Page 158 of Halfling
“No!”
“Sorcha!” Ciaran made a desperate grab for her reins, but Fiora leapt forward.
She didn’t think, didn’t consider anything but the figure of her halfling, fending off at least six other orcs as she and Fiora flew toward the fray. Orek whirled and slashed with his hatchet, keeping the orcs at bay, but they edged closer, a writhing circle of snakes hungry for an opening.
Just before Fiora crashed into the first orc, Sorcha let her mind go quiet.
She’d trained all her life—not for this, she’d never have dreamed of this—but it would have to do.
Because that washerhalfling, and they would not take him from her.
A shrill whinny crashed through the orcs just before Fiora did, her broad chest smacking into a male’s back. He went sprawling to the dirt, where Fiora trampled him under her hooves.
Orcish shouts rang out, only to be swallowed up by the battle cries of human knights and mounts. Lord Darrow and his contingent swept across the camp, swords swinging at orcs not quick enough to duck. Although the orcs were massive, they were nothing to the rolling tide of Brádaigh-trained warhorses and over two dozen knights.
At least four bodies dropped and were trampled beneath the stampede before the orcs could rally.
The camp descended into chaos, orcs fending off three or more human knights bearing down on them with spear and sword. Darrow led a handful of knights in a second charge, using the horses as a battering ram to smash and herd the orcs together.
It was a terrible, awesome sight, watching her father and Darrow. Faces grim masks of determination, they guided their horses with their legs as their arms wielded weapons against the still-fighting orcs.
Sorcha left them to their work. She needed to find her mate.
In the chaos, he’d been pushed further from the center of camp, where the shadows were long and deep. Through the dim, the flash of an axe head gleamed, hovering over Orek. Driven to his knees, he held it back with pure strength, his arms shaking violently as the larger orc snarled and slashed with his tusks.
He’s not yours to take!
Sorcha kicked Fiora’s flanks, sending them flying.
The orc saw her coming this time and leapt back, axe swinging. Sorcha felt it graze her boot, the blade slicing through the leather at her calf. She tugged on the reins, and Fiora bound to the side, an outraged scream tearing from her mouth and Sorcha’s when a red stripe cleaved open on Fiora’s flank.
“Sorcha!”
With a squeeze of her thighs, Sorcha braced herself, taking a handful of the pommel. Fiora reared, kicking at the orc with her sharp, iron-tipped hooves. Sorcha rocked with the impact, her stomach churning at the sound of bone crunching.
The orc went spinning to the ground, and Fiora bound forward to pummel him under her prancing hooves. Grunting, the orc threw himself to the side, rolling away. Dirt went flying as Fiora stomped and skidded, feet tangling under her.
The ground came up to meet them, and Sorcha held her breath. She kicked her foot out of the stirrup just in time, sparing her ankle from breaking when Fiora landed hard on her side.
Fiora’s great chest heaved, the wind knocked out of her, and Sorcha groaned at the ache in her shoulder.
A hissing growl had her looking up, grass and pebbles catching in her curls.
Crimson eyes glared at her from feet away, the orc’s mouth open and panting to reveal wickedly long tusks.
She hissed right back and gave Fiora a firm pat. Her horse grumbled and rolled, getting her feet under her just as the big orc pushed himself to his knees.
With a shudder, Fiora stood. Sorcha made soothing noises, patting her neck as she twisted in the saddle, meeting the gaze of her stunned, angry mate still knelt on the ground.
Oh, he thinkshe’sangry. Just wait until I get hold of him!
With a roar, the big orc surged to his feet and charged.
Another orc burst from the trees, smaller than the other but eating up ground as his big legs pumped.
“Here!” Sorcha tossed her sword to Orek and turned Fiora to face the oncoming orc. With one tap of her heels, they were galloping across the plain.
She heard Orek scream her name again, but she didn’t heed him. As they careened toward the new orc, Sorcha reached out for an abandoned spear stuck in the ground. It slapped against her palm and tugged at her arm as she wrenched it free.
