3. Varkul
Varkul
They came from the skies in metal birds.
Humans.
One bird became many. In the old days, our unstoppable horde would have crushed them like insects beneath our boots. Our axes would’ve tasted their soft flesh. Their skulls would have adorned our thrones.
It would have been glorious.
But the old days are gone.
The orc tribes of Xavros are dwindling. Every year, fewer and fewer babes are born. Fertile orc women are as rare as silver-backed graruks, and our clans have spilled oceans of blood fighting over the few fertile women that remain.
The wars have cost us dearly. Too many young warriors have died. Too many clans have fallen. The relentless bloodshed has only weakened us.
Now, we are not even strong enough to drive out these soft-fleshed invaders. The humans keep to the fringes of Blackfang territory, but I am no fool. Their numbers grow. More metal birds arrive every day.
The humans carve out their little settlements in our lands, like bugs gnawing at the roots of an ancient tree. They seem insignificant — until it’s too late.
It is only a matter of time before we are forced to take up arms against them.
The thought of dying with a blade in hand, bathed in the blood of my enemies, is a far better fate than watching my proud people fade into oblivion.
But if we strike too soon, Clan Blackfang will be wiped from history. The humans are physically weak, but their weapons are strong. We must tread carefully.
Garomshir steps into my war tent, his face grim.
“Warlord, a human messenger has arrived.”
I drag a hand through my thick beard and consider my options. My first instinct is to add another skull to my collection.
“Let him enter,” I say.
Let’s see why this fragile outsider dares to step into my lands.
The human enters my tent. He is thin and pale, wearing thick-rimmed glasses. His dark hair is slicked back with oil.
My fingers curl around the handle of my axe. One strike and his blood would paint my tent. His death would send a clear message to the human interlopers.
The human speaks.
“Varkul, the Blackfang Warlord.”
His voice is soft and weak, yet he speaks the orc tongue surprisingly well. For an outsider. He bows deeply, giving me the respect that I am due.
“My name is Dr. Kelly, and I come with an offer that will interest you.”
I lean forward on my throne, already irritated. “Speak quickly, human. I do not have time for your games.”
“Oh, but you will make time for me, warlord.” He smiles. A knowing, smug smile that stokes my anger. “For you see, I am offering you the chance… to sire children.”
My grip on the axe loosens, my mind momentarily blank.
“What did you just say?”
Dr. Kelly’s smirk widens. He knows he has my full attention now.
“Children, great warlord. That is what you desire most, is it not? I know the struggles your proud, strong people face. I have the answer to your troubles.”
A growl rumbles deep in my chest. “Then spit it out, human!”
“Why the rush, warlord?” That pale rat has the audacity to toy with me. “Is this how you treat all your guests?”
In a single motion I surge to my feet, seize him by the collar of his shirt and lift him into the air. His glasses go flying as his feet dangle uselessly.
“Tell me what you know this instant or I’ll rip out your spine and use it as a necklace,” I growl, tightening my grip. “Speak!”
The human flails in my grasp. “Ah, uhh—y-yes! W-well!” He swallows hard. “I-I believe that orcs can mate with h-h-humans!”
“ Humans ?”
My grip loosens in pure shock.
I drop the human.
Dr. Kelly crumbles to the ground, scrambling for his fallen glasses. He shoves them back onto his nose, then straightens, brushing himself off like I hadn’t just nearly ended his miserable life.
“Humans?” I repeat, my voice low.
“Yes. Humans,” he nods. “It is a distinct possibility — one that requires future research. That is why I am spearheading the development of the Orc-Human Fertility Research Clinic.” He pauses, clearly savoring this moment. “Or ORC , for short.”
I stare at him.
“So why are you here?” I ask. “Bring me a human female and I’ll test this… preposterous theory.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
Dr. Kelly removes a cloth from his coat and polishes his glasses. He’s back in control of the conversation, and he knows it.
“As Warlord of Clan Blackfang — the premier clan in this region — you are undoubtedly the strongest and most virile male orc specimen for hundreds of miles,” he says. “If anyone can prove orc-human compatibility, it is you.”
“What is your point, human?”
“I am asking you to come to my research clinic. Voluntarily . I want to study you.”
My eyes narrow. “If this is a ploy by my enemies to lure me away from Blackfang territory?—”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He raises both hands as if in surrender. “I assure you, warlord, this is purely scientific. Come to my clinic, and you will be well cared for. That is my personal guarantee. And if it turns out that orc men are indeed compatible with human women… you will be free to choose your mate from any of the fertile women at my clinic.” He smiles, slow and deliberate. “That is a promise .”
I trust this human about as far as I can throw him.
And yet…
What if is there is truth to this words?
What if our future does not lie in war, but in the wombs of human women?
The thought is heresy .
But it just might be the only way to save my people.