Desperate Measures Chapter 6: Watching and Listening (Patreon)

This is one those chapters that I just have to move past or it will gobble up way too much time.  I am not happy with it but it gets the point across.  I have no idea how many of you are even reading this (Patreon's analytics don't seem to make any sense), but those who are I hope you are enjoying it so far.

***

Iron shackles were now chafing, people were having to do their personal business in the open, a single ladle of water was our only breakfast, and the toll of the emotions the day before along with a long march followed by a poor night’s rest brought home the grim reality of our plight.  The intense terror was fading into a deeper stoic dread.  Our days of enjoying even the simple pleasure of a warm bed in a place of our own were behind us.  Survival itself was now a luxury we could not take for granted from moment to moment.  And even if we did survive, then what?  We all knew it was going to get bad we just didn’t know how bad.  Our shared plight gave us a feeling of community that held back the growing despair for now.

Around us the orcs leer and ogle but the demands of their hasty preparations to move on keep them too preoccupied to bother us.  The encampment is a deafening jumble of organized chaos as none of the different groups and tribes wanted to be the last to be ready.   Many of them too were bleary eyed from having only a few hours sleep.  Tempers were short and intense arguments would erupt here and there, though surprisingly none came to violence.  The Scourge’s sobering news last night kept them motivated and focused.  I cannot help but think that, though they were not enslaved as we were, they too had been forced from their homes by an attack from a hostile enemy.  Unmoored from our cities both captor and captive alike were, for the time being, homeless nomads out in the world.

Silima and I are barely able to get water to everybody before the guards bully us back into the cage and lock it up again.  Sensing the urgency to be on the move again the other captives rise and begin forming into their two lines as they had the day before.  The orange morning sun is just above the horizon we hear a horn blow in the distance and the army is on the move again.  Most of the soldiers eat their breakfast of hard biscuit and leathery looking jerked meat on the march.

This day’s trek becomes increasingly challenging as the day wears on.  Once through the orchards we are once more into heavy forest but this time without the benefit of a major road to travel on.  Instead we trundle along narrow cart paths and uneven winding trails.  Those on foot or on riding beast fared okay but the carts and wagons and war machines slow things down considerably.  Silima and I are jostled this way and that as the cart lumbers jarringly over bump and root.  Even as exhausted as I was there was simply no way to sleep in the teeth rattling cage.

Unable to sleep and unable to sing I instead spend the long hours watching and listening.

The elves had settled into a dismal silence as they trod with weary steps.  Some prayed, some wept, some still held to a hope of rescue, and, though it had only been a day, I could see some beginning to resign themselves to their situation.  This last group in particular looked to me as their beacon.  An imprisoned princess for an enslaved people.  It broke my heart.

As this was happening among my people there was also a noticeable change that could be sensed among the soldiers around us.  The further we got from the possibility of imminent battle the more the orcs shifted from the bellicose bluster I had heard back in the city to something far more subdued.  Their war faces were dropping.  In their thick brutish features that I once saw as just a step removed from simple violent animals, I can now see thoughtful emotion peeking through.  Worry, grief, pride, and even fear.  Many were thinking of their families, I was sure of it.  As the day progresses I catch a few smiles as jokes are made, I see looks of concern, and I even see pats on the shoulder to try to lift a comrade’s spirits.  They were not good creatures, our capture proved that beyond all doubt, yet these were not the savages we learned about in school.  In their wide gnarled faces I begin to see glimpses of the noble fighting men and the rich culture they were born from Gog of Engrith wrote ballads about.

Since none but the General herself and Drunda knew of my fluency in their language the soldiers are not guarded with their conversations around me.  What reaches my ear confirms what I was seeing.  I hear of their concern for loved ones and how each of them hoped that their family either got out alive or at least died with a weapon in their hands.  I hear complaints about their share of the spoils and how they would use what treasure they did get for their kin once they returned.  Their rough behavior and blustering voices gave the illusion of a dog eat dog society but when you really listened you realized that everything they spoke about was rooted in clan and family.

Even their attitude toward us captives was noticeably softening.  Gone were the boasts of how they would ravish us and in their place more serious talk of what they thought each of us would go for on the slave market.  At one point the three guards to the left of the cart openly speak about it, the big one with the one tusk Daeliah spoke of that morning was being teased.

“Give it up Broog.”  One of them laughs.  “You’ll never be able to afford her.”

“It’s not fair.”  The behemoth of an orc kicks the ground.  “I barely got any time to loot.”

“None of us did.”  The third one gripes.  “Once the General got her prize we were out of there.”  His yellow eyes flash my direction.  “She better be worth it.”

Broog looks down into a sack he wore on his belt to take stock of his plunder then lets out a great sigh of defeat.  He looks to the others.  “If you guys could loan me…”

The laughter of the other two drowns out what he was trying to say.  “Ha!  Even all together we couldn’t afford her.  Besides, we’ve got our own shit to look after.”

Big Broog nods.  “Yeah, just thought I’d ask.”

“Just take her tonight.”  One suggests.  “Have your fun before she gets to market. We’ll cover for ya.”

My heart sinks for Daeliah and I desperately try to think of what I might do to help her.  But Broog surprises me.

“Nobody touches her!”  He snaps back angrily.  “If anybody lays a hand on her…!”  His huge muscles flex causing his tight fitting armor to creak against his swelling form as he looms over the others threateningly.  “She’s worthy to be a mate.  She’ll make a good wife.  She should be…treasured.  She’s not just just a bit of fun!  Don’t ever say something like that about her again!”

The others chuckle at his reaction to what seemed to have just been a joke.  “Okay, okay!  You are really taken with her, eh big guy?”

His green cheeks darken as his anger deflates and he mutters.  “Shut up.”  He lifts his helmet to smooth back his long black hair then peers back to catch a sight of fair Daeliah.  A small smile brightens his face and his blush gets even darker.  The laughter from the others only grows at his embarrassment but they did not treat his almost endearingly bashful attitude as anything particularly unusual.  “Do…you think a girl like her…could ever…?”  He sighs once more and gives up on his question.

The laughter ends as the others pat his thick arms to assure him.  “You’ll find your wife eventually Broog.  Don’t give up.”

He nods then glances back and says wistfully.  “None like her though.”

Again I am struck with the real heart with which they spoke to each other.  There was the typical machismo you would hear among the male warriors of any race but beneath it was compassion and good humor. The guards genuinely wished well for Broog.  Though still disturbing how they so casually spoke of slavery, these were not the words of merciless killers and rapists.  And after this conversation, the way Broog silently smiled with a dreamy look in his orange brown speckled eyes, I had no doubt he was utterly smitten by the young maiden.  Given the options Daeliah could certainly do worse than to have this hulking protective mountain of muscle looking out for her.

The long grueling day of travel ends in a clearing at the bottom of a river valley.  Again the camp is set up with swift efficiency.  Silima and I are once more hauled out of the cage to bring the captives water.  I am only too glad to do so not only because I knew the elves desperately needed the water but also just to stretch out and move about again.  Every bone and joint in my body ached after the rough ride.  Ladle by ladle we dole out the much needed refreshment.  When I get to young Daeliah I take a moment with her.

As she savors the life giving water I take the opportunity to slip my bent platinum hair comb from my sash to her belt.  She stops drinking and looks down in confusion.  I quickly guide her chin back and offer her water again so as not to draw attention.

“His name is Broog.”  I whisper to her as I feed the water through her parched lips.  “He doesn’t wish to hurt you.  He likes you.  He’s watching over you.”  The way she looked at me told me that she understood precisely what I was referring to.  “If you give this to him and he will use it to purchase you at auction to be his wife.”  The emerald at the base of that comb alone was worth a small fortune.  It would easily be enough to buy Daeliah.

Her eyes narrow as she finishes her drink.  As I pull the ladle away from her mouth she hisses.  “I will never…!”

“Think about it.”  I interrupt and give her hand a squeeze.  “Just think about it.”

Her green eyes dart to my left and to my right to look at the scores of orcs all around us.  Her shoulders sag and she nods.  Patting her belt where the gift was tucked she says.  “Thank you Evenstar.”

The gratitude feels undeserved, I wished I could do so much more for her, but I accept it nonetheless.  I kiss her head.  “My brave girl.”

This small gesture breathes some life back into her.  She sits a moment in thought, she was thinking through her options, or lack thereof, and seemingly coming to the same conclusion as I had.  “You say…his name is Broog?”

I nod.  “That’s right.  It means tiger lily in Orcish.”

“Tiger lily?  Really?”  She says with surprise.  “He’s named after a flower?”  Her face lights up.  “Oh!  Because of his eyes!”

“I suspect so.”

“Tiger lily.”  She says again to herself.  “I never would have guessed.”

I am then jabbed with the butt of an ax and forced to move on to the next thirsty mouth in line.