Chapter 4
KNOX
The darkness does not trouble me. I have fought in caverns beneath mountains where no light has touched stone since the world was young, navigated tunnels carved by my ancestors through solid bedrock, and tracked enemies through moonless nights when the only illumination came from the distant fires of burning enemy encampments.
Darkness is an old companion, familiar and workable, a tactical consideration rather than an obstacle.
What troubles me is the sharp intake of breath I hear from Cypress, the subtle tremor in her when she confirms that the door has been sealed against us, and the way her small frame presses against the unyielding wood as if she can somehow will it open through sheer determination.
She is frightened, and the knowledge sends something hot and protective surging through me, an instinct older than language or civilization that demands I eliminate whatever threat has caused this reaction in her.
"Step aside, little valkyrie. I will handle this."
The faint glow of her phone shifts as she moves away from the door, and I can see the pale oval of her face in the weak light, her eyes wide and dark, her lips slightly parted.
She does not argue with me, does not question my capability, simply trusts that I will resolve this situation, and that trust settles into my bones like warmth after a long winter march.
I approach the door and run my hands along its frame, my fingers finding the electronic lock mechanism that has been engaged from the outside.
The technology is unfamiliar to me in its specifics, but the principle is simple enough.
Something is holding this door closed, and that something is attached to the wall by screws and mounting brackets and the thin membrane of drywall that humans use to construct their buildings.
In the fortresses of my homeland, such barriers are made from stone and iron, requiring siege equipment and coordinated assault teams to breach.
Here, in this place of paper and promises, the obstacles are far more fragile.
I dig my fingers into the gap between the lock mechanism and the wall, feeling the resistance of the hardware, the tension of the wires running into the electronic components, the structural weakness of the surrounding materials.
My claws find purchase in the soft drywall, sinking into the surface like blades into yielding flesh, and I brace my feet against the floor and pull.
The sound is deeply satisfying. Metal shrieks as screws are torn from their anchors, drywall crumbles and cracks under the pressure, and the entire lock assembly comes away from the wall in a shower of white dust and sparking wires, leaving a ragged hole where the mechanism used to be.
I toss the destroyed hardware aside and push the door open with my shoulder, and it swings wide into the darkened hallway beyond, offering us freedom and fresh air and the relief of no longer being trapped in that confined space.
"There. The barrier has been removed."
"You just..." She gestures at the hole in the wall, the dangling wires, the scattered debris. "You ripped it out. With your hands."
"The obstacle required removal. I removed it." I do not understand her apparent shock. "Was there a preferred method of extraction that I overlooked? A specific protocol for dealing with sabotaged door mechanisms that I should have consulted?"
She laughs, the sound slightly unsteady but genuine. "No, that was extremely effective. I just wasn't expecting you to demolish the wall."
"Demolition is often the most efficient path to victory.
" I step into the hallway and scan the darkness for any sign of the saboteurs who arranged our imprisonment, but the floor appears deserted, the other offices empty and silent.
"We should not remain here. Whoever locked us in may return to verify their handiwork, and I prefer to choose my battlegrounds rather than have them chosen for me. "
Cypress nods and gathers her bag from the small office, her phone's light bobbing as she moves.
I notice that she does not waste time with unnecessary questions or delays, simply accepts my tactical assessment and prepares to move.
It is a quality I have observed in the best warriors of my clan, the ability to adapt quickly to changing circumstances without allowing fear or confusion to slow their response.
We make our way through the darkened building, my hand occasionally finding Cypress's elbow to guide her around obstacles she cannot see in the inadequate light of her phone.
The emergency stairs are functional despite the power outage, and we descend floor by floor, the echo of our footsteps bouncing off concrete walls and metal railings.
I keep myself positioned between her and any potential ambush points, my senses alert for the slightest indication of hostile presence, but we encounter no one on our journey downward.
The lobby is equally deserted when we emerge, the security desk abandoned and the front doors hanging open to the evening air.
Streetlights provide enough illumination to navigate by, and I guide Cypress out onto the sidewalk, where the normal rhythms of human city life continue uninterrupted by the drama that has unfolded in the building behind us.
"The subway station is two blocks north," Cypress says, pointing in a direction that looks identical to every other direction in this maze of identical buildings and identical streets. "I can make it from here on my own."
"Unacceptable." The word comes out more forcefully than I intend, and I moderate my tone before continuing.
"You were just the target of deliberate sabotage.
The perpetrators may still be observing the building, waiting to confirm that their trap was successful.
I will escort you to the transit station and ensure you board safely before I consider the evening's security perimeter complete. "
She looks up at me, her face illuminated by the streetlights, and I find myself cataloging the details of her expression with an attention I do not usually devote to human physiognomy.
The slight furrow of her brow suggests she is considering arguing with me, but the set of her jaw indicates that she recognizes the logic of my position, and after a moment she nods and begins walking north toward the subway station.
I fall into step beside her, matching my longer stride to her shorter one, and we walk in companionable silence through the evening streets.
The city is busy around us, humans hurrying past on their own missions and errands, paying no attention to the unlikely pair of an Orc warchief in a tailored suit and a small human woman with tired eyes and ink stains on her fingers.
We must look strange together, the disparity in our sizes making her appear almost childlike beside my bulk, but Cypress walks with her chin up and her shoulders back, radiating a confidence that I find deeply appealing.
We are halfway to the subway station when she stumbles slightly on an uneven section of pavement, and I reach out automatically to steady her, my hand closing around her upper arm to prevent her from falling.
The contact sends a jolt of awareness through me, a heightened consciousness of how fragile she is compared to me, how easily I could hurt her if I applied even a fraction of my strength without careful control.
"Thank you," she says, looking up at me with those dark eyes that seem to see more than they should. "I'm fine, just tired."
I release her arm but find myself reluctant to break the connection entirely. Instead, I offer her my hand, palm up, an invitation rather than a demand. "The terrain is treacherous. Allow me to provide stability for the remainder of the journey."
She hesitates for only a moment before placing her hand in mine, and the sensation is unlike anything I have experienced in my considerable years of warfare and conquest. Her fingers are so small compared to mine, delicate bones wrapped in soft skin, warm and alive against my palm.
My hand could crush hers without effort, could close around it and grind those fragile bones to powder, and yet she trusts me to hold her gently, to guide her safely through the obstacles of the city streets.
The trust implicit in that gesture affects me more than I care to examine.
We continue walking, her hand secure in mine, and I find myself hyperaware of every point of contact between us.
The brush of her fingers against my palm penetrates even my thick Orc hide.
I have held weapons that fit my hands perfectly, axes and swords and maces crafted specifically for my grip, but none of them have ever felt as right as this small human hand nestled in my own.
The subway entrance appears ahead of us, a concrete stairway descending into the earth, and I feel an unexpected reluctance to release her and send her on her way.
The evening has been eventful, our alliance forged in the combat against financial adversaries and mysterious saboteurs, and the prospect of returning to my temporary lodgings alone holds less appeal than it did this morning.
But before we can reach the stairs, I sense movement in the alley to our left.
My warrior's instincts, honed through decades of battle, register the threat before my conscious mind processes the details.
Two figures emerging from the shadows, moving with the deliberate coordination of trained operatives, their attention fixed not on us but on the steel briefcase I carry in my free hand.
"Give us the case, Orc." The speaker is a human male, lean and sharp-featured, dressed in the dark clothing of someone who does not wish to be noticed.
His companion is similarly attired, and both of them carry weapons that gleam in the dim light of the alley mouth.
"Hand it over and we'll let you walk away. "
Cypress tenses beside me, her hand tightening on mine, but I squeeze her fingers gently in reassurance before releasing her and stepping forward to place myself between her and the attackers.
My briefcase contains the strategic plans I have been developing for the counterattack against the rival firm, documents that represent hours of careful analysis and tactical preparation, and more importantly, several contracts that could determine the fate of the company Cypress has worked so hard to salvage.
I will not surrender them.
"You have chosen your targets poorly. I am Knox Bloodaxe, Warchief of the Bloodaxe Clan, Conqueror of the Northern Markets, and Vanquisher of the Quarterly Report. I do not yield to threats from common footpads and corporate spies."
The two humans exchange glances, and I can see the calculation in their eyes, the reassessment of the situation based on my response.
They did not expect resistance, anticipated that the prospect of violence would be sufficient to secure their prize without actual conflict.
They have clearly never faced an Orc in combat.
"Last chance, big guy." The spokesman raises his weapon, something sleek and modern that I do not recognize but understand perfectly well. "The case or your life."
I let the briefcase fall from my hand, the steel container hitting the pavement with a heavy clang that echoes off the alley walls.
The attackers' eyes track the movement, momentarily diverted from me by the promise of their prize, and in that instant of distraction I feel the familiar surge of battle-joy rising in my blood, the ancient fire that has sustained my kind through millennia of warfare and conquest.
I throw back my head and let out the war cry of my ancestors, a sound that begins deep in me and erupts from my throat with the force of an avalanche, a primal scream of challenge and rage that bounces off the buildings around us and sends pigeons exploding from their roosts in startled flight.
The humans freeze, their civilized minds unable to process the atavistic terror that cry is designed to invoke, their weapons wavering as every instinct they possess screams at them to flee from the predator that has just revealed itself.
I do not give them time to recover.
My legs drive me forward with explosive force, covering the distance between us in two bounding strides, my hands reaching for the nearest attacker with fingers curved into claws and tusks bared in a snarl of pure predatory aggression.
The battle has been joined, and I intend to end it quickly and decisively, because somewhere behind me stands a small human woman with ink-stained fingers and tired eyes, and I will allow nothing in this world to harm her.