An Orc at College: A Contemporary Sword and Sorcery Harem Fantasy

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An Orc at College: A Contemporary Sword and Sorcery Harem Fantasy Page 11

by Liam Lawson


  “But you do?” Trorm said.

  Arlen laughed. “Oh, you’re good. No, no I’ve got nothing to do with those fucking cowards either.”

  Trorm couldn’t have said why, but he was inclined to believe Arlen. At least in part. The attacks on the Roaring Stag and the frat party had been poorly coordinated and not exactly stealthy. Cults, in his admittedly limited experience, tended to be far more subtle than that. The attacks were the actions of someone who saw what he wanted and took it, not a schemer.

  “No, you’ll just hide behind your summoned creatures and a shapeshifting assassin,” Trorm said, struggling to keep his voice even.

  “Assassin? What the—you’re full of shit, you know that?” Arlen sounded genuinely confused. Or maybe he was simply that practiced by now.

  “You’re hurting people, Arlen.” He’d been attacked. Nymal had been attacked. The staff at the Roaring Stag had been injured, as had many party goers from the warehouse. Some were in critical condition.

  “Nobody’s died,” Arlen said. “Besides, what the fuck do you care? You’re an orc.”

  Trorm saw red. Hands found him, one on his arm, the other on his shoulder. He glanced down and found both Winnie and Abigail looking up at him, concern on their faces. More concern on Abigail’s than Winnie’s. She looked pissed, her ears rigid and quivering.

  For some reason they calmed him. His anger didn’t vanish, but it came under control. He felt his face and muscles relax. He hadn’t realized he’d been baring his teeth. What else had he allowed Arlen to goad him into?

  “I care,” Trorm said. “And I’m going to stop you.”

  “Really?” Arlen scoffed.

  “Yes,” Trorm said. “Whatever game you’re playing, Arlen, you’re out of control. The team will suffer for this.”

  “Don’t you talk about the team like you’re one of us,” Arlen snapped.

  “I’m more a part of the team right now than you are,” Trorm said. “You are betraying them.”

  “I betray no one!”

  “Erik and Wilbur,” Trorm said. “You’ve turned them both into accessories to your crime.”

  Arlen was quiet for a moment. “They’ll thank me when I’m through.”

  “Through with what?” Trorm asked. “What is it exactly you think you’re doing, Arlen?”

  “What those fucking cowards won’t,” Arlen shouted, and when he started, he didn’t stop. It was like Trorm had pulled a plug of some kind and now everything Arlen had been keeping bottled up was pouring out.

  “I’m going to bring us to fucking paradise. I’m going to show those douchebags that I’m not just some little accessory to help them infiltrate. They talk about making this world a better place. About installing proper leadership and bringing about an age of true power but what the fuck are they doing? They scheme and they plot and they never get anything fucking done. I get shit done. You hear me? I get shit done!”

  Arlen was panting now. By the end of his tirade he’d been shouting.

  “And you plan to do this how?” Trorm said.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “I would, actually,” Trorm said. “You are fighting for a cause. There is honor in that. Convince me of your side. Convince me that there is honor in your actions.”

  That earned him looks from both Winnie and Abigail. CONFUSION. Trorm didn’t understand what there was to be confused about. He doubted very much that Arlen’s cause genuinely was honorable, but it warranted hearing. It also was an opportunity to gather intelligence. The more they knew the more they could bring against him when the time came.

  Arlen seemed to consider for a moment, then said, “No.”

  “You don’t believe in your cause?” Trorm asked.

  “Oh, I believe,” Arlen said. “I just don’t think you’re worthy of hearing it. There won’t be a place for you and your kind in the world I’m going to create.”

  “My kind?” Trorm asked through his teeth.

  “See?” Arlen said. “You’re fucking growling at me. This world’s going to be cleansed. We’ll usher in the new and purge the old, including your kind. Rapists. Warmongers. Thieves. Orcs in general. I won’t let you tarnish the glory I’m going to bring.”

  “You’re going to have a hard time doing any of that,” Trorm said. He felt detached from himself. His rage was too great a thing to be expressed. It was a cold storm, a blizzard in his soul that crept into his voice and froze his blood. “You still don’t have your father’s paperweight.”

  Better not to reveal to the insane, genocidal racist that he knew exactly what the item he wanted was or how it worked. It still bothered him that Arlen hadn’t just taken it. It hadn’t been that hard. “As someone who ‘gets shit done,’ that oversight still confuses me. It was right there. Easy enough for you to grab.”

  Arlen didn’t say anything.

  “I thought you said you had a plan?” Trorm said. “Did it really come unraveled because you’re afraid of your father?”

  “I am not afraid of him!” Arlen didn’t shout. He screamed. “I’m a better wizard, a better man, than my father could ever hope to be. I got around his and the cult’s defenses. If that paladin bitch hadn’t interfered, I’d already have what I need.”

  “You couldn’t have Wilbur or Erik involved,” Trorm said. “You were protecting them.”

  “That’s what friends do,” Arlen snapped. “Not that you’d know anything about that.”

  “I know more on the subject than you pretend to,” Trorm said. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t have to be the one to take you down. You’ve already got a paladin after you.”

  “I know.” Trorm could practically hear the smile in Arlen’s voice. “I’ve got her.”

  Beside Trorm, Abigail stiffened. Had she been able to hear what was said? Trorm looked a little closer and noticed she was wearing some sort of earpiece. She’d been eavesdropping the whole conversation.

  “Prove it,” Trorm said.

  There was a moment of silence, then, “Don’t give him anything!” There was no mistaking that authoritative voice. A moment later, the phone dinged with a text message. It was a picture of Lilian tied to a folding chair.

  “Proof enough?” Arlen asked.

  “What do you want?” Trorm asked.

  “What do you know, maybe you do understand friendship. Or maybe you think getting her back’s the best way to stop me,” Arlen mused.

  “What do you want?” Trorm asked again.

  “What do you think I want?” Arlen snapped. “I want the fucking paperweight, Trorm. Bring it to the football field tonight at eleven thirty.”

  “Or what?” Trorm asked.

  That brought Arlen up short. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what happens if I don’t? You’ll kill her? You haven’t killed anyone yet, Arlen. You think I’ll believe you’ll start now?”

  Abigail punched him in the ribs. He supposed it was a hard punch for her. She stepped back, shaking her hand and glaring at him like it was his fault she’d hurt her hand punching him.

  “Let her go,” Trorm said. “No one else needs to get hurt.”

  “You’re right, they don’t,” Arlen said. “But that’s up to you. I believe in my cause. If the paladin has to be sacrificed…that’s on you. Because I will kill her, Trorm. Do you believe me?”

  Trorm didn’t answer.

  “Do you?” Arlen pressed.

  “I do.”

  “Eleven thirty,” Arlen said. “Bring my paperweight. I’ll bring the paladin.” He hung up.

  “That apeshit dogfuck son of a whore!” Abigail all but screamed. “That crazy bastard’s got my sister!”

  She turned and started to storm from the room.

  “Where are you going?” Trorm asked.

  “I’m going to my room to use my computer,” Abigail said. “That slimy skunkwhore’s got my sister.” She whirled on him, finger pointing right at his chest.
“Don’t you dare try to stop me, Trorm!”

  “I’m not,” he said. “I want to help you.”

  “Because I’ll—what?” She seemed to stumble without actually moving. “You do?”

  He nodded. “You are an honorable woman and it is my privilege to know you. I would be your ally against this foe.”

  She blinked.

  “Is that a fancy way of saying you’ll help her beat that asshole until he’s a bloody stain on the floor?” Winnie asked.

  Trorm nodded. “Exactly. He has Lilian, but this changes little. Abigail, I promised you could help me earlier. I stand by my word. Will you still follow me as war chief?”

  Abigail frowned. “You say that…you’ve done this before?”

  “Not this, exactly,” Trorm said. “But similar. I intend to be the Arcane Advisor to the Glorious Horde. I have dealt with a few similar situations.” None of which he wanted to get into at the moment.

  “You know how to get her back?” Abigail said.

  “I don’t yet,” Trorm said. “But I have an idea. And if the two of you are willing to assist me, I believe I have the makings of a plan.”

  Abigail gave a nod. All eyes turned to Winnie.

  “What? Like I’m missing out on this?” She grinned. “Count me in. What’s first?”

  “First,” Trorm said. “We need to call Tibs. After that, we gather intelligence and prepare for our assault.”

  “Assault?” Abigail asked.

  “Arlen’s greatest advantage is that he holds Lilian,” Trorm said. “Do either of you feel that he has acted with honor or will honor any sort of deal with us?”

  Both answered in the negative.

  “Then we must plan with the expectation of violence.” Trorm allowed the cold fury inside of him to touch his eyes and pull his mouth into a dangerous grin. “And I intend much violence.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Trorm stood alone at the stadium’s fifty-yard line. Without the lights, the field was pitch black. That suited Trorm just fine. It was a welcome change from the aggressively bright world he’d had to live in over the past week. If he stayed, he’d have to try and get more night classes. A diurnal schedule would eventually mess him up.

  A wind blew through the stadium, cool and carrying the faint scent of metal from the empty seats. It soothed Trorm. He was not on edge, exactly. His muscles brimmed with energy and the grip on his staff was much too tight. Waiting for a fight was not a new experience. A part of him reveled in the sensation of feeling his own heart pound, the tension running through his hands and forearms, and hearing the rush of his own blood.

  But he’d never had to wait for one with so much on the line. If anything went wrong tonight his dreams, his life’s ambition, would be shattered. To say nothing of the family that had kindly taken him in, if with some reluctance.

  It was a good thing he’d had the presence of mind to come to the football stadium earlier. The structure resisted spellcasting. It could be done, but it took twice the effort to manage something smaller and the level of difficulty seemed to scale with the spells. Arlen had chosen his battlefield well. No doubt he was familiar with what worked best here and what did not. Trorm had not been able to test as well as he would have liked or he’d have left himself exhausted and vulnerable.

  He’d have to rely on the plans he and the others had laid out. Trorm did not care for entrusting his success to other people. That said, he could safely presume that Arlen would not expect it.

  The lights came to life, faster and sharper than they had any right to. Stadium lights normally took some time to warm up. Magic must have been involved. One moment the stadium was a motley of shadows and the next it was bright as day. Trorm winced, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden onslaught. He returned his sunglasses to his face. He’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to risk them in what promised to be a fight, but he’d be useless if he couldn’t see.

  When he lowered his arm, he saw Arlen approaching him from the home team side of the field. It made Trorm want to role his eyes. Arlen carried a rod in one hand and beside him walked Lilian, her arms bound behind her back, a gag in her mouth. Her glare should have been enough to set Arlen on fire.

  He stopped ten yards from Trorm and looked around. “Wow. You really did come by yourself.”

  “You expected otherwise?” Trorm asked.

  “Actually, yeah, I did,” Arlen replied with a shrug. “But whatever, guess it doesn’t matter. My paperweight?”

  Trorm had brought the thing in a disposable grocery bag. He withdrew the hefty horse head and let the bag fall to the field and blow away in the wind. “My paladin?”

  “Paperweight first,” Arlen said.

  Trorm shook his head. “Really?”

  Arlen shrugged. “Fine. I’ll send her over. When she’s halfway to you, you toss me the paperweight.”

  Trorm shrugged. “Works for me.”

  Lilian made a protesting sound through her gag and shook her head.

  Arlen gave her a shove between the shoulder blades. “The fuck are we waiting for then? Move.”

  Lilian glared at him, then began moving. When she reached the halfway point, Trorm tossed the paperweight over her head toward Arlen.

  Lilian’s bonds fell away and she leapt up into the air, intercepting the paperweight.

  She came down in a crouch, tearing the gag from her mouth as she began twisting the horse head open.

  Trorm raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  Arlen shrugged. “Nothing personal. But this way I get both the item and keep my hostage. My associate here’s going to be going home with you to take her place. That’ll—what?”

  The shapeshifter tossed aside the two halves of the horsehead paperweight. They fell to the field, gleaming in the stadium lights. Her hands were empty. She glared at Trorm. “Where’s the summoning crystal?”

  He smirked. “I thought the deal was for the paperweight.”

  Arlen’s face contorted. RAGE. The expression on his face didn’t last but the emotion remained listed on Trorm’s lenses. “Cute Trorm. Real cute. Where’s my crystal?”

  “Where’s Lilian?” Trorm replied.

  Arlen sighed. “We really going to do this? Are you wanting to make this a fight that bad?”

  “You picked this fight,” Trorm said. “I’m just finishing it.”

  “Fine, whatever. Go kill him. I’ll cover you,” Arlen said to the doppelganger, still wearing Lilian’s face.

  She glanced back at him. “Fight your own battles.” She took off, legs elongating and chest deepening, moving far faster than Lilian could have ever hoped to manage and leaving the two football players standing there in an empty field.

  “This is awkward,” Arlen said.

  Trorm’s phone chimed with a text. He held up a finger. “Just a sec.”

  “Oh, no, please. Check your texts. It’s not like I’m holding your friend’s life in my hands or anything.”

  “Glad you comprehend the situation,” Trorm said, reading the message.

  “You’re glad I comprehend the fucking situation?” Arlen demanded. “Do you have any fucking clue what’s going on right now?”

  “Probably better than you do,” Trorm said, putting his phone away. “Did you really think your apartment was a good place to hide her?”

  Arlen’s face became an impassive mask. SHOCK. RAGE. HATRED.

  Earlier…

  “I don’t understand why we can’t just go get her now,” Abigail said, gesturing at her computer screen. “We know she’s right there.”

  She had done some trick with her computer that Trorm thought used triangulation, but he wasn’t quite sure, and traced Arlen’s phone. His conversation had taken place from an apartment not too far from the university. Lilian’s voice on the phone had been too seamless and messy to be faked, meaning that that’s where she was.

  “Because we know for sure he’s there r
ight now,” Trorm said. “We want to get her out with minimum risk. A fight there…we put the buildings occupants in danger.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  “Put a watch on the apartment,” Trorm said. “When he leaves to meet me, break the window, climb inside, and rescue Lilian.”

  Winnie cleared her throat and they both turned to look at her. “Or, you know, I could just unlock the door with a credit card.”

  Trorm raised an eyebrow.

  “You know how to do that?” Abigail asked.

  Winnie shrugged and offered up a smirk. “I wasn’t always a good little bunny.”

  Trorm held up a finger. “We will definitely return to that subject later. For the moment, are you comfortable keeping an eye on Arlen’s apartment and getting past whatever security he’s got installed? He might not be a graduate, but he is a wizard.”

  “Meh, I got this,” Winnie said, waving a dismissive hand. “Like, totally got it.”

  Abigail and Trorm exchanged a glance.

  “I trust her,” Trorm said.

  “Of course, you do,” Abigail muttered. “You’re fucking her.”

  Trorm pretended not to hear her.

  Present…

  “She’ll be on her way to the police by now,” Trorm said. “They might not take the word of an orc, but I’m sure they’ll believe a paladin when she tells them what you’ve been up to.”

  HATRED. The display did not match the calm, almost genial expression on Arlen’s face as he offered up a careless shrug. “Guess I’ll just have to kill you all.”

  Arlen spun around and took off running.

  Trorm cursed and chased after him. It was no use. Trorm had good reflexes and decent speed but Arlen was a running back. Sprinting down a football field and not getting caught or tackled was exactly what he’d been training to do for years. Trorm kept after him, but the distance between them grew and grew.

  Arlen was almost to the tunnel that would lead down to the locker room when a security gate dropped in front of him, cutting off his escape.

 

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