Lord of the Clans by Christie Golden

enjoyed a good canter now and then, and was watching her playfully guide Gray Lady in circles around him. At his order, she had not covered nor braided her hair, and it fell loose around her shoulderslike a fall of purest gold. Taretha was laughing, and for a moment their eyes met.
    To hell with the weather. They would make do.
    He was about to order her off her steed and into a nearby copse of trees — their capes would keep them sufficiently warm — when he heard the sound of hoof-beats approaching. He scowled as Langston emerged, panting. His horse was lathered and steaming in the chill afternoon.
    “My lord,” he gasped, “I believe we have news of Thrall!”
    Major Lorin Remka was not a person to be trifled with. Although she stood only a little bit over five feet tall, she was stocky and strong, and could handle herself more than adequately in any fight. She had enlisted disguised as a man many years ago out of a passionate desire to destroy the greenskin beings that had attacked her village. When the subterfuge had been discovered, her commanding officer had put her right back in the front lines. Later, she had learned that the officer had hoped she’d be killed, thus sparing him the embarrassment of reporting her. But Lorin Remka had stubbornly survived, and had acquitted herself as well as, and in some cases better than, any man in her unit.
    She had taken a savage pleasure in slaughtering the enemy. In more than one case, after a kill she’d rubbed the reddish-black blood all over her face to mark her victory. The men had always given her a wide berth.
    In this time of peace, Major Remka took almost as much pleasure in ordering about the slugs that had once been her direst enemies, although that pleasure had diminished once the bastards ceased to fight back. Why they had become so much more like cattle and less like monsters had often been a subject of discussion between Remka and her men late in the evenings, over a game of cards and an ale or four.
    Most satisfying of all had been being able to take these once-terrifying killers and turn them into bowing and scraping servants. She found the ones most malleable who had the odd red eyes. They seemed eager for direction and praise, even from her. Now one of them was drawing a bath for her in her quarters.
    “Make sure it’s hot, Greekik,” she called. “And don’t forget the herbs this time!”
    “Yes, my lady,” called the female orc in a humble voice. Almost immediately, Remka could smell the cleansing scent of the dried herbs and flowers. Ever since she’d been working here, it seemed to her as if she stank all the time. She couldn’t get it out of her clothes, but at least she could soak her body in the hot, scented water and wash it from her skin and long black hair.
    Remka had adopted the male style of clothing, much more practical than all that feminine frippery. After years spent on the field of battle, she was more than used to dressing herself and actually preferred it. Now she removed her boots with a sigh. Just as she setthem aside for Greekik to clean there came an urgent knock on the door.
    “This had better be good,” she muttered, opening the door. “What is it, Waryk?”
    “We captured an orc yesterday,” he began.
    “Yes, yes, I read your report. My bath is cooling even as we speak and —”
    “I thought the orc looked familiar,” Waryk pressed.
    “By the Light, Waryk, they all look the same!”
    “No. This one looked different. And I know why now.” He stepped aside, and a tall, imposing figure filled the doorway. Immediately Major Remka snapped to attention, wishing desperately she still had her boots on.
    “Lieutenant General Blackmoore,” she said. “How may we be of service?”
    “Major Remka,” said Aedelas Blackmoore, white teeth gleaming through a neatly trimmed black goatee, “I believe you’ve found my lost pet orc.”
    Thrall listened, captivated, as the red-eyed orc spoke in a soft voice of tales of