By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story) (4 page)

The hands lifting her into the
saddle were hard and rough, the fine fibres of her merino coat
catching on the scars and calluses of his skin, the quiet threat of
his retractable claws pricking her through the cloth. But as he
checked her saddle and tack, his hands gliding in a soothing rhythm
over the flank of the horse, there was only gentle calm in them.
The man, the orc, was a contradiction, a puzzle -- she had long
since learnt not to trust puzzles. When they fell apart they took
the whole world with them.

The third night was the last in
which they were able to use the horses, the terrain having grown
too rough even for the hardy mountain animals. Nothing seemed to be
too hard for the orcs however, the speed of their movements barely
slacking. Elena, on the other hand, was suffering. Within half an
hour of abandoning the horses it became clear that she would not be
able to travel far under these conditions. It pricked her pride
more than a little to admit it, even if it was only to herself.
There were six children in their group, two barely out of swaddling
clothes and carried on the backs of their mothers, and four others.
It was those four others, ranging in ages from late-preteens to
early teens, whose unfailing endurance amazed and shamed Elena.

When she fell the third time,
her left leg sinking into a snowdrift to mid thigh, the group came
to a sudden halt. Elena, lying on the icy ground, for a moment too
exhausted to move, did not register anything apart from her own
misery. Her teeth hurt, her jaw clenched against her body's
instinctive need to produce the laughable amount of warmth
chattering teeth and shivering muscles could provide. Stupid
climate! Stupid snow! With the dogged determination so much a part
of her nature she grappled for some hold among the ice and pulled
her leg out of the viscous grip of the snow trapping it. Only then
did she sense the sudden silence, the sudden stillness around her.
It took more energy than it should have to raise her head, to
acknowledge what even her tired mind had already told her was
coming towards her with inexorable speed.

Reschkar towered even over his
own people, his broad frame parting the long line of orcs between
him and her without so much as a word. Kneeling in the snow, almost
too exhausted to rise even though the ice was soaking her skirts,
burning her skin, she suddenly found enough strength to stumble to
her feet. She might be weak in his eyes but she would be damned
before she would let him see her on her knees before him.

Her cloak appeared to weigh
twice as much, pulling at her shoulders, bending them so that it
took conscious thought, and effort, not to let them droop. Elena
could barely feel her toes anymore, the icy snow long since having
found its way into the warm fur lining. Her hands were clenched
tightly at her sides, not out of anger or a desire to do violence
-- but because she desperately needed to hide their uncontrolled
trembling from him. Still, she met his yellow gaze without
flinching, bravado giving her the strength, her muscles could not
provide anymore.

Reschkar stopped before her,
the snow which had begun to fall again, melting in little drops on
his shirtless chest. Were it not that galling, it would have been
fascinating. At least the other orcs saw a need to make use of some
protection against the elements. He, on the other hand, seemed
immune to the effects of the harsh climate, neither his body nor
his demeanour giving any indication he was even aware of the snow
and ice carried by the ever harsher wind. It was as if winter
itself had submitted to his will.

He stepped close enough for the
warmth of his skin to be a presence against her awareness and, try
as she might, she could not read any disdain in his features.
Silently, as he seemed to do everything, he unclasped the leather
strap fixing the heavy broadsword to his back and handed the weapon
to another orc. His eyes never left hers and she was caught in the
quiet calm, the sea of unquestioning acceptance in them.

It took her a split second to
realise his intent when he grabbed her arm -- and by then it was
too late, she was already in the air. Too fast even for her to
scream, she found herself lifted, swung upwards against a broad
back. She shifted and in instinctive self-protection her arms came
around his neck, her legs closing around his narrow hips to regain
balance. Within no more than a second she was hanging onto him, the
warmth of his skin searing her body in instant relief. Her protest
was instinctive, but heartfelt:

"No!"

Elena's voice was hoarser, more
panicked than she had intended. A sudden realisation hit her along
with the dry pain of her throat. She had barely spoken for days
now, ever since she had left her home. For a moment the isolation
hit, made her realise how alone she suddenly was -- then she
swallowed hard and repeated:

"No."

He was little impressed by her
outburst.

"You cannot walk in this snow
and we cannot afford the time to move any slower. If we do not
hurry, we will be caught in the coming storms."

The emotion was perverse, but
the very reasonableness of his tone grated on her.

"I am too heavy. You cannot
carry me."

His laughter travelled through
her like an intimate caress. It was all the answer he seemed
willing to give her though. His large hands held her in place,
their touch strong and secure. She trusted those hands to hold her,
to support her. That thought startled her enough to hesitate, to
freeze her mind in a momentary state of confusion. She trusted him?
He was an orc, a mindless killer, the man she had sold her body and
blood to in order to keep him from slaughtering her people. What
the hell was she thinking? By the time her mind had unwound from
that shocking thought, he was already moving again.

The warmth of his body under
hers thawed her frozen bones, forcing a calm on her she would have
thought impossible. Gradually, each muscle unwound, softened, eased
until the weight of her exhaustion made her lean into him. With
every step they took her body adjusted more to his until she fitted
him like a second skin. The even rhythm of his movements was barely
disrupted by her weight on his back.

Over the last few hours the
terrain had worsened by steady degrees. Their way wound itself ever
higher through the mountains, sheer cliff-faces dropped away on
their left, the edge coming closer and closer to the path. Then
even the path disappeared. Elena was almost certain that the only
thing larger than a bird ever setting foot here were mountain goats
-- and larger predators. The odd, hoarse barking call, the warning
of a lynx to its mate, followed them one night for over an
hour.

The morning of the third night
they failed to find an actual hut for shelter, the terrain having
given way to the rough heights not even goat herders dared to
tread. From then on they took refuge in caves and under the
protection of evergreen trees, the orcs preference of travelling at
night saving them from suffering through the coldest hours of the
night unmoving. Just as on that first morning, her orcs were
surprising in how fast they were able to erect a camp, even under
the harshest conditions.

No matter how much preparation
though, no huts meant sleeping on the bare floor. The first time
Reschkar let her slip from his shoulders directly into a
blanket-covered bed of pine needles and soft earth, she was still
too exhausted to realise much of what was happening around her.
Every bone hurt, unknown muscles aching from the strain of fighting
through snow -- and holding onto the orc carrying her. She was too
tired to think, let alone move.

Elena curled up, rested her
head on the blanket, adjusting to the sudden cold breeze, now that
she had lost the protection of Reschkar's body, and suppressed the
whimper which tried to break from between her chattering teeth. She
was certain it had only been a moment, a second of respite, but by
the time she had lifted her head again most orcs had bedded down,
gnawing on the dried meat forming their dinner. Then a dark shadow
appeared beside her.

It would have been inaccurate
to say Reschkar took a seat beside her. His movements were
smoother, more natural, as if his very body was interwoven with the
fabric of reality and each move he made an inevitable aspect of
mother nature. One moment he stood beside her little nest, the next
his scent of wood and spice surrounded her as a complement to the
wildness of reality. But there was no magic to it, he did not
suddenly appear seated besides her -- she remembered him taking the
seat, though she remembered it like she remembered the waves of the
sea or the falling of snow. It was how all his movements appeared
to her.

He held one of the wooden mugs,
which seemed to serve as eating utensil, storage container and
even, at times, as shovel. Her eyes were mesmerised by the long
yellow claws, outlined in all their sharp viciousness against the
dark wood. Of course, she knew they were part of the orcish
physique, even knew that only warriors were allowed to retain
theirs, whilst those female orcs left alive for breeding were
declawed. But she also knew it was rare for them to wear the
retractable claws openly, outside of battle. Elena had always
thought them an instinctive reaction to a threat, not unlike a
cat's, not a conscious choice. But over the last few days she had
seen them unsheathed, openly threatening, all the time. Or just
when he dealt with her? That thought was an interesting one -- and
one to consider.

"Do you ever retract them?
Don't they snag on things?"

Elena, mouth formed the words
without consulting her brain for an opinion. She must have been
more tired than she had thought, possibly tired of life, to ask him
this question. But when her eyes flickered to Reschkar's, she
failed to see anger, or even annoyance at her impertinence. Though
no answer seemed to be forthcoming either.

"Take it." He said instead and
when she did not reach for it, he shook the mug slightly as if to
remind her what he was talking about. Her fingers wrapped around
the wood with all care, jerking slightly in fear as her fingers
inadvertently brushed against those wicked claws. She froze, afraid
she had angered him, but he merely held the mug until he was
certain she had it safe. Then he let go of it.

"They are a habit and a choice.
We are travelling and there always is, however remote, a chance of
attack." After a deliberate pause he continued: "Even more so now
that we have an ErGer among us. Now drink."

Deep in thought she set the mug
to her lips. Satisfaction bloomed in his eyes. It puzzled her. Then
she came to realise what she was drinking. Watered down milk, the
last of her bounty from the mountain farm.

She set the mug back down,
trying not to wince at the frown rising on his brow. Before he
could say anything she hurried to explain.

"The children should have this.
It is the last of the milk."

"They have had their share."
The beginnings of a growl -- but she had lived her whole life with
apex predators. There was a time to give in and a time to push, or
they would forever see you as nothing more than a toy. She was many
things, few of them useful, but she was not a toy. So she
pushed.

"The women then."

The orc leant into her, close
and threatening, eyes alight with stubborn intent. He snarled at
her, the growl now full-fledged and deep.

"No."

"I was carried for most of the
day. They should have it." She insisted.

"Drink!"

For a moment she considered
arguing some more, then thought better of it. Elena brought the mug
to her lips. Reschkar watched her every move with avid attention,
his gaze intent on her lips as she closed them over the rim of the
mug, her throat as she swallowed. There was a deep satisfaction in
his eyes -- and the beginnings of heat.

"Why is it so important?"

Another question she could not
help asking. In truth, she did not think he would answer her, or at
least not with anything more profound than the only too obvious
truth: that she needed all the strength she could preserve because
she was so much weaker than them all. Even the children. But after
a moment's silence, in which she emptied the mug of the last dregs
of the milk, he spoke.

"A slave does not provide food,
a slave never choses what to eat. If our masters chose not to feed
us, then we starved -- if they chose to poison us, then we died.
Now we hold the power to feed ourselves."

She understood him, possibly
better than she wanted to.

"And I am a member of a vampire
court, a symbol for those who were your masters. Now you have the
power over me."

"Yes." It was the stark,
absolute truth, no prevarication, no softening the blow. In every
way that mattered she had become his slave. And she knew it.

His hand closed around her
throat, the sharp claws little pinpricks against her skin as he
stroked upwards, closed his fingers around her jaw to hold her in
place. He leant into her, came even closer. She felt his breath
against her skin, tasted him on her lips. Then his whispered words
wrapped around her in what was an oath -- or a threat.

"And I intend to prove to you,
to them,
to myself
, that I am a better master than they
could ever have dreamt of being. In every aspect."

A vow. A promise? She did not
know, was not sure she wanted to know. His large, warm palm came to
rest on her chest and he pushed her down with gentle pressure.

"Now sleep."

And then he left, without
another backwards glance.

Elena curled up on her side,
trying to find a comfortable spot on her nest of blanket, earth and
pine needles. What had felt so soft, so comfortable after a day of
travel, now had developed lumps and sharp corners. Worse, the cold
had found its way under her blanket and icy tendrils were attacking
her skin. Her toes, cold and miserable most of the day, even after
she had replaced her wet socks with strips of cloth torn from her
petticoat, had never warmed up and were now curving into themselves
in painful cramps. She curled up tighter, hiding her cold nose
between her knees and wrapping her fingers around her toes. Not
comfortable -- but manageable, at least until the cramps would
subside. As it was, she might be tired enough to sleep even like
this.