--Her face emerged from the shimmering surface of the small lake, glistening. Droplets slowly flowed down her grey skin as she breathed in. She pulled her short, red hair back revealing her pointed ears. Her mouth was lined with small, jagged teeth and a sharp scar broke the gentle curve of her upper lip. She dove back into the lake and swam in a circle around him, her short hair flowing behind her. The gentle afternoon sun was breaking through in beams of light, through the groves which were arching above them. The black-haired, bearded, human slave swam in place close to the lake’s center, while intently following the Ork girl with his eyes. The water felt like medicine to his sun-burnt skin, to the blisters on his hands and feet, and it removed the foul stench he had accrued over several months of hard labour in the badlands. But now that he has had time to absorb his surroundings, and her company, he became apprehensive. She was unsure as to the cause of his alertness, but she was amused.

-So… Tell me about the markets again. – She prodded him with her question and a chuckle.

-What more is there to tell? It’s just a crowd of slimy, perfumed people. Why do you keep asking me about it?

-Humour me.

-All right then. – He paused, as he stroked his unkempt beard with his right hand. – The market opens up at dawn. But at that hour it’s just the fishmongers and farmers there.

-What is “sell”, again?

-I told you before. Coins for things or services. – He droned on, but her eyes would slightly light up every time she listened to him talk. He liked that, so he endured her curiosity and tried to find more words. – Anyway, it’s not until noon, that the shady figures crop up. Anything from Nightlings trying to pawn off hot goods, to Enksado selling dog ears as medicine, “Ork sweat” for potency, or maybe the colourful clothes they’re so fond of. Come to think of it, it’s mostly Enksado traders at the market. Some humans and even fewer Nightlings.

--She nodded and chuckled, but it occurred to him that she most likely had no clue what “hot goods” are.

-That’s too funny, Ork sweat for potency… So, you said the masters of the markets rule it all. How do they do it?

-The rules set the pace of the game. Things like laws, the expectations of others… And everyone tries to play around the rules, or break them without getting caught.

-But those are the bandits, right? Not the merchants?

-I guess. But they’re small fries. The real thieves are the merchants. They’re the ones hiding in plain sight. They pull the strings.

-But why would anyone listen to them if they’re not strong themselves? How do they convince everyone to do what they want?

-Well… They have a different kind of strength.

--She floated on her back, thinking about what he had said.

-We spoke about this before. That’s not strength. – She laughed.

-They don’t need to have muscled arms to crush you. Their arms are invisible. And long. As far as their purse can reach. The richer the man, the farther he can cast a shadow.

-But if they themselves can’t kill you, what can they do to you?

-They can take away your home. They can take your family hostage without laying a finger on them. And of course, if you really piss someone off, they could hurt you, have you killed, or do that to someone you love. But they often do worse things to you if they choose to let you live, provided they have the imagination.

-What is family? What is hostage? And is that what you used to do when you were free? Kill for the merchants?

-No…

-You’re lying. I’ve seen you fight, you’ve killed before.

--He swallowed her words with a bit of difficulty and bitterness in his throat. He turned and swam the other way.

-I didn’t say I never killed anyone. But when I did it, it was on my own terms.

--A short silence ensued, as she swam towards his line of sight, to re-establish the electric link between their eyes. This time, she was much closer to him. No more than an arm’s length away from him. A sudden warmth engulfed them.

-That. That is what fascinates me. Why do you feel remorse? Or guilt? You wanted something, you took it.

-You mean like some of them take you? It never bothers you?

-Well, it’s not like I can do anything about it. And besides, sometimes it’s fun. And sometimes I get something in return.

--She meant what she said, but as she smiled and shrugged, she felt pain in her chest anyway. It passed over her face like the shadow of a bird flying by. She couldn’t really understand why. She nimbly twisted her body and swam away, splashing water in his face along the way.

-Humans. – She objected. – The way I see it, the weak ones made these rules to the game you all play. A game that lets the weak rule over the strong. They even teach you to feel bad about using your strength to get things. Unless it is for them. Just follow the rules, and you will have the good life… Rules, rules, rules. It’s all about the rules. All about keeping you in line. Better not risk it. Things might go wrong. Stand around in the herd and don’t speak up. I am amazed that you’ve let this go on for centuries.

--The slave had other things on his mind and didn’t really know what to say to all of that. Was the rule of the strong so good for the horde, for Myzrael? He sank until his eyes alone were above the surface, and then blew bubbles with his mouth. As if summoned by an invisible being which was looking out for him and keeping him out of socially awkward situations, a slave driver appeared on the shore, shouting his name.

-Puffy! Come. The King wants to go hunting. Now!

***

--The King’s Ork Knights zoomed past the trees, spread out, riding their curiously large, wild goats with enormous, twisting horns. Puffy counted about eight of them. Their weapons were drawn and the steps of their mount’s hooves were thunderous as they pounded on the thick roots which were almost completely covering the forest floor. The slave ran after them on foot, trying to follow the path of broken roots and branches their prey left in its wake, his bare steps burning like fire. The drunken Ork King led the charge, with his head still somewhat murky and ablaze from the spirits he had indulged in the night before. No one expected the king to wake before the sun was high, but here they were – hot on the trail of a wild boar. The hunting party must have wounded it, for Puffy the slave could see a dark, steaming trail of blood, even though little sunlight broke through the treetops. The King rode to the top of a mound covered in roots on his giant, black wolf with ease and then stopped. He seemed to be having a chat with one of his knights, as he took a gulp of the drink he carried in the bladder hanging from his shoulder. Whatever kind of drink was in there, it reeked so powerfully that it intoxicated Puffy as he climbed the roots to reach them.