Honor Among Orcs (Orc Saga) (37 page)

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

HUMANS

Arianna – Princess of Gautar

King Gunnar – King of Gautar

Isabel – Princess of Gautar, sister of Arianna

Queen Signy – Queen of Gautar (Deceased)

Lord Alviss – Northern Noble and favorite of King Gunnar

Rodric – Guardsmen and childhood friend to Arianna and Isabel

Ragnar – Commander of the King’s guard

HRIMTHURSAR

Bolthorn – Gothi, clan chief of the Hrimthursar

Bolvarr – Bolthorn’s brother

Grimnir – Cousin to Bolthorn

Hrimnir – Brother to Grimnir

Fenja – Grimnir’s wife, sister of Menja

Hyndla – Grimnir’s cousin, sister to Narvi

Eistla – Bolthorn’s mother, Gythja of the Hrimthursar

Gymir – Council Elder

Thrudgelmir – Council Elder

Narvi – Hyndla’s young brother

Heidrek – Watchmen

VIDTHURSAR

Menja – Gythja of the Vidthursar, wife of Thiassi

Thiassi – Gothi of the Vidthursar

Asfarth – Husband of Vanadis, father of Asvi, one of the first Orcs made by Sinmarra

ELVES

King Ingvifreyr – King of the elves, hostage of Sinmarra, savior of the orcs

Fossegrim/Nykur – Great grandfather to Bolthorn on his father’s side, advisor to King Ingvifreyr

Sinmarra – Wife of King Ingvifreyr, exiled to the Fire Lands for stealing elves and torturing and reshaping them into orcs

Asvi – Daughter of Vanadis by Asfarth, before he became orc

Hjalli – Asvi’s husband

Vardrun – Vala, servant to the Ancestors

Vanadis – Vala, sister to King Ingvifreyr, wife of Asfarth, friend of the orcs, Elvish ancestress of the Vidthursar clan

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Fantasy has a rich history, and every traditional fantasy novel written today owes much of itself to those who came before—mostly the Norsemen, who sailed the world without fear, and farmed their lands, and told incredible stories, and conquered, spreading those tales far and wide and embedding them deeply into western culture, and most particularly the mind of a certain academic named Tolkien, who dared to imagine something new from the pages of myths and legends and sagas which had been preserved.

Tolkien is very much the father of the fantasy genre we know so well today, and without him, and without that singular course at the University of North Dakota about his works, and the requirement of reading The Silmarillion, this book would likely not have been written, or if it had, it would have been a substantially different story.

On a more personal scale, I owe thanks to the usual suspects: Zak Tringali and Diana Paz, who read this book early on and didn’t pick on me too much when what was supposed to be a short story turned into a novella, and then a novel, and then exploded into something with the potential to become a series. Di, I promised you one day there would be a print edition of this book, just for you. It is here, now, at last, and I hope it doesn’t disappoint!

I also have to thank my family, particularly my husband and my mother, and my aunts and uncle who so generously read early drafts and gave me their notes—Aunt Rose, I’m certain there will still not be enough description to satisfy your appetite, but every line more is written with you in mind.

Thanks to LT Host, Mia Hayson, Tom Hale, Jay Donovan, Dan Denton, and Karen Huffman; Cait Greer and Trisha Leigh for their insights, as well. Most especially Karen, whose enthusiasm for this book is boundless. And Cait, bless you for your e-formatting talents.

The HUGEST thanks to Melissa Stevens, my cover artist, who brought Bolthorn to life in all his glory. I never imagined he would match so perfectly to the idea of him in my head, and I cannot thank you enough for taking on the challenge of the hunky orc!

Finally, Nazarea Andrews, thank you so much for sending me Mel’s way, and for all your support in my journey of turning this manuscript into a book.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amalia Dillin began as a Biology major before taking Latin and falling in love with old heroes and older gods. After that, she couldn’t stop writing about them, with the occasional break for more contemporary subjects. She lives in upstate New York with her husband, and dreams of the day when she will own goats—to pull her chariot through the sky, of course.

Amalia is also the author of the
Fate of the Gods
trilogy from World Weaver Press. Learn more about her work at
www.amaliadillin.com
, or follow her on twitter:
@AmaliaTd
.

If you enjoyed
Honor Among Orcs
, or any of Amalia’s other books, please consider leaving a review!

Turn the page for an exclusive preview of Book Two of the Orc Saga!

Excerpt from Book Two of the Orc Saga...

CHAPTER ONE

Bolthorn healed slowly from the deep wounds Vanadis had inflicted, and the effort of keeping both their hearts beating exhausted Arianna. She spent more of her time asleep than awake, but at least she spent it in his arms, with his warmth seeping into her body, and his love threading through her thoughts. She had missed his touch, his presence, the yellow glow of his eyes in the dark and the curve of his lips. She had missed his calloused palms on her skin, gentle and teasing, and the way he could make her quiver with a whispered word in her ear.

No matter how closely they were bound, how clearly their thoughts laughed together, it was not the same as being with him, even when she could do nothing more than lie beside him and watch him sleep. Even when he was too ill to move, and she too tired to dream. It was a pleasure she never wanted to miss again.

“They call you Gythja,” Bolthorn murmured one morning, after Narvi had brought them bread. Hyndla’s brother had touched his fingers to his lips in the gesture of respect. “Even Hyndla makes the sign of speaker.”

“For you,” she said, breaking the bread in half. Vardrun had forbidden him to sit up, yet, for his heart was still weak. She passed him half, as she had often done while he had been the king’s prisoner and she had slipped into the tower to see him in secret. “Not for me.”

“For you,” he said. “And I am glad for it. But if you wished, we could still go on. Vanadis is gone, and Grimnir will serve as Gothi as well as any.”

“And what will you do if you are not Gothi?” she asked, keeping her tone teasing. “When you spoke of your people while we traveled through Gautar, it was always with pride, and now more than ever the Hrimthursar need guidance they might trust and a steady hand. They need you to serve.”

“I would not have you trapped here in the cold and the dark. Not after the dishonor you suffered after everything you had done.”

“I cannot blame them for their mistrust, Bolthorn. Not after what the king did to you. And I knew this road would not be easy before I started upon it.” She stared at the bread in her hands. “But if the Hrimthursar cannot forgive me or I, them, there is no hope for peace with Gautar. I would not rob either of our races of that future, now. Not while Bolvarr is lost beyond the mountain, and Hrimnir too. Your brother needs you as Gothi, if only to bring him home.”

Bolthorn grunted, his eyes unfocused. “I cannot find him from my hut, lying flat on my back and waiting for my heart to steady, and each day he is more likely to be found and caught.”

If he was not caught already. Arianna had little hope that he had remained hidden, but to say as much while Bolthorn could not act would be cruel. She pressed her lips together instead, and tried not to think of what her brothers might do with an orc.

“When you are well, we will find a way to reach him,” she said, squeezing his arm. “If we must cross the mountain ourselves, we will. But that is all the more reason for you to remain Gothi, for you know what threats wait on the other side and how to defend your people from them.”

“Not as well as you,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze. “But I will not ask you to return there, Arianna.”

She smiled faintly, breaking bread from her half of the loaf and stuffing it in his mouth. “You did not ask me, husband. And you will not have to ask me when you are well. Bolvarr is my brother now, too, and the Hrimthursar are my people. If they call me Gythja, I will serve them as one, whatever that requires.”

“It does not mean you must go back to Gautar. And perhaps it would be better if you did not. I could go alone.”

“No,” she said at once.

“Arianna, it will not be safe for you.”

“It will be even more dangerous for you alone,” she argued. “And I have spent enough time without you, Bolthorn, thinking you were dead or dying. We go on together or not at all. That was your vow first, and I mean to hold you to it. Besides, even a Seithr woman will learn more than an orc. I can speak to the villagers without being hunted by them.”

“Can you?” he asked, his lips curving. “I seem to recall things happening in a different way. Guards dragging you to a tower, had I not come to carry you away.”

Her face flushed. “That was while they still believed the king lived. My brothers, if they rule, would not pay the bounty on a Seithr woman. What reason would they have to need one? And even if it is Ragnar who has taken the throne, he will be busy enough keeping it that he will not spare the men to hold a ragged woman from the forest looking for a little trade.”

He chuckled, then coughed, and she felt the twinge of pain in her own lung from his. It was too soon to discuss any of this, and Bolvarr might yet return to mock them for their fears. She hoped he would.

“Eat and rest, Bolthorn,” she said, smoothing the lines of pain from his forehead. “You must heal yet, no matter what path you choose.”

He caught her hand and held it, his eyes closing. “We choose together,” he said. “Just as we will go on.”

She wrapped what was left of the bread in cloth to keep, even such a small chore testing her endurance. Bolthorn was weak, still. Too weak to be worrying over their future without exhausting them both, and he needed her strength even to feed himself. She would not let him broach the subject again. It would wait.

And she would wait too.

When he was allowed to sit up, the trouble started, for Bolthorn, fighting exhaustion, insisted on speaking with the council elders as they arrived back from the other three villages of the Hrimthursar.

“You cannot push yourself this way,” Vardrun said, for the Vala still came to see him every day, changing the bandage over his heart and checking him for signs of fever and infection. “Your wife is too kind, lending too much of her strength to you already. Whatever has bound you kept you alive, Gothi, but if she falls ill while you still heal, it will go badly for both of you.”

Arianna turned her gaze from his, not wishing him to see her own weakness. He needed to heal, and he needed to do so quickly. More than Bolvarr depended upon it. She could not look Grimnir in the eye without thinking of his brother, Hrimnir, who had gone with Bolvarr beyond the mountain. And as long as the two Hrimthursar were lost, Bolthorn would not close the passage. Leaving it open beyond the end of the winter storms would invite investigation, especially if they held Bolvarr and Hrimnir already.

“He cannot rest while he is worrying,” she said quietly. “And I am strong enough in this if nothing else.”

“For now, perhaps. But it will not last.” Vardrun did not look at her, keeping her eyes on Bolthorn. “You will strain her heart at best, and at worst, you risk the child in her womb if not her life and your own. How will that serve your brother, Bolthorn? Certainly it does not serve the ancestors after all they have done to ensure that you would live.”

“Did you know?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

Arianna pressed her lips together. “Vardrun did not say it was so, but Bolthorn if that is the price of your life, and the lives of your people… We could begin again.”

He shook his head, his hand gripping hers tightly. “It is not so easy as that, princess. Not among my people.”

Her stomach knotted, and when she looked to Vardrun, the Vala’s expression was grim. “Children do not come easily for the orcs, and even less so when the blood is mixed. There may not be another, Gythja. That one has come so soon—the ancestors bless you.”

“What must I do, Vala?” Bolthorn’s tone was even grimmer. “To safeguard Arianna and the child?”

“Vanadis was wrong about many things, but not the fragility of your bride. Eistla had trouble enough bearing you, and Bolvarr too, was cut from her womb. For now, Arianna must rest, and in order to ensure it, so must you. In the last months, she should remain in her bed.”

“But your brother—”

“Bolvarr would not wish to trade his life for yours or the baby,” Bolthorn said.

“And what of Hrimnir?” She asked. “Will you meet Grimnir’s eyes and tell him you mean to abandon his brother? You cannot leave the passage open much longer, Bolthorn.”

He glanced at Vardrun, and she touched her fingers to her lips. Bolthorn waited until she had gone, his shoulders curving with exhaustion that echoed in her heart. Even speaking with Vardrun had tired him, and learning of the threat to their child—she could feel how heavily it weighed upon him.

“Until the snow melts, it is safe enough.” Bolthorn said softly. “And even after, we need only keep a watch. At the first sign of movement, we can fill it with stone, and with Isolfur, we can even send for an elf to persuade the rock.”

She stroked his cheek, but though the lines in his face softened, her fears did not. “Vanadis told me once that if the dragons knew men had crossed the mountain, they would flame Gautar to ash. No matter how special our child might be, the ancestors cannot wish for that.”

He shook his head again, catching her hand and squeezing it tightly. “It was a lie, Princess.”

“How can you be certain it was? So much of what she said—” she stopped and swallowed against the thickness in her throat.

Vanadis had said she would kill him. And though she had failed, and the elves held her inside a prison of stone, Arianna did not forget what else she had uttered, the things she had said would come to pass. Not by her own hands, but because Arianna was only human and not orc. Because their child would be half human.

“She said our child would die in its first winter, Bolthorn. She said it would not survive the cold. Perhaps this would be better, to never know what we had lost, not truly.”

“The child will live, just as you have,” he promised. “Hrimthursar blood is not so thin it will not protect its own. You see what we are, what I am, after so long hoping we might become elves. Our child will be more orc than human, Arianna. Safe from the cold. And if it is not, we will trade blackrock for Elvish cloaks and clothes, or I will send you to the Vidthursar for the worst of the winter.”

“The Vidthursar gave me to Vanadis, and you’ve said yourself Menja will not even be Gythja for much longer. You cannot mean to trust them with our child, even if Vanadis is kept away.”

“They will not harm a child, nor would they dare betray my trust. Not while I live.”

“And if there is some rumor of your death a second time? If you fall from a rock face after you’ve sent us away. What then, Bolthorn?”

He smiled. “I am Hrimthursar, Arianna. We do not fall from the rock.”

She snorted and pushed him gently back into the bed. “You must be delirious with exhaustion if you think I will believe such a thing. Lie down and rest.”

He obeyed without argument for the first time in days, though he pulled her down beside him, wrapping her in his arms. She did not argue either, but sleep did not come for some time. The rest of Vanadis’s words still haunted her thoughts.

…You will be nothing but a weight of regret, holding him back.

Bolthorn loved her, and she him, but if it cost him his brother as well as his mother—if she could not give him a child who might live—it was too much to ask of anyone, even for love.