wounded on their feet, her voice coordinating our ragged line.
This is what Grashak meant.Not fighting like other warriors, but fighting likemyself, chief first, warrior second, protector always.
When the last Ironmaw berserker falls, silence settles over the grotto like fresh snow. We've won, but the cost shows in every bloodied face, every labored breath.
Eirian kneels beside a wounded healer, green light flowing from her hands into torn flesh. Her healing sash is splattered with blood, some her own, from a glancing blade-stroke across her forearm.
Mine. They dared harm what's mine.
The rage that thought brings surprises me with its intensity. Not the clean anger of battle, but something deeper. More personal.
Bond-protective instinct. She's truly clan now.
Lady Jazmin approaches, her fine clothes torn and dirty but her spine straight. "Your healers fought bravely. Our guards, they learned much today."
"War teaches quickly." I clean my axe on a fallen enemy's cloak. "Those who survive the lesson, anyway."
"Indeed." She studies me with shrewd eyes, calculating, but not dismissively. "Perhaps we should discuss terms. Not for my niece's ransom, but for... other arrangements."
Alliance.The word hangs unspoken between us, heavy with possibility.
Before I can respond, Eirian rises from her healing work and moves to my side. Not behind me, not in front, but beside, equal partners facing whatever comes next.
"Terms can wait," she says quietly. "We have wounded to tend and dead to honor."
Wisdom.Another lesson Grashak taught: victory's price must be paid before victory's rewards can be claimed.
But as I survey our improvised army, Orc and human, healer and warrior, bound by shared blood and common cause. I feelhope.Real hope, built on a foundation strong enough to bear the dreams.
Maybe binding won't burn everything after all.
The spring water tastes of copper and stone, but after battle, even mountain-cold water feels like the finest ale. I rinse bloodfrom my knuckles, watching crimson tendrils spiral away into crystal depths.
Around the healing spring, an unlikely gathering takes shape. Gorth tends a gash across his ribs while Lady Jazmin methodically cleans her borrowed sword. Lord Edran sits heavily on a moss-covered boulder, his ceremonial guard captain's armor dented but intact. The old man fought well for someone more accustomed to parade formations than real steel.
Strange. An hour ago, these humans were strangers. Now they're...
What? Allies? Battle-brothers? The Orcish wordketh-morcomes closest, those who've shared blood in defense of hearth and kin. But no human tongue holds adequate translation for bonds forged in life-or-death trust.
Eirian emerges from the deeper grotto, her healing work finished for now. She's changed from her blood-splattered robes into a simple green tunic that brings out the storm-grey of her eyes. Her hair, usually so precisely braided, hangs loose around her shoulders.
Beautiful.The thought comes unbidden, accompanied by a rush of protective heat that has nothing to do with battle-lust and everything to do with the way she moves among our wounded, human and Orc alike, offering comfort without hesitation.
