Orc’s Prize by Mina Carter

ChapterFour

Adharian gasped, her heart in her throat as Naebalar rose behind Larreth, grim purpose in his eyes. Someone screamed a warning, but it was too late. His silver hair spun around his broad shoulders, but Naebalar was right there, a blade in his fist. He heard a gasp from the crowd, echoed from her own throat as Larreth knocked the blade aside, a thin line of scarlet welling over his forearm.

“Foul!” Lady Shaneah of the Black Plains leaped to her feet, shouting from the sidelines. “Larreth had won! Naebalar’s attack was illegal!”

“Wait!” the queen called out as Larreth turned ashen and dropped to one knee, his chest heaving as though he couldn’t draw breath.

“Graal!”

The little elf raced down the dais steps, dropping to her knees in the dirt at Larreth-Graal’s side. Adharian was on her feet, following her in a heartbeat. Something was wrong, very wrong.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong,” the tiny woman begged as she smoothed the fallen man’s silver hair back from his face. He rolled, flopping onto his back.

“What did you do to him?” she screamed at Naebalar.

“He’s been poisoned,” Adharian said in a low voice. She recognized the symptoms. Her son’s eyes were wide, an ashen tinge to his face, and his lips were blue.

Leaning forward, she tilted Graal’s chin up, drawing a symbol on the front of his throat with gentle fingers. It flared gold for a second, and he gulped in a ragged breath. Relief rolled through her. It was a simple blocking spell, but it wouldn’t last long. She’d need to know what poison Naebalar had used and in what quantity so she could weave more complex magic to counteract it.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered as the poisoned man sucked in air. She was gripping his hand.

She glared up at Naebalar. “Why would you do that? Why poison someone because you lost? I thought knights were supposed to have honor!”

“Indeed,” the queen said, her voice sharp. “Lord Larreth beat you fairly, Lord Naebalar. Kindly explain yourself.”

She knew he wouldn’t, even before he moved. With an evil look, her husband drew a symbol in the air with the dagger he’d cut her son with. It was like the one she’d used but pulsed slickly in the air, like a poisoned heartbeat.

“No, no, no…” she whispered as the counter-spell negated hers, the mark on the front of Graal’s throat disappearing. He gasped for air again, his hand closing around his companion’s as he pulled her closer. Tears filled Adharian’s eyes, her hand over her mouth as she watched her son accept his impending death.

No, no, no. She’d only just found him… surely fate wouldn’t take him from her so soon?

But the fates were indeed cruel and fickle. As she watched, his skin changed, turning green as whatever spell he’d used to conceal himself broke down under the effect of the poison.

She heard gasps of horror behind her.

Naebalar bowed to the queen. “Because, Your Majesty, I had my suspicions about Lord Larreth. I’ve spent a lot of time in Faeranthorn and have never heard of a Lord Larreth. As soon as I saw him on the tournament field, I knew he had never been trained as a fae knight… his martial technique does not have our skill or grace. And if he’s not fae, there’s only one thing he can be….”

“An orc,” the queen whispered dramatically. “He’s an orc.”

“A dying orc,” Naebalar gloated. “The poison in his system will kill him within minutes.”

“No!”her son’s companion—his wife?—screamed. “That’s murder. You have to help him!”

She turned to Adharian, begging, “Please, do something!”

Tears rose hot in the backs of her eyes as she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“But you’re his mother,” the tiny elf-woman hissed. “You can’t let him die!”

“I can’t help him,” she answered in a tortured whisper. “I don’t have the skill.”

“Mother?” Naebalar sneered. “You fucking whore! I knew I should never have married you!”

“Please! Someone has to help him!” the woman cried out, and Adharian reached for her. Anything to offer comfort.

Before she could, though, trumpets rang out in a fanfare, startling everyone. The air sparkled above the tournament arena, and between one breath and the next, a fairy appeared, her wings shimmering in the afternoon sun.

Her eyes widened as she recognized a true fairy godmother. They were rarely seen these days, a class of fairy separate from the fairy court. And they were so powerful that not even Oonais could command them.

The fairy godmother looked down at the woman next to Adharian.

“You’re the only one who can help him, daughter of Howl.”

Daughter of Howl? Adharian turned to look at the little woman, searching for signs that she was related to the famous bounty hunter. He’d been a legend in his own lifetime, and many stories abounded about him, including the fact that he had human blood way back when. But that was impossible. Humans were just a myth.

But magic wound around her, and chaos descended in smoke and madness in the next instant. She coughed and bent double as she reached for her son and the daughter of Howl to protect them from whatever was happening.

But they were no longer there, her hands finding only rough dirt. The smoke stung her eyes, people around her bellowing. Reaching for a section of her dress, she pressed it to her mouth, trying to breathe through it as she looked around.

But the smoke was too thick to see, and hard hands grabbed her a second later. A rough voice growled a word that hurt her ears, and she found herself thrown over a broad shoulder just as blackness descended.

Gudvar spotted the blade behind Naebalar’s back a second before the asshole elf attacked. But his warning growl was drowned out by the scream from Graal’s female companion.

The other orc turned aside the clumsy attack easily, as any self-respecting orc should. Fury filled Gudvar at the cowardly attack, but he shouldn’t have expected anything else from a fucking elf. Especially not from Naebalar, the bitch queen’s champion. He was a liar and a bully, taking credit for capturing Gudvar when a bunch of third-rate soldiers one step up from latrine duty had built that trap.

The worst was yet to come as Graal turned the color of three-day-old ashes and keeled over. Gudvar surged to his feet with a snarl of fury, the chains that bound him snapping taut with a rattle to hold him back.

He was so fixed on the situation in front of him that the silver-haired vixen he’d been taunting all day breezed by him before he realized she was there. Normally he’d have kicked himself for a lapse like that. He could have grabbed her and used her as a hostage to secure his release.

Instead, he was fixated on the scene unfolding in front of him.

“He’s been poisoned,” the elf woman said in a low voice as Graal’s lips went blue.

No shit the little runt had been poisoned. Gudvar could smell it on the air, leaching out of the younger orc’s pores.

He strained against his chains, trying to turn them to stone that he could snap. It was slow going, though, the spelled metal resistant to his magic. Beads of sweat broke out across his brow as he fought them, his gaze focused on the beautiful elf as she tried to save his best friend’s son.

She leaned forward and drew something on the front of Graal’s throat. The symbol flared gold, and Graal gulped in a raw, ragged breath.

Relief rolled through him, even though he wouldn’t admit it. He fucking hated the little runt. Graal’s mother had gotten Braestak killed. He’d had his head stuffed so far in the clouds mooning over his fucking elf lover that he’d missed the very real and present elven axe that had split his skull. They’d been friends since they were runts in the army camp, and Braestak had upped and gotten himself killed, leaving Gudvar alone. It wasn’t supposed to be that way.

So if anyone was going to kill Graal, it would be him. Not some jumped-up fucking elf with no honor and no balls.

“Thank you,” Graal’s companion whispered, clutching his hand as she glared up at Naebalar. “Why would you do that? Why poison someone because you lost? I thought knights were supposed to have honor!”

“Indeed.” Bitch queen’s voice was sharp. “Lord Larreth beat you fairly, Lord Naebalar. Kindly explain yourself.”

Gudvar snorted. Like the little pissant was going to do that. And he didn’t. Instead, he drew a different symbol in the air with his dagger. Gudvar memorized it as it pulsed in the air like a poisoned heartbeat.

The counter-spell started Graal’s choking again, but Gudvar couldn’t tear his gaze away from the beautiful elf.

The chains went slack in his hands, his mouth dropping open. She was. The pretty little elf was crying, her delicate hand over her mouth as Graal’s skin changed, turning green as the enchantment concealing his true appearance dissolved.

He ignored the gasps of horror from the assembled crowd. He’d been here all day, and they’d walked past him for hours without losing their tiny little minds. And Graal was nowhere near as impressively built as he was.

Naebalar bowed to the queen. “Because, Your Majesty, I had my suspicions about Lord Larreth. I’ve spent a lot of time in Faeranthorn and have never heard of a Lord Larreth. As soon as I saw him on the tournament field, I knew he had never been trained as a fae knight… his martial technique does not have our skill or grace. And if he’s not fae, there’s only one thing he can be…”

“An orc,” the queen whispered, eyes wide. “He’s an orc.”

No shit. Seriously, did these idiots need a primer or something?

“A dying orc,” Naebalar gloated. “The poison in his system will kill him within minutes.”

“No!”Graal’s female screamed. “That’s murder. You have to help him! Please, do something!” she begged the silver-haired elf, who shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“But you’re his mother! You can’t let him die!”

Ice slithered down his spine as he focused on the woman again.

“Mother?” Naebalar sneered in the background, but Gudvar was barely listening. His heart thundered in his ears, rage blotting all else out. She needed to pay, and pay soon. “You fucking whore! I knew I should never have married you!”

“Please! Someone has to help him!”

He grunted as he redoubled his efforts on the chains. This situation was going to shit fast, so there would never be a better time for him to make his move. Digging down, he poured more power into his hands and slowly felt the chains turn from metal to stone.

Yes! Triumph rolled through him. But before he could yank on them and shatter them to free himself, trumpets rang out in a fanfare. He looked up, his lip curling back. What the f…

The air sparkled above the tournament arena, and between one breath and the next, a fairy appeared, her wings shimmering in the afternoon sun.

“Oh great,” he muttered. “A fucking fairy godmother. What else?”

The fairy godmother looked down at the woman next to Graal. “You’re the only one who can help him, daughter of Howl.”

Gudvar shook his head at the prattling and yanked on the chains. They stretched and finally snapped, but before he could do anything, magic wound around him, chaos descending in smoke and madness.

He coughed as the acrid stink filled his lungs, and he tried clearing it in barking coughs. He closed his eyes against it and pulled stone into his skin and lungs, making himself impervious to whatever sorcery this was.

Throwing the chains away, he moved through the smoke, hunting his prey through scent until he could see them through the smoke. The queen and her ladies huddled together, squawking like terrified chickens. It was a minute’s work to swipe a massive clawed hand close to the queen’s head, catching several of her blonde hairs around his fingers. He had to resist the urge not to take off her head at the neck.

It would stop the war instantly, but… he risked making her a martyr and galvanizing the entire fae race. Or, worse than that, putting Prince Deverell on the throne. Bitch queen was a saint compared to that deviant asshole.

Taking barely a moment to secure the hairs in the pouch around his neck, he wheeled away, on the hunt again. But this time, his lips curled back from his tusks.

His prey was a pretty little silver-haired elf bitch. The woman who had so bespelled Braestak that he’d gone and gotten himself killed. Revenge was a dish best served cold, and this one was both freezing and aged like a fine wine.

He found her not far away from where he’d last seen her, on her knees with part of her dress pressed over her mouth so she could breathe. He snorted. Clever little elf. It wouldn’t help her, though. Nothing would help her now.

He grabbed her, throwing her over his shoulder as he reached up and crushed the spell orb around his neck, the one his captors had been too stupid to take off him.

The mists swirled out from between his fingers, and he turned to stride away into the blackness with both his prizes.