“I didn’t do anything,” Taegan stammered anxiously, his eyes on the orc’s mace. “Please, I didn’t—”
The orc snapped something in reply, but he didn’t understand any of the words, so when the orc reached down to grab him by the wrist he didn’t resist, letting himself be pulled out of the cell and stumbling to keep up with the guard’s much longer stride. One of the orcs stayed behind, checking the guard Naydi had attacked, but from the quick glance he spared, Taegan still could not quite tell if the orc was alive or not.
The two orcs carrying Naydi were already gone by the time the guard had dragged him down the length of the hallway, and as he was hauled up the steps the guard unceremoniously lifted him off his feet and slung him over his shoulder. Much as he wanted to protest against the indignity, Taegan kept his mouth shut—but it worked out just as well, as the light of the sun was blinding as he was carried outside. Blinking and wincing against the glaring light that burned his eyes that had long since adjusted to the pitch darkness of the dungeon, he couldn’t see anything around him, but could only feel the movement of the orc walking with no idea where his long strides were headed.
Eventually his vision adjusted enough that he could make out the shapes of their surroundings, but without warning he was tossed to the ground, the wind knocked out of him as he landed on a hard stone floor. The world spun dizzyingly around him for a long moment, only the cold stone beneath his face keeping him grounded. He could hear soft whimpers of pain near him, then a louder gruff voice saying something in orcish—when he could focus his eyes, he could see Naydi huddled on the ground and curled around her broken arm maybe ten feet from him, and fear struck him anew at the sight of the warlord crouched over her and hissing something through gritted teeth.
Hrul swung his massive shaved head to look in Taegan’s direction, scowling openly down at him as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.
“Little elf,” he growled, stepping toward him, and this time there was no mockingly playful tone to his voice but only a cold hardness. “What were you planning?”
“Nothing,” Taegan panted, barely able to catch his breath. “I don’t know—she just attacked the guard and unlocked my cell, I don’t know what she planned.”
Hrul’s eyes narrowed; they were nearly the same golden-yellow shade of Zorvut’s eyes and for an instant, Taegan bristled with hate to look at them.
“I don’t believe you,” Hrul replied slowly, deliberately, as he stepped around Taegan in a narrow circle. “You knew it was her? You spoke to her?”
“I—I suspected,” he stammered, following the warlord’s slow movement around him with his eyes. Naydi had not been that far ahead, but he was unsure how much information he might have gotten from her already. He had already gambled with one lie, but he could still circle around the truth. “And then—yes, I knew it was her. But she doesn’t know much elvish, and I don’t know orcish. We barely spoke. Just enough to… to know who we were.”
“Yet you had no idea of her plan to escape. How…convenient,” Hrul said with a scowl. “I thought you were smart, little elf. I had hoped you would avoid becoming a thorn in my side, but here you are.” He leaned further over Taegan as his voice dropped lower and more dangerous, and much as he wanted to shrink back, to run away, he forced his muscles to still, meeting his furious gaze. The warlord remained in the same intimidating pose for a long moment, clearly searching Taegan’s face for any sort of tell, but everything within him was screaming to not give him anything.
Finally the orc straightened, a sneer still on his face as he spoke. “But still, you’re of more use to me alive than dead. You’re lucky I won’t kill you for now, but remember your days are numbered.” Without warning, he reared his head back and spat in Taegan’s face.
Taegan bit back a curse, flinching as he turned away, and he forced himself to take in a long breath before lifting his hand to wipe his face clean with his sleeve. Hate and humiliation burned through his veins in equal measure, but when he opened his eyes again he could see Hrul had stepped away from him and was addressing the guards who had brought them, gesturing angrily between Taegan and Naydi. The guards shrunk back, looking cowed—he guessed his suspicions that the warlord was not aware of how closely they were imprisoned were correct.
Finally, Hrul turned away from the guards, back to Naydi, before rearing back and kicking her in the ribs. Taegan winced, and Naydi wailed in pain, shrinking away from the warlord with a sob. He growled something, low and dangerous, and Taegan did not need to understand him to know it was a threat. Wordlessly she nodded, and he snapped his fingers toward the guards, two of which came hurrying over to haul her away again.
Now that his eyes had adjusted Taegan could see they were in some sort of stone building, narrow and rounded—maybe a tower? The bare stone floor beneath him was cold, but he could hear a fireplace crackling somewhere nearby, and as he followed the warlord with his eyes as the orc walked away, he could see into an adjoining room where several more orcs were sitting around a wooden table, looking toward the scene.
But he could not make out much more before the same guard had grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back up to his feet, making him stifle a yelp of pain as the sudden force felt like it might dislocate his shoulder. Again he was manhandled back over the orc’s shoulder and carried out of the building, and as they left Taegan looked up to see that they had indeed been in a stone tower, maybe three or four stories tall from what he could tell. The guard carried him through the wide streets of Drol Kuggradh, and while at first he tried to look around at his surroundings he could see more orcs staring at him with wide eyes—though they were clearly unarmed, visibly citizens of the city, somehow meeting their eyes was deeply uncomfortable, and he kept his gaze trained on the ground instead until the light disappeared around them and he was brought back underground.
Again he was shoved unceremoniously back into the cell, and in the flickering torchlight the guard carried he could see that all evidence of the struggle in the opposite cell was gone. He suspected that Naydi would not return.
Once the guard had locked the cell and gone back up the stone steps, he was back in darkness, his heart still pounding with adrenaline. Somehow his brief moment in the light, cruel as it was, made the dark felt all the more oppressive now.
7
Taegan
He did not see Naydi again. Though he had seemed to get off lightly at first, Taegan quickly realized he was being punished, too, though through much less violent means. He had no accurate gauge of time but it felt like well over a day before he saw another guard, and when the orc approached he carried only a torch and a pitcher of water.
“W-Wait!” he stammered as the orc moved to leave after setting the water on the ground in his cell, and the guard glanced back at him but did not stop. He could hear the heavy footsteps getting further away, going up the stone stairs, and finally the heavy wooden door swinging closed once more. With shaking hands he lifted the pitcher of water to his lips and took a small sip, but despair had filled him anew and he feared he might be sick with anxiety despite the hunger gnawing at his belly.
Usually he would walk around his cell for a bit, but this time he crawled back under his blanket atop the pile of hay. If he were asleep, he thought, he wouldn’t feel the hunger, and the time would pass faster. Hopefully.
Sleep didn’t come easily but eventually the darkness took him. Still, it was a fitful, restless sleep, though at the very least he did not dream of being hungry. He woke once with his stomach still aching, but he kept his eyes closed and remained motionlessly curled under the blanket, and at some point it faded away again with his consciousness.
He dreamt of being home, with Zorvut, but always the comfort of his dream melted away to fear, visions of the castle being overrun and blood bathing its walls, and in his dreams he was searching desperately for Zorvut, for his father, foranyone, yet found no one. But he did not dream of being hungry.
It was the metallic clatter of his cell door opening that snapped Taegan awake a second time—he sat bolt upright with fear, though the adrenaline faded quickly as he caught sight of an orc holding a torch setting a tray of food down a few feet away from him, glancing over at him with an irritated disinterest. The moment the door had closed again he leapt up to crawl to the tray. It had only two slices of bread and a cup of water, and some part of him bristled with frustration at the meager amount of food but the rest of him was too hungry to care, scarfing it down as quickly as he could.
When the food was gone his stomach still yearned for more, but the sensation began to fade as he slowly sipped the water until it was gone and crawled back to his makeshift bed. He was still hungry, but it took the edge off enough that it felt easier to fall back asleep. What else was there to do now?
Just before he could sleep again, though, another noise roused him; from the hallway came the sound of the heavy wooden door opening. Taegan frowned as his eyes opened once more. Why had the guard returned, and so soon?
But as the footsteps approached, even in the darkness he could tell that the orc was not the same as the guard that had just been there—he did not carry a torch—and he sat up uncertainly as the sound drew closer. Sure enough, a different orc appeared in front of his cell, unlocking the cell door without explanation.
“Come,” he said gruffly once it slid open, adding something in orcish that he did not understand. Taegan waited, uncertain, then the orc spoke again, sounding far more irritated this time. “Now!”
