by Randi Darren
Contents
Dedication
Title Page
Copyright
Chp. 1
Chp. 2
Chp. 3
Chp. 4
Chp. 5
Chp. 6
Chp. 7
Chp. 8
Chp. 9
Chp. 10
Chp. 11
Chp. 12
Chp. 13
Chp. 14
Chp. 15
Chp. 16
Chp. 17
Chp. 18
Chp. 19
Chp. 20
Chp. 21
Chp. 22
Chp. 23
Chp. 24
Chp. 25
Chp. 26
Chp. 27
Chp. 28
Epilogue
Authors Note
Special Thanks:
The one and only Miss N.
Leta K. You’re never on time and always late, but you never fail.
Wild Wastes
-Slave Harem Series-
By Randi Darren
Copyright © 2017 Randi Darren
Cover design © 2017 Randi Darren
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means - except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews - without written permission from its publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2017 Randi Darren
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
Vince looked at the board while his face screwed up into a frown. His eyes swept from one notice to another, finding nothing that really suited his skill set.
Escort, escort, escort, escort, escort. Nothing but escorts. I’m no caravan guard. No simple sword to defend a wagon of goods.
Sighing in defeat he looked to the tag in his hand. It was the only one that even came close.
The money promised was good though. Almost too good. It’d be equivalent to nearly three years of normal wages if he had a normal job.
I’d never last as a farmer.
Like all the other tags on the board, it was an Escort mission. A least for this one the clients were moving on foot. No wagon or horses.
No goods.
Moving on foot meant he could take some of his personal detours. He could account for them, and knew they were safe.
At least as safe as the Waste could be.
The roads through the Wastes were perilous in the best of times. Patrols through the Wastes did little more than lose soldiers and waste money on gear and training.
Shaking his head Vince turned around and cast an eye up one side of the street and then down the other.
Speaking of patrols…
Across the street, in front of the old united states postal office, a squad of pike wielding men in various mismatched armor marched along.
They looked far to proud for a group of people who collectively probably had less experience than the newest Ranger on their first day.
Vince felt his face twitch at the sight of it. They were the same people he found more often than not as half chewed corpses under a bush out in the Wastes.
They stomped past two men Vince had marked earlier as people of note. Of interest.
He’d only been at the Ranger board for a few minutes before these two had wandered over and set up near an alley, watching everyone walking by.
They kept to themselves and their speech didn’t drift or carry.
He’d taken notice of them simply due to the sheer amount of hate they were putting out whenever a non-human passed by.
Those men were like a smoldering bed of coals waiting for a stick of wood.
Grumbling to himself he picked up his feet and headed over to the inn. He’d rather get this contract moving than sit around cooling his heels.
Winter would be coming soon and trying to get through what used to be the Rockies during a Waste winter would be suicide.
Keeping his pace sure and steady his long strides carried him swiftly along.
Glancing to the side as he passed a window he caught a quick reflection of himself.
Light brown hair, bordering on moving towards being an actual blond, framed an average face. He kept his hair rather short. No longer than three or so inches. Longer than that and he felt like he was always pushing it out of his blue eyes. His height made him look scrawnier than he actually was. Being six foot had advantages, but not always.
Big ass scarecrow.
Snorting at the idle thoughts he turned his head to the path ahead of him, then to the watch on his wrist. It was an antique. A very old antique. He didn’t wear it when he was out and about often, though when he had a timetable to keep it was invaluable.
His father had called it an Eh-Eleven but that didn’t mean much to Vince.
It only took him a minute to enter and find the potential clients.
Both were older than he was, perhaps in their late thirties. Nondescript and looking no better or worse than anyone else in this border town, they were very average.
Vince didn’t bother to attach any value to the way they looked but instead looked at their clothes.
Lightly worn, no patches, no dirt or dust, boots that were new and unbroken. The cuffs of their long sleeved shirts were the only part that didn’t look immaculate really. To his eyes they looked as if they’d been bleached repeatedly.
It was their nails gave up their profession, which than explained their cuffs. The cuticles of their nails were black. Ink stained.
Scholars.
Vince plastered a placating smile on his face and took a seat in front of the two men.
“Names Vince, I pulled your tag. Was hoping to discuss it with you,” the Ranger said, laying the request on the table.
“Ah! Splendid, splendid. We only put that up this morning,” said the man on the left. He was a little heavier than his fellow.
“Indeed, indeed. I’m Marcus, this is Gator,” Marcus said, motioning to the man who spoke first.
“Your marker says thirty gold standards. Ten in advance, twenty on completion.” Vince didn’t really want to hear their life story. People seemed to think he gave a shit.
He didn’t.
“Uh, ah. Yes. That’s correct. We’re looking to cross so we can-”
“It also says you’ll be carrying only packs. No wagons or anything like that,” Vince confirmed, interrupting Gator.
“Indeed. We’ll be carrying-”
“Good. We can get started tonight. The sooner we can get over the Rockies the better I’ll feel. Waste winters are good for no one. Not even the wasters themselves,” Vince explained.
“Oh, I see. Yes, well. In that case, could we see your Ranger’s license?” Marcus asked.
Vince nodded his head. It was a reasonable request and he expected it. Reaching into his vest he pulled out the wooden license card.
It had his basic information and confirmed his qualification as a Ranger. Someone who could cross the Wastes professionally.
The back side of it was his successful mission tally. Which would show he’d completed thirty some odd missions for the Ranger guild already.
If he managed to make it to fifty, they’d change the card out with a new one that had a different design.
“Is this a lot?” Gator asked, tapping the back of the wooden card.
“For my age, it’s far more than one could expect. I’m also rated as a single notch below a master swordsman. I have no taste for firearms, way too much cost in upkeep. I do have a proficiency,” Vince said, reaching over to turn the card over and tap the listed weapons. “With crossbow
s and field medicine.”
The vast majority of his crossings were done by himself. Nearly at a sprint from one side of the continent to the other as an armored courier. Not to mention one could do multiple courier jobs in one circuit.
Escorts just take too long.
“Mm, mm. I see, I see. Yes, yes,” Gator said.
“Fantastic, here’s the ten standards in advance. We look forward to working with you,” Marcus enthused, dropping a coin pouch onto the table.
Vince picked it up and held it in his hand. He needed to clarify one more point with them. “Know this, while we’re out there, you do as I say, and you listen to what I say. This isn’t a democracy and it isn’t a consensus decision. You do what I tell you to. My goal is to get you safely to the eastern seaboard. Is that acceptable?”
Both men nodded their heads absently, Gator returning the guild card.
“Then we’ve a deal. Thank you gentleman,” Vince said with a genuine smile.
It took the better part of two months just to cross into what used to be Colorado. They’d just barely slipped through before ice and snow made the passes too treacherous.
Even out in the vast plains of the Wastes, it’d be hard going.
Vince kept them moving along the old roads. Long since deserted and ravaged by the merciless touch of time and environment.
They’d help move them along though and keep them on track. Even if half of these roads, highways, and freeways were wrecked.
“Goodness. Is that a city?” Marcus said, pointing to what could distantly be seen.
Vince glanced over and then nodded his head.
“Never been. Cities like that tend to collect things that you’re better off not dealing with. Most notably undead. We’ll be fine out here in the plains,” Vince looked back to the road, his eyes sweeping back and forth for dangers.
“It’s hard to believe the entire waste is all from a couple of experiments by the old United States,” Marcus said.
“Indeed, indeed. Now the world lays in ruins. Ruins! The skies full of creatures that tear planes out of the clouds, the sea full of monsters that devour boats, and the Wastes are as big as they were to begin with. There’s been no retreat in any way shape or form. Even after the crusades,” replied Gator.
Vince listened in, interested in the conversation. His reading skills weren’t great but even he’d read a couple of books about the pre-waste world.
“Well of course it’s big, it split the continent in two. Apparently some of the worst of the waste is from what used to be Mexico up to, well, here actually,” Marcus said thoughtfully. “Now it’s all over run by fairy tale creatures. It’s almost like something out of a bad play.”
“They’re not fairy tale creatures. They exist. They live. They want nothing more than to play with your skull. While you’re still using it,” Vince murmured. “Even when you can’t see them, they’re there. Listening.”
The conversation died after that. They kept marching along and the day wore on. An hour or so before the sun would hit the mountains behind them, Vince took them off the road and to the side.
The roads had different occupants at night. It was better to simply not be on it when that happened.
They’d pitched their camp under a ridge line that had a smattering of trees. That and the scrub brush all around them did a fair job of obscuring their location.
He’d managed to guide them into a shallow depression between two ridges which meant they might even be able to have a fire.
Which was great news since Vince had managed to catch several hares. He’d skinned, gutted, and drained them moments after catching them. He’d butchered them on the walk and the results were all gathered in a sack on his hip.
The sun had barely graced the edge of the mountain tops when Marcus started screaming.
Vince unslung his saber from his hip and had cleared the distance of their camp to the scholar in a breath.
“I saw it! I saw it. Behind that brush there!” screamed the hysterical man.
Vince ground his teeth in frustration. Half the time these situations resolved themselves without interaction between the two parties. Providing that one didn’t discover the other one. Watchers would watch unless they had no alternative. Some would simply attack due to the confrontation.
A loan Orc charged out of the brush, straight for Vince.
Strange. Only one.
It was on the average size for an Orc. Maybe a touch on the taller side but not as wide. As tall as Vince was though.
The light green skin visible on muscular arms and legs was unmistakable though. It could only be an Orc.
Dressed in a fur vest and what looked a lot like a loin cloth, the attacker had a savage look to it.
Long black hair flowed back from the Orc’s head, bound behind it’s skull in a warriors knot.
Snarling as it closed the distance it kept it’s long two handed war sword held out behind it.
Can’t block that thing. Dodging it is.
While the Orc was big, Vince had an advantage over him. He had quite a bit of experience fighting in the Wastes. Humans and non-humans alike.
Impressively, the greenskin brought the weapon around in a vicious arc as it slid to a halt.
Whipping around faster than Vince had originally gave the Orc credit for, it nearly caught Vince in the middle of his torso.
Dancing backwards and then diving immediately forwards after the blade passed, Vince went on the attack.
His blade came around in a circular swish that was targeted at the Orc’s waist.
Moving with his blade, the Orc brought the big piece of steel around and held it vertically with both hands. Stopping Vince’s strike cold.
Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Vince pressed up against the Orc and slammed his knee up into the Orc’s stomach to buy himself a few precious seconds.
Connecting with the rock hard abs Vince only gained a chance to disengage easily instead of a follow up attack.
The Orc pressed a hand to it’s stomach and then looked at Vince with renewed heat. Bringing the huge two hander around itself with ease the Orc impressed Vince.
It wielded the big blade as if it were nothing more than a longsword. There was also the fact that this fellow definitely had some experience in combat, too.
Vince would have to wait for another opening. He was outmatched on reach and strength.
The Orc gave him a leer and grunted at him.
Then the two hander came forward in a lunge. An incredibly fast lunge that Vince had to turn sideways to dodge, and practically bend himself into a knot.
Not wanting to miss whatever opportunity he could, the Ranger kept moving down and swept low with one leg at the forward foot of the Orc’s.
Unfortunately Vince was surprised by the Orc again. He lifted up his leading foot and simply stepped over Vince’s attack. Then smashed a wicked hook into the side of Vince’s head.
Stumbling under the force of the strike Vince took several steps away and shook his head to clear it.
His blood began to sing, his ears rang, and his body felt lighter by the moment. Vince could feel his control slipping as he got worked up.
He’d always walked a delicate line between the savagery of his own nature and the control his personality demanded.
In his heart of hearts, Vince knew he wasn’t actually completely human.
Not entirely.
The Orc tilted his head to the side, watching Vince for a moment, before dashing forward. The big sword came out in a sideways slice.
Without a thought, Vince took a step forwards and then kicked off the ground, spinning himself out horizontally over the blade. The big sword passed harmlessly underneath him.
Vince landed on his feet and used the rotation of the move to bring his saber around.
The blade caught the Orc’s forearm and stopped dead on the bone, going no further.
Orc’s were sturdy creatures. Very sturdy.
The momentum of the attack
did more than the edge of the blade. The weight of his blow was heavy and though it stopped cutting at the bone, the weapon kept moving.
With a cry of pain the Orc lost their grip on their weapon. It spun end over end into the trees and scrub nearby. It made a deep clanging sound as it rebounded off a tree.
Scrambling after it the Orc darted into the foliage, one hand pressed to their forearm.
Chasing after them Vince loped along, he felt confident he could catch the Orc as it reached their weapon or right before.
Sliding to it’s knees the Orc’s hands scrabbled amongst the grass, trying to get a hold of the hilt.
Vince stepped down firmly on the flat of the blade as the Orc got purchase on it. He turned his sword around and aimed it downward. It pointed straight into the center of their ribcage, right into their heart and lungs.
With a sudden jerk on the hilt by the Orc, Vince’s attack didn’t go as planned as he was thrown off balance.
He only managed to get the tip of his blade wedged into the thigh of the Orc. The edge itself was pressed up to the Orc’s throat however.
Which left Vince staring into the eyes of the Orc who was kneeling before him.
Unintentionally, one of Vince’s gifts decided it was a good moment to wake up.
One of the biggest reasons Vince knew he wasn’t entirely human, was he had a number of what he called gifts. Gifts that would mark him more of a Wastelander than a human.
A mutant.
As his empathic senses opened up, time for Vince stood still. He was inside of the emotions of the Orc before him. Empathically entrenched in their feelings and psyche.
Hunger. Overwhelming hunger. Fear. Resignation. Acceptance.
Along with that came the context behind it. Knowledge without reading the subject’s mind.
It was a female. A young Orc female. She’d been driven from her tribe when she refused to submit to a young male. She’d bested him, then the Orc’s father, then the father’s brother, in single combat.
With none left willing to challenge her, and none earning her favor, she was shunned by her tribe. They’d been driven her out completely after that.
Orcish pride was a prickly thing.