Page 52 of Halfling
For all that he was smaller than other kin, Silas still fought like an orc.
Using knife and hatchet, Orek caught Silas’s axe between his blades, twisting them with a horrid screech of metal. With a heave, he threw Silas over his shoulder and sent the axe end-over-end into the river.
Silas crashed into the water with a gurgling splash, but he was on his feet in a moment, giving Orek time only to get himself between Sorcha and the tracker and yell, “Run, dammit!” at her.
To his horror and frustration, she didn’t move, just stared at him wide-eyed with Darrah clutched in one hand and her dagger in the other.
Catching his balance, Silas bared his tusks as he pulled a wicked dagger from his belt.
“You’ve been stupid, runt,” the tracker hissed in orcish. “Nobody steals from Krul.”
“Any orcess would gladly lay with him,” Orek growled back. “He doesn’t need one human.”
Keeping his eyes on the tracker, he quickly shrugged off his pack.
“Ah, but now that she’s stolen, he only wants her more. You thought your whore mother had it bad? It’ll be nothing to what he does to that chit.”
Rage flooded Orek faster than the river water rushed by. Both male and beast bared fangs at the tracker, muscles swelling to meet the threat.
Silas’s black gaze slid like oil over Orek’s shoulder to leer at Sorcha. “I hope she fights me the whole way.”
My female. Protect. Eliminate threat.
The river and his own blood pounded in his ears, a cacophonous ringing that was all Orek heard when he roared and gave himself over to the rage.
Sorcha’s stomach rolled as Orek leapt for the other orc, drivinghim further into the river. Their weapons met in another horrible scream of metal against metal, the sound grating against her terror.
Darrah squeaked and trembled, but unable to soothe him, she tucked him into her coat pocket and buttoned it closed.
She stood on the rocky riverbank, trembling herself, utterly useless as she watched her halfling fight off one of his own kin. The fighting was brutal—that was the only way to describe it. She’d never seen something so vicious, every blow landing with a sickeningcrack.
She’d watched him fight off four humans, but this one orc seemed infinitely more dangerous. The way he’d looked at her before Orek attacked stuck in her mind and her throat, making her gorge rise.
It’s that one, the one that looked in the tent.
She’d throw herself into the river before she went anywhere with that orc.
With a grunt of pain, Orek’s hatchet went flying from his hand, landing with a dullthudto her left. Sorcha hurried to retrieve it, following the fighting along the riverbank. She danced along the rocks to keep them in her sight as they threw strikes and fists at each other.
They edged further into the water, closer to the churning rapids, and still they didn’t stop nor slow. She couldn’t look away as they jabbed and struck, drawing blood and baring fangs and tusks. Their huge bodies met in horrible slaps and grunts, the impact of one strike enough to fell a human. Fists and blades moved nearly too fast to track, making her head swirl like the churning whitewater.
She gasped when the orc’s knife flashed, slashing Orek in the face. Blood and water splashed into his left eye, and he stumbled backwards.
“Orek!” she cried.
Hands full of weapons and shecouldn’t do anything!
She didn’t trust her aim—she could hitherorc instead of the leering brute.
His head jerked in her direction at her voice, and Sorcha’s stomach dropped. Orek caught the orc’s next attack, but it was a feint—another smaller knife glittered in the sun before plunging into Orek’s side.
“NO!”
Orek roared and grabbed the orc’s hand before he could twist it in deeper. With a heave, he threw the bigger orc away from him, gaining a little space.
“Run, Sorcha!”he shouted, then charged the orc, catching him around the middle and flinging them both into the rushing river.
The current caught them fast, faster than Sorcha could even shout. She watched in horror as the river spun and tumbled them away, their heads disappearing underwater.
