The Lady Penitent

XXVII. Murdak's Test

"That is not a fair fight," Ardashir said. He could feel a violent anger rising in his chest, but he bit it back. Was this what orcs felt like all the time? He wasn't certain he could stand it. He'd always considered himself to be a relatively reasonable man, but right now the idea didn't seem to be fitting him quite right.

"I agree," Vladan rumbled as he watched Holland approach the ten-foot-tall figure. There was a large clear space around them, but ranks of orcs formed a ring. Murdak had insisted that the challenge be a trial by combat much like Khagra had fought against Olon, but instead of having Holland fight everyone who took issue with the idea of her giving orders, he had chosen a champion: the biggest, nastiest creature under his banners. "We should see if the ogre has a brother too. That would make it fairer."

"Vladan!" the knight barked.

Khagra put her hand on Ardashir's arm. "It's Holland," she said. "She'll be fine. She's too stubborn to die. You didn't panic like this when I fought Olon. Have some confidence in her, like you did in me."

"Olon was a third his size. The head of that club is the size of her torso," the knight said. He knew he was starting to sound unreasonable, but he couldn't help it and Holland wasn't here to tell him to back off. "We should be with her."

Vladan looked at him dubiously. "That would be unfair. Don't you knights know anything about duels?"

"Hush, brute. He'll pop an artery if you keep at it," Khagra said before turning her attention back to the human. "Ardashir, I promise you that she will walk off that field. I know you're upset that you're not out there guarding her back, but this is something she has to do on her own."

"Should have had her sock your brother in the mouth," Ardashir mumbled.

Rather than taking offense, Khagra shrugged. "He wouldn't be able to back her up then," she said. "They're going to be dying because she asked them to. This is a chance for her to prove she's strong enough to make it worth it. A title isn't enough for an orc. They need blood."

"And everyone wants to see hers," the knight muttered. "Gods' breath, but she's going to die of a thousand cuts before the demons even have their chance."

Vladan grinned. "He looks like a weeper," he said, looking up at the towering figure. The behemoth, Drokug, apparently doubled as a siege weapon. Looking at the club, it was easy to see why. Runes glowed in the long, tapered bar of metal. Now that the ogre had picked it up, the whole weapon had begun to turn cherry red with heat as flames danced along its length. It wasn't enough for her to fight a massive ogre—he had to be one with a magic weapon too. It was the remnant of some demon's arsenal, no doubt lost long ago only to be recovered by the orcs.

"Do you just want to fight in her place?" Ardashir snapped.

"Depends. Do you think they'd let me? I've never punched an ogre before."

"No," Khagra said sternly. "There are traditions. No one can fight for someone else to become Goth. Find your own ogre, Vladan."

The anthroparion looked over at her hopefully. "So, he does have a brother?"

"Not. Now." Ardashir's voice was a hiss, his brow furrowed intently and his lips pulled back in a grimace.

He couldn't find it in himself to be angry with Khagra, but he certainly wasn't pleased with the situation they were in now. He hated watching and being unable to do anything. Holland deserved the benefit of the doubt, in his mind. Fionn hadn't given it to her, Olon hadn't given it to her. Both the Năluci and the elves would have cheerfully put her in the grave. Now the orcs wanted her to fight a battle stacked heavily against her. It was enough to drive him up the wall. But it served the purpose. Just one more thing to be done. Maybe that was why Holland had just nodded, rolled her shoulders to loosen up for the fight, and followed Murdak. If the orcs were going to die for her, she should be ready to die for their loyalty.