Honor Among Orcs (Orc Saga) (25 page)

“And isn’t it time the lot of you came to terms with it? All this talk of redemption, of honoring half-blood children, why can you not see that you’ve already redeemed yourselves? The moment you were capable of love again, elf, orc, or human, and don’t let that hogwash Vanadis started convince you otherwise, now you’ve seen what she really is. It wasn’t Sinmarra’s power alone that made you orc. Even she couldn’t have accomplished the half of it if it hadn’t been the will of the Ancestors, and all the Vidthursar do is spit in their eyes, begging for half-blood brats to join them.”

“Is that what you think of your own son?” Bolthorn bit back a snarl, but only just. “Of Bestla who loved you?”

“Of course not.” He jabbed at him with his stick, striking him square between the ribs where his wound had been. “She was Hrimthursar, body and blood. Just like you, Hrim-Gothi, with your human wife. But you weren’t lurking around Gautar waiting for Vanadis to hand her to you, either, hoping she’d thin your good orc blood. Redemption through the elves, indeed! Better off without us, if you ask me. Arianna has the right of it in that, you don’t believe me ask
her
what she thinks. Good sense, that girl has, and that’s worth a lot more than a little elf blood.”

He bared his tusks. “And how do you know it wasn’t all Vanadis start to finish?”

“Oh, it was the witch to start, all right,” Fossegrim said grimly. “You just had more sense than to play her game when it came down to it. And if I could just think what she might have gained by your loss…” He sighed, his gaze going back to the window. “Well, I’ll just have to ask, that’s all, and hope she still thinks she has something to prove. If the Ancestors smile, she’ll be so foolish as to rub it in my face, and then we’ll know exactly which way to jump, eh?”

How much he must wish for it to be so simple. Not that Bolthorn didn’t, too, but Fossegrim had spent a long life struggling to place his people on the right path, to give them freedom without fear, and build peace out of loss. That Vanadis might threaten it, after everything he had done, and now, when he had no power to stop it. Fossegrim had only the orcs to aid him, now. Only the Hrimthursar who would serve him. And what could the Hrimthursar do against the elves?

“Whatever must be done, the Hrimthursar do not forget what they owe to Old Nykur, and I do not forget the blood we share.”

Fossegrim’s lips twitched and he jerked his chin toward the bedroom. “Go to your wife, boy. She won’t like to wake alone.”

Bolthorn didn’t bother to finish the stew, every bite had been more bitter than the last.

She sat beneath the unshuttered window, knotting and reknotting the bit of line Fossegrim had shared with her until her eyes crossed. Bolthorn made a low noise of amusement, leaning back in the chair, his eyes narrowed as he watched her. He’d chosen his seat carefully, his back to the wall, the window over his shoulder, that anyone looking in might not see him, and she, in need of the light and his instruction, had settled into his lap. Her skirt neatly obstructed the sight of his legs, notably more muscled than any elf’s, though it did absolutely nothing to hide his green-grey hand on her thigh. Not that she was complaining.

“What did I do wrong now?” she asked.

He slipped his finger through the noose she’d made, and tugged gently. The knot unraveled instead of tightening, and she sighed.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” He twisted the line slowly, showing her the knot again. “What did your father teach you, if not to hunt and trap?”

“Hm.” She could almost think of the king without a pang of guilt. That part of her life seemed years away now, sitting across Bolthorn’s lap in an old elf’s burrow. Almost as if someone else had lived it. Her father. She couldn’t bring herself think of him that way, his daughter or not. “Strictly speaking, my father didn’t teach us much more than simple obedience. We had tutors for reading and writing, and my mother taught us mending and embroidery at her knee. And horseback riding, though we were forbidden from riding astride, of course.”

“Which stopped you, I’m sure,” Bolthorn said. She didn’t have to look up to know he was smiling.

“Well you can’t ride very fast sidesaddle without someone to hang onto, and
that
would never have been permitted unless I rode with my brothers, who wanted nothing to do with me once they got old enough for real horses.” She knotted the line and slipped it around Bolthorn’s finger. He pulled and it tightened, just as it should. “There!”

Fossegrim laughed. “And the horses they rode when they were younger weren’t real?”

“Ponies at first, then smaller breeds still until they were squired. The king gave them a pair of black destriers for the occasion, sired by his own stallion. They had miserable tempers, but it just wasn’t done for warhorses to be ridden by girls, even if they had been placid as lambs.” She glanced up at Fossegrim. “Do the elves have horses? I haven’t seen any since I crossed the mountain.”

“Not many in Tiveden, but in Nericia and Vindblainn they’re common enough. The elves here prefer the trees, as you’ve seen, and of course the Vala have no need. Taking a horse through the mountain is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“What about the orcs?”

Bolthorn stiffened behind her, and she glanced back to see his head turned toward the window. She reached up and closed the shutter gently, even while Fossegrim answered with a longwinded commentary on sure-footed ponies, though she couldn’t focus on much of it. He had already risen from his seat, stick at hand, and moved toward the door. Bolthorn slid her from his lap and disappeared soundlessly into the bedroom. The curtain didn’t so much as sway after he had passed.

Arianna began twisting the line into knots again. Hjalli, or Asvi, or Vanadis. And if Vanadis did come, what then? Fossegrim hadn’t been all that clear about his plans, and Bolthorn had only pressed his lips together and muttered something about umber to paint her face.

“How would you like to ride a brook horse, Princess?”

She blinked at the question. Fossegrim leaned on his stick, half-turned to face her, and handily filled the only path from the door to where she sat.

“I thought they were just stories.”

“It would be a rather impressive trick then, wouldn’t it, to summon one from the river, eh? Just imagine what your people would think of it if they saw. And impossible to steal, once you’ve bonded with it. All you need is a bit of water nearby and it will come to your call. Anyone else who tried to ride it would be drowned, of course, but that’s part of the appeal, isn’t it?”

“I hadn’t really considered…” She glanced toward the curtained bedroom, but of course Bolthorn was still hidden. “Wouldn’t it try to drown me, too?”

“A pretty girl like you?” A shower of needles pattered over the roof. Fossegrim grunted and banged his stick against the ceiling. “Is that you again, Hjalli? I thought I made myself clear yesterday. The girl is my guest until she chooses otherwise! Keep this up and she’ll have nothing to do with you at all. By the Ancestors, boy! Haven’t you any idea how to treat a woman? Human, orc, or elf, you can’t go about smothering her!”

He grumbled for a moment, hobbling to the door and sticking his head out. “Ah.” He jerked his head back and opened the door wide, still blocking Arianna’s view. “Forgive me Asvi. It’s only you. Come in, I suppose, if you must, though I’ll tell you what I told that fool elf of a husband yesterday. The girl is welcome to stay here as long as she likes, and I’ll not have anyone telling her otherwise. I rather like her, you see.”

Fossegrim made a show of limping to his chair, leaving Asvi standing in the doorway, her nose wrinkled with distaste. Somehow, she was still startlingly beautiful, even making such a face. Arianna looked away, her stomach twisting into worse knots than the line.

“Of course, yes, well, we weren’t expecting company, so it isn’t my fault if you can’t find anywhere to sit.” Fossegrim settled in his seat, his stick between his knees. “Arianna’s promised to help clean the place up a bit, since I’ve been so kind to her, so you’ll at least have to wait until she’s managed that. But what’s this I hear about teaching her magic? You can’t expect Hjalli to have the patience for that, and you’re certainly no teacher for the slow—no offense, Princess.”

“I can certainly see why you’d want to keep her to clean.” Asvi picked her way to the table, studying the mess of line, netting, hooks, and contraptions Arianna hadn’t even bothered to ask about. “Why don’t you just set traps instead of wasting all your time on the river?”

Fossegrim sniffed. “That’s the trouble with you young elves, you haven’t the patience to do anything that takes a little more time. Traps, indeed! No sport in that at all. Besides which, Arianna’s never fished a day in her life. Imagine sending her back into the wilderness without any means to feed herself. Magic is all well and good, but how is she going to raise an army half-starved?”

“They’re just humans, Nykur. And really, we wouldn’t have to bother with her at all if that orc hadn’t made such a mess of things, bringing her over the mountain.” Arianna stiffened, biting her tongue on a less than kind response, and Asvi glanced up at her, her expression cool. “I don’t know what Mother was thinking when she sent that Hrimthursar.”

“Mm,” Fossegrim fiddled with his pipe. “And who would you have sent in his place?”

“Anyone could see that a Vidthursar would make a better emissary if she wanted peace. Those high mountain orcs are nothing but brutes, all muscle and no thought at all.”

“Have you ever even met one?” Arianna asked. “You and Hjalli! You don’t know the first thing about the orcs, and certainly you never met Bolthorn or you’d never say such a thing.”

Asvi sighed, but her eyes flicked to Fossegrim. “Forgive me, Princess. I meant no insult, of course. But you’ll forgive me for thinking I know a bit more about this side of the mountain than you do, having lived here since before there
were
orcs.”

“Well, now.” Fossegrim leaned back in his chair, his lips curving. “That’s certainly no way to win back the company of your charge. What exactly do you elves plan to do with her once you’ve made her queen, if you send her off bristling?”

“Nothing at all,” Asvi said. “Thank the Ancestors, Mother’s little experiment is obviously a failure. There clearly isn’t any reason to pursue this foolish peace that Hrim-Gothi was so intent on, especially now that he’s gotten himself killed by it.”

Arianna flushed, but turned her face away, not trusting herself even to open her mouth. The way Asvi talked about Bolthorn as if he were dirt beneath her boot. As if his life didn’t mean anything, but for the inconvenience he’d brought back with him. Bolthorn, who had more honor in his little finger than Vanadis, Asvi, and Hjalli all put together!

“Mm.” Fossegrim levered himself up out of his chair, leaning heavily on his stick. “Perhaps we’d best continue this outside, eh? The poor girl looks like she’s going to cry again and it seems to me she’s been through quite enough already without more weeping.” He herded Asvi toward the door by nudging at her boots with his stick. “And then you can tell me all about your mother’s little experiment, if you don’t mind. It sounds fascinating. I don’t get much news these days, you know.”

Asvi hesitated for a moment, backing out the door. “But the princess—?”

“I won’t have you fool elves coming around here and upsetting her. No wonder she ran off on you.” And then they were both outside, Fossegrim shutting the door behind him, muffling the rest of his words

Arianna went to the window, watching them disappear between the trees through a crack in the shutter. It wasn’t until Bolthorn’s hand settled warm at her waist that she realized he’d come out again. She turned toward him, opening her mouth, but he pressed his finger to her lips with a slight shake of his head.

She sighed and only hid her face against his chest instead. “I hate them,” she murmured against the tunic he wore.

He stroked her hair, holding her close, and said nothing. But what could he have said, even if Asvi wouldn’t hear? The orcs still dreamed of becoming elves again, she knew, of returning home.

Bolthorn could never be so cruel, she thought. Even if the orcs were healed of tusks and green-grey skin, as beautiful and shining as their cousins, they would never be elves.

They were too good to be elves.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Fossegrim came back some time later, after Arianna had finally dozed off, her head pillowed on Bolthorn’s shoulder. He listened to the tap of Fossegrim’s stick, and the quiet latch of the door, and the sound of Asvi’s passage through the branches above. There was no point in leaving Arianna until the elf was well on her way, Fossegrim wouldn’t be able to tell him anything until then.

“Vidthursar as emissaries, indeed,” Fossegrim grumbled from the other room. No doubt for Bolthorn’s benefit. “If she’d really wanted peace, she would have gone herself, or sent some other elf. One look at someone like Asvi, and their king would have fallen to his knees.”

Bolthorn limited his opinion to a soft snort. What Gunnar would or would not have done with an elf, he did not want to imagine. A touch of the lash and an elf like Asvi would have given him anything he wanted, thinking nothing of a few spells in exchange for escape. Gunnar would have enslaved his people before they were through.

“Well, he would have been much more interested in negotiating, at least,” Fossegrim groused. The chair creaked and the old elf sighed. “It sounds more and more to me as though Vanadis was never looking for peace to begin with.”

The last rustle of needles and branches had faded, and Bolthorn heard no trace of any heartbeat but Fossegrim’s, Arianna’s, and his own. He glanced at her face to find her eyes open, though when she had woken, he wasn’t sure. He kissed her forehead to smooth the creases from it.

“What would the king have done with an elf?” he asked her.

“Everything.”

He grunted, slipping out from beneath her to rise. “What would the rest of your people make of it?”

“I don’t know.” She sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I don’t even know what they would have made of me. I don’t have to go back, still, do I? If the passage is sealed and there wasn’t ever any war?”

“Certainly not!” Fossegrim called from the other room. “I should think that was already apparent. If there is one thing elves and orcs can agree upon, it is the right to freedom. Vanadis has overstepped herself in that regard, even if the Vidthursar have not quite realized it. No matter what threat loomed, you should have been left to stay there the moment you expressed the desire. I would have sent you back when you arrived at my door if Bolthorn hadn’t come first. I suppose I can’t very well send you off without him, now. Where is that brother of yours, boy?”

Arianna smiled, looking up at him from the blankets on the floor, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “Is it just habit, do you suppose, or has he always been this way?”

“As long as I can remember,” he told her, pulling his tunic over his head. “But I can’t imagine he behaved so strangely when he was regent.”

“Twice as strangely,” Fossegrim called. “Now, would the two of you make yourselves decent and join me, or am I going to spend the rest of your stay talking to a curtain?”

“Forgive me, Grandfather Fossegrim,” Arianna said solemnly. “We’ll be right out, of course.”

She reached for his hand and he pulled her easily to her feet and into his arms. He kissed her neck and she muffled a giggle against his shoulder. He had never seen her so happy, so lovely, her joy spilling into him like waves against the shore. He had never heard her giggle, either, but the sound of it made him smile. At least he had given her this, if nothing else.

Perhaps it might even last. He hoped it would, and he prayed to the Ancestors for more.

Whatever Fossegrim and Asvi had discussed, they were left alone for several days. Bolthorn did not hear so much as a rustle of needles from a passing squirrel, but Fossegrim did not seem relieved, a scowl etching itself deeper and deeper into the lines of his face with each day they did not hear from Bolvarr or Vanadis. He went out to the river every morning and every afternoon, and at first Bolthorn thought it was only an excuse to give him privacy with his wife, but the third day, Fossegrim came back looking pale. Arianna rose at once, fixing him a cup of hot tea while Bolthorn helped him to his chair.

“You’ve heard something?”

“A brook horse brought word from Nericia. Vanadis means to make a peace with Sinmarra to free her brother and the high council promised her she’ll be welcomed home from exile with Ingvifreyr’s return, all sins forgiven, her orc son by Asfarth forgotten.”

“Ingvifreyr!” Bolthorn raised his eyes to Arianna. She got down a second cup from its hook, then a third, and poured tea for all of them as she spoke. “But what about the orcs? I thought Sinmarra only let them go because he agreed to stay. Won’t they be at risk?”

Fossegrim shook his head. “After all the trouble Vanadis and Ingvifreyr went to for the orcs, I can’t imagine whatever she has planned will harm them. Her brother would never allow it, even if the high council would. And they won’t. We have not fallen that far, thank the Ancestors. The orcs are safe.”

“What could Vanadis offer instead?” Bolthorn asked.

“What indeed.” Fossegrim’s fingers drummed, stopped, then drummed again. “If she succeeds, I will be needed in Nericia. Will you risk going to the Vidthursar now? I know you meant to wait for Bolvarr but I fear this changes things. Changes everything, in fact. The elves have not had a king in a thousand years.”

“Ingvifreyr may not be in any state to rule, Fossegrim. There is no telling what Sinmarra has done to him, or how she has poisoned his body. He could be orc by now, for all anyone knows. His release could be nothing more than deceit.”

“All the more reason for me to return, and you as well to the Hrimthursar. But we must hope Vanadis is not so foolish as that, eh?” He accepted a cup from Arianna, and Bolthorn found another pressed into his hands.

“If Grandfather Fossegrim needs to leave, then we should too. The Vid-Gythja will help us. I doubt she’s forgiven her husband yet, after what he did, and once they see you’re alive, no one can say I shouldn’t stay with you, now that we’re bound properly.”

“You’ll want to mark her, so there is no room for doubt,” Fossegrim said.

Arianna paused, her cup halfway to her lips. “Mark me?”

“You need not take the clan markings yet, but the tattoos are part of the binding for marriage.” He tapped his finger against the pulse on his neck. “Here and the underside of your left wrist. We both lack them, and I dare not give Vanadis any reason to claim I am not your husband, still.”

“Oh. I didn’t—I mean, I should have—” Her face paled and her hands tightened around the mug. Fear, he thought, and his jaw tightened. “Oh.”

Fossegrim’s lips twitched. “Not afraid to mix your blood and take his death as your own, but a few black marks and you’re white as snow.” Bolthorn growled at him, but Fossegrim only smiled kindly. “You’re bound by blood now, girl. You won’t have to feel a thing if you don’t wish to, and the Ancestors know Bolthorn has suffered it often enough not to notice at all.”

But Arianna was looking at him, not Fossegrim, her eyes wide and searching. Bolthorn stroked her cheek, then curled his fingers into her hair. “What pain you might feel, you need only give to me. You have my oath that I will hold it safe from your heart. And better this than losing one another, even for a moment.”

She bit her lip, reaching up to pull his hand from her cheek. “No.”

His stomach twisted. “No?”

“No,” she said again, and pressed a kiss into his palm. “If this is what I must do to keep you, to be your wife, to be orc, then it is mine to suffer and I will do it gladly.” Her smile, then, was forced, but it made his heart soar, all the same. “It cannot be much worse than a knife to the ribs, after all.”

They left that night, Arianna huddled within the cloak Fossegrim had given her, and wishing she’d brought the bearskin from Asvi’s that first day. But the shining brook horse on the river bank, white mane flying like so much sea foam, made her hesitate, and she glanced sidelong at Bolthorn, the grey-green of his skin blending his form into shadow. Fossegrim strode on to the horse, forgetting to lean on his stick.

“Do you think I would let a brook horse steal you away?” Bolthorn smiled, baring his tusks. “Fossegrim has an affinity for water and all that runs through it. But if you will not trust the horse, at least trust in me.”

She pressed her lips together, watching the horse as it pawed the earth with feathered hooves. It tossed its head, eyes rolling and nostrils flared, but Fossegrim stroked its neck and spoke softly until the horse blew out a breath and steadied. She had never realized a horse could glow like moonlight, but then, she was not certain a brook horse was truly a horse, either.

“Come, girl,” Fossegrim called back. “It’s rude to stare. He’s promised not to bite, either with his teeth or the cold.”

Bolthorn gave her a gentle nudge. She smoothed her skirt to hide her nerves and with a brief frown at Bolthorn, who only smiled, eyes warm, in return, she joined Fossegrim beside the horse. It was as tall as any destrier. Maybe even larger.

“Let him get a good smell,” Fossegrim told her. “And not just of that old cloak. You’ll want him to recognize you, later, won’t you? There, see. Isolfur is sure-footed on land, and always keeps his word. He’s agreed to carry you as far as the Vidthursar spring. If it weren’t the dead of winter up on that mountain, he might have gotten you all the way to the Hrimthursar, but there’s no changing that, now.”

Isolfur nosed at her shoulder and neck, breathing in her scent. The velvet tickled and she strangled a laugh, not wanting to spook him. She stroked his cheek and scratched between his ears until he pulled his head back and lowered it, guiding her hand toward his mane. The hair was soft and fine as silk between her fingers. Isolfur leaned into her touch, whickering softly. Just like the horses in the castle stable, but much, much finer.

“Yes, of course you like her. She’s pretty and kind as long as you don’t start insulting the orcs. I trust you’ll mind your manners, unlike some,” Fossegrim said. “Your turn, Bolthorn. Though by now the two of you can’t smell all that different from one another. Haven’t you ridden Isolfur before?”

“When I was a boy,” Bolthorn agreed, coming forward. “Isolfur fished me out of the river when I should have drowned, then carried me to Fossegrim to be healed. I woke up waterlogged, my lungs burning with every breath, but I lived.”

He stretched out his arm to the horse, though its eyes were rolling again at the sight of him, and Isolfur stamped one heavy hoof against the soft earth of the bank, startling Arianna back.

“You have a knack for that, I think.” Fossegrim patted the brook horse’s flank. “Though what the Ancestors see in your sorry green hide, I haven’t any idea.”

Isolfur let Bolthorn scratch along his jaw, blowing out another breath, then twisted his head back to Arianna, pressing his soft nose into her hand. She laughed and stroked his face.

“Up you get, then,” Fossegrim said. “We haven’t got all night, and who’s to say whether Vanadis means to stop here on her way to collect you. I’d rather you be well on your way before then. Isolfur will get you where you’re going by dawn. Much faster than traveling through rock, eh?”

“Ready?” Bolthorn asked, his hands on her waist. She nodded and he lifted her up, Isolfur craning his neck to watch as she adjusted her skirts and settled astride. Then Bolthorn was behind her a breath later, his arms around her.