The Outcast (Summoner #4)(54)

Arcturus could not watch. Would not. Instead, his hand scrabbled at the ground beside him. Met the stock of his crossbow.

He didn’t think. Didn’t even aim. He just raised it and shot in one smooth motion, yelling through the fear, ignoring the madness of it all. The weapon’s butt slammed into his shoulder, and the male orc fell back, a feathered bolt seeming to grow out of his eye.

Arcturus scrambled through the leaves, the dirk from his boot clutched in his hand. He half lunged, half fell onto the male orc, stabbing down, cursing with every breath, plunging the dirk again and again into the orc’s chest. The orc writhed beneath him, his hands slapping at Arcturus, scratching at his bare chest.

Arcturus felt the orc’s fingers around his throat, and suddenly the world was darkening at the corners of his vision, his breath caught in his lungs as the orc’s hold tightened. The dirk fell from his fingers, and he fell limp, held up only by the orc’s grasp.

A dark shape, crashing through the trees. Hot spray across his face, the metal taste of blood on his tongue.

He was falling.

Then nothing.





CHAPTER

30

ARCTURUS OPENED HIS EYES to Sacharissa’s rough tongue licking his cheek. He couldn’t have been out for more than a few moments, for he could still hear the crashing of branches in the distance as the orc horde pushed on through the trees beyond. He sat up, panicked.

Had they heard him?

He was beside the corpse of the male orc, sitting in a spreading pool of blood emanating from its neck. A deep furrow had been slashed across its throat, where Sacharissa must have savaged the beast as it choked the life from him. He had come so close to death.

And for what?

Arcturus turned to see the female orc staring at him, squinting through her swollen eye sockets, as if she found it hard to see. She held his dirk in her hand, and was pointing the weapon at him.

The foolishness of Arcturus’s actions dawned upon him then. This orc was not his friend. She was the enemy. Her entire species was. What madness had possessed him to risk his life for hers?

Yet, the memory of her eyes staring up at him swirled about his head. She had let go of his leg, knowing what fate awaited her beyond. The orc had chosen not to take him with her. Hadn’t she?

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Arcturus said, holding up his hands. Sacharissa growled beside him, lowering her body into a crouch. Her hackles were raised, the mane on her back standing up like a startled street cat’s.

Arcturus tried to calm her with a thought, but the demon’s aggression was up, and he could taste the bull orc’s blood on her tongue through their connection. Instead, he straddled Sacha’s back, forcing her down. As a juvenile Canid, she was still no bigger than an overgrown dog, and she trembled briefly beneath his weight before succumbing and lowering herself to the ground.

The female orc cocked her head to one side, the dirk still extended toward him. She was breathing heavily, as if the very act of being alive exhausted her. Bruises were blooming across her gray skin even as he watched. She had taken a terrible beating—Arcturus doubted any human could have survived what she had endured.

Then he saw it. Her belly had been obscured by the shawl, but now he could see the distended curve of her protruding navel. The orc was pregnant.

“Arcturus, back away slowly so we can get a clear shot,” Rotter’s voice called from the trees. “Three feet should do it, then we’ll have it.”

“Don’t shoot,” Arcturus hissed. “She’s pregnant.”

“So what?” Rotter snarled from the bushes. “She’ll kill you if given half a chance.”

But Arcturus didn’t believe him. In fact, the orc’s arm was trembling now, and she let her hand drop to the ground. For a moment she stared at him. Then she shook her head weakly, and tossed the dirk aside. The orc let herself fall back and gazed up into the canopy.

“Get back,” Rotter said. “It’s a trap.”

“Lower your crossbows,” Arcturus said, staring in the direction of Rotter’s voice. “If she had wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already.”

His group must have circled around, for they were somewhere to his right, hidden in the foliage. Alice was the first to emerge, her crossbow still loaded but aimed at the ground.

“Just leave her,” Edmund’s voice called. “There’s nothing we can do for her.”

But Alice sidled closer, looking down at the bruised and broken figure. As a female orc, the mother-to-be was only six feet or so tall, far less imposing than her male counterparts.

“We can’t just leave her like this,” she said, biting her lip.

Arcturus rolled from Sacharissa’s back and sheathed the dirk in his calf scabbard. As he did so, Elaine came out of the trees, staring at the orc with wide, curious eyes.

“Keep your distance,” Edmund warned, joining them in the clearing. Rotter followed behind, shaking his head with disapproval.

“She’s old for a mother,” Rotter said, hunkering down beside Arcturus and Sacharissa. “You can tell by the size of her tusks; she must be around my age. It won’t be her first child.”

“Does that matter?” Elaine asked.

“No,” Rotter said, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Just an observation.”

“Well, she’s unarmed now,” Arcturus said. “We should at least get her out of this clearing. It’s too exposed.”