His maturity is demonstrated by his salt-and-pepper hair, weathered face, and the battle scars that crisscross his thick arms. His leather armor is well-made and gleams in the lamplight, its quality showing his status as a warrior and a leader.
He sits, eating. It’s basic fare—cold meat, cheese and bread—and he chews noisily as he studies me through dark, narrowed eyes. “You have a way with the brats,” he says, still chewing.
I bob my head. “Yes, milord.”
“Good. I have a fairy child. You shall be responsible for her direct care.”
My mouth opens as I seek to protest that I know nothing of fairies. Only, what is there to say? I close my mouth and nod, as I realize that my companion back at the outpost was not brought there to help me, but to replace me. Today, I have learned my new fate. Now, I will have a single child to care for, to love, instead of many. I can only imagine what the pain will be one day, sometime hence, when my cruel masters rip me away again.
My lips tremble, and I feel the sting behind my eyes. I am not treated badly. For the most part, I apply myself to my given duty with acceptance—yet I am always aware that I am not free.
Tulwin tosses a crust of bread back onto his plate and stares down at me. “Do you have a mate?”
“I—no, milord.” I feel my cheeks heat. “I’m not yet of age.”
He grunts and narrows his eyes again, in a way that suggests he knows my words for a lie.
This turn of conversation alarms me. It is common knowledge that orcs are known to rut human lasses, to keep them as concubines, even as mates, or, worse, to use them for their pleasure then offer them no status at all.
I try to stay calm, despite being reminded of that final, fateful conversation with my mama the night she died, but his next words shock me to the core.
“Find a mate, or one will be allocated to you. This is not the outpost. It will be assuredly worse in Krug. Orcs do not concern themselves with the matters of human bondservants. So long as they are fit for duties, that none suffer lasting damage from an altercation, they are free to bond and settle matters for themselves. The strong rise, the weak sink to the bottom. It is the natural order of things. A weak female such as yourself needs a strong protector. I suggest you find one promptly from among the warrior ranks of bondservants or lower orcs. Prove yourself a skilled companion for the young fairy, and I will ensure your mate remains in service compatible with your duties when we arrive at Krug.”
He nods his head at the orc who brought me from the outpost. “Put her with the others.”
Still reeling, I am escorted from the tent.
* * *
There is no time for adjustment when one becomes a bondservant to orcs—and there is no place for wallowing in denial of what has been done or what will happen next. Anger, bitterness, and hopelessness do nothing more than inspire a fundamental lack of peace.
I often dream of my past life, of my father and mother still working the small plot at the back of our land, supplementing our food with fruits and berries in the summer, fish from the river, and whatever small game might be trapped in the forest beyond.
When I wake up from those dreams, it is to the reality of my imprisonment.
Yet the years of capture are proportionately a long time for one so young. I’m no longer innocent in my mind, even if my body yet lingers in that state.
As I’m shown into a sprawling community of bondservants amid rough wagons and cookfires, and look cautiously around me, General Tulwin’s words echo in my mind… along with my mama’s last words.
As I stand there, wondering what my fate will be, wary eyes greet me. I’m the outsider here, a new bondservant thrust into a community far larger than I have experienced before. My instincts riot, telling me that here there is danger; danger I must endure as we travel to Krug. My whole world has been turned on its head in order for me to become the companion of a fairy child.
An older woman takes pity on me and nods her head toward the ground beside her fire. Half a dozen women and men are gathered, eating food from wooden bowls before this particular wagon.
“She is favored by Tulwin. See that she’s not harmed,” the orc guard grunts.
The Goddess save me from ignorant orcs! Now I’m singled out as special. My time in servitude has shown me such protection, as it is, will be both a blessing and a curse.
The older woman who first took pity on me tears a chunk from the flatbread in her hands and holds it out to me as the orc guard strides away. “Don’t wish the attention of Tulwin on any lass. Best keep your strength up if that fearsome bastard is plowing you.”
I move to her and take the bread, blushing furiously, feeling the eyes of those gathered upon me. “Thank you,” I mumble. “He-he has not touched me. I met him only now. I am to care for a fairy child when we reach Krug.” As I speak, I think of his recommendation that I might look to find a mate from amongst the bondservants, and I cast my eyes over those gathered. “That is as much as I know.”
I turn my attention back to the bread and take a small bite, although I feel sick to my core at the prospect of taking any of these men as a mate. Worse, how would I even go about it? They are all rough looking, with missing teeth and filthy clothing that is little more than rags. It might be that they are all of a kindly disposition, but I cannot imagine any form of intimacies. Despite being in this terrible place and circumstance, I cling to my childhood notions of a young, handsome prince rescuing me from this nightmare, of claiming me as his bride.
I try to focus on the here and now, and eat the bread, overcome with gratitude that a stranger would share what she has with me, when bondservants are oft hungry.
“I’m Penny,” the kind woman offers.
“Jasmine,” I reply.