Chapter 9
Wodred
Fifteen Years Ago
The General’s Cohort of the Northern Horde runs drills as Salthu, my second, barks orders at them in Orikesh.
They move in perfect synchronicity, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next.
Almost like a lethal dance. My eyes rake over the cohort, each member hand-picked by myself.
They are the deadliest group in Orik, each warrior here chosen for their skill and ambition.
They want to be the best and so I will drive them to become the best.
There is a tension in the air today. The king is coming and is bringing his only son and heir to join my troops for his training.
It is a great honor, to be sure, but I’ve dreaded this day since I received the message that I’d been chosen.
I do not want to deal with a miniature Guruk, swaggering about, spouting arrogance and poison about bloodlines and offspring.
Any child of Guruk’s is sure to be a disruption to the Horde.
A headache, that is what this “honor” brings me.
And then there is the Lady Melelea. I have never been able to forget her.
Even as I know that she has defied the odds and stayed with Guruk even without a Mating Bite and most likely loves the king, I cannot dispel my dangerous feelings for her.
My instincts have never roused for another female.
I can still remember that night in Goetia, the quiet conversation we had while my Mating Instinct growled at me to kill Guruk and take her.
I do not know if she will accompany the king and her son, but I both yearn for the sight of her and dread fighting my instincts once again.
Salthu calls for a short break in the drills before coming up the hill to meet me and clapping my shoulder. “All is ready for the king’s visit and a message just came that they are close.”
I snort. “‘Close’ could mean an hour or just a few minutes. It is not exact.”
Salthu grins. “Not everyone can be as exacting as you are, my friend. You’ll have to deal with our deficiencies, as frustrating as it must be for one as perfect as you.”
I shake my head. “I am not perfect, but I can do my job.”
“Same thing,” Salthu responds flippantly. He looks out over the troops from our vantage point, his eyes going to the distance.
“Have you heard the rumors?” he asks, still looking in the distance. “About the princeling?”
“You know I don’t listen to rumors,” I respond. It is true. No one even tries to gossip with me, knowing that I am not interested in hearsay and pot-stirring.
“I would expect no less from Brother Wodred,” Salthu laughs. “A monk through and through. But you’ll want to hear this one.”
“What is it?” I sigh. I don’t really want to hear more about Guruk’s orcling.
“He has no sibilance,” Salthu says, shocking me.
“What?” I ask, stunned. “How can that be? An orc without sibilance?”
“Apparently, he was a weak and sickly infant,” Salthu shrugs. “He cried and cried until it broke his voice. Guruk blames his wife. He says her weakness infected their child.”
Kill him, growls my Mating Instinct. Take your mate.
He doesn’t deserve her. I ignore the traitorous thoughts, even though Guruk blaming Melelea is unjust and rouses my anger.
And something about the story rings false somehow.
Why would a baby cry so much and not be soothed by its parents? Where was Guruk? Where was Melelea?
“I find that all hard to believe,” I tell Salthu.
Salthu shrugs again. “Believe what you like, it’s true. It is Guruk’s biggest shame. He’s been training the princeling since he was seven summers to strengthen him so that the princeling won’t be as big of an embarrassment.”
“Sibilance is important for finding a mate,” I start, “but why would it be an embarrassment? One can be a great warrior and leader and never use their sibilance.”
“He is probably going to be king someday,” Salthu points out. “And he’ll never be able to join in the Enticement Chants or other rituals of our people. I can see why Guruk has been trying to have another heir.”
“He should be glad that he has any, seeing as it's been years and has had dozens of mistresses and he still has no other orclings,” I say, unable to keep the disapproval out of my voice.
Salthu laughs. “Oh-ho, look who knows some rumors after all. How did you know about the mistresses?”
“He brought one to Goetia, if you’ll remember,” I remind him. “And every time there’s been a mention of a mistress, it's a new name or race. I’m not a fool, I can put a two-piece puzzle together.”
The puzzle that I can’t put together is why Lady Melelea stays with him when he constantly dishonors her.
I know that she said that her own father was not monogamous, but she sounded sad when she mentioned Guruk’s mistresses.
Why would she stay when Guruk keeps hurting her like this? I don’t understand.
“I never meant to imply otherwise,” Salthu responds. “I—”
Horns blow in the distance, cutting off Salthu’s words. The king’s retinue has arrived.
“Come,” I say to my friend, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let us meet the king and see this princeling that we are to train.”
We mount our warbeasts and ride through the cohort to meet the retinue.
Orcs stop and make the sign of respect as we pass, before taking their place back in the ranks.
When we emerge on the other side of the cohort, all the warriors are back in formation, silently waiting at attention for further instruction.
Guruk is at the head of the caravan, looking older than I remember him.
There are more frown lines around his tusks, and a severity in his eyes that I have not seen before.
There is no mistress this time sitting ahead of him in the saddle, but instead, Lady Melelea is there, looking as lovely as ever.
She is a little more plump with age, her breasts heavier than they were, but time has only deepened her beauty.
She looks serene, the consummate princess.
The light in her eyes is sad, however. She must be worried about her son.
Though Guruk and Melelea are sitting so close together, they do not look happy together.
Perhaps they are both taking the departure of their son hard.
When Guruk sees me, however, he lightens, a false-looking smile spreading on his lips.
“General Wodred, my old friend. I see that you are keeping my troops in readiness.”
“My King,” I reply, making the sign of respect on my chest. “I only do my duty.”
“That’s what I like about you, Wodred,” the king remarks. “No frills and to the point. No pointless fawning or arrogance. It is why I chose you to train my . . . son.”
He says the last word as if it is foreign on his lips, as if he isn’t used to acknowledging the prince as his own. Salthu’s rumors must be correct, and, for some reason, it makes my heart ache for the orcling.
“Rognar!” barks Guruk. “Come forward.”
I don’t know what I expected. A spoiled princeling, I suppose, from Salthu’s description.
Weak and maybe arrogant, since he’s been receiving training since he was young.
Someone unteachable and unbearably confident.
Someone with a cruel streak like Guruk that he uses to hide his insecurities.
But whatever I expected, that is not what I see.
A young orc comes forward, dismounting from a warbeast that should be too big for him with ease.
He walks forward cautiously, but with the bearing of a king.
He is quiet and wary, his eyes holding too much wisdom for one so young.
He’s strong, with a wiry frame and proud horns curling back from his face.
I am speared with the knowledge of what I am looking at. I feared that I would be training Guruk’s son, one with all his weaknesses and foibles. I never considered that I would be training Melelea’s son. Quietly strong, wise, and fair. That is who I am training.
A feeling unlike anything I have ever felt before blooms in my chest. A fatherly feeling of pride and awe. I have no right to feel like a father toward this young orc that is the spitting image of his mother, but I do. I would die to protect him, and I have only just seen him.
“Don’t just stand there like a useless lump,” Guruk sneers. “Introduce yourself to your superior officer.”
Rognar’s face doesn’t change, but something like pain flashes briefly through his eyes. Then he makes the sign of respect toward me and says, “I report for training, General Wodred.”
It is only through years of training that I keep myself from flinching at his voice.
It is nothing like the smooth, deep voices of every other orc whom I know.
It is a raw and broken voice, rasping and growling.
It is clear from those scant words that Salthu was right.
No orc with a voice like that would have sibilance.
But I would never make him feel less than because of something that he cannot control. “You are welcome in the Northern Horde, My Prince,” I say evenly. “You’ll be living with the other trainees.”
Rognar inclines his head warily at that, as if still expecting my censure for his voice. When none comes he relaxes a fraction.
“Gunag!” I bark out, calling the name of one of my newest trainees. “Gunag ka Strok!”
“Yes, General!” calls back the young orc, barely older than the prince himself. He jogs forward and stands at the ready next to my warbeast. He is an eager trainee, chomping at the bit to prove himself, as he is from the Outcast Village. He will be a good companion for the prince.
“Take the prince to the trainee’s tent and get him situated. He begins his training immediately,” I order.
Turning back to the prince, I say, “While you are a trainee, you are no longer a prince. You are under my command, and I expect swift obedience. You may not experience the deferential treatment you are accustomed to, but here, as long as you work hard, you will be treated fairly. Is that understood?”