Destitute:

  Rocka, beaten to the edge of death, barely felt the rough hands dragging him across the dirt. His vision flickered, the world reduced to blurred shapes and muffled jeers. The orc worker hauling him passed through the outer gate, where Malokr, Strikemaster, and captain of the stronghold’s guard, oversaw the flow of traffic.

  Malokr squinted at the limp body being dragged toward him.

  “Hmm. What’s this? More dead for the crows?”

  He didn’t yet recognize Rocka.

  The worker didn’t slow.

  “No, Strikemaster. He’s to be banished from the stronghold. Orders of the Battle Master.”

  Malokr’s expression shifted.

  “I see.”

  He stepped closer, finally noticing the face beneath the blood and swelling.

  “Well, well… twas never a matter of if, only when. Ain’t that right, you maggot?”

  He chuckled and then clicked his tongue.

  “I’ll send for a legion carriage. He’ll be gone by sunset.”

  Rocka tried to lift his head, but darkness swallowed him whole.

  Rocka later woke again—barely—now in an Imperial cell. Cold stone pressed against his cheek. A guardsman slid a bowl of thin porridge through the bars.

  “Eat up, greenskin.”

  Rocka crawled toward it, ribs screaming, while the guards spoke as if he weren’t there.

  “Where’d we get the orc?”

  “Thrown out,” the other replied. “Too weak to be useful. We got him for cheap—though look at the state of him.”

  Rocka forced down a mouthful of porridge.

  “Could send him to Brandenburg,” one guard mused. “Orcus do well in the mines.”

  The other flipped through a stack of documents.

  “Maybe. But he’s an inch from death. Let’s see if he heals.”

  “Aye. Give him a week to walk. If he can’t… well, that solves itself.”

  Rocka’s vision dimmed again, and he slumped to the floor.

  Sometime the next day, voices stirred him from the haze. Merchants passing through the garrison paused by his cell. Rocka barely listening in.

  “Oh my—an orc? I’ve never seen one up close,” one whispered.

  “New to Jorgentown, eh?” the clerk replied. “Aye, sometimes we get renegades for the mines. Stronghold’s just up the road.”

  “Brutish looking, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, yes—very ugly. Now, do you have business, sir? We have a schedule to keep.”

  “Ah—right, apologies. The portion of the sales tax.”

  Rocka drifted back into unconsciousness.

  After concluding his business at the garrison, the merchant descended to the docks, unaware of the orc's fate

  As the merchant made his way down to the harbor, he found his companion waiting among the creaking docks and gull cries. Meanwhile, back in the market square of the docks, Hamskr tended his stall, gutting fish and arranging his wares with practiced efficiency.

  The merchant and his companion approached, barely acknowledging Hamskr as they browsed.

  The companion shook his head.

  “The Empire is expanding too fast. Rebellions in Britannia and Saxonia, barbarians and bandits running amok on the Iron Frontier, and now pirates and raiders in the White Sea. What’s next? A Sea Cow uprising?”

  The merchant hummed thoughtfully as he inspected a rack of dried cod.

  “A troublesome age indeed… but a profitable one. Barbarians, pirates, bandits, Vikings—chaos fattens every company’s purse.”

  “Even the dwarf companies?” the companion asked.

  “Especially the dwarf companies,” the merchant replied. “Where do you think all these steel weapons come from? And with crossbows, naval engines, siege craft advancing—why, the Legion can hardly keep up. But enough of that. We came to bargain. Let’s see what this stall has… by the gods, this town feels emptier every time I visit…”

  The companion adds, “Although Jorgentown is a vital outpost, it is in the Norse Lands’ side of the Iron Frontier, as well the Fogwood, the chaos of the white sea, and let’s not forget, Saxonia is but a province away. It’s no wonder the norsemen with citizenship are leaving. It’s a miracle the remaining ones haven’t rebelled like Saxonia and Britania.

  “Indeed, but that’s because Commander Nero is in charge and the remaining norsemen are either citizens or legionaries serving at the Garrison. I must add, the keep had quite the number of prisoners, mostly just norsemen with attitude and the occasional tribal and raider… but there was one that is a rare sight.” The Merchant recants.

  The companion leaned in.

  “What was it, sir?”

  “An orc,” the merchant said with a smirk. “A fat one. Beaten within an inch of his life.”

  “What will they do with a hideous creature like that?”

  “Send him to the mines, apparently—if he survives long enough to swing a pick… Ah, this looks lovely. How much, Norseman?” he asked, lifting a bundle of fish.

  “Twenty coin, sir,” Hamskr replied, ringing them up.

  The merchant and his companion walked off, still chatting. Once they were gone, Hamskr started to close up shop.

  Hamskr cleans up and walked into the house behind the stall.

  Inside, his sister Anya was preparing dinner.

  “Hamskr, I have the coin for the magistrate. I know it’s early, but I rather not anger anyone.” Anya calls out.

  Hamskr sighs, nabbing the bag.

  “Alright Anya. I’m heading out then.” Hamskr called.

  Anya spun around, still busy preparing dinner.

  “Hamskr—Make sure to get a written confirmation too.”

  “Anya, if the boys don’t get back, let me know. I also left today’s profits on the table.” Hamskr adds.

  He was already halfway out the door.

  The door closed.

  Anya sighed, turned toward the table—and froze.

  The coin pouch lay open. Only mere scraps.

  Her frustration boiled over, and she stomped the floor hard enough to rattle the dishes.

  Hamskr later walked through the garrison doors. The clerk at the front desk perked up, eyeing him with mild suspicion.

  “You have business with the garrison, Norseman?” the clerk asked flatly.

  Hamskr removed his hat, speaking with careful respect.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Tax deposit. The magistrate in?”

  “Nay. But stand fast, Commander Nero is about.”

  Hamskr swallowed. He stands idling by waiting. When out in the bloom, he notices someone laying in one of the cells.

  It was Rocka. Beaten and battered

  “Rocka?”

  Hamskr rushes to the cell, “Rocka my friend what happened.”

  Rocka only groaned, he had no energy or strength to move.

  The clerk sighed and flipped through a stack of documents. Once he noticed Hamskr, he ordered.

  “Back off the greenskin. He might be in rough condition, but that’s still an orc. Just wait for the commander, norseman.”

  “I know him, he is from the stronghold, he works for one of the shipping companies at the docks.” Hamskr stated.

  The clerk shakes his head, “Not anymore, if he heals, is off to the mines.”

  “What would it take to release the orc?” Hamskr adds.

  “Nothing you can afford, he is Legion property now.” The clerk firmly stated.

  Hamskr thinks and he offers, “What if we could strike up a deal? By the looks of him, he won’t make it, and the Legion won’t put the coin for his health.”

  The clerk disregards Hamskr as he resumes his paperwork, “Not my call, take it up with the commander.”

  Commander Nero emerged moments later, clad in legion armor, gladius at his hip. His expression was carved from stone.

  “I am Garrison Commander, Centurio Servius Nero,” he said. “State your purpose, citizen.”

  Hamskr straightened offering the bag of coin.

  “Hamskr Njordson sir, just getting ahead of my taxes, sir.”

  Nero giving a cold stare as he grabs the bag of coin, “Very well, does this conclude our business?”

  Hamskr carefully asks, “well it seems you are possession of one of my compatriots, I am hoping to have his release. It’s the orc.”

  Nero is now curious, he looks at Rocka laying in the cell.

  “The orc? I understand these are peculiar times, but most of your kin would rather emulate norsemen heroes, by slaying this beast. What’s an orc worth to you?”

  Hamskr points out, “His name is Rocka, he worked at the docks…”

  “Get to the point.” Nero Interjects.

  Hamskr responds, “He is my friend and I would rather he makes it out alive. By the looks of it, with the lack of willingness from the Legion to properly nurse him back to health, I would like to have him under my watch.”

  “Under your watch, well aren’t you cheeky? What gives you the grounds for this request?” Nero asks.

  Hamskr thinks, “My father was Auxiliary Torsten Njordson of Novergia’s Legion. I am full roman citizen, and I respect its laws and pay my taxes as you just witnessed. My nephews will be of age soon to serve Rome. Does a plea not be granted by thee?”

  Nero gives him a serious stare, “a plea? Don’t be daft norseman.”

  The clerk approached and leaned in and whispered to Nero, not quietly enough.

  “Commander… the orc’s chances aren’t good. Could be a buy?out.”

  Nero’s eyes narrowed as he considered Rocka’s condition. He was no longer a guaranteed asset—more liability than resource.

  Hamskr sensed hesitation.

  “It would be a waste to throw away an orc on labor,” he said carefully. “Perhaps he could serve better as a legionnaire?”

  Nero gave him a sharp, skeptical look.

  “An orc Legionnaire? Sounds just as bad as a Norseman and an orc renegade colluding. What do you get for this?”

  Hamskr stepped forward.

  “I am willing to pay for his recovery.”

  Nero chuckled, shaking his head.

  “You can’t afford it, and the legion doesn’t recruit orcs—least of all exiles. The strongholds raid and pillage for us in the Iron Frontier and rebel Saxony. They’re a barrier, shock troops, not soldiers. Savages under our domain, keeping other savages at bay… This is a foolish endeavor, you’re friendship must be well regarded if your willing to take on this burden”

  He pondered and considered, then shrugged.

  “Hmm, perhaps it would be a worthwhile risk... So be it, we have a recruiting shortage, and too many are contained with the rebel provinces. Perhaps this savage will keep other savages at bay. If you wish to endanger your family, that’s your choice. Just remember—he is legion property. You will adhere to that. Understood?”

  “I understand, sir,” Hamskr replied, voice tight.

  Nero retrieved the key and unlocked the cell. Rocka lay motionless inside, barely breathing.

  The commander spoke as he surveyed the broken orc.

  “Both the Norse lands and Germania are plagued with barbarians, and the coasts with Vikings and pillagers. One more time—we need savages to keep savages at bay. Hopefully this one will prove useful.”

  He turned to Hamskr.

  “You live at the docks, yes? You have seven days. I will send a collector for the orc. If he survives—and if you succeed—I may even grant you a reward.”

  Hamskr, sensing opportunity, stepped forward quickly.

  “A reward, you say… could it be a favor?”

  Commander Nero raised an eyebrow.

  Hamskr pressed on.

  “Could the reward be exemption from conscription?”

  Nero snorted.

  “Conscription? You’re too old and too feeble, Norseman.”

  “Not for me,” Hamskr clarified. “For my nephews—Guntr and Wilhelm Eklund.”

  A smirk tugged at the commander’s mouth.

  “You are indeed cheeky… but no matter. An orc’s strength is worth ten men. The exchange is fair enough. Very well—prepare the orc, and you’ll have an exemption order with my seal for the Eklund boys.”

  Nero pulled a sheet of parchment and a stick of charcoal from his desk. With quick, practiced strokes, he drafted an official agreement. It declared that Guntr and Wilhelm Eklund were exempt from conscription into any legion unit, now or when they came of age. At the bottom, he pressed the wax seal of the Jorgentown garrison.

  Hamskr’s face lit up as he accepted the document.

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll have the orc ready in a week.”

  Nero’s expression hardened.

  “You’d better. Otherwise it’s the frontier for them.”

  Nero leaned back, voice lowering.

  “Every day we get less funding. With Saxonia and Britannia in rebellion and their formation of this Anglo-Saxon Covenant, the Empire pours its coin into taking them back. That leaves Novergia—us—to fend for ourselves. And the other Norsemen who remain here… they’re trying to be the next Jorgen Tyrtryggr, trying to replicate The Six Raids. Their breaking Roman law, poking at the stronghold and the attitudes become aiming.”

  Hamskr glanced around the cells of the keep—drunk old Norsemen with battle paint still smeared on their faces, scars fresh and old alike. He understood.

  “Aye… my kin can be pig?headed. But I didn’t think these old fools would be this—well—foolhardy.”

  Nero nodded grimly.

  “Jorgentown, Roman Novergia, the whole of the Norse lands… the legion bit off more than it could chew. And now we’re on borrowed time. The stronghold keeps the frontier in check, but orcs are a double?edged sword. They can turn on us just as easily.”

  He fixed Hamskr with a pointed look.

  “In this case, it may come back to bite you.”

  With that, Commander Nero turned and strode away, leaving Hamskr grimacing as the weight of the deal settled on him.

  A guard approached.

  “If you’re taking him, you’ll need to sign the release.”

  Hamskr knelt beside Rocka’s cell.

  “Rocka… wake up.”

  Rocka didn’t stir.

  The guard continued in a formal tone,

  “He’s still badly hurt. You’ll need a cart to move him. But sign here first.”

  The next morning, Rocka woke on a cot inside a dim boathouse, the smell of salt and damp wood filling his lungs. Bandages wrapped his ribs and shoulder. He blinked, disoriented, until he heard footsteps approaching.

  The door creaked open. Anya stepped in with a bowl of food, Hamskr trailing behind her.

  She set the bowl on a stool and let out a sharp breath.

  “Well, you’re a real mess. What kind of bar brawl did you get into this time?”

  Hamskr cut in quickly.

  “No bar brawl this time, Anya.”

  Anya crossed her arms.

  “Looks like he pissed off a bear.”

  Rocka tried to sit up, panic rising.

  “What the hell happened? I need to go back to Urgnash?Yal.”

  Both siblings moved at once to stop him. Anya pressed him back down and checked his bandages with brisk, irritated hands.

  “The stronghold? Absolutely not. You’re in no condition to go anywhere. You need rest and food for at least a few days.”

  She shot Hamskr a glare.

  “Honestly, you sure know how to pick your friends.”

  When she finished tending him, she left the room, muttering under her breath. The door shut, leaving Hamskr and Rocka alone.

  Hamskr scratched his beard.

  “Ignore her. She’s… well, she’s in one of her moods. So—that was Tengwar, huh? As the Anglos say, not within your taste.”

  Rocka sighed, annoyed but too exhausted to argue.

  “I suppose not. How did I get here anyway?”

  Hamskr leaned against a beam.

  “You’re lucky, I was at the garrison dealing with taxes and I saw you. They were planning to send you to the Brandenburg mines if you healed up enough. I stopped that, but I had to negotiate. Doesn’t matter, that’s short of it. For now, you just need to rest and heal.”

  Rocka narrowed his eyes.

  “You got me out of prison? Come on—what’s the downside?”

  Hamskr hesitated.

  “Well… you’ve got seven days to recover. After that, you’ll need to get back on your feet, make something of yourself. You’ll stay here in the boathouse.”

  Rocka frowned.

  “That doesn’t answer my question. What did you do?”

  Hamskr exhaled.

  “The downside is… you’ll have to serve in the legion after the seven days. If you don’t, it’s off to the mines.”

  Rocka went still. The weight of it settled over him like a stone.

  “What did you get out of this?”

  Hamskr straightened, almost defensive.

  “Guntr and Wilhelm are spared from conscription. And if you complete your forty?year contract, you’ll get full Roman citizenship and ten acres of land.”

  Rocka pushed himself upright despite the pain, anger flaring.

  “So you essentially sold me? I need to return to the stronghold.”

  Hamskr fired back,

  “For what? Since you’re not aware — you’re destitute. An outcast. Thrown out and sold by your own kind. The guards said you failed Tengwar and were deemed a disgrace by the Battle Master and the elders.”

  Rocka’s eyes widened with fury.

  “Nay! The Battle Master is my father — the old man wouldn’t do this!”

  “He did!” Hamskr snapped. “You can never go back. Now you join the legion… or you die in the mines.”

  Rocka clenched his fists.

  “I could run away.”

  Hamskr barked a humorless laugh.

  “And go where? What do you think this town will do to a renegade orc? The Norsemen will stick you on the spot if the guards don’t get you first. Serve your time in the legion, get out, maybe build a life.”

  Rocka fell silent, jaw tight. Then, quietly:

  “You never served. And we both know why.”

  Hamskr’s expression hardened.

  “But unlike me, you don’t have a choice. Look — if not for me, do it for the boys. The Iron Frontier, especially the Norse lands… it’s a cruel, unforgiving hellscape.”

  Anya neared the boathouse and returned just in time to hear Rocka mutter.

  “They’re not my children…”

  As she caught Rocka’s comment, she stormed in, furious.

  “So to blazes with them, is that it? Hamskr could’ve left you to rot! You know how much I—”

  “Enough!” Hamskr roared.

  He turned to Rocka.

  “Do what you want. It’s your life. But what else can you do?”

  Rocka exploded.

  “Damn it! You think I don’t know that?! I’m clanless — with two equally miserable prospects! Just… let me think!”

  Silence settled over the boathouse.

  Anya’s anger simmered.

  Hamskr watched her, then Rocka.

  Rocka saw the strain on both their faces — and something inside him softened, just enough.

  He feared the mines, but he feared returning home even more.

  He exhaled.

  “Fine. It’s just puny humans, right? And Romans aren’t as pig?headed as Norsemen. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Anya, relieved but still bristling, stepped out.

  Hamskr lingered, gratitude in his eyes.

  “Thank you. I know I put you on the spot… but you won’t regret this. Remember — this is your last chance. Make the most of it.”

  He left Rocka alone.

  His father's voice echoed in his skull: 'you are no longer my son

  Rocka eased back onto the cot, bitterness burning in his chest. The makeshift firepit flickered weakly, barely warming his hands. He stared into the embers — angry, forsaken, emptied of everything he once was.

  For the first time in his life, Rocka Urgnash had nothing left to lose.