The Outcast (Summoner #4)(55)

“We don’t have the time,” Rotter said. “I understand your sentiments, but they’re not like you and me.”

But Alice had already crept over to the orc, and was gently covering her with the shawl.

Then she took the sword from Rotter’s hand.

“Aye, we should put her out of her misery,” the soldier said. “Let me do it. You’re too young for this.”

But Alice had other plans.

“We can make a stretcher,” she said firmly, striding into the bushes and hacking at the same sapling Arcturus had used as a handhold. “Come on, help me.”

Edmund cursed, but at a warning glance from Alice sheepishly followed her example, wandering into the forest to gather vines.

“This is a bloody bad idea,” Rotter grumbled. But he did nothing to stop them.

Within a few minutes, knotted vines had been stretched between two poles, and the orc, now unconscious, had been rolled onto the rudimentary stretcher.

“What now?” Rotter asked.

“We need to find water,” Arcturus said, swallowing drily. The fight with the orc had sapped him of all his energy, and the inside of his throat felt like sandpaper. The world was already beginning to spin ever so slightly, and their water reserves were now gone, leaving them with empty flasks.

He turned to Sacharissa, who had finally calmed down and was now sniffing curiously at the female orc’s toes. Calling her over with a thought, he looked deep into her larger set of deep blue eyes, and concentrated.

What felt like long ago, but couldn’t be longer than a few weeks, Sacharissa had led him to the Vocans baths using scent alone. Now he sought that same smell, that fresh, clear fragrance of water.

In those first moments Arcturus was overwhelmed. Magnified as the smells were, his mind roiled with a miasma of a thousand things. The scent of the orcs was strongest, a great channel of odor that dominated the space. On top were the sweet notes of fruit and flowers, along with grassy vegetation and the acrid decay of fallen leaves. And yet …

There it was. Not so much a smell as a sound, in the distance. The rush of water, coupled with the faintest hint of moisture.

“Find it, Sacha,” Arcturus whispered, sending her his intentions with a thought.

She pressed her head against his thigh, then pushed past his legs and slipped into the jungle.

“Come on,” Arcturus said, not waiting for them to follow. “There’s water that way.”





CHAPTER

31

WATER.

A river of rushing water, carving its way through the jungle, clear as a mountain stream and wide as a city street. Beneath, Arcturus could see fronds of green, waving as the river ebbed and flowed. Beneath, silver shoals of fish darting back and forth, parting and coming together as long-mouthed river pike swam by.

They did not wait to fill their flasks, but simply buried their faces in its cool shallows, bathing away the sweat and grime and gulping down fresh drafts of clear water until the liquid sloshed in their bellies.

Sacharissa dove in headfirst, splashing happily in a dog paddle and snapping at the flashing scales of the fish that swam around her and nipped at her paws.

Arcturus splashed Sacharissa as she returned to the shallows, and the demon sneezed. She sprayed Arcturus back with a flick of her tail, leaving Arcturus spluttering.

He shook his head at the cheeky demon and pulled her close to him, ignoring the smell of wet dog and ruffling her ears.

“Thank you for saving me,” he whispered, looking deep into her eyes. She stared back with a love and devotion that Arcturus knew he did not deserve. Embarrassed, he looked away.

The orc lay motionless where they had dropped her stretcher, her head lolling to the side. Her eyes were now so swollen, it was hard to tell if she was awake or unconscious.

Elaine sat beside the great beast’s head, trickling water into the orc’s mouth from her flask. The orc gulped it all down, and licked her lips as if asking for more.

“She likes it!” Elaine murmured, using some of the excess to wipe away the blood and grime from the orc’s face.

“Aye, and she’d like the flesh from your bones too if she could get at it,” Rotter said, jabbing a finger at the prone figure.

“What do you know anyway?” Alice asked, falling onto her back and clutching at her full stomach. “All you’ve done is fight them. Maybe some of them are peaceful.”

“That’s right,” Arcturus said thoughtfully. “Surely they aren’t born evil. I mean, I saw some of them were prisoners of the others. Young males by the look of them.”

“I’ll tell you what I know,” Rotter growled, standing and stretching his back. “Those orc boys you saw can’t have been older than ten. Orcs mature faster than we do, and get old faster too. If an orc lives to see fifty, they’ve done well.”

He strode over to the orc and hunkered down beside her.

“This one, she’s past her prime. It’s a miracle she’s pregnant at all,” he said, examining her more closely.

Rotter narrowed his eyes and pointed at her stomach, where thick ropy scars surrounded by faded white lines extended horizontally above the skirt.

“Old stretch marks and surgery scars. She must be what we call a brood mare. Forced to have children over and over again. She’s not had a nice life, that’s for sure.”