Page 7 of Shackled to the Orc

5

MAYA

He hobbles through the door, towering over every man in the amphitheater, his feet shackled together so he can barely shuffle, his hands cuffed behind his back, his biceps bulging, the veins filling as he fights against his restraints. He stomps forward on his huge, gnarled feet, his black hair heavy against his thick shoulders, his body restrained brutality, his emerald-green eyes staring at me as he licks his fangs.

The orc stomps forward, and no one stops him, the crowd shying away, all talk hushed. The thug of a guard steps in closer to the auctioneer, touching his club nervously, clearly not wanting to draw it and attract the orc’s ire as he shuffles down the steps towards me, his balance perfect despite barely being able to move.

He is wearing only his black loincloth, his thick bulge pressing against it, his muscled body covered in intricate black tattoos of runes, a tapestry of ancient symbols of the mountain tribes, interwoven patterns that run over his body. On his right arm, the black serpent that marks him as a chieftain coils. With each flex of his muscles, it comes alive. The runes seem to shift and dance on his body with each movement, and he is an unstoppable force, even chained, moving towards me unerringly.

“Khan, heel!” The man I saw in the front of the wagon, wearing a brown tunic, yells out, but the orc ignores him. Guards start standing in the crowd, hands on their weapons, but none draw, none of them wanting to be the first. Even with the orc cuffed and shackled, he is well over seven feet tall, an imposing presence that unsettles the crowd, and his fangs gleam, ready to bite into anyone who gets in his way.

And he wantsme.

The brutal orc warrior wants to own me. I was wrong. He wasn’t here at the slave auctions to be sold.

He’s being given a prize by his master, probably for cutting down a hundred enemies in the arenas. He’s in his late thirties, a grizzled beast worn down by endless fights, the white lines of old scars marring the black runes of his tattoos, but his head is still high, a pride in him that cannot be beaten down. He exudes power and fierce, primal strength.

“I bid on her!” yells the pitmaster, and it is the only thing that stops the orc in his tracks. He shakes his head, seeming to come to his senses, but his nostrils flare as he sniffs in, trying to pick my scent out of the crowd.

“She’s mine! I won her!” The merchant in his blue robes shouts, his jowls jiggling indignantly.

“The bidding is still open,” says the auctioneer in a quick tone, taking advantage of the commotion to look for another deal. “The bid is at forty-one silvers.”

The pitmaster grits his teeth in annoyance but raises his hand.

Instantly, the merchant raises his. The orc growls, baring his fangs, and steps forward.

“Fifty!” yells the pitmaster, trying to stop the commotion by any means necessary.

The merchant looks me up and down, licking his lips, fixated on my naked body. Then he shakes his head, disgusted. “Is this how you run your action?” He grumbles, and I can only hear his low tone because the entire crowd is dead silent, nervous energy filling the masses, all the waiters standing still, everyone trying to make themselves look small.

“Going once, going twice, sold, to the great pitmaster Shug!”

Shug speaks in a low tone to the orc, and the orc tears his gaze from me, pulling himself back up the stairs, slowly, and I can see the limp from an old wound in his right leg. His left arm has a newer cut underneath it, and his wrists are bleeding, blood dripping down his restraints where he fought against them so hard they cut into them. He was put into a rage when he saw me, losing all thought in his brutal need to have me.

The guard clips my handcuffs from the pole. “I’m not going near that fucking orc, you walk up,” he says to me in a low voice, without the confidence he had when he was threatening to rip my clothes off.

I walk off the stage, barefoot, and keep my head up. I’m terrified, but I get this strange satisfaction as people look away from me, no one ogling me, all too scared of the orc to even glance at me.

I look back over my shoulder, at Elena, and our eyes meet each other. She looks terrified, filled with pity for me, but I give her a nod, trying to tell her soundlessly that I am going to be okay…

But I can see in her eyes that she is glad it was me chosen by the monster, and not her.

The orc has left the amphitheater through the doors, and the pitmaster is looking down at me, his expression blank. “You. What is your name?”

“Maya.”

“You just cost me a pretty penny, Maya. That’s my best fighter. You do whatever he wants, you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I say, my head down.

He grunts sourly. “Get in line.”

I look up, confused, into the hallway behind the slave auctions. The orc is in the lead, then a guard with a crossbow and another, red-bearded guard with a blade at his belt, followed by three women. They are all staring straight at the ground, terrified, their hands cuffed, simple brown robes covering them.

There’s no robe for me. They were only planning to buy three women…

The orc turns. He looks my naked body up and down, his emerald eyes burning with hunger, and his loincloth twitches, his bulge growing, that massive thing of his coming alive as he breathes in, his nostrils flaring. Terror grips me, and he blinks, turning away from me. He is so big the hallway feels small, and people are keeping their distance, backs pressed against the wall, waiting for him to move along.

---