The orc growled, “Wuzzat?”
Khadgar slowly raised both hands, all the while calling up in his mind the magical energy. A simple spell, enough to knock the creature aside, to get Garona and get away.
Unless Garona had brought them here, he suddenly realized.
He hesitated, and that was enough. He heard something behind him, but did not get to turn as something large and heavy came down on the back of his neck.
He could not have been out long—long enough for a half-dozen orcs to spill into the room and start pushing through the rubble with their axes. They wore green armbands. Bleeding Hollow clan, his memory told him. He stirred, and the first orc, the one with the double-bladed ax, spun on him again.
“Wharsyurstuth?” said the orc. “Wharyuhidit?”
“What?” asked Khadgar, wondering if it was the orc’s voice or his own ears that were mangling the language.
“Your stuff,” said the orc, slower. “Your gear. You gots nothing. Where did you hide it?”
Khadgar spoke without thinking. “No stuff. Lost it earlier. No stuff.”
The orc snorted. “Then you die,” he snarled, and raised his blade.
“No!” shouted Garona from the ruined doorway. She looked like she had spent a bad night, but had a brace of hares on a leather thong hanging from her belt. She had been out hunting. Khadgar felt mildly embarrassed for his earlier thoughts.
“Git out, half-breed,” snapped the orc. “None of your business.”
“You’re killing my property, that makes it my business,” said Garona.
Property? thought Khadgar, but held his tongue.
“Prop’ty?” lisped the orc. “Who’s you to have prop’ty?”
“I am Garona Halforcen,” snarled the woman, twisting her face into a mask of rage. “I serve Gul’dan, warlock of the Stormreaver clan. Damage my property and you’ll have to deal with him!”
The orc snorted again. “Stormreavers? Pah! I hear they are a weak clan, pushed around by their warlock!”
Garona gave him a steely glare. “What I hear was that Bleeding Hollow failed to support the Twilight Hollow clan in the recent attack on Stormwind, and that both clans were thrown back. I hear that humans beat you in a fair fight. Is that true?”
“Dat’s beside the point,” said the Bleeding Hollow orc. “Dey had horses.”
“Maybe I can…” said Khadgar, trying to rise to his feet.
“Down, slave!” shouted Garona, cuffing him hard and sending him backward. “You speak when spoken to, and not before!”
The lead orc took the opportunity to take a step forward, but as soon as Garona had finished she wheeled again, and a long-bladed dagger was pointed at the orc’s midsection. The other orcs backed away from the brewing fight.
“Do you dispute my ownership?” snarled Garona, fire in her eyes and her muscles tensed to drive the blade through the leather armor.
There was silence for a moment. The Bleeding Hollow orc looked at Garona, looked at the sprawled Khadgar, and looked at Garona again. He snorted and said, “Go get something worth fighting for, first, half-breed!”
And with that the orc leader backed away. The others relaxed, and started to file out of the ruined common room.
One of his subordinates asked him as they left the building, “What duz she have a use for human slave anyway?”
The orc leader said something that Khadgar could not hear. The subordinate shouted from outside, “Dat’s disgusting!”
Khadgar tried to stand, but Garona waved her hand for him to stay down. Despite himself, Khadgar flinched.
Garona moved to the empty window, watched for a moment, then returned to where Khadgar had propped himself up against the wall.
“I think they’re gone,” she said at last. “I was afraid they might double back to even the score. Their leader is probably going to be challenged tonight by his subordinates.”
Khadgar touched the tender side of his face. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
Garona shook her head. “You idiot of a paleskin! If I hadn’t knocked you down, the orc leader would have killed you outright, and then turned on me because I couldn’t keep you in line.”
Khadgar sighed deeply. “Sorry. You’re right.”
“You’re right I’m right,” said Garona. “They kept you alive long enough for me to get back only because they thought you’d hidden something in the inn. That you wouldn’t be dumb enough to be out in the middle of a war zone without equipment.”
“Did you have to hit that hard?” asked Khadgar.
“To convince them? Yes. Not that I didn’t enjoy it.” She threw the hares at him. “Here, skin these and get the water boiling. There’re still pots and some tubers left in the kitchen.”
“Despite what you’re telling your friends,” said Khadgar, “I am not your slave.”
Garona chuckled. “Of course. But I caught breakfast. You get to cook it!”
Breakfast was a hearty stew of rabbit and potato, seasoned with herbs Khadgar found in the remains of the kitchen garden and mushrooms Garona picked in the wilderness. Khadgar checked the mushrooms to see if any of them were poisonous. None of them were.
“Orcs use their young as taste-testers,” said Garona. “If they survive, they know its good for the community.”
They set out on the road again, heading for Stormwind. Once more, the woods were eerily quiet, and all they encountered was the remains of war.
About midday, they came upon the Bleeding Hollow orcs once more. They were in a wide clear space around a shattered watchtower, all facedown. Something large, heavy, and sharp had torn through their back armor, and several were missing their heads.
Garona quickly moved from body to body, pulling salvageable gear from them. Khadgar scanned the horizon.
Garona shouted over, “Are you going to help?”
“In a moment,” said Khadgar. “I want to make sure that whatever killed our friends is not still around.”
Garona scanned the edges of the clearing, then looked skyward. Nothing was overhead but low, ink-spattered clouds.
“Well?” she said. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Neither did the orcs, until it was too late,” said Khadgar, joining her at the orc leader’s body. “They were hit in the back, while running, and from an attacker taller than they were.” He pointed at hoof prints in the dust. They were those of iron-shod, heavy horses. “Cavalry. Human cavalry.”
Garona nodded. “So we’re getting close, at least. Take what you can from them. We can use their rations—they’re nasty but nutritious. And take a weapon, at least a knife.”
Khadgar looked at Garona. “I’ve been thinking.”
Garona laughed. “I wonder how many human disasters start with that line.”
“We’re within range of Stormwind patrols,” said Khadgar. “I don’t think Medivh is following us, at least not directly. So maybe we should split up.”
“Thought of that,” said Garona, rummaging through one of the orc’s packs, and pulling out first a cloak, and then a small cloth-wrapped parcel. She opened the parcel to find a flint and steel and a vial of oily liquid. “Fire-starting kit,” she explained. “Orcs love fire, and this is a quick starter.”
“So you think we should split up,” said Khadgar.
“No,” said Garona. “I said I thought about it. The trouble is that no one is in control of this area, human or orc. You might walk fifty yards away and hit another patrol of the Bleeding Hollow clan, and I might get ambushed by your cavalry buddies. If the two of us are together, there’s a better chance of survival. One is the other’s slave.”
“Prisoner,” said Khadgar. “Humans don’t take slaves.”
“Sure you do,” said Garona. “You just call them something else. So we should stay together.”
“And that’s it?” said Khadgar.