Ava led her wagon towards the centre of The Outpost. The denizens watched her shuffle along, each one with a sly and suspicious look in their eyes. They kept their distance, waiting in the shadows of their ramshackle houses. But given the opportunity, they would not hesitate to swarm and leave her with nothing.

Ill-favoured, indeed. They started early today, already there was a half-naked body growing stiff in the path, a knife wound in his chest. A robbery gone wrong, no doubt. He would lie there ignored and forgotten until Crastius’ men deigned to build a pyre for him. With the snow season so close though, they would probably throw him in the Frozen Sea than waste the wood. Ava watched her haul carefully as she maneuvered the wagon through their dwellings.

They slinked off into the shadows, clearing the path like fish sensing a predator in the water and Ava pulled her hood further back to see why. She sighed miserably. I hoped my day would get better, not worse. I should have known that there are no blessings to be found in this place.

Malgorn lumbered in her direction further up the path. His long, black plaits swayed to and fro on his large chest as he walked, twirling his great Warhammer in his enormous red hands. He grinned slyly at her, his lower fangs protruded like tusks over his upper lip and made his smile that much more menacing. Seemingly unperturbed by Spectermere’s frosty weather, the only clothes he donned were leather armour and a thick fur cloak. As a towering mass of muscle and bone, he was by far one of the biggest and tallest orcs anyone had seen in this land and out.

It was said that Malgorn was once a warlord of one of the Red Orc Strongholds, but his kin betrayed him and exiled him because he was far too savage, even by orcish standards. The denizens here gave him a wide berth because of his volatile temperament and Crastius did not trust the red orc enough to keep him beside him for too long.

But Ava had no intention of scurrying away from him like a coward. She did not doubt that he would kill her if she did. Ava suspected that the orc, like many of the denizens here, let her be because he was wary of Minervin. But that was not entirely enough to keep him at bay. Already she could hear him mumbling the word repeatedly putting her teeth on edge. She could brush off every offensive word these people could produce, but she always took exception to that one word he always insisted on calling her.

“Detchien,” he sneered clearly by way of greeting.

Waste dog, he called her, a creature of The Burning Wastes that was so squalid, mangy, and pathetic that it would eat its waste to survive. She ignored him, grinding her teeth and led her wagon past his hulking form. He stopped it in its tracks with one hand. Her cattle heaved and moaned with the exertion to pull free, but it was a wasted effort.

Ava would have been awed by his strength were she not so annoyed by his intent on prolonging their encounter. She moved closer to the orc and gripped her dagger’s hilt. Not that it would do much good against his raw strength, but at least she would be able to slice something off first before she died.

“It is a good haul you have brought. You have great skill with the bow, detchien,” he said, stunning Ava from her murderous thoughts.

He reached for one of her deer.

“Hands off, or you will lose some fingers!” Ava snapped at him.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

To her chagrin, Malgorn only chuckled at her threat.

“You have no fear, detchien. You would make me a fine and fierce wife.”

“What?” She blurted in disbelief, taken aback by his sudden declaration. The orc must have knocked his thick, fool head somewhere and was not thinking straight.

Malgorn grinned widely at her reaction, treating her to a view of his fearsome upper fangs. He reached over to grab a clump of her dark brown hair and ran it through his long fingers, curling it around one before letting it drop back to her chest.

“I am willing to look past the stain of your birth, detchien. And you are fragile, little, so I will have to be gentler with you. But you would make a better wife than any orcish warrior woman on Blood Rock and give me sons and daughters fiercer than any of the orc raiders there. Provide for me, fight beside me and I will give you any land and its riches that you wish. You will get no better offer.” Amusement glimmered in his bright brown eyes as he stared down at her and Ava could not tell if he was serious or mocking her.

“And what lands would you raid without ships and an invading army at your back?”

“A true orc warlord needs only one ship to raid. One ship to sail to Blood Rock, take back Bloodgore and reclaim his raiders. Only one ship, detchien, and there are trees abundant to build it in this frozen waste of land,” he pointed out with a small measure of annoyance.

“And why have you not built this ship by now?” Ava asked, equally annoyed.

“You are a quarrelsome child, detchien. But so are all orcish women before they settle into the life of a wife. Ship building is a labourer’s work and Malgorn is a warlord. Warlords sail ships,” he explained. Ava would have expected the words to sound patronizing, but he stated them in such a dry, matter-of-fact way that it reminded her of Minervin’s many lessons and lectures. Was he trying to teach her about his culture?

“The greedy dwarf charges a fortune for his carpentry skill, but I am close. Soon he will build my ship. So, what say you now?” he asked.

Incredible! The Red Orc is serious about his proposal. It is absurd! Is it not? The orc still called me detchien, why would he want to take me as a wife? He must be making a mockery of her; she will teach him.

“Warlords do not take their offspring as wives either.”

Malgorn’s hand tightened on the wagon and the wood beneath it groaned in protest. “Watch your tongue!” he rumbled. “You are not my child!”

“You do not sound very certain. People say we look alike, and I have heard whispers about you and the human women here. How sure are you that you did not get one heavy with a hybrid child seventeen years ago?” Ava demanded of him.

“Gahg!” Malgorn exclaimed, releasing her wagon so suddenly that it lurched forward, and she nearly lost her balance. “Brain-rotted humans are putting thoughts in your head to divert from their transgressions. Very sure, I was warlord over Bloodgore,” he said with certainty before his brow creased with puzzlement.

“You are an anomaly, detchien. Now, get on with you before you make me lose my temper,” he muttered, swinging his Warhammer onto his shoulder, and turning from her.

He stopped further down the path and turned back.

“Eh, I will have you as my wife, detchien. When the dwarf starts with my ship, I know you will come to me of your own free will.” His smile was smug.

“I will not!” Ava scowled at him, highly offended.

“You have the wanderlust of the orcs; you cannot deny it. You will come.” And with that certainty, Malgorn turned and lumbered away, twirling his Warhammer on his shoulder.

Ava led her wagon away, the wheels rattling and bouncing off the cracked ground. The further away she got from the accursed Red Orc, the better.

The nerve of the man! Thinking I will sell myself like one of Crastius’ women for a ship and lands I have only ever dreamed of! Although he did offer her more than Crastius could ever offer his women, or that she was ever likely to get. A husband, a stronghold, any land and its riches, and children!

No, no, the whole thing was absurd! The man was absurd! Mad!

I would have to find another way to get Minervin and myself on his ship.

Why am I even considering this? Malgorn’s ship does not exist!

Not yet anyway.