Dawn found me on my way across the plain. It might look foolish to stride openly toward a strange city—especially one that could be packed with hostile creatures—but I had grown too used to desperate gambles to let caution stop me. Besides, curiosity had me by the throat, and I was sick of lonely wandering.

The closer I got, the more its sheer brutality stood out. The walls and the looming tower behind them looked more fortress than city. They were built of rough-cut greenish stone, mortared together without any sign of polishing or decorative artistry. Everything in sight declared a wild, fierce people piling up rocks for defense. I saw no human movement, either. For all I knew, the place might be abandoned. But the broad road leading up to a huge gate looked heavily traveled—no grass grew there.

No fields surrounded the walls; the plain’s tall grass reached the fortress itself. All that way, I saw nothing that looked like a person. Only when I came under the city’s colossal gate, flanked by thick towers, did I glimpse dark, shaggy heads stalking along the crude battlements overhead. I halted, tilted my head back, and meant to call out. The sun flared straight into my eyes—just as a cracking report tore the air. A plume of white smoke jetted from a tower. Something smashed into my skull like a hammer, and darkness swallowed me whole.

***

I awoke quickly—that’s always been my gift. My body and brain snap back fast. I found myself on a bare stone floor in a large room whose walls, ceiling, and floor were made of huge blocks of that same green stone. A high, barred window let in the sun. There was nothing inside except a crude, heavy bench. A thick chain circled my waist, locked with some strange mechanism, bolted to a ring in the wall.

My head was bandaged in a silky cloth that smelled faintly of some resin, and it throbbed steadily. Whatever they’d shot at me, it only grazed my scalp—enough to knock me out. My dagger was gone. I cursed. When I first arrived in Kigen, I’d been terrified by my prospects…but at least I’d been free. Now I was at the mercy of who-knew-what kind of orcs, and they were definitely not friendly. A jolt of panic clawed me—like any beast in a snare—but I forced it down, replaced it with sheer fury. I jumped to my feet—the chain allowed that much—and started yanking on the iron ring with raw anger.

I was still straining and swearing when a faint sound made me whirl. I froze. In the doorway stood a young woman. Slim, lithe, shaped like any human girl I might have seen back on Earth—though her movements had a startling fluidity. Her hair was long and black, her skin pale as porcelain. She wore a sleeveless tunic that dipped low at her throat and barely reached to mid-thigh, revealing ivory shoulders and most of her legs, plus the upper curves of her breasts. A silken girdle cinched the garment at her waist; her feet were in small sandals.

She stared at me, wide-eyed and silent, as if drawn by shock and fascination in equal measure. When I spun around, glaring, she gasped under her breath and darted away, vanishing as lightly as a startled deer.

I stood there, that vision of a delicate girl at odds with everything the city’s harsh, beastlike architecture suggested. Where had she come from? Did a refined culture thrive behind these savage walls? I was still pondering when I heard rough voices and heavy footfalls. A knot of men burst into the chamber. My hopes crashed the moment I laid eyes on them.

They were orcs—just like the ones I’d encountered in the wild: massive, hairy, sloped foreheads, surly faces packed with muscle and tusklike teeth. Though some were darker in hue than others, all looked savage to the core. Their small gray eyes blazed with ferocity; their guttural voices rumbled like distant thunder.

Each wore weapons. Their hands drifted instinctively to the hilts, lips curling in snarls. One of them barked out: “He’s awake. Ten coins says he doesn’t last long.”

Another snorted. “Think he even speaks our words?”

I realized with a jolt that they weren’t speaking Japanese from Earth—yet somehow I understood every syllable, except for certain alien terms. The puzzle threatened to unravel me, but I shoved it aside and answered the question:

“Yeah, I speak,” I said. “I understand you well enough. Now tell me who you are, what this place is, and why you put a hole in my head.”

They stared at me, baffled, then burst into rough commentary—hands tugging mustaches, voices rising in shock.

“He speaks, all right,” one rumbled. “Taro, I’m telling you, he’s from beyond the Great Gap—no question.”

“Don’t get carried away,” someone else snapped. “Looks more like a hairless runt that never should’ve been born.”

“Ask him how he got Roga the Bonebreaker’s dagger,” another cut in, holding up my confiscated weapon so I could see it. “Got a real story for that, stranger?”

He stepped forward, fixing me with a baleful stare. “You pilfer this from Roga?”

“I don’t steal,” I shot back, my temper flaring. “I took it off the one who tried to kill me—and it was a fair fight.”

They looked skeptical. “So you beat Roga in a fair fight? He’s not exactly known for losing, especially to a hairless twig.”

“I didn’t kill him,” I said, scowling. “He drew steel, and I knocked him cold. That’s all.”

That statement practically exploded in the chamber. They shouted, cursed, brandished fists. One bull-throated voice roared above the clamor: “You’re lying. Not even Goro the Bear can take Roga down with his bare hands. You want us to believe some smooth-skinned drifter did it?”

But then someone else retorted, “Quiet, you loudmouthed fool. He’s got the dagger, doesn’t he?”

The argument turned into a full brawl of words. The orcs shouted in each other’s faces, hammered fists on the bench, yanked at their sword hilts. I half expected them to start murdering each other on the spot. At last, a deep-chested brute who seemed in charge drew his sword and pounded its pommel against the bench, bellowing for silence:

“One more outburst and I start splitting heads.” At once, they quieted—though hateful glances were exchanged all around. “Debating how he got that dagger won’t earn us a jug of mead. We’re not Roga’s keepers. Drop it. The real question is what we do with him now.”

“Hang him or shoot him,” one orc growled, voice thick with grudges. “Those are the straightforward options.”

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The leader snorted, flashed a grin of malicious humor. “Unless we try tanning his hide first.”

Somebody else shook his head. “Leather from that skinny flesh? Hardly worth the trouble.”

A third orc said, “Tell you what, let me just carve a sample,” and drew a dagger, stepping toward me with disturbing purpose.

My vision went red. Gripping the chain, I coiled it around my wrists to brace for a massive heave. I dug my heels against the wall and yanked until my body trembled with strain. A second later, the embedded stone ring tore out with a thunderous crack. I fell backward, still clutching the chain, and slammed onto the floor at their feet.

“Now we’re talking,” I snarled, launching myself up. The nearest orc had barely blinked before my fist smashed his chin. Instantly, half a dozen of them piled on me. We went rolling across the stone, a snarling knot of fists, knees, and elbows. The chamber rang with deafening shouts, curses, the dull thud of flesh hitting flesh. I glimpsed the doorway jammed with the startled faces of orcish women—eyes round with shock—but couldn’t dwell on it. I was too busy fighting for my life.

I landed a few good shots, felt cartilage crunch under my fists, heard pained roars. Yet that damn chain tripped me. My scalp wound tore open and blood blinded me. Staggering, I lost balance, and a swarm of furious arms seized the moment, pinning me at last. Panting, battered, they bound my limbs until I couldn’t break free. I let out a stream of curses, savage and unrepentant, reveling in the bruised jaws and crushed noses around me. One orc yowled that I’d snapped his arm. I bellowed laughter.

They dragged over a water vessel to revive a comrade who’d been knocked cold. No one paid much attention to me until one scowled at the blood pouring from my temple.

“He’ll bleed out,” the orc muttered.

“I’ll toast that,” another hissed, doubled over and clutching his gut. “He nearly cracked my spine.”

The leader wiped a line of blood from his mouth. “We need him alive until the tribe decides. Akra, tie up his head again.”

A brute limped forward, grumbling under his breath. “Hold still, or I’ll make you,” he said, seizing my face.

Bad move. I clamped my teeth down on his thumb, spurring a scream that rattled the walls. Two more orcs had to pry me off. Enraged, Akra kicked me viciously in the temple, smashing my head against the bench leg. Darkness engulfed me again.

***

When I regained consciousness, I was bandaged once more and chained by wrists and ankles to a new iron ring, set deeper in the stone. Night had fallen. Through the high window I saw unfamiliar stars. A single torch, burning with a pale white flame, flickered in a wall niche. On the bench sat one of the orcs, elbows braced on his knees. He regarded me in silence for several moments.

“Didn’t think you’d wake after that last blow,” he remarked at length.

I bared my teeth in what might have been a grin. “Takes more than a cheap shot to finish me off. You orcs aren’t half as tough as you think. If not for this chain and my open wound—”

He raised an eyebrow. “All right, I get it. You’re a raging demon. We learned that the hard way.” He tapped a large knot on his own scalp. “Now, my job is to guard you while the council debates your fate.”

“I get the feeling none of my options are pleasant.”

“You catch on quick,” he said, lifting a gold vessel in one hand and drawing his dagger with the other. “In Koseki, nobody starves. Here.” He set the bowl of stew within reach of my chained hands, then pointed the dagger at me. “Go ahead. Just remember, if you try anything clever, I stick this between your ribs.”

I was hungry enough not to argue. The stew eased both my thirst and hunger. The orc watched me with an air of curiosity. When I finished, he asked, “Who are you, anyway?”

“My name’s Kai,” I said. “I’m Japanese—from Earth. Let’s call me a…wanted man there.”

He took that in slowly. “Sounds like nonsense. But everything about you is nonsense, so maybe it fits.” Then he said, “So how’d you wind up approaching Koseki from the plains? That was your campfire the lookouts saw last night, yeah?”

“Likely. I’ve been roaming the hills for months after I arrived in Kigen. Only recently did I come down into the grasslands.”

He gazed at me as if weighing whether I was mad or telling the truth. “The hills? Alone? Armed with just a dagger?”

I shrugged, though the chain cut into my shoulders. “Yes. You seem surprised.”

“You realize no one sane goes near those hills. You’re either lying or you’re the toughest idiot in existence. I haven’t decided which.”

“What’s this place called?” I asked.

“This city is Koseki, home of the Koseki clan. Our chieftain is Kosshun the Skull-Splitter. My name’s Taro the Swift. And right now, the tribe’s in council about you.”

I frowned. “They’re discussing my execution?”

Taro smirked. “Something like that. Some want you hanged, others want you shot. A few prefer you wrestle a sabertooth leopard for their amusement.”

It took an effort not to flinch. “Let me guess: setting me free isn’t on the table?”

He shook his head with a tight little grin. “You must think we run a charity here.”

At that, I heard a soft step behind him, and the slender girl I’d glimpsed earlier slipped into the chamber. Taro, exasperated, said:

“Aiko, why are you here?”

“I wanted another look at him,” she replied, voice light and melodic. “I’ve never seen anyone like him—hairless face, skin almost smooth.”

She moved closer, eyes flicking to my bandages and the chain. “Where did he come from?”

Taro grunted. “He claims the hills. Ask me, he fell from the sky.”

She studied me with something like pity. “We shot him before he could even speak, Taro. Why so cruel?”

“Cruel? It’s called survival,” he retorted. “This so-called ‘hairless wonder’ nearly took half our best fighters out of commission.”

She pressed her lips together, glancing at me. “He doesn’t look dangerous now. Let me guess: they’ll throw him to a wild beast for sport?”

Taro’s expression darkened. “Aiko, your father wouldn’t like you talking soft about an outsider.”

She blanched. “I know,” she whispered. “But…this is still barbaric. He came unarmed.” Her voice caught. “It’s not right.”

Taro’s brows knotted. “One more word and I tell Zan the Thrower you’re sticking up for the enemy. Want that?”

She bit her lip and backed off, eyes flashing. “Say what you want. It’s monstrous.”

And she fled out of sight.

I exhaled slowly. “Who is she?”

“Aiko, daughter of Zan the Thrower—the orc whose ear you tried to bite off, if I’m not mistaken.” Taro offered me a grim smile. “Didn’t expect a savage like you to raise his eyebrows at that, did you?”

My mind reeled. A slender, almost human-looking woman as the daughter of one of these monstrous orc men? “It’s…hard to believe,” I admitted.

He shrugged. “It’s the way things are.”

Right then another orc stuck his head inside and grunted, “Council’s stuck. They’ll wait for Kosshun to return in the morning. You’re relieved.”

Taro said nothing more as he left, and the other warrior took his place on the bench. I kept my mouth shut. Pain and exhaustion tugged at me, and soon I gave in to sleep.

Sometime later, I half awoke to a delicate rustle. My lids opened a crack, and I saw Aiko again, kneeling beside me in the glow of a dying torch. The guard on the bench slept, snoring softly. She studied me with a blend of fear and fascination, then gently touched my hair. Her face was close enough that I caught the faint scent of her. When I stirred, she gasped and drew back, hand at her lips, then rose and slipped away into the shadows. I could do nothing but fall back into unconsciousness, haunted by the image of her wide dark eyes and the swirl of raven hair.