Chapter 7

Marvik

I hate being tied up. Everything is harder with my hands and feet bound. Even sleep is difficult, as I often wake with my limbs painfully numb and tingling after I have held them in strange contortions all night. And there is very little compassion from my jailer. This is my fault, however. After the first few days of untying my feet to let me relieve myself, I tried to run, hands bound, through the trees. She caught me easily and now, for the past few weeks, my feet are always bound, just a little looser, so that I am hobbled at all times. At least she tired of feeding me rather quickly, so now my hands are tied in front, rather than behind my back.

Presently, she is gone hunting and I am doing what I normally do: trying to cut myself free. A while ago, I found a sharp edge on one stalagmite in the cave and I carefully shuffle over to it, and begin rubbing the cord back and forth on the stone. I don’t really know why I bother. Whatever she has tied me with is not normal leather, or I would have cut through it weeks ago. But it is better than doing nothing, sitting on my bedroll and waiting like a good little prisoner for the orcress to come back.

I work on my bonds for what I judge to be around a half an hour. Stopping and examining them, I see I haven’t even scuffed the shine off the braid. No matter, I have come to expect it. The act is more of a quiet rebellion, anyway. My wrists feeling a bit raw, I stand and head back to my bedroll and begin running through what exercises I can while bound. I need to stay fit for my next escape. There is a medium-sized rock in one corner that I have been using for weight and I lift it in my bound hands, curling my biceps while I hold it for as many repetitions as I can. Then I do a series of weighted squats. Normally, before the war and my captivity, I would train extensively and spar often to keep up my strength and agility, my body honed into a weapon in its own right. The weakness that comes from idleness is new to me and I dislike it. I still have muscles, but they are softening from inactivity and I have been working to remedy that.

I have moved through my routine and am on my last set of push-ups, my shoulders straining from having to keep my arms so close together when the orcress returns, a brace of rabbits in her hands. I stop my exercise to look at her. Her hair is a little wild from the wind and there is a slight flush to her cheeks, as if she hurried back as soon as she checked her traps. A light sheen of sweat glistens on her bright green skin, even though the air has become cooler of late, supporting my theory. She looks at me too and her nose twitches. I wonder for a moment if I smell as bad to her nose as I do to my own, then dismiss it. What do I care if my stench offends her? It is her fault that I haven’t had more than a rag bath in two months.

Pushing myself out of the exercise, I gingerly find my feet, no simple task while hobbled.

“Your hunt looks successful,” I offer with bland cordiality. Animosity has gained me nothing the last few weeks, but I do not feel like pretending to be her friend or anything more. We both know that what I really want is to leave and it would be disingenuous to play at anything else.

She merely grunts in reply, squatting down to tend the fire, before beginning to clean the rabbits. I am struck by the fact that she is extremely unlike any of the ladies I have ever known back at court. Especially those that I took as lovers for a time. She has no delicacy, no amiable manners. The orcress is taciturn and belligerent and sarcastic when she deigns to speak to me these days. She always gets her hands dirty, the one to take care of the camp, since I cannot do so. Which I wouldn’t, even if I could , I remind myself. I have no reason to help my enemy-turned-savior-turned-captor. She is keeping me from my revenge and has bound me to her for selfish reasons of her own. What she wants from me, a matehood, I can never give her. There is too much blood between the two of us.

Still, I try to picture my last lover, the Lady Stasia, cleaning a kill and tending a fire and almost smile. Almost . I wouldn’t want the orcress to see it and misunderstand.

She impatiently pushes a lock of her short hair behind her ear as it has fallen forward and I have to admit there is something about her that could rival any lady of Adrik: she is extremely graceful. In an effortless way, that makes you know it is entirely innate to her being. And . . . she is pretty. For an orc, anyway, I amend to myself, though I know I am lying. She would be considered lovely even for a human. Her elvish parentage has graced her with high cheekbones and a small but strong chin. Her skin, the color of a spring leaf, is clear and supple, only marred here and there by a few small scars. The hair on her head is short for a female, shaved on the sides, but is thick and a becoming dark brown that complements her skin. Thick eyelashes frame her jewel-like eyes. Even her long fangs do not detract from her loveliness. But she could be fairy-blessed with beauty and it would not change the fact that she is my foe; the one thing standing between me and my goals.

Oblivious to my wayward and unwanted thoughts, the orcress roasts the rabbits over the fire, when the howling of wolves interrupts the silence. We have occasionally heard howls, not surprisingly, as these woods are famously home of a large werewolf pack, but never so close. Another howl cuts into the air, even closer than before. The orcress stops turning the meat on the spit and turns to the mouth of the cave. We both wait in tense silence, the howls getting closer and closer, and soon the sounds are accompanied by the breaking of undergrowth, closer enough that we can hear it.

“They are coming this way,” I remark, stating the obvious .

“I know,” the orcress replies curtly, her muscles bunching as if preparing for an attack.

Soon there are footsteps outside the cave, heavy on the ground, on the other side of the bushes that hide the entrance. Then a hush falls, everything in stillness.

“We know you’re in there,” comes a man’s voice, breaking the quietude. “Come out so that we may talk.”

I exchange a look with the orcress. “Untie me,” I urge.

Her eyes narrow. “What was that?”

“There are many of them. You heard the howls. You’ll need me at your back.”

“So that you can stick a knife in it and then run away? No,” she replies flatly, then turns back to the mouth of the cave.

Desperately, I argue, “You are a skilled warrior, it is true, but even you cannot fight what sounds like ten werewolves at the same time.”

The voice from outside comes again. “If you do not come out, we will come in.” Though the words sound flippant, the threat is apparent in his voice.

For the first time since I have met her, the orcress seems unsure, indecision in the bearing of her shoulders. She doesn’t know what to do. Finally, she turns back to me. “I will have your oath that you will not betray me, though I know such things do not mean the same to humans as they do to orcs.”

I know why she does not trust me, but it still stings that apparently she believes humans do not have enough honor to keep an oath. But I do not show any offense as I solemnly respond, “My oath, on the love that I have for my sister, that I will not betray you and will fight by your side in this conflict, come what may.”

The orcress hesitates only for another moment before nodding and crouching down to hurriedly undo the knots at my wrists and ankles. If she notices the raw redness on my skin from my earlier efforts, she doesn’t comment on it .

“I do this only because if I have to worry about defending you and fighting at the same time, I will not be able to focus.” Her voice is stern and as she finishes untying me. She gets up, looks down at me, and holds out one of her knives. A sign of trust, more than I could have hoped for. I take it in my grip and stand, feeling a little lightheaded, before following her out of the cave.

Things are as bad as I thought. Perhaps not quite as bad, as we are surrounded by seven, not ten, werewolves but close enough. All but one are in their beast forms, enormous wolves, maybe twice the size of a normal creature, in a myriad of hues. They form a semi-circle around us and in their center is a lean muscular man, standing nude before us, perhaps having just changed from his wolf so that he can talk to us. I grip my knife tighter and get into a ready position, in case talking is just going to lead to fighting. The orcress at my side does the same.

Our readiness to fight does not seem to affect the naked man in any way. He stands calmly, almost carelessly, as if we are no threat. If they attack us, though, they will find out otherwise. The orcress is one of the best I have ever fought and I am the most skilled knight in Adrik. It is not pride saying this, but truth. It is the reason I was chosen as captain of the Blue Guard.

The nude man says, “You are more pathetic than I was picturing. Both of you. You look almost as if you are in as dire straits as we are.”

I am suddenly aware of my bedraggled appearance. I have not properly bathed or shaved in two months and my tunic still has a large hole over my right pectoral where I was stabbed. If my position-minded parents could see me now, they would probably disown me. Not that I would much mind. I have never been close to either. The werewolf’s words also make me notice that where I was thinking he was lean before, I can see his ribs under his muscles and his flat stomach is almost concave. The other wolves, though menacing, also look a few meals short of good health .

The orcress, however, ignores his jab at our appearances and asks, “Why are you here, wolf? We have done nothing to you.”

The other man smiles sharply as he says, “On the contrary, you are in our territory without permission and are hunting on our grounds.” He reaches over to the wolf closest to him and pulls something off its back. It is a rudimentary trap, made of willow rushes and vines. The nude man tosses it onto the ground between us, evidence of our supposed infraction.

The orcress answers easily, “I did not know this was anyone’s territory or that I needed permission to hunt. My mate has been injured, and I have been nursing him back to health. We could not have left if we wanted to.”

It is the first time since that first conversation that she has really referred to me as her mate. I feel a little uncomfortable at the appellation, but know that she is probably only doing so for a tactical advantage. Certainly, for the last few weeks she has not treated me as a mate. But werewolves famously mate for life, much like elves in their belief that everyone is part of a fated pair. She is most likely appealing to their culture as a way of rousing their sympathy. She is a clever warrior.

The man cocks his head and raises a brow. “Mates, eh? I wondered what an orcress was doing with a man in the Deep Wood. You met during the recent conflict?”

Met is putting it strongly. And somehow, not strongly enough. Despite that, I nod, my knife still raised warily. I do not trust this werewolf with his unconcerned air. It could be his way of lulling us into complacency. At any moment, I am expecting an attack. The orcress does the same, not letting the nude man’s conversational tone make her drop her guard.

The man nods his head, but then his eyes intensify, “But see, though I could believe you are mates, even though you both smell nothing like each other, I do not believe that you did not know we were here. We found your trace a month ago, but have just barely found your hideout because you were so good at disguising your scent. Why would you go to that trouble if you weren’t avoiding us?”

“It is second nature to me to disguise my scent,” retorts the orcress. “Do you not also do so when you are hunting? Otherwise, the prey may smell a predator and keep well away.” She glances at me and meets my eyes for a moment before looking back at the wolf leader. “As for why my mate and I do not smell alike, did I not just tell you he has been injured? Close to death. Do you couple with your mate when they are close to dying?” She says the words arrogantly, tossing his arguments back in his face. I almost smile at her belligerence, which closely resembles how she has been treating me recently, although we are outnumbered and it would be unwise to provoke the wolves. She certainly is not low on spirit.

Surprisingly, the man’s smile goes a little more genuine, as if he is enjoying the orcress’ insolence. “So you did,” he replies agreeably. “Be that as it may, you cannot stay here any longer. Resources are scarce and my alpha has commanded that I remove the interlopers. So your choice is to leave or die.”

At this statement, one of the other wolves, a large gray one, growls angrily and suddenly shifts to his human form, also nude. Are we to have a whole semi-circle of nude bodies?

The new man interjects, “The alpha commanded that we kill the interlopers, not let them go. You cannot go around changing orders like that, Cronin.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” chides the first man, Cronin, “the alpha implied that he wanted me to kill the interlopers. He said, remove them, and I can do that without getting my hands dirty. Besides, these are both skilled warriors, or are you too stupid to tell? We have lost enough wolves to attacking the humans and orcs on the alpha’s orders lately. I do not want to lose more.”

“You have recently attacked humans and orcs? Together?” I ask.

Cronin looks at me curiously. “Yes. Our intelligence says that the human kingdom and the orcs have become one. We often see patrols of orcs now on this side of the border.”

So Adrik did lose the war and became a part of Orik. I always thought that is what would happen, even when the war first started. But to hear it from a source that knows for certain . . . it means that even the smallest hope I had of Adalind being alive is gone.

When I don’t respond to Cronin’s words, he claps his hands together and says, “Well, this has been fun, but I do not wish to waste anymore time on you. I give you until sunrise to be gone from our borders or I will return and with enough wolves that there is no way either of you can survive.”

With that, he leans down and shifts into a giant black wolf, bigger than all the others that are around us. The other man follows suit, turning back to the gray wolf. The black wolf howls and with that they turn and run into the woods, leaving me alone again with the orcress.

We both stand, side by side, our backs to the cave for a while longer. Though neither of us says a thing, it is easy to tell that we both do not trust Cronin’s words and are waiting to see if they come back. After such an ultimatum, it wouldn’t be out of the question for them to try a sneak attack. When minutes pass and nothing happens, we both relax at the same time, rising from our crouched and ready positions.

The orcress turns to me and holds out her hand, “Give me back my knife.”

I consider her hand for a moment, each green finger tipped with a black claw, and then step back a few steps.

“I don’t think I will.”

Her eyes narrow, her face contorting into a mask of rage. “Betrayer! You gave me your oath!”

Still stepping back, I put down my hand, holding the knife loosely at my side and say, “I swore to fight beside you in the conflict with the wolves. The wolves are gone. And I am not going to just let you tie me up again.” I keep the knife down so that it is not threatening. I don’t want to goad her into a fight; in fact, I don’t want to hurt her. She saved my life and even though she has been my captor, she has taken care of me, healed me, not tormented me. But I cannot stay with her forever and this is the first chance I’ve had in weeks to escape.

She growls in annoyance. She would almost be cute in her frustration if she weren’t so dangerous. “Human double-talk! This is why you can never trust a human!”

“Then why do you want me as your mate?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“I don’t want you!” she explodes. “I never did!”

Something about her words bothers me, though I do not care to examine what. Instead, I say back calmly, “That can’t be true, or you would have let me die at the fort.”

That brings her up short. Her knife dips slightly and she no longer holding it at me threateningly. Then she lets her hand drop to her side like mine and stands up straight. “Fine,” she says, her voice slightly dull, “I have wanted an Ash’ka all my life and when all I knew about you was that you were a skilled warrior of honor, I let myself believe I wanted you and didn’t want you to die. But now that I know you are only filled with vengeance and spite, with dubious honor at best, I know that fate didn’t reward me with an Ash’ka . It punished me for some crime I have yet to understand!”

I have never been told that my honor was dubious. At best . All my life I have been told I am too serious, too honorable, not good at playing the games of court. I required lessons as a child to even learn how to lie. This is what she thinks of me? I shouldn’t care. She is my enemy and my jailer. But somehow I do. I owe her my life and though she has never spoken of it, I know at least some of what she gave up when she deserted to save me. It was great indeed. And I suppose though we must be enemies, I want her to. . . I don’t know, respect me? See me as a foe worthy of her esteem ?

My feelings make no sense and while I struggle with them, she continues, “I have thought many times of just letting you go. I have no need for an Ash’ka that I must convince to be with me. But if I do, you will go after my king, an orc I respect and admire like no other. And if there is a human alive that could kill Rognar, it is you.”

Rognar? She addresses her king without honorifics? She respects and admires him? Was he her lover in the past? Jealousy, almost out of nowhere, cuts through me, deep as a knife, confusing my feelings further. But I cannot afford to untangle them. I am actually almost afraid of what I may find.

So instead, I change the subject. “You cannot be thinking of tying me up again. The wolf said that we needed to be out of their territory by sunrise. He did not specify what that territory was. If it is the whole Deep Wood, then we will have to set a grueling pace to be clear of it by then. I cannot do so hobbled.”

The orcress shoots me another annoyed look, but then her eyes go considering. “I will not tie you, then. But I will have my knife back, whether you aim to give it to me or not.”

With those words, she darts forward, and I can barely keep her from grabbing the knife. I jump back and hold it high above my head, though she is only a couple of inches smaller than me. She lunges for it and her lithe body comes into contact with mine, every inch of her pushed up against me. She seems to realize this at the same time I do and stops reaching for the knife, locking eyes with me. Her eyes are unreadable and then, without warning, she kisses me.

I have been kissed before. Soft, loving touches, accompanied by soft, loving words. But the orcress is not soft, and she is not loving. She kisses me hard, like she is punishing me or conquering me with her lips alone. I am in shock, but in a moment I am kissing her back. What am I doing? I must be succumbing to some sort of madness, but gods help me, I cannot stop.

We kiss like we are sparring with lips and teeth and tongue. One of her fangs nicks my lip, hard enough to draw blood. This should be enough to dissuade me, but no, the madness in my veins pushes higher. It is as if all of my pain and frustration and losses from the past months are bleeding out of me into this kiss and hers are bleeding out of her in return. My manhood hardens in my trousers and my arms come down to drag the vexing orcress closer.

Then in a moment she is gone, pulled away from me through some mighty effort. We are both panting and looking at each other. Her eyes are dilated with desire and I am sure mine are much the same. Then she smiles at me, a genuine expression I have never seen on her face before. I saw her bloodthirsty smile in the heat of battle, of course, but it was nothing like this. This lights up her every feature. It is full of pleasure and triumph and when she holds up her hands, both her knives are in them. When did she take mine? I was so distracted that I didn't even notice.

“What was that?” I ask, my voice husky and a little breathless.

“That,” she replies, “was me taking what I wanted.”

Her words are maddeningly cryptic. Is she referring to her knife? Or the kiss? I can’t ask without looking weak, without sounding like that kiss meant something. Which it didn’t. It can’t .

The orcress composes herself rather quickly, putting both knives into their sheaths. Then she looks at me and says, “Like I said, I won’t tie you. We need to cover a lot of ground in the hours we have left, but you will follow me all the same.”

“And why is that?” I ask challengingly. “You cannot keep me as a prisoner forever. Someday I will escape and take my revenge. It is only a matter of time.”

“Yes,” she agrees, a little too easily. “I can’t hold you forever and keeping you tied is out of the question. That plan was made in haste and was running its course soon enough, anyway. And obviously your life-debt to me means nothing, or that would already hold you to my side.”

That stings my honor a bit. It is not that my life-debt means nothing, though truly, I was only dying because she stabbed me; it is that the life of my sister means more to me than my own. Her vengeance must take precedence.

She continues, “No, you will stay with me because if you do not, I will hunt down one innocent human each day that you are not by my side and kill them.”

“What?” My blood runs cold, any lingering ardor instantly gone.

“You heard me,” she says, meeting my incredulous gaze with stone-cold eyes. “I will find a human, the more innocent and defenseless the better, and give them a terrible death. And it will be on your head, because you left.”

Could she really do that? I try to think of what I know of the orcress and come up with surprisingly little. I have not been trying to get to know her in these days of captivity; I have been trying to escape. But she keeps speaking of honor and there is no honor in the killing of innocents.

“You’re bluffing,” I declare, watching her face closely.

“Am I?” Not even a twitch.

“Yes. Your honor would not allow you to commit such a heinous crime.”

She looks like she considers that argument and then shrugs. “So you say. But I am also a deserter with nothing left to lose, and an orc besides. Aren’t we all just barbarians?”

Again, I can read nothing on her face. I don't think that orcs are barbarians, though that was how I was raised to think. I came to respect them in battle as we waged war against them. You can tell a lot about an enemy by the way they fight and the orcs never killed or destroyed more than they had to. Their tactics were always clean and straightforward. But then I remember the battle of Fort Attis and the first time I saw the orcress, a vicious smile on her face while she killed a man. Maybe I know nothing about her. Definitely not enough to feel confident in calling her bluff.

“Fine,” I say, my shoulders slumping a little. “I will go with you and I won’t try to run.”

“Excellent,” she says, though her face stays serious. “Now that we have that settled, how about we figure out where we are going next?”