Hector's Arc

Chapter 5 of 6

Hector pressed his back to the cold stone. The gap in the rocks had spat him into a maze of ledges. Below, torches moved in every direction. Orc patrols choked each path out of Vulcan. Horns still blew. He held the golden sword tight and searched for a gap in the line. There was none. The light kept leaking from his fingers, marking him in the dark. He crushed his hands under his cloak and prayed no one looked up. Boots scraped near his hiding place. Hector went still. A broad orc climbed the ledge, black hair tied back, brass knuckles glinting on both fists. His eyes found Hector at once. Hector raised the sword. The orc lifted one open hand instead of striking. "Quiet," he whispered. "You want to die, keep glowing like a torch." Hector did not lower the blade. "You'll turn me in." "Then I'd have done it already." The orc crouched beside him. He watched the patrols below, not Hector. "Weeks back, a boy in that smith's tent gave me his water when my arm burned in the forge. That was you. I don't forget." Hector remembered the sting of the coals, the orc's cracked skin, the shared cup. He had not known the face until now. "Thorgrim," the orc said, tapping his own chest. He pulled a dark robe from his pack, heavy cloth stitched with faded gold trim. "Put this on. If they see your face, they kill you. If they see that light, worse." Hector slid his arms through the sleeves. The robe swallowed him. The wide hood hid his glowing hands inside its folds. Thorgrim rose. "Walk behind me. Head down. Say nothing." They moved down the ledge into the moving torches. An orc captain barked a question. Thorgrim answered flat and bored, jerking his thumb at Hector. "Shaman's errand. Robe-boy carries scrolls." The captain waved them past. Hector's heart slammed, but he kept his eyes on the ground. Patrol after patrol let them through. The robe did its work. They reached a narrow crack in the outer wall, where cold night air poured in. Thorgrim stopped. "Through there. Follow the slope down. Don't stop until the red stone ends." Hector clutched the sword under the robe. "Thank you for helping me," he said. Thorgrim's face hardened. He gripped Hector's shoulder once, then pushed him toward the crack. "Never come back here." Hector squeezed through and stumbled onto open mountain. Behind him, the horns of Vulcan faded. He had the golden sword. He had escaped. But the robe hid a truth he could not shed. King Algar and the demon both knew his face now, and they would hunt him beyond these walls. He pulled the hood low and started down the slope, alone, toward the guardians he still had to find.