He’d shot a dark, baleful look toward Ulfarr, whose heavy jaw was very set, his hand visibly tense on Sune’s shoulder. And Killik had glanced back too, his breath exhaling, his shoulder giving a slow, rolling shrug. “Ach, we all ken Ulfarr is not faultless,” he said flatly. “But he now seeks in earnest to make amends for his past wrongs. And I ken” — he looked down his nose toward Kesst — “keeping you alive was not one of these.”
But Kesst was shaking his head, barking a sharp, shrill laugh, and suddenly Rathgarr was laughing too, the sound not unlike Kesst’s, but richer and deeper. “Ach, Ulfarr seeks to makeamends,” he drawled. “And we ought to trust youSkaito watch over this.”
At that, Killik’s expression had hardened, and he tossed his scimitar to the other hand. “Ach, you ought,” he said, his voice very cold now. “Our Enforcer Simon is the strongest orc in this mountain, and our Right Hand Drafli is mated to our best nose, and has the ear of the captain each day. If there isone scent wrong, they shall know this, and the transgressor shall be punished. Why do you ken” — he stepped forward, glaring at Kesst and Rathgarr — “none of the other Skai who made this vow to your mother now live? Because weEnforcedthem, for all their sins against our kin!”
No one spoke, and Killik glared between Kesst and Rathgarr, and jabbed his scimitar-tip toward Ulfarr’s chest. “Ulfarr’s sins were far less than theirs,” he continued, “but do you ken he has been spared in this? Do you ken he can spawn sons of his own blood now? Do you ken he should have been granted leave to raise Sune, without me as his keeper?!”
Killik was spitting out the words by the end, showing more emotion than Geva had ever seen from him. And blinking at them, and at Sune, who was still clinging to Ulfarr with visceral fear in his wide dark eyes, it was as though something suddenly snapped to life inside Geva, shaking her awake again. There were children here, damn it, children she was responsible for — and she lurched forward, her hands up, her breaths still heaving in unsteady gulps.
“Look, can’t we just — put the weapons down, and have a reasonable conversation about all this?” she said, her voice wavering. “Perhaps we can all agree that the people most at fault for this mess aren’t actually here?”
She was vaguely surprised to see Rathgarr following her gaze toward Sune, and slightly lowering his sword — but behind him, Kesst was still glaring at Killik, who was curling his lip in return. “Not yet,” Killik replied sharply. “I am weary of you Ash-Kai casting blame and slander upon the Skai, and then standing there sly and silent whilst we suffer for this. So” — he smiled, vicious and deadly — “which of you wishes to tell the rest of this tale?”
He was pointing his scimitar straight out now, swinging it back and forth between Kesst, and Rathgarr, and… Geva. Catching her breath cold in her already-frozen body, her eyes blinking uneasily at his cruel, smiling face.
“None of you?” Killik said, as he swung his sword back toward Rathgarr and Kesst — toward where Rathgarr was frowning, and Kesst was suddenly looking pale again, and rather tight around the mouth.
“Ach, then,” Killik said smoothly, with a dangerous flash in his eyes. “Even the telling of this tale shall fall upon us, keeping in true Ash-Kai manner. Let us begin at the start, ach?”
44
Killik’s tale began with an orc in love.
His name was Reykur, and he was a proud, powerful warrior, with a fair face and a silver tongue. He was born from a long, esteemed line of Ash-Kai, many of them bearing the great gifts of farsight, galdr-spinning, and healing, and his family’s wealth rivalled that of the greatest human lords in the realm.
And for his mate, Reykur had set his heart upon a merchant’s daughter named Katya. A beautiful, ambitious woman who refused to be wooed by an orc… at least, until she learned of Reykur’s grand, glittering hoard. And in true Ash-Kai fashion, Reykur stole her away, drew out her hunger, and swore his vows, all in one night.
But it was an ill-fated match, for Katya’s affections were fixed upon Reykur’s hoard, rather than on Reykur himself. She disdained his loves of good food, pleasure, brawling, and brotherhood, and she scorned his skill as a warrior, and his unthinking loyalty to his cruel Ash-Kai captain. A captain who sent him out again and again to lead raids and battles against the humans, until Reykur’s wounds began to wear upon not only his body, but his mind.
This left Katya even more discontented than before, trapped in a mountain with hordes of orcs, and now having borne her first son, a hale, strapping orcling named Rathgarr. He was a son much like Reykur himself, and Reykur doted his deepest affections upon him, having long since lost all love for his cold, unhappy mate.
As Reykur’s battle-wounds grew, so did Katya’s discontent — most of all when her womb was once again filled with child. But when the second son was birthed, he was a clever, beautiful child, and he eagerly clung to Katya, and soon earned her affections in return. And as her second son grew, Katya saw his many gifts, and the deep power that lay within them. The power not only to lead, but to gain Reykur’s hoard itself.
Thus, Katya found a new aim, one she embraced with wholehearted zeal. When she began to draw the eye of the cruel Captain of Orc Mountain, she did not seek to escape, or gain refuge at Reykur’s side. Instead, she welcomed the captain’s cruelties, and looked away as her mate grieved in shame, and his mind began to fall fully into darkness.
Katya did not mourn her mate, but instead plotted and preened, and eased ever closer to the power she wished to wield. A power that was often grim and heavy to bear, so Katya often prevailed upon her youngest son to serve and comfort her, to grant her succour and peace and relief.
But amidst all this, without their forebears following this, the two sons had found one another. The elder son now fulfilling what Reykur had once done, feeding and clothing and caring for his brother, while the younger freely offered his gifts, his devotion, and his loyalty. And as their captain’s cruelties grew and festered, the elder guarded the younger, keeping him safe from the ever-encroaching darkness, until the darkness came too close, and the elder sought to take his mother and brother away.
But this ran counter to Katya’s aims, and all her careful plans. And when Rathgarr pushed this, again and again and again, she girded herself with gifts and vows and freedoms from the cruel captain who shared her bed, and began to plot against her son. First hiring the Ka-esh to make a safe, secret place to hide Reykur’s hoard, and then moving it there, piece by piece, with help from the Skai her captain had gifted her. Doing this with such care and leisure that Reykur, now bound deep in his darkness, did not note its loss.
Emboldened, Katya then turned her eye to other orcs, and other hoards, within the mountain, pilfering their wealth as her own. And when these losses were marked, the blame fell only upon the captain, who had only grown in his cruelty and his greed, and cared not for the complaints of his kin.
But as the years passed, Katya’s son Rathgarr remained her greatest fear, and her greatest foe. Not only prodding her upon her second son’s safety again and again, but he had also begun to ask after the hoard. After the wealth he knew ought to one day belong to him, and his brother.
So Katya made another plot, for her second son’s gain. She would wield her faithful Skai servants, locking them into the vows they so fiercely revered, to send Rathgarr away, and ensure he never returned. She would do all within her power to break the two sons apart, and destroy their bond with betrayal and grief.
And she would keep the hoard hidden, and her second son safe and close to power. So that he might gain his birthright, and wield it, when the time was right.
“But then, mayhap, the gods saw this great wrong,” Killik’s voice continued, in his smooth, easy cadence. “They brought sickness upon Katya, and then her doom. And the same vows that bound her Skai also bound them from speaking this truth to her second son, even as they carried out her wishes, well beyond her death. But they oft wondered” — Killik’s voice lowered — “if the second son already knew. If he was only waiting, as his mother wished, until the time was right.”
Killik stopped speaking there, his eyes now narrowing toward Kesst. While the room seemed to ring with a loud, quivering silence, echoing with Killik’s question, his implication. Had Kesst known his mother’s awful plans? Had he only been waiting, until the time was right?
Geva was staring at Kesst too, and so was Rathgarr, and every other orc in the room. Looking at how Kesst’s face had gone even paler than before, his mouth very thin, as his throat bobbed, again, again.
“I didn’t know Mother’s plans,” he whispered, his eyes too bright on Rathgarr’s face. “At least — not at first. I knew she was involved with the hoard, and with Kaugir, and the Skai. I knew she liked it down here in the Ka-esh wing, and maybe even that there was something odd going on with the Ka-esh. But she never once came out and said, and after she died, and Rath left, I never even thought of the hoard again.”
There was a distinct scoffing sound from Killik, but Kesst shook his head, his fingers rubbing at his eyes. “I couldn’t bear to think of you, Rath,” he whispered. “Or Mother, or any of it. Ever. And if someone had asked me what happened to the hoard, I suppose I’d have said you probably took it, or Father wasted it, or Kaugir stole it, like Grim said. Either way” — he gulped down a breath — “what good would it have done me, here alone in this mess? What would have kept any of these bastards from just taking it from me, like they took everything else?”
