Honor Among Orcs (Orc Saga) (19 page)

With Grimnir to oversee, Bolthorn saw no reason to remain at the passage while they built a dam of rubble. He had told Arianna himself that the Vala could not be found if they did not wish to be, and yet, he still hunted, beginning at the nearest outcrop of stone to the shelter he had dug for them in the snow. His brother, Bolvarr followed him, set upon his trail by their mother, no doubt, who had already had a word in his ear about letting himself be found half-frozen in a storm. She thought him rime-addled, or suffering some ill-effect from his imprisonment at the least, and he had not the patience for her pity. Bolvarr, at least, showed him none.

“Shouldn’t you be spending your time picking rock to be quarried and watching it hauled to the passage?” his brother asked when Bolthorn dropped from another crevice in the mountain to the ice of the path below.

“Shouldn’t you be one of the orcs I must supervise in the hauling of it?” he countered, brushing the rock dust from his fingers.

“If they wanted you to have her, they would have come to the village instead of taking her away with them. You cannot fight the Ancestors, Bolthorn.”

“Vanadis does not speak for the Ancestors in this, brother.” He had considered the same argument during another sleepless night. And what did Arianna make of that? He had tried to rest, for her sake, so he did not draw so heavily upon her returning strength. Another reason, if he had needed one, for completing her vow, and the sooner the better.

“Vanadis of all the Vala, and you still question it. Do you not hear yourself at all? She is a living Ancestor, herself. How can she not speak for them?”

Bolthorn snorted, craning his neck to study the slope of the mountain. “Do you think I speak as Gothi in everything I might say?”

Bolvarr rose from the snow where he had sculpted himself a high-backed chair. Had he really been climbing in and out of crevasses that long? The glitter of rime coating his brother’s skin answered yes, though he had not realized it until now.

“If I had, this foolishness would have cured me of it.”

“It is the same for Vanadis and the Vala as it is for me, I promise you. Or else how do you explain the bond we shared already? Our thoughts laugh together, Bolvarr. That is the sign of the Ancestors always, from powers even beyond them, their favor, their blessing, our redemption.”

“She’s human, not elf,” Bolvarr grumbled. “It isn’t the same.”

“She is brave and beautiful and everything we have ever wanted to be, brother. And she is filled with honor, though having known her father, I cannot explain where it came from.”

“And the fact that you killed her father doesn’t bother her in the slightest?”

Bolthorn grunted, feeling the kick in his ribs exactly where the knife had cut him. “She takes the guilt of it upon herself, but the blood is mine. Shared, we can go forward. Alone—alone, I am not certain she will survive it. You see why I must find her.”

Bolvarr sighed, looking up the mountain. “There’s a cavern just there,” he said with a nod toward an outcropping, half-concealed by drifted snow. “Though Vanadis is the last Vala you are likely to find.”

It was as near to understanding as his brother was likely to get. Bolthorn smiled grimly and began to climb.

She began to explore without Vana during the endless days, though she feared even finding a way outside would do her no good. If she had frozen once, why did she think she might escape the same fate a second time? But Bolthorn had told her the Vala knew ways through the rock, traveling through the veins of the mountains as they stretched out from their hearts. The stone was not precisely warm, always, especially near the surface, but the passage had at least kept her from shivering wearing only her gown and her cloak.

But then, too, she’d had Bolthorn’s heat beside her. Bolthorn’s heartbeat beneath her cheek. She blinked back the tears that threatened to form, wondering again if he had meant for this. For how long had he planned to send her here, and said nothing?

“Careful, Princess,” Vana said, finding her in a passage far from her bedchamber, lit only by a strange lichen that had been taught to grow along the edges of the corridors. She smiled, and Arianna felt the tension in her body ease. “We would not want to lose you in the mountain.”

Crisp winter air clung to her robes as she swept closer, and Arianna bit her tongue to keep from sighing. So close. She glanced beyond the Vala to the curtained arch, still swinging.

“Would you like to see the sun, my dear?” Vana asked kindly. She always asked kindly. No one had been anything but kind to her, and yet, she had never felt more imprisoned in her life. At least at the castle in Gautar, she might walk the garden, or go into the village. As long as she had no duties that day, and she returned before the evening meal, the king had not bothered with her comings and goings.

Arianna nodded and Vana turned back to the doorway, brushing the fabric aside. “This way.”

A spiraled staircase had been cut into the rock, and Vana guided her up. Arianna kept to the inside, one hand pressed against the stone. How deep were they? There were other doors off the stair, set flush to the wall. No handles, just a smooth face of rock, carved with marks that reminded Arianna of the tattoos they wore.

Vana pressed her hand to one of the carvings when they reached the top, whispering something Arianna didn’t hear. The door swung out from the stairs and a cold wind gusted through, snow and ice biting her cheeks. Arianna hesitated, a shiver going down her spine, but Vana’s laugh urged her on. She hugged herself, ducked her head against the snow, and stepped outside.

The sun hung low in the sky, its pale light barely reaching her where she stood. The stone beneath her feet was slick with ice, and when she stepped out from the short tunnel shielding the door, she realized how treacherous it truly was. Vana had brought her nearly to the summit, and no more than six steps on, the rock sheered away, leaving nothing but a frozen cliff face and a drop not even Bolthorn could survive.

Her stomach sank as she teetered at the edge, looking down. If the endless expanse of snow and rock did not kill her, trying to climb the mountain would. Even Bolthorn would have trouble scaling the cliff, coated as it was in slick, smooth ice. He would have to carve his way through the rime to stone with every reach. She shivered again and stepped back, bumping into the Vala behind her.

“You see now, why I worry for you,” Vana’s voice was low and warm, but Arianna had no trouble hearing her over the wind. The Vala’s hands closed gently over her shoulders, as if afraid she might fall. “The mountains are cruel even to those of us who know them as friends. To a stranger, they offer nothing but a cold, desperate death. That is their purpose, of course. To keep your people from finding ours. And the dragons care little who dies, so long as their peace is secured.”

The wind whipped her hair across her face, though her cheeks and nose were too numb to feel it, and Arianna swallowed her fear, trying not to remember her mother’s fall. It was not only mountains which offered desperate deaths, and if the Vala had brought her here, surely they knew a way to leave again that did not carry them through snow and winter storms. For some reason, it seemed, Vana simply was not willing to escort her along such a path.

“Bolthorn meant for me to stay with him in his village,” she said, but the words sounded less sure now, even to herself. “Together or not at all.”

Vana drew her back from the cliff’s edge to the shelter of the spiral stairs. “Bolthorn meant for you to be happy and safe. How could you ever be either of those things while you froze? You would not even be able to leave the warmth of the fire in winter, living with the Hrimthursar. If you will not stay in our care, will you not at least consider living among the elves?”

Bolthorn had offered her that once, too. Her heart twisted in her chest at the memory. She had believed then, that he had seen her as a burden, but after everything they had shared, it seemed impossible he could think her so, still. She was more than just a debt, more than an obligation and a vow that must be kept.

“We’re married,” she said. “Bolthorn and I are sworn to one another, body and blood. I won’t leave my husband.”

Vana sighed, her green eyes so filled with sorrow Arianna felt sympathetic tears fill her own. “You are bound to him, Princess, I cannot deny that much. You made yourself his wife, but did he ever promise himself as your husband? Did he return your vow?”

She opened her mouth to tell her yes, but then she stopped. Had he? Had he ever used the word husband at all? Bile rose in her throat and the staircase seemed to spin beneath her feet. He must have. He must have promised more than just…

“He said he loved me.”

“While your hands were joined with blood?”

No. Not even while their bodies had been joined elsewhere. He had said it, but there had been no blood-oath beyond that which he had made her in her father’s castle. That he would take the stain of what blood was spilled for himself, pressing her cut hand against his flayed chest.

Vana, watching her face, nodded, her expression filled with grief and pain. “I am so sorry, Princess.”

Her throat was thick with emotion, though she did not know what it was she was feeling. A hollowness in her chest where her heart had been, where the echo of Bolthorn’s had beat, steady in her breast.

“I think I have walked too far today,” she managed, though she had to clear her throat twice to squeeze the words through. “Excuse me, my lady.”

Somehow, she kept the tears from slipping down her cheeks until she reached her room, and then she wept all the harder, wishing that Bolthorn were there to hold her.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Arianna!” The roar was lost in the howl of wind, but he had seen her. He had seen her! Standing posed on the edge of the cliff, as small as an ant so high above, and his heart had lurched with pain. His or hers, he did not know, but he would find out. He would find her.

“Are you certain?” Bolvarr asked, raising his hand to shield his face from the snow and squinting up. “All I can make out is dark clothes and dark hair.”

He did not bother to answer, his eyes already picking out a path up the mountain. The cliff would be a challenge, to be sure, but perhaps there was another way. If he descended from above, it would be a much shorter fall. He looked back up, willing her to turn her head, to glance down and see—

But she was gone.

Bolthorn marked the ledge in his mind and began to climb. Rocks crumbled from beneath his feet and the wind tore at his grip, but he did not falter. He could not falter.

Two weeks, they had been parted. Two weeks he had searched every cleft in the rock, looking for passage. Twice he had glimpsed Vala, disappearing into shadow and swallowed by stone. They had not been Vanadis, or even Vardrun, whose fiery hair could not be mistaken. And now he had seen Arianna, at last, and he could only wish she had seen him in return.

“You can’t climb that far, Bolthorn!” his brother called. “The sun is nearly set. You’ll freeze up that high, even if you don’t slip in the dark.”

No. He would not freeze. Not while Arianna was warm and safe inside.
Forgive me for the chill, Princess.
Slipping, he could admit, was the greater problem. The mountain was sheeted with ice, reflecting the last of the sun’s light and dazzling his eyes. He would simply have to be cautious.

Below him, Bolvarr cursed roundly, and then there was a scrabbling of rock and a crack of ice. Bolthorn did not look down, but he knew his brother followed even as he hoisted himself up onto a wide ledge, filled with dirt enough for a small stunted pine to have taken root. He brushed his fingers over the needles, encased in ice. It was not all vertical, at least. There would be places to rest. But Bolvarr was not wrong to worry about the falling night, and this was not a climb to be completed in one day, not while the sun hovered so close to the horizon, barely rising enough to set again.

He would not have Arianna face the full dark of winter alone and they had so little time now before it came. Bolvarr’s nails scraped stone, finding purchase, and then his brother had risen over the ledge as well to stand beside him, bent at the waist with his hands upon his knees.

“What good will you really do her if you’re too rime-addled to carry her back down?” Bolvarr asked, half-panting from the climb. His brother’s Elvish blood ran closer to the surface. Climbing took more effort for him no matter how determinedly he practiced, but blackrock never refused to light.

Perhaps they should have sent Bolvarr to the passage to persuade the mountain to close. Bolthorn snorted at his own thoughts. Bolvarr would have had no greater luck, and even less patience.

“Go back to the village,” Bolthorn told him. “Check with Grimnir at the passage on your way and be sure that all goes smoothly. It should be filled by now to the mouth.”

“You can’t mean to go on alone, brother.”

“I will not see you killed trying to follow me when you are meant to go to the Vidthursar before the winter sun sets. Go, Bolvarr. Speak with my voice and see the village made safe in my stead. Grimnir can lead the warriors if true war comes, but I do not foresee it for some time, if ever.”

“There is no kindling,” he said. “What will you do when night falls?”

“I am bound to Arianna. It will be enough. And I am Hrimthursar, besides.”

Bolvarr stared at him for a long moment, searching his face. Bolthorn stared back, his gaze steady. If it came to a test of strength, his brother would lose, and Bolvarr would have to drag him by force from the mountain to change his course. Arianna waited. He may not have sworn himself to her in blood, but he had in body. She was his as he was hers.

“The others will not understand, Bolthorn. Your place as Gothi—your place among the Hrimthursar—you risk it all, pursuing this. The council will follow Vanadis before you, and to them, her actions have spoken clearly.”

“Not even the council can ask me to forswear myself. A Gothi is nothing without his honor. Either way, they take it from me, and if that is the price, so be it. I will not betray my wife.”

“But you will betray your people? The clan you serve?”

“My duty was to return, to give you warning and see the passage closed. But for the grace of Arianna, I would not have even come this far. She risked her life for you, for the Hrimthursar, for an entire world she did not even know.” His jaw tightened until it ached but he did not so much as shift his weight, holding his brother’s gaze until Bolvarr looked away. “If my people refuse the debt they owe her, then it is
they
who have betrayed
me
.”

Bolvarr hesitated, muscles working along his jaw line, but said nothing. Bolthorn watched him climb down, waiting until he reached the path below safely, and then he left his brother and his people behind.

She woke shivering, and for the first time in days she drew the bearskin up from the foot of the pallet, covering her head to keep the heat in. Perhaps it was the fever, come to claim her again. If so, she might persuade it to swallow her whole. Easier than living with this emptiness where her heart had been. Though she still imagined she heard Bolthorn’s heartbeat, a slow and steady echo against her ribs.

Her face flushed, thinking of the other ways she had felt the beat of his heart, his body buried deep inside hers, throbbing against the pulse of her core. Had all his patience been a lie? Perhaps he had only desired her, only lusted for her soft skin and the warmth of her body around his. But if it had been only that…

She had known lust without love, seen it in Alviss’s eyes, felt it in the demands of his touch. She knew what it was when a man only cared for his own pleasure, his own need. Whatever Bolthorn had shown her, it was not that. The touch of his hands, the warmth of his eyes, the strength so carefully held back—there had been no lie in his lovemaking.

If she could only find him to speak with him! Something must have happened to tear them apart. And perhaps he had only overlooked the vow, forgotten it in his worry. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe that if she saw him again, he would take her in his arms and never let her go.

Her heart could not take it if she was wrong.

Vana’s beautiful brow wrinkled, her lips pursing, and even then, it hurt to look at her. Arianna turned her face away, slipping out from beneath the cool hand on her forehead. She pulled the bearskin back up over her shoulder and closed her eyes. Bolthorn. She had been dreaming about Bolthorn, his body curled around hers in the snow. She reached for it, for the weight of his arms, the hard muscles of his chest, the patchwork of scars and tattoos over his heart. For a moment, she could smell the earthiness of his scent, taste the spice of his mouth on hers, making her whole body warm.

Bolthorn, where are you?
Fighting for his clan, struggling to close the passage before her brothers marched an army through the mountain. Maybe that was why she was so cold, so fevered. But she shied from the image of his body pierced by a sword and bleeding in the snow. He was fast and strong and he had survived so much—no man had any right to kill him, or any power to take his life. The Vala would save him, just as they had saved her.

Except that the fever had swallowed her again. For three days, she had done nothing but sleep and shudder against icy winds that didn’t exist.

Arianna.

Her eyes flew open, her heart racing in her chest. But it was Vana, still, who sat beside her. Always Vana, watching, studying, waiting for something. Once she had believed Bolthorn patient, more patient than any person she had ever known. Vana was more patient than the wind slowly wearing away the mountain, smoothing rock into dust.

“Do you feel the fire, Princess?”

Arianna, please…

She closed her eyes again, listening to the voice that wasn’t there. Bolthorn’s voice, calling to her, just as she had imagined him calling from the tower, before he had known her name. She sucked in a breath and held it against her chattering teeth, straining to hear. A fevered dream, but it didn’t matter. She wanted to believe that he could reach her here, that he would want to try.

“Princess?” Vana pressed a hand to her cheek.

“Please,” she breathed. “Please, let me go to him.”

The Vala sighed, withdrawing her hand. “The mountain makes up its own mind who it will take. If you had only agreed to go to the elves in Tiveden…”

Tiveden was forbidden to Bolthorn, to all the orcs. She had remembered that much when Vana had pressed her to agree. If she went there, she would never see him again. All hope would be lost.

“You would be free among them, Princess,” Vana said, smiling softly. “Free to walk in sunlight all you wished. And you have never known such beauty as the forest there. The Vidthursar—the forest orcs—have nothing to compare to the redwoods that grow taller than mountains, and the Hrimthursar have no sunlight on their mountain, and no trees at all to speak of.”

Sunlight. Her body ached for its warmth. Even the pale grey light of the winter sun, so low in the sky. Vana would never let her outside now, not sick as she was. Maybe not ever again, if she thought it was the wind that had stoked her fever.

Bolthorn, I’m sorry.
He needed her strength. Especially if he fought. It was the only help she could give him, if her people had come.
Please live. You must live.

But she could hear him, in the back of her mind, hear his voice, low and determined.

Together
, he said.
Or not at all.

He sheltered himself in the deepest fissure he could find, hidden from the worst of the wind by the rock. If he could only warm his fingers enough to grip the stone, to climb on, he was nearly to the summit where Arianna had stood. One more day, if he could only survive it. He tucked his hands beneath his arms and shuddered. Even with his skin frosted with rime, the wind bit deep.