The Orc Wife

by S. J. Sanders

  With a grin, she announces, “Simple, yes?”

  I hesitate. “It doesn’t look terribly difficult, but that doesn’t mean I won’t mess it up.”

  Erra snorts. “Just remember the proportions and you will be fine. It is not an exact science. Set it in the oven over banked coals for about thirty minutes. Just be sure to keep an eye on it so it doesn’t overcook,” she says with a wink.

  “I’m not sure if I can make anything like this without a stove,” I say awkwardly.

  She puts her hands on her hips and looks thoughtfully at her stove. “Yes, you are going to have to get Orgath to part with some of his fortune to get a stove for the cottage.”

  I blink. “Fortune?”

  Erra laughs. “Of course. Orgath is very wealthy despite living in a cottage that is just shy of falling down around him. Lorf was able to take over the leadership of the clan, but he could not steal the wealth of Orgath or that of my father. Providing an oven for you is the least he can do.”

  I mentally file that away under with the other things that Orgath never told me and resolve to enjoy the rest of the evening in Erra’s company without dwelling on any unpleasantness.

  The evening meal proves to be delicious. Bistee hobbles out to join us and I eat with relish until I can barely move. Erra puts what’s left on a plate for her husband in the cupboard.

  When Bistee retires to his room, we pass time throwing dice until late after dark. Erra stops only once, to light a lamp near the window, and we resume our game until the moment Orgul returns home. He greets his wife with a tired smile and fond embrace. I find myself looking away, the awkward third wheel.

  “Sammi, you did not have the opportunity to meet my mate. This is Orgul, whom I have spoken so much of.”

  “I guarantee she has a talent for exaggeration,” Orgul teases, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. “Doubtlessly at least half is not true… unless it is referring to my male parts, in which case it is all true and probably not enough said.”

  I laugh. I can’t help but like this guy. For all that he is massive, ash gray, has tusks that rival Orgath’s in size, and has the darkest eyes I have ever seen on an orc, he’s personable. More so than most orcs.

  “I have to say, compared to other orcs you are a bit…”

  “Less hostile?” he fills in with a wide grin. “Pleasant company? Possess a sense of humor? Capable of smiling and knows the meaning of a joke?”

  I giggle. “I guess all of the above.”

  Erra laughs. “Orgul owns the tavern where we met. He comes from a very distant orc clan and was traveling to find the perfect place to set up business when he arrived at our village. We had no such thing as a tavern before he came. Traditionally, our families tend to brew our own meads. Many weren’t receptive to a business that brewed and sold mead and beer, but they warmed up to the idea pretty quickly. It even took a while for me to get used to his extreme mannerisms when we first met.”

  “She threw the mug of mead I offered her right in my face when I told her she had remarkably impressive assets that I wouldn’t mind partnering with in a joint venture,” he says with a cheeky grin. “This clan is such a stoic lot, and so in love with tradition that my younger brother, who recently moved here, still has to fend off older members of the community who object to male inkers.”

  I raise my brows in fascination. “Really? With humans, it’s usually the opposite problem. Human males dominate many industries, including inking and piercing, although women have been pushing strong into it.”

  “It is because it is spiritual and ceremonial in nature, and such things are often left in the keeping of our females by tradition,” Erra supplies.

  “We males are allowed to claim the debauched things,” Orgul says with a playful leer at his wife, who responds by driving an elbow into his abs. He lets out a painful oof and grins down at her as he rubs the abused muscles.

  “Speaking of the terrible state of males,” he says nonchalantly, “I haven’t been able to get rid of Orgath. Your mate is determined to lurk around my tavern until you come to your senses and go home. His suffering is providing me with some entertainment over the day, so don’t rush on my account,” he laughs. “I provided him with a place to sleep in one of the spare rooms above the tavern that we keep for travelers.”

  “You aren’t charging him, are you?” Erra demands, her eyes narrowing.

  “Of course I am,” he chortles gleefully and rubs his hands together.

  I snicker but can’t help feeling the pinch of pity I feel for my mate as something deep within me yearns to feel him close by again.

  Chapter 14

  Sammi

  I don’t see Orgath for several days. After the first day he began leaving small things for me: a shawl so I won’t catch a chill in the cool evenings, and my favorite sweet treat made from a dough boiled in honey. This morning, I wake to a large flowering bush set outside my window, roots and all.

  I shake my head in exasperation. He’s really making it hard to stay angry with him, but I made up my mind not to totally cave until he properly apologizes.

  I don’t see Orgul entering the room until he stops mid-stride and stares at the bush, blinking in stunned surprise. Erra is beside him and I imagine that they are on their way to open the tavern. Erra had mentioned something the night before about helping him out this morning. Her jaw drops, but his shoulders shake with laughter. Erra frowns beside him.

  “Orgul, why is there an uprooted bush sitting outside the window? Did you have something to do with this?” she asks, her brow furrowing.

  “No, no. I think that there is a slight miscommunication. Orgath asked for a bit of advice on appealing to his mate and I suggested flowers. I didn’t think he would think to pull up an entire bush, however,” he says, breaking into full-on laughter.

  I flush, knowing that Orgath is enlisting help from the males of his clan. I learned recently from Erra that the females refuse to help, believing it up to him to resolve the problems that are of his own making. That’s apparently not stopping the males. Erra gives her mate a disgusted look and she thumps his chest with irritation.

  “That won’t magically fix anything, and you know it. He needs to swallow his pride and apologize,” she snaps.

  Bistee eases onto a cushion, looks at the bush, and snorts. “Erra speaks true, but anyone with eyes can see that boy really loves you, girl. Stop torturing him and you both, and accept him already,” he states in his typical blunt way.

  Erra gives me a look of exasperated commiseration before turning her attention to Bistee. “I am going with Orgul to the tavern for a couple of hours to help do some cleaning, I trust you will be all right with Sammi here while I am gone.”

  He waves her aside with a gnarled hand. “Go then, already. Sammi and I will be fine. I believe she was going to help me read some correspondence sent from the lore-keepers of other clans. I will likely have her bored to sleep long before you return.”

  Erra smiles appreciatively, and frowns again at the bush. “What would you like me to do with these?”

  I look at the bush. It really is a sweet gesture. I can’t bear to throw them out. “Maybe we can replant the bush in the garden here?”

  She smiles and nods. “Very well. I will just plant this really quick before we leave. I am not sure what else you can really do with them.”

  As I imagine trying to shove an uprooted bush into a vase, I can’t stifle my laugh. “Yeah, that might be the best idea.”

  She shakes her head once more and hauls up the bush, taking it with her.

  True to his word, as the door swings shut after them, Bistee pulls out at thick stack of folded papers from the pocket of the loose robe he wears. I unfold one and squint at the small writing.

  Great. I get to read orcish written by scholars or doctors of some type by the way the language is scribbled out. Still, most of it seems recognizable enough. I settle in and begin reading. Bistee leans back and listens, nodding in agreement with a shared
observation or scowling when I come to a passage he disagrees with. More than once he interrupts me to essentially tell me that the writer is full of shit.

  Time passes remarkably fast, and I set aside several read letters as I stand up to prepare a small afternoon meal for us when I hear a sharp, loud strike against the door. Bistee pushes himself to his feet and I spin around to face the door just as it flies in off its hinges.

  “Take cover,” Bistee growls to me and throws himself forward with a long knife he pulled out from gods know where. I hesitate, torn between following direction and a strong drive to help the near-crippled elderly orc. At the last minute, I attempt to run, but a hand tangles in my hair, and I am drawn brutally face-to-face with Lorf’s slimy henchman. Another male’s voice laughs tauntingly as he thrusts Bistee aside.

  “Bistee, you old fool of an orc. Isn’t it enough that I left your body broken last time you thought to stand between me and what I desire? Don’t risk your life over one small human.”

  Cold fear seeps through me.

  Lorf. He’s daring to do the one thing that no one thought he would: kidnapping me.

  I struggle against the orc holding me. Striking out with my hands and feet gets no response, so I turn my head toward the hand gripping my hair and bite down hard on the meaty part of the palm. My captor roars, and I hear Bistee shout out as a hand strikes me hard enough that the world falls away into nothingness.

  ***

  Orgath

  I walk through the market looking for the perfect gift. Something to tell my wife—my bloodbonded mate—how much she truly means to me. It rankles me to have to apologize for something that is natural for orcs, but I must acknowledge that it is a different custom from her own and perhaps I would feel similarly if the situation were reversed.

  If she needs to hear the words, then I will give them to her.

  “My lord, I hear good tidings on the young one you are expecting,” an unfamiliar merchant calls out. I do not recognize the species—some sort of troll I believe. They have a reputation for being conniving traders but talented in acquiring the best of things. Though his lavender hair is swept into a series of complicated braids in a courtly fae fashion, his deep forest-green flesh is packed with lean muscle and though he stands hand-lengths shorter than me, he has undeniable presence. Purple eyes watch me with sharp interest.

  I am reluctant to acknowledge him, but his grin is broad and friendly, so I pause and nod my thanks with every intention of carrying on until he pulls out a bundle.

  “I have something perfect for your babe,” he calls. “A gift to honor your clan.”

  I am immediately suspicious but approach with caution. “What is it then?”

  He unwraps the bundle and inside is a small collection of the softest tunics for my babe, a thickly woven blanket, a rattle made of silver that chimes beautifully when shaken, and delicate coverings for the feet. “From where did these come, and why give it to me?” I ask slowly.

  He offers a good-natured shrug. “The Troll King of the Middling Way sends it with his regards. He has received word that you have found a bloodbonded mate among the humans and already she quickens with your young. Naturally, such news is treated with great excitement in the kingdom. There is rumor that the elves are considering opening the borders to the human realm, and we know that your mountain pass is the nearest to us in that eventuality. All know the orcs guard it, so he is eager to have friendship with you so that trolls may, at that time, pass without consequence to and from the portal. When he heard that I was coming to trade with your village, he insisted I bring it along to present to you.” He pauses. “But maybe it is not to you I should be giving it if the rumors I hear this morning are true.”

  I frown, confused. “What are you meaning?”

  He scratches a claw along his neck absently. “I heard that the chieftain has been organizing a raid to secure your female, and even now may have her. Perhaps it is he that I need to speak to.”

  I growl and thrust the clothes back at him. “My wife is secure. Lorf has no way to get to her. His power is limited here and may not be suffered for much longer.”

  The troll raises his brows with amusement. “Is that so? And if he secures your wife and babe?”

  Even though I want to insist on the truth of the matter, a cold dread begins to settle around me. I don’t want to think that my cousin could do something so foul as to kidnap a mated female, much less one carrying young. But then, there is much that I never would have expected of my cousin in the days of our youth. His ambition has rotted him and destroyed him from the inside out. I run a hand over my braids and narrow my eyes on him.

  “Perhaps I will attend to my kin and see to her well-being myself—just to be certain.”

  He nods respectfully, his eyes still gleaming with something beyond my grasp to understand at this moment. “A most ideal plan,” he murmurs, a thin smile stretching over his black lips and deadly sharp teeth.

  Although I am uncertain if it is wise to trust rumors delivered by a stranger, much less by a troll who may have interest in manipulating matters for the benefit of his king, I quicken my pace as I head back to the tavern.

  I am halfway there when I feel a seizing along the bloodbond that tastes of pain and terror before even that falls silent in a way I haven’t experienced since before I’d initiated the bond with Sammi all those weeks ago. She has been a constant presence within me and the absence of that terrifies me.

  Launching into a full run, I barely draw up short enough to not throw the door off the hinges when I barrel through it. My ears tilt forward as I search for Orgul or Erra, either will do.

  “Orgath, is something amiss?” Erra says as she rushes to my side from behind the long counter. Orgul stands just beyond it, puzzled.

  “Is Sammi here with you?” I ask, praying for some odd chance that maybe she’d accompanied Erra.

  “No, she is at home with father, why do you ask—wait, Orgath where are you going?”

  I don’t reply; I run straight out of the tavern. All of my focus is on getting to my mate. I have nothing else of myself to spare, not even so much as to pause and speak. I hear a disturbance behind me followed by something that sounds a lot like foul cursing, and I know that Erra is close behind me.

  Good. I do not know what I may encounter when I arrive at her dwelling.

  Briefly, I entertain the idea that maybe it is a false alarm, but that is until I catch sight of Erra’s home. The door is broken in and I catch the stench of blood and fear mingling with the unmistakable scent of Lorf. My lips pull back from my teeth, baring my tusks savagely as I leap through the doorway, ready to attack.

  I skid through on some broken pottery and search in a panic for any sight of my mate. The abode is empty, except the crumpled form of Bistee on the floor. I hear Erra slide in behind me and her anguished cry. I crouch down by my uncle and lay my fingers against his neck, praying to the gods for a sign of life. I let out a breath in relief when I feel the weak pulse.

  “Erra, he lives,” I whisper as I draw away from him. Leaving Bistee to his daughter’s care, I rush through the house and throw open the doors, calling for my mate.

  A hand grips my arm firmly and I throw myself around ready to fight off whoever dares to restrain me in my search for my mate. Orgul flinches but is unmoving. His eyes are full of sympathy. “She is not here, Orgath.”

  He is only saying what I already know, but having it verbally affirmed throws me into a rage. I roar and thrust my hands against the wall, cracking several stones from the violence of my fury. I wish to pull the whole building down but just barely retain hold on my sanity.

  My enemy has my mate and is doing gods know what to her. Does he violate her? Is she unharmed? The unknown destroys me even as I desperately search within for that small glimmer of the bloodbond between us.

  “I will kill him! Lorf will not escape from this fate he weaves,” I snarl, my muscles tightening with my anger. I wish for nothing more than to meet my c
ousin in battle and sever his head from his body with my own hands.

  Erra comes up beside me, her face taut. “We will be with you, Orgath. We will summon those of the clan who are loyal to you and we will attack the chieftain’s keep. The females will not let this go, it violates all our traditions and values. It disgraces our ancestors. I will take my father to the healer and call upon all whom I know that will stand with us.”

  “I will as well,” Bodi speaks from the door. I look over, startled, unaware that he’d followed behind. His face is a mask of anger, lips pulled back from his tusks as he meets my eyes and nods. “I will track down all those I know who are loyal to you, who are willing to take up arms against Lorf.”

  I nod gratefully and brush past him as I leave the house. Every beat of my heart starts the agony anew. All I have before me now is regrets.

  Things I should have done.

  Things I should have said.

  I only pray it is not too late to rectify the bond between me and my wife.

  Chapter 15

  Sammi

  The metal cuffs bite into the skin of my wrists. Not iron but still metal and unyielding no matter how much I pull on the chain anchoring me to the wall. I worry about Bistee. I hope that his family discovers him still alive. I have no way of knowing, but I pray to the gods for his sake… and for mine.

  I may be alive now, but I’m not confident how much longer I’ll be able to stay that way, especially with how much trouble I have keeping my mouth shut. I have a feeling that Lorf won’t find my sass as humorous as Orgath did.

  My heart pinches at the thought of my mate. Orgath, I miss you.

  Lorf’s creature, Mogol, grins at me as he paces back and forth in front of me. I’d woken up on the cold floor, without any kindness or relief shown before I was shackled to the wall. Lorf enters the room, completely ignoring his flunky, and strides over brusquely. Mercilessly, he grabs my face, tilting it this way and that for his inspection. He pries my jaws open to peer at my teeth and tongue.