Page 11 of Agor the Merciless
“This one’s a field knife for Hestra. Small game, skinning.” He reached behind him and lifted a massive sword. “But this… this is my pride. The captain’s war blade.”
The sword caught the forge-light, dancing with orange reflections. Runes she couldn’t read ran along the fuller.
“May I?” she asked, extending her hands.
Roric hesitated, then carefully placed the weapon across her palms. It was heavier than she expected.
“It’s magnificent.” She returned it with the reverence it deserved. “What do the markings mean?”
A smile crossed his face. “Protection. Strength. Old words from our home world.”
He turned back to his forge with renewed energy, as if her appreciation had stoked his fire. The heat from the forge was intense. Zoe stepped back, wiping sweat from her forehead.
As she moved away, a sweet, herbal scent drifted toward her. Past the forge, in a sunny patch near the edge of the trees, splashes of color stood out against the browns and greens of the camp. She followed her nose.
A female orc sat surrounded by plants of every description: flowers, roots, herbs, and fungi sorted into wooden bowls. Her fingers moved deftly, weaving some into small bundles for drying, while others were being ground with a stone mortar and pestle.
“That smells amazing.” Zoe inhaled deeply. “Like mint, but... spicier?”
The female looked up with a delighted grin, tusks gleaming in the sunlight.
“The captain’s bride notices! Yes, yes! Mountain mint. Good for stomach pains and…” she winked dramatically, “…for making the breath sweet for kissing.”
Zoe laughed. “I’m Zoe.”
“Pira the Forager!” She patted the ground enthusiastically. “Sit, sit! I’ll show you which plants to eat, which to brew, which to avoid unless you want your insides to become your outsides!”
Zoe sat cross-legged beside her, drawn in by the orc’s infectious cheerfulness.
“This root…” Pira held up a gnarled, brown thing, “looks like poison but makes the best stew. Bitter first, then sweet like honey.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I heard you last night. The captain kept you busy, yes?”
Heat flooded Zoe’s face.
“No shame!” Pira clapped her on the shoulder hard enough to rattle her teeth. “A good match makes good noise! My Grol… the loudest in the horde!”
“Grol? Your mate?”
“My husband, you’d say. The master builder. Big hands, bigger heart.” Pira sorted through her plants, pushing a smallbundle of dried leaves toward Zoe. “For you. Tea. Helps with the soreness after... vigorous nights.”
Zoe accepted the gift, mortified but grateful. “Thank you.”
“The captain has waited long for a mate strong enough. The others broke too easily.” Pira nodded sagely. “But you… you have fire inside. Like him.”
The acceptance in Pira’s words was lovely, but Zoe was now red to the tips of her ears. Pira prattled on, not noticing Zoe was kind of looking for an escape. It had nothing to do with the old female orc, but with how embarrassed Zoe felt that after less than twenty-four hours, all the orcs seemed to know how she sounded when she liked what was being done to her.
The sound of rhythmic scraping drew her attention to the opposite side of the clearing, thankfully. Something new to explore. She thanked Pira for the tea and crossed through the center of the camp, where several orcs were constructing a new shelter. Just beyond them, a strong smell of tanning solutions filled the air. Large wooden frames stood in rows, each supporting stretched animal hides in various stages of preparation. A female orc worked on the nearest frame, her muscled arms scraping the underside of a hide with a curved blade.
“That looks like hard work,” Zoe observed, stopping a few feet away.
The female didn’t pause. “All work worth doing is hard.”
“I’m Zoe.”
“Zana the Tanner.” The scraper moved in long, powerful strokes. “The hides won’t clean themselves.”
Zana didn’t seem like a talker. Zoe felt like she was interrupting her, but she didn’t want to give up yet. She realized she wanted all the orcs under Agor’s command to like her.
“I’ve never seen leather made from scratch before.”
