MAYBE RUNNING AT TWO VERY large, very armed orcs with a knife wasn’t the best decision.
Both of them reflexively reach for the weapons on their belts, looking at me with shocked yellow eyes. Their muscles are bunched so tight under their sturdy wool shirts and pants, it’s amazing they don’t rip clean through them. Under any other circumstance, those muscles would be nice to look at.
However, knowing they are attached to two orcs who could snap my neck with half a thought makes them lose some appeal. I can tell they view me as a threat and my throat will be slit just like it was done to the people of my village. It’s in their nature.
I’ve come all this way just to fall victim to the same fate as my parents.
The younger of the two, jumps to his feet first and unsheathes his weapon. I realize I’m not even going to get a chance to get the words out to explain myself. I shouldn’t have reacted, I should’ve stayed at the fire and let the sick one get sicker.
I suck in my last breath on this earth and prepare for the blow that never comes. The older one who found me, halts him with a growl of authority. Whoever this one is, he seems to be their leader.
“Wait,” I say, holding up my hands after tucking the knife into my bag. “He’s been poisoned?”
The question is rhetorical. From his moans, the sickly yellow of skin, the rash, and how I can see the sweat pouring off him despite being covered in snow, poison is the only thing this could be. It would’ve been so easy to keep my mouth shut. Perhaps I should’ve kept my mouth shut and let the warmth of the fire sink into my bones while I let one of them die in the background without giving them so much as second thought. Just like they didn’t give slicing my father’s neck a second thought.
But I couldn’t do that. Blame it on the training from the Royal Academy. I need to save those who have fallen ill, and to hear the cries of someone in pain when I have the means to treat it? Elf or orc, friend or foe, it doesn’t matter. I have a duty to save them. I took an oath at the academy to save and render aid and that is what I am doing now.
Nothing more, nothing less.
“Yellow spotted berries that grew by a frozen lake,” the orc who found me says. The orc who trapped me is more like it. He was kind enough to let me go but I am still uncertain of his motives. Orcs are dangerous, not to be trusted. Once I have met with their king and my safety is guaranteed, I will be able to relax a bit more. But my survival at the Keep hinges on Vorgak keeping his word to King Arkain.
As soon as I heal the sick one, and warm myself I will leave at first light. I have delayed this journey long enough and I cannot risk offending their leader.
“Dawnsrays berries, very poisonous,” I mutter under my breath, kneeling in front of the sick orc. Pulling my trunk from across my body, I pop open the lid and take stock of my supplies. He is much larger than a human or an elf so I do some quick calculations to get the right amount of antidote made.
“What?” asks the orc from the woods.
“How many did he eat?”
“Five,” murmurs the sick one, his breath rasping out of him. His inhale makes a disheartening rattling sound in his chest. Not a good sign. “I would’ve eaten the sixth but, Bazy here told me to hurry up.”
The orc who found me, Bazy I guess he is called growls something at him in their own language. It dawns on me that all three of these orcs speak the elven language. After the Orc Wars, the new generation must have learned it.
I’d have asked about it if I thought I was going to be spending extended time in their company.
“Well, it’s good you didn’t eat the sixth one,” I say, plucking out a vial of riverhearts.Four seeds should do the trick. “That amount would’ve killed you instantly.”
The sick one laughs meekly. “I guess you were right, Bazy. Reckless thinking was almost my downfall.”
“Are you a healer?” Bazy asks.
“In a sense.” Better not reveal who I am fully just yet. King Vorgak was clear in his letter that his orcs may not take too kindly to a lone human woman, and it would be regrettable if some unfortunate fate would befall me by untraceable perpetrators.
“You,” I say, pointing to the younger one, “boil some snow and bring me a cup. I need to steep these seeds and then we’ll need to force him to drink the tea.”
The younger one hesitates but Bazy nods and he scurries off to retrieve the supplies.
This is science and medicine. These are the things I am the most comfortable with. Using logic and my training to tend the ailments of others allows me to fully sink into my role as a simple healer wandering around the mountain side. I let muscle memory take over me. In this state I am not afraid or wary of the company around me.
I am focused on the problem at hand and how to solve it.
“Is this safe?”
I look up at Bazy; even on his knees he towers above me. I bristle at his tone.
“Well, I don’t see how I could possibly poison him more, if that is what you are asking.”
“I don’t know you, human. In my experience humans can be deceiving.”
“In my experience, so can orcs.” We stare at each other, locked in a battle of wills. This orc captured me.And when I offer to help his fellow orc, he questions me? I should grow nervous under his stare, but instead I find I am…insulted? He is questioning my integrity and that has my back up. Shuffling footsteps sound behind me as the younger one approaches with the boiling water.
I narrow my eyes one last time at Bazy before breaking his yellow stare.
“Thank you…” I trail off and the younger male shuffles from foot to foot.
“Targoc,” he says. “My mother uses those seeds too. Gave them to me when I was sick last winter.”
“Your mother is wise, Targoc.” I try my best to emulate the gruff way he pronounced his name. Picking out four of the blue colored seeds, I place them in the cup with the boiling water. They begin to steep, the water turning a cerulean blue and emitting an herbal scent that tickles my nose. “Riverheart seeds made into tea will cure almost anything.”
I venture a glance up towards Bazy and meet his yellow gaze. He’s got a serious staring problem. Among other problems: his gruff nature, setting up traps in the middle of perfectly good walking paths, but staring is at the top of my list.
A few minutes tick by and the tea is ready.
“Okay, now this is the hard part.” I hold the cup in my hand, the warmth from it soaking into my cold palms. “Since he’s had a fever for so long, that rash has most likely spread to his mouth and tongue.”
“And?” asks Bazy.
“And, drinking this is going to feel like swallowing hot iron. He must drink it all, or it won’t work.” I look between the two of them. “Can you both hold him while I pour this down his throat? If you can keep him still enough, I can get it done in a few moments.”
Bazy looks at Targoc, then over his shoulder. He yells out to the other orcs in their language and they rush over. So many of them are close to me, crowding around me as I’m hunched over the poisoned one. The blood, the burning, the fear…
Taking a deep, steadying breath I push past those memories. I have a job to do, one that needs to be done before the seeds lose their potency. Otherwise he will die, and I will have wasted four of my seeds.
“Hold him steady, keep his mouth open, and pinch his nose. I’ve only got enough seeds for this one dose.”
More orders are barked from their leader, Bazy, and the other males spring into action. The sick one groans at the contact, the welts from the fever I’m sure are protesting as his arms and legs are pinned down. His shoulders and lower body are pinned as well. Bazy wraps a hand around his jaw, leveraging it open and pinches his nose.
“Good, good, okay now sit him up. Gently.” Like a well-trained unit they do what I ask, moving in tandem until he is in the right position. I stand up in order to get the right angle. His mouth is open and I can see the angry red welts lining his mouth and tongue. A few of them are starting to secrete white puss. He doesn’t have long; I have to act now.
Saying a quick prayer to the gods, I dump the contents down his throat.
“Cover his mouth!” I order and Bazy does so immediately, locking a hand like a band of iron around his lips. The orc screams through the agony. His whole body shakes and the males holding him are straining to keep him in position. They manage it somehow, their strong muscles tensing and flexing.
I watch his mighty chest rise and fall, his throat work in one powerful swallow that tells me the tea has been ingested. The poisoned orc sags with relief, and his bloodshot yellow eyes close. The last of his fight leaves him as he sags against Bazy, and the other males release their death grips.
“What happens now?” Tagoc asks me, his expression odd. They are all looking at me and I try not to fidget under their stare. I was so focused on the task that I was able to distract myself from the situation for a moment but it’s all roaring back to me.
“Now, he sleeps. In the morning, he should be fine, if a bit groggy.”
Already the tea is having an effect. The red welts on his chest begin to go down and it no longer rattles with each deep breath.
Their stares have gone from guarded and curious to impressed and…thankful. Are my eyes playing tricks on me?
“His fever is gone,” confirms Bazy. He is wearing the strangest expression out of all. It is tinged with an emotion I can’t name.
“The tea works fast. Especially with that strong of a dose.”
Bazy nods and the other males rise, giving me thanks and returning around the fire. Standing there in the snow, I feel the shift in this situation. Before, I was a lost human, warming myself by their fire. They were disappointed I was not the dinner they were looking for, but now, now I am something different. I am the human that saved one of them. I am a human deserving of thanks and respect.
Perhaps I could use this to my advantage.
“Thank you, human, for saving him,” Bazy says quietly next to me. It is just me and him at the sick orc’s side.
I smile slightly, unwilling to meet his yellow stare. The look he’s giving me is far too intimate and open. I liked his look of disdain more—it was easier to match with one of my own. This look of gratitude though has me thinking he is a kind orc.
A dangerous thought.
“Sitting by while someone else suffers isn’t something I can do.” It’s the best nonanswer I can give him.
“I owe you a debt,” he says quietly. I look up at him now, meeting his stare. This is my way in. I’m a realist, I know I’ll never be able to make it to Dread’s Keep in time without some help. These orcs know this mountain. I’m sure they know the fastest way to the Keep.
I don’t have to tell them who I am just yet. However, only a fool would dismiss this opportunity. Despite my wariness and unease, I can’t let this go to waste.
“There is something you could help me with.”
“Name it, and it will be done.”
Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders.
“I need you to escort me to Dread’s Keep.”
Bazy rears back as if I had slapped him, shock coloring his already hard features.
“Take you to Dread’s Keep? Why?”
“My reasons are my own,” I say dismissively.
“It is no place for a human, especially a human female.”
He’s right about that at least.
“Will you take me or not?” I ask. “Someone is expecting me and I must arrive in two days’ time.”
“Who is expecting you?”
“That is none of your concern,” I say again, straightening my spine. There is a chance he will deny me, but I can’t risk exposing myself until I am in front of the king. I saved their fellow orc and earned their respect, but if they find out I am an emissary from another kingdom they may not look too favorable at that. Again, I throw myself at the mercy of King Vorgak in the hopes he will assure my safety.
It’s the only option I have.
“Fine,” he says, after a moment. “We can make it there in two days. It will be a hard ride.”
I nod, relief flowing through me.
“You can keep your secrets, human, for now at least.” Bazy turns from me and walks back toward the fire. A few paces from me he halts again.
“Thank you,” Bazy says again.
I wave him off, heading to the opposite side of the fire to put some distance between me and the other orcs.
“You’ve already thanked me, you all have.”
“Zarod isn’t just any soldier.” He pauses, his eyes looking down at the snow. “He is my friend, and he became ill because of me. Without you, he would’ve died, so thank you.”
I almost ask what he means by it being his fault. The berries are easily mistaken for their sister plant moonray berries, which are safe to eat. I’ve cured many people who’ve accidentally ingested them like Zarod.
The question is on the tip of my tongue, but his eyes wipe the thought of asking from my mind. They wipe any thought from my head. I see the earnest thanks in them and the gratitude too. But the thing that paralyzes my legs from moving me any closer to the fire is that emotional look I couldn’t name before. Now I see it with such clarity.
Reverence.
