Adam wasn’t sure if the chief’s sudden good mood was a good sign or a terrifying omen. The break in the woods didn’t last long, and the orcs walked back to camp mostly in silence. It was only after they arrived back at the camp that the truth made itself clear.

It was a bad omen, Adam thought. Definitely a bad omen.

For adult Orcs, training was a mostly voluntary, self-guided affair. Orcs were naturally aggressive, and fighting orcs tended to fight one another often enough that active exercise wasn’t something that had to be enforced.

But the chief was not going to be swayed.

Right after reaching the camp, the chief gathered every orc into the camp square and began sparring. Five to ten pairs of orcs would be fighting each other while the chief circled the area and yelled out instructions and orders.

It wasn’t normal, but it also wasn’t unheard of for a camp chief to force training on the fighting orcs. What was unprecedented was for non-combat orcs to join in. For every warrior in a camp, there were two or three orcs behind the scenes maintaining weapons, cooking and gathering food, and generally facilitating the existence of the orc fighting force. But now, those support orcs were in the field punching, kicking, and gouging with everyone else.

The camp still had to gather food to eat, but the chief had a plan for that too. When orcs weren’t fighting, they were running to scour the area for anything edible to bring back. The chief would periodically run the area himself, and orcs found in any state but a dead sprint would come back to camp with both supplies and new, painful-looking bruises.

“I’m going to die. We’re going to die. He’s going to kill us all,” Sam said, heaving under the load of a basket of gathered roots.

“We'll be fine. The chief has a plan,” Adam replied.

At least I hope he does.

—

At dusk, the chief would call a stop to the training, and the entire camp would collapse. Each orc would eat whatever food they could stomach, and stagger to their tents.

A few hours later, well before dawn, the chief would be ringing the camp’s largest bell for the next round of training. If humans saw the camp at this hour, they’d think that it was composed of an army of undead rather than full-blooded orcs.

The chief’s favorite pastime after the first day was pulling groups of four or five orcs together and facing them personally. He would take up a training weapon and scatter them over the fields. Group after group challenged him to no avail. The most success they had was an occasional grunt of approval if someone managed to land an ineffective hit on his massive body.

“Are you hungry?” Adam asked Luke at the end of the second day, offering him a baked root.

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I might just be very sore. It’s hard to separate the feelings anymore.”

—

Soon, it was Sunday again. The bell rang, and the orcs gathered reluctantly in the center of camp.

“We will wait for an attack. If there isn’t one, there will be no training today. You can rest,” the chief smiled at them.

No one really expected the humans to stay back. But as the sun climbed over their heads, the orcs realized that for the first time in years, the humans weren’t coming to attack. Small cheers erupted from the orcs and when the chief said that the day was over, the orcs fell on their butts and relaxed.

All but three orcs.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Fear might make them delay attacking, Adam thought, thinking back on the chief’s words. But it will also change things. Fear is a dangerous game.

The chief stood on the edge of the watchtower, leaning against the railing silently. Luke furrowed his brow and said nothing. All three orcs could feel the tension in the air. Things had changed. They had changed them. And they needed to be ready.

—

The new week started with a mountain of training. Sam gave up what little propriety he had, and started openly griping and complaining. The chief heard it and, well, there ended up being a lot more for Sam to gripe about, but no one heard another word from him. His example kept the rest of the camp’s complaining in check, but Adam could see the discontent in their eyes.

But the chief’s efforts were paying off. Adam saw untrained orcs become mildly competent, and battle-hardened orcs gain a new edge and endurance to how they fought.

It’s us, too.

Adam’s squad had always trained more than average. They trained for their blood-test, trained when Adam thought of a new formation, and trained when one of the older orcs fell from the human attacks. The chief’s training regime took things up a notch. When they sparred, even Sam could give Adam trouble. They were sharper.

Adam was also getting better. Adam knew himself well enough to know what he was capable of, and he could now run faster and farther. He could swing his shield harder, or push forward against a heavier opponent.

He needed every bit of his new conditioning. Rather than let up, the chief went harder and harder. The sparring schedule intensified - orcs would fight more often, and often against multiple opponents. When they ran, they now ran in full gear, swinging their weapons or bashing with their shields. The treeline of the woods now featured a layer of flattened trees, knocked down by the days-long efforts of an entire camp of orcs.

Adam leaned into his training. The continual sparring piled up, and he started to see ways a shield went beyond mere blocking, and even beyond parrying. He started to refine the angles at which he’d deflect blows to lead his opponents into strikes. He learned how to use the shield one-handed fluidly. He even managed to steal a page out of the knight’s book, feinting shield bashes and catching opponents off guard. Adam knew the chief noticed, but whether he approved or disapproved, he said nothing.

The next Sunday came and went without any attacks. The orcs were once again glad for the rest, but a new tension was starting to spread across the camp.

Something had changed, and something was wrong.

—

Monday, Adam awoke to a clamor of orcs rushing towards the gates.

It’s here. He thought. Whatever is coming - it’s here.

But the bell wasn’t ringing. Adam shook off the sleep and ran with his shield towards the camp entrance, and arrived in time to see the chief throw open the gate.

Through the opening walked the last thing Adam expected to see - unfamiliar orcs. There were four of them, armed to the teeth with spears, shields, and bows. Among them was an ancient orc, clearly the leader. He was not as large as the chief, but his entire body was riddled with scars, some years old, and some much more recent.

“Greetings, warchief.”

“Greetings. Welcome to our camp.”

The two orcs clasped hands, and the chief walked the new orcs to the campfire. They sat with relief. Not quite collapsing, but clearly fatigued.

“What brings an ancient orc so far from his camp?” the Chief asked. “It isn’t often we get visitors.”

“We come to offer our arms to your service,” said the newcomer. “And to seek shelter.”

“Shelter?”

“My Camp. Greenbough Camp, around 50 miles north of here. It was burned to the ground a few days ago.”

While only the chief sat at the bonfire, the rest of the camp crowded around nearby tents to listen in on the conversation. Upon hearing the news, they let out a collective gasp. The last destruction of a camp was years ago.

“How?”

“We were ready for battle. There were dozens of us. We could handle hundreds of humans but not hundreds upon hundreds. Not fighting in the way they fought.”

Food was brought and handed to Chief Greenbough, and he picked at it.

“There were more humans than usual but few knights among them. One crippled, even.”

“One arm?”

“Yes. With so few knights, we felt good about our chances. We charged, but they sank back like swamp mud and encircled us. As we fought, a group of humans broke away,” the Greenbough chief broke eye contact with the chief and gazed down at the ground. “They burned the camp, slaughtered our non-combatants. We tried to break free, but there were too many of them. By the time we freed ourselves, this… this was all that was left.”

He gestured at his three companions.

The chief looked at Adam and his team, standing on the edge of the crowd of orcs. Adam could almost see him thinking. These newcomers were seasoned orcs. The chief had been training his people but it wasn’t enough. If Greenbough could fall, so could they.

“Is the army moving?”

“I don’t know for sure. We withdrew. But they might. They only had a few knights, but as we ran we saw their wagons - dozens of them. They seemed prepared for more than a single attack.”

The chief nodded, “You are welcome in our camp. Adam, these orcs need rest after their food. Find them tents. Give them yours if you must.”

“Thank you, friend,” Chief Greenbough stood with difficulty.

“It’s nothing. We are glad to have the extra warriors. Rest now. I have to see to the training of my orcs.”

Adam could feel the chief grimacing as he walked away.