— and fell backward as the orc who had trapped ripped suddenly at his leg. His savagery brought new pain burning through Geth’s leg and knocked him off his already awkward balance. The shifter crashed back, and Kobus’s axe swung past in a flat arc just above his chest.
It caught Wrath though. The Dhakaani sword rang like a heavy chime as it was ripped from Geth’s grip and flung away into the shadows of the trees.
Geth came down hard on top of the wounded orc, the fall wrenching his leg out of the warrior’s grasp. He also came down on top of the warrior’s injured leg, bringing another scream out of him-a scream that ended sharply as Geth kicked him in the head. Geth got his gauntlet up, swept aside a blow from the warrior with the shattered cheek, and rolled across the ground as the second head of Kobus’s axe swung down. He felt a tug on his scalp as he moved and looked back to see locks of thick brown hair clinging to the axe as Kobus whirled it up again.
The big orc howled in frustration and spat something in Orc, but without Wrath Geth could no longer understand him. He bared his teeth and climbed to his feet, his chewed leg forcing him to limp. Kobus’s eyes flicked to his injury and his posture changed. He sank back on his tree-trunk legs and began to swing his double axe in slow circles. His eyes focused on Geth’s face, then he began to move forward, step by slow step. The other two orcs moved out to the sides, coming at Geth from right and from left. Geth backed up cautiously, but they followed, quicker than him with uninjured legs.
They weren’t, however, entirely uninjured. Geth feinted toward the warrior with the broken cheek. His face was beginning swell, squeezing closed the eye above the cheek. Geth took a fast step toward him, feinted with his gauntlet toward the warrior’s good side-then leaped at him, striking with the heel of his empty left hand straight at his broken face. Bones that were already shattered crumbled under his blow, driving inward. The warrior wailed and Geth swarmed around behind him even as Kobus and the final orc turned to help their friend. Geth took a firm grip on the warrior’s good cheek with on hand, wrapped the other arm around his throat, and twisted hard.
The orc’s neck snapped and his body went limp. Quick as thought, Geth bent down, grabbed the axe from his dead hand and hurled it the last warrior. The heavy-headed weapon hadn’t been meant for throwing, but at close range and with Geth’s strength behind it, it flew well enough to split the orc’s breastbone and sink deep into his chest.
The death of his final man didn’t slow Kobus down, however. His double-axe spun up, stopped at the top of its arc, then chopped down. Geth barely blocked it, and the force of the impact left his arm numb inside the gauntlet. He gritted his teeth and blocked a second blow, this one low, as Kobus whirled the second head at him. Then a third blow, high, and a fourth, low. Deceptively low. He left himself open as he tried to stop it and abruptly Kobus had turned his weapon and the edge was diving across Geth’s belly. He twisted to avoid it and the steel cut a deep gash across his hip instead. Geth staggered, then staggered again as he tripped over Pog’s still body. He slid down to one knee.
And without a moment’s hesitation, Kobus released one hand from the shaft of his double axe and clamped it around Geth’s throat, squeezing hard. It was the same tactic that had almost won him the challenge in the horde camp, but this time he kept Geth down, forcing him to his knees in Pog’s warm blood.
Shadows swam in Geth’s vision. Kobus grinned horribly, and his pin-prick mad eyes looked merry. He spoke in Orc, and while Geth couldn’t understand the words, he could guess at them. We’ve been here before, you and I.
It occurred to Geth that he wasn’t sure who did the speaking. Kobus had almost strangled him-but in their last meeting, Medala had almost suffocated him. Who spoke from Kobus’s mouth?
It didn’t matter. Geth met Kobus’s eyes and managed to force a few words out of his crushed throat. “Last time,” he croaked, “I wasn’t armed.”
His right arm brought up Pog’s axe, plucked from the ground, and swung it in an awkward but powerful arc.
The bit deep into Kobus’ upper arm, cutting through flesh and chopping through bone. Kobus screamed. His grasp went limp, and he staggered back. His arm hung from a tatter of muscle, fingers clenching wildly. His double-axe fell from his other hand as he tried to clutch at his maimed limb. Geth sucked air into his lungs and went after him. Kobus looked up, his eyes pools of insane hatred. Tears of rage washed his red horde marks. Geth’s gut twisted.
Kobus lunged at him, massive jaws snapping. Geth stepped back and swung the axe, burying it in Kobus’s skull. The speed of the warrior’s moving body carried him on to plow into the dirt, but when he stopped, he lay very still.
Geth groaned and staggered, releasing his hold on his shifting and sucking in his breath as the act tugged closed the worst of his wounds. Vulnerability rushed back to him-vulnerability and the ache of what he had done. He put his hands to his forehead and knotted his fingers in his hair. “Tiger and Wolf-”
“Geth!”
An orc’s voice, but not speaking Orc. Young. Clear. Familiar. Geth spun around, his heart lifting suddenly. “Orshok!” he said-then froze.
It was the young druid, but his face was cold and his eyes were as hard and insane as Kobus’s had been. As Medala’s were. Geth’s heart felt like it had been torn out of his chest.
In one hand, Orshok held a hunda stick. In the other, he held Wrath. He flung it in the dirt at Geth’s feet almost casually. Geth stared at it, then up at Orshok. The Gatekeeper smiled.
“No,” Geth groaned. “No.”
“Kill or be killed.” The voice that came from Orshok’s lips didn’t have the warm tones Geth had come to know in his travels. Instead, it was dry and harsh, the voice of a kalashtar who had traveled to the heart of madness and back. “Either way, I will have what I want.” Orshok’s eyes flickered-and a low song rippled out of his mouth. Geth realized he knew the rhythm, that he had heard it in the drums and flutes and rattles of the horde of Angry Eyes, but this was the first time he had heard it given voice and something about it chilled him to the bone.
“Aahyi-ksiksiksi-kladakla-yahaahyi-”
Orshok’s eyes focused on him, and the song rose to a pitch. He raised his hunda, holding it like a weapon. Geth didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t kill a friend. Run, he told himself. Take Wrath and run!
And leave Orshok in Medala’s power?
Then a shadow moved behind Orshok, seeming to emerge from the solid trunk of one of the trees. Something rose and fell with a swiftness Geth wouldn’t have expected. It struck Orshok across the back of his head, and the young orc’s eyes rolled back. His body slid to the ground-and Batul faced Geth over his prone student, his own hunda stick slowly sinking.
“You fool,” he said harshly. “You couldn’t wait? You couldn’t restrain yourself?”
Geth barely heard the words. He stared at Orshok, anguish and giddy relief pummeling him. “He’s not dead, is he?”
“No.”
“Medala had him.” Geth looked up at Batul. “Medala had all of them! She still has her powers and your magic can’t stop her. She’s manipulating the entire horde, even the Gatekeepers-”
Batul slammed the butt of his hunda stick into the ground, his good eye blazing. “I knew that, you idiot! Word of Vvaraak, didn’t you think I knew that? If you’d gone along with her, if you’d waited to speak to me some other time-any other time-this might not have happened!” He gestured around them.
“Geth! Batul!” Ekhaas came charging out of the trees, her sword drawn, and pulled up short at the sight of the carnage. Her eyes went wide, and her ears stood up tall. “Khaavolaar!”