This betrayal has irrevocably changed all of us.
Shava comes up beside me, her ears flattened with concern. “That any female would think to give over another to the Warue Tribe...” she shudders. “Many of our females and kits have gone missing due to Warue raids into our territory. It is possible that they may keep her alive to get to you.”
“So, we go into Warue territory and fight,” Serus exclaims with a savage grin.
“It is not so easy as that,” Eral murmurs, his left ear twitching. “The Warue have recently forged an alliance with the High-Ridge trolls and the hill ogres. They are monsters among us, giant brutes that will make terrible foes.”
“Well then, we will get our own brutes,” I say slowly, directing a knowing grin at Serus. “I think Sammi, the orc chieftain’s mate, will be eager to know what has happened to her sister.”
Eral slowly smiles.
My mind focuses on its deadly course. Orgath will help and, with our Evarue allies and troll magic, we will bring fury into the Warue territory the likes of which they’ve never seen.
Chapter 18
Kate
Cavekji whimpers in my arms and I do my best to comfort him. Although he’s not the only baby in the cell, I try and keep him from disturbing the other females. The sunlight that filters in through a tiny carved-out window barely provides enough light to see anything more than dark shadows and shapes.
The females don’t speak to me. They barely move from the corner they’re huddled in together. I wouldn’t even know they had babies among them if it weren’t for the occasional glimpse of tiny furred bodies kept hidden in their midst. No one says anything except the high cries when a male enters to drag out a female from among them.
The females are pitifully thin. I don’t think that most of them are members of this tribe of werewolves, given the state of their health. The newer additions are still robust, and their fur still has a sheen to it. A rail-thin gray female turns and looks my way, her yellow eyes shining in the dark. I watch in surprise as she uncurls from her spot and hesitantly approaches me.
Despite the thick pelt of fur on her back, shoulders and thighs, her belly and breasts have little more than the same gray peach fuzz from collar to pelvis. The fur on her head, however, is longer than my hair, lying in a thick mass down her back until it reaches her hip. It looks as ragged as the rest of her, with visible mats. Rather than multiple teats, which I would’ve assumed a female werewolf might have with their lupine anatomy, she has two round breasts on her chest like a woman, though her breasts hang from her emaciated form. She is bare except for the long sarong-style wrap around her hips that’s seen better days. I can tell from hints of decorative embroidery and beadwork that it must have once been very fine.
Cavekji chooses that moment to let loose a full-throated wail and to my surprise she smiles and inches forward with her palms facing up. I watch her warily but nod when she indicates that she’d like to sit beside me. Her eyes don’t move from my son as she lowers herself, her leg bumping mine.
“That trollbie, he is yours?” she rasps in a thin voice.
“Yes. This is my son, Cavekji.”
She smiles and leans toward him, her eyes filled with sadness.
“Would you... like to hold him?” I ask.
The female’s eyes widen for a moment but then she smiles her strange lupine grin and jerks her head in an enthusiastic nod. I settle him into her arms, and she snuggles him against her like a pro, her hand running over his fuzzy cap of hair.
“He is so sweet,” she murmurs, giggling softly when Cavekji grabs ahold of a clump of hair and attempts to drag it into his mouth before she gently removes it from his fingers. “I had a kit, but he died. All of our kits are dying,” she says, a tremor in her voice.
“Are you from the Warue Tribe?”
She shakes her head. “Not me, but there are several of their females in here with us. No one seems certain why they were culled from their tribe and placed in here. All I know is that they call this the female holding den. They say that they kidnapped us because their females keep losing their kits shortly after birth, but now those of us who have been stolen are suffering the same. They don’t feed us anything but scraps nor allow us exercise and they wonder why we are fading away and the kits are dying,” she snorts.
“That doesn’t make any sense. If they wanted you for breeding, they would be feeding you enough to care for your kits and keep you healthy. Sounds more like they’re setting you up for failure, so that no matter what happens, they have an excuse to get rid of you. But why would anyone want to do that?”
She shrugs morosely. “All I know is that the only time they take us out of here is to breed or dispose of us when we haven’t satisfied them. Reya, the female taken earlier today, she lost her kit yesterday. She won’t be coming back,” she observes sadly. “No one will remember us so that we can join our ancestors.”
“I’ll remember you,” I promise. And I will. If anything happens to her, I would never forget her.
Her lips twist. “Will you really? If you get out of here and I am gone, you will go and tell my living family and my ancestors at the ancestral shrine my name so that they will know me and remember me?”
“I promise.”
She stares into my eyes and seems satisfied at what she finds there because she smiles. “I am Fahuri.”
“I’m Kate,” I reply, earning another quick flash of fangs.
Fahuri doesn’t leave my side all day, nor the next. The other females start to migrate over. Their kits are so tiny and weak compared to Cavekji that I want to weep. They’re listless and barely able to lift their heads. One of the females, a younger mother named Ahoa, whimpers with sorrow as her little one’s head lolls, his little body laboring to survive.
She watches Cavekji nurse with sad eyes.
“All of my milk has dried up. They do not feed us enough. He is starving. I try to give him the mush the males throw in here, but he cannot hold it down,” Ahoa cries bitterly. Many other females nod and echo her observation, their own babes fruitlessly rooting their withering breasts. The younger females among them have not yet whelped and watch on with sorrow.
Never in my life would I ever thought of putting another female’s child at my breast, but it’s not like there is formula on hand. Watching the kits struggle to survive pains me as a living being and as a mother. Finally, I pull Cavekji from my breast and ignore his angry protests as I reach toward Ahoa. Cavekji isn’t going hungry, but her kit will die if I do not do something to help.
“Ahoa, I know we’re not the same species and my milk probably won’t be as good for him as yours is, but I’ll nurse him while I can—if you will allow it.”
The females stare at me in surprise and then Ahoa sets her hand on my arm with a relieved smile. “Among our kind, it is not odd for females to nurse for another when the mother is not present or is unable to. I would be so grateful if you would.”
A tide of pleas rises from two other nursing females for help, and I assure them I’ll do everything in my power to help. I take Ahoa’s son, Meri, and prop him at my breast. At first, he doesn’t respond, and I worry that he’s too far gone, but a tiny drop of milk lands on his tongue and the kit lurches forward with what little strength he has and latches on.
It’s startling at first, and it takes little to fill their tiny bellies. I move in quick succession onto the other kits to nurse them and return them to their mothers. Thankfully, my milk increase is slight but noticeable the next day. I’ve always overproduced milk whenever I nurse, both with Boukie and Cavekji, and it doesn’t take much to kick it up a notch. Even so, I know it won’t last long if we’re stuck here too much longer. But it’s something.
For two days, I feed Cavekji and the other three infants in the room, and we see nothing of any males other than the one who shoves scraps of food into the cell twice a day.
CAVEK
It’s the second time I am standing before Orgath looking for aide
. Though it’s an uncomfortable experience as he glowers at me from his throne, I am comforted with the knowledge that he doesn’t hold me responsible for his mate’s distress. And distressed is a polite way of describing Sammi at the moment. Orcs are known for their ferocity, but Sammi looks like she is ready at any moment to leap from her own throne and go kill someone.
I am all in favor of turning her against a few werewolves. It would be a sight to behold.
“Hill ogres,” Orgath growls in disgust.
Of everything, that is what irritates him the most. Not that my mate is in the claws of werewolves. I am not entirely sure how I feel about it. Oh, it makes me angry, but I’m not sure if it is exactly because he considers the hill ogres a more serious threat. When it comes down to it, they are.
The Warue tribe could possibly have some compunction against killing my female, but ogres are known to be mindless beasts that kill with little provocation. I have to wonder what the wolves offered to make an alliance worthwhile.
Ogres are entirely male. There is only one thing of value that they could want. I stiffen as it finally comes to me. The Evarue Tribe has had females turn up missing. What if they are being traded to the ogres for their compliance?
The idea is too dreadful to consider and knowing that my mate is in the midst of that sends me into a killing rage of blood and darkness until I feel the biting grip of Orgath’s large hand upon me. I come back to myself with Orgath’s gray face just inches from my own, a snarl curling his lips as Sammi frantically tugs on him.
“Orgath! Let him go, you big oaf, and tell me what’s going on! I know Cavek didn’t just flip out for no reason at all. Somebody better tell me something, damn it!”
The male grunts and releases me, and my head hits the floor with a crack. I groan and cradle my head in my hands as I sit up.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Sammi snaps.
“He is in one piece and alive,” Orgath replies dourly, but then sighs. “The reason for concern, delfass-ki, is because they may be capturing females for the express purpose of gifting them to the ogres. Ogres are all male, so they use females from other species as breeders until the female is unable to bear young anymore. They are vile creatures,” he spits out.
Sammi’s mouth drops open. “And they have Kate? What are we waiting for? Thank the gods we’ve been working on swordplay. Let’s go kick some ass!”
“You are not going anywhere, female,” Orgath growls. “You will stay here with our child. I will call on Bodi and Ferli to help me assemble warriors to go with me to aid Cavek.”
I watch as she narrows her eyes and her face flushes with anger.
“You’re joking, right? I know you don’t think you’re going to just leave me here like some simpering princess in a castle tower. Do you have any idea how insulting that sounds? ‘No, little female. Stay here and mind the little ones while the big strong man will go to battle.’ I know for a fact that no orc female has to listen to that load of crap. Besides, Jake can watch her. You know he’s not anything close to a fighter.”
Orgath leans in to face his mate, his growl echoing around the common room of his keep, but Sammi doesn’t even blink. She crosses her arms over her chest and juts her chin out with clear defiance.
Within hours, I am returning to the Middling Way with Orgath, Bodi, Ferli, ten strong orcs, and Sammi, clad in thick armor and wearing a shortsword strapped across her back and a half dozen knives at Orgath’s insistence.
Chapter 19
Cavek
I crouch down in the dense forest deep within enemy territory. Scattered all around me, hidden in the thick growth are my allies. The orcs grumble a bit as plants snag them. They aren’t used to fighting in the dense growth of the forests of the Middling Way, but the Evarue have all but disappeared, melting into the foliage.
I lift my head from where I am sighting down an arrow and spy Garol in a tree with his bow drawn as well. He looks down at me with a vicious grin. I shake my head. The only time that male smiles is during battle. I feel sorry for his mate being joined to such a dreary male, but there must be something about him that she enjoys.
I twitch when Serus drops down by my side, his heavy sword balanced across his knees. He slaps my shoulder in a show of solidarity. I incline my head so that he knows I received his message. His smile widens and he creeps forward ahead of me to stop beside Orgath and Sammi. The female looks diminutive between them, but it gives me hope. Human females don’t get the credit they deserve. Despite their fragile bodies, they are strong. My Kate will be alive and waiting for me.
Peering through the dense growth it is only by luck that I see Eral’s dark ear twitch. Soundless, I relax my bow and slide over to him, but the male’s ear turns toward me and he knows I’m coming before I even arrive.
“Where are they most likely to keep a captive female?” I whisper.
Eral grumbles for a moment in thought.
“Their dens are not set up like ours are. Normally, the families are kept closer to the center of the tribe with the single hunters or those pairs without young kits on the outskirts. We place our most vulnerable at the center to protect them. This tribe seems to be arranged specifically to a standard of hierarchy. Anything valuable they will likely set nearest to the alpha’s den at the center.”
I narrow my eyes and look at the dens constructed of mud and branches in the frame of the large root systems of the trees. One stretches out larger than the rest, and the large alpha goes in and out of it at regular intervals. That must be his den. I scan to the right and see a smaller structure with fewer windows than the other dens. I point the end of my bow toward it.
“What do you think? Seems a likely prospect.”
Eral looks to where I’m pointing and nods.
“Yes, I would wager that to be the place where any females will be kept. It is close enough to the alpha where he can keep a direct eye on those coming in and out of it, and it is surrounded by the dens of the rest of the tribe. An arrangement like that not only protects them from outsiders coming in to steal the females, but it also prevents escape. It fits what we know of the Warue.”
“Very well. I will inform Orgath and Serus.”
I slip away from Eral’s side and draw up beside Serus. He raises his brow at me and I point to the suspected den that may be holding Kate and hopefully some of the stolen Evarue females. Orgath observes silently on Serus’s other side, but his eyes dart with a quick, analytical glances over the structures of the dens that surround our target area.
I still as the large bulk of an ogre moves into view. I’ve never seen one before and my breath lodges painfully in my chest. The ogre towers over even the largest of wolves by a good head, his sickly yellow flesh a disturbing sight. I am struck with horror by the very idea of a small female being brutalized by one of them. Orgath growls as several more come lumbering into view.
There is no doubt what the ogres are there for. We may have arrived just in time.
Orgath and Serus whisper to each other and Orgath raises his hand and cuts it through the air, summoning the orcs to blow the horns to alert everyone to advance. All around us, the horns erupt into a cacophony of trumpeting blasts, and the deep bellows of the orcs’ war-cries merge with the roars of my brethren and the eerie howls of the Evarue. We surge forward as one through the dense trees and brush to slam into wolves that race to the perimeter of their den-grounds.
A small number of High-Ridge trolls emerge from their encampment just beyond the den-ground and run to meet us. They’re distinct from the Middling Way trolls by their murky greenish-brown hue, white luminous eyes, and dark masses of hair. Their battle cry is the shriek of a wild cat, meant to strike terror. We collide with them, the crashing impact of bodies and armor ringing through the forest like an ominous death knell.
From my left, the Evarue burst forward and leap upon the Warue. Claws and teeth rip savagely into their targets as easily as my blade plunges into those enemies nearest to me. My battle lust
mounts with every fatal wound I deliver and every head I sever from the flailing bodies. Hot sprays of blood hit me, and for the first time I relish it. For a second, I appreciate the enjoyment my brothers get out of battle, but for me this blood is sweetest because it’s for my family.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Sammi thrust her blade through the throat of an imposingly large werewolf. A large ax swings out and decapitates another who attempts to protect its brethren. Sammi grins, a white slash through a mask of gore, and she looks at that moment as fierce as any orc. Orgath strides with his mate, covering her as they fight in a sort of synchronized dance, their bodies moving in choreographed steps.
An ogre rushes forward with a shout, his yellowing tusks encrusted with blood from where he obviously gored someone. He raises a huge iron-spiked club. Orgath steps in front of his mate, radiating fury as he faces the beast. Without hesitation, I spin close to the troll and slit his throat, releasing a wide-arcing spray of blood that I don’t linger to relish.
Instead, I leap forward onto a fallen tree and yank an arrow out of my quiver. I force out a secretion of toxins from the glands in my throat. A bitter taste fills my mouth. I lick the arrowhead and notch the arrow, sending it flying into one of the eyes of the ogre. Blindness would normally only slow it down, due to the lower placement of the eyes away from the heavy boning that encases the brain inside its skull, but the toxin makes it roar out in agony.
The ogre stumbles, madly swinging his club, as Orgath and Sammi draw back and circle looking for their opening. It comes when Ethiel, their delfass, springs from the grass and its bulk collides with the ogre, tearing into him with a loud shriek. He leaps out of the way as the ogre rolls and that’s when Sammi and Orgath attack. The female angles her blade to stab up under the bone-plated chest that protects its internal organs, disabling it long enough for Orgath to chop through its neck with two powerful swings of his battleax.
The Troll Bride Page 14
