Chapter One: Khalag
Khalag the Crusher. A title I earned by being a “cold, ruthless, unfeeling” orc chief. The way I see it, I just find practical solutions that get shit done. I don’t think that makes me cold nor unfeeling. Ruthless, maybe. It just makes me efficient.
The wheels of the wooden carriage creaked and groaned under the weight of the bodies being pulled into the camp. This war had been dragging on for months. Every time we thought the humans had finally learned their lesson and given up, they’d throw themselves at us again with a new plan, new weapons, or fresh recruits. It was sheer stupidity, they couldn’t win this. Short of us marching out and eradicating their entire race, we had already won. Yet, they kept coming to their deaths. I didn’t want to command a total genocide on humanity. See, would a cold, unfeeling chieftain say that? I think not. So, we defended. With ease, we defended. They were more of an irritating pest than any kind of real threat.
I stalked over to the carriage just as Gnarg hopped down from the driver’s seat.
“Khal,” he grumbled, giving me a tense nod. His thick black dreadlocks swung in front of his dark eyes with the motion.
Gnarg was my best scout. He usually spearheaded the cleanup after an attack, moving bodies, collecting our injured to be treated, or, if the wounded belonged to the enemy, finishing them off. He was slim for an orc, built with lean muscles and deep, dark green skin. It made him perfect for reconnaissance, he practically blended into the shadows.
My own skin was a stark, stony gray, and my physique was massive and imposing. Stealth was never my strong suit. Good job I was the chief and could delegate those tasks. My job was to know my people’s strengths and weaknesses and put them to work where they were best suited. And I was damn good at it.
“This all there was?” I grumbled, scanning the pile of dirty, lifeless bodies piled onto the back of the cart. “Why even bother attacking with so few numbers?”
“Not a clue, but we—”
I cut him off, raising a single finger. “Shh. Wait.”
I leaned in, listening closely over the idle chatter of the camp. A heartbeat. It was faint, erratic, but definitely there. Reaching out, I grabbed the ankle of one of the bodies and dragged it off the cart. The young woman’s body flopped lifelessly onto the muddy earth behind the carriage. I nudged her shoulder with the toe of my boot.
Her hair was matted with dried blood, her face smeared with a thick layer of battlefield grime. Her trousers and boots were caked in mud, though they seemed intact. Her shirt, however, was ripped to shreds and stained dark with blood. She didn’t look to be missing any limbs or suffering from obvious trauma, so why was she unconscious? I knelt over her, planting a massive foot on either side of her torso to inspect her closer.
Bracing myself, I gripped the collar of her ruined shirt and ripped it down the center to expose her torso. I needed to see where the blood was coming from.
At first glance, it looked like a fatal mess, but then I found the culprit, an arrow had struck her right in the abdomen, piercing clean through her side. It looked as though she had snapped off the fletching, ready to pull the shaft through, before thinking better of it and losing consciousness. Smart. It didn’t look to be piercing anything vital, but the shock must have knocked her out. Weak humans.
When I first glanced at her middle, I thought she was just soft. Plump in the way humans often were. But as I pressed two fingers near the wound to check the swelling, my hand brushed against a wall of dense, firm muscle. She wasn’t fat, she was built for endurance.
“This one is alive,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the wound as I addressed my scout. “I’ll take her. See if she can give me any answers regarding this madness.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gnarg nod his confirmation.
“Wait until the battlefield is downwind, then burn the rest of the bodies on the brazier,” I added, a grim satisfaction tightening my jaw. I spat into the dirt. “I want our enemies to smell the burning flesh of their fallen.”
I bent down to scoop the woman up, but the moment my bare skin brushed her shoulder, a sharp shock of static electricity zapped my hand. I grunted, jerking my arm back. It didn’t hurt, but it took me by surprise. I frowned, reaching down a second time and gripping her wrists firmly. The same electric spark snapped against my fingertips, buzzing right up my forearms. This time I ignored it, hoisting her up and flinging her over my shoulder. She weighed hardly anything in my grip.
As I turned and started the walk toward the fortress, I found myself adjusting her weight, being careful not to jostle or put pressure on her side. I caught myself and frowned. Why was I giving her this consideration? She was human, and an enemy. What did I care if her wounds got bashed about a little in transit?
Upon entering the heavy stone gates of the castle, my boots carried me right past the staircase leading down to the dungeons. I paused at the foot of the stairs, staring into the dark. A human opens up more when they trust a person, I reasoned. That was just tactical strategy. I’d clean her up, treat her wounds, and then she’d willingly spill all of her people’s secrets.
At least, that’s what I told myself. Even as I was starting to get annoyed by my own excuses.
Defying my own protocols, I carried her all the way up to my private chambers. I took her straight into the adjoining washroom and filled a wide basin with warm, soapy water. Sitting on a low stool, I propped her back against my broad chest, using one arm to keep her upright while I grabbed a sponge.
I started by wiping away the layers of mud and dried gore from her shoulders. Beneath the filth, her skin was a pale, delicate porcelain. Like a fragile china doll. I surprised myself with how gently I handled her, loosening my grip as if terrified I might accidentally break her.
I worked my way down, removing the rest of her ruined clothes to properly access the wound. There was nothing sexual about exposing her, she was a human, and it was simply easier to clean a patient this way. But as I wiped the dirt from her chest, I gently lifted her breasts with the back of my knuckles to clean beneath them, and the sudden softness caught me off guard. Orc skin was thick, scarred, and leathery. This girl’s pale skin was so thin I could see the faint blue map of her veins. I felt as though it might rip if I scrubbed even a fraction too hard.
Once her body was clear of grime, I shifted her onto my lap, tilting her head back over the basin to rinse the matted blood from her hair.
When she was finally clean, I focused on the wound. I was used to patching up brutal war injuries, an arrow like this wouldn’t have even slowed one of my warriors down. I carefully snipped the broken end of the arrow with a pair of shears to ensure a clean break, avoiding any splinters, and smoothly pulled the shaft out through her side. I quickly applied heavy pressure to the entrance and exit wounds until the bleeding slowed to a dull drip. Once it was under control, I disinfected the tracks and stitched the skin tight with neat, practiced sutures.
The last thing to do was wrap her in a thick, dry towel. I carried her into the main room and laid her down on my bed.
My bed was massive, custom-built to support an orc, but with her small frame lying in the center of it, the mattress looked gargantuan. I didn’t have any clothes that would fit her, so I left her wrapped in the towel and piled several heavy shadow-wolf furs over her to keep the shock from chilling her to death.
Standing at the edge of the bed, I found myself staring down at her face, wondering what color her eyes would be when she finally opened them.
The thought was an unwelcome one. I snapped myself out of it, scowling. What the hell did the color matter? I wouldn’t let her live long after I got the information I needed from her anyway.
Turning on my heel, I threw myself into my heavy leather armchair across from the hearth, settling in to watch over her, and wait.
