Honor Among Orcs (Orc Saga) (29 page)

Arianna might be mistrustful of the Vala now, but who would know the difference if Vanadis used Persuasion to suborn her? Who would know if Arianna acted in her right mind or only under the influence of the witch? Vanadis clearly saw no reason not to use such magic on other humans. He could not believe she would hesitate to do the same to Arianna.

The thought nearly caused him to growl aloud. No. Something must be done to stop Vanadis. Some means of censure that might prevent her from considering such a course. She must be dissuaded, punished, just as the Vid-Gothi would be stripped of his right to lead, Vanadis must also be shamed, that she might never abuse her power again. It was not something he could accomplish as a hunter for the village.

He needed to be Gothi. He needed to have a voice that would be heard clearly, and not only for Arianna’s sake. Vanadis betrayed them all, betrayed even the Ancestors, and too many trusted the Vala blindly. She must be stopped.

Bolthorn ignored the rise of the moon when it came. The sooner they left the trees behind, the sooner they would meet his people, and he was anxious to speak with Bolvarr. His brother would not have sat idle all this time, even if the council refused action.

What was more, Bolvarr would follow him, and Grimnir, no doubt, but how many others? Did the females scorn him for choosing a human for his wife, for wishing to make a human their Gythja? If he had lost their support, he would never reclaim leadership. Even as he thought of it, he wondered. Had it been Vanadis, whispering in the council’s ear? Did the rest of the Vala serve her in this, or did she act alone? He would have to find out, and soon. Perhaps he might send his mother to learn what she could, provided she did not think him rime-addled still.

No. If Bolvarr had brought word of Vanadis’s plans, his mother would not refuse him, and better, Bolvarr was sure to have spoken of Arianna, too. His mother would understand then, why he had gone in search of her instead of remaining in the village. And Bolthorn could not imagine any orc finding Arianna wanting, once they had met her.

It was not until much later, when Arianna begged him to stop and rest, that he remembered.

His people, his brother, his mother, all still believed he was dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

They slept in the snow, curled together within the warmth of the cloak. Bolthorn had dug them a hollow, but they hardly needed it. He had been quiet, she thought, since they had begun their journey, and the next day, his silence felt grimmer still. Perhaps it was only that she could not see his face when he carried her on his back, but it seemed to echo in her heart like sorrow, and she could not help but ache with him.

They broke through the tree line into twilight, the strange light gleaming off the ice, and Bolthorn bent to let her down. “Much of the track is shale,” he warned her. “Slick and crumbling even without the ice. Keep hold of me and step carefully while you can see. What is left of the moon will not offer much more light.”

At least she was well rested, though Bolthorn seemed worn and greyer beneath the rime. She curled her fingers around his belt and followed him, placing her feet only where he did, and when it grew too dark for her to see and her fingers grew numb, Bolthorn carried her on his back again, cautious and slow. She did not dare distract him with questions, hiding her face against his frosted neck to keep from flinching when he leapt from ice to rock, outcrop to outcrop.

She could understand now, why they chose not to climb the mountain in the dark, and the Gythja’s concern for Bolvarr heightened her own. They had heard nothing of him, though how he might have sent word she did not know. In winter, it seemed the Hrimthursar had little choice but to keep to themselves, waiting until the sun rose again.

The moonlight did not last, and Bolthorn halted, finding a fissure between the rock for shelter. With the cloak, they need not bother with a fire, and Arianna lay in his arms, listening to his heartbeat. It did not seem to her as though he slept, and when she struggled to stay awake until he did, he kissed her forehead, stroked her hair, and whispered words she didn’t know. Elvish, she thought, before her eyes closed, too heavy to keep open.

And then she dreamed. Of dragons again, sweeping low over the castle and breathing fire. Men and women, human and orc, ran screaming and weeping for the safety of stone, but the rock turned molten, running like water and sunset down the tower to burn those below.

She woke them both with her screams.

“Shh,” Bolthorn said, kissing the tears from her cheeks. “What’s frightened you so?”

She shuddered, and his arms tightened, pulling her close. “Just a dream,” she said. “I’ve had it before, the night I felt you die. The Vala told me if I did not do as she asked, the dragons would flame us all. Your people, mine. We would all die.”

He stroked her back, and she wished the gown were not between them, that she might feel the warmth of his skin against hers. She slipped her hand beneath his tunic, her fingers tracing the familiar scars, the lines of muscle and bone and strength.

“You need not fear the dragons, Princess,” he said into her hair. “They would not rise against any threat but Sinmarra, and if it came to that, your people would still be safe, unwitting of what passed on this side of the mountain but for the smoke they would see, hazing their peaks. Safer than you, I fear.”

“Is that why the elves raised the mountains? To keep us safe?”

He sighed. “Ingvifreyr did not wish for your people to fall into the thrall of the elves. After he learned what had become of his own people by Sinmarra’s hand, he could not stand the thought of doing more harm, and the humans were too innocent in many ways, easily led. Already they had worshipped the elves in ways only the Ancestors should be honored. He thought it would be best, that humanity would be better off without our interference.”

She thought of her father’s cruelty, and Alviss. Was living beneath the burden of so much fear better than the slavery Vanadis had offered? She was not sure. She was not certain at all which was worse. But her people had not had any need of the elves to suffer.

“You don’t agree?” she asked.

Bolthorn was silent for a moment, combing his fingers through her hair. “Perhaps he was right, then, but I cannot believe he meant for this divide to last so long. Even if the elves chose to hold themselves apart, there is no reason we orcs must do the same. It is long past time we stopped being monsters to men.”

With that much, she could not argue, exhausted as she still was. And with Bolthorn’s heartbeat beneath her ear, steady and strong, she was lulled back into sleep.

As well that she had slept, too, for the next day of their journey required more strength than she had. Arianna clung to Bolthorn, her legs wrapped tight around his waist, and her arms around his neck, and buried her face against his shoulder to keep from looking down. “Faster this way,” he had said, though he had kept his word and held her before him, rather than forcing her upon his back. “And you’re more likely to slip on the switchback, where it will be too narrow for me to carry you.”

Reluctantly, she had agreed to the climb, and even more reluctantly, she had watched as the ground fell away, and Bolthorn scaled the cliff face, carrying both their weights. With every reach, he paused, digging the ice from the hand holds, and once, the stone crumbled beneath his fingers, jarring them both. Even Bolthorn’s heart had leapt with the slip, but the fool orc had only grinned and continued on. Higher and higher, while she trembled, and Bolthorn spoke, telling nonsense stories to calm her.

It did not work half so well as the easy grace of his movements, well practiced and steady. When she closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat, she could forget he held her pinned against the rock, suspended in the air. She could pretend instead she was in his arms, in the passage through the mountain, held safe, his body moving with hers.

Until the wind gusted against them so hard it threatened to tear Bolthorn from the cliff side, and she bit back a cry, remembering her mother, hanging in the air.

Bolthorn chuckled, whether at her fear or the wind, she did not know, and kept climbing. “Not much farther, Princess, and then you will have the ground beneath your feet again. You can see the top, now.”

She didn’t trust herself to answer, or even to open her eyes. He laughed again, and she felt him press a kiss to her temple.

“I will never let you fall.”

Somehow, knowing it was true did not help in the slightest.

“Who climbs?”

Bolthorn tensed at the shout, and she felt the strain in his arms as he leaned back to look up. “Has Bolvarr come?” he called back.

“Come and gone!”

“Gone where?”

“Who asks?” the voice demanded.

Bolthorn swore softly and climbed faster. His heart beat harder between them, but no less steady, even when something cracked beneath his foot. Stone or ice, Arianna did not know, but he growled and she screamed, and they hung from the face by his hands alone.

“It’s all right,” he told her, his breath coming ragged against her ear. “Just hold tight a moment longer.”

No laughter this time, and she missed it sorely. At least while he was laughing, she knew she was safe. A sob caught in her throat, only barely, and she wasn’t certain she could breathe at all.

His weight shifted as he found purchase again, the tension easing from his shoulders. She heard the scrape of his nails against rock, a scuffle of gravel and dust, and then he grunted.

“Oh,” the voice said, and strange hands grasped her at the armpits, strong as Bolthorn’s. “Here, girl, let go. I’ve got you.”

“It’s all right, Princess,” Bolthorn murmured. “Let him help.”

Her arms were frozen around his neck, her legs locked, and everything trembled, even her heart. “I can’t.”

“And no wonder, making that climb in the dark,” the voice said. “You could have both been killed coming this way!”

“You must forgive me, Heidrek,” Bolthorn said, and then the muscles beneath her hands shifted, and he was hanging from one hand, gently urging her legs free from his waist. She clutched at his shoulders all the harder, her fingers digging into his flesh. “It was the best way, all things considered. I dared not take her on the switchback when she is so terrified of heights.”

The hands paused. “Gothi? But Bolvarr said—”

“Yes, I know.” Bolthorn sighed, and then his mouth was at her ear, his voice barely a whisper and his lips brushing against her skin in a way that made her squirm. “You’re safe now, if you would only let go. Solid earth beneath your feet again, or your back, if you prefer, but you must let go to reach it. Please, Arianna, I beg of you.”

The hands grasped her more firmly when she twitched, and she choked on a scream when he pulled her free. Bolthorn grunted below her, and then she was in his arms again, held tight. He stroked her hair, her back, her cheek, brushing tears from her face she did not know she had shed, and all she could do was quiver, her hands fists in his tunic.

“Have you a fire, Heidrek?” she heard Bolthorn ask. “You might reassure yourself about my health after you lead us to it.”

Of those who might have found them, Heidrek was not the worst. He did not ask questions while he guided them back to his camp, but waited, ready to serve. To Heidrek at least, Bolthorn was still due the honors of the Gothi. He only hoped it was the same for the council, once they realized he lived.

Bolthorn settled Arianna in his lap beside the small fire, wrapping her warmly in her cloak. Heidrek offered them mead and dried meat from his supplies, his eyes returning over and over to Arianna, huddled against his Gothi’s chest. She had finally stopped trembling enough to eat, but when she asked for a second sip of mead, he knew she was still shaken.

“We searched the mountain for days looking for your body. Your mother was sure it meant you’d managed something, though only the Ancestors might have known what.”

“Only the Ancestors did know,” Bolthorn said, though he did not care to tell the tale of the quartz and how he had managed to pass through it. Cavern upon cavern of winking crystals, reflecting back the world wherever the quartz reached to the surface. He had only to follow the glimpses of Arianna in the facets and bleed himself half-dry in offering.

Arianna had shifted beneath Heidrek’s attention, sitting up, and Bolthorn’s chest eased as her fear did. Nearly falling was no way to help her, and he did not dare take her farther this night. He pressed the drinking horn of mead into her hands, and she gave him a crooked smile in return. Her face was not so white now, even if her shoulders still curved slightly.

“The council will be pleased to hear it. And if it was the Ancestors what saved you and helped you find your lady, no one can argue the Vala was in the right.” Heidrek nodded respectfully to Arianna, who watched him over the rim of the horn as she drank. “There’s more yet where that came from, Gythja. Drink as much as you need to settle your nerves. That cliff is a menace in full summer, never mind in the dark, coated in ice. Not a one of us would blame you for taking a fright.”

Arianna’s gaze slid to the fire. “He nearly dropped us both twice. I think under the circumstances, I had a right to be concerned.”

Bolthorn smiled slowly. If she was insisting she hadn’t been truly afraid, she was well on her way to recovered. “Only once, Princess. The first was barely a slip of the foot, and my weight was balanced still.”