Page 6 of The Orc's Wife

He left the dungeons and stopped in the vast entrance hall, studying his appearance in the tall sheet of polished silver – one of many that decorated the palace. Human servants, busy with their errands, passed him quickly, bowing. He ignored them.

He looked travel-weary, in his dusty clothes, with his weapons strapped to his belt in a way that allowed him the fastest draw. Orcs in the palace wore ornamental weapons, displayed for appearance and not for utility. Urgan found it ridiculous. He always wore his weapons at his belt for an easy reach.

Even though still muscular and bulky, he looked leaner than when he had set out for that latest war. Eating well hadn’t been a priority, because the most important goal was always victory. Always the conquest.

Yet, still, Urgan was a formidable orc. His father’s powerful bloodline made him taller than most males of his race, faster and stronger. And his grandmother’s human blood running in his mother’s veins… that gave him wits and a talent for strategy.

While every other orc believed Urgan’s greatness was due to his size and strength, he knew they were mistaken. It was the human blood that gave him the most powerful edge.

When the other orcs admired him for succeeding despite his part-human heritage, Urgan knew his success was because of it.

He turned away from the mirror and headed for the throne room. When he approached the tall, gilded doors, the orcs standing guard opened them without a word.

He was expected.

Inside, Urgan clenched his fangs not to scowl at the unnecessary opulence. The vast throne room was flooded with colorful light coming in through large, painted windows. The floor made of white, polished stone was pristine, a narrow dark-pink carpet running through the middle, dividing the hall into two even halves. It ran up to the dais on which the Imperator’s throne stood.

That throne was the only feature of the room Urgan approved of. A slab of gray dull stone, it was carved with orc symbols for power and victory. It had to be massive to support the Imperator’s enormous frame.

Legend had it, there used to be a human throne here when the orcs had first invaded the kingdom. It had been made of gilded wood. When one of the orc invaders sat in it, it collapsed under him into splinters.

Now, the throne was much sturdier. The other sitting arrangements were frillier: wide benches covered with red and pink cushions for the Imperator’s courtiers. It was barely past noon now, and the court was busiest in the evening and at night. Yet, some orc females were seated on the cushions, clad in leather dresses adorned with feathers, gold bangles on their wrists and arms, fans made of bone and colored fabric in their hands.

The only two orc males apart from the Imperator, Urgan, and the guards were small and foppish, wearing only britches and boots, their weak chests bare and painted with whorls of red ink. Their fangs had been filed down to remove the sharp tips.

Urgan looked away, holding back a growl of disgust and disbelief. This was a new fashion, something he hadn’t seen yet. Self-mutilation which he could not understand. Something so unnatural for orcs it barely looked real.

Avoiding the revolting sight, his eyes went to the tapestries depicting scenes of battle or pastoral images of feasts and royal hunts that covered the walls. They had been woven by human women, their colors pink, blue, and green. Some of them had been here before the orcs came.

And some had clearly been made to the Imperator’s order.

Urgan stared for a moment at an arras he hadn’t seen before: a pink and green one depicting Urzulah frolicking on a meadow with other orc females, a halo of bright-colored birds flying over her head.

It looked ridiculous.

“My general returns victorious once more,” said a deep, powerful voice.

Urgan tore his eyes away from the obnoxious image and saluted the Imperator, hitting his fist against his chest once.

The Imperator stood up, his formidable frame obscuring the light from the violet-tinted window behind the throne. Set against the background of the bright window, his face was dark and shadowy. Only his fangs bared in not quite a smile gleamed white. His eyes were cold and calculating.

“I bring you victory, my Imperator,” said Urgan, keeping his voice down to a quiet growl. Let the Imperator strain his ears if he wanted to hear him. “The Tokoma clan, the last orc clan that defied your rule, is now conquered.”

The Imperator clapped, a slow, exaggerated clapping that bordered on mocking. Some of the females tittered dumbly, and Urgan saluted again.

“What should I do now with you, general? You’ve done everything I asked,” the Imperator said, his voice cold and serious. “What would you have for your reward?”

“I would make your army stronger, my Imperator,” said Urgan. “The Empire is still fresh, still not completely united. We must keep your peace. And there are lands farther away… Lands we know little about. Other human kingdoms.”

The Imperator sat down in his throne, looking at his claws disinterestedly.

“Ah, but any orc can keep the peace and conquer human kingdoms,” he said. “I do not need the great general Urgan for that.”

Urgan clenched his jaw at the dismissal. It was an insult. If anyone but the Imperator had said this to him, he would have ripped their throat out with his fangs.

Could he strike now?, he wondered. Jump up on the dais, draw his wide, curved sword, slice under the Imperator’s chin which was becoming soft from an easy, comfortable life… and claim the Empire for himself?

No, he couldn’t. There were orc guards in the throne room, over ten of them, and they weren’t dressed for fashion. They had sturdy, practical weapons, and their eyes were sharp and focused.

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