Honor Among Orcs (Orc Saga) (18 page)

He blinked the fallen snow from his eyes, staring up at the curls of flame spilling over her shoulder. A wonder the snow had not melted to soak them and steal what warmth he had managed to carve from the ice for Arianna. But this was no woman. She was an elf.

“Peace, Vardrun,” a kinder voice said, lovely as moonlight on water. “There will be time enough after they are healed.”

“If he had spent more time in thought and less in pleasure on this journey he would not need our help at all.” But the flame-haired elf moved away and two Hrimthursar grasped him beneath the shoulders, hauling him up out of the snow, Arianna still in his arms.

“Give her to me, Bolthorn,” the kinder elf said. Her smile blinded him more than the snow. “I will see her safe.”

A sorrowful howl rose high in the distance, and then another. Bolthorn drew Arianna closer as every head turned toward the sound. Toward the passage he had left behind. And how long had they been shivering beneath the ice?

“Hounds,” Vardrun spat. “Hounds! And he stands here thick and dumb with the cold.”

“The snow is deep. They will flounder and the men will freeze if they follow.” Vanadis, he realized, thick and dumb as Vardrun had accused. Vanadis had come to save them.

She pressed her hand to Arianna’s cheek, humming softly. Arianna did not stir, and Bolthorn’s stomach twisted. But he could hear her heartbeat yet, fluttering too fast. Her skin still burned against his, even in the wind.

“A poison fever drawn from my blood,” he told her. “Please, Vala, you must heal her first.”

“And so we will, brave Bolthorn. If you will but give her to me.”

“I swore to keep her safe,” he said. “I must keep her safe.”

“No thought at all for your own, orc?” Vardrun asked. “Your enemies follow you even now, and your concern is only for this girl?”

Men in the passage. Tracking him, or only Arianna? He had left no blood, nothing to scent—no. They had taken the basket in the village, where Arianna had carried their bandages. Those he had burned, but might some blood have clung to the woven reeds without his notice? Enough for a hound to follow.

“We have nothing to fear from the dead,” Vanadis said.

“And if they turn back instead of freezing so handily in the storm?” Vardrun demanded.

“Then they have seen nothing but snow, ice, and stone.” She shrugged.

“They will return, Vana. You know they will. With more hounds and more men.”

“The Hrimthursar will block the pass until the dragons come.” Vanadis smiled again, her eyes warming Bolthorn to the bone. “Is that not so, Hrim-Gothi?”

“He brought this war upon us!”

“Our concern is for the princess, first,” Vanadis said, staring coolly at her companion. “The Hrimthursar will protect us, and their sister clan as well, if need be. And we will serve the Ancestors as we are called to do.” Her voice softened as she looked back at him. “Come, Bolthorn. Entrust her to me. Where she goes, you cannot follow.”

“She is my wife,” he said.

“But you, Hrim-Gothi, are not yet her husband.” Vanadis smiled sadly, her gaze flicking to the orcs who held him. “I am sorry.”

“No!” He surged against their strength, but the cold had weakened even him, and they had braced for his fight. He could not throw them off without releasing Arianna, and he could not let her go. Could not let them take her. “She has my vow!”

Vanadis caught him by the chin, her nails digging through the rime to reach his flesh. The blood roared so loudly in his ears he did not hear the words, but it did not matter. His knees buckled and everything went black.

Arianna woke warm, wrapped tightly in the bearskin. A blackrock fire popped beside her and she smiled, thinking of Bolthorn bent over the rocks, whispering to them until they lit. She pushed back the bearskin, sitting up.

“Bolthorn?”

Her side. She pressed a hand to her ribs and inhaled. Without pain. Not even a twinge. She swung her legs over the side of the…

A bed? The stone ledge, worn smooth and soft, was padded with a wool stuffed pallet. This wasn’t just a cave Bolthorn had found to shelter her from the storm as she’d assumed, seeing only the fire. Three other beds had been carved into the stone walls, and brightly colored tapestries hung above them. But it wasn’t only the colors that caught her eye; the images woven into the fabric were finer than anything she had ever seen. Leaves fluttered in the wind, water rippled in the wake of a leaping fish, and the people did not just smile, but laughed so clearly, she could imagine the sound. Bolthorn had never told her his people were so skilled. And she’d had the impression they lived in modest stone huts and cottages, rather than caves.

“Bolthorn?” she called again. He had never gone so far without telling her. But while she was fevered, perhaps he had not been able to wake her, and if they were among his people, he would know her safe even if she wandered in search of him.

A soft rustle of fabric answered and a tapestry was swept back. The woman who entered was so beautiful Arianna forgot to breathe. She had thick, raven-black hair, braided carefully and pinned with emeralds that matched her eyes. Her skin was the cream of fresh milk, and by the look of it, smoother than the finest satin. A tattoo coiled up the side of her neck, stopping just below her ear in a pattern not so different from the one over Bolthorn’s heart, but that was the only thing orc about her.

“Welcome, Princess.” Then she smiled, and it seemed as though sunlight filled the room, bright and warm and impossible to look at for more than a moment without being blinded. “I trust you’re feeling well again?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, though her voice sounded hoarse in comparison.

“You must be hungry.”

“Oh.” She considered her stomach, pleased there was no queasiness. The fever must have broken again. Maybe she had managed to throw it off completely this time, along with the lingering pain in her side. “I’m afraid I’ve nothing to offer you in return for food.”

“Nor would we accept it, if you had,” she said kindly. “I’ll return in just a moment with something for you to eat.”

“My lady?” She couldn’t imagine anyone so beautiful without some nobility. The woman paused. “Will Bolthorn be returning soon?”

“Ah,” she said, her voice tinged with regret. “I fear Bolthorn never arrived to leave, and so you see, he cannot yet return, certainly not any time soon.”

Her heart sank and her blood ran cold as the wind she had fought in Bolthorn’s wake. But Bolthorn would never abandon her while he breathed. He had to have brought her here, or she would have died in the snow. Unless he had died in the snow, and they had found her kept warm beneath his corpse. Her stomach lurched at the thought.

“What—what does that mean?”

“The Hrim-Gothi is bound to the service of the Ancestors, as are we all.” She smiled again, more briefly. “Excuse me, Princess.”

Arianna watched her go, wishing she had not woken.

The Vala only answer in riddles…
As long as Bolthorn was not yet an ancestor himself. He couldn’t be dead, she told herself firmly. Even fevered, she would have felt her heart break.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

She had no sense of time inside the cave, and the warmth of the bedchamber tempted her into sleep more than once. Long, deep naps between meals until she wondered if they had mixed some potion with the soup and refused to eat it altogether. The beautiful black haired Vala, called Vana, had only smiled, and exchanged bowls with her as proof.

“Your body has suffered much, Princess. It needs rest to recover fully, for yourself as well as Bolthorn. You heal for two.” She was much less prone to riddles when it came to her health, Arianna had discovered quickly. Then Vana’s eyes narrowed just slightly, her head tilting to the side, but whatever had caught her attention, she only collected both their bowls and left her to sleep.

Healing for Bolthorn. Even if she could not see him, they were still bonded by blood. And perhaps he might feel her touch in his own returning strength. Perhaps he might come, once he was well, too. She didn’t fight her naps after that, but lay still on her pallet, trying to hear the echo of his heartbeat against her own. He had said he could feel hers, even sometimes more, and whether she did or not, imagining she could helped her to keep from weeping.

The Vala were kind to her, attentive to her every need, but for the ones requiring Bolthorn. She ate, and slept, and Vana took her walking through the caverns, daily. She trailed her fingers along the strange, polished stone walls, black and smooth as glass, and the elf-woman asked questions about her father’s kingdom and the men who might have won it since. She kept her mother’s secrets, still, unsure of what the Vala would think, but she did not hesitate to speak of Gautar and its politics, or who might be the greatest threat to the orcs.

With Alviss and the king both dead, she could only think of one man with the influence to try to steal the kingdom from her brothers. Lord Ragnar had been the king’s advisor and commanded the loyalty of the castle guardsmen, having risen through their ranks. If there was one man left in all of Gautar who might have known of Bolthorn, and the hidden room within the mirror, Ragnar was that man. But after his imprisonment, Bolthorn had seen only the king, until she found him. Arianna could not be certain Ragnar knew of the orcs, or what he would do if he did.

“How much longer will you keep me here?” she asked, finally. “If all I am to do is sleep, could I not do that in Bolthorn’s company just as easily?”

“The Hrim-Gothi has greater concerns than keeping you warm in the mountains. You are cared for here, protected from the cold, safer than in the Hrimthursar village by far. Better that he knows this, than worries for you while he prepares his people for war.”

“War?” The word broke in her mouth. “But Bolthorn said these lands were peaceful.”

“We each know our purpose and our place, and Ingvifreyr remains with Sinmarra in the Land of Fire.” She smiled one of her blinding smiles, her gaze unfocused. “None here would understand, I fear, but such a challenge suits the king’s nature.”

“But I thought Sinmarra was—” Arianna stopped herself before she finished the thought. Bolthorn had explained that the stolen elves had been rescued by their King, who remained a hostage of the dark power which had torn them from their people, transforming them by torture into orcs. Whether Sinmarra was a place or a person, it didn’t matter. Vana always found some way to distract her when she asked about Bolthorn, but this time, she would not be diverted. “Who does Bolthorn fight, then?”

Vana’s smile faded. “The Hrimthursar have always faced but a single foe, guarding the mountain passes. Men cannot see a locked door without wishing to open it.”

She flushed, thinking of the tower room, forbidden to her, and yet she had still returned. Perhaps in part because in that small way, she stood against the king. But mostly because of Bolthorn and the broken skin of his palm against the glass. No, it had not been the locked door, then. Not for her. It had been Bolthorn’s low voice, calling for her in her dreams.

But if Bolthorn prepared for war against men, they had arrived too late, after all, and everything they had done, the king’s death, Alviss’s—it hadn’t been enough. She swallowed bile and clutched the wall to keep upright. More blood spilled, and for what? If they had not needed the furs to keep her warm, would anyone have thought to follow them? And then she had frozen all the same!
Bolthorn, you have bled enough for me.

It was too soon. Too soon, even for Alviss’s men, with their lord dead. The king had guarded his secrets. Those who knew all of the truths he had collected would have been so few. She doubted even Ragnar knew everything about the queen. Why should he? The king would have kept the knowledge, and the power it gave him, to himself, fearing betrayal.

“We were careful,” she heard herself say. “We left no trail, no reason for them to look for us. We even hid the bodies in the mirror. No one should have found the king at all.”

“You were not Gunnar’s only child, Princess,” Vana said softly. “If the mirror answered to you, why should it not obey your brothers or your sister, as well?”

“I want to see him,” she said. “I need to see him and know he’s safe and well. I need him to know—” her voice broke, and she turned her face away. Bolthorn would be as confused as she was, wondering how they could have been followed so quickly. “Please, my lady, I beg of you.”

The Vala sighed. “It is never easy to bend will to obedience when blood calls us elsewhere, but you are strong, Arianna. Stay with us and grow stronger still, for Bolthorn, if not yourself. Come, you are tired already even from this short walk. I will take you back to your bed.”

Back to her bed, and away from Bolthorn yet again. But surely he had not asked this of them, to keep her from his side. He had promised her freedom and she had never thought for a moment it might be a lie. Not when his face lit and his eyes glowed. Not when he spoke of picnics with his wife.

But he had never mentioned what might happen if they failed. It seemed she did not need to ask, now.

The rock forming the passage was not just old, Bolthorn thought as he ran his blooded hands along the face, it was stubborn and set in its ways. He might have called the elves, but it seemed to him not even Ingvifreyr and Vanadis could have persuaded the frozen stone to close.

He stepped back, growling under his breath. Vanadis. When he had woken from the Vala’s spell, he had been in his own bed in the village, his mother stoking the hearth. And where had Arianna opened her eyes? In some strange cave in the heart of some strange mountain, surrounded by strange women she had never seen. He could not find the orcs who had dragged him home to rattle them, and then the council had been called, which he could hardly ignore.

He had spent the rest of that day and all of the next clawing his way from cave mouth to cave mouth, calling for the Vala, searching for some entrance into the mountain. He had promised Arianna he would care for her, and more than that, he had promised her his love. What good was he if he could not even bring her home? And what did she think of him, waking up so alone?

Oh, she would be well cared for. He had no doubt on that score, no matter how much anger Vardrun had shown. Even after all his climbing, his side did not ache in the slightest, and his body was stronger than it had been since he’d taken the knife between his ribs. She was safe and she was healing, but it was not enough. He had sworn she would be free, here, that he would see her so, and even if she had not been his wife—

He snarled. Foolish orc, Vardrun had said, and he was beginning to believe the words. He had thought he was keeping her safe by not completing the vow. Sealing their marriage would have weakened them both as the pain and fever passed back and forth. They would not have made it to the passage if he had grown sick. Perhaps if he had not been so large, and Arianna not so physically small, she might have supported him, limping along, but how much slower the journey, and even as quickly as they had come, it was too late.

If he had been her husband in blood as well as body, they could not have taken her. Not even the Vala would have risked breaking such a bond. But how could he have known they meant to steal her from him? Why should they want her at all?

It festered in the back of his mind during the two day march to the passage, a duty he could not refuse, and now he found it ate at him more painfully than the poisoned knife. They had sent him here on purpose, to keep him from searching for her. Vanadis had some reason for their separation, and she meant to enforce it. His lip curled. Never in his life had he ever had cause to believe anything but good of the Vala who had healed his people, but his thoughts hummed with curses he dared not breathe, now.

“Shall we begin to fill the passage, Gothi?” Grimnir asked, waiting at his shoulder.

Bolthorn returned his focus to the stone before him, though not without grinding his teeth in frustration. The rock showed no sign of warming, or even granting him a polite crumble of dust. They should have sent an elf instead of an orc. Or better yet, dragonkin. Surely there was some restless serpent in need of something to do who would have accomplished something more than leaving another trail of blood for the hounds to bay after.

He ran his fingers over the face again anyway, to be certain. A sharp piece of quartz snagged against his skin and he grunted. Perhaps the rock did not want to seal itself, but the quartz seemed… He did not know quite what. Curious? He must think on how to speak to it, and what it might offer, but he had not the time now. The men and their hounds had frozen in the storm, but it would not be long before someone missed them. The passage must be closed.

“Carry the stones in beyond the first shaft, or else some fool will think to climb it to get out,” Bolthorn told his people. “With any luck no man will come in search until the elves find a willing dragon to melt it solid.”

It was the best he could do, and he had no more patience for the problem besides. Unless there was an army waiting on the other side, the threat of war was still weak at best, and with the king dead, there was no man to raise any army, least of all to face orcs on the other side of the mountain. It all made so little sense. From what Arianna had told him, and what he knew of the king, it seemed far more likely they would turn against themselves first.

Arianna. He had to find Arianna. Nothing else mattered until he did. All he needed was a moment, a breath to swear his vow blood to blood, and neither Vanadis nor Ingvifreyr himself could part them.

All the same, he prized the curious piece of quartz from the stone around it with the blade of his knife, and tucked it in the pouch at his belt, though afterward, he still did not quite know why.