Page 5 of Bound By Blood
Fascinating, but still cryptic. My mother wrote in riddles, always protecting her secrets behind layers of metaphor and misdirection.
I stand needing movement to help me think clearly. The battlefield stretches beyond the broken gates, littered with equipment dropped in haste and dark stains that will take rain towash clean. By daylight it seemed chaotic, but under moonlight it reveals patterns with the careful way the Stoneborn withdrew, the strategic points they chose for their initial assault.
Military precision dressed as random violence.
My feet carry me toward the treeline, where shadows pool like spilled ink. The scroll rustles in my hands as the night wind stirs the parchment. Here, away from human voices and watching eyes, I can almost imagine understanding the deeper meanings hidden in my mother's words.
A twig snaps behind me.
I turn, expecting to see a guard checking the perimeter or perhaps Ser Mael looking for his missing lady. Instead, silence greets me as thick and watchful as a predator studying prey.
"Hello?" My voice sounds smaller than intended in the vast night. "Is someone there?"
The attack comes faster than thought. A massive hand clamps over my mouth before I can scream, fingers rough as tree bark against my skin. An arm thick as a ship's mast circles my waist, lifting me off the ground as easily as a child lifts a doll.
No.The word screams inside my head even as my captor's hand muffles any sound. I clutch the scroll reflexively, my other hand reaching for my medicine bag just as powerful arms drag me backward into the trees.
My feet kick uselessly at air. The satchel's leather strap cuts into my shoulder as I refuse to let go, its precious contents rattling with each jarring step. Moonlight flickers between branches overhead, creating a dizzying pattern of silver and black as we move into the forest.
The hand over my mouth smells of leather, weapon oil, and something uniquely wild. Not unwashed, that would be different, but carrying scents of mountain pine and stone dust that speak of places far from human settlements.
Orc.The knowledge hits with absolute certainty. One of Drokhan's warriors, returned for some purpose I can't fathom.
We move through the trees with supernatural quiet despite my captor's size. Branches that should crack under his weight bend silently aside. Fallen leaves that should crunch and rustle barely whisper beneath his feet. This is someone who knows how to hunt, how to move through wilderness without betraying his presence.
My mind races through possibilities. Ransom seems likely. The daughter of House Thorne would bring a substantial price. Or perhaps revenge for some past injury I'm unaware of. Or worse, the kind of fate that befalls women taken in raids, stories whispered in corners when mothers think their daughters aren't listening.
The satchel.Whatever happens to me, I can't let them find my mother's remedies. The Orc preparations would be evidence of forbidden knowledge, enough to see my family stripped of titles and lands. Worse, they might reveal connections between my mother and the Stoneborn that could be interpreted as treason.
I try to work the strap off my shoulder, hoping to drop the bag somewhere it might be found later, but my captor notices the movement. His arm tightens around my waist in warning, and I go still.
The forest opens onto a moonlit clearing where other figures wait in the shadows. I count at least five, possibly more, all bearing the distinctive build and bearing of Stoneborn warriors. They speak in low voices, their language a series of growls and clicking consonants that mean nothing to me.
One of them gestures toward a narrow path leading up into the mountains. Another points back the way we came, perhaps suggesting they return me before my absence is discovered. A third draws a curved knife and tests its edge against his thumb.
Not ransom, then.
My captor, I still haven't seen his face clearly, listens to the discussion with patience that suggests this is a familiar council of war. When consensus seems reached, he adjusts his grip and we're moving again, following the mountain path at a pace that would leave most humans gasping.
The climb grows steeper. Rocky outcroppings replace soft forest floor, and the air thins noticeably as we gain elevation. My lungs burn with effort I'm not making, carried as I am, but altitude affects even passive passengers.
Below us, the human settlement shrinks to a collection of flickering lights barely visible through the trees. Above, something vast and dark takes shape against the star-scattered sky.
The Stoneborn stronghold.
I've heard descriptions from merchants and diplomats, but seeing it steals what little breath the altitude has left me. It doesn't sit on the mountain so much asbecomethe mountain, carved from a living rock with such skill that nature and artifice blend seamlessly. Towers that might be stone formations. Walls that could be natural cliff faces. Gates that open like cave mouths in the mountainside itself.
Torchlight flickers from countless windows, and smoke rises from chimneys hidden so cleverly among the crags that they seem like natural vents. The structure extends farther into the mountain than is visible from outside, a city built within stone rather than upon it.
How many live here?The question surfaces unbidden. Hundreds, certainly. Perhaps thousands. A population that could field armies rather than raiding parties, if they united their clans.
Why don't they? What keeps them fragmented into tribes when consolidation would give them power to challenge human settlements throughout the borderlands?
We approach a side entrance, barely visible as a crack in the stone until we're directly upon it. My captor speaks a word in the Orc tongue, and the crack widens to reveal a passage lit by oil lamps set in wall niches.
The transition from moonlight to lamplight leaves me temporarily blind. When my vision clears, I find myself in a corridor carved from solid granite, its walls covered with the same intricate carvings I glimpsed on Chief Drokhan's arms. Beasts and symbols intertwine, and shifts and moves in the flickering light.
Other Orcs pass us in the corridor, some stare at the captured human female, others barely glancing our way as if such sights are commonplace. Women among them, I notice with surprise, bearing weapons and moving with the same confident bearing as the males. Children too, though they keep their distance.
