Captured By the Orc Ch. 26

CAPTURED BY THE ORC

Chapter 26: Cruel Reunion

A crude wooden yoke bound the orc's arms next to his head. Breman yanked the rope wrapped around the orc's neck, forcing him to stumble forward.

"Caught him sneaking around the perimeter," Breman declared to the gathered crowd, a malicious satisfaction in his voice. "It was a real battle, but I managed to take him down."

The captured orc let out a soft puff of laughter and Breman's face flushed an angry shade of purple.

"Something funny?" he spat, twisting the rope around his captive's neck. The orc grimaced but stayed silent. Breman continued to drag the orc through the village in a cruel mockery of a parade. As they passed by, villagers flung snow and garbage at the orc, showering him with taunts and insults.

Something's wrong.

The orc Samson knew would have fought back. Dalthu would have crushed some skulls and pressed on, yet the creature being dragged through the village looked broken--thin, sluggish, and bruised. A rotten head of cabbage smacked loudly against the orc's head as he was pulled onto a wooden platform in the village center.

"Dalthu?"

Samson's voice was barely above a whisper and, in the surrounding chaos, it should have been impossible to hear him, but the moment the name passed Samson's lips the orc lifted his head. A tender smile spread across the warrior's gaunt face, and his eyes, once listless, now sparkled golden like the sun. Dalthu had kept his promise. He had come for Samson.

Breman kicked the backs of the orc's legs and the once-proud warrior fell to his knees. The mercenary motioned to a villager in the crowd who passed up a pair of shears. Breman grabbed a fistful of the orc's hair and Samson's blood ran cold.

"Wait!" he cried, fighting through the crowd. "You don't understand--"

Hair, a sacred symbol in orc culture, held profound significance. A source of pride, courage, and power, it symbolized an orc's strength and resilience in battle. Cutting or losing hair was a disgrace beyond measure.

Amidst a roar of laughter, Samson finally reached the front. It was too late. On the scaffold was a pile of black locks, once part of Dalthu's proud mane. A sickening feeling churned in Samson's gut. The orc's face looked smaller... changed. However, the crowd wasn't satisfied.

"Monster--"

"Whip his hide!"

"To the pillory with him--"

"Take his hand!"

The crowd roared in approval. Dismemberment of the hand was the punishment for thieves. Breman smiled and tossed the scissors aside as someone passed an axe up to him.

Samson was already moving, his single focus to get to Dalthu's side. He didn't get far. While trying to shove his way past two large villagers, a pair of hands grabbed Samson from behind and dragged him back into the crowd.

"For God's sake, Sammy." It was Kane. His brother's voice was high pitched. "You shouldn't be seeing this."

"Stop! Let me go!" Samson swung blindly, unable to tear his eyes away from the platform.

Breman put his boot down on the orc's wooden yoke, forcing Dalthu to bow lower. The mercenary hovered the menacing blade over Dalthu's bound hand, the crowd's anticipation lending an air of gruesome theater to the moment. Then he raised the axe high.

Samson's hand shot out, with the pathetic hope he could stretch beyond his limits. "DALTHU!"

It was over in an instant. The axe descended with a swift, brutal force and severed Dalthu's hand from his body.

The crowd went wild.

Pain shot through Samson's stomach and his legs buckled. Kane released his hold and dropped down to Samson's side. "Sammy!? What the hell--"

Samson retched into the snow as the crowd began chanting again. This time they were chanting for death.

No...

Friends. Neighbors. The people Samson had known all his life, were cheering for murder. On the platform, as blood poured from the orc warrior's empty wrist, Breman was preparing the axe for a final swing.

It can't end like this.

Samson grabbed Kane by his coat collar and pulled him in close. "Help. Him."

His brother's eyes widened. "Wh--"

"For me. Please." Samson fought back a sob. "Help him."

Kane blinked once. Then he sucked in a deep breath and... "ENOUGH!"

His command whipped through the air and everyone froze. Kane marched toward the platform, the crowd parting for him easily. Samson picked himself up and scrambled in his brother's wake.

Kane climbed the steps up to Breman. "What do you think you're doing?"

Breman lowered his arm. "I could ask you the same," he drawled. The mercenary's speech was lazy, but his eyes were sharp as they assessed Kane.

"Passing judgment is the responsibility of the village council. Not outsiders."

Breman scoffed. "Do you need the council's permission to kill a pig? Hm? Do you call for a vote every time you roast a chicken?"

"What does that--"

The mercenary pointed his blade at Dalthu's neck. "You don't need a committee to butcher an animal."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, many nodding in agreement with Breman.

Shit.

Samson jumped in. "W--what if a war party comes looking for Dalthu?" He put extra emphasis on the word war. "What about the horde?"

"Then we'll kill them as well," Breman declared. "Their bodies will hang in the fields like scarecrows so they see no monster receives mercy in this village."

Wrong answer.

The once-riotous crowd was now silent, exchanging uneasy glances. These people were farmers, not fighters. The idea of facing a horde of battle-hardened orc warriors bent on revenge was more than enough to make them hesitate. Or at least pass the buck to someone else.

An old man standing at the front of the crowd cleared his throat. "Perhaps, we should let the council decide."

Before Breman could argue, Kane shot his hand up in the air. "I propose an emergency council meeting to vote on the issue. All in favor?"

There was a resounding "aye" from the crowd.

"All against?"

Crickets.

Relief flooded through Samson. Dalthu was spared... for now. He slipped past his brother, focused on getting to the orc warrior's side. He needed to stop the bleeding before it was too late.

Breman, however, didn't move. He jabbed his axe toward Dalthu. "Keeping this thing alive won't keep the horde away. You need to send a message--"

One of the villagers, a pig farmer with a wart on his eyelid, stamped his feet. "Hey, if we're gonna do this, could we go inside?" With the verdict obvious, the peanut gallery had become restless.

"Good point. No need to torture ourselves is there?"

"Aye, my balls are likely to freeze off from standin' around."

"How 'bout the tavern--"

"Wait, what about the creature?"

Kane's eyes flicked over to Dalthu. "We'll lock it up for now," he said, then turned to Breman, who was still blocking the way. "Move aside."

The pock-marked mercenary shouted a curse so foul that several villagers covered their mouths. One older woman even clasped her hands together and began to pray. "You cowards." White flecks of spittle caught in the corners of Breman's lips. "Spineless, pathetic worms."

"That's enough. I said, move aside."

The mercenary's grip on the axe tightened. "This isn't what we discussed, Kane."

Kane didn't flinch. He rested his hand on the pommel of the knife at his side. "Things have changed."

Everyone held their breath as the two men faced off, waiting to see who would blink first. It didn't take long. Breman spat on the ground and shouldered past Kane. Samson released a shaky breath as the mercenary stalked off into the village, and, with the entertainment over, the crowd began to disperse.

Samson hurried over to Dalthu. Sweat was pouring down the orc's face despite the cold air, and he was clenching his teeth so hard his mouth was bleeding. Samson pulled off his belt and cinched it around Dalthu's mutilated wrist. The orc gasped in pain.

"Hold on," Samson whispered.

This is bad. Bad, bad, bad.

Dalthu attempted to smile. "Li--LittleTiger..."

"Shut up. We need to stop the bleeding. Kane, are there any potions left?" Samson twisted around to look back at his brother. Kane was staring at Dalthu with a strange expression.

"You're the one who took my brother."

Despite his injuries, Dalthu managed to lift his head. "I am," he rasped. "I--I am... sorry."

Kane considered this. Then, he scooped up a handful of snow and slapped it against the orc's bleeding stump.

"GHRAAHH!"

Samson jumped up. "Kane--"

"It'll slow the bleeding," he said. Then, noticing Samson's expression, Kane gave an exaggerated sigh. "I won't let him die yet."

Samson nodded, then turned his attention back to Dalthu. "Why the hell did you come here?" he hissed. "What were you--"

Kane stepped in front of Samson. "You need to go."

"What? Kane, no, move--" Samson glanced over his brother's shoulder. That's when he noticed.

They weren't alone. Most of the crowd had wandered off to the tavern, but a handful remained behind. Those people were now watching Samson with rapt attention.

Kane leaned in close. "Listen," he whispered, "those old fools will be arguing for hours. Wait for dark, then meet me at the gaol."

Samson gnawed his bottom lip, but nodded. Fighting the urge to look back at Dalthu, he descended the platform. As he walked away, his brother added:

"And Sammy? Don't be seen."

***

That night, the moon hung low in the sky and cast eerie shadows across the deserted streets. Well, deserted except for one lone figure, draped in a hooded cloak.

Samson glanced around. Even though the village was asleep, it felt like dozens of unseen eyes were watching him. He pulled the cloak tighter around his shoulders and quickened his pace.

There it is.

The gaol was straight ahead. Samson darted across the open lane to the side of the wooden building and peered around the corner. All was still.

Samson reached up and knocked on the wooden door, echoing his pounding heart. Muffled footsteps approached from inside and the door creaked open, revealing his brother's solemn face.

"Did anyone see you?" Kane asked.

Samson shook his head.

"Inside then, quickly."

Samson stepped inside and the smell of musty straw filled his nose. The sparse interior was dimly lit by a few sputtering candles. Other than a wooden stool, a bucket, and some bloody rags, the only other feature of the room was a cell with iron bars. Inside the cell, slumped against the wall, was Dalthu.

The orc warrior had been fitted with a neck shackle that was secured to the wall. He was cradling his wrist, which had been dressed in clean bandages. He reminded Samson of one of the farm dogs whose paw had been crushed under a cow's hoof. The poor mongrel had curled up in a quiet corner to lick his wound, growling at anyone who tried to get close. Kane closed the door behind him and the massive green body stirred.

Dalthu squinted over at them. "Samson?"

"Shhh, yes, it's me."

The orc frowned. "I must be dreaming."

"What? What are you--"

"Then again," Dalthu muttered to himself, "in my dreams, you're usually naked."

Something clattered behind him and Samson turned. Kane had dropped a ring of keys and was staring open-mouthed at the orc. Samson's cheeks nearly burst into flame.

Kane turned his horrified gaze to Samson. "W--what did it just say?"

This son of a--

Samson had spent the whole day agonizing and imagining different scenarios of when he finally met with his orc lover again. He hadn't considered the possibility of being doubted as a figment of imagination.

"Sammy? What did it mean? Naked?"

Samson ignored Kane's babbling. "You're not dreaming. Now, listen--"

"Maybe I'm dead, then."

Samson's last thread of patience snapped. "It's me! It's me, you moldy loaf of bread! Who else would be stupid enough to try and rescue you, you damn, rutting orc!"

Dalthu leaped to his feet so quickly that Samson jerked back in surprise. "Oh, thank Luthic. It is you. Little Tiger, I've... I am glad to see you."

Samson felt strangely shy at the orc's effusive display and ducked his head down. "Enough. Let's figure out how to get you out of here."

"HEY."

Samson turned around. His brother had collected himself and was now staring daggers at him.

"Yeah, remember me? Do I get an explanation now?"

Samson sighed. "What would you like to know?"

His brother's face fell. "What I-- Sammy, I want to know what the hell is going on. You wanted me to save this thing and I did. I want to know why."

"Because we need to help him escape."

"Let him go? Are you crazy? Absolutely not." Kane scooped the key ring off the floor and hooked it onto his belt. "Are you really worried about the horde coming back? Look, this one was found all alone. We can dispose of it and burn the remains and--"

"No."

Kane huffed, clearly frustrated. "Don't you remember what this monster did to you?"

Remember? Of course he did. That was the problem. Samson remembered the fear and pain. He remembered the confusion. He also remembered the warmth... the fluttering of his heart. He remembered the overwhelming pleasure and excitement. He remembered it all. But, how was he supposed to explain that to his brother? Explain that he was pregnant! And that it's an orc's baby?! Explain why he never tried to get rid of it. Explain how he'd never felt more alive than when he was with Dalthu. Explain why, even now, his body was reacting to the creature only a few feet away.

"Sammy, I want to understand. If you're confused because of what was done to you, I can help. Just... talk to me."

Samson knew. It was time to make a choice. "I need to speak with Dalthu. Alone."

To be continued...