Her Rugged Orcs

25. Murok

25

MUROK

T he mountain forest looms dark and threatening as we converge near the rushing river. My boots crunch over dead leaves as I scan the ground, looking for any sign of her trail. An hour of searching has left us with nothing but frustration and growing dread.

"Anything?" Grash's voice carries a dangerous edge I've rarely heard before.

I shake my head, crouching to examine a broken branch. The moonlight filters through the canopy, casting strange shadows that play tricks on my eyes. But then something catches my attention – a glint of metal in the underbrush.

My heart stops when I recognize what it is.

"Here." My voice comes out rough as I reach down and lift Eira's dagger from the leaves.

Dren moves silently beside me, his eyes scanning the area with deadly focus. That's when I see it – dark stains on the leaves a few feet away. My experienced eyes know exactly what it is before I even touch it.

Blood. Still tacky. Fresh.

"Fuck!" The curse tears from my throat as I grab the hilt of my blade, my knuckles straining white against my dark green skin.

The three of us stand frozen, the implications of what we've found hitting us like a physical force. The rushing river seems to mock us with its constant motion while we remain paralyzed.

Grash's massive form is rigid with tension beside me. Dren has gone completely still, the way he does before a kill. And I... I can't move, can't think past the sight of her blood staining the forest floor.

We were supposed to protect her. I was supposed to see this coming. That's what I do – I plan, I strategize, I see the threats before they manifest.

But I failed. We all failed her.

I stare at the blood-stained leaves, my mind racing through every possible scenario. Each one is worse than the last. Images of Eira bound, bleeding, broken – they tear through my thoughts like shards of glass.

"She's in trouble," Dren breaks the silence, already moving ahead, his voice carrying the weight of a death sentence.

Beside me, Grash trembles with rage. His massive frame vibrates with it, his eyes wild with a fury I've never seen before. The small boulder nearest to him crumbles under his fist.

"This is all our fault," I admit. "We drove her to this."

My throat constricts as I remember the look in her eyes when we accused her. The hurt. The betrayal. How could I have been so blind? I'm supposed to be the strategist, the one who sees all angles. Instead, I let paranoia cloud my judgment.

Grash lets out a sound between a growl and a roar. "If they've hurt her-"

"They have," I cut him off, gesturing to the blood. My voice comes out harder than steel. "And they'll pay for every drop."

The sticky crimson on the leaves mocks me. Each spatter represents a failure – my failure. To protect her. To believe in her. To keep her safe.

I've led armies, planned battles, and outsmarted enemies. But right now, watching that blood dry on dead leaves, I feel like a green recruit facing his first fight. This isn't strategy anymore. This is primal, visceral fear for someone I... someone I need.

The confession sits heavy on my chest. I've never felt this depth of anger, this consuming fear. Not in all my years of warfare. Not even when I watched my closest brothers fall in battle.

This is different. She is different.

And I hate myself for letting my cynicism blind me to what was right in front of my face.

"We need to think this through," I force myself to say, even as my instincts scream to charge after her now. "One wrong move and-"

I can't finish the sentence. Can't voice the possibility that haunts us all.

Dren's eyes meet mine, and I see my own fear reflected there. "They took her alive," he says softly. "They want something."

"They want us," I realize, the pieces clicking into place.

"We need to get her back," Grash growls.

"We will." My tone is deadly calm despite the rage burning within me. "The dark elves are smart. They're drawing us in. But they don't know what they've awakened."

Dren melts from the shadows beside me, his eyes gleaming with deadly intent. "They'll die screaming."

"Something still doesn't add up," I growl, pacing the forest floor. "The elves shouldn't be able to track us this precisely. There's a piece we're missing."

Grash whirls on me, his eyes blazing. "Does it fucking matter right now?"

"It matters because I won't lose her twice!" The words rip from my throat before I can stop them. The admission hangs in the air, heavy with implications I'm not ready to face.

I've spent my life analyzing threats, calculating odds, and staying three steps ahead. But right now, all I can think about is her. The way she fits against me. The future I suddenly realize I want – need – with her in it. The cold calculation I usually pride myself on wars with something deeper, more primal.

But I know one thing with absolute certainty: I will burn their world to ash to get her back.

"We move now," I command, already striding forward. "They'll expect us to charge in blind with rage. So we'll give them exactly what they're waiting for – and then show them what happens when you take what belongs to us."

My brothers fall in beside me as we leave the blood-stained clearing behind. The dark elves are about to learn why you don't steal from orcs who've claimed something as their own.

The mountain path twists before us, the rushing river masking our footsteps as we track our prey. My braids whip against my face in the chill wind as I crouch to examine fresh tracks in the mud. These aren't just any tracks – they're dark elf boots, and they're carrying something. Someone.

Eira's scent lingers in the air, faint but unmistakable. Like spring rain and fear. My blood boils.

"They're close," I murmur, rising to my full height.

The trail leads us deeper into the forest until we catch the flicker of firelight through the trees. I signal for us to stop, dropping into a crouch behind a fallen log. Below us, in a small clearing, sits their camp – four tents, eight guards that I can see, and one larger tent where they're likely keeping her.

"I count twelve total," Dren whispers, materializing beside me like a shadow. "Two in the main tent with her."

My jaw clenches as I study the layout, already formulating our strategy. "Dren, you'll move in first. Create chaos in their ranks. When they're scattered..."

"We strike," Grash finishes, his voice promising violence.