Page 38 of Orc's Little Human
He knows what's coming. And he knows there's nothing he can do to stop it.
Varok looms over me, his bulk blocking out the stars as he raises his voice to address the gathered clan. "This human carries a curse! She's corrupted our chief's magic, made him weak and blind to the danger she represents!"
Murmurs ripple through the crowd—some agreeing, some uncertain, all of them focused on me with the intensity of predators deciding whether something is prey or threat.
"Look at her!" Jorth shouts, pointing at where my torn tunic has shifted to reveal part of the mark on my collarbone."Branded with symbols no human should know! Marked with power that doesn't belong to her!"
It doesn't belong to me.The bitter irony of his words makes me want to laugh. Nothing about this mark was my choice—not the pain of receiving it, not the power it seems to channel, not the way it's made me a target for everyone who fears what they don't understand.
I push myself to my knees, refusing to grovel before them even as terror claws at my throat. Whatever they plan to do, I'll meet it with my spine straight and my eyes open.
"Where is Korrath?" I demand, my voice carrying farther than it should in the cold air. "If you're going to murder me, at least have the courage to face his judgment afterward."
Varok's tusks catch the firelight as his lips pull back in a snarl. "Korrath has no authority here. Not anymore."
Not anymore.The words confirm my worst fears even as they send fresh rage through my veins. They've moved against him—whether through politics or violence, they've found a way to remove the only protection I had.
"You betrayed your own chief," I spit, struggling to my feet despite the way my legs shake with exhaustion and fear. "Your own blood."
"We saved our clan from his weakness," Mol growls from somewhere in the crowd. "From the curse you brought among us."
Curse.There's that word again, thrown around like a weapon designed to cut away any sympathy the warriors might feel for me. Make me into something inhuman, something that needs to be destroyed rather than protected.
Maybe they're right.The thought whispers through my mind like poison.Maybe whatever was done to me in the camps did make me into something dangerous. Maybe Korrath would be safer if I was dead.
But then I hear Thali's voice rise above the crowd, clear and fierce despite the tears I can hear in it. "She's not cursed! She's good! She takes care of me!"
Takes care of me.The simple words hit harder than any blade, cutting through the fear and self-doubt to something deeper. Something that has nothing to do with magic or marks or the political games of warrior clans.
I do take care of her.The realization floods through me with startling clarity.I've been taking care of her since the day she first brought me food. Teaching her to braid shells into her hair, listening to her stories, making sure she doesn't take foolish risks when we walk to the stream.
I've been part of a family.
The thought should terrify me—attachments are weaknesses, bonds are chains, caring about people only gives them the power to destroy you. But standing here in the firelight with death circling like hungry birds, all I can think about is how Thali's face lights up when she shows me a new treasure she's found.
I don't want to escape anymore.The admission cuts through everything else, sharp and undeniable.I want to live. Here. With them.
I want to protect the family I've found.
Varok raises his hand, calling for silence as the crowd settles into expectant quiet. "This human dies tonight," he announces, his voice carrying the authority of someone who believes he's already won. "Let her death cleanse the corruption from our?—"
"Let her death accomplish nothing more than your own."
The voice cuts through the night like a blade through flesh, low and deadly and carrying enough controlled violence to make every warrior in the circle take an involuntary step back. Korrath emerges from the shadows beyond the fire pit, moving with the predatory grace of someone who's spent his entire life perfecting the art of killing.
He's alive.Relief floods through me so intense it makes my knees weak.He's here.
But even as hope flares in my chest, I can see the tension in his massive frame, the way his golden eyes burn with barely restrained fury. This isn't a rescue—it's the opening move in a war that's been building since the moment he claimed me.
Varok turns to face him, hand dropping to rest on his weapon's hilt. "Korrath. I was beginning to think you'd run."
"I don't run from challenges," Korrath replies, stopping just outside the circle of firelight. "Especially not from ones issued by cowards who move against defenseless humans while their chief is away."
Defenseless.The word stings, but I can't argue with its accuracy. For all my desperate fighting in his chambers, for all my determination to stand against them, I'm exactly what Varok called me—a weak human surrounded by predators.
"Your authority here is ended," Varok declares, drawing his blade with a rasp of metal against leather. "You've been corrupted by this human's curse, made weak by whatever hold she has over you."
Korrath's laugh is as cold as the winter wind. "The only thing that's corrupted here is your ambition, Varok. And your cowardice."
