Page 47 of The Orc's Princess Bride
Lasseran withdrew something from within his robe in one fluid motion—a small, wicked-looking blade no longer than his palm. The metal seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.
“Ancient Velmoran steel,” Lasseran said conversationally, as if they were discussing curiosities at a royal banquet. “Forged in blood magic older than your grandfather’s grandfather. Quite rare. Quite… effective.”
He felt Jessamin stiffen behind him. She knew what it was.
“Thisisthe end,” Lasseran continued, his voice almost gentle now. “Because you, Ulric of Norhaven, are going to die.”
The blade left Lasseran’s hand in a blur of motion. He tried to dodge, but the knife seemed to follow him, changing its trajectory in mid-air. It struck his chest with uncanny precision, sinking deep between his ribs.
For a moment, he felt nothing. Then came the pain—not the clean, honest pain of a normal wound, but something vile and corrupted that spread through his veins like acid. His Beast roared within him, trying to fight it, but the poison was ancient, designed specifically to counter the magic that gave him strength.
He staggered, his vision blurring. He heard Jessamin cry out behind him and felt her hands steadying him. He fought to remain standing, to keep his body between her and Lasseran, but his legs threatened to buckle.
“The blade is poisoned, of course,” Lasseran said, his voice distant through the roaring in Ulric’s ears. “A special concoction, just for you. Don’t worry—it won’t kill you immediately. Unfortunately, I won’t have the pleasure of watching you die.The time for the ritual has passed and I must make other arrangements.”
He snarled, forcing himself to straighten despite the fire spreading through his chest. He would not fall. Not while she was in danger. Not while she needed him. He raised his sword, the effort sending waves of agony through his body. His vision swam, Lasseran’s face blurring and doubling before him.
“Stay behind me,” he managed to growl to Jessamin, though he could barely hear his own voice over the thundering of his heart.
Lasseran laughed again. “Always the protector. How noble. How utterly predictable.”
Wulf had dispatched the remaining guards and joined him, his face grim as he took in his condition.
“Kill them,” Lasseran ordered casually to a new wave of guards entering the chamber. “Except the girl. I need her alive… for now.”
The poison burned through his veins, weakening him with every heartbeat. But he would not yield. Not while he drew breath. His vision narrowed to a single point—Lasseran’s smug, confident face. If he were to die, he would take this monster with him.
With a roar that shook the very stones of the chamber, he summoned the last of his strength and lunged forward.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jessamin watched in horror as Ulric tried to attack Lasseran and stumbled instead, his massive frame swaying like an oak in a storm. A thin line of dark blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“Ulric!” The scream tore from her throat, raw and primal.
Lasseran’s laughter cut through the chaos, cold and delighted.
“It really is a pity I don’t have time to watch him die,” he said to her, his voice carrying a conversational lightness that made her stomach turn. “The poison is quite fascinating—it targets the Beast Curse specifically and turns their strengths against them.” He smiled, a perfect, empty curve of his lips. “You’ll have to tell me all about his final moments when next we speak, my dear niece.”
With that, he swept from the room, his ceremonial robes billowing behind him like a cloud of midnight. The heavy doors closed with an ominous thud.
She rushed to Ulric’s side just as another orc warrior charged through the opening in the wall. He joined the first, wieldinghis battle axe with deadly precision, as Ulric sank to one knee. His breathing had grown labored, each exhale carrying a wet, rattling sound that chilled her to the bone.
“I’m fine,” he growled, though the lie was evident in the sweat beading on his brow and the tremor in his powerful frame. “Get behind me.”
The two orcs were locked in desperate combat with the remaining guards, their blades flashing in the torchlight. They fought like demons, but they were outnumbered. For every guard that fell, another seemed to take his place.
She had to do something—now—or they would all die here in this terrible place.
Her desperate gaze fell on one of the massive iron brazier that lined the walls. It was an ornate, grotesque thing, its sides carved with scenes of torture and subjugation. Burning coals glowed within it, casting an eerie red light across the floor.
She darted towards it, ducking under a guard’s wild swing. The brazier was heavy, anchored to the floor by its own weight, but it wasn’t bolted down. If she could just?—
Summoning every ounce of strength in her body, she threw herself against the side of the brazier. It didn’t budge. Panic fluttered in her chest, but she planted her feet more firmly, her muscles straining, and pushed with all her strength.
For a terrible moment, nothing happened. Then, with a groan of metal against stone, the brazier began to tip.
“Move!” she screamed to the two orcs, who glanced up just in time to see what she was doing.
