I AM EXHAUSTED THIS MORNING AS I prepare for our departure.
Thanks to my ability to save their fellow soldier last night, the group was generous enough to give me a meager bowl of stew and a spare fur to put under my bedroll to prevent it from getting wet. They even let me sleep closest to the fire. Even with these small comforts, I still only managed an hour of rest.
With every groan of a male, every breeze that rustled the branches of the evergreen trees, every crackle of the fire I jolted awake. I slept with the knife Bazy gave me, curled tightly in my hand. Upon waking at the first rays of dawn, I felt the warmth of the hilt pressing against my chest.
My only source of security should someone come upon me in the night.
They are all still thankful, smiling around their white tusks and nodding toward me. The sick orc, Zarod, has made a full recovery. He rose from his bedroll looking haggard, but dark green once more. The other soldiers came over to check on him and to bring him another bowl of measly stew that was provided as breakfast. They spoke in their own language so I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
When they started nodding and pointing at me it was easy enough to surmise they were discussing me.
I’m rolling up my bedroll and securing the last of my packs when I see two boot clad feet next to me in the snow. Looking up, I find Zarod looming over me with a wide grin on his face. For an orc, he is quite handsome. He doesn’t possess that severe, authoritative look like Bazy does. No, his features can only be described as jovial, almost child-like.
His face is scarred as well and one of his white tusks is chipped and devoid of the deadly sharp point.
“You must be my savior,” he says, kneeling down to help secure the loose tie on my bed-roll.
“I am.” We stand and he holds my pack out towards me, his eyes dancing with amusement. His expression, his body language is too relaxed to cause any fear to spike through me. How strange. “I guess I don’t have to tell you to never eat dawnsrays berries again, huh?”
“Never again, I swear! I thought they were moonrays berries; Mornga makes the most delicious pie with them.”
“Mornga?” I ask.
“Don’t get him started,” another orc groans from behind him.
“They’re just jealous, pink-haired human, that I have the most beautiful female and they do not. Mornga is my mate. And she makes the best pies. The best anything really.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling heat rush to my face. I am not used to such direct outbursts of affection. Sure Elvie and Arkain make no secret of their obsession with each other but I know them. Elvie is my friend and talking about that sort of thing doesn’t make me feel shy about my own lack of experience. I’m not the best when it comes to men and how to navigate conversations regarding love and intimacy.
“Lovely.” That’s the only response I can think of.
“That she is. Lovely…I shall call her that word when we are back.”
“Make sure to drink water today. Your body is still recovering,” I say, desperate to get off the conversation of Mornga. His eyes have gone dreamlike, and I suppose if I were his mate, I would be pleased to know he spoke of me with such reverence.
However, I am not his mate, and I’m eager to begin this journey so I can be one step closer to completing my mission.
“Don’t worry, Bazy has already lectured me about drinking more water this morning.”
I look over to where their leader stands, our eyes locking, and I quickly look away.
“You speak the elven language well. Your accent is almost unnoticeable.”
“Mornga taught me.” Oh gods, and we are back to this. “Bazy wasn’t as good of a pupil though, that’s why his sounds so ruggish. All hard constantents and chewed up vowels, as Mornga would say. That or our general’s grumpiness does not suit the words.”
A small laugh escapes me and that seems to please this orc, his smile deepening.
“I’m Zarod by the way. What’s your name?”
“Oh…” I hesitate. Do I tell him? Is this safe enough to reveal yet? I’m sure it will be fine. “It’s—”
“We’re setting off,” Bazy says in a gruff voice. He has moved quickly from the other side of the camp to stomp between me and Zarod. While Zarod is a large male, Bazy is massive. Being their general makes sense; he moves with an air of authority. He’s a good half a foot taller than Zarod. His shoulders are broader, his arms and thighs are made up entirely of corded muscle. His large body is covered in thick wool clothing and a heavy fur cloak. His tusks are dangerously sharp and glint in the morning sun. His black hair is pulled back from his face, long enough to be secured in a low bun at the back of his head.
I am cataloging his features to give a description to the king if he tries to kill me. No other reason.
Bazy lets out a sharp whistle, cutting through the snowy land. It echoes around the trees and shakes the ground. No—the whistle didn’t shake the ground, but the ground is shaking. I plant my feet to withstand the sudden disturbance until they come into view.
Massive beasts with silvery-white fur as pale as the snow approach our camp at an alarming speed. Black lips peel back revealing sharp teeth and red tongues. As they draw nearer, I note the way their muscles bunch and flex.
No one around me is panicking as these beasts approach. Do they not see them? We are about to be attacked by icewolves! Massive creatures that can eat you in one bite. Well maybe not eat an orc in one bite but me, surely.
They’re about ten feet off when a scream threatens to crawl out of my throat. But suddenly they halt. The great beasts bow their heads and for the first time I notice what’s on their backs: saddles made of tough brown leather. Each saddle is carved with an ornate design. It looks to be a pattern of sorts but as my eyes focus, I see a few repeating symbols. It takes me a moment to realize they’re names. Carved on each saddle is the name of their rider.
Of course orcs would ride these monstrous beasts.
“You can ride with me, human. My beast is the gentlest,” Zarod offers. Before I can respond, Bazy growls, the sound making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“The human is with me.” Zarod only laughs and shakes his head. They speak briefly in orcish as I eye the icewolves warily. Am I really about to climb on the back of one?
Zarod and Bazy end their conversation and Bazy steps in front of me.
“Let’s go,” he grunts, motioning me forward. He walks me toward the first icewolf, the alpha of the pack. He’s larger than the others, his all-white fur brighter and his claws sharper. His yellow eyes appraise me as I approach. Hopefully he sees I am with his rider and doesn’t think I’m some sort of morning snack.
Wait a minute.
I do some counting and see there are just enough mounts for each of the orcs present. Meaning…
“Hold on. I’m not sharing a saddle with you,” I say, blood rushing to my cheeks. It’s way too intimate to do with someone I barely know. Let alone with this orc who may decide I actually would make a nice meal for him. I mean, that stew couldn’t have been filling for someone of his size.
Despite what I just said, Bazy stows my packs in one of the great saddle bags along the beast’s side.
“Can you ride one by yourself?” he asks.
“I’m sure I could—”
“Even if you could manage to figure it out, which you couldn’t, do you see one here for you to ride?”
“Well no, but—”
“But what?” He cuts me off.
“I thought maybe I could find a horse or something.”
“Horses freeze to death out here.”
Oh, well…
“I’m sure there is some other way—”
“There isn’t and now you’re wasting time.” Bazy leans down, so that our faces are close together. He smells of pine and fresh snow and something spicy I can’t name. The scars on his face are raised and dark, a puzzle of imperfect pieces fitting together to create his serious expression.
“Just like last night, you have two choices. One, get on that saddle with me and head toward the Keep before the temperature drops again. Or two, walk behind us making our journey ten times as long, keeping in mind you’ll freeze to death before we even make it halfway to Dread’s Keep. Do you understand?”
I did, unfortunately. Nodding only once, Bazy grunts again. Without warning, his giant hands grip me around the waist. They span my entire midsection and his thumbs come dangerously close to grazing the underside of my breast. There’s nothing sexual about his touch, but still give a girl a warning before you grab her!
“Hey! What are you—” He sets me down in the saddle before jumping up behind me in one leap.
“You complain a lot, akorzag.” There’s that word again. I grit my teeth against it. Calling someone a name in a language they don’t know is very rude. Even for an orc. “Makes me wonder how you came to make this journey alone. This terrain is unforgiving,” he continues.
“It makes me wonder why you think it is okay to just grab me without warning!”
I spread my cloak out behind me, creating a barrier between our two bodies. It’s not enough but it’s at least something. Sitting with my spine locked straight, I can still feel the heat of his body behind me. The thick muscles of his leg brush against my own in my dress.
Gripping the reins, he calls out to the others and we shoot forward into the snow. We move at a furious pace. Snow shoots up along the sides of our company as the icewolves cover the land in powerful sprints. I grip the front of the saddle to keep myself upright and off Bazy’s massive chest. Thankfully I redid the lacings on my gown this morning as the impact of each step has my breasts jostling.
I wish I had brought something with more support.
We are silent as the beasts cut through the deepest piles of snow. When the snow is no longer past their knees, our pace slows to something more manageable. We have cleared out of the frozen valley and are now on flat land. The evergreen trees here are thicker, holding most of the snow in their branches, so it’s not so deep.
“Relax, human. You won’t make it an hour sitting up that straight, and we will not stop to accommodate a sore back.”
I grit my teeth. He’s right, my back muscles are already straining, but to relax would mean to touch him. Can I really do that?
“I know you’re scared of my kind. Which makes your desire to go to Dread’s Keep all the more strange.”
I glare at him over my shoulder, disliking his astuteness.
“I promise not to touch you again without asking. Try and relax, the journey is long.”
Once again, what choice do I really have here? Our eyes lock and I notice his yellow eyes are flecked with green. They’re not so much yellow as they are gold, like warm honey.
I shake myself out of that train of thought.
“You promise?”
He nods, the muscles in his strong neck flexing.
Reluctantly, I lean back and find myself in quite a predicament. This is way closer than I was planning on being with any orc. It would take nothing for him to hold me to his massive chest and crush me. Or reach down and slit my throat without his icewolf even missing a step.
Worse still, I find myself more comfortable than I should be.
His smell, more intense now that my back is against his muscled chest, invades all my senses. My head rests squarely at the center of his chest and looking up I can see the hard set of his jaw. He’s warm, oh gods, so deliciously warm. I almost throw caution to the wind and bury myself under his fur lined cloak. The warmth seeps into me, thawing some parts of my body that haven’t fully recovered from last night.
It feels good, but I can’t let my guard slip.
“What is your name, human?” he asks, the sound rumbling from his chest and vibrating along my back.
“Kaethe,” I say.
“Strange name.”
My mouth pops open and I look up to glare at him.
“That’s bold coming from someone called Bazy,” I counter. He laughs once, his breath tickling my face.
“Only Zarod calls me Bazy because he knows I hate it,” he explains.
“So, what is your name then?” I ask.
“Bazur.” I huff my own laugh at that.
“Oh, yes I see, massive difference between the two. Bazur is clearly the least ridiculous one.”
“Are you—” he pauses, “making a joke?”
I roll my eyes. “If I have to explain it, it must not have been a very funny one.”
“I don’t get jokes. Especially Zarod’s.”
“Really? That’s shocking.”
“No, it’s not.” His face is serious as he looks down at me. “I can never tell if—”
“That was sarcasm, Bazur.” His name tastes funny on my tongue. The sound of it is so different from that of my own. His jaw tightens. Whether it’s because of my interruption or how I said his name, I can’t tell.
We travel in silence for a while. Beneath the trees, the sun is blocked out enough to where we are shaded. This chill in the air only gets more pronounced the higher up the mountain we go. I wrap my cloak more fully around my body. My teeth begin to chatter as my shivers become more incessant. Bazur grumbles something under his breath before opening his own cloak and draping it around me.
I have to swallow down a moan at how warm it is.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“Don’t need you freezing before we get to the Keep. I’m sure whoever you’re meeting won’t want to see you half-frozen.”
I nod, burrowing deeper into the cloak.
“Who are you meeting there? I know most of the orcs, especially the ones in the Keep.”
The sudden bliss I felt at being so warm is gone. I can’t share that I’m meeting with their leader—that will only invite more questions. I have to keep the deceit going until I am at the Keep.
Come on, think of something, give another nonanswer.
“Someone I haven’t seen for a very long time.”
“How long?” Gods damn this orc and all his questions. The trick to a good lie is to have some truth in it. I’ll keep as close to the facts as I can and then change the subject.
There’s no need to reveal fully who that person is.
“Oh, gods it has to have been about twenty years since I’ve last seen him.”
Bazur makes a choking sound, his hands tightening on the reigns.
“Twenty years? Surely you couldn’t have come of age that long ago.”
“What does my coming of age have to do with me meeting someone?”
“You couldn’t have taken a male to your bed twenty years ago. You barely look twenty now.”
My face heats and my mouth pops open. Oh my gods, oh my gods! He didn’t just say that. He thinks I’m reuniting with my orc lover? I suppose it would be a good cover but I’m afraid if I say that’s why I’m here he’ll only ask more questions.
Gods forbid he asks me the orc’s name.
“This male didn’t,” Bazur hesitates, swallowing once. “This male didn’t force himself on you when you were young, did he?”
I groan and shake my head. There is genuine concern in his voice, which does cause my stomach to warm, oddly enough.
“No! No, nothing like that. I’m not going to the Keep to be reunited with someone I was…in a relationship with.” My face feels like it’s on fire.
Some of the tension leaves his features, and he seems relieved by my answer. To his credit, he seemed appalled at the idea I had been assaulted in some way, so it makes me believe that, at the very least, that won’t happen to me while I’m in his care.
“How old are you?” he asks suddenly.
“Twenty-six.” I look up at him. “You?”
“Thirty-six.” His dark brows lower over his honey eyes. “You seem younger.”
“You seem older,” I counter. He laughs, at least I think it’s a laugh. It sounds more like he’s just expelling a puff of air.
“When you’ve seen all that I have, Kaethe, it ages you.” He faces forward, his eyes looking into the distance but unfocused as if he’s remembering some half-forgotten memory. “It’s good to see the world hasn’t robbed everyone of their youth.”
