Page 29 of Halfling
Her answer seemed to surprise him as much as his blunt question had her.
Frowning, he said, “What’re you doing here?”
“I was hoping to purchase supplies and figure out where I am. What’s the name of this town?”
Through pursed lips and a squinting scowl, the man replied, “Birrin.”
Her heart sank to hear the unfamiliar name. This far to the southwest, the borders of Eirea were undefined, an uneasy compromise after centuries of warring with the orcs of the western mountains. Hard borders had to be defended, and after so much fighting and lost life, the crown eventually decided, so long as no humans were threatened, that the border here existed more on a map than in reality.
Precious little about the region made it onto the maps. This village included. She’d still no sense of how far southwest she was and therefore how far from home.
“And how—?”
“Where’re you coming from?”
Sorcha scrunched her lips, already irritated. “The mountains.”
The man’s lips curled, revealing his teeth in a disgusted snarl. “From the orcs.”
Unhappy murmurs buzzed around them, and Sorcha realized others had drawn closer, suspicious gazes shuttered against her. Her pulse picked up, and she fingered the sheathed dagger in her coat pocket, relieved now that Orek had insisted she keep it.
“Yes. I escaped their camp several days ago.”
More agitated murmurs and, more worryingly, the man tilted the sharp tines of the hoe at her.
“So you’re theirs,” he growled.
“Orc-slut,” hissed a handful of women.
The blood drained from Sorcha’s face, and her stomach gave a sickening kick.
“No, I––”
“We don’t want your kind here, orc-slut.” The man spat at her feet, the glob smearing on the toes of her boots.
“I wassold to them,” Sorcha hissed, “by humans. They snatched me from—”
“Up north, yeah,” sneered the man. “Finally making it your problem.”
“What…?”
“Where d’you think they’ve been snatching people before?”
A dark shadow fell over the man’s eyes, one that warned her not to ask nor argue. Sorcha didn’t want to know.
And this man probably didn’t want to hear that it was Sorcha’s own father who’d been working for years with Lord Darrow to eradicate flesh peddling. Apparently, they hadn’t been able to work this far south.
She pursed her lips again, keeping all her arguments and offense inside. Trading jibes with this man wouldn’t get her what she needed.
“Please,” she said, “I just want some supplies. I’ve been in the forest for days.”
“Leading them right to us.”
“No, I was careful.”
“You’re not the first orc-slut to come through here. Orcs always come after what’s theirs,” the man growled, advancing on her with the hoe.
Sorcha put her hands up. “I mean no trouble, I just need—”
