The Orc Village Diary

The sun had barely climbed above the ridge when Ashgrove Hollow began to stir.

Mist still clung to the pine slopes that surrounded the valley, and smoke curled lazily from a dozen stone chimneys.

This was an orc village, though anyone who had grown up on the frightening tales told in human towns would have been surprised by what they saw.

There were no piles of bones at the gate, no screaming captives, no fires of destruction.

Instead, there were vegetable gardens, drying racks hung with fish, and a well where the first risers were already filling their buckets.

Orna Redtusk stood at the door of her cottage, stretching her broad shoulders and breathing in the cold morning air.

She was the captain of the village militia, a position she had held for eleven years, ever since the previous captain had grown too old to lift a shield.

Her tusks, which curved upward from her lower jaw, were shorter than most orcs', having been chipped in a skirmish long ago, but her eyes were sharp and her voice carried across the whole square without effort.

"Tam!

Lin!

If you are not dressed by the time I count to twenty, you will both be mucking out the goat pen instead of going to the market," she called into the house.

There was a scramble of feet, a muffled complaint, and the sound of something falling over.

A few moments later, her son Tam appeared, twelve years old and already nearly as tall as his mother, tugging his tunic straight.

Behind him came Lin, five years old, still holding one shoe in her hand.

"I could not find it," Lin said, holding up the shoe as though it were evidence in her defense.

"It was hiding."

"Shoes do not hide, little one," Orna said, crouching down to help her daughter fasten the buckle.

"They wait patiently to be found by someone who is looking properly."

Borak, Orna's husband and the village blacksmith, emerged from the workshop attached to the side of the cottage, wiping soot from his hands with a rag.

He was broader than Orna, with forearms like tree trunks from decades of hammering iron, but his manner was gentle, almost shy, which had always amused the other villagers.

A blacksmith who blushed when praised was a rare thing among orcs.

"The market wagon from Thornbury arrives before midday," he reminded Orna.

"They are bringing salt and dried fruit in exchange for our iron tools.

I will need Tam to help me carry the finished ploughshares down to the square."

"And I will need Lin to help me with something far more important," Orna said, winking at her daughter.

"Watching over baby Fenn while his mother mends the fishing nets."

Lin's face lit up.

Nothing pleased her more than being trusted with a task that made her feel grown-up, even if that task was mostly making silly faces at an infant until he laughed.

By the time the sun had fully risen over the ridge, the square at the center of Ashgrove Hollow had transformed from a quiet clearing into a bustling marketplace.

Stalls were arranged in loose rows, their owners calling out the virtues of their goods.

Root vegetables the size of a child's head were piled beside baskets of mushrooms gathered from the forest floor.

A woman named Grishka, who had once been a warrior herself before losing an arm in battle, now ran the most popular stall in the square, selling smoked meats that she prepared using a recipe passed down from her grandmother.

Tam and Borak arrived with the ploughshares stacked on a small handcart, and within minutes several farmers from the outlying homesteads had gathered to inspect the craftsmanship.

Borak, despite his shyness, always seemed to relax once a hammer or a blade was in front of him, speaking confidently about the quality of the metal and the care taken in its shaping.

"This one bends just enough to turn heavy soil without snapping," he explained to an elderly farmer named Ussok, tapping the curved edge of a ploughshare.

"I tempered it three times."

Ussok grunted his approval, which among orcs of his generation was considered high praise, and the trade was agreed upon with a firm handshake.

While Borak continued trading, Tam wandered toward the training yard behind the smithy, where a dozen young apprentices, none older than fourteen, were being put through their morning drills by a veteran militia orc named Dross.

Dross had lost most of the hearing in one ear during a skirmish years earlier, which meant his commands were delivered at a volume that could be heard across half the village.

"Weight on your back foot, Grumsh, not your front!" he bellowed at a lanky boy who promptly overcorrected and nearly toppled sideways into a hay bale.

The other apprentices struggled to suppress their laughter, though a sharp look from Dross reminded them that their own turns at looking foolish were coming soon enough.

Tam leaned against the fence, watching with the particular longing of a boy who was still two years too young to join the drills himself, though he had already begged his mother twice this season to let him start early.

Dross noticed him lingering and waved him over.

"You want to try a pass with the wooden blades, blacksmith's son?" the old orc asked.

"Your mother will not mind one round, and your arms look strong enough from all that hammering."

Tam's eyes lit up, and he scrambled over the fence before anyone could reconsider the offer.

Dross paired him against Grumsh, who was older but had clearly not yet recovered his balance from the earlier correction.

The two boys circled cautiously, wooden blades raised, until Tam, remembering something his mother had once shown him about stepping inside a wider opponent's reach, lunged forward and tapped Grumsh lightly on the shoulder before the older boy could react.

"Not bad," Dross admitted, scratching his chin.

"Your mother taught you that footwork?"

"She showed me once, at home," Tam said, grinning despite the sweat already forming on his brow.

"She said fighting is mostly about patience, not strength."

"Smartest thing I have heard all week," Dross said, "and I include my own commands in that judgment." He clapped Tam on the shoulder hard enough to stagger him slightly, then turned back to bellow further corrections at Grumsh, who had already forgotten the lesson of the wider stance entirely.

Satisfied and slightly out of breath, Tam returned to help his father finish loading the empty handcart, already rehearsing in his mind how he would describe his small victory to his mother later that day.

Meanwhile, across the square, Orna had settled onto a bench outside Grishka's stall, with baby Fenn bundled in a woolen blanket in her arms and Lin sitting beside her, swinging her legs.

Fenn's mother, a quiet young orc named Peshka, sat nearby mending a torn fishing net, her needle moving swiftly through the rope.

"He was awake three times last night," Peshka admitted, not looking up from her work.

"I do not think I have slept properly since he was born."

"That will pass eventually," Orna said, though she remembered feeling exactly the same way when Tam had been an infant.

"And in the meantime, you have half the village willing to hold him so that you can finish your work in peace."

Lin leaned over to look at Fenn's tiny face and made an exaggerated expression, crossing her eyes and puffing out her cheeks.

The baby, who had been fussing only moments before, burst into delighted giggles, kicking his little feet beneath the blanket.

"See?" Lin said proudly.

"I am very good at this."

"You are indeed," Orna agreed, smiling.

It was in this peaceful moment, with the market humming around them and the mountains standing calm in the distance, that a horn sounded from the watchtower at the edge of the village.

It was not the frantic, repeated blast that would signal an attack, but a single long note, which meant that a stranger had been sighted approaching the valley.

Conversations across the square quieted.

Merchants paused mid-sentence.

Orna handed Fenn carefully back to Peshka and rose to her feet, her captain's instincts taking over immediately.

"Tam, stay with your sister," she said.

"Borak, gather the militia at the gate."

By the time Orna reached the watchtower, herding Lin along by the hand since the girl refused to be left behind, a young sentry named Krev was already pointing down the winding road that led into the valley.

"A single rider, Captain," Krev reported.

"Human, by the look of the horse and the armor.

He carries a sword and a shield with some kind of crest, but no banner, so I cannot say which kingdom sent him."

Orna squinted down the road.

The rider was still some distance away, but even from here she could make out the gleam of polished steel and the confident, unhurried pace of someone who did not expect to be challenged.

This was, she suspected, what the humans called a hero, one of those wandering warriors who traveled from village to village seeking monsters to defeat and reputations to build.

Most of the ones who had passed through this valley in years past had taken one look at the peaceful, well-tended village and continued on their way, disappointed that there was no dragon or dark sorcerer to fight.

She hoped, without much confidence, that this one would do the same.

He did not.

The rider drew his horse to a stop at the edge of the village, close enough now that Orna could see his face clearly.

He was young, perhaps no older than twenty-five, with a jaw set in an expression of grim determination that seemed almost rehearsed, as though he had practiced looking heroic in a mirror.

His armor was well made but showed the dents and scratches of genuine use, and the sword at his hip had clearly seen more than ceremonial duty.

"I am Sir Aldwyn of Thornfield," he announced, his voice carrying the particular formality of someone raised to believe that important moments required important speeches.

"I have been sent to investigate reports that orcs from this valley have been raiding the sheep farms near the river crossing, three days' ride from here.

Seven flocks have been taken in the past month, and shepherds have gone missing."

A ripple of confusion passed through the militia members now gathered at the gate.

Borak, standing beside Orna with a war-hammer resting on his shoulder, exchanged a puzzled glance with his wife.

"We have taken nothing from the river crossing," Orna said, keeping her voice level and calm, the voice she used when a disagreement in the market threatened to turn into something worse.

"Our people have not traveled that far south in over a year.

We trade with Thornbury, not with the river settlements."

"That is precisely what I would expect an orc to say," Aldwyn replied, though there was, Orna noticed, the faintest hesitation in his certainty, as though some part of him had expected a different response, perhaps a snarl or a threat rather than a calm denial.

"And what would you expect a knight seeking glory to say," Orna answered, "when he has ridden three days on a rumor and does not wish to return home having found no monster to slay?"

The hesitation in Aldwyn's expression sharpened into something more defensive.

"I do not seek glory.

I seek justice for the missing shepherds."

"Then help us find the true culprit," Orna said.

"But if you insist on treating us as guilty before any evidence has been shown, we will not simply stand aside while you search our homes."

Aldwyn's hand moved to the hilt of his sword, and immediately several militia orcs shifted their stances, weapons rising slightly.

Lin, still holding Orna's hand, pressed closer to her mother's leg, her earlier cheerfulness replaced by wide, uncertain eyes.

"If you will not submit to a search," Aldwyn said, "then I challenge your captain to single combat.

If I win, your village opens its gates and allows a full search.

If I lose, I will ride to the river crossing myself and search elsewhere, and I will tell every town between here and the capital that the orcs of Ashgrove Hollow are innocent."

It was, Orna reflected, a remarkably old-fashioned way to settle a dispute, the sort of thing that appeared in the ballads sung by traveling storytellers rather than in real life.

And yet she understood immediately that refusing would accomplish nothing except confirming, in Aldwyn's mind, that the orcs had something to hide.

"Very well," she said.

"But know this: I have no wish to kill you, and if you show me even a moment's opening to end this without bloodshed, I will take it."

"A generous offer from someone about to lose," Aldwyn said, though his voice wavered slightly as he dismounted.

Word spread through the village faster than the horn's warning note had.

By the time Orna and Aldwyn faced each other in the open training yard beside the smithy, nearly every resident of Ashgrove Hollow had gathered along its edges.

Borak stood near the front with Tam beside him, both watching with tense expressions.

Lin had been placed in the care of Grishka, who held the girl's hand firmly despite having only one arm to spare.

Aldwyn drew his sword, a well-balanced blade that caught the morning light, and settled into a stance that spoke of genuine training, not merely theatrical posturing.

Orna drew her own weapon, a curved blade shorter and heavier than his, suited for close combat rather than elegant swordplay, and rolled her shoulders once.

"Whenever you are ready," she said.

He struck first, a testing blow aimed at her shoulder that she deflected easily with a turn of her blade.

He followed with a quicker combination, two strikes meant to catch her off balance, but Orna had faced faster opponents in real battles, where the stakes were far higher than a young man's pride.

She stepped inside his reach, close enough that his longer sword became a disadvantage, and pushed him backward with the flat of her blade against his chest.

He recovered quickly, to his credit, and circled to find better footing.

For several minutes, the two traded blows that were tested rather than committed, each searching for weaknesses in the other's technique.

Aldwyn was fast and had clearly been trained by a skilled instructor, but his movements carried a stiffness that suggested he had learned his swordsmanship from formal lessons rather than from the desperate improvisation of real combat.

Orna, meanwhile, fought the way she had learned to fight during the border skirmishes of her youth: economically, without wasted motion, always aware of where her feet were and where the nearest solid ground lay.

When Aldwyn lunged forward in a move clearly meant to end the fight quickly, she sidestepped, caught his blade against her own, and with a sharp twist sent his sword spinning from his grip to land in the dirt several paces away.

The training yard fell silent.

Aldwyn stood frozen, his empty hand still raised in the position it had held the sword, his chest heaving from exertion.

Orna lowered her own blade but did not sheath it.

"This is the moment I told you I would take," she said, "if you gave me the chance to end this without bloodshed."

He said nothing for a long moment, staring at his sword lying in the dirt.

Then, slowly, he bent down, retrieved it, and sheathed it without attempting to continue the fight.

"You have won," he said quietly.

"I will honor my word.

I will ride to the river crossing and search elsewhere."

It might have ended there, honorably enough for both sides, had Krev the sentry not come running into the yard at that exact moment, breathless and holding something in his outstretched hand.

"Captain!

You need to see this," he said.

"One of the shepherd boys from Thornbury arrived just now, looking for help.

He says he tracked something dragging a stolen lamb up into the hills near the river crossing, three nights ago, and he found this caught on a bush along the trail."

He held out a tuft of coarse, greenish-grey fur, matted with dried mud.

Orna took it and examined it closely, then handed it to Aldwyn.

"Goblin fur," she said.

"Not orc.

We do not grow fur like this anywhere on our bodies, as you may have noticed during our fight.

Goblins from the eastern caves have been pushed out of their usual hunting grounds by wolves this past season.

It would not surprise me if a pack of them has moved toward the river crossing looking for easier prey than deer."

Aldwyn turned the tuft of fur over in his fingers, his expression shifting from confusion to something like embarrassment.

"I judged you before I had any true evidence," he admitted.

"I heard 'orcs' in a rumor and assumed the worst, because that is what I had always been taught to assume."

"It is an easy mistake to make when the stories you grew up with are all one kind of story," Orna said, not unkindly.

"But now you have better information.

What will you do with it?"

"I will ride for the river crossing at once," Aldwyn said, "and I will hunt the goblins responsible, not the orcs who had nothing to do with it.

And I will make sure the shepherds there know the truth, so that no other village suffers what almost happened here today."

"Then perhaps this day was not entirely wasted," Orna said, allowing herself a small, tired smile.

"Though I would have preferred an afternoon with fewer swords involved."

Dross, who had abandoned the apprentices' drills the moment word of the duel reached the training yard, pushed forward through the gathered crowd, still holding his own weathered blade.

"If goblins have moved as far as the river crossing, Captain, they will not stop there," he said.

"Wolves pushed them out of the eastern caves once already this season.

They will keep drifting toward easier hunting grounds, and that could mean our own sheep pastures within the month."

Orna considered this, rubbing the back of her neck where the morning's exertion had left a dull ache.

"Then we send a party to the river crossing alongside Sir Aldwyn, not merely to search but to learn how many goblins we are truly dealing with.

Dross, choose three militia members who can be spared for four or five days' travel."

"I want to go," Tam said suddenly, stepping forward before he could stop himself.

He had appeared at his mother's side sometime during the commotion, still slightly out of breath from his earlier drill with Grumsh, his wooden practice sword still tucked under one arm as though it might somehow qualify him for real service.

Orna looked down at her son, and for a moment something softer passed across her stern captain's expression.

"You are twelve, Tam.

Dross tells me you showed good footwork today, and I am proud of that.

But a scouting party facing goblins is not a wooden-blade drill in the training yard."

"I only meant—" Tam began, his enthusiasm faltering slightly under his mother's steady gaze.

"I know what you meant," Orna said, more gently now.

"And there will come a season when you are ready to ride out with parties like this one.

That season is not this one.

For now, your task is to keep learning from Dross, keep helping your father at the forge, and keep watching over your sister when I cannot.

That is not a smaller kind of courage than riding to the river crossing.

It is simply a different one, and this village depends on both kinds equally."

Tam did not look entirely satisfied with this answer, as twelve-year-olds rarely are when told to wait, but he nodded and returned the wooden sword to its place beside the training yard fence without further argument, which Orna noted with quiet approval.

By midafternoon, with Aldwyn's horse fed and watered and the young shepherd boy given directions and a fresh mount for the return journey, the mood in Ashgrove Hollow had shifted from tension back toward its usual rhythm, though the story of the duel had already spread through every corner of the village, growing more dramatic with each retelling.

Before he departed, Aldwyn surprised everyone by asking whether he might rest for one more hour, and Orna, feeling that the day's conflict had earned at least that small courtesy, agreed.

It was during this hour that Lin, recovered from her earlier fright and emboldened by curiosity, approached the resting knight where he sat near the well, still nursing a bruised pride more than any physical wound.

"Were you scared?" she asked bluntly, in the way that only small children can manage without causing offense.

Aldwyn looked down at her, startled by the directness of the question, then allowed himself something close to a laugh.

"Very scared," he admitted.

"Your mother fights better than anyone I have trained against."

"She fights better than everyone," Lin said matter-of-factly.

"But she also makes very good soup and she lets me hold the baby, so she is not just for fighting."

"I am beginning to understand that," Aldwyn said.

Baby Fenn, brought over by Peshka to be fed near the well's shade, chose that moment to reach out and grab a fistful of Aldwyn's hair, which had come loose from its tie during the fight.

The knight, who had faced Orna's blade without flinching, let out a startled yelp that made half the nearby villagers laugh for the first time since the horn had sounded that morning.

"He likes you," Lin observed.

"He only pulls hair on people he likes."

"I am not certain that is entirely true," Peshka said, gently extracting her son's fingers from the knight's hair, "but I will allow you to believe it, if it helps."

As evening approached, the market stalls were packed away, the trades of the day settled and recorded in Borak's careful ledger.

The village gathered, as it often did after an eventful day, for a shared meal in the square, tables pulled together and benches arranged in loose circles.

Grishka's smoked meats were shared generously, along with bread baked that morning and a stew that Orna herself had prepared, using vegetables purchased from the Thornbury wagon.

Aldwyn, invited more out of habit and courtesy than genuine warmth, found himself seated between Tam, who peppered him with questions about sword techniques, and Ussok, who gruffly explained the finer points of orc ploughshares whether the young knight had asked or not.

"You should stay the night," Orna said, passing him a bowl of stew.

"The road to the river crossing is easier traveled by daylight, and the goblins are less active near dawn than near dusk."

"That is generous, considering I arrived this morning accusing your people of a crime they did not commit," Aldwyn said.

"You arrived believing a story you had been told your whole life," Orna replied.

"The generosity is in choosing not to believe it any longer.

That deserves a warm meal, at least."

By the time the stars had fully emerged over the ridge, most of the village's children had been gathered up by their parents and carried, half asleep, toward their beds.

Orna found Lin curled against Borak's side near the fire, eyes drooping, still clutching a small wooden toy that Tam had carved for her the previous winter.

"Come, little one," Orna said, lifting her daughter gently.

"Time for sleep."

"Tell me about the fight again," Lin mumbled, already half dreaming.

"Tomorrow," Orna promised.

"Tonight, just sleep."

She carried Lin back to the cottage, past the quiet market square where lanterns had been lowered and the animals had settled into their pens, past the smithy where Borak's tools rested silently until morning, and laid her daughter down in the small bed beside Tam's, who had already drifted off after a long day of both labor and excitement.

Outside, the last embers of the square's fire glowed faintly against the darkness, and somewhere near the well, Aldwyn sat wrapped in a borrowed blanket, staring up at unfamiliar stars, reconsidering everything he thought he had known about the valley he had ridden into that morning as an enemy and would leave, tomorrow, as something closer to a friend.

Orna stood in her doorway a moment longer, watching the village settle into its night quiet, the same village that had woken that morning to nothing more dramatic than a missing shoe and a wagon of salt and dried fruit.

It had been, she thought, a day like most others in Ashgrove Hollow: full of small chores and unexpected trouble, of fighting when fighting was needed and gentleness when gentleness was needed more, and somehow, by evening, both had found their proper place.

She closed the door softly behind her and went to find her own bed, knowing that whatever tomorrow brought, the village would meet it the same way it had met today.