Chapter 40
The orcs began to arrive early the next morning.
Raye jerked awake at the sound of the banging at the door, only to discover she was still lying on the sofa — or rather, on Gaelfr, her body sprawled over his bulky sleeping form.
But Kalfr was already up, and he gave a light, meaningful pat to Gaelfr’s arm as he strode past the sofa toward the door.
“Time to wake,” he said. “Our new band is here.”
Their new band was here? Already? Raye blinked at Gaelfr’s equally bewildered face, and then quickly shoved off the sofa together with him, and straightened out her dress.
And when they rushed over to join Kalfr at the door, his jaw was tight, and his eyes on the closed door were uneasy. Apprehensive. Grim.
It was a stark difference from the night before, when he’d been so warm, so generous, so pleased. And did that mean… did he regret it? Did he regret what they’d done together?
But he kept gazing at the closed door, and his hand hesitated on the latch.
And too late, Raye remembered how adamantly he’d refused the idea of this band, when Gaelfr had first proposed it.
You will be sending them to their deaths, he’d said.
But now his new band was here. And whatever his true motives were with this band, he was still doing this, against his own better judgement, for them.
Raye’s heart stuttered, and she impulsively leaned toward him, and squeezed her arm around his waist. “Thank you for doing this, Kalfr,” she murmured. “For us, and for Svein.”
It was probably a presumptuous thing to say, and perhaps she was still half-dazed from the night before, but Kalfr’s glance toward her was warm, even grateful.
And he squared his shoulders as he finally swept open the door, revealing — Raye blinked — a half-dozen huge, bare-chested orcs, clumped together on the doorstep.
“Brothers!” one of the orcs exclaimed, and suddenly they all tumbled through the door, laughing and chattering at once, clapping Kalfr and Gaelfr on the shoulders.
Most of them looked vaguely familiar — Raye recognized the bond-brothers Eyolf and Iyolf, who’d been at the mountain’s entrance the day before — and they were all wearing multiple swords and axes, along with their heavy cloaks and furs.
Several of them were also carrying large bags and sacks, and one had a huge, awkwardly shaped package hanging off his back.
“I thank you all for coming, my faithful brothers,” Kalfr said, with his fist over his heart, once the orcs had quieted again. “It is a true honour to serve as your voreur, and to welcome you here to our band, and to our byrgi. To your byrgi now, also.”
To their byrgi? Perhaps Raye hadn’t fully considered that point, because did Kalfr mean — these orcs were staying here? Moving in? All of them? Now? Today?
But the orcs all nodded back toward Kalfr, raising their own fists to their hearts, as if this was indeed the expected protocol.
And another familiar orc — the biggest one, with vicious scars all over — roughly gripped at Kalfr’s shoulder, and gave him a painful-looking shake.
“We are honoured to be called, brother,” he announced, loud and carrying.
“We shall expect greatness from you, and from your kin.”
He aimed a penetrating look toward Raye, and she belatedly placed him as Skirvir, the orc who’d spurred Gaelfr to take her shopping the day before.
And he clearly expected some kind of reply from her, so she attempted a smile, and raised her fist to her own heart, like Kalfr had just done.
“Thank you,” she said. “We will — do our best.”
Skirvir seemed satisfied by this, curtly nodding toward her, while Kalfr waved the orcs further inside. “Now, brothers,” he said, “you must bring in your goods, and see the rest of your new byrgi, and make yourselves at home. We must wake our son, also, for I am sure he shall wish to meet you all.”
Svein had slept through this so far, but yes, he would surely want to be part of the excitement, too.
So Raye went to fetch him from the back bedroom, and helped him quickly wash and dress before taking him down to meet Kalfr and Gaelfr and the band, who were now exploring down below.
And upon seeing Svein, the new orcs all came over at once to greet him, and Raye was deeply grateful when Kalfr made a proper round of introductions, beginning with Eyolf and Iyolf and Skirvir, and moving on to the three other orcs, too.
“This is Egil, one of our clan’s strongest hunters,” Kalfr said, nodding toward a tall, charcoal-skinned orc who Raye recognized from the room with the altar, and who was now wearing a longbow almost as tall as he was.
“Egil has mayhap the best nose amongst all the Bautul. If you ever need aught sniffed out, son, he is the one to ask.”
Svein smiled shyly at this Egil, who easily grinned back, and held out a huge, plump blackberry. “I love to sniff out treats most of all,” he told Svein, as he dropped the blackberry into his hand. “This was not far from here. Mayhap you shall help me sniff out more?”
Svein’s eyes lit up, and Raye didn’t miss Kalfr’s grateful glance toward Egil before he nodded at the last two orcs in the group.
“And this is Grum, who was once a fierce warrior, and is now also a wondrous cook,” he said, smiling toward a scarred, stern-faced orc with a thick silver beard.
“And finally, this is Fengr, our dancer.”
This Fengr was slimmer than the other orcs, and his long, curly black hair had multiple small beaded braids tucked within it. And though he smiled warmly at Svein, his glance toward Raye was cooler, his brows raised.
“Forgive me, but I have little time nor care for humans,” he told her. “Nor for most orcs, either.”
Raye blinked and shot an uncertain glance at Kalfr, who betrayed a grimace, while behind him, Skirvir loudly harrumphed, and crossed his arms disapprovingly over his huge chest. “I follow not why this one is even here,” he said, with an imperious nod toward Fengr.
“There is naught we need a dancer for, and he is not even as pretty as a dancer ought to be, either.”
Gaelfr rather looked as though he agreed with this sentiment, but Kalfr cleared his throat, and stepped forward between them.
“None of us are bound to befriend any others,” he said firmly, “but we shall yet treat each other with only kindness and respect. We are honoured to have Fengr amongst us, just as we are honoured to have my human mate, also. Now” — he waved toward the corridor — “have you all yet chosen where to sleep, and keep your goods?”
Thankfully, this led to an animated discussion of which rooms would be used for what purpose, and why.
It turned out that all the orcs — with the exception of Fengr — only needed two rooms between them, and they ended up choosing a pair of rooms midway down the main tunnel, which could be easily accessed from both the byrgi and outdoors.
“This one shall be our muster-room,” Skirvir declared, with a curt nod toward the larger of the two rooms. “And that one, our den.”
The den was a smaller, rounder room, tucked back from the tunnel, and Eyolf eagerly strode past Raye and Svein into the room, tugging his bond-brother Iyolf behind him.
“Most Bautul bands like to sleep in a den,” he explained toward Raye and Svein, as he yanked out a large fur from his pack, and spread it onto the hard earthen floor.
“It is safer to stay together thus, and warmer and cozier, also.”
Raye watched with rising bemusement as Eyolf next tugged out a pillow from his pack, and then a second fur, and a blanket — and then what appeared to be a matching pair of small, furry stuffed orcs, not unlike Svein’s Mr. Snuggles.
“See?” he told Svein, with a toothy grin, as he set his little orcs carefully against his pillow. “We shall be very snug here.”
Svein’s expression had gone decidedly awestruck, and he gave Eyolf a shy, worshipful smile. “And what’s a muster-room?” he asked. “I’ve never heard of that before, either.”
Eyolf cheerfully nodded, and once they’d all trooped over into the muster-room, he explained that it was where a band kept all their goods and clothes and tools and weapons.
“So it must be a larger room, thus,” he said, waving toward the open, empty room.
“Should our voreur agree, next we shall build shelves and hangers and trunks, to help us keep this clean, and easy to use as we need.”
Beside Raye, Kalfr nodded, though he was looking grim again, his smile tight. As if he was perhaps thinking about Sybil, and about the impending attack. About how building shelves and trunks would be a foolish, wasteful effort, in the face of these orcs’ impending deaths.
But the orcs had already all begun unpacking, bustling around the room — except for the dancer Fengr, who was watching them all from the door with his nose wrinkled, his lip curled.
“I shall sleep down there,” he said, pointing his claw toward a door much further down the tunnel. “Where I can enjoy some peace.”
If Fengr heard Skirvir’s muttered reply, he didn’t let on, and instead stalked off toward the room, dragging a large, heavy bag along on the floor behind him. “Oh, and there are yet more orcs approaching,” he snapped over his shoulder. “Not Bautul, either.”
The rest of the orcs paid little heed to this, still unpacking their goods, but Kalfr’s brow creased, and he spun back toward the stairs. And after a brief exchanged glance, Raye and Gaelfr quickly followed, drawing Svein along between them.