Chapter 13
For the rest of the evening, Raye almost forgot the men, and the danger.
It was partly that echoing threat of Gaelfr’s — I will gladly kill them all — and partly the way he behaved afterwards, too. As if nothing whatsoever was amiss, and he wasn’t even slightly concerned about the men.
“I caught a pheasant for us, on my way home,” he told them, once he’d fetched Svein from his room again. “Will you both come help me ready it, and cook us some supper?”
Will you both. As if he wanted Raye there, too.
And what would have usually been a messy, unpleasant job soon turned out to be surprisingly painless.
Not only did Gaelfr speak politely to Raye, asking for her help with this or that, but he also taught Svein how to use his claws to dress and cut the meat, and explained what parts were best for orcs or humans to eat.
He again showed himself to be a surprisingly attentive teacher, and didn’t once raise his voice, or show a single sign of impatience — not even when Svein accidentally squirted fresh partridge blood into Gaelfr’s face.
To which Gaelfr only laughed and licked his long, curling black tongue at it, and firmly proclaimed its tastiness while Raye cringed and groaned.
They cooked supper together too, Gaelfr simmering the meat while Raye chopped up a few root vegetables from her stores, and added her own seasonings.
And again, the meal proved to be thoroughly delicious, enough that Raye didn’t even try to argue when Gaelfr dumped a large second helping onto her plate.
“Now, how about that sparring, son?” Gaelfr asked, once they’d all finished eating. “I should like to try these wooden swords of yours.”
Svein excitedly nodded, and leapt up and fetched the swords from the corner. But then he hesitated, casting an uncertain look toward the dimming light beyond the papered window. “But it’s almost dark out,” he said, with a sigh. “We can’t go outside after dark.”
“Ach, we can,” Gaelfr replied, as he reached for one of the swords, and flipped it in his hand. “It is mayhap the safest time of all, since orcs can see in the dark, whilst men cannot. And —”
His voice broke, his mouth twisting, and he slowly raised the sword to his face. Inhaling deeply against its long wooden blade, which slightly trembled before his nose. “Ach,” he said, his tone far less certain than before. “Kalfr made these?”
Raye blinked — she hadn’t known Kalfr had made them — but Svein rapidly nodded, his grin wide and bright. “Ach,” he said, just the way Gaelfr had. “I’ve tried really hard not to touch the blades much, so his smell will stay.”
Wait. Really? Svein had been trying to preserve his father’s scent?
He’d never told Raye that, and something complicated twisted in her belly as Svein kept beaming at Gaelfr, as if he’d done something to be proud of.
And perhaps Gaelfr agreed, inhaling deeply against the blade again, his lashes fluttering low.
“Ach, this is good, son,” he replied, hoarse. “Kalfr’s scent is near as strong upon this as it is upon you, and your mother.”
He shot a wry half-smile toward Raye’s face, and her stomach twisted again, as inexplicable heat rose in her cheeks. Was Gaelfr saying — he liked that smell on her? Or wait, of course he did, because he’d made it repeatedly clear that it was all he liked about her. Right?
But once Gaelfr had waved Svein toward the door, his hand settled against Raye’s back, guiding her outside with them. As if he truly wanted to touch her, wanted her to come. And his head even bent toward her hair as they went, his breath inhaling slow and deep.
He only dropped his hand once they were out in the front garden, well away from Raye’s plants. “Now, have you done any sparring before, son?” he asked Svein. “You and your mother together, mayhap?”
Svein shook his head, as Raye’s stomach twisted yet again.
It wasn’t as though she’d intentionally denied Svein the sparring, but she was always so exhausted at the end of her days at the loom, and, she could admit, she hadn’t wanted to face down the too-present reminder of Kalfr in those wooden swords, either.
The bitter awareness that Kalfr should have been here using them, play-fighting with Svein.
That perhaps they both would have wanted that, and enjoyed it.
But there wasn’t any judgement in Gaelfr’s glance toward her, and instead — if she wasn’t mistaken — there was a flicker of warmth, or even teasing. “Then she shall need to watch and learn, also,” he said lightly. “Now hold it thus, son. See?”
Svein carefully watched, and soon he and Gaelfr were embroiled in yet another lesson.
Gaelfr showed Svein how to hold the blade, how to stand, how to execute the most common strikes and blocks.
And then he explained the rules that apparently governed friendly sparring matches amongst young Bautul orcs, including where to strike, and what kinds of strikes were prohibited.
It was a substantial amount of information, but Svein listened with rapt attention, nodding and excitedly asking questions.
And once Gaelfr finished the lesson, and they began sparring together, Svein threw himself into it with impressive force and purpose, while Gaelfr alternately corrected and praised him, and urged him on further.
And whatever Raye had expected from this, she found herself genuinely enjoying it.
It was a true pleasure to see Svein so happy and excited, exercising both his body and his mind, working out all his considerable energy.
And to Raye’s grudging surprise, Gaelfr was a pleasure to watch, too.
His huge body so fluid and graceful, his movements measured and controlled.
He never struck hard enough to hurt Svein, he was generous with his help and his praise, and whenever he laughed, it lit up his hard face, and turned it into something warm, expressive, affectionate. Something… fatherly.
Gaelfr and Svein kept sparring until the sky had fully darkened, and Raye could only catch glimpses of them in the faint light from the cottage’s papered windows.
But that was lovely too, the shouts and laughs and movements in the dark, the awareness that Svein was still thoroughly enjoying himself.
That this was an experience Raye had never given him — perhaps never could have given him, with her distinct lack of orcish night vision — and one that taught him real skills that could help keep him safe in the future.
“You have defeated me enough for one day, son,” Gaelfr finally said, the warmth still ringing through his voice.
“And we have ignored your poor mother all this time, also. I ken” — Raye caught a glimpse of his big body coming closer, until his hand gripped at her shoulder — “she shall have her turn soon, ach?”
His voice had dropped into something husky and soft, and he again inhaled close against Raye’s hair.
Firing an undeniable heat all through her belly, and deep into her groin, too.
And though she squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep steadying breath, she could still feel the weight of his gaze, too hot and close.
Surely seeing too much, knowing too much.
But he didn’t say anything, and once they’d all tumbled inside again, he focused his attention back on Svein. “Now what of this book you spoke of, son?” he asked. “Mayhap we can look at this for a spell before bed.”
Svein’s shout of glee rang through the cottage, and he rushed off toward his bedroom, and fetched the book at once.
It was of course that book Kalfr had sent him, titled The Spectacular Sights and Secrets of the Orcish Underworld.
And despite its cheerful illustrations and descriptions, Raye had never liked looking at it — not only did it also speak far too strongly of Kalfr, but it was clearly a post-war rehabilitation effort, intended to depict Orc Mountain as a friendly, well-appointed place, rather than as a dark, dangerous fortress that could steal Svein away forever.
Gaelfr eyed the book uneasily too, frowning down toward it with rising disbelief in his eyes. “Kalfr sent you this, also?” he asked, as he sank down heavily at the table, and inhaled deeply against the book’s cover. “And it is… a book about Orc Mountain? For humans?”
Svein eagerly nodded, and perched himself onto Gaelfr’s knee, placing the book reverently on the table before them. “That’s what it says at the start, right, Mama?” he asked, with a bright grin toward her. “She helped me read the first few pages, but I’ve been doing the rest on my own, haven’t I?”
Raye nodded and forced a smile, because as little as she liked the book, she could admit that it had been an excellent encouragement with Svein’s reading.
And already he was flipping to the introduction, and waving his hand excitedly toward it.
“You read it too, Papa!” he said. “We can do it together!”
But at that, Gaelfr’s expression faltered, his eyes darting up toward Raye’s face. “Forgive me, son, but you will need to read for us,” he replied, with a grimace. “I never learnt to read common-tongue, nor much of our own tongue, either. Too trapped in fighting instead, I ken.”
Gaelfr couldn’t read? It was perhaps the first time he’d admitted to any kind of weakness — or betrayed any real hints of his past beyond Kalfr, either.
And now that Raye considered it, she really knew nothing about Gaelfr’s past, did she?
About how he’d grown up, or what he’d done for a living, or how he and Kalfr had met.
Or what he’d done across the sea in the south, for all those years.
And what did he mean, he’d been trapped in fighting?
He didn’t seem eager to elaborate, and his eyes stayed fixed on Svein, whose expression was only pure, unfiltered delight. “Then I can teach you to read, Papa!” he exclaimed. “Just like you can teach me more sparring!”