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 Your eyes . . . Thrall murmured, too stunned by the strange red glow to recognize the insult.
The orc cringed, lifted a hand to shield his face from Thrall s gaze, and hunched away even farther.
Thrall turned to ask a question and found himself standing alone. The other orcs had all shuffled away,
casting furtive glances back at him.
The sky had been clouding over all day, and it had steadily been growing colder. Now, as Thrall stood
alone in the center of a courtyard surrounded by what remained of his people, the gray skies opened and
icy rain mixed with snow began to fall.
Thrall barely noticed the wretched weather, so deep was his personal misery. Was this why he had
severed every tie he had ever known? To live out his life as a captive in a group of spiritless, sluggish
creatures whom he once dreamed of leading against the tyranny of the humans? Which was worse, he
mused, fighting in the ring for the glory of Blackmoore, sleeping safe and dry, reading letters from Tari, or
standing here alone, shunned even by those of his own blood, his feet sinking into freezing mud?
The answer came swiftly: Both were intolerable. Without appearing too obvious, Thrall began to look
about with an eye toward escape. It should be simple enough. Only a few guards here and there, and at
night, they would have more difficulty seeing than Thrall would. They looked bored and disinterested, and
judging by the lack of spirit, even energy or interest, displayed by this pathetic collection of orcs, Thrall
did not think even one of them would have the courage to try to climb the rather low walls.
He felt the rain now, as it soaked the trousers he wore. A gray, gloomy day, for a gray, gloomy lesson.
The orcs were no noble, fierce warriors. He could not imagine how these creatures ever gave the humans
the slightest bit of resistance.
  We were not always as you see us here, came a soft, deep voice at his elbow. Surprised, Thrall turned
around to see the red-eyed orc staring up at him with those unsettling orbs.  Soulless, afraid, ashamed.
This is whatthey did to us, he continued, pointing to his eyes.  And if we could be rid of it, our hearts
and spirits might return.
Thrall sank down in the mud beside him.  Go on, he urged.  I m listening.
EIGHT
It had been almost two days since the fire and Thrall s escape, and Blackmoore had spent the better
part of that time angry and brooding. It was at Tammis s urging that he had finally gone out hawking, and
he had to admit, his servant had had a good idea.
The day was gloomy, but he and Taretha were well dressed and the vigorous riding kept their blood
warm. He had wanted to go hunting, but his softhearted mistress had persuaded him that simply riding
would be enough to pleasantly pass the time. He watched her canter past on the pretty dapple gray he
had given her two years ago and wished the weather were warmer. He could think of other ways to
pleasantly pass the time with Taretha.
What an unexpectedly ripe fruit Foxton s daughter had been. She had been a lovely, obedient child, and
had matured into a lovely, obedient woman. Who would have thought those bright blue eyes would snare
him so, that he would so love to bury his face in the flowing gold of her long tresses? Not he, not
Blackmoore. But since he had taken her for his own several years ago, she had managed to constantly
entertain him, a rare feat.
Langston had once inquired when Blackmoore was going to put aside Taretha in favor of a wife.
Blackmoore had replied that there would be no putting aside Taretha even when hedid take a wife, and
there was plenty of time for such things when his plan had finally come to fruition. He would be in a much
better position to command a politically favorable marriage once he had brought the Alliance to its
collective knees.
And truly, there was no rush. There was plenty of time now to enjoy Taretha whenever and wherever he
wished. And the more of that time he spent with the girl, the less it was about satisfying his urges and the
more it was about simply enjoying her presence. More than once, as he lay awake and watched her
sleep, silvered in moonlight streaming through the windows, he wondered if he was falling in love with
her.
He had pulled up Nightsong, who was growing older but who still enjoyed a good canter now and then,
and was watching her playfully guide Gray Lady in circles around him. At his order, she had not covered
nor braided her hair, and it fell loose around her shoulders like a fall of purest gold. Taretha was laughing,
and for a moment their eyes met.
To hell with the weather. They would make do.
He was about to order her off her steed and into a nearby copse of trees  their capes would keep
them sufficiently warm  when he heard the sound of hoof-beats approaching. He scowled as Langston
emerged, panting. His horse was lathered and steaming in the chill afternoon.
  My lord, he gasped,  I believe we have news of Thrall!
Major Lorin Remka was not a person to be trifled with. Although she stood only a little bit over five feet
tall, she was stocky and strong, and could handle herself more than adequately in any fight. She had [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]