The Orcs

Castian’s breath hitched as the carriage clattered across a bump in the road. He had been trying his best not to show fear during the journey, but the task was becoming increasingly impossible. His slender wrists felt like they were being rubbed raw by the iron shackles around them. It wasn’t as if they were particularly rough or heavy. The lingering traces of fae ancestry just left modern elves very sensitive to contact with iron. He already had rashes creeping up his arms.

The purpose of the shackles was to keep his magic contained so that he couldn’t run away from his escort. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t thinking about it. But, there were five city knights with him. Escape was rather hopeless even before the cuffs were introduced. Castian wasn’t a warrior. He wasn’t even a real practitioner of the old elven arts. He worked at a clothing store.

Had worked at a clothing store. Now, he was in a prison carriage on his way to the orc village in the woods.

The city of Brillian, where Castian was from, was a monument to the strength of elven culture — an impenetrable citadel made of white granite. It was a paradise on Earth: clean, serene, controlled, and predictable; a bastion of democracy and scholarship, of philosophical thought and art. All intricately carved pillars and ornate sculpted moldings, Brillian was, above everything, beautiful.

The outside world was nothing like that. He had caught glimpses of it over the walls as a child, and he could see it from the windows now. He never had any reason to want to venture out into the patchwork of gnarled thickets and tree branches or the squelching patches of moss-ridden grass fields and muddy footpaths. What’s more, he had no idea what else was out there — what wild beasts were stocking the untamed shadows.

Castian couldn’t imagine there was anything out there more terrible than the orcs. He’d heard the stories from the knights and the hunters. The orcs were terrible, hulking things: seven feet tall with green leather for skin and jagged yellow teeth too large and sharp to fit in their mouths. He’d been told they had horns and wore clothes that were dyed with the blood of the things they killed. They carried around heavy, barbaric instruments like clubs and axes, dragging them on the ground behind them.

The Brillian knights had taken to escorting merchants to and from other towns and cities recently, because it wasn’t uncommon for a handful of orcs to attack them. The instances in which the merchants were unguarded ended in complete massacres. It seemed that the village had declared war on Brillian. The attacks were growing more frequent and brazen, to the point where they would hang around the walls of the city, bang their weapons against the wall, and howl.

While the knights could drive them off, their forces were fatiguing and the injuries were piling up. The council got together and held a vote. In accordance with the backwards ferity of the village, they would deliver to the orcs a sacrifice in the hopes it would satiate whatever hunger had gripped them. The victim was chosen randomly from among the adult citizens of the city. Of course, it had to be Castian.

The further away from the white walls the carriage drew, the more Castian began to tremble. The carriage halted with such abruptness that Castian struck his nose on the wall in front of him. One of the knights grabbed him by the chain connecting his wrists and roughly hauled him back onto the bench. She was still for a moment; the other two were as well. There were some muffled voices from outside, then, one of the drivers slowly opened the door.

“It’s time. Bring the gift.”

In his mind, Castian stepped out of the carriage with dignity, his chin tipped up as he offered himself to the enemy to protect his home and people. In reality, every muscle in his body locked up tight. His breath was coming in rapid, shallow gasps as he was hauled out by the knights. The straps on one of his sandals caught on the doorframe and snapped, then his bare heel was dragged through the muck.

The chains were rattling non-stop, even when Castian was pushed upright. He couldn’t lift his gaze from the grass. “It’s for the greater good,” he told himself, “it’s for the greater good.” The tip of a much-too large black boot came into view and Castian finally, slowly lifted his gaze. Before him was one of the orcs.

He was simply massive. His skin really was as green as the leaves on the trees, though he had no horns. He did have very large teeth… tusks… but it wasn’t anything like the broken piranha-like jaws Castian expected. Mostly, they were well contained within his lips. He was wearing a brown coat lined with fur and a rather peculiar garment that was quite like underwear but long enough to cover from the waist to the ankle, wrapped around each leg.

“You.” The knight captain barked at the orc. “Are you in a position to accept something on behalf of your village?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment and several more of the behemoths came clambering out of the brush. Castian couldn’t begin to imagine how they had been hiding.

“Maybe you should try talking a little slower.” The female knight murmured with a little sneer.

“Are you able to accept something on behalf of your village?” He demanded again.

“I should think so.” The orc growled. His voice was a deep, rumbling thing that rolled like distant thunder. Castian couldn’t help but to shiver.

“Good. This is an offering from the city, Brillian.” The captain tugged sharply on Castian’s chain. “In exchange, we ask for peace.”

“Peace?”

“Yeah, peace. Ever heard of it?” The female knight snarked. The orc blew an intimidatingly harsh breath out of his flaring nostrils and the others behind him began to advance. He held his hand out though, halting them.

“Who are you to your people?” He asked the captain.

“What does that matter?” He scoffed. “It doesn’t change the offer.”

“You bring a boy with you to hand over to me. Of course it matters.” He pushed his wild, messy hair away from his face with all the tired gracelessness of a man who was simply at the end of his rope.

“He isn’t a boy. He’s a man grown.” The female knight interjected. “Were you expecting us to give up a child?”

“Why —” The lead orc’s voice was cut off by a fearsome yowl echoing through the trees. Whatever it had come from was big. Too big. The horses began to thrash in their yolk, the two drivers having to tug on the reins of each of them to keep them from running off. The knight who had yet to speak throughout the hand off straightened up.

“The Beast.” He breathed. “Captain, we have to retreat back to the city.”

“Go!” The captain ordered. Castian turned to go with them. The orcs didn’t seem to want him. There was some kind of monster not far away. Surely that meant this whole offering plan had completely gone up in smoke. But, the captain shoved him back towards the orcs and the carriage was already pulling away by the time he had managed to scramble to his feet.

The creature let out another screech, this time much closer and louder. Castian wanted to run all the way back to the city and just go home. He wanted to take a warm bath and forget that any of this had even happened. His legs felt like jelly underneath him, though.

He had a spell for that. He did. If he could just get the damn shackles off of himself. In a fit of terror he began slamming his wrists against a rock, trying to crack the iron cuffs. But it was to no avail.

“Stop that, boy.” The lead orc crouched down beside him and closed his huge hand around both of Castian’s wrists. “You’re not going to get those off like that.” Castian pulled away harshly, trying to yank his hands out of the orc’s.

“Let go of me!”

The creature screamed again, tree branches cracking and falling not far away.

“Quiet.” The orc hissed. “Skxoka is drawn to the sounds of distress.” Castian froze, not drawing in any breath. “It’s alright.” The orc reassured him in a more gentle tone. “Breathe slowly. We will not leave you to die here.”