Page 13 of Orc's Pride

A machete sticks out of the wooden frame of the tent, only about two inches from my head. The surface around it splinters away angrily from where the sharp blade has embedded itself.

I can’t help but think that it could have been my skull, fractured like that. I feel the blood drain from my face, and shiver.

Something in the orc’s demeanor relaxes. He laughs to himself, boisterously, and I can’t help but give him a confused look. Is he mad? The orcs are always a bit off, but this makes me particularly wary.

All I know for sure is that I don’t see the humor here. He doesn’t leave me waiting for an explanation for long, however. Almost immediately, he stifles his laughter, and simply shakes his head in disbelief.

“You’re pathetic. Some spy you’d be, you just about pissed yourself at the first sign of danger.” He scoffs again. “I don’t know what kind of lunatic shows up at a military battle line claiming to be a spy. Is this some strange death wish, an attempted suicide?”

For the first time, his expression is not entirely guarded, and I catch a glimmer of genuine curiosity in his eyes. He’s wary, still trying to make sense of me, but also intrigued.

I almost wish I could just tell him everything. But I can’t. I don’t know who this orc is – not really, not when so many of them are two-faced liars wearing the disguise of the military.

His face stiffens at my silence. “You better tell me why you’re here while I’m still being nice about it. Who are you?” he demands, his voice harsher than it has been.

“I’m not a spy,” I begin. I want to point out that I never claimed I was – his men are the ones who keep insisting on it, not me. But it doesn’t seem like a fact that will do much good, so I keep the correction to myself.

“I’m sorry,” I admit. “I can’t tell you why I’m here or my purpose. But I’m not here to cause any harm to your efforts against the dark elves. I hate them, too.”

He narrows his eyes at me, and I can only hope that the conviction in my voice has been enough to persuade him. At least he seems to be listening, so I try a new tactic. “My name is Dana Hill,” I offer, making a formal introduction. I hold out my hand, trying to prove that I come in peace.

It doesn’t work. His jaw locks as he takes two intimidating steps closer. I suck my breath in, trying not to look afraid. Straightening my spine, I meet his icy gaze determinedly.

Recognizing the move, he quickly takes his power back. He grabs my chin roughly, leaning closer. Now I can’t look away, even if I wanted to. It only takes a few seconds before I regret my choice, his gaze piercing straight through me.

My discomfort must be obvious because he smirks condescendingly at me. Still, he doesn’t look away, though by this point I wish that he would.

“I don’t know what you’ve come here for,” he finally admits. “You’re hiding something, but I can’t work out what. I can’t imagine it’s a plan to hurt or double cross me. You’re too small. Why would they send someone like you?” he muses.

He drops my chin, and I rub the sore skin reflexively. I can still feel his fingers there, pressing in. Turning away to focus on his thoughts, he continues. “A hundred of you wouldn’t be able to hurt someone like me. You can’t be here to attack,” he concludes.

Then he turns around to face me again. “I have no vital information, if you’ve come looking for secrets.”

He says it almost as if he’s trying to be helpful. Like he’s decided that I can’t be a threat, and he’s just offering suggestions to close the matter. He’s curious, not concerned, and wants a resolution that gets me out of his hair.

“I’m not siding with the dark elves,” I bellow, getting angry that he doesn’t seem to be listening. I understand what he thinks, and in a lot of ways, I can’t blame him. He’s convinced that I came here as a spy, albeit a worthless one, and can’t seem to get that out of his head.

The accusation isn’t entirely illogical, but it pricks me in a way I can’t define. I hate the dark elves, and to be accused so many times of siding with them has me seeing red.

“I’m not one who betrays my kind,” I spit out, my voice venomous. “The only way they’re getting near me is if they line up and take turns waiting to kiss my ass. If I ever helped an elf, I’d feel more shame than the last person you fucked. That is, assuming you ever have.”

His face lights up in amusement. Letting out a low whistle, he gives me a look of admiration. “You can speak dirty with the best of them,” he comments. “And for a woman. I’m impressed.”

“I can hold my own against any man,” I snap back. “Pointing out I’m a woman was unnecessary. I’m not good for a woman, I’m just good.”

He narrows his eyes again, evaluating me. I’m too angry at this point to shrink from his judgment, which he’s determined to give anyway. “I hate you,” I announce. “What kind of ruler areyou? Surely there’s someone above you with half a clue that I could have this discussion with.”

Then I see it. He wears the Chieftain’s emblem on his clothing. How could an orc like this lead an entire clan? I’m so frustrated I could scream, realizing I’ll never get around this annoying orc.

It almost makes me wish for the orc I was kicking to come back. Almost.

“Chieftain,” I mutter. “Couldn’t they find a rock or something to put the emblem on?”

Almost immediately, I regret the words. I’m so blinded by my anger that I’m not thinking straight, and I know damn well a comment such as that could get me killed.

But he’s unperturbed, not the slightest trace of annoyance on his face. In fact, he just laughs to himself, still looking amused.

Then he swings me into his arms unexpectedly, cradling me like a baby.

---