22. A Bastard’s Price #3
Khal stepped forward, and I waited for threats, but what rasped out of him was, “He’s Drashik. By our treaties, you can take, but you cannot kill.” And I wanted to scream. Rowena, behind him, met my eyes, her own open horror.
The orc spread his hands. “I have no intention of dealing death. Our criminals serve their atonements. We are called to the East. I’ll take our wayward son with us.”
Vrathgar’s hand tightened on mine, the only sign he gave.
Rowena hissed, “No,” started to step forward, and Khal put himself between her and the interloping force. “Let me take them,” she spat. “I’m not used up; I can do it, let me kill them. You know I can!”
The Droth warband leader was listening, that wide smile still on his face, like he wasn’t being threatened with fire.
“I know you can take them,” Khal said. “I know. But the Droth have more, and more. They will come again, and again, and they will not stop. If we kill today, they will not stop killing.”
Her shoulders shook, and she fell against him.
I looked up into Vrathgar’s face, his eyes gone hollow, empty. I caught at his necklace, that wide collar. “I’ll come with you,” I said, and I watched him wrench himself back, his breath catch.
The broad orc laughed. “Yes, do bring the little baggage, nephew-of-mine. I’m sure food can be found for her…if she’ll serve well.”
His knuckles were white on my hands, my wrist. “No,” he muttered. “Absolutely not.” He caught the side of my face, bent his head to mine. “I will return. I will return, if…”
If. Another if.
“Come now,” the orc boomed. “You Drashik love to argue more than the Sheerk love their blades and the Kirnaskh their chains. This is an awful lot of fuss over a bastard.”
“You want our bastard?” A voice came through, and the crowd parted.
Tyralk was there. He was standing oddly, and I realized he favored, strongly, the one leg. “You want to take the lowest of us? You’re cowards.” Voices murmured. “Take a real hostage. Trade for something you want.”
Next to me, Vrathgar snarled, “No!” just as the young warrior hobbled into the center of the clearing, that massive sword still bloodied in his hand, spat, “Do you want a bastard, or do you want a chieftain’s son?”
The Droth chieftain’s eyebrows had risen when Vrathgar yelled, and now his eyes roved over Tyralk, considering. “You’re Svenkha’s boy.” He shrugged. “Tempting. But we have no need for a cripple. Totter back to your hole now, and let grown warriors handle this.”
“You need to know I’m grown? That I can fight?” His mouth was twisted with determination, or hate. “Pick one of your men.”
The Droth chieftain was already turning away. “This doesn’t concern you. Come talk to me when you can—"
Tyralk took one of them to the ground.
The fight didn’t last long. Tyralk was taller, he had the reach, but there were more of them, and he was still limping. It only took a minute for him to be dragged back, more blood coming down his face. The orc chieftain was laughing.
“You have some grit to you,” he said, rising. “More than I expect from a Drashik.”
Tyralk didn’t answer.
“Fine. I’ll take your offer, princeling. A trade. A bastard for a prince.”
Tyralk nodded. He was moving unsteadily, like he was drunk, moved back to us. “I’ve got this,” he slurred, wiped the blood off his mouth on the back of his hand. “You take care of everyone else. I’ve got you.” His hand shook, just a little.
Vrathgar reached for him, grabbed the back of his neck. “Don’t do this.”
“It’s already done.” Then, “My da will be furious.”
“Don’t do this.” Vrathgar’s voice ground with tears. “It’s not worth it.”
The younger warrior pushed a smile. “A few years among enemies, for your life? A bargain.”
“They'll tear you apart.” He gritted his teeth. “Not you. Something else. Anything else.”
“It can't be Khal. The clan needs him. And it can't be you. They’d make sure you die. But me?” He pulled up to his full height, looking down at both of us. “I'm just the kid.”
The Droth chieftain’s voice rang over the gathering. “As touching as your farewell rituals are, I do have plans to travel tonight. So if you’d be so kind…”
I stepped forward, my throat raw, and I scraped out the last measure of my power, watched Tyralk’s split lip heal, the bruising on his jaw recede. I held onto his arm, and he managed, again, to smile.“Much obliged, sister-in-law.”
“Come along then, Drashik prince! If you're going to join us in the east, we'll need to take the measure of you.”
Tyralk pulled Vrathgar into one last embrace, hissed. “You have never been, for a single moment, not worth it.” He released him, released us both, stepped back. “Look out for my mother.”
The youngest of our band turned away to obey the Droth on their march to join the wizards for war.