“They don’t,” she croaked toward Joarr, without opening her eyes, “killeach other?”
Joarr’s laugh was scornful, dry. “No on purpose,” he said flatly. “This game is only to knock down. Winner is last to stand, ach?”
Thisgame. Gwyn cracked an eyelid to look at him, at how he was watching the scene in front of them, mouth pursed. As though he wasn’t even slightly shocked by any of this, or by the new set of bloodcurdling screams now tearing through the air. As if this were…familiarto him.
And as if he’d read her thoughts, his eyes angled toward her, his arms crossing over his chest. “You must no ken,” he said, “I never draw blood, or battle thus against my kin. I oft do this. We all must. Ach?”
What? Gwyn’s thoughts were floundering again, clutching for meaning, for mooring amidst the screams filling her ears. Thinking, hazily, of the men hunting in the woods, the way they’d wanted to catch Joarr, tokillhim…
“So why,” she choked, “do you not — then why aren’t you — I don’t —”
She couldn’t even finish, her hand flapping at the nauseating sight before them, and Joarr frowned back toward it, his claws tapping against his arm. “I am only no such a fool, in this,” he said, clipped. “I never take such risk. I never strike full at a brother’s face, to break his nose or eyes or teeth. I never make wound that healer can no fix. I never brawl when I am no sure of my calm, or my control. Ineverbattle young orcs thus, when they no yet have enough skill or mettle to meet this.”
Gwyn’s eyes had flicked back to Eyolf, who was still vomiting into the grate, now with his quiet brother Iyolf standing before him, determinedly blocking blows with his sword. “I never battle weak or broken orc,” Joarr continued, his voice sharper, angrier. “I never make shame from defeat. And if I gain true wound, I send brother to healer, or takeselfto healer, so we stay strong enough to work more. Tohelpmore. To nowasteus, or all we have fought to gain!”
It seemed to take Gwyn immense effort to follow those words, to find his meaning — but then it somehow struck all at once, thundering into her chest, into her bones.
“Surely you aren’t suggesting,” she breathed, “that these orcs don’t even seek healing? For wounds likethese?!”
Another spine-scraping scream had torn through the air, and Gwyn wouldn’t look, couldn’t. Just kept staring at Joarr, who was now jerking a hard, furious shake of his head. Saying… no? Theydidn’t?
“It is great shame, among Bautul orcs, to show weakness,” he snapped. “To claim pain, or wish for help. They shall no even allow medics towatchthese battles, or pull wounded orcs away. They call this strength. They think thisvalour. They wish to be the horde, free of thought and care and fear, and thus” — he spat on the floor at his feet — “theyare.”
Oh. His contempt felt like a living, snarling thing, rearing inside Gwyn’s chest — and swarming with it, somehow, were more memories. Visions of Joarr licking her, kissing her, working to take the pain away.No. You no do this. No easy to heal.Find other way.
And beyond that — Gwyn’s blinking eyes darted back to the brawl, which was still being dominated by Silfast and his huge wooden axe — Joarr had brought amidwifeto his mountain. He’d supported her in caring for his brothers’ mates. He’d wanted to better support Stella, even when Silfast obviously didn’t want that. When it meantshame, to show weakness.
“And you can’t,” Gwyn heard herself whisper, almost inaudible beneath the screams, “try to fix it? To change it?”
But Joarr’s dark, disbelieving glance toward her spoke his reply, as loudly as if he’d shouted it into the maelstrom. He had no claim within this clan. No power. Not with that damned tooth hanging around his neck, marking him as not a real Bautul. All while he clearly hated this, hated that it had become part of him…
There was one more hoarse, horrifying scream from before them, grating against Gwyn’s ears — and then silence. Silence, because — she risked another glance forward — Silfast had won. Looming huge and deadly above the heap of defeated, groaning orcs, many of them crawling away, coughing and spitting blood onto the floor beneath them.
Silfast’s red-spattered barrel chest was heaving, his eyes swiftly surveying the room — and then catching, harsh and heavy, on Gwyn. And on Joarr beside her, standing tall and angry and contemptuous, his eyes narrow, his arms flexing over his chest.
“Ach, mark this,” Silfast called out, his voice carrying over the surrounding orcs’ groans. “After three full moons, ourSeerfinally blesses our work with his presence. But” — his lip curled, baring his sharp teeth — “he yet stands safe and whole to the side. He onlywatchesas his brothers strive and bleed to build our strength, and save our mountain from our foes!”
Damn. Gwyn’s eyes were darting between Joarr and the door, perhaps silently saying,Go, let’s go— but of course it was too late, because multiple orcs’ heads were turning, seeking, finding this truth. Their so-called Seer standing here, tall and safe and untouched, while they groaned and panted and streamed blood onto the floor.
And in their eyes, surely, was disapproval. Resentment.Rage. Digesting the fact that one of their own had somehow escaped this, and somehow saw fit to stand over them from afar. To perhaps even gloat in their defeat.
And Gwyn knew, without even meeting Joarr’s eyes, how dangerous this was. What a precedent it established. It threatened to undo all he’d just gained with the goddess’ blessing, withher. It threatened any chance he might have ever had of addressing this. Offixingthis.
And Joarr’s glance toward her, brief and resigned, said he knew it too, just as much as she did. And he would face it, he would never walk away, he would run with whatever the gods threw at him…
“Ach, then, my brothers,” he replied, his voice cool, carrying over the throng. “I shall fight.”
22
He would fight.
Gwyn clenched her eyes shut, her heart erratically thumping. No. She couldn’t watch Joarr become that.No.
But he was already giving her arm a squeeze, and striding away from her. Leaping down the large, rough-cut stairs two at a time, his movements deft, graceful, fearless.
“Ach,nowyou come to battle us,” Silfast sneered at him, his deep voice booming over the orcs’ ongoing pants and groans. “Now that your kin have already shed their blood for your gain!”
Joarr sprang down into the pit with fluid ease, landing in a low crouch before rising again. “I no yet smellyourblood,Captain,” he said, with deceptive pleasantness. “You no wish to fight me?”
