The crush of the Horde. The smell of battle. The promise of the blood and death to come. The blacksmith stood on the battlefield, his axe by his side, his brother Orcs beside him slavering and chomping their jaws, anxious for the fight. Lurgak fidgeted restlessly with his axe, sniffing the air, feeling the battle rage rearing in his bones. Eventually, finally, after what seemed like an age, the Horde’s horns sounded, and the charge began. At first a walk as the rear ranks pressed forward, then a trot, then a run, then finally a snarling, roaring mass of green flesh and blood as the slowest were trampled by their own side, desperate to be into the fray, to taste human meat and blood.

The human village never stood a chance. Standing quietly and peacefully in the mid-morning autumn sun, it was the gentlest of places. Men worked in the golden fields while children laughed and shouted around their feet. Women worked at their weaving and spinning, lighthearted chatter passing between them. The smell of freshly baked bread hung in the air. Until the Horde.

A child saw them first. Screaming in fear, she drew the attention of the adults, who one by one, turned and saw the mass of green bodies approaching. Before they could react, the Horde was on them, tearing, gutting, killing. The women, taken in the streets where they stood, skirts forced up around their heads, multiple orcs swarming, grinding on top of them. They died where they lay, screaming, in pools of blood and gore. Children were laughingly driven onto spikes to be roasted later while their screams rang in the ears of their parents, themselves forced to watch. The men were slaughtered and most of the women raped. A few, however, were herded, rounded up to become slaves to the Horde. Lurgak found himself placed as a guard to these women, most of whom cowered in fear from him. One, however, was watching him carefully. He found himself staring back. She was different than the others, paler skinned, blue eyes and dark, curly, waist-length hair. He shifted his position, gripped his axe, and turned his attention back to the horde. But he continued to feel her eyes boring into his back. The killing seemed to go on for an age. At last, the Horde was satisfied. Meat was passed around, ale taken from the tavern in the village was broken open. The higher ranks of the horde were given the flesh of the children, with the lower ranks taking what morsels they could find. A passing orc sneered at Lurgak, and tossed him the roasted hindquarters of a sheep.

“No human for you, Lurgak”, he sneered. “Maybe this is enough for your soft belly! Get them ready, we march in an hour.” The orc walked off laughing, and Lurgak shook his head, before turning to the women behind him, who were clinging together and weeping. But not the girl. She sat a little to one side, her head slightly cocked, watching him with a curious expression. He sighed, and tore the meat in his hands into strips. He reached out to her, a strip dangling from his fingers. She hesitated, and looked at it suspiciously.

“It’s just mutton.” He said, gruffly, but with a tenderness that surprised her. “We have a long walk ahead of us. You should keep your strength up.”

“Why? So you can kill us later?”

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“No. Those who can work will be taken to be slaves. Those who cannot be slaves would be put to death working in the mines.”

“And you would rather see us as slaves?”

“I would rather see you free. But given the alternative….”

At that, she blinked and stared at him. He dropped his eyes, and continued cutting the meat up. “You aren’t like them, are you?” She asked, motioning to the other orcs of the Horde.

“No,” he said, “no, I’m not.”

Hesitantly, she reached out and took the strip, testing it between her teeth. Finding that he told the truth, she tore it up further and distributed it among the other women, encouraging them to eat, as Lurgak handed her the remaining strips, keeping some for himself. She made sure that all the women had some, although some were too frozen with fear to understand her, she forced the meat into their hands. “You must eat too,” Lurgak urged her. She nodded, and took some strips for herself. Lurgak smiled, and for a moment, she saw his face change.

“What’s your name, orc?”

“Lurgak. It means…”

“Defender of the weak.”

“You know Orcish?”

“Some. But isn’t that a strange name for an Orc?”

“It’s typical orcish humour. They think I’m weak for not wanting to take part in….this. What’s your name? You’re brave to speak to an Orc like this.”

“You would know the name of your food? Isn’t that a bit… non-orcish of you?”

“I told you, you’re not food to me. I would rather see you all freed, but I have no choice. I’m not like the others, but I am still bound to the tribe,” his voice was bitter.

She paused, watching his eyes, Large and brown, they seemed open and honest.“Elen. My name is Elen.”

“Elvish for Star.”

“You speak Elvish?”

“Some,” he replied with a wry smile, and his eyes twinkled. She smiled back, slowly, her blue eyes meeting his brown.

“Get them up! We march!” A harsh voice cut across the pen, and Lurgak scrambled to his feet as a huge orc, scars across his face and one ear missing, lurched into view. Lurgak immediately bowed to him and the orc snarled.

“Yes, my chief. At once.”

“Better prove your worth in something, Lurgak. Although, these axes…” He tossed his axe in the air and caught it deftly, the bright metal gleaming as it caught the sun. “You did well with these. You’re a skilled blacksmith, even if you’re a damn lousy Orc. Remember that, that’s the ONLY reason we keep you in the tribe.”

“Yes, my chief.” Lurgak waited until the orc had passed, before turning back to Elen. “Gortag. Our chief. Come on, help me get them up before the Whipmaster comes along.”