Author's Notes: This story isn't really meant to be read on its own, although I tried my best to write it in a way that it makes sense regardless. For maximum enjoyment, you'd better read my "Leo and the Dragon" and "Shilana's Trial" stories first.
Thanks again to bikoukumori, for taking care of errors faster than an elven arrow to the face and my lady love for valuable input.
Be warned, the sex featured herein isn't for the faint of heart, and of course all concerned are adults.
*****
The arrow leaped off the bowstring and buried itself in the orc's wide open maw, causing him to stumble backwards and drop his weapon. I reached down, towards the quiver at my hip, intent on plucking the next arrow. There were none left. Cursing, I dropped my composite shortbow and drew my blade. Just in time. The fallen orc's comrades were upon me, three sweaty, stinking greenskins. In stark contrast to most tavern tales, they were no raging lunatics or inept simpletons. No, they moved in tune with each other, a swift, yet careful trident maneuver, forcing me to divide my attention between them. Their arms and armor were crudely-made but in good shape. Dark iron breastplates they wore and I could choose if I wanted to die by battle axe, mace or morning star.
They had ambushed our small caravan just after sunset. Their spears took out the oxen pulling the lead cargo wagon, more effectively blocking the narrow forest trail we were on than any fallen tree could. And then they came, swarming us like a green tidal wave. We knew it was dangerous territory and had planned accordingly. Twelve warriors and archers to guard six traders seemed a lot but we were oh so few compared to the mass of snarling, shouting orc warriors, both male and female, who swarmed over us like so many oversized locusts. Someone close by gurgled helplessly as his throat was cut, the horrible sound urging me on.
Not dying was my preferred outcome. Time to get creative. The simple leather straps holding the orcs' breastplates in place looked like a good point to start.
I pulled a throwing knife from the belt across my chest with my left hand and flicked it at the orc with the axe. I didn't hit but he spent valuable heartbeats evading it nonetheless, enough time for me to charge past the mace-wielder, ramming my blade into his kidneys as I slid past him. Howling, he dropped his weapon and went to his knees.
Two were better than three but still at least one opponent too much. The orc with the morning star growled and charged. I bent low and yanked his stabbed friend his way. Far too late the orc realized where his weapon would end up. The spiked metal ball grazed his friend's face, taking his eye out.
"I'll kill you for that!" the morning-star wielding orc promised, pointing his bloody weapon my way. The axe-wielder was at his side, grinning viciously. Before I knew what happened, something hard hit the base of my neck and everything went black.
* * * *
With a splitting headache I came to. I wasn't dead, that much was sure. They say the dead feel no pain and I hurt in numerous places, most of all my poor head. I wanted to raise my hand, to touch the source of the pain, but I couldn't. Rough hemp rope bound my wrists. And my ankles too. At least I could move my head. I was in a makeshift cage, a cone of quickly-cut branches, together with Lumea and Frida, the only women in the small trader's caravan. Of course. Orcs prized females of all races as breeding stock or at least a nice diversion in bed. But why did they leave me alive?
Lumea, a human woman, seasoned veteran of several expeditions and a regular partner of mine, raised her head. Her blond tresses were mud-caked and she sported a massive black eye.
"You still alive, Declan?" she rasped.
"I can't believe it myself," I assured her. "How are you?"
"Hurting, but whole. For now," she grumbled. She knew what orcs did to women.
"What was an entire orc tribe doing on our route?" I asked, no one in particular.
My thoughts were yanked off-course when I heard the rowdy cheers. They nearly overwhelmed the pleas for mercy. I didn't recognize the voice, maybe one of the local talent we had taken along for the trip. An expectant hush fell over the orcs before they began to chant. Ominous, dark utterances, more akin to animal noises than sentient speech. Then there was a horrible, wet sound and an inhuman wail as they did something to the poor soul in their midst. The crack of bone was obscenely loud.
"What are they doing?" I hissed at Lumea.
"Probably the
gruk-hrakor
," she whispered back. "They rip out his still beating heart, so their chieftain may gain the strength of his enemies."
"Damn savages," Frida moaned, wriggling around on the floor. The dwarf woman struggled against her bonds.
"Save your strength," I suggested. "They will unbind you sooner or later and you'll want to be prepared by then."
"You're the one to speak. I don't fancy a green dick anywhere near me," Frida hissed back, revulsion etched on her plump face. "The Hearthmother would never approve if one of her faith would give birth to a greenskin."
A triumphant roar, followed by more cheers. Then the sounds of orcs scattering. Silence fell, only disturbed by Frida's grunting as she kept fighting against her bonds.
"I've tried," Lumea whispered. "Someone here knows how to tie decent knots. These are no random raiders. Too many at once. Maybe they're preparing for war."
"I have told both of ye - 'tis the wrong season for cargo hauls," Frida snarled. "Ores and crystals won't go bad. We could have waited 'til autumn. But nay, you had to push and push and see where that got us."
"The money was good," Lumea hissed. "Hush. I hear something."
She was right. Heavy footfalls were coming closer. I craned my neck to look in the general direction. Two huge orcs came towards the cage. Thankfully, no morning star in sight.
