Page 1 of Shackled to the Orc

1

MAYA

The fire crackles in the hearth as I run the cool, wet towel over Thomas’ feverish head. Our living room doubles as a makeshift hospital, our kitchen as a pharmacy where I grind the herbs and make poultices that fill my and my mom’s home with the familiar scents.

I set his leg as best as I could, giving him stillroot to help the pain. His clammy hand feels so small in mine as he squeezes weakly. “I’m here,” I say, to let him know he’s not alone, that I’ll be watching over him until he’s healthy.

I run my fingers over the deerskin pouch in my pant pocket, lingering over the soft material of what used to be a robust bundle of herbs. Now it’s flat, the potent, distilled herbs down to the last crumbs. I haven’t risked foraging for over two months.

“I’m going out,” I say, firmly.

“No you aren’t.” My mom crosses her arms. She still treats me like a kid, but I’ve had to grow up fast in the last year. I started apprenticing for Mariel when I turned twenty, long hours soaking up her endless knowledge. There was this sense of urgency I didn’t understand until Mariel was scooped up by Lord Corwin to work in his castle a year ago, leaving our village without the woman who soothed me when I had a toothache growing up, who oversaw every birth, the woman who was there no matter how big or small your ailment was.

I did my best to fill her shoes. I wish she was here now, to guide me, because I don’t know if Thomas’ leg will heal fully without the potent medicinal lotus found in the swamps north of the village. I could be risking my life for nothing, stalking through forests and roads thick with patrols. But if I don’t, and Thomas has a limp for the rest of his life, I’ll think back to this night, when I was too scared to go out into the dead of night, and I’ll hate myself forever.

“Mom, I need to get the blue lotus. Now,” I say, not explaining it too clearly, because ten-year-old boys are smarter than most adults give them credit for. Thomas groans, looking over at me.

“Give him another dose of stillroot in an hour. I’ll be back before daylight.”

My mom walks closer to me, so she can speak without being overheard. “We’ve already lost three villagers to his patrols. It’s too dangerous. Your life is worth more than the ten silver pieces he’d get…” She trails off, not able to finish the horrible sentence, and suddenly she looks old, so old and worried, the wrinkles around her eyes more pronounced as she looks at me with fear and care.

“I have to. You know I have to,” I say, and grab my muted cloak, tugging it tight over my loose-fitting tunic and trousers. It’s a damn cold night.

But not too cold for Lord Corwin’s opportunistic patrols.

The look in her eyes is heartbreaking, but she still gives me a huge hug. “Please, be careful,” she whispers.

“I will. I always am,” I answer, wishing my voice sounded more reassuring, as I pull myself from her arms and open the door to the chill of the night. The three moons are near full, casting their baleful glow over the village, huddled homes weathered and close knit, paths connecting them. Dead stalks and withered leaves litter the frost-covered fields. Our stores should be filled with their bounty, but the blight hit, at the same time the northern herds were decimated, our hunters coming back empty-handed from hunts in the public lands.

Some take to poaching. I treated an arrow wound just a week ago, from a farmer who was nearly caught by a patrol when he tried to hunt rabbits in the Lord’s private forests.

Some aren’t so lucky in their escapes. You’d almost rather an arrow than what happens if they take you captive.

I pull my cloak tight, knowing it could be worse. We could be up north, by the mountains where the orcs, driven near starvation, have been raiding the poor villages incessantly. Packs of the marauding brutes have made their way all the way south to us, and it’s the one small blessing of Corwin’s increased patrols that they have not struck our sleepy village.

I set off north, my moccasins soft against the compacted earth, avoiding the twin wagon ruts dug into the road. I wish I could stay on the main road, but at least for now, stealth is more important, so I grimace and stride next to it in the brushy grass, keeping my eye out for Corwin’s men, ready to jump into a bush at the slightest sign of movement.

I’m not yet in his private lands, but catching me would lead to interrogations about why I was leaving my village so late. I’ve done nothing illegal. Not yet. But all they need is suspicion, and they’ll round me up and take me to Corrigan city.

It’s the biggest annual slave auction of the province, and Corwin would sell my life to the highest bidder.

He uses the threat of a fate worse than death to keep us subdued. The last rebellion was five years ago, and he paraded the survivors in chains through the villages on the way to Corrigan, where they were sold into the mines.

If I’m lucky, I’d be sold into servitude, forced to work for some rich noble family in one of the big cities.

If I’m unlucky…

I force the thought out of my mind, traveling north until the ground becomes so wet I can’t walk beside the road any longer.

I pull myself up carefully, looking for any sign of soldiers on horseback, and skulk forward at a jog.

2

KHAN

My sword is poised over the warrior’s heart, time freezing, every second an eternity as he stares up at me without fear. There is only hate in the orc’s gaze. If he was once like me, the arena stripped away everything that made him good, turning him into a twisted brute who lives only for violence.

His chest heaves with exertion, wheezing gasps from his punctured lungs painting his fangs red as he lays bleeding against the sands. His skin is a deeper shade of green than mine, his fangs longer, his skin covered in warts and boils where mine is smooth, but we are both orcish monsters to the humans who imprison us and force us to kill or die for their amusement.

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