Page 1 of The Outcast Orc

1

QUINN

Five silver pieces. Four for my horse, and one for my saddle. Such small coins—but they carried the weight of everything I’d lost.

I watched the buyer lead Mercy away. My steady gray mare was worth at least double what I’d settled for. Any horseman worth his salt could see her value, but considering the scandal that now followed me through the Fortifications, I was lucky to find a buyer at all.

I only hoped it would be enough to pay for my passage out of the damned place.

As I spotted a busy courier shop on my way to the city gates, I wondered if the owner might’ve given me a better deal. But I was well aware of how their mounts were treated, and I wouldn’t have trusted poor Mercy to their care for any price. I’d been strict with her these past few years, but never cruel. How could I bear the thought of some careless rider digging his heels into her flanks, or hauling on her bit with heavy hands?

Or worse, beating a few more miles out of her.

Early on, I’d figured out that a whip was best used sparingly, and never in anger. Especially with the young colts who hadn’t learned to mind their feet.

I’d taught Mercy well. I trusted she would remember her training…whether her next master deserved it or not.

Still, the thought gnawed at me. Maybe I shouldn’t have given her up. But conditions were rough outside the Fortifications’ walls, and Mercy was used to soft stabling and sweet hay. She wasn’t cut out for life on the road.

Then again, I probably wasn’t either. In the city, I had my hot meals at the tavern, regular warm baths at the public houses, and a proper bed. Out there, I’d be lucky to find shelter in a barn. But thanks to one reckless moment of weakness, there wasn’t a single noble house that would hire me.

I’d have to take my chances beyond the walls. Out there, in the territories between the Fortifications and the Wasteland, the roads were wild and the towns were wilder—but at least a man wouldn’t be judged by his secrets, only his skills. That was the more important currency.

But first, I had to get there. And for that, I needed money.

I clutched the five coins as I made my way to the caravan, and the metal bit into my palm. Was it too late to change my mind? I could still shove the damned payment back into the buyer’s hand and grab Mercy by the reins—

A vendor who always used to flash me a friendly smile now avoided my gaze as her eyes darted away like a guilty child’s. Another turned his back, muttering under his breath.

The Fortifications were huge…but even so, news traveled fast.

There was no future for me here.

Soon enough, I reached the broad stone wall that gave the Fortifications its name. A scattering of crows perched on top had their beady black eyes on me as I strode out through the gate. I’m not tied down anymore, I told myself. I’m free.

I didn’t feel free, though. I felt empty.

The caravan had gathered a short walk from the heavy iron gates. Close enough to hear the guards calling out challenges, far enough that its stores were safe from the quick-fingered beggars working the gate. The caravan belonged to Northern wool merchants, no-nonsense people who kept to themselves, from a province where sheep outnumbered men ten to one. While they might not be much for chitchat, their elaborate carpets sold for a good price in the Fortifications.

Business had been good. Their wagons were packed with city-made things—forged metals and blown glass—to take back north. Good for them, but not for me. With cargo taking up all that room, passage wouldn’t come cheap.

But I wouldn’t last a day in the lawless territory on my own, especially without a horse.

I caught a gate guard looking me up and down with his lip curled and hate in his eyes, and I knew that even if it took every last coin, getting far, far away would be worth it. I had thoroughly sold myself on the idea of a fresh start when I rounded a wagon and saw a pair of men having a heated discussion beside the rig’s team. One horse, a chestnut mare, stood with her weight off her left leg.

The older man was grizzled and ropy, and he’d clearly made this journey before. He shook his head and said, “This isn’t just costing us gold. It’s wasting time.”

“I swear the horse was sound when I bought it.” The younger one’s voice broke. He was barely old enough to shave.

“And this is how you learn that the Fortifications are a filthy place where every seller will do his damnedest to take advantage of you.”

“I was careful!”

With a weary sigh, the older man unsheathed a long, sturdy blade and held it out hilt-first to the youth. “The nag had better be ready for tonight’s stew pot by the time I find a replacement.”

“Wait,” I said—and they both turned in surprise. Everyone knows you don’t contradict a Northerner. They’re a stubborn bunch—and they don’t take kindly to outsiders telling them what to do. “Mind if I have a look?”

The boy looked hopeful, but the older one scowled harder.

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