The Outcast (Summoner #4)(56)

“Why would they do that to her?” Alice asked, horrified.

“Orc shamans. Their firstborn children are guaranteed to become summoners too, but there’s always a chance that a second or third child will inherit the ability to summon, like Elaine. So they travel from village to village, impregnating vulnerable females. The villagers consider it a duty, but it’s a brutal life for the chosen girl. She must have run away.”

Arcturus could see pity in Rotter’s eyes now, and the soldier sighed and sat back on his heels.

“We’re in a tough spot,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “She needs to be back with her people, but we’d take a big risk heading for a village, if we can find one at all. And who’s to say they won’t finish what they started, as punishment for running away.”

As he spoke, the orc coughed and groaned, reaching blindly. Elaine fell back, with Valens buzzing protectively above her.

Clutching her swollen belly, the orc moaned again. Rotter looked down.

“Oh … damn,” Rotter said. “I think … I think she’s about to…”

His face whitened and he looked around him.

“What do we do?” he said.

“Stand aside,” Alice snapped, rolling up the sleeves of her undershirt. “Elaine, I’m going to need your help.”

“What about us?” Edmund asked.

“Get her to the water,” Alice said, lifting the corner of the stretcher. “It will help with her contractions—she’s probably been having them for a while judging from her moaning. Then keep watch for us. From the looks of this, it isn’t going to be a quiet affair.”

Arcturus hurried to help, and together they managed to maneuver the female orc into a sitting position in the shallows. Her breath was coming thick and fast, and she clutched at Alice’s hand.

Arcturus sensed the world shifting. Gone was the ogreish savage that he had once seen. Now, a mother. Fighting for her life. To think … Rotter had wanted to kill her.

“All right, give her some space,” Alice demanded. “I’m going to guide the head.”

She didn’t need to tell them twice. Arcturus hurried up toward the curve of the river, where fronds from a hanging tree drifted in the water. He tried to focus on the bend of the river, but could not help but listen to the sounds of the labor behind him.

“All right, Elaine, try to keep her calm,” he heard Alice say. “Rub her shoulders, there’s a good girl.”

“How do you know what you’re doing?” Elaine asked.

“I’ve helped deliver a few calves on our estate,” Alice replied. “If we’re lucky, orc labor will be as quick as theirs.”

The orc’s moans became louder. Somehow, the forest had gone completely quiet, but for the soft soughing of the breeze.

“Come on, push now,” Alice called out.

Still the orc moaned.

“You’ve done this before. Push!”

There was a single, drawn-out scream. And then, the coughing cry of a baby, ringing through the air.

“Arcturus, I need your dirk,” Alice called.

He ran back, blade drawn, to where the trio sat in the shallows. For a moment he stood there, confused as to why they needed his blade.

Then he saw the pink, twisted tube of the umbilical cord, and knew what he had to do. It was over in a single slice … and then he was staring into the face of an orc baby.

Its little face was crinkled as it wailed at the light of the world, and Alice held the child closer for Arcturus to see, for the mother was too weak to even lift her arms. It had a small patch of curling hair on its head, and tiny canines protruding from either side of its mouth.

But for all these details, there was one that stood out to Arcturus the most.

The orc was white. Even its hair was colorless, and its wide eyes were tinged a pink red. He held out a finger, and the baby reached out its hand, taking his finger with surprising force.

“What’s—” Arcturus began.

But a shout to his right interrupted him.

“Quickly, into the bushes,” Rotter hissed from upriver, sprinting toward them.

For a panic-stricken moment, Alice and Arcturus stared at each other. The orc was too heavy to move, and Edmund, Elaine and Rotter were already diving into the undergrowth. Sacharissa tugged at Arcturus’s wrist, her nostrils filled with a strange, fishy scent.

Then they were running, baby in tow, leaving the exhausted orc sitting in the shallows. What else could they do?

They were not a moment too soon. For within seconds of reaching the safety of the trees, a flotilla came around the bend, the likes of which Arcturus had never seen.

The scrawny creatures within the vessels were short, coming no higher than Arcturus’s knee, with bulbous eyes, floppy, webbed ears and long noses and fingers. They wore little more than ragged loincloths, and clutched barbed spears in their hands.

They were floating in what looked to Arcturus like large, upturned bowls of varying sizes. Every few seconds, one of the creatures would plunge deep into the water, then clamber back out, like seagulls diving for food. With each jump, they would emerge with silver fish, spitted on the end of their weapons.

“Gremlins,” Rotter whispered.

Even as Rotter spoke, the gremlins screeched at the sight of the orc, her body motionless in the shallows but for the loose braid of her hair drifting in the water.