Page 36 of Halfling
She didn’t miss his huff as she ladled herself some stew, and couldn’t help the evil little smile that touched her lips.
There was something about riling up the orc…
She did it with her older siblings sometimes, but this was different. She knew how to get her siblings twitching and yelling within threewords, but the orc was so unflappable. Sorcha found she…likedpushing. Just a little.
It was worth it to see that hesitant smile he tried to hide by ducking his head.
As Sorcha ate her portion, happily crunching on the vegetablesthey were able to add, she considered how to ask him the questions burning hotter than the stew in her belly.
“You’ve never been into that town before?”
Orek’s gaze flicked up to her before returning to the kit. “No. They wouldn’t welcome my kind.”
“Hmph,” Sorcha snorted, “don’t be too offended. They nearly drove me out of town.”
A strange sound emanated around their camp, and Sorcha warily searched the edge of the firelight. The rumbling growl grew in volume, and she swore she could feel it in her legs, crossed on the ground.
It took a moment to realize it came from her companion.
A thunderous frown darkened his gaze, turning that shy, unflappable face into something much more formidable. She blinked in surprise, not because she was scared, but that what she’d said seemed to have caused this.
Is he…angry for me?
“What did they do?” he asked, voice dangerously low and calm.
She was quick to shake her head. “Nothing. Just a bit of threatening. But I did find someone who sold me all this.” She waved at her heaping pack. “They just all made it clear I wasn’t welcome, so I never considered staying longer than I had to.”
“But you’re their kind,” he said, as if it were so simple.
Sorcha hummed in thought. “Yes and no. I’m a stranger. And they worried I’d bring trackers behind me.”
Orek’s lips thinned, making her stomach sink.
“That may not be untrue.”
“Even better reason to keep moving, then.” Sorcha shrugged. “It’s a hard life out here on the borders. I knew it in theory, but I suppose I never imagined the reality.” She stirred her stew, contemplating the remaining bits floating in the broth. “The kingdom is safe. My father and his lord, Darrow, have worked hard to eradicate things like flesh peddling. But I suppose they never made it this far south.”
Lord Darrow had spearheaded the campaign to root out and destroy the criminality that plagued Eirea after the last brutal war of succession, before Sorcha’s time. Darrow, her father, and other knights and lords started with the worst, including the slave trade. But, from what she understood about their work, because of Eirean laws, landed lords acted almost like regents of their own little kingdoms, meaning that jurisdiction was often fractured and muddled.
The southern border regions hadn’t had a liege lord in over fifteen years. The king had offered multiple nobles and even several knights the title, but no one, according to her father, lasted more than a few years. The title and lands that came with it weren’t worth the effort, danger, and resources it took to govern the region. Without a central power, the region had become almost lawless. Living such a reality had obviously hardened the people here; Sorcha couldn’t fault them for it, even if their hissedorc-slutstill stung.
“Your father fought the slavers?” Orek asked.
“In a way. He and many other knights worked to find their dens and hideouts and wipe them out. Bring the slavers to justice. He’s retired from service now. He said he thought they’d taken care of the biggest threats…” Her lips twisted wryly. No doubt it ate at her father that after everything he and Darrow had done, his own daughter was taken right out from under his nose.
Sorcha watched Orek absently pet Darrah as he stared into the fire, brows pulled low over his eyes in a troubled frown.
Swallowing her nerves, she said softly, “From what some of the villagers said, it seemed like I wasn’t the first captive to escape the orcs and come through this way. Do you think that’s possible?”
His nostrils flared, and his gaze stuck resolutely to the fire.
“I don’t know,” he rumbled, voice thick with emotion.
She didn’t press, but she didn’t think it was just her whose thoughts turned to his mother. She was someone who liked to know things and very much disliked knowing she didn’t know something, but the pain in his eyes was evident. Whatever had happened to his mother, she hoped the woman was well. And that she’d found a friendlier village.
They finished supper, and while Orek played with the kit, putting him on his back and scratching his belly, mindful of his broken leg, Sorcha tidied up camp. When Orek said he’d do it, she waved his words away and went about making things ready for the morning. Though she did leave him the fire to bank, at his insistence.
When the kit was tuckered out, it was time to lay out the bedrolls. Sorcha made a show of flaunting her new bedroll and blankets, eliciting another little huff of laughter from her companion. He still offered her one of his big furs, not taking her prevaricating to heart. He huffed, rounded the fire with a sleepy Darrah in his palm, and laid the fur atop her.
