By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story)

by Christine Blackthorn

  By My Side…

  A Valentine’s Day Story

  Christine Blackthorn

  Smashwords Edition

  By My Side ...

  Copyright © June 2014 Christine Blackthorn

  Published: 2nd June 2014

  ISBN: 978-0-9928227-3-6

  Publisher: Phantasia Carnalis

  The right of Christine Blackthorn to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which may be offensive to some readers. As a book with adult content it is for sale to adults only as defined by the laws of the country of purchase.

  Disclaimer: This book contains explicit sexual practices. Please, if you enjoy to imitate do so in a safe manner under the tutelage of an expert. Neither the author, nor the publisher, shall be liable for any indirect or consequential loss or injury (including but not limited to loss of goodwill, loss of business, loss of anticipated profits or savings and all other pure economic loss) arising out of or in connection with this work of fiction.

  This book is a work of fiction and all events are the product of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously and should therefore not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, locales and events is therefore entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 Orcs

  Chapter 2 Travel

  Chapter 3 Trap

  Chapter 4 Control

  Chapter 5 Trust

  Chapter 6 A Beginning

  Chapter 7 Pain

  Chapter 8 Bond

  Chapter 9 Endings?

  About The Author

  Excerpt A Variety of Chains

  To Philip, you see what no one else does.

  Dear Reader,

  If you are reading this then you are in one of the two following groups -- either you have come to this because you were one of the people who asked on the website for the Orcs to get their own story or you have come across this accidentally. Both groups are welcome visitors to the story and I hope you will fall in love with these creatures as much as I did when writing them.

  Though if you are in the first group, those who strong-armed me into giving them their own space, I have to admit I am grateful -- and that I am not done with them yet. It turns out that the passing fancy you gave me for them could become permanent. Let me know if you feel the same.

  I also have to thank both Joy and Rhonda for the ceaseless support and humour you have given the orcs.

  Christine

  www.christineblackthorn.eu

  PS: To all those sword fighters out there - I know no human could draw Reschkar's sword. It has been demonstrated to me. With broad swords and short swords. Repeatedly. What can I say ... He is an orc. Get over it!

  Orcs

  Innsbruck, 1782

  "Another one? In this year, you are already the fourth human asking to die."

  The statement was said with leisure, no urgency or overmuch interest in its syllables. It gave her pause. The date was only January 12th, after all. But she could not allow her thoughts to be diverted from her path, nor could she allow the fear threatening her calm at his next sentence to turn her away from her purpose.

  "We are always happy to comply, have no doubt. As a rule, humans only have to ask once." And after a moment's pause: "Are you asking?"

  The mild interest in his tone was more terrifying than an outright threat could ever have been.

  Elena Garibaldi held tight to her intent, ignoring his words. What was there to say? She would be the last person to dispute that her actions smelled of desperate idiocy with an added side of suicide, but she had been pushed beyond all other options. Otherwise she would never have found herself here in the oppressive darkness of this cellar, the derelict ruins of the castle crumbling to dust over their heads. She had come to this place, to this husk of a building once adorned with signs of life and luxury, to bargain for the life of the one man she had ever learnt to love in all of the twenty-seven years of her existence. Worse, she had come to this desolate memory of a fortress standing watch over Innsbruck, to bargain with death. She was here to meet an orc.

  Shapes moved along the walls. His form was shielded by the shadows thrown onto the hewn stone walls by nothing more than the meagre little fire in the middle of the floor but she felt his presence. And even though she might not be able to see him, his voice had no problems to reach her ears through the darkness and gloom. It was a strange voice, deep and clear with an undertone of sophisticated elegance; the voice of an angel. Not one of those chubby, little baby-angels, but what she imagined an avenging angel might sound like -- sword in hand and power in each syllable. Not a voice you would have expected from a monster.

  "I am here on behalf of the Supernatural Court of Innsbruck."

  "Are you?"

  At last, she had caught his interest. The darkness on the other side of the fire began to move, draw together and take shape, a body changing its position to face her. Still, he did not step forward into the light, did not give her the courtesy of letting her see him. She understood the action for the insult it was.

  Elena gritted her teeth -- not in anger, but against the bone-biting cold of the night. If he thought he could goad her, he would soon find himself disappointed. Better men had tried and there was only so much pain and humiliation one could suffer before one learnt the lesson. Elena had internalised that piece of learning early on, long before he appeared before the gates of her home town with his little army. He was stronger than her, he was more powerful and in a direct confrontation he would destroy her without even noticing. She might be stubborn, but she was not stupid and only a stupid woman would let herself be riled up by an orc.

  Under a sudden cold draft, somehow finding its way down here from the heavy wooden door protecting the long staircase, a log shifted in the glowing embers of the fire and sparks drifted aloft, their weightless beauty giving her a glimpse of yellow eyes and pale skin. An icy tendril of fear slithered down her spine and she pulled the corners of her mink-lined cloak closer around her shoulders. Her own body's heat was barely able to fight the intruding cold finding its insidious way under the elegant silk of her garments. She wished she would have had the time to choose a more suitable coat before sneaking from her home like a thief in the night.

  "I am a member of the local Court, here to negotiate a peaceful resolution to the conflict."

  Not a lie, at least not precisely -- she was very careful to make sure of that. Many supernatural races were able to smell an untruth, or at least the chemical changes a human body underwent when lying. Any human trying to live among the supernatural courts learnt, quickly and thoroughly, the art of lying without ever speaking an untrue word. Elena had no idea if orcs fell among those races able to sense a lie, though this seemed to be a bad time to test the theory.

  The Innsbruck Court had never held orc slaves in her lifetime and even visitors were discouraged from bringing any into the territory. So all she knew of them was hearsay, based on rumour and the bragging of drunks, which she doubted was a reliable source of information. In the face of this man, this orc, who could squash her, and her family, like a little bug, it seemed wise to err on the side of caution. She just could not afford his ire. Too
much depended on this meeting.

  "There is no conflict."

  An unladylike snort hovered on her lips, was suppressed with all speed. No conflict had been declared, but most people would agree that the sudden appearance of an army of orcs before the gates of town, even if a significant number of these were women and children, constituted at least a conflict in the making. And if this conflict were ever to be declared, it would be one which the Court of Innsbruck would lose, as certain as the sun would rise in the morning.

  Even one of the large courts, filled with hundred of followers able to raise arms and stand in defence of their home, would have had problems confronting an army of orcs. Orcs were a race bred for war and tempered in the fires of slavery. Innsbruck was not a large court, and its Lord not powerful. A war would be lost before it had even begun.

  "No conflict?" Now she did snort, reality a helpful reminder of what mattered. She was standing in an abandoned cellar, in the middle of the night, facing an orc. Clearly, there were times and places for being a lady -- this was not one of them. She picked up the threads of conversation, her tone acquiring a scathing edge:

  "There is no Lord on this continent, nor in this world, who would not see even four unleashed orcs before his gates as a challenge, let alone an army, no matter how small."

  He grinned at her, a flash of yellow teeth, sharp and threatening, the teeth of a predator; but he remained mute in answer to her challenge. He knew she was right.

  There was a reason why so few Lords set their orc slaves free. A reason why the only ones ever freed were old, or ill, or maimed --and never, ever male. It did not matter if the orc had earned his freedom thrice over, if he had saved their master and the whole court from certain death. No deed was large enough, deserving enough, to garner freedom. An orc, at least the healthy, adult ones, never saw anything but slavery. A free orc was certain death.

  Orcs had the reputation of being vicious, bloodthirsty, entirely ungovernable and a threat to every living being. Their number was tightly controlled, no free breeding permitted. They were created and made for war, for destruction, for pillage and suffering. Their own and others. And now they stood before the gates of her city, her home. An army of orcs. It seemed impossible. The courts had always been careful to control their number of orcs in existence, to kill off any not essential as breeding stock -- at least that was the case in peacetime. Or so everyone had thought.

  But then, this orc before her had appeared on the playing field and it had transpired that the only thing the orcs had been lacking was a place to come to -- or a person to call home. Reschkar was rumoured to be young, the orc equivalent of a human male in his thirties, she supposed, and no one knew where he had originated from. The only pieces of information known for certain about him were written on his form. His body held the scars of war and slavery in a time when the courts had not engaged in open warfare in centuries. He spoke the language of all he met, but not one of them seemed to be his mother tongue. And the orcs called him their king.

  Initially, the courts had ignored him, considering him negligible, a disturbance barely noticed by those in power. He had not threatened their hold, had not attacked anyone. He had just appeared here and there, each time with a few more followers, each time only remaining a few days, without causing riot or mayhem. When he left he did not steal any of the local orcs, did not incite a revolt, nor abet a fleeing slave. None of the Lords and Ladies could claim they missed anyone when Reschkar disappeared silently and without warning a few days after his arrival. But something had changed in their slaves. They were more alert, stood straighter, had an air of hope in their eyes no master liked to see in the eyes of slaves. And even though he did not seem to free even one orc, his following grew steadily each time.

  And now he had appeared before the gates of Innsbruck, the home of the weakest supernatural court in Europe, but this time he was not leaving. Two weeks had he been waiting, camping in the woods before the gates, taking over this castle, and still there were no signs he intended to disappear once again. Instead, he had taken over one of the many derelict castles in the foothills around Innsbruck and made it his home. Reschkar seemed here to stay and that could only mean one thing: he planned to take the Court of Innsbruck, her home, her family. This was the reason why she had come to seek him out -- to negotiate, as a sacrifice.

  "I am here to make sure there will not be any conflict in the future." Elena imbued her voice with as much dignity and conviction as she could, desperation lending her the courage she might otherwise have lacked.

  Though, her words did not have the effect she wished for, or anticipated, having on him. His laughter echoed loud and unrestrained through the cold stone archways of the cellar, its tone full of mockery and vicious delight. But it was the sight of him, as he stepped from the shadow into the light, which froze her breath in her lungs. In shock, she took an involuntary step backwards before she could control herself. Even then, she had to lock her knees to make sure she did not retreat any further.

  He was huge, over seven feet tall and a good two times as broad as she was. The rumours held true, he was not old, though his hair was white, snow white. Not grey. Not peppered with the signs of age, but pure white, bleached of all colour as was only brought on by albinism or great suffering. She did not think he was an albino.

  He had an orc's yellow eyes with their distinctive slitted pupil and the lack of eyelashes common to the race. Though his ears were pointed, hinting at another heritage entirely. The laughing mouth held too many sharp, yellow teeth for any human to feel comfortable in their presence, but it was the long, raised edge of the scar along his cheek which gave him the air of threat he carried like a second skin. And still ... he was strangely beautiful, like a wild animal, untamed and free. And dangerous.

  Even in the inhumane cold of the night he wore nothing more than a pair of leather trousers, his pale chest displaying only too well the hard muscles for which orcs had been bred -- and the innumerable scars left by the lash of the whip holding them under control. There was strength, in body and face, and underneath the cruelty and brutality, a sharp intellect. The best combination of traits one would wish to find in a protector. The worst combination of traits one could find in an opponent. And he was her opponent, there was no doubt of that.

  "I did not expect Adrianus would send a little girl, a human, to beg for mercy. I thought he praised his vaunted honour higher. What of all those long-winded poems about chivalry he writes?"

  The tone was closer to a snarl than a question and no effort was made to disguise the insult in the words. Did he realise Adrianus only held the court of Innsbruck on sufferance? Out of respect for his poetic talent rather than because he had the actual power to do so? She doubted it. She hoped he did not. Everything in this gamble depended on him not realising the court's weakness until they had reached an agreement. The sufferings of his race might be her only advantage here. She was banking on it. He was an orc and had been taught that all vampires were his masters, powerful enough to hold his leash. She just needed him to believe it a day longer.

  "Milord, I am not here to beg for mercy. Lord Adrianus sees no reason for it. I am here because I am exceptionally qualified to negotiate with you for a peaceful settlement of the situation. Due to my position in his court, I am able to offer you something no one else can."

  She needed to bait him, to whet his appetite -- or at least engage his curiosity. For a moment, she thought she had failed. His eyes remained cold and detached as he prowled towards her, menace in every movement. She wanted to retreat even further, wanted to turn and run. It was fear, and the thrill of inevitability, which held her in place. If she ran, she would soon not have a place to run to anymore.

  "Milord, I believe you will be more than convinced of the advantages of a trade, if you give me the chance to present the terms to you. So, please, hear me out."

  "Is that so?"

  He loomed before her, close enough for the heat of his skin to reach for her, t
o warm her body. It was a peculiar, soothing sensation as she stood, stiff and unyielding, facing him. This close, his skin glowed with a sheen of mother of pearl, the dark lines of scars and tribal tattoos stark in their contrast to the radiating white. In a strange compulsion she wanted to touch them, reach for the lines and discover them with her fingers. Elena buried her nails into the seam of her cloak as if to guard against this curious need. He would not appreciate the touch and she might not have a hand left after trying it.

  She bit her lip, hard. The sudden pain helped in bringing her attention back to the matter at hand. Somewhere in the back of her mind she worried about this unusual distraction which had taken hold of her -- she stood here, bargaining for the life of the people she loved, and yet was distracted by the need to touch, to feel. The thought was almost more frightening than the orc before her. And here her mind wandered again. She needed to concentrate, to collect all her wits. The only explanation for her unusual preoccupation was her fear. Elena let her teeth burry a little harder into her lip, seeking a little more pain. There was no time for fear.

  "Yes, Milord. The Court of Innsbruck offers you information regarding the whereabouts, and the secure acquisition, of an unbound ErGer."

  Elena had thought long and hard on how to phrase this, how to tell him that the Court would offer him one of the mythical ErGer without making it seem as if the Court owned one. That last part was essential. She was banking on him never having heard of the unbound ErGer in Innsbruck. It was another gamble, as everything in this night was, but the risk was not as reckless as it might have seemed. Yes, the world had gossiped and concentrated on Innsbruck and its ErGer when Adrianus had first announced his retrieval of one -- but with time, and the failure of the ErGer to develop and bond, the attention had faded away. For years now, no one had even listed Innsbruck among the courts holding one. Crucially, the last time the ErGer had ever been mentioned in the official records had been long before Reschkar had appeared among the courts of Europe. She was now little more than a sad tale, a footnote to history.