“Never,” Zesh growled, writhing under his foot. “Never!”
Zorvut took in a slow breath. This felt a hundred times worse than killing Hrul, but he had no choice. The weight of every orc in Drol Kuggradh was on his shoulders now.
He raised his sword over his head and brought it crashing down to Zesh’s arm with a shout. The sound of his sword slicing through bone and piercing the earth beneath was not the sound of tearing flesh, but the shattering of ice—and with a shriek of agony, Zesh’s arm was not cut from his body but broken off of it like glass, the forearm left whole but everything below the shoulder joint breaking apart in jagged pieces. Though there was no blood, the frozen chunks of flesh were somehow worse, and Zorvut looked away from the shattered limb to Zesh’s horrified face.
“My arm!” he screamed when he could finally form words, his face twisted in pain and shock. “You cut off my fucking arm!”
“I don’t want to kill you,” Zorvut growled, keeping his weight on Zesh’s chest so he couldn’t crawl away. “Yield. Just yield!”
Tears streamed down Zesh’s face as he glared up at Zorvut, but the facade lasted only a moment.
“I yield,” he wailed, his head falling back to hit the ground. “You bastard! You fucking traitor, I yield!”
Zorvut pulled his foot off the other orc’s chest, taking in a long, slow breath as he looked down at him.
“It’s over,” he called out, looking up for the first time to the orcs that surrounded them in a circle. “Get him a healer.”
There was a beat of silence as he looked over the stunned expressions of the orcs who had come with Zesh, the cautiously optimistic looks of those who had accompanied him—and then he looked up the hill for Taegan.
His husband was still atop his horse, still perched cautiously in the same spot with the other elves surrounding him, but even from this distance he could see his eyes welling with tears. He had been so focused that he hadn’t felt the flood of relief coming from the bond, though he did not need to feel it to see it plain as day on Taegan’s face.
He managed a slight smile and a nod, but now that he was not running on pure adrenaline his body ached with fatigue, his wounds catching up with him. He turned back to watch two orcs uncertainly helping Zesh to his feet, and one of his warriors came up to him with an eager grin. The orc said something, but it sounded distant and muffled.
Zorvut frowned. “What?”
How had it gotten so dark? It was still barely midday, he thought, and the slightly overcast sky didn’t seem like it would rain, yet everything was rapidly becoming dim.
The orc spoke to him again, but still he couldn’t understand—he shook his head, and looked toward Taegan again, but his vision was going blurry, and dark, and suddenly the air around him felt as cold as ice. He looked for Taegan, but everything had gone pitch black.
17
Taegan
“No news, then?”
Taegan glanced up at Gorza, sitting across from him in their parlor. Just a moment ago she had been updating him on the new trade routes being proposed by the merchant’s association, but the conversation had lapsed into uncertain silence. From the look on her face, he did not need to guess what she was referring to.
“Nothing different from yesterday,” Taegan replied with a sigh, leaning back. “It’s just as I told you. The healers don’t think his life is in any danger now, but his body is still recovering. That between the magic and his injuries, there was no energy left, or—something like that. They say he’ll wake up once he’s ready, but…” He shrugged, pressing his lips together. “I don’t know. I’m trying not to worry about it yet. They don’t seem concerned, so… And it’s only been a few days. I’ll wait to start worrying until it’s been more like a few weeks.”
“Well, it’s been a week now,” Gorza said with a teasing tone, a slight smile spreading across her face. Taegan grimaced at that.
“Gods, has it really?” he groaned. “The days are all just running together, I suppose.” They both chuckled nervously, but hesitated before saying anything else. He had been working together with Gorza quite often in the days since Zesh had been defeated and fled with his supporters back to whatever clan they had come from. Taegan found he enjoyed her company, but still their interactions felt stilted and nervous. It was hard to build a friendly and casual rapport when the thought of Zorvut still asleep and recovering upstairs must have been in the back of both of their minds the whole time.
But, he thought, he at least had the benefit of feeling Zorvut’s consciousness through the bond. Mostly, it was quiet, the way it would be anytime Taegan was awake while Zorvut slept, but occasionally he would have slight flashes of thoughts or emotions he couldn’t quite place. But he knew those whispers were his husband dreaming, so there was some consciousness there; all that could be done was wait for him to wake.
It was as simple as it was aggravating. But Gorza did not have that reassurance, and had hung onto every word from each healer and shaman who’d checked up on him, asking Taegan for updates every time she came by. Not that he could blame her—if anything, he was glad Zorvut had such a staunch ally in his sister, and by extension she was an ally to him as well.
“Anyway, that’s all I have for now,” Gorza said suddenly, breaking the silence that had settled over them. “Later today I’m checking with my contact in the mountain clans, so I may have news for you tonight, but they’re so remote I don’t expect much.”
“Come by for dinner, then,” Taegan offered as Gorza stood, and with a slight grin she nodded.
“I will,” she said. “Until then.”
“Goodbye for now,” Taegan replied, and she turned and left, leaving him sitting at the small table with a cup of tea and papers strewn around him.
He tried to busy himself with paperwork for a little longer, but it was proving difficult to focus on much of anything. He missed Zorvut, and his conversation with Gorza only served to make him feel it more acutely.
With a sigh, he stood from the table and headed upstairs, leaving his shoes at the base of the stone steps to make his way barefoot up to their shared quarters. Their room was dark with the curtains drawn to block out the sun, but a few candles were lit to give the room a dim, faint light. He was sure that the lighting made no difference, but there was a sense of normalcy to leaving the room dark while Zorvut slept, as if he were only napping and would be rousing soon.
