Page 57 of Orc's Claim
The bastard is cheering the vints, telling them to crush the orc. When did he become best buds with the vints, the people who have been causing so much trouble for our colony?
Lily swipes at the tears rolling down her cheek. Those tears aren’t for how Owen will ruin her. They’re for that orc out there.
Owen glances over at us again and sees she’s not packing up her sewing box. He jumps from the table, pushes a bantaran out of his way, and storms toward us. I’ve never seen him look so mad.
The bastard grabs Lily by her hair and yanks her along with him. “I told you to get your ass in gear, you monster fucker.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ATOX IM GRAK
Something feels off about the market, and I can’t figure out what. My hand goes to a knife across my chest, settling me. I’ve let myself become soft of late. Forbidding my warriors from fighting, ensuring they do nothing to risk the treaty, weakens them. Weakens me.
Meeting with the human leaders in their sector gives me the opportunity for good intel on the enemy, but leaves me eager to return to my mountain, where the air is fresh and I’m surrounded by my people. Worthy beings.
Two human males sneer at me as I pass. These vekking humans stink. The filthy creatures only use water to drink and sustain their crops. If they knew to bathe with it, they wouldn’t smell as badly as they do. In theory.
I prefer to be anywhere other than Pen’Kesh, but as grak, the leader of all orcs, namely those who survived the Undoing and fled to Kovos, I will do whatever is necessary for our survival including lowering myself by negotiating with humans.
Negotiations. I spit on the ground. The human word tasteswretched in my mouth. Meeting with them wastes my time, but I’m so vekking close to reaching an agreement.
My people need females. That means I must maintain a truce with the other settlements.
More or less.
Once we have enough females, then our position on Kovos will change. That does not mean I’ll allow anyone to take advantage of me before we secure the females we need.
If anyone pushes me, I will not push back. I’ll use my sword to color the ground with their blood.
As I walk through Pen’Kesh, observing any changes since my last time here, I realize I have not seen Ryko nearly all afternoon. Just after we left the humans’ section of the market where they sell produce and clothing, neither of which we need since we hunt and construct our own clothes, he excused himself from my side. He said he wanted to explore the bantaran section.
I doubt that. Ryko does not explore. He acts with purpose. But I do not coddle my warriors like a female raising younglings. My warriors determine their own destiny.
Though it’s possible he seeks a new knife. While orcs fashion excellent knives, we have only one swordsmith among our people on Kovos. And no natural materials for him to fashion. That leaves us dependent on the bantarans for new swords. Or worse, the vints for raw material. Despite their talent with technology, bantarans are pitiful hunters, which gives us leverage for trading with them. They insert the language chips that I and my warriors use to communicate with—and spy on—the other species here.
Speaking of pitiful, I have yet to spot my nephew. Sojek had one duty today. Deliver the fovid meat to the bantarans, then gather my and Ryko’s gorjas and wait by the market’s main gate. From here, I can see the main gate, but no Sojek, cart, or gorjas.
And no Ryko. What the vekk is he doing?
My warriors are getting lax. The responsibility is mine, but the punishment will be theirs.
I head to the bantarans’ tents, pitying whichever of my people I locate first, because he will receive the brunt of my increasingly bad mood.
Running one hand along my arm, I scoop off some of the mud and rub it on my cheeks, nose, and chin. The muck stinks, but not as much as the beings I pass. The human quarter is overrun with people from all species today.
A murmur pierces the usual muffled conversations in the market, instantly placing me on guard. Then I hear shouts, yelling, and a sound I know all too well. Fists striking flesh.
Curses fill the air as a body crashes into a table in the human’s market. Round purple ogaki fruit spills onto the ground, rolling in all directions as the ring of people widens.
“String up the filthy orc!” a male hollers.
Sojek! If anything happens to him, my sister will kill me. Never mind that I am the grak of our people, she will slit my throat in my sleep if I let anyone harm her son.
Orcs fear little in life. An orc female protecting her younglings... That is more dangerous than sleeping in a pit of hungry kuvaks.
When the crush of the gathering crowd slows me, I draw my sword and shout, “Move!”
Like rodents, humans, bantarans, and moxxels scatter in all directions. Now, nothing stands between me and the fight.
