Chapter 3 Chapter two

tamis.Foxton was in a state of heightened tension, directly and inevitably attributable to the fact that his master was now very angry.When they brought the orc baby back, Blackmoore acted as he would on the battlefield: alert, excited, focused. The orc threat was proving to be less and less, and the nearly daily battles that used to be exciting were becoming more and more boring.Group arenas are becoming extremely popular, giving people a chance to vent their pent-up energy as well as a small chance to make some money. This orc would be raised under direct human control, and with the speed and strength of the orc, combined with the knowledge imparted by Blackmoore, it would become invincible in the upcoming competition.

But the ugly little creature would not eat and had grown paler and weaker over the past few days.No one says that, but everyone knows it.The beast is dying. This angered Blackmoore.Once, he grabbed the little monster and tried to stuff chopped flesh down its throat.He nearly succeeded in suffocating the orc he named Thrall, and when Thrall spat out the flesh he had stuffed, Blackmoore threw the orc on the straw, cursing, striding Leaving the stable where the orcs were kept temporarily. Now Tamis followed his master with the utmost judgment, choosing his words more carefully than ever.And, more, he encountered Lieutenant Blackmoore with a bottle - sometimes empty, sometimes not - flying behind him.

His wife Kleinia, a blond, pink-cheeked woman who works in the kitchen, puts a plate of cold food on the wooden table in front of him and massages Tamis as he sits down to eat Tight neck.Compared to Blackmoore, the stocky, loud cook looked like a true paladin. "Any news?" Clenia asked hopefully.She sat awkwardly next to him at the rough wooden table.She just had a baby a few weeks ago and is still a little sluggish.She and her oldest daughter, Teresa, had eaten hours earlier.Unbeknownst to either parent, the girl who had been sleeping with her little brother in the cot by the fireplace woke up when her father entered.Now she sat up, wearing a nightcap over her yellow curly hair, and watched and listened to what the grown-ups were saying.

"Yes, it's all bad news," Tammis said heavily, putting a spoonful of congealed potato soup into his mouth.He chewed, swallowed, and continued. "That orc is dying. No matter what Blackmoore feeds him." Clenia sighed and went about her tinkering.Silver needles flickered back and forth, sewing a new dress for Terasa. "That would be great," she said softly. "Blackmoore had nothing to do to bring that stuff into Dunholde. Those grown-ups screaming all day are annoying enough. I can't wait for those internment camps to be built so they aren't Dunholde anymore Germany's problem." She trembled a little.

Teresa watched quietly.Her eyes are very big.She heard mumbled murmurs about an orc baby, but it was the first time she'd heard her parents talk about it.Her young mind began to think.Orcs are big and scary, with sharp teeth, green skin, and deep voices.She had only glimpsed them, but had heard all the stories.But a tiny baby isn't going to be huge and scary.She glanced at the small figure of her younger brother.As she watched, Faralin moved, opened his little rosebud mouth, and announced with a piercing cry that he was hungry. Kleinia stood up lightly, put down his sewing, picked up his son, bared his chest, and nursed the child. "Tarasha!" she scolded, "you should go to bed."

"I just fell asleep," Teresa said, getting up and running to Dad. "I heard Dad come in." Tammis smiled wearily, letting Terasa climb onto his lap. "She won't go to sleep until Faralyn is full," he said to Clenia. "Let me hold her. I rarely have time to look at her. She grows like a weed." He squeezed his daughter's face lightly, and Terasa giggled. "If that orc dies, all of us here will suffer," he went on. Teresa frowned.The answer is obvious. "Daddy," she said, "if he's a baby, why are you feeding him meat?"

The two adults stared at her blankly, a little dizzy. "What do you mean, little one?" Tamis asked loudly. Teresa pointed to her brother who was nursing. "The baby sucks, like Farallin. If the mother of that baby beast dies, he has no milk to eat." Tamis continued to stare, and then a smile slowly crept across his weary face. "From the mouth of a child," he whispered, holding her daughter tightly as Terasa squirmed protectively. "Tamis..." Clenia's voice was a little nervous. "My dear," he said.He held Terasa in one arm, and with the other he reached across the table and grabbed his wife. "Terry is right. As savage as they are, orcs nurse babies just like we do. Our best assumption is that the orc baby is only a few months old. It definitely doesn't eat meat, and it doesn't even have teeth What?" He hesitated, but Clenia's face had gone pale, as if she already knew what he was going to say.

"You don't mean...you can't make me..." "Think of what that means to our family!" Tamis explained. "I've served Blackmoore for ten years. I've never seen him so excited about anything. If that orc survives because of us, we'll have enough to eat and nothing to want!" "I...I can't," Clenia stammered. "Can't what?" Terasa asked, but they ignored her. "Please," Tamis begged. "Just for a short while." "They're monsters, Tammy!" Clenia cried. "Monster, you...you let me..."

Covering her face with one hand, she began to whimper, and the baby in her arms continued to nurse calmly. "Dad, why is Mom crying?" Terasa asked anxiously. "I'm not crying," Clenia murmured.She wiped the tears from her face and forced a smile. "See my dear, everything is fine." She looked at Tammis and swallowed hard. "Your dad just wanted me to do something, that's all." When Blackmoore heard that his servant's wife had agreed to be nurse to the dying orc baby, the Foxtons were inundated with presents.The precious cloths, the freshest fruit, the carefully chosen meat, the finest beeswax—all began to appear at the door of the cottage that called them home.Soon, that house was replaced by another one, which was more spacious.Tamis was given his own horse, a beautiful thoroughbred he named Ladyfire.Clenia, now known as Mrs. Foxton, was no longer at the helm of the kitchen, but was with her children all day, tending to all the needs of what Blackmore called his "special project".Terasa got nice clothes and even got a governess, a fussy, kindly one called Geralmine?Schisson's, sent to teach her to read and collaborate like a lady.

But she was never allowed to speak of the little being who had lived with them for a whole year and had become the only baby in the family after Farahlin died young in a cold.As Thrall began to learn to eat a disgusting concoction of blood, milk, and porridge with his own little hands, three armed guards arrived and wrestled him from Tyrasha's grasp with great difficulty.She cries to protect Thrall and gets a rude beating for her behavior. Her father held her to silence, kissing the bright red paw prints on her pale cheeks.After a while she quieted down, agreeing, like an obedient child she wished to be, that Thrall would never be mentioned again except on special occasions.

But she swore she would never forget the strange creature who was almost like her little brother. will never. "No, no. Like this." Geralmine?Schissen walked up to his student. "Hold it tight, with your fingers, here... and here. Well, it's better. Now move like this... like a snake." "What's a snake?" Thrall asked.He was only six years old, but already as tall as his governess.His broad and thick fingers held the delicate pen with difficulty, and the clay board in his hand kept slipping out.But he was stubborn and determined to learn the letter that Geralmine called "S". Geralmin blinked his eyes behind the glasses. "Oh, of course," he said to himself. "A snake is a reptile without feet that looks like this letter." Sal suddenly realized. "Like a worm," he said.He often treats the little uninvited guests who come to his cell as snacks. "Yes, like a worm. Try again, this time by yourself." Thrall stuck out his tongue slightly, concentrating.A crooked mark appeared on the clay tablet, but he knew it looked like an "S." He proudly handed the clay tablet to Geralmine. "Very well, Sal! I think it's time to teach you numbers," said the governess. "But first, it's time to learn to fight, eh, Thrall?" Thrall looked up and saw the figure of his master, Blackmoore, standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall.He walked in, and Thrall heard the door lock from the other side.He never wanted to run away, but the guards always seemed to want him to. Immediately, Thrall crouched down as Blackmoore had taught him.Blackmoore gave him a gentle pat on the head, indicating that he was ready to get up.He staggered to his feet, suddenly feeling taller and clumsier than usual.He looked down at Blackmoore's boots, waiting for what his master had in store for him. "How's his lesson going?" Blackmore asked Geralmine, as if Thrall didn't exist. "Very good. I didn't expect orcs to be so smart, but..." "He's not smart because he's an orc," Blackmoore interrupted, his voice so sharp it made Thrall cringe. "He's smart because the humans taught him. Never forget, Geramine, and you." The boots turned to Thrall. "You can't forget that either." Thrall nodded desperately. "Look at me, Sal" Thrall hesitated, lifting his blue eyes.Blackmoore's eyes were fixed on him. "Do you know what your name means?" "No, master." His voice sounded rough and low, not as pleasant even to himself as the graceful lilt of a human voice. "It means 'slave', which means you belong to me." Blackmoore stepped forward and poked the orc's chest with a stiff forefinger. "It means I own you. Do you understand?" For a moment, Thrall was so stunned that he didn't answer.His name means slave?When man uttered the name, it sounded so wonderful, he thought it must be a good name, a worthy name. Blackmoore's fist came up and slapped Thrall.Thrall's thick skin made the orc feel little, despite the lieutenant's best efforts.Then, one blow hurts him so badly that his master is hitting him!Thrall raised his large hand to his face, his black nails clipped short. "Answer when you are questioned," said Blackmoore sharply. "Do you understand what I just said?" "Yes, Lord Blackmoore," Thrall replied, his low voice sounding like a whisper. "Fine." Blackmoore's angry face turned into an approving smile.His teeth were very white against the surrounding black goatee.Soon, everything will be fine.Thrall felt a burst of relief.His lips seemed to curl up, trying to mimic Blackmoore's smile as best he could. "Don't do that, Thrall," said Blackmoore, "it makes you look uglier than you are." Immediately, that smile disappeared. "Lieutenant," Geralmine said softly, "he's just imitating your smile, that's all." "Well, he shouldn't be like that. Humans laugh, orcs don't. You say his lessons are going well, don't you? Can he read and write?" "He has read to a very high standard. As for writing, he knows how to write, but his thick fingers have trouble resting some letters." "Very well," said Blackmoore again. "Then we no longer need your services." Salton took a breath and looked at Geralmine. "He doesn't know anything about numbers, or history, or art..." "He doesn't need to be well versed in history, I'll teach him the necessary numbers myself. Also, what does a slave need to know about art? Hmm? I suppose you think that's a waste of time, Thrall?" Thrall briefly remembered the time when Geralmin had brought him a small statue and told him how to carve it, and how they had discussed how the blue and white piece of cloth he wore as a baby was woven.That's "art," Geralmine once said, and Thrall can't wait to learn more about how to make those beautiful things. "As my master wishes, Thrall thinks so too." He said obediently, contrary to the true feeling in his heart. "Very well. You don't need to know that stuff, Thrall. You need to know how to fight." Blackmoore uncharacteristically extended a hand and placed it on Thrall's broad shoulder.Thrall stared at his master in awe. "I want you to learn to read and write, because that might give you an advantage against your opponents one day." I'm ready to see you master every weapon I've ever seen.I'll teach you tactics, Thrall, and tricks.You will be famous in the arena.When you show up, thousands of people sing your name, how about that sound, huh? Thrall watched as Geralmin turned to gather his things.It ached Thrall's heart to watch the pen and clay tablet disappear into Jeramine's bag for the last time.Jeramine glanced back hastily, walked to the door, and knocked.The door opened for him, he stepped out, and then the door closed and locked again. Blackmoore was waiting for Thrall's answer. Thrall learned quickly and didn't want to be beaten for hesitating to answer.He said to his master, pretending to be willing, "That sounds exciting. I'm glad the master wants me to go this way." For the first time in his memory, Thrall the orc came out of his cell.He watched in amazement as four guards surrounded him, with Blackmoore leading the way, through many winding stone corridors.They went up a flight of stairs, passed through, and descended a spiral staircase so narrow that it seemed to trap Thrall in it. There was a light at the end that made Thrall blink.They approached the light, and the fear of the unknown began to slowly rise in Thrall's heart.Thrall froze when the guards in front of Thrall walked into the area.The guard was tawny, not the familiar gray of stone.Something like that guard black object was lying on the ground, following them closely. "What are you doing?" Blackmoore called. "Come out, the others locked here are eager to go for a walk in the sun." Thrall knew the word. "Sunshine" was what went through the splints of his cell.But that has so much sun!And what are those weird black objects?what are they Thrall pointed to a black humanoid object on the ground.To his shame, all the guards started laughing.One of them immediately wiped the tears from his face.Blackmoore blushed. "You idiot," he said, "those are just—in the name of the Light, have I ever seen an orc afraid of his own shadow?" He gestured, and a guard poked Thrall's back.Even though his naturally thick skin protected him, the sting sent Thrall forward. His eyes burned, and Thrall raised his hand to shield his eyes.But that sudden warmth on his forehead and back made him feel good.He lowered his hands slowly and blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the sunlight. A huge green thing appeared before his eyes. Instinctively, he straightened up and yelled at the thing.The guards laughed harder, but this time, Blackmoore nodded approvingly at Thrall's reaction. "It's a warrior figure," he said. "It's just made of burlap and padding and paint, Thrall. It's a troll." Thrall felt another pang of shame.Now he took a closer look and saw that it wasn't alive.The straw made the warrior doll's hair, and he could see them being stitched together. "Is this what real trolls look like?" he asked. Blackmoore chuckled. "It's just the shape," he said. "It's not for simulation, it's just for practice. Watch." He held out a gloved hand, and a guard offered him something. "It's a wooden sword," Blackmoore explained. "A sword is a kind of weapon. We use wooden ones for practice. As long as you use this practice enough, you can continue to change to a real one." Blackmoore held the sword in both hands.He sank, and charged at the practice troll.He hit it hard three times, once on the head, once on the body, and once on the prosthetic arm holding the cloth weapon, with no confusion in his stride. Blackmoore's breathing was just a little heavy, and he turned and trotted back. "Now you try it," he said. Thrall reached out for the weapon.His thick fingers wrap around it so tightly that it fits better in his palm than a pen.It feels good too, almost familiar.He adjusted his grip, trying to do what Blackmoore had just seen. "Very good," Blackmore said.He said to one of the guards, "See? He was born. I knew he could. Now Thrall... attack!" Sal ran quickly.For the first time in his life, his body seemed to move as he wanted it to.He lifted the sword, and to his surprise, a roar burst from his throat.His legs jumped almost of their own volition, carrying him toward the troll doll in a smooth, swift motion.He raised his sword—oh, that was so easy—and drew a smooth arc toward the troll figure. With a terrible bang, the troll doll flew into the sky.Salton suddenly felt that he had done something very wrong.Thrall's grace turned awkward, and he staggered a few steps, hitting the ground hard and feeling the wooden sword snap under his body. Thrall's legs trembled, and he crouched down, sure that he was going to receive a terrible punishment.He broke the troll figure and broke the practice sword.He's so big, so stupid... Loud applause echoed in the air, unlike the usual ones for Geralmine, the silent guards, and Blackmoore.Thrall didn't communicate much with humans, and he must have not learned to distinguish praise from their quiet din, but he had a strange guess that it wasn't an angry voice.He raised his head warily. Blackmoore grinned from ear to ear, as did the guards.One of them was banging his spears together, making a loud clatter.Blackmoore laughed even harder when he saw Thrall. "Didn't I say he'd exceed all expectations?" cried Blackmoore. "Well done, Thrall! Well done!" Sal blinked, a little puzzled. "Am I... doing that right?" he asked. "That troll and that sword... I broke them." "You did a great job! Just the first swing of a sword and the troll flew across the yard!" Blackmoore quickly quelled his slight gaffe, putting his hand on the orc in a friendly manner.Thrall felt nervous, then relaxed. "Imagine you're in the arena," Blackmoore said. "Imagine that troll is real and your sword is real. Imagine your first charge and you give it such a hard blow and it falls to the ground. Don't you think that's a great thing Something wrong, Sal?" The orc thought he agreed.His big lips wanted a toothy grin, but he resisted the urge.Blackmoore had never been so happy with him, so kind to him, and he didn't want to do anything to spoil it. Blackmoore pressed Thrall's shoulder heavily, then turned to his men. "You!" he yelled at a guard. "Bring back that troll in the back, make sure it's strong enough to take a powerful blow from my Thrall. You, go get some more practice swords. Bring me five. Thrall can take them all break!" Out of the corner of his eye, Thrall saw something move.He turned to see a tall, thin, curly-haired man dressed in bright red, black, and gold that identified him as one of Blackmoore's servants.Beside him was a very short, blond human.It looked nothing like Thrall thought the guards would be.He wondered if it was a human child.The man looked frail, wearing not the trousers and tunics of the others, but long ones that fluttered and swept the floor.Is this, a female human child? His eyes were fixed on the blue pupils of the child.She doesn't look intimidated by his ugly appearance at all.Instead, she met his gaze calmly, smiling happily as he watched, and waving at him as if pleased to see him. How can there be such a thing?As Thrall watched, trying to respond appropriately, the man she was with grabbed her shoulders with one hand and pulled her away. Thrall turned to the cheering crowd, still pondering what had just happened, and held another practice sword in his broad green palm.