Desperate Measures Chapter 2: Taken (Patreon)

Satisfied with her prize the Scourge disappears to attend to the more important matters of mopping up after a total rout.  Drunda, her second, barks a few commands and ensures all was going well before she too leaves.  A group of six soldiers stay behind to finish the job.  After a quick pat down to look for weapons, thankfully not too thorough, my hands are shackled in front of me and so are Silima’s. We are bound together by collars connected by a chain before we are whisked from the room along with the gathered hoard of valuables.  To the soldiers that handled us we were just another bit of loot.  Everything they did seemed rushed and listening into their conversation I discover that every minute they spend on this task was a minute they were missing out on plundering some goodies for themselves.

Silima and I offer no resistance.  Walking shoulder to shoulder we cling to each other for support, and as unaccustomed as I was to wearing long gowns the support is greatly needed.  I whisper apologies to her but among the shouts and rough shoves of the orcs I am not sure how much she can make out.  I do what I can to shield her body with my own but in the hurly-burly it takes all I had just to keep up.

Before I even realize where we are going I find myself in the throne room.  Kneeling to one side of the grand throne carved in shape of an ancient spreading oak tree is my father, my mother, and a handful of my father’s inner circle along with three of his elite guard.  The bodies of the rest of the royal guard lay in a pile in the center of the room surrounded by a mix of common orc soldiers and the taller Valkyries.  They looked so out of place here.  Up on the raised platform beside the throne the Scourge stands over my parents with a fresh spatter of crimson blood speckled across her right arm.  Speaking through a translator, who at best had a rudimentary grasp of elvish themselves, she seemed to be laying out the conditions of surrender.  I can only hear snippets from across the room, she was currently going on about hunting in the rich forested lands that stretched from the fen to the West coast along our Northern border.  From the sound of it my father had just lost a tenth of his kingdom to the orc horde.

It is then my parents notice my arrival.  They say it is in times of great peril that you see a person for who they truly are and what I see breaks my heart.  In my father’s eyes I see quiet desperation and humiliation.  I could practically hear him praying that this ruse works so that he and his remaining retinue could flee to the human lands to the South before returning to the city bolstered by his Southern forces along with his many allies.  In my mother’s face I see a near hysterical terror purely concerned with self preservation, she was on the verge of a breakdown.  Never in her pampered life had she faced such dire life and death horror and she was not up to the task of dealing with it.  In neither of their faces do I see the genuine concern I had seen in Silima’s as she prepared me for my sacrifice nor grief at the loss of their twin children.  Their lives and their power were their primary concern.

Growing up I had often felt like my sister and I were little more than an accessory to the royal house, marriageable pawns to be used to expand and deepen our family’s influence.  Unlike the royal families of the other shorter lived races my status as the eldest son all but guaranteed that I would not see the throne.  By the time my father would pass on by natural causes many centuries from now I would be an old man myself.  The crown would pass to one of the younger descendants as it had done with him when his great grandfather bequeathed rulership to him.  No, it is not worry or love I see in their gaze but a grave expectation that I do what I was commanded to do for the good of the crown.  This only lasts so long however as eventually they lower their eyes from my steady stare in some semblance of parental shame.  No words are exchanged between us and they do not even spare a glance for the woman beside me that had so faithfully served this family for over two hundred years.

Following their attention the General turns her head and looks at me with her good eye.  She sneers a tusky sneer.  Pointing back at me she tells them that the lands she claims are hers by right of victory and that any attempt at reclaiming them will result in the immediate torture and execution of their daughter.  Beyond that she promises the cost of retaking even an acre of the expanse would be paid for in elvish blood.  The translation is rough but the point gets across.  My father had no room to negotiate he simply wanted this nightmare to end as soon as possible.  He agrees and swears on his honor that he would cede the land to her without retaliation.  There were no documents or treaties drawn up, his word was enough the orcish ruler.

With that Silima and I am are harried along.  I hear cheers from the gathered orcs as we reach the exit.  Peeking behind me as I ushered out of the room I see the Scourge, while still looking straight at my kneeling parents, pissing on the elegant Isthalian throne in a way that once more reminds me that she and her Valkyries had a unique anatomy.  The sight of my mother and father squinting against the splash back of orcish urine would be my final memory of them.  A few minutes later we are out of the castle and beyond the walls.  Looking out over my home city there are columns of black smoke rising up into the bright afternoon sky here but overall it is far quieter than I expected.  With the castle taken the fighting was over.  The rape of the city’s riches was now well underway.

The next few hours are a blur.  We are taken from the castle and loaded into a cage built into the back of a stout wooden cart drawn by a single draft horse.  The cage was cramped, there was no seating, and the bare iron bars are cold to the touch, yet in the end the cage proved to be a mercy reserved for only myself and my attendant.  It kept us in, yes, but more importantly it kept the soldiers out.  The appearance of a regal elven princess among them brought out crude leers and raucous jeers and grasping hands.  Each soldier trying to touch me and telling the others the debauchery he would inflict upon me if he could.  They did not realize I understood their every word, not that it would matter if they did savages that they were.  Within the cage I was spared the worst of it, which could not be said of the other captives that were collected around us.  They had the benefit of not being royalty but they were exposed to the orcs crassness first hand.  They huddle around the cart weeping and beseeching me to somehow help them.  Through the bars I take their hands and kiss each one, whispering assurances that the Autumnal Realm that awaited us after this life would provide a bliss that would wash away the dark memories of what was to come.  Soon the captives are shackled to long chains that are attached to the cart.  

To my eye everything was happening so quickly.  The orcs seemed frantic in their looting.  The Scourge was wasting no time in sacking and vacating the city.    Not being experienced in war I did not know if this was normal or simply the way of the marauding orcs.  The city was at her mercy, haste hardly seemed necessary at this point.  Perhaps she was acting on information I was not privy to.  A mere hour or so later the cart and captives are brought down the main avenue leading to the Northern gate of the city.  Some of the worst fighting had happened along this area.  Bodies of both orcish and elvish warriors lay strew here and there among the shattered barricades and broken rubble like so much refuse.  I quietly pray for the fallen soldiers who died in defense of this great city.  The enemy however seemed to have no concern with seeing the remains of their kind given a proper burial or even providing them with last rites.  The barbaric orcs were far more concerned with looting than honoring their deceased.

I see the odd elven face peeking from corners or out of smashed windows as we pass by.  Most of them are scared out of their wits and seeing the princess captured only brought home the totality of our defeat.  Many look upon me with pity yet I maintain a brave face for my people.  I look them in their eyes and show them that while I was captured I was not broken in hopes that it gives some small comfort to them in this darkest hour.

By the time we hit the city gates the withdrawal from Isthalas was already well underway.  Like streams of ants around a mound the orc soldiers flow onto the main thoroughfare by the gate from the alleys and side streets with sacks of loot upon their backs.  Deep resonating horns blow near, then in the distance, and then even further out and with hardly a pause the cart continues its way North out of the city.  The stoic Valkyrie stay behind to shepherd the chaotic horde out then, mounting great shaggy saber toothed beasts, follow behind before making their way to the head of the column.  As they pass I catch the General’s amber eye give me another lingering look.

Moving at the pace of a fast march the horde quickly puts distance between them and the city.  As I watch the gleaming white walls of the only home I had ever known recede into the distance, two long chains of captives trailing behind us on foot and soldiers flanking on every side, I hold my loyal servant’s hands tightly in mine, bow my head to hide my face, and weep bitter tears.  Silima cries with me.

Chapter 3