None of that last bit was true, of course, but Gwyn was determined to cast away all connections to her lord father and Dunburg for as long as humanly possible. At least, until her father’s men showed up in a month to drag her back — but over the past weeks, her resolve on that front had only deepened. No matter what it took, she wouldnotgo back to Dunburg. She would find a way to escape her father for good. And she would also find a way to forget Roy, who was no doubt hopping happily from one woman’s bed to the next in her absence.
Gwyn’s stomach had unpleasantly spasmed at the thought, and she belatedly forced her attention back to the man, who was demonstrating how to load the crossbow’s bolt. “You put this here, and then pull,” he said, yanking on the steel lever. “Here, you try.”
Gwyn managed it, just barely, and next the man waved her around back, to where he helpfully had a target set up outside. And while loading and firing the crossbow was an awkward business, Gwyn’s aim with it turned out to be quite good, enough that the man looked grudgingly impressed.
“Not bad, girl,” he said, once she’d followed him back inside. “Thing is” — he rubbed at his bearded chin — “if you’re meanin’ to use that against an orc, you might as well not bother.”
“Why not?” Gwyn asked, eyeing him sharply as she counted out coins. “Surely orcs aren’t impervious to crossbow-bolts?”
The man was looking amused, now, his eyes again flicking up and down Gwyn’s form. “Look, girl, if an orc decides he wants you,” he said, “you’re already done for. That great green bastard will be swiving upon you and draining your lifeblood before you’ve even seen him coming. And by next spring, his foul spawn will be using its claws to tear its bloody way outta your belly.”
Gwyn’s heart skipped a beat, her throat swallowing hard. “That willnothappen,” she said, a little too loudly. “The orcs have signed a comprehensivepeace-treaty, and they’ve held to its terms ever since. And what’s more, orc-sons are born just the same way as human ones are. There are no claws involved. Andno tearing.”
But the man actually laughed at her, his eyes dropping down to linger on Gwyn’s waist. “You don’t think that’ll tear you, girl?” he scoffed. “Good luck with your crossbow, then.”
Gwyn stared at him for a long, thundering moment — and before she could say something she’d surely regret, she grasped her new crossbow, along with the bolts and leather sling she’d purchased, and stalked out the door without a single look back.
No.No. She would not allow some stupid man’s baseless, uninformed drivel to make her small and afraid. She was finally on her own, fighting her fate, making her own way — and she was taking reasonable precautions against intruders, and that wasall. And truly, if these were the kinds of ridiculous tales these people believed, it only stood to reason that any affected women must be isolated and terrified. And that surely, Gwyn could be of service here. Surely she couldhelp.
With that firmly in mind, she slung her crossbow onto her back, and set out to meet some of her new neighbours. Stopping by various shops and inns, introducing herself, letting it be known that she was a practicing herbalist and midwife, with experience managing difficult situations, and a firm commitment to confidentiality. Not openly mentioning orcs, of course, but word would surely travel, as it always did. And indeed, most of the women gave her distinctly knowing glances, and several even cast wary looks toward the ever-smoking Orc Mountain to the south.
It also turned out that Varrahan didn’t currently have a resident midwife, and that women had been obliged to seek support from Ashford, the next town over. All of which should have been highly encouraging news, and proof of an excellent day’s work.
But as Gwyn walked back home again in the deepening darkness, something somehow felt… different. Something that had her repeatedly glancing over her shoulder, and twitching at small sounds from the surrounding forest. While that awful man’s words kept echoing and jangling, raising prickling gooseflesh along the backs of her arms.
If an orc decides he wants you, you’re already done for. And by next spring…
And gods, Gwyn should have been well inured to rumours about orcs by now. She’d heard so many of them in her line of work — everything from tales of the orcs wielding magical powers, to whispers of them drinking women’s blood, to reports that the orcs had bewitched several of the realm’snoblewomen. Even today, an unfamiliar woman had muttered something about an orc-crazed heiress, wreaking havoc and debauchery throughout the nearby town of Ashford.
But Gwyn had always sought to accept only what was either before her own eyes, or shared by reliable, objective sources. People caught in stressful circumstances were always more likely to spread any number of lies and half-truths, and in Gwyn’s experience, it did no one any good to fall prey to conjecture and gossip and fear. Especially when there was real work to be done, and real solutions to be found.
Even so, she felt herself exhale a shaky sigh of relief as she finally stepped into her house, and turned to bar the door behind her. Noticing, when she somehow hadn’t before, that the bar was a thin, flimsy-looking wooden slide — odd, because hadn’t Great-Aunt Agnes feared being attacked by orcs? — and after an instant’s frowning at it, Gwyn resolved that her next trip into town would involve a visit to a quality locksmith. For several new locks and barricades, perhaps. And maybe some strong steel bars on the windows, as well…
“Foolishness,” she snapped at herself, as she spun and strode away toward her little bedroom, yanking off her dress. “It’snothing. There’s a treaty. There hasn’t been a kidnapping in almost twoyears.”
She kept silently repeating that truth as she changed into her sleeping-shift, and then cooked herself a simple supper. It was barely edible, as usual — her love of plants had unfortunately never translated into a love of cooking — and she only felt her unease rising as she grimly chewed, and then cleaned up again. Glancing more and more toward the darkness beyond her windows, and desperately fighting to ignore the chills creeping down her back.
“Oh,fine,” she groaned at the ceiling, as she finally stalked over to grab her new crossbow from beside the door. And after carefully arming it with one of its deadly steel bolts, she placed it on the kitchen table beside her, its sharpened tip aimed directly toward the door.
It was enough to stop her looking at the windows, at least, and she resolutely pulled over her thick notebook, as well as a few clippings she’d taken from the garden that morning. And now, thank the gods, there was only this. Running her fingers over the clippings, making detailed notes and drawings, flipping through one reference book, and then another —
When before her, the door banged open. Bringing a harsh gust of wind that fluttered her lamp-flame, scattered herbs and papers across the room, and made Gwyn leap up so fast she nearly knocked over her table.
It was… anorc. Huge, menacing, horrifying. Stripped to the waist, towering in her doorframe, and staring at her with deadly black eyes.
An orc. Here. Forher?!
And Gwyn didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. Just snatched for the crossbow, drew it up, and aimed straight for the orc’s heart.
“Like hell, orc,” she said, and fired.
3
That should have been the end of it.
But rather than remaining still, and allowing Gwyn’s undeniably impressive shot to impale him in the heart, the orc dropped, androlled. Moving so swiftly that her eyes only caught a large black blur, streaking across her floor.
And when the world came aright again, it was with the door slammed shut, and a crossbow bolt embedded deep into it. And a huge, bare-chested, thoroughly terrifying orc, now standing well inside her kitchen.
