Tammy's Fated Orc Foreman

Prologue

Ripplan

The late afternoon sun hung low over the jagged spine of the Rockies, washing the granite peaks in strokes of molten copper and rose gold.

I guided Starlight along the western fence line, letting the big Friesian stallion set a steady rhythm against the packed mountain dirt.

The breeze came down sharp and clean from the snowfields, carrying the sharp tang of wild sagebrush, dried pine needles, and the warm, earthy dust kicked up by several hundred heifers bedding down for the evening.

It had been six long years since we crawled out of the underworld and claimed our place beneath this boundless expanse of blue.

I shifted slightly in the saddle, listening to the familiar groan of oiled leather beneath my thighs.

Even now, after hundreds of surface sunsets, the sheer openness of the sky made my chest expand with a quiet, fierce ache.

For decades of my youth, darkness had pressed down like a physical slab of granite against my skull.

Some mornings I still woke with my heart hammering against my ribs, bracing myself for the cold ceiling of a collapsed shaft, only to open my eyes to heavy timber ceiling beams and a wide window framed by starlight.

The rush of relief never failed to humble me.

My brothers and I had been deep miners in the old country below.

We were the crew that went furthest into the black, swinging heavy picks through subterranean heat during shifts so brutal that the natural cycle of day and night was stripped from our minds.

Other Orc clans had looked down on our family for working the deep veins.

They treated us as though the soot and stone dust had sunk beneath our green hides and permanently stained our bloodlines.

My jaw tightened at the memory, and I guided the horse with a slight nudge of my heel. I would gladly take their petty judgment if it meant keeping this wide, clean sky above my head.

The initial mine breach in Alabama had exploded into chaotic terror, ending in inevitable bloodshed before anyone knew how to bridge the divide between two worlds.

Fortunately, the human president had possessed the wisdom to sit across a council table from our king rather than ordering an endless, bloody war of extermination.

The treaties were hammered out and signed in good faith.

Across the continent, Orc clans emerged into the blinding surface light for the first time in centuries, scattering toward the high places where stone met timber.

Most of our kin had chosen to build fortress-like settlements tucked deep into the mountains, craving the familiar weight of cliffs towering at their backs for security.

My brothers and I had wanted something far more dangerous. We had wanted room to breathe.

Starlight let out a heavy snort, shaking his dark mane until his silver bit jingled in the twilight. I reached down to pat the warm, muscular arch of his neck. "I hear you, boy. We are nearly home."

The ranch opened up before us like a living tapestry, stretching across more than five hundred thousand acres of rich mountain valley, pine forests, and high alpine meadows.

We had paid for every last acre with sacks of raw emeralds and uncut gold nuggets pulled from deep veins where human drills had never reached.

The human land baron who sold us the deed had stared at our payment with wide, trembling eyes, clearly convinced he was fleecing a pack of naive subterranean brutes.

He had no idea that our people had been stockpiling the earth's greatest treasures for centuries. The fortune we traded for this ranch had barely dented the family vault.

Learning the cattle trade had nearly broken us during that first brutal spring.

We lost calves to late blizzards, watched valuable heifers turn lame from toxic weeds, and had an ill-tempered bull nearly take Maclan's ribs out before we understood the instincts of surface animals.

Raw gold solved what ignorance could not.

We hired seasoned ranch hands who knew how to work with cattle and cared far more about a generous paycheck than the tusks on their employers' jaws.

Most of them were decent, hardworking men who gave an honest day's labor for top dollar.

Brylan had taken to the commercial side of the ranch with an aptitude that surprised us all.

My older brother had always possessed a calm, methodical mind, but within months of learning human bookkeeping, he was navigating Denver livestock auctions, locking down high-end beef distribution contracts, and turning a handsome profit before our second winter set in.

Movement caught my peripheral vision along the tree line.

Khaden was making his way across the northern pasture with a field-dressed buck draped across his broad shoulders.

Even across the distance, his silent, fluid gait was unmistakable.

Down in the mines, Khaden had been able to navigate blind shafts purely by smell.

Up here, under the open air, he was an unmatched hunter.

He kept our cold room stocked with elk and venison, tracked down stray calves in the roughest timber, and rescued more than one lost ranch hand from oncoming mountain storms.

Over by the main barn, Maclan was working in the round pen with a skittish sorrel mare we had bought at auction the previous week.

He stood quietly at the mare's shoulder, resting one heavy, callused hand against her neck while murmuring low Orcish phrases into her flickering ear.

Maclan possessed a rare, quiet patience that animals recognized immediately.

In the deep mines, he had tamed the blind cavern drakes that tore other miners to shreds, and he treated thousand-pound surface horses with that same unshakable respect.

Thin ribbons of gray smoke rose from the forge behind the equipment shed, signaling that Xrylen was still at work.

Our youngest brother was barely twenty-three when we breached the surface, yet his gift for metalwork was legendary among our people.

Down below, he had forged custom mining picks and diamond-tipped chisels.

Now, he hammered out perfectly balanced horseshoes, heavy structural hinges, and intricate iron gates that sold for exorbitant sums in the galleries down in Denver.

The humans in Leadville might whisper behind their hands when he walked into town, but they never turned down his craftsmanship.

The main house rose like a fortress against the lower hillside, its thick spruce logs glowing with warm amber light from the kitchen windows.

Thurlee was clearly preparing supper. Our aunt had raised all five of us after a tunnel collapse claimed our parents, acting as the fierce anchor that kept our family from falling apart in the dark.

When we announced our intention to buy surface land, she had packed her iron skillets and wool blankets without a single complaint. Wherever her boys went, she went.

I nudged Starlight into an easy trot toward the stables.

The horse knew the routine by heart, lengthening his stride as the scent of sweet hay caught the wind.

My muscles held a deep, satisfying ache born of a hard day in the saddle, a clean exhaustion that felt nothing like the suffocating weariness of the tunnels.

Above the ranch, the sky faded from dusky purple to indigo, with the first brilliant stars burning through the crisp mountain air.

In the black tunnels below, I hadn't known that stars existed at all.

I had never known the silver glow of the moon or the sweet scent of rain falling through pine needles.

I had never known how much life was waiting outside the dark.

StoneSteel Ranch was our creation, carved from sweat, stubborn pride, and sheer refusal to hide away in caves. The locals in Leadville did not always welcome us, but the ranch was lawful, the taxes were paid, and our deed was etched in iron.

As I dismounted in front of the stable doors, my boots hitting the dirt with a solid thud, Maclan caught my eye and gave a single, knowing nod. We had worked side by side for too long to waste breath on idle greetings.

I paused on the threshold, turning to sweep my gaze along the darkened ridges one last time. A restless instinct prickled along the back of my neck, the subtle warning hum that a miner feels right before the stone shifts overhead.

Life in the tunnels had taught me that nothing stayed quiet forever. Change was coming, riding the mountain wind.

Whatever it was, we would meet it head-on, standing tall in the light.

I led Starlight inside to his stall, eager for the warm hearth, Thurlee's hearty stew, and the rowdy sound of my brothers' voices.