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Cedar

L ike yesterday, Rathka did not look at Cedar when she entered the tent with breakfast. It was infuriating, Cedar had to admit, that the orc woman would not engage in even a simple conversation with her when they shared the same language. Though Rathka behaved with deference on the surface, it was obvious to anyone that a mountain’s worth of distaste hid underneath. Her very being dripped with insolence, as if serving Cedar was below her—and it probably was.

While Cedar ate, she debated what to do with her time while Lord Kargorr was absent. She should learn her way around the camp, at the minimum. Perhaps then she would learn where its weaknesses were and could plan the best way to make a silent escape. She sensed that her captor would leave frequently for raids now that the camp had relocated into human lands, which meant at least some time where she was free from observation.

Rathka would have to pee eventually.

Unfortunately, Cedar found a guard posted outside the tent. Female, but a warrior this time, with fierce piercings and many small scars. Cedar ducked back inside the tent, sighing. How long would it take for Kargorr to trust her?

Cedar dressed slowly because there was nothing to hurry for. She didn’t know how long he would be gone, and her only entertainment, the two little children who fawned over Bread Pudding, were easy enough to find tormenting their mother.

It was rather pathetic that her only friends were two barely weaned orcs, but Cedar took what she could.

A knock came at the entryway post, and Rathka jumped to her feet to see who it was. Cedar heard a quiet whimpering that made her turn around with her tunic halfway laced.

Rathka muttered something in Orcish, then turned to Cedar. “Put your clothes on,” she said, finally raising her eyes to Cedar’s, as if she had momentarily forgotten the directive. She dropped them quickly.

“Oh, sure,” Cedar said, finishing and then turning around so she could receive her guest.

An awkward, small orc appeared in the door, and he brought in with him the reek of animal. In his arms was a small white furry creature that Cedar recognized right away as one of the cats the orcs had ridden on their journey.

Rathka glared at the orc carrying the fluffy kitten.

“What is it you want?” she said in the human tongue, probably for Cedar’s benefit. The visitor furrowed his brow in confusion, and so she repeated the question in Orcish, and Cedar committed it to memory. The more she understood what was going on around her, the better she would fare in this strange place.

The orc responded vehemently with a string of words Cedar couldn’t understand, then thrust the small animal in her direction. She looked at him quizzically, and then down at the mewling creature.

“It is for you,” Rathka explained. “A gift from Lord Kargorr.”

“A gift?” Cedar echoed. “For me?”

She gazed at the cat with new eyes. It was a significant present. She would have to take care of it, and who knew what sort of attention it required? But it was so precious with its small, pink nose and big, yellow eyes, letting out sad little noises, that she instinctively reached out and took it into her arms. It had claws, but they were tiny and dull as it scraped her flesh, trying to get away.

“It is not fully tame yet,” Rathka said. “You will have to quiet its wildness.”

The dirty orc in the doorway reached into his pockets and withdrew a leather pouch that had a nipple attached to it and gestured for Rathka to take it. She did not look happy as she brought the pouch over to where Cedar had seated herself on the bed, the kitten in her lap. It was softer than any fur, as if it was covered in down like a baby chick. The orc spoke again, gesturing something with his hands.

“You will feed it,” Rathka said as Cedar took the pouch. It was warm, clearly full of fresh milk, and when Cedar lowered the nipple to the kitten’s mouth, it seized it. The orc who’d brought the kitten dispensed more instructions, which Rathka translated as the kitten suckled.

Cedar would need to take it outside to evacuate its bowels regularly, often multiple times during the night. It required exercise, and the orc promised he would return with a leash later. Then he tapped his chest with his fist and departed, leaving Cedar with the small, helpless animal in her arms.

She wondered what this gift meant. Surely it would grow up into a big, fanged cat like Liga. Was she intended to ride it alone, at Lord Kargorr’s side?

Or would she be riding behind him?

It was as if Rathka could see the thoughts plain on Cedar’s face, because she snickered. It was harsh and disparaging.

“Do not assume it means anything that it does not,” Rathka said.

“And what’s that?” asked Cedar. She didn’t like this woman’s attitude.

“You think it means he cares about you.” Rathka smirked. “It does not. He is binding you to him. Mollifying you with a cute pet.”

But Cedar understood already that it was more than a pet. Liga was Kargorr’s companion—she had witnessed that firsthand. He’d always fed Liga himself on their journey and petted her head before bedding down for the night, scratching behind and under her right ear.

Still, it could be a calculated move. She’d always thought orcs to be rather brutish and stupid, but Lord Kargorr was anything but. He thought ahead of her, and around her, and Cedar wouldn’t put it past him to try to buy her complacency.

But perhaps she wanted to be bought.

She petted the kitten as she fed him, mulling over how best to handle Rathka. The smartest thing Cedar could do would be to befriend her, to try to make the orc woman her ally rather than her enemy. And yet she couldn’t lose sight of the fact that in the hierarchy of the camp, Rathka was lower than she was, and that appeared to be of great importance to orcs.

“I’m not misunderstanding,” Cedar finally said as the kitten turned its head away from the nipple and coughed. “I know where I am.” She was a bedwarmer, he’d made that clear enough. Cedar held up the kitten under its front legs. “What sort of name should I give it?” she asked, to change the subject.

The question took Rathka by surprise, but then she narrowed her eyes and looked away again. “Whatever you want. It’s your choice.”

“Hmm.” Cedar endeavored to not let the dismissal get under her skin. “I thought it might be nice if it had an Orcish name, though.”

This earned another reaction. Actually looking thoughtful for a moment, Rathka studied the little cat in Cedar’s arms. Unlike Liga, it had smatterings of black spots in a smoky gray.

“ Kiya means ‘smoke.’ You could name it after its spots.”

Cedar smiled at this. Smoke was a good name for a creature who would grow up to be lethal and lithe, and Kargorr might see it as a symbol of her willingness to integrate.

“Kiya,” Cedar repeated, and Rathka actually smiled when she said it. “That’s a nice name. I think I’ll call him that.”

Rathka nodded. “Then it is so.”

Cedar returned the smile and brought the kitten up to her nose so she could look in its eyes. Milk dribbled from his little mouth, which she wiped off with her tunic. Then she bundled Kiya up in the furs, where he languidly stretched, contented now that he had a belly full of milk.

It was a good gift. Despite Rathka’s words, Cedar felt rather warm herself. Kargorr had thought of her, wanted her to have companionship. Whatever the reason, she was glad he had.

Kargorr

Lord Kargorr had always loved the scent of blood. While he was the orcling of a simple warrior, he had quickly fought his way to one of the most feared orcs in the parog where he grew up. Even as a youth, older orcs fell to him in sparring matches, and it was known by most then that Kargorr would challenge the lord or leave to start his own parog .

He had wondered what the blood of another orc would taste like splattered across his face. But taking what belonged to someone else, rather than building it himself, felt lazy and unearned. No, even then he’d planned to create his own parog , and continue the grrosek ’s mission of spreading across the land as they had done once upon a time.

That taste for blood had led many to leave with him, warriors and their families and children alike. He had traveled to other parog , challenging their kazek to sparring matches when he was accused of poaching. Every time he demonstrated his power, more grrosek saw a better life under his leadership and chose to leave with him.

Not since the Melting had an orc so brazenly built his empire. Orgha had been one of his earliest followers, with no orclings of his own given his yapira couldn’t bear them. While the older orc wasn’t the strongest, nor the most capable in battle, he was loyal and quick-witted, which Kargorr found more useful in a right hand than an orc who was good with a battle-axe.

And Orgha, too, yearned for blood. He could almost smell the nearest human village, tasting the fresh flesh on the wind.

They headed to a larger outpost than the village where Kargorr had found Cedar, but now that his parog had moved south, he had a large enough force with him that it presented no real threat. It would be burned to the ground like all the rest.

When it was time, he and his warriors sent their cats away. The animals would return to the parog and let the others know to expect them home.

They attacked as the sun crept up above the distant mountains, while the air was still cool and wet. Lord Kargorr charged into homes, killing every human he encountered with a wide swing of his axe. When the scent of death hit his nose, the blood rage began.

Now his vision was narrowed to a single point: the battle in front of him. He roared with his fury as he tore into another house, and screams rose in an orchestra from all around the village.

Never had his blood run so hot and fast in his veins as it did now. All those nights burying himself in Cedar’s sweet cunt had poured hot oil on the fire that burned inside him until it was a raging frenzy. He was fury incarnate as he sliced his enemies in two, leaving nothing living in his wake. This was the power of the grrosek , his blood sang. This was what befell those who had taken what was his.

It wasn’t until the entire village lay dead that he remembered his plan. He had intended to acquire more humans like Cedar, someone else to bring to his bed and fill with orclings. He’d gotten too caught up in the glory of it, in the sheer exuberance of victory, that he’d forgotten all about it.

That wouldn’t do. He ought to be encouraging his warriors, too, to take concubines, but the blood rage had taken over all of them. A reddish hue pulsed in their eyes, as he imagined it did in his, and they roared with each fresh kill. It was time to return home with their spoils.

“Round up every horse we can find,” he called as they gathered in the town square. Only one of his warriors had suffered an injury, but she cleaned off her blood with a hand and licked it, then bellowed in honor of her new scar.

Once they had yoked the horses to wagons and filled them with every last bit of food, gold, or clothing they could find, Kargorr’s party mounted their new prizes and began the trip home.

All the while, his blood rage filled his ears with the pounding beat of his heart, his cock throbbing in time. After riding hard for hours, the parog came into view, and he urged his horse on at a gallop.

There was only one way to slake his rage, to quell his need, and her name was Cedar.