By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story)
Read By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story) Online
Authors: Christine Blackthorn
A Valentine’s Day Story
Christine Blackthorn
Smashwords
Edition
By My Side
...
Copyright ©
June 2014 Christine Blackthorn
Published:
2
nd
June 2014
ISBN:
978-0-9928227-3-6
Publisher:
Phantasia Carnalis
The right of Christine
Blackthorn to be identified as author of this Work has been
asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of
this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system,
copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written
permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in
any format.
Warning: This book contains
sexually explicit scenes and adult language which may be offensive
to some readers. As a book with adult content it is for sale to
adults only as defined by the laws of the country of purchase.
Disclaimer: This book contains
explicit sexual practices. Please, if you enjoy to imitate do so in
a safe manner under the tutelage of an expert. Neither the author,
nor the publisher, shall be liable for any indirect or
consequential loss or injury (including but not limited to loss of
goodwill, loss of business, loss of anticipated profits or savings
and all other pure economic loss) arising out of or in connection
with this work of fiction.
This book is a work of fiction
and all events are the product of the author's imagination or have
been used fictitiously and should therefore not be construed as
real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, locales and
events is therefore entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
To Philip, you see what no one
else does.
Dear Reader,
If you are reading this then
you are in one of the two following groups -- either you have come
to this because you were one of the people who asked on the website
for the Orcs to get their own story or you have come across this
accidentally. Both groups are welcome visitors to the story and I
hope you will fall in love with these creatures as much as I did
when writing them.
Though if you are in the first
group, those who strong-armed me into giving them their own space,
I have to admit I am grateful -- and that I am not done with them
yet. It turns out that the passing fancy you gave me for them could
become permanent. Let me know if you feel the same.
I also have to thank both Joy
and Rhonda for the ceaseless support and humour you have given the
orcs.
Christine
PS: To all those sword fighters
out there - I know no human could draw Reschkar's sword. It has
been demonstrated to me. With broad swords and short swords.
Repeatedly. What can I say ... He is an orc. Get over it!
Orcs
Innsbruck, 1782
"Another one? In this year, you
are already the fourth human asking to die."
The statement was said with
leisure, no urgency or overmuch interest in its syllables. It gave
her pause. The date was only January 12
th
, after all.
But she could not allow her thoughts to be diverted from her path,
nor could she allow the fear threatening her calm at his next
sentence to turn her away from her purpose.
"We are always happy to comply,
have no doubt. As a rule, humans only have to ask once." And after
a moment's pause: "
Are
you asking?"
The mild interest in his tone
was more terrifying than an outright threat could ever have
been.
Elena Garibaldi held tight to
her intent, ignoring his words. What was there to say? She would be
the last person to dispute that her actions smelled of desperate
idiocy with an added side of suicide, but she had been pushed
beyond all other options. Otherwise she would never have found
herself here in the oppressive darkness of this cellar, the
derelict ruins of the castle crumbling to dust over their heads.
She had come to this place, to this husk of a building once adorned
with signs of life and luxury, to bargain for the life of the one
man she had ever learnt to love in all of the twenty-seven years of
her existence. Worse, she had come to this desolate memory of a
fortress standing watch over Innsbruck, to bargain with death. She
was here to meet an orc.
Shapes moved along the walls.
His form was shielded by the shadows thrown onto the hewn stone
walls by nothing more than the meagre little fire in the middle of
the floor but she felt his presence. And even though she might not
be able to see him, his voice had no problems to reach her ears
through the darkness and gloom. It was a strange voice, deep and
clear with an undertone of sophisticated elegance; the voice of an
angel. Not one of those chubby, little baby-angels, but what she
imagined an avenging angel might sound like -- sword in hand and
power in each syllable. Not a voice you would have expected from a
monster.
"I am here on behalf of the
Supernatural Court of Innsbruck."
"Are you?"
At last, she had caught his
interest. The darkness on the other side of the fire began to move,
draw together and take shape, a body changing its position to face
her. Still, he did not step forward into the light, did not give
her the courtesy of letting her see him. She understood the action
for the insult it was.
Elena gritted her teeth -- not
in anger, but against the bone-biting cold of the night. If he
thought he could goad her, he would soon find himself disappointed.
Better men had tried and there was only so much pain and
humiliation one could suffer before one learnt the lesson. Elena
had internalised that piece of learning early on, long before he
appeared before the gates of her home town with his little army. He
was stronger than her, he was more powerful and in a direct
confrontation he would destroy her without even noticing. She might
be stubborn, but she was not stupid and only a stupid woman would
let herself be riled up by an orc.
Under a sudden cold draft,
somehow finding its way down here from the heavy wooden door
protecting the long staircase, a log shifted in the glowing embers
of the fire and sparks drifted aloft, their weightless beauty
giving her a glimpse of yellow eyes and pale skin. An icy tendril
of fear slithered down her spine and she pulled the corners of her
mink-lined cloak closer around her shoulders. Her own body's heat
was barely able to fight the intruding cold finding its insidious
way under the elegant silk of her garments. She wished she would
have had the time to choose a more suitable coat before sneaking
from her home like a thief in the night.
"I am a member of the local
Court, here to negotiate a peaceful resolution to the
conflict."
Not a lie, at least not
precisely -- she was very careful to make sure of that. Many
supernatural races were able to smell an untruth, or at least the
chemical changes a human body underwent when lying. Any human
trying to live among the supernatural courts learnt, quickly and
thoroughly, the art of lying without ever speaking an untrue word.
Elena had no idea if orcs fell among those races able to sense a
lie, though this seemed to be a bad time to test the theory.
The Innsbruck Court had never
held orc slaves in her lifetime and even visitors were discouraged
from bringing any into the territory. So all she knew of them was
hearsay, based on rumour and the bragging of drunks, which she
doubted was a reliable source of information. In the face of this
man, this orc, who could squash her, and her family, like a little
bug, it seemed wise to err on the side of caution. She just could
not afford his ire. Too much depended on this meeting.
"There is no conflict."
An unladylike snort hovered on
her lips, was suppressed with all speed. No conflict had been
declared, but most people would agree that the sudden appearance of
an army of orcs before the gates of town, even if a significant
number of these were women and children, constituted at least a
conflict in the making. And if this conflict were ever to be
declared, it would be one which the Court of Innsbruck would lose,
as certain as the sun would rise in the morning.
Even one of the large courts,
filled with hundred of followers able to raise arms and stand in
defence of their home, would have had problems confronting an army
of orcs. Orcs were a race bred for war and tempered in the fires of
slavery. Innsbruck was not a large court, and its Lord not
powerful. A war would be lost before it had even begun.
"No conflict?" Now she did
snort, reality a helpful reminder of what mattered. She was
standing in an abandoned cellar, in the middle of the night, facing
an orc. Clearly, there were times and places for being a lady --
this was not one of them. She picked up the threads of
conversation, her tone acquiring a scathing edge:
"There is no Lord on this
continent, nor in this world, who would not see even four unleashed
orcs before his gates as a challenge, let alone an army, no matter
how small."
He grinned at her, a flash of
yellow teeth, sharp and threatening, the teeth of a predator; but
he remained mute in answer to her challenge. He knew she was
right.
There was a reason why so few
Lords set their orc slaves free. A reason why the only ones ever
freed were old, or ill, or maimed --and never, ever male. It did
not matter if the orc had earned his freedom thrice over, if he had
saved their master and the whole court from certain death. No deed
was large enough, deserving enough, to garner freedom. An orc, at
least the healthy, adult ones, never saw anything but slavery. A
free orc was certain death.
Orcs had the reputation of
being vicious, bloodthirsty, entirely ungovernable and a threat to
every living being. Their number was tightly controlled, no free
breeding permitted. They were created and made for war, for
destruction, for pillage and suffering. Their own and others. And
now they stood before the gates of her city, her home. An army of
orcs. It seemed impossible. The courts had always been careful to
control their number of orcs in existence, to kill off any not
essential as breeding stock -- at least that was the case in
peacetime. Or so everyone had thought.
But then, this orc before her
had appeared on the playing field and it had transpired that the
only thing the orcs had been lacking was a place to come to -- or a
person to call home. Reschkar was rumoured to be young, the orc
equivalent of a human male in his thirties, she supposed, and no
one knew where he had originated from. The only pieces of
information known for certain about him were written on his form.
His body held the scars of war and slavery in a time when the
courts had not engaged in open warfare in centuries. He spoke the
language of all he met, but not one of them seemed to be his mother
tongue. And the orcs called him their king.
Initially, the courts had
ignored him, considering him negligible, a disturbance barely
noticed by those in power. He had not threatened their hold, had
not attacked anyone. He had just appeared here and there, each time
with a few more followers, each time only remaining a few days,
without causing riot or mayhem. When he left he did not steal any
of the local orcs, did not incite a revolt, nor abet a fleeing
slave. None of the Lords and Ladies could claim they missed anyone
when Reschkar disappeared silently and without warning a few days
after his arrival. But something had changed in their slaves. They
were more alert, stood straighter, had an air of hope in their eyes
no master liked to see in the eyes of slaves. And even though he
did not seem to free even one orc, his following grew steadily each
time.
And now he had appeared before
the gates of Innsbruck, the home of the weakest supernatural court
in Europe, but this time he was not leaving. Two weeks had he been
waiting, camping in the woods before the gates, taking over this
castle, and still there were no signs he intended to disappear once
again. Instead, he had taken over one of the many derelict castles
in the foothills around Innsbruck and made it his home. Reschkar
seemed here to stay and that could only mean one thing: he planned
to take the Court of Innsbruck, her home, her family. This was the
reason why she had come to seek him out -- to negotiate, as a
sacrifice.