Blood of Dragons - The Warlord

Out of the stinging snow and able to catch his breath, Kroll looked around the cavern. Whatever light that managed to pierce the storm ended only a few feet beyond his view, but he could tell that it extended deep into the mountain from the way the sound of the wind echoed around him. Kroll couldn't imagine any sort of beast making its home in such a place; a cave so high up and so far from any kind of hunting grounds or vegetation would not be a viable place to settle. Though for the moment, it would have to be one for Kroll until the storm passed and he could venture out without freezing to death.

Kroll allowed himself to rest his body as long as he dared without falling asleep; he feared that he would not wake again if he did -

******

"You are the worst storyteller ever," said Vorka.

"What do you mean?" said Kroll.

"Even if I believed that a runt like you were, was capable of enduring a snowstorm through rage alone, why are you labouring the point? I get it, you were cold and tired. Get on with it!"

Kroll chuckled. "If I leaped ahead, you wouldn't appreciate everything I went through to become what I was."

Vorka sighed. "Fine, but if you start describing every little pebble in that cave, I will get up and start hitting you again."

"I'd like to see you try," said Kroll. "But if you insist, I'll just tell you what I found..."

*******

Kroll's hand brushed along the wall, holding himself steady as he slowly picked his way through the darkness. He could feel the cavern start to dip, leading downwards in a gradual slope. As his fingers traced the cracks in the stone, he felt an odd shape. The rock smoothed out, and the only mark Kroll found was a straight, thin etching; a vertical line had been carved into the wall. Before Kroll could think about what that meant, the darkness around him was broken as the carved line glowed. A magical blast of frigid air, colder than the storm outside blew from the symbol and swirled around Kroll. He could feel the frost growing over his skin; as Kroll tried to back away, his body slowed and stopped solid. A layer of ice coated him from his neck to his feet, holding him on the spot.

Kroll tried to struggle, but already weakened and overcome by the cold, he could barely turn his head; he couldn't even shiver. The symbol's glow faded as quickly as it had appeared, and the darkness returned to swallow him once again. Kroll fought to keep his eyes open, trying to call upon his rage to sustain him, but his fatigue was winning out.

Squinting through the darkness, Kroll could see something approaching. A small, hazy blob of light was floating towards him. Hope and fear both ran through him; was the creator of this trap here to finish him off before the magic claimed him?

A voice came from the light, speaking a language that Kroll did not know. It was more delicate than orcish, but too uncouth for elvish; whatever it was, Kroll could recognise the tone of self-confidence and smugness it carried. He had heard that manner of speaking every day of his life, from the members of the tribe that looked down and spat on him.

As the light drew close, Kroll saw that it was floating above the head of an unfamiliar creature. It looked similar to an orc, but its skin was a dusky brown, and its hair a brilliant white that Kroll had seen only on the elders of his tribe. He saw no trace of age on the creature's body, however; it wore the barest of clothing, mere straps of fur under a massive cape that looked like it came from a beast twice its size. Kroll assumed it was female, judging on its similarities to his own people. But where orcish women were strong and ever ready for combat, this female's body was softer. Her breasts were full and her hips wide, perfect for breeding but not built for fighting. Despite this, her dark eyes displayed a wild spirit as she looked Kroll up and down in his icy prison. Too tall and slender for a dwarf, too curvy and primal for an elf, she was unlike anyone Kroll had ever encountered.

She peered at Kroll quizzically, speaking again in her strange tongue; it sounded similar to the dwarf language, but faster and less gravelly. Kroll tried to make out any kind of pattern in her words, but his mind was clouding over, the cold turning his body numb. The woman repeated herself, speaking louder, seemingly hoping that Kroll would respond this time. When no answer came, she rolled her eyes.

"Do you speak dwarf?" she said.

Kroll opened his mouth. "Talk. Little." His throat felt like it was closing up.

"Will talk simple then," said the woman. "Name?"

"K-Kroll..." the orc wheezed. "Please. Cold."

"Yes. Cold," she said with a smirk. "You want warm, Kroll?"

"Y-yes."

"You no run. You no fight." She didn't sound like she was asking.

"N-no run, no f-fight..." Kroll wasn't sure how much longer he would last.

"Good," she said, reaching to a flask at her side. She dipped a finger inside, and it came out coated in a thick, dark purple liquid. Kroll caught the scent of blood as she traced three lines in a rune on his cheek. As she waved her hand over the rune, it glowed and Kroll felt warmth. The ice that coated his body cracked and fell to the floor as heat spread through him, chasing the numbness from him. Suddenly regaining the use of his limbs came as such a surprise that his legs gave way and he collapsed to his knees, something that seemed to amuse the mysterious woman.

"You kneel. Good. Know place," she said, then turned and called into the depths of the cavern in her own language. Out of the darkness came other figures, two more of the strange creatures, though male this time and covered all over in furs. They reached down and hauled Kroll to his feet, holding him fast. The woman reached into her flask again, drawing another rune on his forehead in the dark blood.

"Follow," she said, turning and walking back into the cavern. Kroll didn't think he even had the energy to stand, but as they released his arms, he found himself walking forward. His mind wanted to sleep, but his body was compelled. The creatures kept their hands on his shoulders, but they need not have bothered; Kroll's feet inevitably followed in the woman's footsteps, out of his control.

For a few long minutes, Kroll was led deeper into the mountain, the cavern sloping and twisting back on itself several times before opening up into a large chamber. Kroll was astounded; the entire warband could have made camp in here and still have room left over. Small huts and overhangs made from animal hide surrounded the outer edges of the chamber, several cooking fires burning between them, the smoke escaping through a large natural chimney in the ceiling dozens of feet above. The fires' light glinted off massive icicles that hung from above and rose from below, reflecting the light around and illuminating the entirety of the space. Kroll could see more figures moving about, more of the orc-like creatures and even a few dwarves, but it was all on the edge of his vision; he could not take his eyes off what lay in the centre of the chamber.

Reclining on its belly inside a crater of ice, its wings folded at its sides, was a gargantuan white dragon. Twenty feet long, not counting the muscular tail, and eight feet tall at the shoulder lying down, everything seemed to revolve around it. Its scales shimmered like solid ice, the fin-like crest on its neck stretching and resting as it breathed, gusts of icy air steadily emitting from its nostrils. The dragon's beady black eyes swivelled in its skull to watch as the magical woman approached, looming towards Kroll and the others as it lifted its head and drew back its lips to display its savage fangs.

The woman raised her hand and uttered something in her tongue. The dragon flinched at her voice, and Kroll could see a rune on the side of its face, identical to the one on his forehead, though many times larger. The dragon growled but lowered its head down as far as it could go; the woman stood on an outcropping of frozen rock to look down at it, speaking again in her condescending tone. The dragon spoke back in the same language, its eyes downcast and its voice low, like it was humbled. With a satisfied nod, the woman looked over her shoulder at Kroll.

"See dragon. See my power. Me, Ichtaca, Mountain Queen. You, slave. You fight, you die. You run, you die. You good..." she approached him and ran a finger along his jawline, smiling, "... I good too."

The woman Ichtaca placed her hand on Kroll's chest and gave a gentle push. Even the light touch was enough to force him back down to his knees. She raised a bare foot to the same spot and pushed again, planting Kroll on his back with minimal effort. Her toes traced the outline of his emaciated muscles, trailing down his stomach and hooking into the edge of his tattered trousers.

"Off!" she commanded.

Kroll hurried to obey, scrabbling to remove what remained of his garments. As he lay naked before her, he instinctively shrank into himself; Kroll had always avoided disrobing in front of the warband members for fear of ridicule. His slight build was so unlike the other warriors, a prime target for mockery, and there had been no chance of the women giving him a second glance. Even now Ichtaca looked down on him, her confident smile edged with disappointment and derision.

"Weak," she sneered. Her foot travelled up his inner thigh, the tips of her toes brushing against his balls. Kroll's hips twitched at the unexpected touch, which amused Ichtaca further. She began to rub with the sole of her foot, gently but with calculated pressure around his cock. Kroll had never had anyone touch him there; through a combination of fear and the unfamiliar sensation, his cock began to stiffen. Ichtaca's smile grew crafty as she stroked Kroll's swelling length with her toes in a steady rhythm. Her dexterity was incredible, alternatively pressing and gripping, caressing the underside of his glans. It didn't take long before Ichtaca's ministrations and Kroll's fearful tension reached a peak and he came, his seed spurting upwards and across his stomach. Ichtaca deliberately tilted his member away from herself, ensuring that not even a drop landed on her.

"Weak," she said again. "You grow strong, or you die." Stepping over Kroll's prone form, she walked away across the cavern, leaving him to lay in his shame. The guards alongside Kroll left to set about whatever else their duties were. Kroll was stunned, attempting to process what was happening, Ichtaca's warning all too clear. He was hers to control; if he tried anything rebellious, she could easily hold him in her power again and have him killed. She could likely compel him to walk straight into the jaws of the dragon and he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

Kroll felt despair well up inside him. He had been outcast from a life of subjugation, only to be forced into another one. It seemed that only death would free him from such a cycle, and even that had escaped him already.

"Damn my luck," he whispered to himself.

"Luck indeed," came a rumbling voice.

Kroll looked up sharply to find the dragon staring at him, a cunning glint in its eye.

"You... speak?" Kroll said, quietly so that no-one else would hear.

"I do," said the dragon. "I speak in many tongues, though it has been years since I last spoke Orcish. None of the others here speak it, and I have not seen one of your kind in decades."

"What is -" Kroll started, but the dragon grunted.

"Not now," it said. "Lay low and follow the cursed woman's commands. We will have more chances to speak in the future." It exposed its teeth in a smile that begat more terror than comfort. "I look forward to it."

*******

"Wait, wait, wait," said Vorka. "The dragon spoke to you?" She had been somewhat amused by the idea of Kroll being humiliated by the strange woman, but Vorka had not thought that dragons could talk.

"I was just as surprised as you, at the time," said Kroll. "I actually came to appreciate it quite quickly; she was literally the only one I could freely speak to."

"She?"

"Yes. Her name was Thraekepsekaussir; the humans called her Thrae."

"Humans?" Vorka had not heard that word before. "The creatures that captured you?"

"Yes," said Kroll. "It would seem that the dwarves are not the only people we will one day conquer. Especially since they and the humans seem to share much of their knowledge. Ichtaca's magic came from their rune writings."

"Yeah, and that too," said Vorka. "Why didn't you just scrub the rune off so that she couldn't take you over again?"

"If only it had been that simple," said Kroll, sighing with regret. "The magic lasted far beyond the rune itself, and she would always know when it would start to wear off. Every one of her slaves had their rune refreshed on a regular basis, and they were made all the more powerful by what she used to paint them..."

*******

"Kroll! More blood!" Ichtaca called, waving her flask without looking up from the parchments before her.

Kroll shuffled over to the Mountain Queen's workstation, accepting the flask wordlessly with both hands, taking a few seconds to scan over the multitude of runes. Ichtaca paid him no mind; the reason she even let Kroll this close to her work was that he couldn't understand the writing. That didn't stop Kroll from surreptitiously memorizing the angular shapes any chance he got.

As Kroll approached the giant form of Thraekepsekaussir, the white dragon raised her head with a sour expression.

"So soon?" Thrae murmured; by keeping her voice low, her Orcish was indistinguishable from her growling. It was how she and Kroll had communicated in secret for the past few months.

"She is deep in her research today," Kroll replied, sliding down into the dragon's crater. "She's writing a lot; I was able to spot a few more prominent runes." He drew a knife shaped from flint from his belt, knelt down and quickly scratched what he could recall into the icy rock. Thrae observed out of the corner of her eye.

"Very good. At this rate, it won't be long before we have enough." She drew in a shuddering breath. "But for now, do what you must."

Thrae raised her foreclaw, turning it to show a scabbed patch of flesh between her scales. Kroll reluctantly pressed his knife to the scar, opening the wound as he had many times before. Thrae hissed through her fangs as thick, dark blood seeped out, and Kroll held up the flask to catch it. It was only a few moments before the flask was full; Kroll stoppered the container while Thrae lifted her claw to lap at the cut.

"I hate having to do this to you," he said. Thrae was his only confidant in this frozen cavern, and the thought of hurting her was like digging the knife into his own flesh.

"So you say every time," said Thrae. "I know that it's not your fault."

"The sooner we can act on your plan, the better," said Kroll. "I wish I could help more."

"You are already doing enough," Thrae assured him. "Once I have managed to properly determine the nature of the runes you bring to me, I may be able to turn that witch's magic against her."

"How much more do you think you'll need?"

"I don't know, but I'm close; I know I am. Stay strong Kroll, for yourself, and for me."

Kroll nodded, trying not to appear too miserable. He scrambled out of the nest and back towards Ichtaca. He knelt in supplication and held up the flask; she took it nonchalantly and shooed him away with a wave of her hand.

Kroll felt the knife at his belt, the urge to plunge it into the vile woman's neck ever present at the edge of his mind. She treated all of her slaves like scum, but Kroll often got the worst of it. As an orc, he was mistrusted by both the humans and the dwarves; he had no allies amongst his fellow prisoners. He was still the weakest, unable to stand up to the others in a fight and left with the barest of scraps. Not to mention his lack of familiarity with their language meant that he was regarded as stupid by everyone, and Ichtaca never let him forget it; she took every opportunity to humiliate him.

"Think bad, Kroll?"

Kroll started, and realised Ichtaca had been watching him, and his hand tightly gripping the knife. He quickly released it and bowed his head. "No, Queen. No think bad!"

"You lie," she said coldly. "Think bad, do bad. You need lesson. I teach!" Ichtaca stood and called out to three of the other slaves, who flew to her side. She pointed at Kroll, and at her word two of them grabbed his arms, lifting him and driving their fists into his gut. The third slave, a tall human whose name Kroll had learned was Tenoch, stood still as Ichtaca ran her hands across his muscular abdomen and chest.

"You weak, Kroll," Ichtaca said, glancing back over her shoulder at the orc as more blows were rained upon him. "You think bad. Tenoch good, Tenoch obey." She drew Tenoch's face down with her hand and kissed him deeply. Their tongues entwined for several moments, before Ichtaca broke the kiss and whispered in Tenoch's ear. He knelt down before her, his hands sliding down her bare curves as she pulled aside the scrap of leather at her waist, revealing her sex. Tenoch plunged forward, burying his tongue inside her, caressing her thighs and buttocks. Ichtaca purred contentedly, fixing Kroll's gaze as the other slaves held him in place.

"See what good mean?" Ichtaca said. "See what strong mean?" She sighed and shuddered a little as Tenoch's tongue flicked across her clit. She grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, kissing him again before pushing him to the ground. Tenoch removed his ragged breeches while Ichtaca shucked her heavy cloak and undid the strap around her chest, letting her heavy breasts hang free. She stood over Tenoch proudly, observing his erection already twitching in anticipation.

"Bigger than you. Stronger than you," she said to Kroll, who was unable to look away as Ichtaca lowered herself down, taking the head of Tenoch's cock inside her. She rotated her hips slowly, teasing the human slave with the promise of more, while also making sure that Kroll got a full view of her curvaceous ass. In spite of himself, Kroll's own erection was growing; Ichtaca noticed the swelling in his pants and laughed.

"Watch now, Kroll! See what you never have!" Ichtaca punctuated her point by driving her hips downwards, taking Tenoch's entire length into her, causing them both to gasp out loud. The mountain queen leaned back on her haunches, riding up and down on her slave's cock, the motions causing all the right parts of her body to bounce appealingly before Kroll's eyes. He wanted to avert his gaze, but the others held him fast, and the magic of the rune on his forehead compelled him to keep his eyes open; Ichtaca had ordered him to watch. It was her favourite punishment for Kroll, taunting him by rutting with the other slaves, reminding him that he was unworthy of her.

Tenoch grunted something in the human language, thrusting his hips upwards with greater ferocity. Ichtaca responded by slapping him across the face and planting her palms on his chest, her fingernails digging into his skin. She braced her knees against his hips, holding him in place and quickening her own rhythm. With several more thrusts and a satisfied sigh, Ichtaca's orgasm came; she didn't attain it, she took it for herself, just like she did everything else. She rose to her feet, not even looking at Tenoch, who squirmed with tension, begging her with his eyes for his own release.

"See my power," Ichtaca intoned, glaring at Kroll. "I own. I control. You obey." She glanced back at Tenoch, and with a dismissive sniff pressed her foot to his penis, trapping it between his belly and her sole. One quick rub and the slave ejaculated, covering his belly in his own seed. Ichtaca retrieved her cloak, the runes woven into the lining quickly dispelling the cold and keeping her warm. She barked out in her language, causing Tenoch to quickly gather his meagre clothing and slink away. The two slaves holding Kroll gave him one more punch each, then dropped him at Ichtaca's feet before leaving to their other duties. The mountain queen casually turned his head to face her with her toes.