Under The Mountain

Chapter Three

Once Brinna had finished screaming, her throat was hoarse from the effort. Daisy still stood frozen beneath her, as if she hadn’t even heard. The orc watched, brows arched high.

“Are you finished? Or shall I wait while you make my ears bleed some more?” he said, voice smooth in the night.

Brinna didn’t reply—didn’t think. She just tugged her reins and kicked feverishly at her mare’s sides, willing her to turn and run.

She kicked and kicked. Daisy didn’t falter or turn her head in the slightest.

“You own a good horse. A strong girl,” the orc said, appraising Daisy more appreciatively this time. “From a long line of warhorses, I would guess.”

Brinna focused back on the cloaked orc. How would he know that? Because Daisy was, in fact, from the same line of horses the cavalry rode into battle. A present from Alfred.

The orc, seemingly following her thoughts, gave her a sly smile. “You should know those warhorses are bred from our own stock. She recognizes true authority.”

Like hell she was going to believe that hogwash. “Not likely, you bloodthirsty creature,” she hissed.

“Oh, and disagreeing with a bloodthirsty creature—is that truly the smartest thing a woman like you can think to do?” the orc hissed back, fingers curling and twitching at his sides.

That seemed to snap Daisy out of her trance. She stomped and snorted out a hot curl of mist, much like a dragon, tossing her head toward the orc—almost daring him to test her, to see how much of that warhorse blood really lay within.

Brinna felt her lips curl at Daisy’s display. “No matter your authority, she would never let something harm me.”

The orc paused, considered her words. Then he shook his muscles loose and tilted his head to the side again, eyes running over Daisy’s form. “Perhaps not, woman.”

“What are you doing on our land? What have you come for?” Brinna bit out, confidence rising from somewhere deep within her.

“Your lands?” The orc’s smile sharpened with malice. “You’re deep within orc lands, little lady.”

Deep within orc land.

Brinna froze, struck by the words. There had been no signs. No warnings. Nothing that said Welcome to Orc Land. Please prepare to be eaten!

Daisy must have felt her stiffen—probably smelling the fear rolling off her in waves. The mare began prancing sideways, tossing her head and snorting toward the orc.

“Look, little lady,” the orc’s deep voice drew Brinna’s attention. “I have no plans to harm you or let harm come to you.” He spread his hands in a placating gesture. “My words were just... banter. To startle and play.”

To startle and play? He’d said all that just to get a rise out of her? But she’d heard the tales. Orcs hunting for human meat. Dragging men back to their holes and devouring them, leaving only bones behind.

“N-no. You eat people!” Brinna shouted, clutching her reins tightly as Daisy shifted beneath her.

“No,” the orc hissed. “Years and years ago, ancestors lost their way maybe—but no orc in all the lands has tasted human meat.”

But what stuck in Brinna’s head was that he’d admitted it. That they had eaten people before. That he could decide at any time to attack and eat her.

“We know the stories. The sharp teeth you grow for tearing flesh. The spikes you have to rip people in half. Your craving for blood,” she accused.

The orc looked as though he might rage again, fist clenching—then he sagged, bringing a hand to his face. “Yes, I know the tales. We have them here too, you know. We don’t have these... traits to help us eat people. We have them to keep ourselves safe. To keep our bodies whole. They are great gifts from the other Gods.”

“Gifts from other Gods?” Brinna blinked. She had only ever heard of one God—Sylion—gifting magic. He would occasionally touch someone and grant them beauty.

“Our God, Dravak, was the last to come. As a treaty, the other Gods helped craft him. Your human God gave us our form, like he did the others, and our minds—to help us think of plans and strategies.”

“And the others?” Brinna asked before she could stop herself. She was curious—no one spoke freely of the other Gods. It was grounds for banishment.

“The wolf God, Carethas, gave us our fangs and our sight in the dark, so we may better protect our families. The fae God, Sylion, gave us our hearing and symmetrical faces—so we may always hear what the world says of our beauty.” He lifted his hand to stroke a fae-pointed ear, proving his claim. “We gave gifts back to the two Gods.”

“The two Gods, but not Vireon,” Brinna said quietly. She already knew the answer. Vireon was the first God, and humans the first people. He refused all other gifts, claiming he and his creations were already perfect.

“No, not Vireon. We gave our scenting and our ability to fight to the others—so they may always smell bloodshed before it comes.” His reply was calm, almost proud.

Brinna studied him closely. Something was off. The huge tusks she had always seen in orc portraits were missing. And his fingers—tipped with claws, not quite right either.

“Where are your tusks? And why do you have claws, if you’re truly an orc?” she asked, suspicion rising. The orc quickly tucked both hands behind his back, embarrassed she had noticed.

“We no longer have tusks. We’ve adapted claws. Our people bred with the tunnel wraiths before their extinction. We gained many traits from them,” he said coolly, as if it were no big thing.

“The tunnel wraiths?” she heard herself ask.

She knew of them—grey, humanoid things that lived deep underground. Skinny, knobby, unsettling creatures that fed on fungi grown in hidden caves. Brinna shuddered at the mental image.

“Yes, the tunnel wraiths. We long had a treaty with them, to extend both our lines. Orcs are only born male, yet tunnel wraiths are both. We allowed them to dig through our mountain in exchange for our young. But they have become extinct. Bearing only our orc sons thinned their numbers until there were none left.”

The explanation only left Brinna with more questions. “So… what do you want now?”

“Little lady, I only want to help.” His voice softened, dipping into something warm and low—like a lullaby spoken in a stranger’s tongue.

“Help?” Brinna’s voice cracked.

“Aye. You are tired, and hungry from your travels, are you not?”

Gods, to hear it spoken aloud made her bones ache all the more. She hadn’t let herself feel it, but now the exhaustion hit her like a wave. Her stomach growled audibly, betraying her, and she grimaced.

The orc tilted his horrible green head. “Is it… speaking to you?” he asked, genuinely curious, as if he’d never heard the sound of an empty stomach before.

“What is your name?” Brinna asked quickly, redirecting the conversation away from herself. He already knew too much. All she knew about him was that he was a green-skinned orc with unsettling claims.

“Tarnak Marithorsson,” he said, his eyes snapping to hers, glowing with a reflective green sheen. “I am the Crimson King—tribal chief to all those within Broke Blade Mountain. And you, little lady, are going to come with me.”