Author's Note: This story was requested by an anonymous user, an obvious person of culture. It was originally to be edited by Jemima, the editor, but an email-related SNAFU has made it impossible for me to receive her messages. I just wanted to let you know I recommend her wholeheartedly.
Enjoy!
On the third night of the third week of their trek across the steppe, Blood Black's concubine brought Fire White her weapons.
"You are to come to his yurt at the eighth hour," the concubine said, as she helped Fire White out of her torn clothes, exposing her lithe, unnaturally white body and the taut, wiry muscles underneath.
Fire White watched, as the woman's gaze lingered on her body, her touches lingered over the small of her back, her thighs as she undressed her. She was so engrossed in her elfin beauty, she barely noticed Fire White sliding her curved blade from its sheath, almost soundlessly, only to rest the tip of it against her chest. A mere touch was enough to draw blood.
"What makes Blood Black think I will come?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You are stranded in the middle of the steppe, your home and allies scattered three weeks' ride away from here, surrounded by the brunt of the might of the Orcish horde. Do you really think you have a choice?" the concubine said. Without a word, Fire White withdrew her weapon, placing it back into its sheath.
"Draw me a bath. And bring me clothes. I will not appear before your warlord naked like some tribeswoman," Fire White said. The woman complied.
***
The Orcish horde struck the Borderland like the waves of a raging ocean, smashing into their defenses only to retreat, regroup and strike again, as soon as any force could be mustered. They descended on their cities like the wrath of God themselves, killing any they would find, only to return, so they could enslave or execute the mourners.
Fire White had fought them, time and again. She had pursued their mounts and killed their champions. She and her braves had bled their giants with a million nicks from their swords. They fought with the majesty and the finesse of a three thousand year civilization...
And yet the savages, in their starving, monstrous masses, their near-feral horses ran almost ragged across the endless steppe, tore them apart.
"They are hardy creatures. Like iron," the concubine offered as she washed Fire White's hair with scented water. Her white-gold hair shone against the torchlight, the water spilling down across her body, making her glisten like a goddess.
"Iron is common. It can be melted, shaped, beaten into a useful shape. These creatures..." Fire White said, looking over her shoulder at the misshapen Orc that stood by the entrance to her yurt, sneaking glances at her with its one good eye. Its jaw dropped at the sight of her slender back, the mere hint of her round and perfectly shaped behind. Too late, it turned its attention away from her, "they are less than impure ore."
"And yet here you are, their captive," the concubine said, running her sponge down Fire White's neck, letting the water pool between her small breasts, moving down to trail the edge of her areolae. The sensation was arousing, but White Fire maintained her composure.
"What is your name?" White Fire said, leaning back against her bath as the concubine's touch moved down her body, across her breasts to her belly.
"I have no name, my lady. But Blood Black calls me Favorite," the woman said, her free hand reaching down to test Fire White, her thumb and index finger teasing her nipple, the other moving further down below, to the hairless sex between her legs. Fire White broke away from her touch, motioning toward her clothes.
"Bring me my clothes, Favorite; the hour approaches, and I would be done with your master," Fire White said.
***
Even in the gaudy attire of a taiga noblewoman, Fire White was as beautiful as a vision, her mere presence drawing the eye of the Orcish tribesmen that gathered to whoop and call to her, as she made her way to Blood Black's yurt. Her weapons, strapped to her waist, gave her some comfort and Favorite followed closely by, lighting her way.
"Out of the way, Shark Tooth. Your father wants to see this one," Favorite told the giant sitting by the entrance to the yurt, its mouth filled with rows of filed, pointed teeth.
"Search her then," Shark Tooth mumbled as he reached to grab Fire White with one hand, the top part of the middle finger missing "head to toe."
"Your brother was Iron Jaw, wasn't he? I took his eyes before I cut his throat," Fire White said, "you lost the top of that finger to my sisters that day."
"Dirty Elfin slut. I'll crush you," Shark Tooth roared and reached for Fire White.
There was the briefest flash of silver in the moonlight, then Shark Tooth fell to the ground, clutching the stumps of where his pointer and middle finger used to be. Favorite screamed and tore at her dress, rushing to bandage the wound.
"My boy! My sweet boy!" she cried. Fire White stared in confusion as the giant clutched at the stumps that had been left of his fingers, when the voice came from behind her, a deep and rumbling baritone.
"I see I was right to trust you with your weapon. Come, Fire White. I will see you now."
***
Blood Black was an anomaly among his kind: while he shared the hulking physique of his race, he was not misshapen or blighted with cankers. He wasn't cursed with eyes or vestigial limbs. His skin (despite its emerald green color), was man-like and neither scaled nor rubbery, like most males of his kind. And his stature, while tall, was neither hunched nor bow-legged from the saddle.
From a distance, Fire White thought, one might even take him for a man.
"Will you break bread with me?" Blood black offered, presenting the gilded tray of meat and bread and sweet things, the goblets full of fermented milk of mare.
"I would rather stand," Fire White said, looking down at Blood Black as he lay on the floor pillows by the drink table.