Chapter 63: Henk

Henk walked alone through the streets of Brightwater. His towering build and unusual features made him stand out. Passersby who saw his face recoiled in fear or distaste and kept their distance.

The upper district was home to wealthy merchants and nobles, and fully armed City Watch patrols were everywhere. They did not drive Henk away, but several watchmen followed close behind him, hands resting on their weapons in case anything happened.

Henk was used to it. He had often been treated this way in the past. It had happened much less often lately, though, and its return left him momentarily disoriented.

*Why had he seen so little of it lately?*

He thought of the people of Blackstone. They were afraid of him too, but they felt awe and respect rather than suspicion. Even a half-orc could earn respect by doing something for the town.

Before long, he reached Brightwater's cathedral. Two young clerics stood at the entrance, watching him approach with worried faces. Then they noticed the watchmen closing in behind him and looked a little more at ease.

“Can we help you?” one of them asked, forcing a smile.

Henk took out the receipt the older cleric in charge had given him on his last visit to Brightwater.

The young cleric examined it carefully. Once he was satisfied that it was genuine, he gave Henk a faint smile. “Please follow me.”

The watchmen relaxed when they saw the clerics lead Henk inside. They had no idea why he had come, but their duty was to follow him in case something happened and they needed to intervene. At least he did not seem to be looking for trouble. Most of them were only there to collect their pay. Pushing around ordinary townspeople was one thing; risking their lives against a half-orc was quite another.

The young cleric led Henk through a brightly lit, richly decorated corridor and into the same small room he had visited before. Five clerics were at their desks, sorting documents. One of them, a man in his fifties, was reading through a file. He was the one who had handled Henk's money transfer last time.

Henk stepped up to his desk. His broad frame blocked the light, and the older cleric looked up with a frown. His eyes shifted slightly when he recognized Henk; he seemed to remember him well.

Henk held out the receipt without another word. “Has the money arrived?”

The cleric sighed softly. “The Duchy of Nightraven is in the north. The money can't get there in a month. Even if it had arrived, word wouldn't have made it back so quickly. You need to be patient, Henk.”

Henk fell silent. He knew it could not have arrived so soon, but once he reached Brightwater, he had been unable to stop himself from coming to ask.

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“I understand.” At last, he nodded and turned to leave.

As he passed through the corridor, children's laughter came from one of the rooms. Henk had been walking with his head down, but now he stopped.

The young cleric accompanying him saw him looking at the children inside. “They're orphans taken in by the Church,” he explained. “They lost their parents for various reasons. We raise them until they're grown, and then they go on to help others.”

Henk nodded without speaking and continued down the corridor.

In the north, children who had lost their parents were not uncommon. Usually their villages raised them together. If a village could not afford to care for them, they were sent to a nearby army unit and raised by the soldiers instead. From childhood, they knew only how to obey orders. When they grew older, they learned to fight orcs.

That option had never been open to Henk. The army raised only humans of unmixed blood. It would not accept a half-orc, however faint their orc ancestry might be. The people of his village had raised Henk together, and a retired soldier there had taught him the basics of using weapons. He had always been grateful to the people of Whitebirch Village for taking care of him.

But the harvest had been poor last year, and the village had barely made it through the winter. A long drought this spring had left the fields desperately short of water. There was not enough work or food for so many people, so some of the younger villagers without land of their own or wives and children had gone south.

Henk had joined them. But it was hard for a half-orc to find suitable work. He kept going south until he met Raymond near Blackstone.

The thought of Raymond brought a small smile to his face. Henk had met many humans on the road. Some feared him; others tried to flatter him so they could make use of his strength. Raymond was different. He valued Henk's strength too, but he treated him as a partner, not a servant or a hired fist.

More importantly, in the time they had worked together, Henk had earned more than he had ever imagined possible.

Money.

He did not like it, but money was useful. He did not know how else to repay the people of his village for raising him. He could at least repay them with money.

With money, the villagers would not have to send their elders into the army to form units destined to die on the battlefield because food was scarce. Children would not have to be handed over to the army because the village could not afford to raise them. Women who had lost their husbands could hold their heads high, instead of giving up their dignity for a few mouthfuls of food.

The moment Henk emerged from the cathedral, the armed watchmen grew alert and fixed their eyes on him.

*This feels awful.*

He had done nothing, yet they treated him like a criminal—or a potential criminal. Was a half-orc really so contemptible to them? He had thought he was used to being treated this way. But being watched so closely by armed men still felt terrible.

His fists clenched tighter. He kept his face impassive, lowered his head, and walked toward the lower district. The watchmen spread out around him and followed in silence.

“Henk!” someone called from ahead.

Henk looked up and saw Raymond coming toward him.

“How did it go?” Raymond asked when he reached Henk. He glanced first at the watchmen behind him, then lowered his voice.

Henk shook his head. “It hasn't arrived yet. What about you?”

Raymond grinned. “I picked up a new job, though we still need to discuss the details.”

“A new job?” Henk's eyes lit up. “How much does it pay?”

“At least five gold coins. If we can finish it,” Raymond said.

Five gold coins!

Henk's heart leaped. Even if he received only a share, together with what he had already saved, it could keep the village going a while longer. If this year's harvest came through as well, perhaps the whole village really could survive the winter.

His hands began to tremble. His lips moved, but no words came out.

Raymond spoke softly beside him. “Don't get ahead of yourself. It's more complicated than you think. I'll explain when we get back.”

“All right!”