Chapter 5 Blorjorn
FIVE
BLORJORN
Ileave her with the healers and go to count the dead.
Six of the Blackbone. Twenty-three marauders. The math is in our favor, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. Every orc we lose is a hole in our ranks, a gap in our formations, a family somewhere that will never see their warrior come home.
We burn the marauders where they fell. Orc bodies we prepare properly—stripped of weapons and armor, wrapped in leather, placed on pyres that will carry their smoke to the sky. The death songs start as the flames rise, voices lifting in the old language, honoring the fallen.
I watch the flames and think about the human woman.
Life is life. She’d said it without hesitation. Without calculation. Like it was the most obvious truth in the world.
No human has ever said that to me. No human has ever looked at one of my wounded and seen anything except an enemy to be destroyed.
She’s either the bravest person I’ve ever met or the most foolish. Possibly both.
“Captain,” Marek’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. The scout looks grim—grimmer than usual, “we need to talk. Privately.”
I follow him to the edge of camp, away from the pyres and the death songs. The night is quiet, the stars cold and distant overhead. The Bloodscar Plains stretch endless in every direction, pale grass rippling in the wind.
“The dying marauder.” Marek keeps his voice low. “He wasn’t just raving. I questioned some of the others before they died. The bounty on the human woman…”
My teeth grind. “How many know?”
“Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Hadrin’s been distributing posters for weeks.
Every soldier in his army. Every bounty hunter in the Eastern Provinces.
Every marauder band willing to trade with human traders.
” Marek pauses. “They’ll find her, Captain.
It doesn’t matter how far we run or how well we hide.
The sigil brands will lead them right to her. ”
The words sink in. Heavy. Final.
Thousands of hunters carrying her signature. Every one of them able to feel her presence, track her movement, know exactly where she is at any moment.
Running won’t save her. Hiding won’t save her. Nothing I can do will save her—not with conventional methods.
“There is...” Marek hesitates, “one possibility.”
“Speak.”
“The old rituals. The blood oaths.” He meets my gaze. “The braid begins as protection,” Marek says carefully. “And unless it’s sealed in fire, you can break it.”
I know the ritual. Every orc of the old bloodlines knows it—the ancient binding that chains two lives together, makes two hearts beat as one. It’s sacred. The kind of magic that doesn’t care about intent or convenience or regret.
“The cost—” I start.
“Is high. I know.” Marek’s expression doesn’t waver. “It’s not a small thing, Captain. But it might be the only thing if you’re really set on this.”
I stare out at the dark plains. The pyres have burned low, embers glowing orange against the night. Somewhere behind me, the human woman is being tended by orc healers, her shoulder stitched closed, her blood mixing with orc medicine.
She saved Grothak. She saved Durnak. She threw herself into danger without hesitation, again and again, for people she doesn’t know, for a species that’s supposed to be her enemy.
I can’t let her die. The debt won’t allow it. I won’t allow it.
But a blood oath—
“She’ll refuse.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “She doesn’t want to be bound to anyone. Least of all me.”
“Then she’ll die,” Marek says flatly. “Hadrin’s trackers will find her within days. Maybe hours. The marauders proved tonight that anyone can reach her—we can’t fight off the entire world, Captain. Not forever.”
I close my eyes. Breathe. Feel the weight of the decision settling on my shoulders.
A blood oath. Binding her life to mine. Feeling her pain. Sharing her heartbeat. Giving up any chance of separating from her until she chooses to break the bond.
It’s madness.
It’s the only way.
“Find a ravine.” I open my eyes, meet Marek’s gaze. “Somewhere defensible. Hidden from casual observation. We’ll make camp there by dawn.”
“And the human?”
I turn back toward the camp. Toward the healer’s tent. Toward the woman who’s about to hate me even more than she already does.
“I’ll tell her.” The words taste bitter. “She deserves to know what her choices are. Even if none of them are good.”
Marek nods and melts into the darkness. I stand alone for a moment longer, watching the last embers of the funeral pyres die.
Run if you want. I’d told her that, hours ago. They’ll catch you before dawn.
Now there’s nowhere to run. Nowhere that the blood-magic can’t reach.
There’s only the oath. And whatever comes after.
I walk back toward the camp, toward the human woman with hazel eyes and steady hands, and I don’t let myself think about what it will feel like to have her heartbeat echoing in my skull.
I don’t let myself think about it at all.