Orcs.
And I know their symbols. They are Stonvein. Ruthless. Merciless.
I motion for Ressa to follow me as I creep toward the sound, using the thick trunks for cover. My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat loud enough that I'm certain they'll hear it. Thesnow muffles our footsteps, but every crack of a twig sounds like a gunshot in the stillness.
We reach the edge of a small depression in the forest floor, and what I see makes my blood turn to ice water in my veins.
Three orcs stand in a rough circle around something—someone—on the ground. The largest is massive even by orc standards, his shoulders broad enough to block out the dying light. His skin is the color of old stone, marked with ritual scars that speak of rank and violence. Beside him, a female orc that I can't really see stands with her back toward us.
And between them, motionless on the snow-covered ground, is Nia.
She's alive—I can see her chest rising and falling in quick, panicked breaths—but something is wrong with the way she lies there. Too still, too compliant. Her eyes are open but vacant, staring at the gray sky above.
The large orc speaks in a low tone I can't hear, gesturing at Nia with movements that are both ceremonial and threatening. The female responds, her voice carrying notes of dark anticipation that make my skin crawl.
The third orc, smaller than the others but no less dangerous, produces something from a leather pouch at his belt. Even from this distance, I can see it glinting in the fading light—a blade with an edge that seems to drink in the shadows.
"What are they doing?" Ressa's whisper is barely audible, her breath warm against my ear.
I don't answer because I don't know, and not knowing terrifies me more than any explanation I might imagine. The orcs begin to move around Nia in a pattern that suggests ritual, purpose. The blade catches what little light remains, and I realize with growing horror that whatever they're planning, it won't end with Nia walking away.
The large orc raises the blade, speaking words that sound like breaking glass and grinding stone. The female circles closer to Nia, her hands moving in complex gestures that seem to pull at the very air around them. I still can't see her face.
That's when Nia screams.
The sound cuts through the forest, raw and desperate and utterly human. It breaks whatever spell of stillness had held her, and she struggles against invisible bonds that keep her pinned to the ground.
Ressa flinches beside me, and I grab her hand to keep her from moving. Every instinct screams at me to run, to grab her and flee back toward the settlement, but my feet might as well be rooted to the frozen earth.
The orc with the blade brings it down.
Nia's scream cuts off with a wet, final sound that will haunt me for the rest of my life, however long that might be. Blood spreads across the snow in a dark stain that looks black in the twilight.
Bile burns the back of my throat. Ressa makes a small, broken sound beside me, her hand squeezing mine with desperate strength.
The orcs continue their ritual over Nia's still form, their voices rising in what sounds almost like celebration. The female orc's hands move faster now, pulling at something invisible above the body. The air itself seems to shimmer and bend around her fingers.
Magic. They're trying to work magic.
Everyone knows the orcs lost their magic when they came to our world, that whatever power they'd once wielded had been stripped away. But here they are, standing over Nia's cooling corpse, attempting to call it back.
"We have to go." My whisper is urgent, desperate. "Now."
But as I start to back away from our hiding place, my boot comes down on a fallen branch hidden beneath the snow. The crack echoes through the forest like a gunshot.
The orcs' heads snap toward our position with predatory precision.
"Run."
The word tears from my throat as I surge to my feet, dragging Ressa with me. The forest explodes into motion behind us as the orcs give chase, their heavy footfalls thundering against the frozen ground.
We sprint through the trees, branches whipping at our faces and snow flying up around our boots. I can hear them gaining on us, their harsh breathing and guttural shouts growing closer with each passing second.
"Split up!" I shout to Ressa over the sound of pursuit. "Meet at the old watchtower!"
She veers left without argument, her red hair disappearing into the deeper shadows between the pines. I cut right, toward the steeper terrain that might give me an advantage. My lungs burn in the cold air, each breath a knife in my chest.
Behind me, I hear the orcs arguing, their pursuit dividing as they debate which of us to follow. Heavy footsteps continue on my trail, at least one of them choosing my path through the trees.
