By afternoon? That soon? A cold chill rippled up Geva’s back, but she made herself smile again, and silently followed him downstairs, and out into the bright morning sunlight.
But she couldn’t seem to shake the strange, stilted feeling in her chest, the tension coiling in the air, the unfamiliar weight of that beautiful ring on her finger. And it was only after they’d passed several staring, gossiping passersby that she even remembered to clutch at Rathgarr’s arm, and resume her usual friendly display, though it too felt forced, heavy, tense.
And beneath her hand, Rathgarr felt unnaturally stiff too, his eyes held straight ahead, his steps steady and deliberate. And the further they walked, the slower his steps became, until they’d crested over a hill, and —
And there it was. Orc Mountain. A huge, hulking mass of craggy grey stone, looming over the surrounding hills, and streaming multiple plumes of thick black smoke into the sky. And as he stared toward it, Rathgarr’s face had begun to look markedly ashen, his throat bobbing, his hand clutching the sword-hilt at his side.
“Oh,” Geva heard herself say, her own hand gripping far too tightly at his bicep. “So that’s it, is it?”
Rathgarr barked a harsh, humourless laugh, his steps faltering to a halt beside her. “Ach,” he said. “That is it.”
He clearly wasn’t inclined to continue, and Geva shot him a searching, sidelong look, even as her heartbeat kept rising, her hands clammy and cold, her breaths ever shallower in her throat. He’d sworn she’d be safe there. One month, and then the sea. One month.
“Is there anything I really should know about it?” she made herself ask, glancing again at his hard, bleak face. “Anything you would have told me, if I truly was your real… mate?”
Gods, she could barely say the damned word, and in reply Rathgarr winced, his eyes still fixed to the sight of it looming ahead. “It is… very large,” he replied, his voice wooden, as he jerked to a walk again. “With many rooms and tunnels, both above ground and below.”
Geva swallowed, but she nodded and kept pace with him, angling him another sidelong look. “And how many people live there?” she asked, as carefully as she could. “And is it all orcs, or are there some women, too? Or children?”
“Hundreds of orcs still live there, I ken,” Rathgarr replied, still without inflection. “And some humans now also, Killik says, and a few orclings.”
Geva couldn’t deny a small twinge of curiosity at that — she’d never seen an orc child before — and it was enough to bring up another question, and then another. And thankfully Rathgarr just kept answering, all in that same empty voice, even as that massive smoking mountain loomed closer, and closer, and closer.
And though Geva had been trying to keep an open mind about Orc Mountain — she’d sworn to live there for an entire month, after all — she had to admit that it didn’t sound even slightly appealing. It sounded dark, and damp, and dreary, with mazes of convoluted corridors, no actual lighting or provisions for humans, and an alarming amount of quarrelling, brawling, and backstabbing between the five different orc clans.
Her unease kept growing as Rathgarr spoke, gnawing deep in her chest, until she couldn’t seem to ask any more questions at all. And then it was just walking, and walking, and walking, down a road that had now gone entirely empty, but for them.
“I scent —” Rathgarr finally said, his voice thin and strained, as he roughly brushed back his hair, and tugged awkwardly at his cloak. And despite Geva’s quivering heartbeat, she pulled him to a halt, and turned him to face her. And then she straightened out his cloak with shaky hands, making sure it fell in even, heavy folds around his broad shoulders. And then did the same with his hair, smoothing it back neat and straight.
“You look perfect,” she managed, her eyes searching his wan face. “I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see you.”
But Rathgarr didn’t reply, and he didn’t move, either. Just standing there, his big body so taut and tense, his hand once again clenched to his sword-hilt. And when Geva risked another glance at his eyes, they looked upset, unnerved, unnatural. Almost… afraid.
“Poppet,” he whispered. “I ought — ought to tell you, I —”
Geva’s own fear kicked in her chest, her breath inhaling sharp. There was something else he hadn’t told her? Something important, surely, something dangerous, something that could changeeverything—
But just then, two unfamiliar orcs stalked around the corner up ahead. Two huge, hulking orcs, both bare-chested and bulging with muscle, with gleaming steel swords strapped to their sides.
And with a carrying, terrifying shout, the orcs kicked off, and sprinted straight toward them.
18
It took all Geva’s willpower not to whirl around, and run. To run, and run, and run, until Orc Mountain was a dim, distant, meaningless memory, never to rise again.
But she managed to hold herself braced and still, her teeth gritted, her heartbeat wailing in her chest. Waiting, and waiting, as the two attacking orcs pounded closer and closer, their eyes blazing, their black braids streaking out behind them. Their huge bodies rushing straight toward Rathgarr, and…
Embracinghim?
Geva choked on her breath, her mouth dropping open, her feet staggering beneath her. Yes, these two terrifying orcs were both piling onto Rathgarr at once, speaking loudly and rapidly in the orcs’ language. Or, rather, one of the orcs — the smaller of the two — was speaking, while the other bigger orc hadn’t yet said a word. Instead, his eyes had squeezed shut, his huge fist thumping Rathgarr’s back again and again.
And to Geva’s continued astonishment, Rathgarr was actuallylaughing, his arms fervently yanking the two orcs even closer. “Ach, ach, my brothers,” he said, with surprising warmth in his voice, in his shining, crinkling eyes. “Ach, it is sogoodto scent you both. Though Sig, I can scarcely breathe thus! How is it that you are evenmoreof a boulder than before?!”
The bigger orc drew slightly away, a wide smile on his sharp-toothed mouth, and Geva realized that he was indeed even larger than Rathgarr. His huge sloped shoulders were packed with muscle, his broad chest a solid-looking wall of strength, his blunt features heavily marked by scars. While the smaller orc, though still scarred and muscular, bore a leaner build, his face slimmer and more delicate, and remarkably handsome, too.
“And look at you, Abjorn!” Rathgarr said with a grin, clutching both his hands to the smaller orc’s shoulders. “I should never have placed you, but for your scent. A born warrior if ever I saw one, ach?”
The orc’s cheeks visibly reddened, and he flashed a swift, stunning smile up at Rathgarr’s face. “Ach, you ken?” he asked, now speaking in the common tongue, though it was heavily accented. “I have trained and fought much these past years, and oft with the Skai and Bautul also! Though I have nursed many grievous wounds, and thus wasted far too many days in the sickroom. And” — his smile went a little wry — “it is only the gods’ own luck that the Ka-esh have not yet disowned me, you ken?”
