Page 37 of The Orc's Rage

“Lord Kargorr,” she said with a long exhale. “What brings you to me?”

“The leaves. I want to know if my concubine carries my orcling yet.”

He sensed disapproval in her expression, but she carefully schooled it. Not everyone believed as he did, of course, that sowing half-orcs in a human concubine was the way to grow an empire. But he waskazek, and not her.

“Of course.” She slowly rose, and Kargorr could almost hear her old joints creaking. Her hair was wild and gray all the way through, like a tundra bush. She rummaged through trunks in the back of her tent, then emerged with a handful of dry leaves.

“You know how to use them?” she asked pointedly.

Lord Kargorr’sshosekhad been with him since the beginning. She had helped with his very own birth when she was a much younger woman. She knew he’d never had need of the leaves before; he had always been careful with his seed, and it wasn’t until he saw Cedar fleeing that day that he’d ever yearned for orclings of his own.

But he understood how they worked from his own warriors trying to grow their families, so he said, “Yes. Look for them to change color.”

Theshosekheld the leaves just out of his reach and narrowed her eyes.

“Not just any color. You are looking for bright red. You understand,kazek?”

Kargorr grunted. Only this old woman could get away with speaking to him this way.

“Yes, I understand,” he said, and she put the leaves in his open palm. But then she grabbed it, hard, before he could go.

“You know, don’t you?” She dug her claws into him. “That an orcling born without the bond, without the use of yoursarga, will be weaker in life?”

Every muscle in his body went rigid. These were old traditions, ancient superstitions that did not come anywhere near reality.

“Shosek,” he warned.

“Do not talk to me like I’m your concubine, too,” she hissed. “You are opening a door that could help you rise to the power you seek...” The weathered orc leaned forward, her cracked tusks bright in the firelight. “...or it could take all of it away.”

Kargorr snatched the leaves from her and stood, shivering with his anger.

“I did not come to myshosek’s tent for fortune telling,” he snarled, the very hair on his skin bristling. How dare she threaten him? “I will grow fine, strong orclings, who will inherit all of this when you finally crumble to dust.”

With that, he swept out of her tent, clutching the leaves in his hand.

Cedar

Kiya was getting bigger by the day, and Cedar had spent many hours stitching together a new, larger bed for him with the extra blankets, clothes and furs that had been pillaged in the last raid. Lord Kargorr had suggested a craftsman would do it for her, but she insisted on doing it herself. She’d learned to sew as a girl, and often did it for Lissa, trying to put together old clothes so they looked new again. Cedar enjoyed building the outer layer of the bed and then stuffing it with torn-up bits of skirts and potato sacks, trying to make it as soft and cozy as she could.

Lately she’d been collecting other furs, one given to her as a gift by the family of one of the orclings she played with. They did not look her in the eyes, the same way the rest of the orcs wouldn’t, but they were friendly and kind and seemed to see her as their superior, which sat strangely with her. Cedar had never stood in a station above someone else, and it was pleasant and discomforting at the same time. Not even the other three or four humans scattered about the camp would speak to her, as much as she wanted them to.

How had they ended up here? There were two men and two women, who all seemed to speak in the orcs’ language fluently. One woman had a half-orc child, but when Cedar attempted to speak with her, Rathka shot her a warning look.

Kargorr must not want Cedar mingling with them. Well, that was fine. They all appeared to be concubines, too, and thus were not much use to her.

Cedar paid more attention now to what Rathka said to the other orcs as they walked around the camp, still annoyed at thekiyaincident. One afternoon, they came across an old orc man out in front of his tent scraping leather. When Cedar stopped to see what he was doing, he summoned her over to show her. He could speak bits and pieces of the human tongue, saying his daughter had taken a human man of her own.

The old orc had a bounty of cured hides and furs in his tent shop, which he showed off to Cedar happily, proud that someone was taking an interest in his work. Cedar left Kiya with Rathka as she browsed his collection, and she paused on a pelt she’d never seen. It was small and pitch black, with white spots dotting it.

“A good eye,” he said, stroking the pelt. “From a rare deer. I have only ever seen one in my life. A faun.”

That explained the spots. Cedar ran her hand over it again, thinking how sad it was this unusual creature had been killed before it could even grow up.

“Take it,” the old orc said at last, slipping it off its rack. He slung it over her arms. “Perhaps the lord’syapirawill enjoy it.”

Cedar had heard this term before but was unsure what it meant. Still, after she had refused the gift twice, he insisted a third time, and she accepted. The leatherworker looked pleased with himself as she exited carrying the fur, and Rathka only clucked in disapproval as they returned to Kargorr’s tent.

The more furs Cedar acquired, the higher she piled them around the bed, and at night, she kept the faun’s fur under her head.

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