Chapter Ten #2
Andre let out a cry. Seeing Farigoth, the orc let go. Andre flew toward Chestnut and flung his arms around his neck. The gelding quieted, his movements less agitated.
Andre went on his tiptoes to place a kiss on Farigoth’s cheek. “Thank you.” He looked him over. “Are you hurt?” Farigoth seemed fine, but…
“I’m all right. The stables are not on fire.
” Relief washed over Andre. “It’s the huts further south.
There’s smoke, and the guards are getting the horses out, but the animals are unharmed.
” Farigoth wrinkled his nose. “There was a quarrel among the unmated orcs at one of the fire pits. Someone crashed into a nearby hut, the wall collapsed, and a wooden beam fell into the flames. The fire flared and spread.”
Andre ran his hands over Farigoth, assuring himself he was unscathed.
“I’m going to sentence the culprits to running the gauntlet.”
Andre paled, taking an involuntary step back. The gauntlet was outlawed in Vale. It was beyond cruel. “Please, no,” Andre said, “that’s too severe a punishment. No one deserves to go through that.”
Farigoth set his jaw. Had Andre overstepped?
But he found the notion of the ordeal sickening, even if some orcs had been reckless with the fire.
For the gauntlet, they’d be forced to run through an alley of their comrades, who’d beat them from all sides until they either made it out or were battered to death. No one ever made it out.
“The culprits must be punished, and they will be. I will ensure you do not see it.” That wasn’t what Andre had meant, but Farigoth’s fierce expression said there was no room for discussion. Those orcs were going to be brutally punished.
“We’re putting the fire out.” Farigoth nodded toward the orcs rushing past them, carrying water. “It’s contained to that cluster of huts. They’ll burn down, but the fire will not spread. And we’re protecting the barn.”
A group of orcs passed, leading away the horses.
“I’m grateful you got Chestnut.” Andre petted his coat.
“We will take him to the palace gardens. Tomorrow morning, when everything has calmed down, the horses can go back into the stables.”
Andre took Chestnut’s lead, giving Farigoth a grateful smile. “That’s a good idea.” He hesitated. If Farigoth didn’t act, the tensions might escalate. “The quarrel that caused the fire… You said some unmated orcs got into a fight. I wonder if it broke out because they were unmated.”
“Of course. It is why we invaded Vale two winters ago.” Farigoth sighed. “Men gentle our temper. I wanted to keep the horde calm while I waited for your lord to deliver more men, but he is too slow. The peace will not hold. If I do not act, a rogue orc might.”
Something had to be done to accelerate things.
Lord Aranin, who had to be seeing the fragility of the peace, was certainly doing everything he could, but were the other lords and ladies too?
A joint, large-scale effort was required to resolve the situation, but many had lulled themselves into a false sense of security now that the orcs had retreated and the immediate pressure was gone.
But their tardiness was putting Farigoth in a situation where he had to take matters into his own hands. The orcs were disgruntled. To prevent unrest, Farigoth would have to put pressure on Vale. And there was one way to do that: by showing up.
The moment the thought crossed Andre’s mind, Farigoth said, “I’m going to launch an assault on Vale.”
Andre froze. “An assault?”
“Vale promised men in exchange for our return across the Great River. They haven’t upheld their side of the bargain.”
Andre chewed his bottom lip. Attacking Vale wouldn’t help with the orcs’ reputation—it’d scare the men further. The orcs wanted to find lovers, not make enemies.
“May I suggest…”
Farigoth looked at him expectantly.
“I don’t think an attack is necessary or prudent.
It won’t open the hearts of Valian men.” To say the least. “I do believe that Lord Aranin is working hard to find volunteers, but I’m less sure about the rest of the nobility.
Lord Aranin acts before pressure is applied, but not everyone is like that.
The other lords and ladies need a reminder of your power.
If you send a delegation across the river, the threat of another invasion should spur them into action.
They’ll intensify their search for volunteers. ”
Farigoth pinched his lips in thought, then nodded. “I will cross the Great River. That will motivate them.”
“You want to go to Vale yourself?” A pang went through Andre’s heart. He hadn’t considered the possibility of being separated. He sagged in dejection. “For how long would you be gone?”
“At least two months.”
Andre didn’t know how he was going to survive. Sure, his friends would keep him company, but he needed Farigoth. He couldn’t imagine going without him for two days, let alone two months. “I’ll miss you.”
Farigoth’s brow furrowed. “You’re coming with me.”
“Oh?”
Farigoth huffed. “I cannot go without you.” He shook his head. “An orc must look after his mate. Did you think I would leave you here?” He looked appalled.
“Then I’m gladly coming with you.”
“We will take many unmated orcs with us. It will calm them to know they’ll get men. Some mated guards will join us for your protection. And your companions.” Farigoth looked pleased. “This time, we will not leave Vale until the humans deliver what they’ve promised.”
Preparations for the journey were made swiftly. Within a few days, they were riding north.
It was different from their retreat weeks earlier.
Farigoth devoted generous amounts of time to ensuring Andre’s satisfaction.
He took him in the early mornings in their tent, when the camp was still quiet.
He took him throughout the day, at times not bothering to drag Andre into the bushes, simply mounting him on the side of the road whenever Andre’s arousal flared.
He took him at the nightly campfires, the horde greedily watching as Andre writhed and moaned under Farigoth’s relentless thrusts.
The comfort was greater, too. Andre slept on the soft bedding Farigoth had insisted on bringing, regardless of how cumbersome and impractical it was for travel. The food was delicious, the orcs’ meat-heavy diet adapted to match his taste. Farigoth had paid attention to what he liked.
Despite all the luxuries lavished upon him, there was one need that remained unmet: Andre missed emotional intimacy. Farigoth took care of his physical needs, but they hadn’t kissed since the morning after their mating ceremony.
Andre knew he couldn’t expect romance from an orc. Farigoth was a hardened warrior, a fearsome chief, and considering that, he was doing everything he could to make him happy. Andre ignored the ache in his heart, though that didn’t make it go away.
Throughout the journey, Farigoth shielded him from the unmated orcs, Andre seeing them but from afar.
The one time Serckor walked past him, Andre flinched in horror.
The whip had flailed his back in a crisscross pattern, leaving him shredded.
Andre felt the blood drain from his face.
Nobody should be mutilated. Especially not for what Serckor had done.
He’d been impudent, but he didn’t deserve this.
The sight had Andre losing his breakfast. This wasn’t right.
Neither had been the gauntlet. As Farigoth had promised, Andre hadn’t seen it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Had the punished survived? Unlikely. If they had, the beating would’ve crippled them, and an orc unable to fend for himself was as good as dead.
When, a week into their journey, another orc became unruly, Farigoth ordered him whipped, too.
Andre begged Farigoth to have mercy; it had only been a minor transgression. Farigoth dismissed his pleading. “This is the way of the orcs.”
The punishment took place in the woods to spare Andre the gory sight and the sharp, repeated crack of the whip, but the knowledge that it was happening made him sick to his stomach. When Andre had volunteered to join Farigoth, he’d underestimated the orcs’ penchant for brutality.
Thankfully, it was the last incident on the way to the border. Facing Farigoth’s draconian punishments, the orcs didn’t dare to step out of line. Andre was thankful they were spared another whipping.
With their smaller company, they traveled faster than they had on the way south, making good progress. Temperatures cooled as they approached the Great River. In Turia, the weather already carried the kiss of summer, but further north, it was still spring, trees standing in full bloom.
The crossing was uneventful, orcs and men leading the horses through the ford, cold water splashing Andre’s feet as Chestnut trotted through the river.
They pitched their tents at the site of the orcs former primary military encampment, a spot surveilled by Lord Aranin’s knights.
It was the best place to camp for a force that wanted to be seen.
Lord Aranin’s messenger arrived the next evening, carrying a missive sealed with red wax and his stag signet.
The orcs weren’t an invading force, the few dozen troops Farigoth had brought not enough to seize more than a few villages. Hence, Lord Aranin sent a messenger and not an army.
The letter contained a blunt but polite inquiry about the orcs’ presence in Vale.
Andre helped Farigoth draft a response clarifying the situation and requesting a meeting.
Lord Aranin would react better if he knew that the incursion was not an act of aggression but an incentive for Vale to intensify its efforts to find men.
Andre handed their response to the messenger, asking her to deliver his personal greetings to Lord Aranin. It would calm his lordship to know that Andre was well and hopefully de-escalate the situation.