I squint, trying to take stock of my guard’s injuries. A sickening red wound gapes on his forehead, spreading blood everywhere. I know all head wounds bleed copiously, but this is too much. The foul smell of spilled intestines, coming from one of the attackers, wafts into the room. I focus back on the soldier in front of me and swallow, hoping I won’t be sick.
“I’ll only go with you if you let me bandage his wounds,” I insist. “He’s going to die otherwise.”
“Give me the knife,” the orc snarls, lunging for me again. “I meant to take you alive, but there’s no need for you to stay intact.”
Bile rises in my throat, and I fight to keep my thoughts steady. “No. You come any closer, and I’ll slit my own throat. Then you’ll be out two men and your prize. Your leader won’t be happy with you if I die.”
I’m taking a massive gamble with this. If I’m too much trouble for him, there will come a moment when he decides I’m not worth it. That’s when my life will be forfeit, and I won’t be able to help Vark either.
The orc scowls at me, then retreats a step. “Fine. Hurry. But you’re wasting your time. He’s as good as dead.”
I could sob with relief but I don’t want to give him the option to grab me while my attention is elsewhere.
I straighten my shoulders and try to make my voice as queenly as possible. “Go stand on the lower landing. If I so much as see you move toward me, our deal is off.”
He grunts but complies, moving four steps down the staircase. He keeps his gaze on me, his hands at his hips. I could use his help shifting Vark’s heavy body into a better position, but I guess I’ll have to bandage him where he lies half slumped against the wall.
Darting back into the room, I tear the sheet off the bed and rip it into strips of linen. Then I have to put down the knife to bandage Vark’s head, but I keep it close, ready in case the attacker chooses to change his mind. He huffs and shuffles his feet, though, and stays where he is. The one thing keeping me and my guard alive right now is the fact that this orc thinks I have the upper hand. I don’t. My only defenses are my quick reflexes and my ability to bluff my way through life.
Would I slit my throat if he came at me? I have no idea how to answer that question. I simply hope it won’t come to that.
Vark’s wound is still bleeding copiously when I press a wadded-up piece of linen to it and tie another tightly around his head. If his chest wasn’t moving with slow, shallow breaths, I’d think he was dead. My stomach revolts again, threatening to eliminate everything I ate today, but I force myself to stay calm. Even if Vark survives, he will likely lose his left eye. The cut goes deep, ruining his cheek, his eyelid, and his forehead. I cover it up as best I can and pray to the gods that Steagor returns soon—if not to rescue me, then to help Vark get the help he needs.
It’s still a long shot. In the human world, such injuries would most likely be fatal. But here…if there’s still magic in the orc realm, maybe Vark will stand a chance.
I use another strip of linen to bandage the brutal wound in my guard’s thigh, cinching the knot tight to stop the flow of blood. He has minor scrapes and cuts all over, but those will have to wait—the orc on the stairs is becoming impatient.
“Come on,” he says. “There’s nothing more you can do for him.”
I pick up my little knife, stand, and wipe my bloody hands on my dress. I try not to look at the other two orcs lying in the corridor. Their blood pools on the cold stone floor, already congealing in a sticky mess, and the entrails of the one who Vark gutted are strewn over his legs where he fell to the floor. I lift my skirts and step over the corpses, but the scent of the refuse overwhelms me.
I double over just in time to be sick. My tears flow freely as I heave painfully, and by the time the last orc standing walks over to me and disarms me with a casual gesture, I’m too weakened to even protest. His foul curses ring through the stairwell. He picks me up and slings me over his shoulder.
“Filthy human,” he snarls. “You disgust me.”
I choke and cough, my stomach pressed uncomfortably over his shoulder. My hair falls all over my face, and I’m so disoriented by the dark, I soon lose track of where we are. I don’t know how the orc manages to get all the twists and turns in the corridors right, but we never backtrack. Once, he dumps me roughly to the floor, then picks me up and holds a knife to my throat, his big, calloused palm covering my mouth.
I don’t even hear the footsteps in the dark until they’re right on top of us, but I don’t dare cry out. Muffled as my scream might have been, whoever is passing would hear me, but I can’t be sure it’s a warrior. Even if I somehow survive, the other orc could be killed, and I don’t want any more blood on my hands.
The moment the footsteps recede, we’re on our way again. My head hurts from being turned upside down, and I know I’ll be bruised all over after this. Not that it will matter. I can’t see a future in which this turns out well for me. I try to hold back my sobs and just hang on, but it’s becoming increasingly clear that this orc knows very well how to evade the Black Bear Clan guards. We enter what seems like a very wet, dank tunnel, but I realize quickly it’s the sewer system, where the refuse from all the bathrooms in the Hill is being washed away by the underground stream.
The only unguarded exit from the Hill.
We come out smelling bad even to my less sensitive nose, and the big orc keeps up a steady stream of curses as he lopes off into the rain-soaked forest. At one point, he changes his grip on me, holding me in his arms in front of him in a travesty of a gentle hug.
I wish I still had my little quill sharpener so I could stick it in his neck.
I try to make myself as unpleasant to carry as possible. I wiggle and hit his chin with my elbow, I yell and scratch and scream. I persist until he puts me down on the muddy forest ground beside a stream and backhands me across the face with so much force, I topple off my feet and slam into the trunk of a fir tree.
Eyes watering, I palm my stinging face and run my tongue along my teeth to see if he knocked any out. There’s a bloody cut on the inside of my cheek, filling my mouth with a coppery taste, and I retch again, thinking of all the blood that was spilled today.
Then I spit on the ground, spraying the orc’s heavy boots with droplets of bloody saliva. “Gorvor will kill you for this.”
The orc snorts. “Your king is weak. He couldn’t even protect his mate. Now be quiet and get in the water or I’ll repeat what I just did for as long as I have to.”
I sink into sullen silence but obey his order. I wash the stink of the sewers from my body as best I can and scrub my hands to wash away the blood. The orc does the same, grunting at the chilly water. By the time I stumble back onto the bank, my dress is soaked through and heavy with water, and I’m shivering uncontrollably from the cold. The orc picks me up again and resumes running. It takes us a long while to reach a small forest clearing, and by that time, I’m so tired, my eyelids are drooping from exhaustion.
Unconsciousness seems like a good idea, but I can’t fall asleep. I want to know everything that’s going on—and if an opportunity comes along for me to escape, I need to be lucid enough to take it.
When two shapes detach themselves from the lush greenery, my heart skips in excitement—but my relief is short-lived.
One of the orcs greeting us with a raised hand is Charan, which comes as no surprise. He is likely the one who orchestrated the whole plan.
The other is Bogur. The orc I shared breakfast with this morning. The trusted scout who sent Gorvor and his men hunting after a flock of prized sheep that probably don’t even exist.
“Where are Sarr and Trubor?” Charan asks, his forehead creasing in a frown.
The orc carrying me dumps me on the ground. I land on my butt in the wet grass and tumble to my side, then pick myself up on shaking legs.
“They’re dead,” my abductor snarls. “Her guard killed them.”
He lifts his hand again, moving to strike me, but Charan jumps between us and catches his arm before the blow lands.
“Are you mad?” Gorvor’s brother snarls at his soldier. “This is insane. We need to return the queen. The king will kill us all if he—”
An arrow whistles through the air and hits the orc who kidnapped me between the eyes. The orc jerks back and tumbles to the ground, his dead black eyes staring up at the clouds.
