Page 5 of Savage Devotion (Orc Warrior Romances #2)

The question bothers me more than the pain as Anders cleans the wound. Standard mercenary companies rely on basic first aid and prayers to get their wounded back to proper healers. Only military units with extended operational parameters invest in trained medical personnel.

Which suggests these aren't ordinary sellswords.

"Hold still," Anders mutters, threading his needle. "This will sting."

Sting proves to be a massive understatement. The first suture feels like liquid fire being drawn through my flesh, but I've endured worse during my warrior trials. I focus on observing the Vaelmark force instead of the needlework.

Six mounted archers, plus the commander and medic.

All equipped with quality gear that shows signs of regular maintenance and recent use.

Their horses are well-trained warhorses, not the pack animals usually favored by salvage operations.

Their positioning around the square follows military doctrine rather than mercenary pragmatism.

They're hunting something specific. Question is what.

"Tell me about the smuggling routes," the commander says, settling into a crouch beside me with casual authority. "How frequently do you encounter independent traders in this area?"

"Varies by season. More activity during the dry months when the roads are passable."

"This trader specifically. Have you encountered him before?"

I glance toward the carter, who's secured most of his cargo and is now eyeing the various armed groups with obvious nervousness. "First time. But his type comes through regularly."

"His type?"

"Artifact hunters. They follow rumors of pre-Blazing sites that might have survived the elemental fires. Usually work alone, move fast, sell to private collectors in the border settlements."

She processes this information. "Any indication these collectors might be connected to larger organizations? Foreign interests, perhaps?"

Now we're getting to it.

The question reveals more than she probably intended. Vaelmark Command isn't just concerned about random smuggling. They're tracking organized procurement operations, possibly tied to hostile intelligence gathering.

"Hard to say," I reply honestly. "We focus on keeping them out of our sacred sites. Who they sell to isn't usually our concern."

Anders finishes the last suture and begins wrapping my thigh with clean bandages. The pressure feels good and secure. Professional work that should hold even if we encounter more fighting on the withdrawal.

"Thank you," I tell him.

He nods and begins packing his equipment. "Keep it clean. Change the dressing daily. If you see red streaking or feel excessive heat, find a proper healer immediately."

"I will."

The Vaelmark commander stands, brushing ash from her armored knees. "Your patrol should be able to reach friendly territory before dark. Avoid unnecessary exertion for the next few days."

There's something final about her tone, suggesting the conversation is over. But as she turns to rejoin her soldiers, I notice something that stops me cold.

A ribbon. She tucked dark blue silk against her skin, barely visible beneath her breastplate. The color and weave match Ironspine ceremonial dress, the kind worn during memorial services and clan gatherings.

Why is a Vaelmark officer carrying an Ironspine memorial ribbon?

The sight dredges up memories I've worked to suppress. We distributed blue silk ribbons during the mass funeral rites after the Blazing, when we burned empty pyres for warriors whose bodies were not recovered from the ruins.

Including my brother.

I received Kaven's ribbon three months ago, along with forty-three others representing the fallen defenders of Ember Hollow. Each one blessed by the clan shamans and consecrated with the names of the dead. Sacred items that should never leave Ironspine hands.

Unless she took it from someone.

The possibility sends cold fury through my system, cutting through the exhaustion and blood loss like a blade through silk. If this Vaelmark commander killed one of my people and kept their memorial ribbon as a trophy...

But even as rage builds, tactical thinking reasserts itself. She could have acquired the ribbon through trade, theft, or inheritance. She might not even know its significance. Acting on assumptions without evidence would be tactically unsound and potentially disastrous.

Later. When I'm stronger and have backup.

I make a mental note of her appearance, her unit composition, and the direction they came from. Intelligence that might prove useful when I'm in a position to pursue questions about stolen memorial items.

"Ready to move, sir?" Thane appears beside me, offering his shoulder for support.

"Ready."

Standing takes more effort than I'd like to admit, but the fresh bandages hold and my leg bears weight without buckling. Anders did good work under field conditions.

The Vaelmark commander watches our preparation with professional interest, noting our withdrawal formation and movement capabilities. Still gathering intelligence, even during what amounts to a humanitarian pause.

"Safe travels," she calls as we move toward the square's eastern exit. "Try to avoid any more wolf packs."

I raise my hand in acknowledgment, but don't trust myself to speak. The sight of that blue ribbon has stirred emotions I can't afford to display in front of potential enemies.

Focus on the mission. Get the patrol home safely. Deal with personal concerns later.

But as we pick our way through the rubble-strewn streets of Ember Hollow, my hand moves unconsciously to my belt pouch. Where I keep my blue ribbon, the one that bears Kaven's name in silver thread.

Still there. Still safe.

The relief that follows surprises me with its intensity. I've carried that ribbon through every patrol since the funeral rites, a tangible connection to my brother's memory and a reminder of my failure to protect him.

Maybe that's why seeing another one affected me so strongly.

Or maybe there's more to this Vaelmark commander than standard military intelligence operations. Either way, I'll need to investigate further once I'm mobile again.

For now, though, the priority is reaching friendly territory before my strength gives out completely. The stitches hold, but blood loss has left me weaker than I care to admit. Each step requires conscious effort, and I'm grateful for Thane's steady support.

Behind us, the Vaelmark force mounts up and disappears into the ruins with the same professional efficiency they showed during the engagement. No wasted motion, no unnecessary conversation. Military precision from soldiers who clearly know their business.

What are they really hunting in these ruins?

The question follows me through the ash-covered streets as we make our way home, along with the image of that blue silk ribbon hidden beneath armor plate. Evidence of connections I don't understand yet, but definitely intend to explore.

When I'm strong enough to do something about it.