Worthy of Honor

By Michala Hampton

Save my son.

The plea echoed in Marek’s head, as dark and haunting as the forest through which he stumbled. His breathing labored—as did that of the unconscious child cradled in his arms.

“Come on, David, stay with me,” he begged.

Something rustled in the bushes ahead. Marek halted and squinted into the darkness. Could it be a pack of wild beskus? A moon cat? Or the Beast that had mauled David and was now coming to finish him off?

A colossal orc stepped out of the shadows, wielding a battle-axe. His golden eyes trailed up and down Marek and stopped at David. “Come with me.”

Marek staggered back. If only he had a weapon. “Get away!”

A bone-chilling roar shook the trees and sent a violent tremor through the ground.

The Beast was near.

“I know the way out,” the orc growled. “Hurry!”

Marek glanced around, then limped after him, not daring to look back until they breached the perimeter of the forest. Rumor was the devilish, roaring Beast could not leave its wooded realm. They were safe from it out here in the open.

Now to contend with their rescuer.

The orc slid his axe into a sheath strapped to his back. “Give me the boy.”

“Over my dead body,” Marek snarled.

“That might happen soon enough. Your injuries are severe.”

Marek clenched his jaw against the pain throbbing throughout his entire body. “What happens to me doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t be a fool. How are you to care for him dead?” The orc stared into Marek’s eyes. “If you wish to save this boy, then give him to me.”

Desperation clawed in Marek’s gut. Taking shaky breaths, he studied David’s pale face. The child wouldn’t last much longer. They were out of allies, and they were out of options.

Marek slowly stepped forward and handed David over to the orc.

He took and held him with a tenderness that seemed odd for a member of the aggressive warrior race.

Marek breathed in the earthy scent of burning wood, then spotted the faint glow of a campfire. After traveling another half mile, they arrived at a small encampment.

Laying David on a fur blanket, the orc rummaged through a leather satchel and withdrew something. “It is not within my power to heal him completely, but I can stop the bleeding. This is an herbal medicine.” He applied a yellow powder to the deep lacerations covering most of David’s small body, then handed some to Marek.

Marek took the medicine and spread it over his own wounds while scrutinizing the orc. A necklace of claws and bones hung around his thick neck. The glowing fire highlighted his enormous muscles. His fur vest, opened in the front, revealed a besku skull tattooed on his broad chest.

Marek lunged at him. “Take your hands off the boy!”

The orc scowled and pushed him onto the ground.

Marek clambered to his feet. “You’re a rogue!”

“Was. Learn the difference. The commander pardoned me when I fought in the war. My allegiance lies with him.”

Allegiance or not, rogue orcs had always harbored resentment toward humans. Even though the war between their two races ended several months ago, this orc’s actions made no sense.

“Why are you doing this?”

The orc furrowed his brow, his eyes clouded in sorrow. Perhaps even shame. “My good deeds are few. The human children I sold or killed are beyond count. By Abir’s grace and forgiveness, I can now live with honor like my ancestors and help those in need.”

Marek’s suspicion deepened, only slightly mollified.

The orc gently rested his large hand on David’s head, closed his eyes, and murmured a series of guttural words.

With clenched fists, Marek stepped toward him. “What are you doing?”

“I am placing him under a spell of protection. Wherever he goes, no one will know his identity.”

A spell of protection? That meant—

“You’re a magic wielder?” Marek whispered in awe.

The orc huffed and shook his head. “Snaps are so ignorant. You believe you’re the only ones capable of wielding such a power.”

“I didn’t think orcs had magic.”

“Those of us born with magic abilities are forbidden by our own kind from practicing them, but to deny our gift is to deny the One who gave it to us.”

“How long will the spell last?”

“As long as Abir wills it.” The orc lifted his stern gaze. “Or until it is broken.”

“By whom?”

“One who wears a veil of darkness.”

Marek fought against a shudder. Darkness now covered the great kingdom from which he and David had escaped. Were the same people who condemned the boy to die destined to find him and finish the job?

Not if Marek had anything to say about it.

“Time is no friend to you. You must leave.” With great care, the orc picked up David, stood, and handed him to Marek along with the satchel. “There is food, medicine, and a dagger in there.”

“Thank you.” Marek grimaced at the caked blood on the child’s mangled skin. “Will… will he live?”

“His spirit is strong, and so is yours, Captain.”

Marek shot his head up, eyes widening. “How do you know—”

“Stop asking questions.” The orc gave him a light shove. “Your enemies will not stop hunting either of you until you leave this land. Now go. May you find honor.”

Marek nodded, then stumbled off. A weight of guilt settled in his stomach surrounded by a pool of shame. No captain who had failed to save his men or his king and queen from annihilation was worthy of honor. Perhaps defending the lone survivor of the royal family would help him regain what he’d lost.

No matter the cost, he would protect Prince David.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michala Hampton is an author and daydreamer caught between the worlds she brings to life in her stories and the one called reality. When she’s not writing, Michala is searching for opportunities to satisfy her wanderlust, trying new foods to appease her Hobbit appetite, and gathering inspiration for her stories. She is not-so-patiently waiting for Gandalf to show up at her front door and invite her on an adventure.

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