Chapter 2: Soap and Water

The plateau loomed ever larger on the horizon, coming to dominate the scenery, the flat-topped mountains seeming to rise from the flat grasslands at their approach. The terrain was rocky, with steep cliffs that transitioned abruptly into bare rock faces, yet there was a surprising amount of greenery here. Far from being the arid wasteland that Rian had imagined, these valleys were filled with dense pine forests, the grass and foliage creeping its way up their walls like moss. They entered at the mouth of a river that wound its way through one such valley, following it deeper into the natural barrier, Rian finding himself craning his neck in awe. To think that he had been only a few days’ march from sights like these, and he’d never had any inkling.

There were no tracks or roads here, so the ride was a little bumpy, the horses struggling to navigate the slopes in places. As the elevation increased, the wild grasses that had dominated the plains gave way to carpets of yellow flowers, violet foxgloves, and purple thistles. The Orcs had indeed chosen a fine location for their colony, and one that would be nigh unassailable to any rivals.

After some hours, they came to a clearing where the pine trees thinned out at the edge of a gentle river. The Orcs had built a crude but sturdy wooden bridge that crossed it, and on the other side, nestled at the foot of a cliff, was the settlement.

Calling it a colony was a bit of a stretch. From what he could see from afar, it appeared to be a small village of maybe a dozen huts of varying sizes encircled by a defensive wall made from wooden logs, some of them sharpened and angled out to deter any would-be attackers. There was a single gate that marked the entrance. The two large tree trunks that flanked it were adorned with a collection of runic carvings, animal skulls, and bone decorations. Far from being macabre, it was quite colorful, many of the skulls being festooned with bright paint. The only structure beyond the wall was a ramshackle fence that contained a few more grazing horses, one of the animals lifting its head at their approach.

Their little convoy crossed the rickety bridge and headed through the open gate, Rian getting a better view of the settlement from the inside. The dwellings were not too different from their tents, albeit much larger, being two or even three times the size of an average home in his village. They were circular in shape with conical roofs, a hole at their apex letting out smoke from the hearths that must be burning within. Rather than stone, daub, and thatch, they were made from a framework of wood over which heavy canvas and felt were stretched. The material seemed to be stitched to the frame, judging by the ribbons that had been threaded through it. The covering was decorated with more colorful, elaborate runes and patterns in shades of red, blue, yellow, and green. The only stone construction that he could see were the foundations upon which each dwelling was sat, the rocks packed with dirt to keep them in place. Instead of tent flaps, each of the structures had a wooden door standing in a frame.

He could see a few wood structures, including what seemed to be storehouses, a pig sty, and a goat shed. The animals were penned in behind fences, and he could see a couple of pigs already eating from a trough. Everything was arranged in a ring around a central courtyard, the dwellings standing at different elevations from one another, with those nearer the cliff being built on higher ground. There were footpaths linking them, but they were only made of dirt, frequent use leaving them bare of wildflowers.

A small handful of Orcs emerged from the buildings to watch the carts arrive, the procession coming to a stop in the middle of the open courtyard. Perhaps the bulk of the populace had left with the raiding party. They approached to help as the travelers began to unload their haul, carrying great sacks of grain and chests of loot to the storehouses, the harsh Orcish tongue filling the air as they directed one another. It didn’t take them long to notice Rian, one of the Orcs balking as he opened the cage to grab a pig. Rian simply gave him a smile and a friendly wave.

Sharog quickly appeared to explain the situation, a gaggle of Orcs assembling to get a look at Rian when they overheard the conversation. She lifted him down off the cart, keeping a tight hold on his arm, leading him away across the muddy courtyard as the others resumed their work.

“So, this is your colony?” he asked, glancing around. “I have to admit, I was expecting something a little... bigger.”

She led him to one of the large tent-like structures that was perched high at the base of the cliff, guiding him up the dirt path. When they arrived, she pushed open a wooden door suited to people of her stature and hauled him inside. As he stumbled over the threshold, he was once again surprised by the scale of everything. His former home could have fit inside this one three times over.

It was a vast open space without any walls, the only dividers taking the form of folding screens made from decorative fabric stretched over a wooden frame, arranged to block areas from view or provide privacy. The floor was lined with planks, which were covered by colorful rugs in places, intricately woven like tapestries. He could easily see the exposed wooden skeleton of the structure from inside, and the thick support pillars were bridged by wooden panels to create a kind of rigid wall around the circumference of the room, a few of those playing host to more decorative rugs.

He was surprised by the amount of furniture. There were comfortable couches strewn with pillows and soft blankets, storage chests and shelves for their belongings, tables and chairs for dining. Everything was decorative – either painted, woven, or carved with reliefs. It was a far cry from his spartan, functional furniture, where no thought had been put into its design beyond its immediate utility. These were clearly things that they had brought with them or made since their arrival, rather than things they had stolen. Great care and pride had been put into them.

At the center of the room was a firepit that served as a hearth, as he had gathered from the opening in the ceiling. It was dug into the floor and lined with large stones, a heavy iron spit telling him that it was used for cooking as much as for heating. Up against the wall was a large pile of chopped firewood and tinder waiting to be used. The home was large enough to warrant four huge wooden support pillars that were arranged around the firepit, branching out at the top to help hold up the conical ceiling. While there were no windows, the nature of the structure’s fabric lining allowed some sunlight to penetrate, creating a diffuse, warm glow inside the room.

It wasn’t only more pleasant than the skull-filled hovel he had imagined – it was downright comfortable. Lavish, even. He’d been inside shops in the village owned by wealthy merchants, and even those had not been this nicely furnished and welcoming. There were a few grisly trophies here and there – animal skulls mounted on pillars and racks of weapons on the walls, but even a Lord would not have turned up his nose at such accommodations.

“You will stay here and await our return,” Sharog declared, releasing her hold on him. “Do not leave without permission.”

“So, this is to be my prison?” he asked as he glanced around. “What a terrible fate...”

“This our hut,” she explained. “All our property and spoils are here.”

“Including me.”

“You learn fast,” she chuckled, patting him on the back and making him stumble. “Behave yourself. Do not try to escape or cause problems, or we chain you.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” he muttered.

“I go help unload carts. Stay.”

“You got it,” he replied, turning to watch her leave the hut through the wooden door. She closed it behind her, leaving him unsupervised for the first time since being captured.

He began to walk around the circular room, examining the furniture and the odd items that lined the shelves. There were curiously shaped bottles that could contain any manner of substances, crude tools fashioned from iron, more skulls, and fetishes made from feathers and bone that could have some religious significance. There were plates, utensils, pottery and wood bowls. There were quite a few human items taken as loot. Some were helmets and pieces of armor that he recognized, while others must have come from cultures he’d never heard of. There was an odd mask carved from wood and decorated with symbols, along with stone knives and odd talismans.

He peered up at the racks of weapons on the walls, finding a similar collection of mismatched loot. There were swords of all sizes, knives, shields, and even a halberd taken from some unfortunate knight. They might be purely decorative, perhaps too small or too dainty to be favored by the Orcs. The greenskins had their own rack of weapons off in another part of the hut, featuring more of their crude iron axes and other, more suitable arms for people of their strength and stature.

The idea to take a knife and cut through the fabric at the rear of the structure came to mind. He could flee into the forest and perhaps try to make his way back, but why? He was unlikely to be able to navigate the valley and the plains alone, without food or water, and what awaited him back in the fief other than serfdom? This hut was luxurious compared to his hovel of daub and thatch, their table scraps fed him better than his regular meals, and what work could they put him to that would be harder than toiling in the fields? He would much rather stay here as a pampered servant, being fed venison and doing whatever menial tasks his captors came up with.

No, it was fine. It was good. Unless the Orcs decided to mistreat him, their raid might be the best thing that had ever happened to him, not that they seemed to know it.

He explored more of their hut, finding beds and couches softer than anything he had ever felt before, stuffed with feathers and piled high with warm pelts of fur and wool. The beds even had wooden frames to lift them off the ground, meaning that no rats would be able to bite the occupant while they were sleeping. The Orcs had bathtubs inside their home, like giant half-barrels large enough to fit several humans at once. There were three of them, one for each Orc, made of wood bound together with rings of iron. It was easy to imagine them heating buckets over the giant firepit and filling the tubs with steaming-hot water – a comfort that even a noble might not enjoy regularly. Rian had never taken a hot bath – he washed in the river every Sunday.

Speaking of which, he realized that he still stank of pig shit. He’d been sitting in that cage with them for nigh on three days without a wash or a change of clothes. It was much more apparent now that he wasn’t surrounded by the animals. He’d better not sit on any of the furniture...

He didn’t have to wait long for his hosts to return, the door opening as the three women made their way inside, their muscular arms laden with spoils. They were carrying large chests that would have taken two men to haul between them, with more loot piled on top. There were more weapons, fabric and fine clothes probably stolen from the nobles, and some sacks. They set their haul down near the firepit, paying no attention to Rian as they began to sort through it. He hovered nearby, seeing the glint of gold and jewels as Ghorza opened one of the chests. There was more wealth in that trio of chests than he could even fathom. What were they going to do with it? What use did they have for coins and gold out here in the wilds?

“You must be Urami,” Rian said, clearing his throat as he approached the third woman. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

She turned her head, crouched low as she sorted through some colorful silks, her brow furrowing and her teeth exposed in a snarl. He recoiled as she growled at him, Ghorza laughing at the interaction.

“Urami not like humans much,” Sharog explained apologetically.

“Alright, good to know,” Rian muttered as he backed away. He had only seen Urami from afar, and up close, he could better appreciate all of the bone piercings that adorned her scowling face. There was one through her nose, her pointed ears were filled with them, and she had patterns of what looked like purposefully inflicted scars adorning her face beneath the stripes of blue paint. They extended to her shoulders and chest, as though someone had taken a sharp blade and left hundreds of small wounds that had healed into raised bumps. She was just as heavily built as her companions, sculpted muscles bulging from beneath her tan skin, her leather outfit creaking when she moved.

“First thing,” Sharog began as she rose to her feet. “Turnip boy, you stink of pig.”

“Really?” he replied sarcastically. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Dirt tender must be used to smell,” Urami snarled, her voice husky and intimidating. It was about the lowest timbre he could envision a woman producing.

“Turnip boy!” Sharog continued, getting his attention. “You know how to make fire?”

“I’m sure I can manage,” he replied.

“Wood is over there,” she said, pointing to the heap of chopped logs across the room. “Start fire, then fetch pail of water from river. You need bath.”

“On that, we can agree,” he sighed.

Rian set about getting the fire going as the three Orcs stored their loot, loading it up with tinder and logs. The Orcs used flint and steel to start their fires, and it didn’t take him long to have it roaring, the smoke rising up towards the hole in the ceiling.

“You’re fine with me leaving the village?” he asked as Sharog thrust a heavy iron pail into his hands. “You’re not concerned I’ll just ... run away?”

“Where you run to?” she replied with a shrug. “You not warrior, you not hunter – you dirt tender. To run is to die.”

“You might say that I am bound by invisible chains,” he sighed as he walked to the door. As he made his way out into the courtyard with the pail in hand, he saw several Orcs still unloading the carts and going about their business. The pigs and chickens had been transferred to pens, and they were hard at work carrying heavy sacks of grain and other goods to the storage sheds. Several of them paused to watch him as he navigated the steep, muddy footpath, but none of them moved to intercept him. Had Sharog made it clear that he was her property, or like her, did they believe that the very notion of escaping was self-defeating?

He passed the carts and headed through the open gate, walking beyond the wall with no guards to stop him. The familiar scent of manure reached his nose as he passed the fenced-in horses, making his way to the riverbank a short distance away. The bank was mercifully rocky and sandy rather than the mud he was accustomed to, and he quickly filled the heavy pail. Being Orc-sized, it was quite an effort to get it back to the hut, Rian having to haul it up the sloping footpath. By the time he had hung it above the firepit to warm, Sharog had another one ready for him.