Page 1 of The Blacksmith in My Tavern: Tales of Bleakness

Chapter One

Betsy

“Pox on your worthless green hide!”

My jailer only chuckles as I lash out with my fists. He is an orc and freakishly strong compared to me. I do not have a chance.

That does not stop my cursing nor curb my wild thrashing.

But too easily, he stops me before an ominous-looking door amid a long underground corridor. He opens it and tosses me in. The door creaks as it swings shut. I hear the rattle of the keys in the lock.

I fling myself at the door, yanking on the small barred window like it might yield to my hands. “No!”

My jailer walks off, his boots echoing off the stone walls and floor as they fade away.

Despair crawls up my throat until it near chokes me. A sob bubbles up. I clamp my hand over my lips, but it still breaks free.

Sinking to my knees, the cold stone seeping through the skirts of my thick woolen dress, I replay the events that brought me here—a regular day at the markets where I admired theribbons and bought a new one. The cloaked figure slipping out of a doorway as I took the shortcut back to the tavern where I live and work.

Stupid, Betsy. You know better than that.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the small paper-wrapped bundle. Maybe I can strangle the bastards who snatched me with it?

Beyond the door, I can hear the sounds of crying.

I wipe the tears from my cheeks. My stomach is all at sea, and my mind is frantic. But I will get out of here. My pa will come for me, and he will punish the scum who dared to take me.

At least, I pray that he will.

There is a bucket of water just inside the door and another bucket in the corner where I am supposed togo.I walk over to the far empty corner. Here, I sit and wait.

It is not long before fresh tears come, and the fears I try to keep at bay swamp me.

The jangle of a key in the lock wakes me from a fitful doze. The door is flung open—my heart pounds. A scuffle follows before the door slams shut again.

In the space before the closed door is a small, fragile-looking girl with a ragged dress that has been torn over her breasts.

My lower lip quivers.Bastards.

I kneel beside her, putting my arm around her small, bony shoulders. “I’m Betsy,” I say.

“Ada,” she replies, and then she begins to sob.

I pull her closer, and she clings to me with surprising strength. My tears fall anew for this lass and myself.

“My pa runs a tavern,” I say. “Someone snatched me off the streets as I returned from the market.” I don’t mention how it was my own stupid decision to take a shortcut. “He’s going to get us out, I promise you.”

“I wish I had such a father,” she says. “Mine sold me for coin enough to pay his debts.”

Heath

Bleakness, a city under the control of orcs known as the Blighten, has ever been a desolate place. Tonight, it sinks to levels of treachery.

I have known the lass at my local tavern since she was a little girl. My blacksmith shop is only a few doors down from The Green Man, where Betsy lives with her human-orc hybrid father, and I go there often for supper and a pint.

Someone snatched her on the way back from the market. One of the stall owners mentioned seeing her take a shortcut, and that was the last she was seen.

Still, I have connections in my work as part of the underground rebellion here in Bleakness, and word is she has been taken to the slave markets. The bastards clearly do not know who her father is. The tavern proprietor is a gentle giant most of the time, but Tim is still half-orc and will destroy those responsible.

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