Chapter 4
Melelea
Twenty-Seven Years Ago
My baby fusses until I can get him latched onto my breast, his ragged cry tearing through the moving caravan.
Luckily, Guruk is riding his warbeast with his new mistress at the front of the processional, far from the covered wagon where I am with Rognar.
I get him on my breast and his cries quiet, much to my relief.
Nothing enrages my husband more these days than the rasping voice of our orcling, the proof that his sibilance is broken.
Never mind that it was the actions of my husband that brought us to this point.
It will only be a matter of time before I must put myself between Guruk and our son, and I dread the day.
Still, I am a troll. I am strong. I can bear the weight of Guruk’s anger when my baby cannot.
At least my husband is in a celebratory mood lately, making it easier to avoid his ire.
Goetia has finally fallen before our troops, the Northern Horde having brought the mighty trading nation to its knees.
Goetia lasted longer than anyone expected, since their access to the coast meant that it was hard to cut them off from supplies.
But with the sound strategy of General Wodred, and the tenacity and brutality of the Horde, our foes have fallen.
Guruk will make sure that Goetia pays dearly for their stubbornness in holding out against Orik.
He plans to exact a tithe that will cripple them and take a large chunk of their lands.
My heart bleeds for them, but I say nothing.
Not only because Guruk will never listen to me, but I also suspect that my father, the king of Trillin, may have secretly aided Goetia in their struggle, and I do not wish Guruk to turn his eye back to my country.
It is not the brave or honorable thing to do, to keep silent, but I don’t know what else to do.
My time with Guruk has taught me to be a coward in many ways.
Sometimes I don’t recognize myself anymore.
But those are foolish thoughts. Thoughts that someone in my position can ill-afford to have.
Preservation of myself and those I love is all that I can care about.
My son drinks his fill and grows sleepy, unlatching from my breast and curling into me as he settles for a nap.
Warmth spears me at the sleepy cuddle. He is my sweet in the bitter, the calm in my storm.
I will do anything for my baby, anything to keep him safe.
As he gets deeper asleep, however, the wagon lurches to a stop abruptly, causing the bench I’m sitting on to jostle violently.
My heart sinks, but, by Vena’s grace, Rognar stays asleep.
I breathe a sigh of relief, just as one of the orc guards comes to the back of the wagon.
“King Guruk requires your presence,” he says carefully, his emotions shuttered behind a stone veneer.
I appreciate his kindness in this. Some of the other guards have picked up on my husband’s treatment of me and have taken to treating me with disdain as well.
Guruk does nothing to stop it, not wanting to look like he cares about me at all when others are there to see it.
I know that many of the guards and Warchiefs laugh at me and call me a weak female behind closed doors, that my name inspires pity more than anything else.
Politeness with an emotionless delivery is the best that I can hope for.
“Thank you,” I tell him sincerely. “I will be there shortly.”
I carefully place Rognar into the baby sling hanging off of my shoulders, getting him secured before moving to the back of the wagon.
Surprisingly, the guard stays and holds out a hand to help me down.
I give him a quick smile at his thoughtfulness, but don’t dare show more approval than that.
Though Guruk has shown me that he is free to sow as many oats as he wishes, he remains very jealous of my attentions to other orcs.
He accuses me constantly of wanting to leave him for another male, and nothing I say will convince him otherwise.
So I must be conscious of my expressions at all times so that nothing is reported to him that could bring his anger down upon me or an innocent orc.
I make my way to the head of the processional, escorted by the guard, only to find Guruk flirtatiously kissing his new mistress, an ogress named Jalla.
I like Jalla. She is kinder to me than other mistresses have been and is even kind to Rognar.
She is Guruk’s latest attempt to have more offspring, one stronger than my son, a quest he started right after Rognar was born.
He refuses to believe that our orcling will grow up to be strong enough to be king and wants to sire more children.
I protested the first time he brought another female to the castle for this purpose, but he laughed at my hurt.
“You’re the daughter of a concubine,” he’d said derisively. “What more can you expect?”
So I’d been silent since about the parade of females that he’d brought into the kingdom and failed to impregnate.
I know that he’s getting more desperate and cruel the longer it takes for him to have another orcling.
I also know that he somehow blames me for his failure, even though, since that first protest, I have been nothing but welcoming and patient with his mistresses.
I feel a stab of shame now, though, as he kisses Jalla in front of the leaders of the Northern Horde while I bring his son to him.
It is one thing to have such things happen at the court in Ilustan, where everyone is already familiar with my low status and the disdain that Guruk treats me with.
Having him demonstrate my lowly place in front of a new audience makes the humiliation feel fresh.
Still, I don’t let my distress show. It will only give Guruk something to complain about later. So I place a serene, placid expression on my face.
Guruk finishes kissing Jalla and then turns to acknowledge me.
“Ah, General Wodred, you remember my wife, Melelea?”
I turn to the general, still keeping my face serene.
Wodred looks the way I remember him from that night at the feast in Trillin.
Handsome and troll-like, with double tusks and a curling set of horns.
Quietly powerful, intense, and unreadable.
The way he looks at me is confusing. Why does he stare so intently at me?
Do I have something on my face? Self-consciously, I tuck an errant hair behind my horns.
“It is good to see you again, General,” I say diplomatically.
“And you, Lady Melelea,” the orc general rumbles. “Congratulations on birthing the king a fine son.”
The air grows quiet and tense. It is common knowledge at court that Guruk does not consider our orcling a “fine son.” But the news of his displeasure with me must not have reached the war front.
That knowledge makes me feel both relieved and worried at the same time.
Relieved that they do not know of my shame; worried that any moment Guruk could enlighten them and humiliate me more than I already am.
Guruk laughs, breaking the tension. “That orcling? He’ll be fine enough for carrying on the bloodline, but my child with Jalla will be something to truly behold.”
“Are you expecting another child, then, My King?” Wodred asks.
I tense at the question yet again. I wait for Guruk to explode, as he often does at court, but again he laughs.
“I expect the news soon,” he says jovially. “The seed of ka Woreki is strong, is it not?”
“Indeed, My King,” Wodred answers evenly. Then, thankfully, he changes the subject. “Your rooms have been prepared for you in the king’s wing, as well as rooms for your retinue. Tonight, the first night of the victory feast will begin, and the Horde awaits your permission to begin the Bride Chase.”
“After such a hard-won victory, the Horde deserves some pleasure. And you, General? Will you partake in the Bride Chase this time around, or are you Brother Wodred still?” Guruk asks as if he is teasing an old friend.
Strangely, Wodred’s eyes flick over to me, but they do not rest there overly long. Instead, he looks back to Guruk and says, “My heart is ever in Orik, My King. I will not partake in anything that will keep me from returning home as soon as possible.”
“So you are a monk still,” laughs Guruk. “You should think of the next generation, though, my friend. Our kingdom deserves someone of your bloodline. Jalla has sisters, you know.”
Wodred’s face remains unreadable. “You are as generous as ever, My King. But I’m afraid that home is the only thing on my mind.”
Guruk shrugs, moving his arm around Jalla to grasp her behind in a possessive grip. “Oh well. I’ll change your mind one of these days, old friend.”
Then he looks back at the rest of the retinue. “Come! First we unpack, then we feast!”
A cheer picks up from our caravan, and we all move to follow Wodred and his warriors into the opulent castle of Goetia’s king.
???
THE FEAST IS the same as the one I attended all those years ago in Trillin with Guruk.
The orcs relax and gorge themselves, while the people of Goetia serve us with an unease in their air.
I notice that it is all human males serving us.
They must be trying to keep the females away from the orcs, perhaps having heard whispers of the Bride Chase, but it will not work.
Besides, they have forgotten the orcresses.
There are sure to be a good number of the shieldmaidens who are chosen for Bride Chases, and they will pick from amongst the males.
There is truly nowhere to hide now that they have been conquered.