Durgath was tired of his father's rule of allowing the humans to live in his tribe's territory. The humans weren't warriors. They carried no weapons, wore no armor, and as far as he knew they had no magic. But his father had allowed them, less than fifty in all, to live in the ruined guard station at the crest of the hill. He had declared that no orc would attack the old guard tower, and that the humans would be given safe passage to all the lands within a two day walk from the tower. The declaration had all but given the land over to the humans. Durgath was certain that his father's human blood clouded his judgment on this matter. Orcs were proud warriors who lived by the rule of strength. The chief's son firmly believed that one should only trade or purchase goods from those whom it could not be simply taken from. There were races and tribes who's shear size and numbers demanded such pragmatism.
But these humans were neither great in number nor were they physically formidable. They warranted, in no way that he could see, any level of respect. But the chief had all but given them the land close to ten winters ago. Normally just knowing that these weaklings lived within a week's travel from his tribe's camp gave him a small irritated itch in the back of his mind. But today was different. Today was trading day, and there were five of them were here in his tribe's camp attempting to trade sacks of grain and fish for furs and meat. He proudly knew that his tribe had no shortage of strong hunters and so the smoke tent was full of boar, deer, and bear. But these humans wanted to partake of the bounty. He wanted nothing to do with it, but as the chief's son it was his duty to be here to enforce his father's rule. The humans were to be allowed safe passage, so long as they did not initiate combat. Durgath hoped that one of them would make such a fatal error, but he knew better. These humans were weak.
He looked on with disgust as he walked thru the trade area as the humans unloaded sacks of grain from a cart onto scales made up of plank wood balanced over flat bottomed logs. On one such scale, haunches of bear and deer were bound together and to the scale with twine. It lifted slowly from the floor as more and more sacks were piled onto the opposite side. There were two other such scales set up, each with a different meat being traded for equal weights, one was a half of a boar being weighed against a pile of heavy wool blankets, the other was tanned furs stacked against smoked fish from the lake that borders the 'human lands'.
"What troubles you young warrior?"
The question startled the strong orc, both because it came from one of the humans and because it was spoken in his tongue. Durgath looked around to see an old man, his balding head and wrinkled face obviously marked him as the elder of the troupe. He was dressed in simple garb of muddy brown linen with loose fitting pants and a short sleeved robe belted with a band of braided leather. He wasn't any taller than most humans that Durgath had ever seen, but he did stand straighter than most.
"You do not belong here." He said to the man's face.
The human looked at him in an appraising way and smiled. "My, you are so much like your father. It does me good to see his brood is strong. I have much respect for your chief, and have long considered him a valued enemy. We belong here young warrior. Your father knows this, and knows that this land belongs now to both of our people. So we share. And when you are wise enough to understand the futility of two fleas arguing over who owns the dog, you two will know this."
Durgath's eyes bulged. He reached out and grabbed the human by the front of his robes and lifted him off the ground, holding him to eye level. "You have insulted me twice this day human. To call me a flea is enough to give me cause to show you otherwise, but to dare put yourself on my level, the chief's son, I dare not let that slip by. I had hoped one of you would give me cause to bloody my blade. I thank you…"
To the surprise of both the Durgath and all the nearby orcs, though not the humans, the oldster deftly lifted his arms and fell out of his robe, leaving Durgath holding an empty garment. Then with speed beyond that of a man his age the oldster grabbed the hem of his robe in one hand and reached for the orc's own belt in with the other. He twirled his empty robe twice around Durgath's out stretched arms, pinning them together, while he undid the buckle holding the startled youth's sword belt.
In an instant Durgath found himself standing with his hands bound, though not tight enough to truly hold him, and his sword and dagger lying at his feet. Looking around at the near by crowd he was a mixture of bristling anger and poorly hidden amusement. With a grunt of effort he ripped his hands free of the entangling garment and looked back to the human who was patting the air in front of him in a negating gesture.
"I've no wish to give my blood to your blade, young chief's son. My words were not meant to give you insult, but I can see that you will only hear what you hope for instead of what was spoken."
"Ha!"
All heads, save the old man and the fuming chief's son, turned towards the source of the barked laughter. Groman the Bastard, chief of the Dire Tusk tribe, stood at the doorway to his tent giggling. He was huge, even by orcish standards, which was unusual because half of his parentage was human. "Oh you always manage to make me laugh old foe." He said in orcish as he started walking towards the spectacle of his son and the shirtless man. He watched the two as he approached, taking in the subtle clues. His son was obviously on the verge of losing his temper and going into a berserker's rage. The boy was always on the verge of losing his temper. That wasn't even interesting to him, though in the back of his mind he knew it should be. He knew the day was coming when the boy would challenge him for the title of chief. Groman didn't look forward to that day. He'd already buried one son.
Shaking his head to clear away those thoughts, Groman looked at the shirtless old man and smirked. By all appearances the human was standing perfectly calm and still, easily within arms reach of his son, not caring that he was surrounded by over a hundred warriors who barely tolerated his presence. Groman knew better. He'd known the old man long enough and well enough to tell when the human was ready to bound into action at the twitch of a whisker, and when he was actually at ease. The old man was faking it.
"You've not gained any more wisdom with all those grey hairs, have you?" he said in the common tongue as he came to stand next to his son. "You sure know how to pick a fight."
"I did no such thing, though I can see how it may look otherwise." The human replied in clear orcish. "I merely noticed the agitated state of your son here and thought I'd offer him a few kind words and give him some clarity. He clearly didn't want to hear what I said, though I do not think I said anything that should've been heard as an insult. But the boy will hear what he wants to hear, much like his father I am sure."
Groman eyed the old man for a moment then barked out another short laugh. "Oh you are brave, old foe. Foolish, but brave! Your spine is as stiff as a tent pole and I respect that. If I didn't have other matters to deal with, and if I thought you'd last long enough against my son to make it an entertaining fight, I'd let my son turn your body into his new scabbard. But you'd die too quick and I have more interesting things to deal with than you. So be gone. Trading is done for the day. You have safe passage for two days. Beyond that, you are on your own. Now go and do not bother my tribe for the rest of the winter."
"You can not let him walk from here!" Durgath yelled at his father. "I demand his blood! He has insulted me and you are letting him walk fre…"
The blow came so quick that Durgath didn't see it coming, and it hit with such force that the rest of his words were lost as his breath rushed out from his lungs and he fell to his knees. He tried to take in a breath as his father bent down to look him in the eyes. "I can and do as I see fit. If you do not like my rule you are free to walk from here and never come back. I let these humans come to MY lands to live and trade with us because there is no reason to do otherwise. They stay within the borders I gave them, like keeping more sheep than I care to have in my own camp, make finer blankets than we do, and have more patience to catch fish than I've ever had. So they stay where they are and we let them live in peace. We trade with them because winter is coming boy. I like having a heavy wool cloak on my back and smoked fish in the morning. And if you wish we kill them all, just keep in mind it will be you I send to sit by the river with a stick and twine to catch me my breakfast."
Groman looked over his shoulder towards the old man who was still standing in that calm pose of inaction. "Now would be a wise time for you to leave old foe. I've been kinder to you this day than you deserve."
With those words the old man started issuing orders to his troupe. They went to their tasks with sure swift movements, not one of them looking any higher than chest level to any of the on looking orcs. They all knew that their only chance at surviving these next few days without conflict relied entirely on them not offending or offering anything that could look like a challenge to barbaric tribe. Within moments the hides were bound, the meats were packed, and the cart was rigged to its lone mule. With the youngest of the troupe, a boy who looked like he hadn't seen more than six and ten winters, leading the mule and the others walking along side or behind the cart the humans left the land of the Dire Tusk tribe. With luck, their journey home would be short and only a little dangerous.
With luck.