Honor Among Orcs (Orc Saga) (10 page)

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Authors: Amalia Dillin

Tags: #Romance, #Adult, #Sci-Fi & Fantasy

BOOK: Honor Among Orcs (Orc Saga)
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Arianna propped him up with the barest of grimaces for her own discomfort and fished inside the basket at her hip, drawing out a clean length of fabric. “Hold still for just a moment.”

She slipped the fabric around his chest, tying it tight and close to his ribs, just beneath the knife, then looped it again and made another knot. Her fingers lingered against his skin, warm and gentle.

“You have to live,” she said, lifting her gaze to his. “For your people, if not for me.”

He bared his tusks in a smile. “I am orc, Princess. I will survive.”

She led them through darkened hallways, pressing him into alcoves at the sound of footsteps or voices and leaving him to scout their path. Too slow, he feared. And the longer they remained in the castle, the more likely they were to be caught. But Arianna did not hesitate. Though her hand trembled in his, her steps were sure, and he could do nothing but follow, clutching the wall for support.

“Stay in the shadows,” she said when they passed beneath an arch into open air. The outer gate loomed beyond them and Bolthorn studied the empty space between themselves and the external walls with dismay. Torches spotted the expanse of stone, and though the flames created movement in the shadows, there was not so much as a cart to hide behind.

Arianna flipped up the hood of her cloak and stepped out from the shelter of the inner wall. The main gates were long closed, but Arianna knew of another way out: a hidden tunnel for her father’s paranoia, only large enough for one man at a time to pass. It would be a tight fit, if that were so, and Arianna feared the other end of the tunnel was blocked by stone and earth. Before he had been injured, a little stone and earth had been of no concern. Orcs knew how to dig. Arianna, however, did not, and with her injured shoulder and her bleeding back, he was not certain how much strength she had left to offer. Certainly she was proud enough to press herself too far, but if anything Gunnar had said was true...

He paced silently along the wall, following her toward the pungent scent of manure and horse feed. The stone stables were built against the outer wall, and judging by the crumbling mortar, long before Gunnar took the throne. They had no loft, the stable boys sleeping in a small shed tacked beside the main building, within hearing but separated by thick stone. Arianna spared a glance for the guards walking the battlements and opened the door, waving for him to join her.

Without the walls to support him, he lurched across the open ground, holding his side. Blood leaked from the knife-wound and the bandage beneath was damp with it. Thank the Ancestors Arianna had thought of binding his wound around the blade.

Arianna steadied him against the door. “Here,” she breathed, taking an apple from her basket and pressing it into his hands. “For the horses, if they start. I’m sure they aren’t used to orcs.”

He smiled and shook his head. “You forget I have elf blood, much diluted, but present still.”

Like hers? He was not certain if he believed it or not, but if she was descended from a half-blood, she could hardly have more than a drop of magic in her veins, by now. It had been centuries since the lands were divided, and humans did not even live so long as orcs.

“As you say,” she said, slipping into the dark interior. A horse whickered softly, but she murmured a quiet greeting and it settled. He should have known she frequented the stables. But her easiness with the horses was hardly any kind of proof.

“Princess!” a voice hissed, low. A guard. A guard waiting for them in the stables.

Arianna made a soft noise, and Bolthorn lurched toward her, pulling her back from the glint of chainmail as an arm reached for her from the darkness. He growled, straightening with an effort, as the shadow resolved into a man.

“Wait!” Arianna gasped, one hand clutching his arm, her nails digging into his flesh. “Rodric?”

But the man was staring at Bolthorn, not at her. Sword already drawn and pointed at his heart, tipped pressed hard enough to prick his skin. “Princess, come to me.”

“She comes with me,” he said, though drawing breath at all was troublesome, now. He could inhale only shallowly, and did not dare to pant. To show weakness of any kind, though he surely felt it. His limbs were leaden.

“Put your sword down at once!” Arianna demanded, stepping forward. “What in the name of the Ancestors are you doing here?”

“Isabel feared for you.” The guard’s eyes flickered between them, but the sword did not so much as droop, even if the pressure eased slightly. “I went to Alviss’s rooms, only to find you were not there. No one was. I checked the herb garden, the library, then thought perhaps you’d hidden here...”

Bolthorn bared his teeth, though the stables spun around him. Where had this boy been when Alviss had beaten her? When she had crawled into his mirror to weep? When the king had left her back striped with blood? “Too little, too late.”

“Arianna, what is this?” The guard motioned with his sword, and Bolthorn stiffened.

“You must go, Rodric,” she said. “You must pretend you never saw me. That Alviss is not missing, and I am where I ought to be.”

“That man behind you is a monster,” Rodric said calmly, as if she might not have noticed. “And you cannot think I will let it have you.”

“The king is a monster,” Arianna hissed. “And you did nothing to stop him. Put down your sword and let us go, or I promise you Rodric, you will have killed me more assuredly than if you had run me through.”

“To let him live is a risk, Princess,” Bolthorn grumbled, though in truth he did not know if he had the strength to overcome him. His vision had gone strange around the edges.

“Rodric is my friend. Perhaps the only one we have in my father’s castle. He’s kept my secrets before. I trust him to do so again.”

The guard faltered at that, the sword dipping. “Arianna, please, whatever’s happened—you cannot prefer to risk yourself this way. Think of your sister.”

“Bolthorn saved me,” she said firmly. “I owe him a debt, and I will pay it. If you wish to help, forget you found us at all. Forget all of this. And keep Isabel from calling for a search for as long as you can. Keep Isabel safe, I beg of you. And when there is no more fear of discovery, tell her—tell her I only regret that I could not explain myself, but this was the only way. Tell her I did it for the queen’s sake.”

Rodric studied her for a long moment, but it took all Bolthorn’s will to keep himself from swaying, and the wait stretched interminably. His hands closed into fists. Easier just to snap his neck, as he had the other two, if he could only trust himself to accomplish it swiftly.

At last, the man sheathed his sword. “May the Ancestors save you, Arianna, for the king will not show you any mercy at all, if you are caught. Ancestors spare us all his rage, and you’d better hurry.”

Arianna let out a soft breath. “Thank you, Rodric.”

The guard kept out of reach as he slipped past them, going to the door. “I’ll keep watch.”

Bolthorn hesitated, eyeing him. But Arianna wasted no time, and when he turned his gaze back to her, she was crouching in an empty stall, her hands searching beneath the straw. She grasped something and pulled, struggling against the weight. A panel started to lift, but she dropped it with a thump and a curse that caused the horses to stir.

“Can you help?” she breathed.

Bolthorn lowered himself to his knees beside her. “Where?”

Her hand guided his to a groove in the stone, packed with mud. He grasped it and heaved. The pain in his side nearly caused him to drop it a second time, but Arianna caught it before his fingers slipped, holding it high. Her lips went thin at the exertion and he could only imagine the fire in her shoulder.

“It’s a short drop. No more than a man’s height. Can you manage?”

Bolthorn shook the blackness from his vision and studied the panel. As heavy as it was, she would have no hope of holding it open while she climbed through. At least if it dropped on his fingers, it would be less likely to crush his bones. He braced it and shifted, sitting on the edge with his legs dangling and the panel supported on his shoulder. If it was only a man’s height, he should be able to keep it from crashing shut, too.

“You first.” He offered her his hand. “I’ll lower you down.”

She hesitated, then grasped his hand tightly, still holding the basket in her other hand. The knife bit deeper into his side as he dropped her, and he barely stifled a groan. She was right. He had to pull it out, or risk doing himself even greater harm. Another movement like that might well puncture his lung.

“Your turn,” she called up.

He slithered to the edge and let himself drop. She’d been right about the distance, and his good arm caught the panel before it slammed shut, the weight of it jarring his ribs. He eased it into place, blocking out the last of the light. Not even his orc eyes could see in such complete darkness and he prayed she had been right about Rodric, as well, or they would have arrows in their backs before long. Though with the burning in his side, he was beginning to think it would not be so bad to have another wound to distract him. Arianna’s hand found his, twining their fingers together.

The knife would have to wait.

Bolthorn’s lungs labored hard for such shallow breaths, Arianna thought, her ear pressed against his chest as he leaned upon her. She could just fit beneath his arm, though Bolthorn’s broad shoulders were hunched and his head ducked so as not to brush the roof of the passage. Her gown would be a mess of dirt and mud before they reached the other end, but at least it would hide the fine fabric if they met anyone else on the road.

“It cannot be much farther,” she told him.

He only grunted, as he had to every other assurance she had given him since they had entered the passage. The longer they walked, the more he leaned, and she was beginning to think Bolthorn weighed more than an armored knight.

“Perhaps we should spend the day hidden here,” she said.

“Too dangerous,” he grumbled. “Someone is sure to look. The straw was disturbed, and if anyone noticed your guard outside the stables they will surely suspect the truth of your absence.”

“Only if they know this passage exists.” But even to her own ears, it did not sound convincing. Ragnar knew, certainly, and if he thought Rodric had been part of her escape, he would suffer for it. The thought cut through her heart. After all this, she had put him in danger again, and there would be nothing she could do to save him, now.

Mother, even if I must be cursed, protect him. Protect them all.

“We go on.”

But he was leaning so heavily... “Your side—”

“We go on,” he growled.

And on they went. The only good thing about the tunnel was that it gave Bolthorn plenty to hang onto. If she’d had to support his entire weight, they would not have made it even half so far.

“I’ve no gold,” she said, just to hear something other than the labor of his chest. He all but panted when he spoke, which at least accounted for his grunting. “We’ll have to steal a horse and wagon.”

“Mm.”

She squinted into the black distance. “Is it growing lighter?”

Bolthorn paused, leaning against the wall. He inhaled more deeply than any breath he’d taken yet, and she felt his wince even if he made no sound of discomfort. He sniffed again, more carefully this time.

“Fresh air,” he agreed.

“Maybe it isn’t blocked,” she said, taking his weight again as they moved forward.

She cursed herself for leading them down this path. Weak as he was, Bolthorn would never be able to clear the end of the tunnel. Even walking seemed too great an effort. If she could only remove the knife and bind the wound properly! The headwoman had slipped her a small jar of honey and some herbs for her back. Surely they would serve to help him heal just as well.

Starlight, such as it was, streamed through the pile of rock. Not enough to see more than the end of the tunnel. Bolthorn leaned against the stones and she heard the trip of dislodged pebbles. He leaned again, harder, and more rocks shifted, tumbling down from the top to reveal the last sliver of the moon.

“It will have to do,” he said.

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