Smitten Ch. 01

This is my contribution to the Tales of Leinyere Story Event - thanks to Nouh Bdee for organizing everything, and for inviting me to participate (Nouh also created a great map - look up Leinyere in the Forum). Thanks also to my editors, Alianath Iriad and Lastman416. As usual, any remaining errors are mine.

*****

The ship shuddered again as another wall of water smashed into her. I could literally feel the planks of the hull contracting as the relentless waves pounded us.

I'm no sailor. I`d been spewing my guts over the side ever since we`d rounded the last headland out of the Bay of Portoa, a week ago. But even I knew the difference between pitching and rolling - and this. The Pelican was sliding sideways, and the masts leaned over so far that I thought they were going to plunge into the sea.

I was absolutely panic-stricken - and what made it worse was seeing that the Pelican`s sailors were just as terrified. Most of them had given up trying to work the ship, and were clinging to spars or ropes, just as I was.

We were going to die. My short life was flashing before my eyes. I was muttering a prayer to Tomuun, the Weeping Mother, but if the Goddess of the Sea was paying heed, she probably had plenty of other urgent prayers to listen to.

The Captain had chosen to hug the coastline, hoping that it might shelter us - at least partially - from what seemed like the worst storm to hit the north coast of Leinyere in the history of humankind. That proved to have been a catastrophic mistake.

The Pelican slammed to a halt. That sudden stop snapped both of the masts. The foremast toppled over the side, dragging quite a bit of the rigging with it - including the rope that I`d tied myself to.

I was literally flung overboard, catapulted into the air - and then into the sea. Maybe Tomuun had granted my prayer: my body didn't smash into the side of the ship. Nor did I strike a rock or a reef. I was simply plunged into the turbulent waves.

The water was shockingly cold. I remember a moment of anger; what kind of idiot Captain runs his ship aground? Then I realized that I was going to drown - or die of the cold - unless I could free myself from the wreckage of the mast.

I had a knife. I drew it, and began sawing at the rope around my waist. It wasn't easy - wet rope is remarkably resistant. The cold was numbing my fingers. Also, the waves didn't suddenly cease battering me and hurling me about just so that I could complete my task. Life just isn't fair.

I was going to die. And no one was going to give a shit. My father might shake his head, and suck his teeth. But there was literally no one who would cry over me. Nara might sigh, a little wistfully, remembering the good times - and then go back to whoever had replaced me in her bed.

That made me angry, and I frantically redoubled my efforts to sever the rope that was trying to drag me underwater.

I succeeded. The water swelled beneath me, and I was carried clear of the surface for a moment. I gasped in a breath of air, just as another powerful wave smashed into my chest.

It flipped me head over heels, and sent me flying several yards through the air. My body slammed into something solid.

That's all I remember.

***

My father owned a tavern in Portoa. He made a good living at it. I had three older brothers, and an older sister, which meant that the tavern wasn't going to be mine. If I wanted to remain in the family home, it would eventually be as little better than a servant to one of my brothers.

Father did what he could for me: he apprenticed me to a prosperous blacksmith named Wede. I worked like a dog for my new master, and learned everything I could about the craft of smithing. The expectations were quite clear: continue to work hard, and one day take over the smithy. Marry the owner's daughter, and support her parents as they aged.

Wede's daughter, Radka, was an excellent incentive: tall, golden blonde, and shapely, with sparkling eyes. Unfortunately, those eyes never sparkled at her intended husband. Radka generally looked down her nose at me.

She liked 'real men'. Warriors. The men who carried the weapons that her father and I forged. Never mind that most of them had never risked their lives - Radka couldn't hide her admiration for their physiques, and their 'manliness' (whatever that was).

I should probably be grateful that Wede's daughter saved me from a potentially horrific marriage. Radka turned up pregnant - and it sure as shit wasn't mine.

Wede felt obliged to take the father of his future grandchild into his home, but he was decent enough to want to do right by me. His daughter's little indiscretion was already the talk of the neighbourhood.

He wrote me a glowing letter of recommendation (useless anywhere in Portoa, where everyone knew the story), and gave me a tidy little sum in cash.

I promptly blew half of it on wine and mischief. I have never claimed to be particularly intelligent. It was fun, but even then, I knew that I was sliding downhill.

Then I met Nara. She was a widow, whose husband had left her reasonably well off. She saw my curly hair and bulging biceps (I was a blacksmith, remember?). I saw her long auburn hair and her wanton eye. It was lust at first sight.

Nara was a selfish lover, interested only in her own pleasure. She was a little past her prime, but still convinced that I owed her 2 orgasms for every one of my own. I have to say, though, that Nara taught me a great deal, unwittingly or not.

Is it any wonder that I thought of my first (and only) sexual partner as I died?

***

I awoke to a sharp pain in the back of my head. Someone had a firm hold on my hair, and was using it drag me across the sand. A moment later, that someone effortlessly flipped me over, onto my back.

- "Shara." I heard a guttural voice, dripping with contempt.

My eyes were encrusted with salt, and the sun was too bright. I squinted, trying to see the speaker. Then I wished I hadn't.

I saw a pointed ear, flat back against the side of a partially shaven skull. Furry black eyebrows, yellow eyes ... and green skin. The lips were partially twisted in a sneer, punctuated by a pair of sharp-pointed tusks.

An orc.

The creature wore a leather shoulder guard, and a half-shirt of animal skin loosely covered a pair of firm breasts. A female.

She had scars on her face, more on her arms, and several across her taut, washboard stomach. She also wore a bracer on one forearm, a loose loincloth, and a belt with a sheathed dagger. In one hand she held a crude axe. It didn't have to be sharp - it was heavy. I had no doubt that she could split my head open with it.

Tomuun, Goddess of the Sea, had spared me - but only so that she might hurl me into the arms of Kitara, Goddess of Vengeance (though what I'd done to deserve her wrath, I couldn't even begin to imagine). I would've been better off drowning. Now I was going to die in some grisly fashion.

I spit up whatever was left in my stomach: seawater, phlegm, and a little chunk of cabbage that I'd somehow kept down the day before. It's decidedly odd, the things you notice when you're too miserable and too hopeless to care anymore.

The orc grabbed my shirt, and pulled me up. I had trouble standing, though; my knees were too weak. With a bark of anger, she threw me back onto the sand.

I don't remember much after that. My entire body hurt - even my armpits were sore. My eyes began to run, which might have cleared away some of the salt, but also left me unable to see.

I heard other voices, equally harsh and guttural. They half dragged, half carried me off the beach. I had no way of knowing where I was, but honestly, it didn't seem to matter: I was going to die.

***

I woke on my back, lying on a patch of grass. I was in the shade, under a tree. What was left of my clothing had been thrown across my body. Someone had stripped me, and then simply tossed my shirt and breeches on top of me.

There were people moving about. No, not people - orcs. Some were smaller in stature. Quite a few were just as big as the monstrous female that had dragged me up the beach.

In front of me was a grassy clearing, dominated by an enormous dead tree. An oak. At some point in the past, it must have been struck by a mighty bolt of lightning, because the tree was split in half, from the very top of its wide trunk, to a point some fifteen to twenty feet from the ground. Yet, somehow, it still stood.

It was uncanny, in a way. Was this some sort of sign?

Some of the passing orcs looked my way, but none came any nearer. Nor did any of them address me. I saw a little tyke trotting by - a female child, I think. She had little tusks, separated by a pair of protruding buck teeth. She looked at me as if she'd seen a ghost.

I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. I'd never considered that there might be orc females, and orc children. Orclets? Obviously, they reproduced. I mean ... I knew that. It just wasn't something that had ever registered in my thoughts.

Then I immediately forgot what I was thinking. My mind went blank. There she was - the powerful female from the beach. She was striding purposefully towards me. That couldn't be good.

She was an impressive physical specimen. Her body wasn't just muscled - it was hard. She'd have made mincemeat of Radka, Nara, and twenty other women of Portoa. Damn ... she'd have crushed ten of the men.

The orc stopped abruptly about three yards away. She looked me over like I was a cut of meat at a butcher's stall. Then she spoke.

It sounded like 'Aargh-kachak-aargh-spit- shara?'. I recognized the word 'shara'. I'd heard it on the beach. The rest meant nothing. Was she challenging me to a fight?

She growled, and planted the axe blade in the grass at my feet. Then she unbuckled her belt, and dropped it - with the knife in its sheath - on the ground.

With two quick steps, she stood over me, and then dropped to her knees, straddling my thighs. With a flick of the wrist, she brushed aside my clothing. I was lying, naked, with this orc astride me.

She reached out with one hand, and wrapped her fingers around my penis. Then she grabbed my balls with the other hand.

I squealed like a stuck pig.

Now, I defy any man to predict exactly how he'll respond when a bear trap slams shut on his testicles. The orc's fingers were like steel claws. The air was flushed from my lungs, and my body bent in half - my legs were trapped beneath her, so it was my upper body that snapped to attention.

The orc simply released my dick, put her hand on my chest, and pushed me back to the ground. I was powerless to resist.

She resumed her hold on my cock, and began trying to pull it away from the rest of my body. That's what it felt like, at any rate.

I yelped, and she barked something at me. Then she moved forward, and released her death grip on my balls so that she could flip up her loincloth. A moment later, I felt her crotch pressing down on my groin.

Her pubic hair was like sandpaper. I felt her moist lower lips scrape across my shaft ... by all the Gods, she was wet!

Don't ask me why. I lunged upwards and swung my fist at her face. She pulled her head back at the last instant, so that my knuckles barely grazed her chin. Then she hammered her own fist into my ribs.

The orc released my testicles, but only so that she could punch me on the other side. I got my arm between her fist and my side - and regretted it. Her next blow caught me on the edge of the chin, just below the ear ...

And I was done.

***

- "Ah - you're awake." said a voice.

I opened my eyes, and turned my head slightly, which my sore neck didn't appreciate. There was a man seated close beside me. A human.

He had a white beard, white hair, and bright blue eyes.

- "What's your name?" he asked. Not 'How do you feel?', or "D'you think you'll survive?'. My arm had a huge black and blue bruise. At least one of my ribs felt cracked, or broken.

- "Myrthis." I grunted. Then I remembered my manners. "And yours?"

The old man smiled. "Been a long time since I used it. I was Vagnali, once. But they kept calling me 'Fagnali' - the tusks make it hard to pronounce the letter 'V', you see. They just call me Coopah - for cooper. That was my trade."

- "Were ... were there any more survivors from the Pelican? From our ship?"

- "I'm sorry, lad. They found two dead bodies on the beach. That's all, so far. The Pelican?"

- "Out of Portoa. Bound for Galtin's Port."

- "Ah ... Galtin's Port." The old fellow got a distant, dreamy look in his eyes. He seemed to be revisiting the ancient past - long before my time.

- "Where are we, exactly?" I asked.

Coopah snapped back to the present. He pointed straight ahead. "This is the Blasted Tree. And you, sir, are among the Red Knee Orcs."

- "Red Knee?"

- "From wading through the blood of their enemies."

- "Really?"

- "No." said the old fellow, with a smile. "It's more wishful thinking than anything else."

- "How long have you been here?"

- "47 years." he said, with a wistful sigh.

Mother of goddesses. I was shipwrecked - among the orcs.

"I was aboard the Swift Hound." said Coopah. "We were slave traders, out of Galtin's Port. I was part of a shore party, sent to fill our casks with fresh water. The orcs ambushed us. Two of the men were killed outright, but three of us were captured."

- "How ... how did you survive?"

Coopah sighed again. "Long story, my friend. Hopefully I'll get a chance to tell it to you. But you should put your clothes on, as best you can. The chieftain wants to see you."

- "The chieftain? Who is he?"

- "She."

Oh, shit. "It's not ... the one who knocked me out, is it? The one who found me?"

- "Umog? Goodness, no. You'd do well to steer clear of her."

- "Wait. Coopah - one more question: do you understand orcish? What does 'Shara' mean?"

- "Shara? Human."

The old man offered to help me to my feet, but I managed to do it by myself. He waited patiently while I pulled what was left of my clothes back on. I had to hold up my breeches with one hand.

Coopah led the way, moving slowly for my benefit. Several orcs looked me over; they didn't seem to have any reservations about staring. I didn't want to initiate any challenges that I wouldn't be able to back up. It seemed that the majority of the orcs we passed were female. But I didn't want to fight another female, if I could help it - not after the pounding Umog had given me.

He took me to the side of a low hill, where the orcs had dug tunnels, or caves, for shelter. A female with a spear stood at the entrance to one of these caves. She nodded once at Coopah as we approached.

I had to duck to enter. It was dark inside, but my eyes rapidly became accustomed to the gloomy interior. The cave was only twenty to thirty feet deep. There was a firepit, and some leather mats on the ground.

There was also the Chieftain.

She was big - nearly as big as Umog. Her skin was more of an olive green, and she had a full head of unruly brown hair. Her pointed ears stuck out more. She had three rings in her left ear, and another in her nose. Her tusks were thicker than Umog's - and shorter as well.

She was powerfully built, heavy-breasted, and bore scars all over body. One was across her forehead; another marred her chin. But her arms and legs were literally criss-crossed with scars. It seemed like a minor miracle that she'd survived all of them.

One physical feature of the Chieftain's truly struck me: she had brilliant blue eyes. I realized another thing, then - Umog was powerful, and brutish. This female looked strong, too, if just a little past her prime. But she also looked intelligent; her eyes were fixed on me, weighing and evaluating.

She pointed at one of the mats on the ground. Coopah was already in the process of sitting down, so I sat beside him.

The Chieftain spoke. I didn't understand a word.

- "Tell her your name." said the old man. "And where you're from."

- "Myrthis. Portoa."

- "Myr-re-tis." The Chieftain repeated her own approximation of my name. She didn't seem to care for the sound - or the feel of it. It might be that her tusks made it more difficult for her to pronounce the 'th' sound. She grunted at Coopah.

- "And what is your ... trade? Do you have a skill?"

- "Blacksmith." I said.

- "Are you really?" he asked.

I stuck out my forearms, to show him the scars; if you're a smith worth his salt, you get burned. When a smoldering spark lands on your skin, you can't yank your arm away, and spoil the work - that's all there is to it.

- "Beshkar." said Coopah. "Osh."[1]

- "Smit." said the Chieftain. Once again, she omitted the 'th'. Then she nodded, and nodded again. Finally, she grunted, and said a few words to Coopah - I did pick out the word 'Shara' - human. Much good that did me.

The old man began to stand up, so I followed suit. I gathered that we had been dismissed. We turned around, and exited the cave.

- "What did she say?"

The old cooper sighed. "That you have until this time tomorrow, Master Smith, to come up with a good reason why she should spare you. If you can't, she'll give you to Umog."

***

They fed me. Then I slept. It might seem to you that I should have stayed up all night, thinking of a way to escape Umog. But I was tired, and still very sore from the beating I'd endured - not to mention the shipwreck. To put it another way: I passed out.

I woke, and ate again. Of all people - or orcs - I was fed by the little tyke with the buck teeth. Her ears stuck straight out from the sides of her head, and she had incredibly red eyes, with narrow pupils, almost like a snake's.

But she also had a cute little button nose, and her eyes were alight with curiosity.

I had no idea what the orcish words for thank you was - or if there even was an equivalent. So I settled for some words I did know.

- "Smith." I said. Then I considered her little fangs and her enormous front teeth. "Smit. Osh." I hoped that I gotten the word for iron correct. Then I pointed at her, and raised my eyebrows.             

The little orc touched her chest, and raised her eyebrows. I nodded. She pointed at me.

- "Smit?"

I had to smile, but I also nodded again, and pointed back at her. She grinned, and pointed at herself.

- "Snak!"

I couldn't help smiling. Little Snak (if that was truly her name) giggled, and ran off, shouting 'Smit!', and pointing back in my direction.

That little interaction made me feel at least ten times better. It was time to go about trying to save my life.

I didn't have to search too hard: Coopah was lounging in the shade not twenty yards away. I went over to him.

- "I have questions." I said. "Can you help me?"

- "If I can." he said. "I want you to join us. It'll be nice to have someone to talk to."

- "Would the Chieftain really give me to Umog?"

- "Yes. Of course."

- "But ... why?"

- "Because she said she would."

- "What?"

- "Look, Smith: orcs have a strict code of honor. They use runes, for writing, but their culture is largely oral. The spoken word is their bond. If you say something, you have to stand by it. One of the worst insults in their language is 'Ur'gora'."

- "What does that mean?"

- "It's hard to translate. It's ... 'not honor'. Lying, or shirking your duty. Cowardice."

That gave me food for thought. But I had limited time, and I needed answers to quite a few questions.

- "Tell me something, Coop - the Chieftain understands the common tongue, doesn't she?"

The old man wasn't a practiced liar. He stiffened, and looked at me.