~I recommend starting the series from part 1! If you are really just here for the juiciest bits, start around bottom of page 1, & then the beginning/middle of page 3. Thank you so much for your support, and waiting patiently for this update!~
Astera ran her hands over the silky material of her new dress. Her fingers hovered over the uneven stitching around the hem. The slits in the skirt had been cut hastily, the sewing not the fine needle work of the rest of the dress. But the bottom of the dress was split into three panels. It had taken her a moment to realize why- it would make riding horseback easier and give her more mobility in a saddle. She grinned to herself at the realization.
She had a thin pair of thigh-high stockings now to wear too. She made a mental note to thank the two orc women who had been travelling with them. No doubt they had been up throughout the night to make this dress for her.
She felt a bit better as she dressed and stepped out of the tent. The forest was still dark. Only bits of orange-hued dawn light managed to peak through the canopy of trees above. There were no torches or lanterns lit. The Merkradh Vrel were still working to tear down their tents.
The same guard stood outside her tent as the night before. In the early daylight she could make out little more than the outline of his face. His features were battered- a nose that had been broken too many times, and scars lancing across his chin and over one side of his face. His pointed ears were gnarled so badly they almost looked impish.
Considering how he might have gotten those scars made her shudder. He was almost as intimidating as Soarruk. There was no one else around though who wasn't tearing down tents or running errands between camp sites. She turned to him hesitantly.
"What's your name?"
He didn't look at her. Instead, he said something in his own language, pointing towards the fire in the centre of camp. When she didn't move, he tried again, "
Food
."
Right. They definitely wouldn't be on a first name basis then. She picked up her skirts, weaving through the camp towards the fire. A hobbled, elderly orc with wispy hair sat stirring the pot of stew. At her approach he filled a bowl. He placed it on the ground, ignoring her outstretched hands.
She took the bowl and made her way to the outskirts of the clearing. Even though the orcs seemed content to ignore her, it didn't feel safe eating among them.
The two orc women, Gulfine and Shadbak, were not staying in this camp with them. They were somewhere else in the leagues-long procession. Not that the women had found her very agreeable either. They seemed more concerned with making sure Soarruk was happy than keeping her company.
She sat on a rock facing the camp. Watching the orcs work was a bit fascinating. Their two extra arms made them efficient workers. She thought of home, and the palace steward who was always complaining. The thought of some of the hardened Merkradh Vrel in servant's uniforms, dusting the ceilings in the palace no one else could reach, made a bit of hysterical laughter bubble in her throat.
The laughter died out as she thought of her sisters waking in a few hours without her. Her chest ached with longing thinking of her gardens in the palace. She wished she could have had one more breakfast overlooking the ocean with her sisters.
The first spoonful of the broth was too hot. She tried to imagine it was a bowl of porridge instead, or a cup of silverleaf wine. The water was thick and chalky. It left a strange after-taste in her mouth that almost made her gag. She forced down a few more spoonfuls before giving up and dumping it out.
Across the camp Soarruk was walking with another orc. Both men wore blackened leather armour underneath their cloaks. When the orc king walked past, the men around him paused to acknowledge him. They watched Soarruk with a reverence that even her father struggled to inspire in his own men.
She scowled as she watched the camp around her. Everyone was almost ready to leave. All the orcs were pulling on their own armour and gleaming weapons. A few weapons she could name: short swords, lances, axes or scimitars.
Other weapons she knew no name for: swords with circular handles and strange half moon blades, or long staffs with multiple blades on each end. Her eyes widened as she took them all in. There was no standard or regularity to the shape and size of their weapons. Perhaps that was part of the reason why they were such a deadly enemy.
Seeing the weapons reminded her of Soarruk's words the night before, his threats against her father. Had there been any truth to them? She watched as the bannerman mounted their horses. Her dress was still flying below the orcs banner. She took a deep breath, disgust roiling in her stomach. Her blood, a symbol of their allegiance.
It is up to me to make sure the treaty holds.
Soarruk was passed the tents and approaching her now. The older orc was still trailing behind him. He had dark grey hair and one chipped fang. Three multicoloured armbands decorated his bracers, setting him apart from the rest of the orcs. She stood up to greet them.
Soarruk stopped in front of her, "This is Vrel Cyran. He leads the third fist of the Merkradh Vrel." Soarruk turned to Cyran, saying something in the orc tongue, part of which sounded like
Astera
.
The older orc beat his clenched hand over his heart twice, bowing at the waist to her. When it was obvious he was waiting for some sort of response, she gave a stiff curtsy.
"Hello, Vrel Cyran," she said. She couldn't pronounce the words quite right, but neither of the men corrected her.
"We shall travel with some of his fist through Thelfare today," Soarruk said.
Not much was known about the
Merkradh Vrel,
the Orc King's infamous army. She wondered how big a
fist
was, and how many other leaders he had. She bit back the volley of questions, trying to focus on the most important.
"Is your
entire
army going to travel through the city?" Her hands nervously twitched against the material of her dress at the thought. Tension would be high, and there was always a chance any altercations between the humans and orcs could end bloody. An entire army could destroy the city easily.
Soarruk's eyes narrowed. He took a step forward. Astera shuffled backwards, attempting to keep the space between them. She tripped over the rocks, stumbling backwards, but Soarruk reached out to steady her. His hands gripped her forearm and back. He closed the distance between them, his body pressing into hers. She stiffened under his touch.
She had never been this close to him in the daylight. He had somehow found time to shave, his skin clean and smooth. He tipped her chin upwards, so she was forced to look him in the eye.
Her throat bobbed, eyes nervously casting to the side to avoid the intensity of his stare. She fought against the urge to move or push out of his hold. She wanted to prove his touch meant nothing to her.
He leaned down to the side of her face. Her eyes fluttered closed, her body tensing, waiting for his touch. His breath was hot against her skin. She could feel his nose brush over the side of her jawline. Her lips parted softly.
He is so close
.
He inhaled deeply and murmured, "My warriors are well trained. But if you are so afraid, do not leave my side."
He pulled back slightly, dark eyes meeting hers. They simply stared at each other for a moment. Astera shook her head, suddenly remembering Cyran was still standing there. She pulled herself out of Soarruk's hold.
