Warband

"I'm not a boy, I'm a Paladin. As soon as I turned seventeen, I joined the order to do my duty and slay monsters like you."

"Aye, and how long ago was that then?"

"If you must know, about a year."

"So ye are a bloody kid then?" She smirked as his face turned red and he started to fume.

"Well a kid slew at least ten of yours, so what does that say about Orcs?"

"That ye ain't as smart as ye think ye are. I had that town scoped out before ye even arrived. I knew that if I threw enough Orcs at ye, ye'd retreat into the town square. All I had to do was make sure that we killed enough of ye before that happened so that ye couldn't cover all the streets. So what happened, brave little Paladin? Ye got overrun, ye were fucked from the moment ye set out."

That startled him, and he stared at his bare feet. Orcs were not supposed to be strategists, all of the books in the library back at the monastery described them as thoughtless beasts who roamed in hordes and attacked targets of opportunity. Rather than simply being overwhelmed by violent animals, the Paladins had been outmaneuvered. It didn't make sense.

"Don't look so glum, boy. Why dwell on the past when ye have so much to look forward to?" He shot her a dirty look, and she laughed at him, exposing her serrated tusks. "I think we're gonna have a lot of fun together, Paladin. What's yer name, anyway?"

"You may call me Paladin, or Sir Knight, Orc."

She grinned, wiping her discolored lips with the back of her hand.

"I think I'll just keep callin' ye boy, seen as you like it so much."

Bevan lay back in the straw and watched the clouds pass overhead, trying to ignore the Orc's taunting. He closed his eyes and started to sing a hymn, a plea of divine protection in the old tongue. The Orc listened in silence for a while, perhaps enjoying the tune as she walked, her armor clanking and rustling. The other Orcs seemed indifferent, uncommunicative, they marched in no recognizable formation and paid no attention to the conversation or the songs. After a while his captor interrupted him, breaking his meditation.

"So what does that song mean? Is it a prayer?"

"Yes, the twelfth sermon of divine mercy. It's a call for protection against evil and a blessing of purification."

"Ye say that as if I should be concerned. Are yer Gods going to strike me down where I walk?"

"The Gods do as they will, mortal men cannot command them, nor beg favors. I merely purify my soul in preparation for whatever their plans for me may be. I accept my fate, whatever they have chosen. Clearly, my trials are not yet over, and I have more to accomplish before I can meet my brothers in Paradise."

The Orc glanced at him, less snark now and more...pity?

"Why are ye so quick to throw yer life away? How can ye be ready to die if ye haven't lived yet?"

"This world is fleeting, Orc, though I wouldn't expect an evil creature like you to understand the divine. Materialism is an illusion, a distraction. You cannot buy your way into heaven with the gold you steal from these poor villagers, and you cannot bribe the Gods for their favor. Your body will die one day, but your soul will live forever."

"Aye, I'll die one day, but isn't that all the more reason to enjoy meself while I can?"

"The pleasures of this world are base and ephemeral."

"Says the boy who hasn't spent a day outside his monastery since he came of age."

"That's not true," he snapped, annoyed. "I've traveled plenty, I've seen much of the kingdom, and what I haven't seen I've read of in the library."

"Have ye ever lain with a woman? Gotten drunk in a tavern and fought yer friends? Done anythin' for yerself that yer parents or yer Paladins didn't arrange for ye?"

Bevan reddened and turned away, staring out at the withered trees as they passed by the cart.

"Aye, I thought as much. I pity ye religious types, yer Gods give ye a whole world to play in, going by yer scriptures there's nothin' here they didn't invent. Have ye considered they made loose wenches and tall mugs of frothin' mead for yer own benefit? Hell, they gave ye a cock and two hands, then told ye not to play with 'em. It's like givin' ye flint and kindling and tellin' ye not to make a fire."

Bevan's face burned, and he began to sing another hymn in order to block out her obscenities. The Orc shrugged, her heavy boots sinking into the muddy road.

"Ye can't just block out things ye don't want to hear, kid."

***

They marched for hours, their destination unknown to Bevan as the cart trundled through mud and potholes, bouncing and shuddering. The sun began to get low in the sky, and there was still no settlement in sight. They had nowhere to take shelter, nothing but empty fields and patches of woodland. At least the previous night's rain had passed them by, but it had left the earth wet and slippery, even the horse struggled through the uneven terrain.

The big Orc called out to her soldiers in their crude language, and they turned off the road and into one of the islands of forest that dotted the farmland. The canopy blotted out the waning light of the sun, casting him into darkness inside his cage. The twisted trunks of the gnarled old trees passed by the cart as they reached a clearing and came to a halt. Were they stopping here for the night? Camping out in the open air? He prayed that they wouldn't just leave him exposed to the cold wind overnight, but to expect mercy from these beasts was folly.

He watched as the Orcs unloaded heavy packs and rolls of fabric, and after maybe a half hour of activity they had erected a small village of tents, a roaring fire crackling in the center upon which metal pots and pans brewed unfamiliar stews and soups. He hoped that he would not become one of the dishes.

The big Orc walked to the back of the cart and withdrew a large, iron key from a pouch on her belt. She unlocked the door of his cage with a mechanical clunk, and Bevan scurried away to the far end. She rolled her eyes and beckoned to him, her black fingernails pointed like claws.

"Come on, boy. Ye ain't going anywhere with no shoes, and we ain't gonna eat ye."

Bevan inched towards her warily.

"Man flesh tastes like shit anyway, I prefer pork," she added with a toothy grin. She laughed as he recoiled. "I'm jokin' ye big baby, now come out here so I can feed ye. A dead slave is of no use to anyone."

It didn't look like he had much of a choice. He scooted over to her, refusing to take her hand as he dropped unsteadily from the cart and into the cold, wet mud. He felt the dirt between his toes and pulled a disgusted face. The Orc laughed at him again, her hands on her wide hips.

"This way, Sir Knight. Get some stew in ye while it's hot."

She was right, there was no way that he could make a break for it in these conditions without any shoes, he'd be too cut and bloody to walk by the time he got out of the forest. Where was his gear? Did they intend to sell it? His stomach gurgled audibly, and suddenly the idea of stew didn't sound so bad. He followed her to the campfire and sat down gingerly, still sore and bruised from the beating that she had meted out in the village.

There were a few other Orcs milling around the fire, stirring the food as it boiled and chatting in their odd language. Most had removed their armor, and with a start, Bevan realized that they were all female. He couldn't see a single male among them.

"Where are the men?" he asked, looking up at the tall Orc. "Did we kill them all?"

She put a hand to her mouth, chuckling at his confused expression.

"Nah, we had no men. Ye think too highly of yer Paladins, boy."

Bevan scowled and watched the flames dance in the glowing embers.

"This here is my warband. If ye think female Orcs are violent, ye ain't seen males before. Practically fuckin' feral. I don't like dealin' with 'em, except when the mood takes me, if you know what I mean."

She laughed at his disgusted expression.

"Why am I alive?" he blurted abruptly. She was taken aback, and waited for him to elaborate. "I killed at least a dozen of yours, you killed the rest of my brothers, why spare me? Don't you hate me?"

"I don't hate ye, boy. War is business. We attacked ye, ye fought us, that's the way it goes. If we wanna take what ain't ours by right, then we gotta expect to lose a few soldiers in the process."

"It's not business to us," Bevan snapped, indignation in his tone. "You attack innocent people who have done you no wrong and who can't defend themselves. You kill them, steal everything they own, sell their families into slavery. You're evil, abhorrent. I hate you, and I'll kill you the first opportunity I get."

"Now that's just impolite, do ye want to go back in yer cage?"

He shook his head, crossing his arms and seething.

"It's just business kid, it ain't personal. Not like an Orc could get honest work round these parts with yer bloody Paladins marching around tellin' all and sundry that we're demons."

"Are you not?"

The Orc shook her head in exasperation, leaning towards the campfire in order to spoon soup into a wooden bowl, then she handed the steaming brew to him. He took it reluctantly, putting it to his mouth and sipping the hot liquid warily.

"I didn't kill ye kid, because yer brave, and ye fought me good and fair. If there's one thing Orcs respect, it's bein' a brazen little shit and trying to punch above yer weight. Yer only little, and ye weren't any real threat to me. Don't make that face, it's not an insult. Most men woulda begged, and I woulda killed 'em for it, but ye were good and ready to gut me. I guess that amused me. Orcs have children too ye know, I'm not about to kill a young man when I could just as easily take him as a slave."

"Is that my fate then? Slavery?"

She drank deeply from her own bowl, pausing to chew a floating vegetable.

"We'll see. Dunno how much a scrawny kid like ye would be worth to pirates. Can't picture ye climbing rigging and swabbing decks. Where the fuck did ye come from anyway? Ye act like ye never seen mud and grime before."

"A noble house, and I won't tell you which. I gave up my inheritance and my title when I joined the Paladins, so you won't get any ransom money for me. I hold no value to my family."

"Alright, alright, point taken. Now why the fuck would a highborn like yerself give up a life of luxury and leisure to join an order of warrior monks with staves shoved so far up their arses they shit splinters?"

Bevan sipped again, the brew warming his belly and taking the edge off his anger. He allowed himself to relax a little. He was in no immediate danger, not right now. Might as well eat while there was food going, and the conversation could be worse if he looked past the Orc's vulgarity.

"I took an interest in the scripture and came to the conclusion that a comfortable, safe life would hinder my admission into heaven. I took a vow to live and die in the service of the Gods in this life so that I might enjoy their rewards in the next."

"How noble of ye," she said sarcastically. "Most people in this world spend their time wishin' they had a few moments of comfort and safety, but ye were born into it, and ye squandered it."

"There's no nobility in a life of luxury," he snapped.

"And do ye think there's nobility in war? Look where ye are, boy. Bloody kids think ye know everythin' don't ye?"

Bevan took another drink from his bowl, sulking as she lectured him.

"Ye should consider yerself lucky to be alive, lucky to have come across me and not some ugly cunt who'd kill ye for the sport of it. I didn't put ye in that battle, that was yer own doin'. Maybe yer Gods are lookin' out for ye after all."

"You should have just killed me..."

"I could kill ye right now if that's what ye want."

He shook his head, and picked up a twig, prodding at the orange embers as the flames crackled around the cooking pots.

"I liked ye more when ye were talkin' shit. Yer no fun when yer sulking. Only kids sulk ye know."

"That's not true," he mumbled.

"Oh aye, little kids."

"I'm not a little kid, I'm a man. I've fought in battles."

"Battles don't make ye a man, I've been in plenty of battles, and I didn't grow no fuckin' beard. Only one thing'll do that for ye, and ye ain't done it yet."

His face reddened, and he turned to look away, a knowing smile spreading across the Orc's lips as she leaned closer to whisper in his ear.

"If ye ain't been with a woman, ye ain't no man."

"Ridiculous, all Paladins are celibate. It's part of the vow we take in service of the Gods. There is no force on this earth more corrupting and more likely to lead a noble man astray than...that."

"That may be, but there ain't no force on this earth more likely to change yer perspective on base, earthly matters than a good lay."

Bevan rose to his feet, placing the bowl down on the ground.

"If you keep up this kind of talk I will indeed return to my cage."

"Alright, sit back down you fuckin' prude." She placed her large hand on his shoulder and forced him back to a sitting position, her strength was impressive. "Ye ain't never been curious though? Not even once? Never wondered what all the fuss was about?"

"I took a vow before the Gods, there is purity in virginity, and I will not give in to earthly temptations. To do so would dishonor me and sever my connection with the Divines."

"So if ye get a taste of heaven in this life, ye can't go there in the next? Harsh."

"Fornicators don't go to heaven."

"That sounds like somethin' ye were told, not somethin' ye believe."

"Can we please change the subject?"

"Last time I checked ye were my prisoner. I spared yer life, now let me have some conversation with me supper." She picked up his bowl and refilled it with a ladle, spooning in chunks of vegetables and herbs, along with what might be meat or bread. Despite the offensive line of questioning, Bevan was hungry...

"Fine," he snapped as he took the bowl from her and ate, more eagerly now. The Orc watched him with a smile as he wolfed down the stew.

"My name is Gharol, by the way."

"Bevan," he replied through a mouthful of soup.

"Well, there we go, Bevan. Ain't this more civilized?"

She stood and lifted up her armor, pulling the great mass of dented metal and leather up and over her head. She discarded it on the ground nearby and sat back down, her ample chest bouncing as it settled, unsupported in her sweat-stained tunic. Her bust was massive, yet it had been completely hidden by her thick armor. Bevan caught himself staring at the crack of green-tinted cleavage that peeked out from beneath her clothing, then looked away quickly. Noticing that he was looking, she stretched her arms into the air, yawning and letting her breasts fall heavily as she relaxed.

"Sorry Bevan, am I tempting ye? For a celibate yer certainly eager to cop an eyeful, ye little sneak." He didn't reply, electing to stare into the flickering campfire as he fished for a stray piece of bread with his fingers. Gharol nudged him with her elbow, a smirk on her face. "Ye can have a look if ye ask me nice like." He ignored her, his eyes fixed on his soup. "Oh, yer no fun. Vows this, Gods that. I'm a noble Paladin, so I 'ave to wear a potato sack and only drink rainwater."

"I'm not wearing a potato sack."

"I know, I undressed ye."

Bevan coughed into his soup, and she laughed at him, slapping her armored knee with a heavy hand.

"I ain't in the habit of strippin' corpses, but yer armor should fetch a decent price. Maybe some nobleman will want it for his girly son."

"Did you keep me alive just to mock me?"

"Aye, a little bit. I'll tell ye the truth, young Bevan. It gets mighty fuckin' boring out here. All we do is eat, sleep and fight. Once ye spend a few years with the same group of people, ye start to get tired of always hearin' the same lines of conversation. Ye impressed me with yer shit talkin', and ye got spirit, I like that. I figure ye can provide me with some entertainment until we get back to the port and I can sell all this shite."

"Doesn't look like I have a choice..."

"Aye, ye don't."

Gharol called to one of her Orcs, and it brought her a wooden mug filled with some kind of frothing liquid. Bevan watched her put it to her lips and take a long draw, eventually pulling away with a gasp and a grin.

"Ah! That's good mead. Ye want a sip, boy?" Bevan shook his head, nursing his bowl of soup. "Oh come on, ye take one sip of beer and yer excommunicated? What petty Gods ye have."

She drank deeply again, licking the froth from her lips with her dark green tongue. Some of the foam spilled down her chin, the mug hindered by her impressive tusks, falling to her chest. It slipped down between her breasts, the trail of foam following the contours of her bosom, sliding between them and out of view. Bevan tracked it with his eyes, an uncomfortable and unfamiliar sensation rising in his belly. He turned back to the fire as she lowered the mug and opened her eyes again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Ye don't know what yer missin' kid. This is life right here, not yer sermons and scriptures."

"Why must you try to tempt me?" he asked, "is it not enough that you defeated me in battle and took me captive? You denied me my rightful death, and now you want to take away my piety too?"

"I just think ye need to live a little, did yer experience at the village not teach ye how precious life is? How fleetin'? If ye don't try new things now, then when? Ye might be dead tomorrow."

"I don't fear death."

"Aye, but what I'm sayin' is, ye should. Ye think yer ready for the next life because ye followed a bunch of rules from some musty old books, not because ye had yer fill of earthly life. Now tell me, are yer Gods gonna condemn yer soul to eternal torment because ye took a swig of mead?"

He thought for a moment, staring into the flames as they licked at the cooking pots and the stew bubbled, steam rising into the night air.

"Probably not..."

"That's more like it!" she laughed, thrusting the mug into his hands. He sniffed at it, the smell of honey filling his nose. He pressed the rim of the mug to his mouth and took a slow sip. It burned his tongue like fire, leaving him sputtering and hacking as Gharol took the mug back from him, the Orc doubling over as she watched the tears pour from his eyes. She composed herself as he shoveled soup into his mouth, trying to drive off the taste.

"Hey, nobody said ye'd like every new thing ye tried, but it's a start." She patted him on the back, almost knocking him out of his seat. "Now ye can say ye tried mead, that's one thing crossed off the list." She wrapped her massive arm around him and pulled him closer to her, pressing his face up against the side of her breast, the coarse fabric of her tunic scratching his cheek. He struggled, but she held him there, her green bicep bulging. She smelled sweaty, musky, but not unpleasant. There was something to her scent that tickled at the back of his brain, nagging at him, distracting him. "Come on kid, let's put the past behind us and be friends, eh?"

"You're...my enemy," he grumbled, his voice muffled by her headlock.

"I ain't yer enemy kid, we just met on bad terms, that's all. Clean slate, whaddya say?"

"If I say yes...will you let me loose?"

"Probably, ye'll have to try it and find out." She squashed him further into her bust, the surprisingly soft and pliant flesh deforming enticingly beneath the damp material. Bevan began to grow extremely uncomfortable, his face turning redder the longer she held him. Was she doing it on purpose? He tapped her arm with his hand as he tried in vain to free himself from her tight grip, her skin as smooth as silk, warm to the touch. From beneath it, her firm muscles bulged, her bicep alone was near the size of his head.