Page 20 of The Outcast Orc

“So…explain it to me.”

“You ask too many questions. It’s not our way—and the chieftain won’t indulge your human curiosity for long. If you’re smart, you’ll learn to do what you’re told and keep your mouth shut.”

And that, apparently, was all he was willing to say about it.

We trudged along in silence, stopping only to finish off what was left of the hardtack and jerky. The trail joined with another, and grew wider and more deeply rutted as we neared the orc village. The sun was lowering and the nighttime cold was settling in. I knew I could hardly expect a featherbed and glass of wine. But it was obvious the orcs were invested enough in keeping us alive to feed us, so I was looking forward to a meal and a warm fire.

…and was greeted by a rotten head on a stake.

It wasn’t human—at least, I didn’t think so, but it was so decomposed, it was really hard to tell. The pole was a good five or six hands taller than me, tufted with garish, brightly colored feathers around the neck so you couldn’t possibly miss it. The scalp had peeled open, exposing the white curve of a skull. The eyes were long gone, pecked out by scavenging crows, no doubt.

Marok took no notice of the grisly head whatsoever, and Borkul was still dozing in his seat. I was burning to ask about it, but figured I’d only piss the orcs off.

Still…when I saw the second head, I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

“What about the…y’know…?” Marok glanced at me and said nothing. I sighed. “The heads?”

“We mark our borders with a warning to our enemies. That one was a mongrel who tried to break into our armory. The green feathers mark him as a thief. When another thief sees it, he’ll know better than to target the Clan of the Red Hand.”

Up until now, I’d only heard the termmongrelused in regard to a dog. But the head on the pole was unlike any dog I’d ever seen. The skin color was nothing to go by, an ashen, greenish black. The skull shape didn’t seem quite as flat as a goblin’s or as tall as an orc’s. Frankly, he looked a bit like the blacksmith’s uglier son, though I was sure he’d never set foot beyond the Fortifications’ walls. The one remaining ear, I saw, was slightly pointed.

“Who are the mongrels?”

“Not who—what. Creatures that are neither one thing nor the other. That one had some goblin in him, I’d wager. Maybe some troll, too.”

By the time we came upon the next warning head, I was still stuck on the notion that trolls and goblins were capable of producing viable offspring together. “A goblin can mate with a troll?”

“Only a stupid one who doesn’t value its own head,” he chortled. “Trolls aren’t known for their romantic nature.” He glanced at me over the team. “How are you so sure of yourself when you don’t know anything?”

Good question. “Maybe it’s in your best interest to educate me so I don’t end up asking something stupid and making you look bad.”

He shook his head ruefully…but didn’t disagree.

I said, “I’m not entirely hopeless—I know that a dog can hump a cat all it wants, but that doesn’t mean there’s a litter of puppycats on the way.”

“Animals are animals. Sentient races are men. Why some beings can think and others not, who’s to say? Maybe, long ago, we who know ourselves were all the same.” Fascinating. Back at the bazaar, maybe there hadn’t been a dozen different monstrous races after all, but the byproducts of the mixing and mingling of just a few. “You’re not as advanced as orcs, of course.” He gave his ox a pat. “But you’re not animals, either.”

I knew I wasn’t supposed to ask any questions—but I was getting much more of an education than I’d bargained for.

“Now, that one there…” he pointed up at a ghastly male head, eyeless, half-crushed, beard crusted with dried blood. “Pretty sure he’s all human.”

I counted twenty stakes in all—and that was only on the particular path we were traveling on to the orc village.

Given that the path was lined with heads, I expected to find something horrific at the end. But instead, there was just a wall of hardened timber, logs sharpened at the top, stretching off into the trees on one side, and out toward a sheltering bluff on the other. Nothing like the stone Fortifications, obviously. But though it was primitive, I didn’t doubt it was effective.

As we approached, a pair of armored orcs met us—a male and a female. The female’s armor fitted the curves of her trim waist and lush hips in a way that suggested she hadn’t just thrown on something designed for a man…which meant it wasn’t unusual for the women here to have things like armor. She wore her dark hair longer than the men did, pulled back and plaited. She wasn’t much taller than me, but if I challenged her to an arm wrestling match, no doubt she’d put me through the table. Both orcs had the greenish skin and the broad, muscular build of Marok and Borkul, but each one’s features were totally distinct.

I can tell them all apart now, I realized.

If the guards were surprised to find their clan members traveling with humans, they didn’t show it. Actually, they strode right past Marok and me to talk to Borkul.

In greeting, both guards thumped their chest plates and said, “Praise Ul-Rott.”

“My sword is his,” Borkul replied easily. “Tell me, has your brother made any headway with his archery since I left?”

The male guard smirked. “Hardly. Unless you count shooting over the targets as a win. What have you brought back with you?”

“Three humans.”

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