“There are no rules save for two,” Brachard bellows. “No intervening by others. No leaving or throwing anything in or out of the circle.”
Both orcs nod once to show they understand, but that’s not enough for my quick-witted godfather. He scowls and turns to the handful of Southpeaks who watch, and waits for their response. Once they nod, he gives the go-ahead and both males drop into a fighting stance.
I’ve been around fighting males. My own clan is known for their skills. But these two… brothers, have utter hatred for each other sparking from their eyes. It’s in every movement of their muscles, it exudes from every pore of their skin.
That alone sets them apart from the usual viciousness of orc fighting. Humans surround us—curious spectators to an orc challenge. Our orcs notice and with a nod from Brachard, several step forward to protect the humans in case anything happens.
My heart pounds. There’s a ratcheted excitement in the air, a power play that no one seems to be aware of but these two.
The brothers have the same moves. Slowly they prance around each other, one striking out just as the other mimics the move. They circle each other, and it seems that the brother is trying hard to get Varguk to strike first.
Why?
Varguk keeps his cool, deflecting for a while. But then, the other grows more vicious, stepping forward with his arm sweeping out suddenly.
With a grunt, Varguk jumps back, avoiding the blade his brother viciously slashes at his midsection.
“Oh, my goodness,” I mutter, staring in awe as the orcs battle, slicing, ripping and trying to shred each other.
The other male grins. “Just making sure you won’t produce any bastards yourself.”
He wasn’t aiming for Varguk’s midsection.
I hear the growl that rumbles in my father’s chest at the dirty blow.
Bakog calls out. “You got this, Var.”
Varguk looks surprised—either because Bakog shortens his name or because he is on his side—and his brother takes that moment to strike again. But Varguk isn’t fazed. He deflects the blade and it flips through the air at the crowd, easily bounced to the ground from kicking off a shield held by one of our guards. The male leans over and steps on the blade with the weight of his foot.
My father’s gaze follows and he catches the eye of Brachard. Ahh, then they’re making the fight more fair since this Varguk doesn’t have weapons.
None of the Southpeaks do… except for his brother. With a sinking feeling, I realize that he had to agree to dump them to attend the mating while the brother did not.
“What’s his name?” I ask under my breath. “The brother.”
But thebiernakhears me.
“Leviton,” he says. “You’ll call me Levi, sweet.”
“Over my dead body,” my father says flatly.
The male grins, distracted for a moment and Varguk’s fist sails into his face. Someone gives a grunt of satisfaction.
Leviton kicks out, catching Varguk in the throat, which stuns Varguk for a moment. He falls backward and Leviton comes at him. But the male is smarter than he pretends because he uses both legs to kick Leviton in the midsection and jumps up. Apparently, Leviton expected Varguk’s reaction to getting kicked in the throat and it makes me wonder if he’s kicked his brother there before.
I wonder if that’s why Varguk’s voice is so deep and raspy, like he speaks through broken glass.
I knew Southpeaks were the stuff of horrors, but then again, the same can be said of my own clan.
My father speaks over my head to Bakog while the fight continues. “Ye gave a boon to one of the leader’s sons?”
“Never introduced himself as one of the line,” Bakog says grimly. “Now I know why. I’m sorry, Negan.”
“No need.” I wave my arm. “So I’ll have a guard. He’ll either die defending me—and the world will be rid of one more Southpeak—or he’ll do a good job and no one will touch me. Either way, we win.”
“What if he tries to steal you himself?” my father grits.
“We all know who to blame if something happens. A son of the royal line. Bastard or not, they’ll find themselves at war for touching one of ours,” Brachard growls.
