Page 154 of Halfling
The man had hustled over, baffled and surprised to see him. After assuring him Sorcha was well, Orek explained what Anghus should look for on his land to check that no other markers had been left.
Anghus hadn’t been angry, though Orek felt he deserved to be. He’d have preferred the man’s anger to what he said instead when he heard why Orek had left.“Women don’t like being left out of big decisions like this. I hope you have a fantastic apology planned.”
Orek had grunted in assent. He’d do whatever it took to find his way back to his mate and into her heart. But for now, he had to ensure her safety. For good.
Anghus had supplied him with food, for which Orek was doubly grateful. He thanked his friend and walked back into the woods, relieved at least that neither Silas nor Krul had made it to the homestead.
He found the hunting party several days later and tracked them for another. They were so far south, he’d begun to wonder if he’d have to go all the way to the Stone-Skin camp itself.
For whatever reason, Krul’s party hadn’t made nearly as much haste as Silas.
It was to Orek’s advantage—as was that they’d brought Merk along.
On the third day of tracking the party, it was finally Merk’s turn to keep watch. Orek didn’t have to wait long for the male to find a sturdy tree to lean against and close his eyes. On silent feet, Orek crept past the dozing guard, straying closer to camp.
The warriors chosen for the hunting party had spread across a narrow riverplain, circling a central bonfire. Through the flames, Orek recognized Fulk, Talon, Kaldar, and many others. Kaldar he understood; the male was in his prime and would savor the opportunity to hunt Orek down. The others, though…
Some weren’t the finest warriors of the clan. Others perhaps had been once before a wound or age caught up to them. As Orek looked at the males chosen, he began to wonder if it was less about their capability and more that Krul didn’t want to risk leaving them behind.
They’d stopped for the night on the banks of the river he and Sorcha had themselves followed north, the roar of the water creating a low thrum that further masked his movements. He kept to the trees, circling the perimeter of camp until he found Krul.
The big, broad form of Krul Stone-Skin could never be mistaken for another. Mane shorn close to his head, a dozen gold hoops glittered at his ears in the firelight. Tusks sharpened to deadly points hooked from his lips nearly to his blunt nose, where another ring hung from his septum. Crimson red eyes watched the world keenly under a heavy brow. Neck as thick as a human thigh, chest as wide as a bear’s—there was a reason Krul had not only won butmaintainedhis position for so many years. His sheer strength combined with a cunning, cruel mind had kept Krul in power much longer than any other Stone-Skin chieftain.
Clad in leathers with a battle axe still strapped to his back, Krul stood on as Talon spoke to him. Although Orek knew the males to be similar in age, Krul had maintained the hard body of a warrior, his leathers molded to muscle that could wield a blade with enough force to cut a human in two. Hands that could grip and crush a human head were fisted at his hips, and his mouth had gone thin in displeasure.
Talon was a wide, strong male still, but his gut was soft, and gray had begun to pepper his mane. And whatever he was saying to Krul didn’t seem to please the clan chief.
After another moment, Orek watched as Krul waved Talon off. His throat clenched, not quite believing his luck as he watched Krul head into the trees. Alone.
Following from a distance, Orek removed his pack and cloak east of the camp. He needed only his weapons and what he’d come to return to Krul.
The messy sound of Krul pissing on a tree led him right to the chieftain.
Orek placed each footfall carefully, barely breathing as he approached from behind and to the left.
But he wasn’t surprised when Krul called over his shoulder, “I don’t want to fucking hear it, Talon.”
For a moment, Orek’s hand itched to throw his hatchet, catch the chieftain while he could. It was a sound plan, taking advantage of his one moment of surprise.
But one blow wouldn’t fell Krul Stone-Skin. And a shout from him would bring all the others. Orek had to be smart—he intended to live to see the next morning and his mate again.
Reaching into the sack he’d bore from the north, Orek threw Silas’s head at the chieftain’s feet. The thick smell of rot exploded through the trees, turning his stomach with disgust.
Krul looked down at it before turning to finish his piss on the tracker’s face. With a chuckle, he tucked himself away to face Orek. Krul’s eyes ran over him in two passes, his expression dark but impassive in the deep shadows.
“You’ve surprised me, runt. Congratulations. Though I can’t decide if you’re brave or stupid.”
“Neither,” said Orek.
“Been following us for a while, have you?”
“Two days.”
When Krul pulled the axe from his back, Orek unsheathed his hunting knife. It was a small comfort to have a weapon in either hand as the Stone-Skin chief smirked at him.
“Your guard is asleep on his watch,” Orek informed him, gratified when Krul’s brow twitched. “Your tracker is dead. I’ve destroyed all his markers. You’ll never find your way to her—the humans would stop you before you ever got close. So turn back and forget about her.”
Krul listened, eyes keen with interest, though Orek didn’t miss how a vein popped at his throat.
