The Outcast (Summoner #4)(53)
There were four of them, standing in a small space among the trees, made possible by a fallen tree. Each of the orcs was a giant, their bodies corded with gray-skinned muscle, and adorned with alien swirls of war paint, daubed on by fingers dipped in ochers of reds, yellows and orange.
Seen from a distance, they may well have been men, were it not for their monstrous faces. Tusks jutted from their lips—fierce canines as long as curved daggers, making their speech garbled as they talked among themselves. Stranger still were their jutting, gorilla-like brows, sloping back to reach thick tufts of black hair, styled in a broad mix of topknots, shaved patches and bowl-shaped mops.
Arcturus lay frozen to the ground in terror, unable to take his eyes from the creatures as they barked in their strange, guttural language. They were facing in his direction. Directly in front of him, another orc lay injured on the ground.
From her anatomy, Arcturus could tell she was female—though her modesty was covered by the same grass skirt that all the orcs wore, along with a fiber-woven shawl draped across her shoulders and chest.
She was crying, and from his position, Arcturus could see her face was bruised and swollen, with blood dripping from her lips. A large male orc stood over her, his fist raised in the air. The female orc cringed away from him as the aggressor made to hit her, and then he laughed as she tried to drag herself away from him on the mud-slick ground.
The male orc stopped as the crackle of branches resounded in the foliage on the opposite side of the clearing. Arcturus’s eyes widened as new arrivals emerged from the trees.
Rhinos. Great gray beasts with wrinkled skins and small, watery eyes, their long horns pushing through the tangle of lianas and leafage like icebreakers on a northern trade ship. And on their backs rode orcs, each one dressed in rattling animal-bone armor, held together by twisted sinew wound through drilled holes. All wore headdresses of multicolored feathers, and swung wooden clubs nonchalantly in their hands. These were larger, nobler creatures than those already in the clearing.
Upon their arrival, the four orcs turned and fell to their knees, bowing their heads respectfully. The female orc lay forgotten and, weakly, she crawled herself back away from the others. Back toward Arcturus.
Her hand fell a foot away from Arcturus’s face, and he could see the black nails digging into the ground as she tried to reach safety. Then she stopped, her strength failing her as she gasped for breath.
Arcturus tried to retreat in terror, only to find his back pressed against a sapling, his skin grazing against its rough bark. Beyond, more orcs emerged from the trees.
Even with the female orc so close, he could not tear his eyes away from the new arrivals. For these were not just rhino riders, but also younger, smaller orcs, their necks lassoed tightly in a long rope chain, stumbling along the forest floor, dragged by their mounted captors. They were prisoners, their faces badly bloodied, some limping from wounds, others nursing broken bones.
All the captives were adolescent males, if the size of their tusks and relatively smaller stature were a sign. Of course, even these young orc pups would stand head and shoulders above Arcturus, but from his vantage point in the bushes, he couldn’t help but pity the poor creatures as a rhino rider lashed them forward with a long, curling whip.
Then his view was obscured as the female orc pulled herself into the bushes, and suddenly Arcturus was staring into her dark, tear-filled eyes. She stared at him, shock plain across her swollen features. Frantically, Arcturus held a finger up to his lips, hoping she would understand.
Still she stared, and beyond, Arcturus could hear the leader of the rhino riders snarling orders. The four orcs that had been assaulting the young female stood, and one yelled out in annoyance and strode toward them.
For a moment the female stared at him, her eyes wide with panic. Then she was being dragged back into the clearing, the male orc laughing as he pulled her by her foot.
The female clawed wildly at the vegetation around her, her hands tugging up roots and snapping young boughs as the orc heaved at her legs. Then, suddenly, Arcturus was jerked after her, her hand curling around his ankle like an iron shackle.
Sobbing with terror, Arcturus grasped at the sapling behind him, and it felt as if his arms would tear from their very sockets as the bull orc heaved.
He kicked out, looking down at the female and shaking his head in a desperate plea. Their eyes locked for a split second … and she let go.
Then she was gone, back into the clearing, where the thud of flesh against flesh could be heard, the male orc’s fist rising and falling over and over. It was a pitiless, sadistic display of violence, and Arcturus could do nothing but watch in horror as the female’s raised arms fell away, too weak to defend herself against the blows that rained down upon her.
In his mind, Arcturus could sense Sacharissa now, following his scent through the undergrowth. He could feel her panic mirroring his own, and shared the flashes of pain as she ripped through thorny branches. The Canid knew he was in trouble. She was coming for him.
The rest of the orcs were almost gone now, disappearing back into the jungle in a tumult of snapping branches and guttural yells from the riders. Still the bull orc continued his beating, laughing as the female’s head lolled to the side.
Arcturus’s anger rose like bile in his throat, sickened by the display of cruelty.
The bull orc lifted the female by her hair, clutching at the long black braid that fell down her back. She hung there, limp, as the orc raised his fist once more. It was the killing blow.