Arcturus felt the orc’s fingers around his throat, and suddenly the world was darkening at the corners of his vision, his breath caught in his lungs as the orc’s hold tightened. The dirk fell from his fingers, and he fell limp, held up only by the orc’s grasp.
A dark shape, crashing through the trees. Hot spray across his face, the metal taste of blood on his tongue.
He was falling.
Then nothing.
CHAPTER
30
ARCTURUS OPENED HIS EYES to Sacharissa’s rough tongue licking his cheek. He couldn’t have been out for more than a few moments, for he could still hear the crashing of branches in the distance as the orc horde pushed on through the trees beyond. He sat up, panicked.
Had they heard him?
He was beside the corpse of the male orc, sitting in a spreading pool of blood emanating from its neck. A deep furrow had been slashed across its throat, where Sacharissa must have savaged the beast as it choked the life from him. He had come so close to death.
And for what?
Arcturus turned to see the female orc staring at him, squinting through her swollen eye sockets, as if she found it hard to see. She held his dirk in her hand, and was pointing the weapon at him.
The foolishness of Arcturus’s actions dawned upon him then. This orc was not his friend. She was the enemy. Her entire species was. What madness had possessed him to risk his life for hers?
Yet, the memory of her eyes staring up at him swirled about his head. She had let go of his leg, knowing what fate awaited her beyond. The orc had chosen not to take him with her. Hadn’t she?
“I’m not here to hurt you,” Arcturus said, holding up his hands. Sacharissa growled beside him, lowering her body into a crouch. Her hackles were raised, the mane on her back standing up like a startled street cat’s.
Arcturus tried to calm her with a thought, but the demon’s aggression was up, and he could taste the bull orc’s blood on her tongue through their connection. Instead, he straddled Sacha’s back, forcing her down. As a juvenile Canid, she was still no bigger than an overgrown dog, and she trembled briefly beneath his weight before succumbing and lowering herself to the ground.
The female orc cocked her head to one side, the dirk still extended toward him. She was breathing heavily, as if the very act of being alive exhausted her. Bruises were blooming across her gray skin even as he watched. She had taken a terrible beating—Arcturus doubted any human could have survived what she had endured.
Then he saw it. Her belly had been obscured by the shawl, but now he could see the distended curve of her protruding navel. The orc was pregnant.
“Arcturus, back away slowly so we can get a clear shot,” Rotter’s voice called from the trees. “Three feet should do it, then we’ll have it.”
“Don’t shoot,” Arcturus hissed. “She’s pregnant.”
“So what?” Rotter snarled from the bushes. “She’ll kill you if given half a chance.”
But Arcturus didn’t believe him. In fact, the orc’s arm was trembling now, and she let her hand drop to the ground. For a moment she stared at him. Then she shook her head weakly, and tossed the dirk aside. The orc let herself fall back and gazed up into the canopy.
“Get back,” Rotter said. “It’s a trap.”
“Lower your crossbows,” Arcturus said, staring in the direction of Rotter’s voice. “If she had wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already.”
His group must have circled around, for they were somewhere to his right, hidden in the foliage. Alice was the first to emerge, her crossbow still loaded but aimed at the ground.
“Just leave her,” Edmund’s voice called. “There’s nothing we can do for her.”
But Alice sidled closer, looking down at the bruised and broken figure. As a female orc, the mother-to-be was only six feet or so tall, far less imposing than her male counterparts.
“We can’t just leave her like this,” she said, biting her lip.
Arcturus rolled from Sacharissa’s back and sheathed the dirk in his calf scabbard. As he did so, Elaine came out of the trees, staring at the orc with wide, curious eyes.
“Keep your distance,” Edmund warned, joining them in the clearing. Rotter followed behind, shaking his head with disapproval.
“She’s old for a mother,” Rotter said, hunkering down beside Arcturus and Sacharissa. “You can tell by the size of her tusks; she must be around my age. It won’t be her first child.”
“Does that matter?” Elaine asked.
“No,” Rotter said, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Just an observation.”
“Well, she’s unarmed now,” Arcturus said. “We should at least get her out of this clearing. It’s too exposed.”
“We don’t have the time,” Rotter said. “I understand your sentiments, but they’re not like you and me.”
But Alice had already crept over to the orc, and was gently covering her with the shawl.
Then she took the sword from Rotter’s hand.
“Aye, we should put her out of her misery,” the soldier said. “Let me do it. You’re too young for this.”
But Alice had other plans.
“We can make a stretcher,” she said firmly, striding into the bushes and hacking at the same sapling Arcturus had used as a handhold. “Come on, help me.”
Edmund cursed, but at a warning glance from Alice sheepishly followed her example, wandering into the forest to gather vines.
“This is a bloody bad idea,” Rotter grumbled. But he did nothing to stop them.
Within a few minutes, knotted vines had been stretched between two poles, and the orc, now unconscious, had been rolled onto the rudimentary stretcher.
“What now?” Rotter asked.
“We need to find water,” Arcturus said, swallowing drily. The fight with the orc had sapped him of all his energy, and the inside of his throat felt like sandpaper. The world was already beginning to spin ever so slightly, and their water reserves were now gone, leaving them with empty flasks.
He turned to Sacharissa, who had finally calmed down and was now sniffing curiously at the female orc’s toes. Calling her over with a thought, he looked deep into her larger set of deep blue eyes, and concentrated.
What felt like long ago, but couldn’t be longer than a few weeks, Sacharissa had led him to the Vocans baths using scent alone. Now he sought that same smell, that fresh, clear fragrance of water.
In those first moments Arcturus was overwhelmed. Magnified as the smells were, his mind roiled with a miasma of a thousand things. The scent of the orcs was strongest, a great channel of odor that dominated the space. On top were the sweet notes of fruit and flowers, along with grassy vegetation and the acrid decay of fallen leaves. And yet …
There it was. Not so much a smell as a sound, in the distance. The rush of water, coupled with the faintest hint of moisture.
“Find it, Sacha,” Arcturus whispered, sending her his intentions with a thought.
She pressed her head against his thigh, then pushed past his legs and slipped into the jungle.
“Come on,” Arcturus said, not waiting for them to follow. “There’s water that way.”
CHAPTER
31
WATER.
A river of rushing water, carving its way through the jungle, clear as a mountain stream and wide as a city street. Beneath, Arcturus could see fronds of green, waving as the river ebbed and flowed. Beneath, silver shoals of fish darting back and forth, parting and coming together as long-mouthed river pike swam by.
They did not wait to fill their flasks, but simply buried their faces in its cool shallows, bathing away the sweat and grime and gulping down fresh drafts of clear water until the liquid sloshed in their bellies.
Sacharissa dove in headfirst, splashing happily in a dog paddle and snapping at the flashing scales of the fish that swam around her and nipped at her paws.
Arcturus splashed Sacharissa as she returned to the shallows, and the demon sneezed. She sp
rayed Arcturus back with a flick of her tail, leaving Arcturus spluttering.
He shook his head at the cheeky demon and pulled her close to him, ignoring the smell of wet dog and ruffling her ears.
“Thank you for saving me,” he whispered, looking deep into her eyes. She stared back with a love and devotion that Arcturus knew he did not deserve. Embarrassed, he looked away.
The orc lay motionless where they had dropped her stretcher, her head lolling to the side. Her eyes were now so swollen, it was hard to tell if she was awake or unconscious.
Elaine sat beside the great beast’s head, trickling water into the orc’s mouth from her flask. The orc gulped it all down, and licked her lips as if asking for more.
“She likes it!” Elaine murmured, using some of the excess to wipe away the blood and grime from the orc’s face.
“Aye, and she’d like the flesh from your bones too if she could get at it,” Rotter said, jabbing a finger at the prone figure.
“What do you know anyway?” Alice asked, falling onto her back and clutching at her full stomach. “All you’ve done is fight them. Maybe some of them are peaceful.”
“That’s right,” Arcturus said thoughtfully. “Surely they aren’t born evil. I mean, I saw some of them were prisoners of the others. Young males by the look of them.”
“I’ll tell you what I know,” Rotter growled, standing and stretching his back. “Those orc boys you saw can’t have been older than ten. Orcs mature faster than we do, and get old faster too. If an orc lives to see fifty, they’ve done well.”
He strode over to the orc and hunkered down beside her.
“This one, she’s past her prime. It’s a miracle she’s pregnant at all,” he said, examining her more closely.
Rotter narrowed his eyes and pointed at her stomach, where thick ropy scars surrounded by faded white lines extended horizontally above the skirt.
“Old stretch marks and surgery scars. She must be what we call a brood mare. Forced to have children over and over again. She’s not had a nice life, that’s for sure.”
“Why would they do that to her?” Alice asked, horrified.
“Orc shamans. Their firstborn children are guaranteed to become summoners too, but there’s always a chance that a second or third child will inherit the ability to summon, like Elaine. So they travel from village to village, impregnating vulnerable females. The villagers consider it a duty, but it’s a brutal life for the chosen girl. She must have run away.”
Arcturus could see pity in Rotter’s eyes now, and the soldier sighed and sat back on his heels.
“We’re in a tough spot,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “She needs to be back with her people, but we’d take a big risk heading for a village, if we can find one at all. And who’s to say they won’t finish what they started, as punishment for running away.”
As he spoke, the orc coughed and groaned, reaching blindly. Elaine fell back, with Valens buzzing protectively above her.
Clutching her swollen belly, the orc moaned again. Rotter looked down.
“Oh … damn,” Rotter said. “I think … I think she’s about to…”
His face whitened and he looked around him.
“What do we do?” he said.
“Stand aside,” Alice snapped, rolling up the sleeves of her undershirt. “Elaine, I’m going to need your help.”
“What about us?” Edmund asked.
“Get her to the water,” Alice said, lifting the corner of the stretcher. “It will help with her contractions—she’s probably been having them for a while judging from her moaning. Then keep watch for us. From the looks of this, it isn’t going to be a quiet affair.”
Arcturus hurried to help, and together they managed to maneuver the female orc into a sitting position in the shallows. Her breath was coming thick and fast, and she clutched at Alice’s hand.
Arcturus sensed the world shifting. Gone was the ogreish savage that he had once seen. Now, a mother. Fighting for her life. To think … Rotter had wanted to kill her.
“All right, give her some space,” Alice demanded. “I’m going to guide the head.”
She didn’t need to tell them twice. Arcturus hurried up toward the curve of the river, where fronds from a hanging tree drifted in the water. He tried to focus on the bend of the river, but could not help but listen to the sounds of the labor behind him.
“All right, Elaine, try to keep her calm,” he heard Alice say. “Rub her shoulders, there’s a good girl.”
“How do you know what you’re doing?” Elaine asked.
“I’ve helped deliver a few calves on our estate,” Alice replied. “If we’re lucky, orc labor will be as quick as theirs.”
The orc’s moans became louder. Somehow, the forest had gone completely quiet, but for the soft soughing of the breeze.
“Come on, push now,” Alice called out.
Still the orc moaned.
“You’ve done this before. Push!”
There was a single, drawn-out scream. And then, the coughing cry of a baby, ringing through the air.
“Arcturus, I need your dirk,” Alice called.
He ran back, blade drawn, to where the trio sat in the shallows. For a moment he stood there, confused as to why they needed his blade.
Then he saw the pink, twisted tube of the umbilical cord, and knew what he had to do. It was over in a single slice … and then he was staring into the face of an orc baby.
Its little face was crinkled as it wailed at the light of the world, and Alice held the child closer for Arcturus to see, for the mother was too weak to even lift her arms. It had a small patch of curling hair on its head, and tiny canines protruding from either side of its mouth.
But for all these details, there was one that stood out to Arcturus the most.
The orc was white. Even its hair was colorless, and its wide eyes were tinged a pink red. He held out a finger, and the baby reached out its hand, taking his finger with surprising force.
“What’s—” Arcturus began.
But a shout to his right interrupted him.
“Quickly, into the bushes,” Rotter hissed from upriver, sprinting toward them.
For a panic-stricken moment, Alice and Arcturus stared at each other. The orc was too heavy to move, and Edmund, Elaine and Rotter were already diving into the undergrowth. Sacharissa tugged at Arcturus’s wrist, her nostrils filled with a strange, fishy scent.
Then they were running, baby in tow, leaving the exhausted orc sitting in the shallows. What else could they do?
They were not a moment too soon. For within seconds of reaching the safety of the trees, a flotilla came around the bend, the likes of which Arcturus had never seen.
The scrawny creatures within the vessels were short, coming no higher than Arcturus’s knee, with bulbous eyes, floppy, webbed ears and long noses and fingers. They wore little more than ragged loincloths, and clutched barbed spears in their hands.
They were floating in what looked to Arcturus like large, upturned bowls of varying sizes. Every few seconds, one of the creatures would plunge deep into the water, then clamber back out, like seagulls diving for food. With each jump, they would emerge with silver fish, spitted on the end of their weapons.
“Gremlins,” Rotter whispered.
Even as Rotter spoke, the gremlins screeched at the sight of the orc, her body motionless in the shallows but for the loose braid of her hair drifting in the water.
“They hate orcs,” Rotter said, a grim look on his face. “The orcs’ve been enslaving ’em for centuries. These look like wild ’uns though.”
Indeed, the flotilla had stopped, the gremlins back-paddling with their tiny oars to keep the coracles in place against the currents.
“We have to do something,” Alice hissed. “They’re going to kill her.”
Yet, it did not seem that way to Arcturus. Though they held their spears pointed at the orc, the gremlins were maneuvering a much larger version of their vessels down the river toward her. What
were they doing?
He watched on as the strange little creatures began to tug ropes from within their boats, swinging them around their heads to lasso the orc where she sat. She moaned as the ropes were tightened, much to the excitement of the gremlins, but still she remained immobile, unable to summon the strength to escape.
Soon she was festooned with cordage, her arms strapped tightly to her sides. It appeared they didn’t want to hurt her—but they did want to capture her.
Arcturus unslung his crossbow, unsure what to do. There were as many as a hundred gremlins crouched warily in their boats, their large eyes scanning the surroundings for danger. They were so small … perhaps he and his friends could take them.
“Don’t.” Rotter grasped his arm with an iron grip. “There are too many.”
“Are we supposed to just let them take her?” Arcturus asked. He had risked his life for her, mad though it had been.
“The baby’s safe,” Edmund whispered. “Maybe it’s better this way … there’s not much we could do for her anyway, the state she’s in. Looks like they want her alive.”
“Her baby,” Elaine gasped. “We can’t take her baby!”
Arcturus looked down at the pale child in Alice’s arms, where it stared back at him silently. He thanked the heavens that it had gone silent—Rotter was right. Fighting the gremlins would be suicide—there were too many of them.
“I have to give the baby to her,” Alice muttered, but Edmund gripped her knee, holding her down.
“Would you condemn it to a life of slavery too?” he asked. “Even if they don’t kill you on sight … that’s the fate that awaits it.”
“I…,” Alice began.
But it was too late. The female orc had been tipped into the wide vessel, sprawled among a bloody pile of silver fish.
Then, with strange, fluting cries that reminded Arcturus of tropical birds, the gremlins slipped away down the stream, their armada hurried along by the rowers within. There was no more fishing now, and the gremlins seemed to be cheering, stabbing their spears into the air.