***** Author's Note *****

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63

The first thing Zathra became aware of was a massive wave of heat that washed over him in a torrent which instantly made his burn scars ache in an evocative sort of way; like suddenly he was back in the forgeworks after Barbaurak had hurled a sapper canister at one of the overseers, nearly killing both himself and Zathra. To be honest, neither of them should have survived such an event. Waking up after that incident was probably the most surprising part of it, and that was the first time Zathra's magic acted, seemingly, of its own accord, barely saving both of their hides in the process. Now, however, was different.

The screams of agony that brought Zathra to consciousness were not his own and there was only the faintest otherworldly sense of his magic trickling through his veins. The thin orc choked on the smell of burning flesh about him, jolting upright in sudden surprise as air finally filled his lungs once more. It was a welcome rush, his whole body was screaming for oxygen. His hands lifted, subconsciously patting down his own chest and body trying to get a sense of what was going on, trying to find the source of heat that was making his scars tighten painfully.

Wait... he paused and froze, eyes darting around in foggy bewilderment, Hand...s?

Zathra looked down, locking onto what should have been a stump. The moment he started to regain a sense of focus, a pale apparition of a hand pulsed to corporeality before starting to dissipate once more before his very eyes leaving him with a strange dull throbbing at the end of his arm, that was in fact, just a rounded blunt end where his elbow would have been. He shook himself; it was probably just a figment of his imagination, he surmised, a lingering feeling, a memory from not yet being used to missing a limb.

As his mind was coming around, he finally started to grasp his surroundings and take in the horrible scene before him.

"What..." Zathra started, finding surprising strength in his limbs as he shifted to get to his feet. Ashes were tumbling out of the sky, angered wailing splitting the air, and the dim light of evening overwhelmed by what appeared to be the olog, their captor, lit ablaze. To his side, Barbaurak was staring into the glaring firelight, he, himself, so enthralled by a huge ball of flame just a few yards away that he hadn't even noticed his subordinate seemingly springing back to life until hearing his voice.

Barbaurak's head snapped around to look at Zathra with a mixture of stupor and agitation, "Snake-Tongue- Yer not dead?!"

Zathra moved to him in one swift stride, kneeling alongside his leader, and immediately set to work summoning magic to his fingertips, "What in Mordor's hellfire happened?"

Barbaurak hissed as Zathra's sharp nails dug into the cuts on his leg. At the same moment, an electric sensation pulsed through the injured flesh, making Barbaurak yelp and take a swing at Zathra with a balled-up fist, "Skai lat! That hurts, ya knife-eared bastard! Whattaya think yer doing?!"

"WHAT. HAPPENED." Zathra braced against the strike, allowing it to connect with his jaw in favor of focusing on the lacerations, only to have the veins around the point of contact where Barbaurak's bony knuckles struck crackle and resolve any damage done before it had a chance to bruise. His tone was scathing, impudent even, full of an authority he had never dared challenge Barbaurak with before.

Barbaurak glared back at him, but with a dumbfounded look that wrinkled his brow and nose. The pulse of electricity struck his leg once more, but this time, he took notice of how it bounded between the edges of torn muscle, sealing it almost instantaneously with each bounce. One cut was completely erased by the time the pulse ebbed away. Another pulse, another cut sealed, leaving relatively unmarred skin behind on Barbaurak's leg. It seemed, the only trace left of evidence that there had been an injury on his calf, was the slowly crusting blood still flaking away from his skin. Never, had Zathra's magic proven so effective, nor efficient, before; the sight of it made Barbaurak bristle with unease. He stuttered through the strange otherworldly pain of severed ligaments and muscle knitting together rapidly, trying desperately to unclench his locked jaw, "Lat... bagbaur...! The backstabbing... snagalob... and that bloody toad set the troll up... doused 'im with Mokob-hai... and started roasting 'im like a stuck pig."

"Where are they?" Zathra's eyes darted up, searching the haze for Alaesia while his mind started probing into Barbaurak's thoughts unprompted, digging for more context, information, anything really. This chaos he had awoken to didn't make any sense, and Barbaurak's explanation seemed so far removed from what Zathra knew from probing Alaesia's mind, he simply couldn't believe it. She was terrified of the olog, sure, but there hadn't been a single inkling, that she might concoct some elaborate plot to kill her master, let alone to ally herself with Frogblood. No, she didn't have enough guile for that. She only craved her freedom, not wanton murder. He dug in, trying to rifle through his leader's thoughts as he continued to heal his leg, only to be met by a wall; the elf-like orc cursed internally, trying to press harder, only to be rejected forcefully by Barbaurak's subconscious mind.

"Keep yer skeeving elf-devilry out of my head, Snake-Tongue!" came the dark and threatening snarl from the injured orc, stubbornly refusing to even answer such a basic question. Very few orcs could completely throw Zathra out, not like that. Only one other time had Barbaurak been able to consciously do so. The last time Zathra had met such resistance from Barbaurak was when he returned with Razmat from the pits...

"I'm not trying ta pry, ya stupid git! Yer just not makin' any damned sense! Just answer the question!" Zathra grit his teeth and sent another urgent pulse into the maimed leg, stitching cut after cut.

Barbaurak grumbled, before nodding his head towards the chaos near the den, "Over there..."

From where he was, even a stone's throw away from the Reaper, further than ever before, Zathra could hear the clamoring of the others' minds, orc, olog, and human, each filling his mind with a cacophonous turmoil making it nearly impossible to pick out individual thoughts. He could see the olog just fine from where he knelt, the brute's thoughts seemingly swimming with dizzy confusion. As for where the other orc and Alaesia were, it was difficult to pinpoint. The light of the fire gnawing on the olog's back was blooming so bright Zathra needed to shield his eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, a second flame sparked to life just a few yards beyond where Ar-Tashk writhed, and suddenly Zathra heard Alaesia's cries break through the tumultuous noise rattling around his head. She was screaming in a horribly familiar pain, one that made Zathra's own scars ache. His hand yanked away from Barbaurak the moment the final cut pinched shut and Zathra leapt to his feet. With surprising strength, uncharacteristic of Zathra in any normal situation, he pulled Barbaurak upright.

"What the shrakh do ya think yer doing?!" Barbaurak snarled, trying to steady himself on his freshly healed muscles, as if wary they would still drop him like a stone if he moved the wrong way.

At the first sign of Barbaurak resisting, Zathra threw up his hand in exasperation, and started marching away while hissing back at his leader, "There's no time for yer pissin' n' moanin', Bar! Either quit yer whinging an' help or juss sit on yer bloody arse! I don't care! Alaesia saved yer life an' mine. I'm not going to stand by an' do nothing!"

As infuriating as he was, Zathra really didn't have time to waste convincing Barbaurak otherwise. Another horrible voice, this time audible cut across the clearing, spitting venom and wailing as Zathra felt Frogblood's own pain broadcasted into his mind. He picked up his pace, wary of the olog who shifted and glanced around through the flames, before picking out Zathra's approach through pinprick pupils. A horrible, predatory growl rumbled out of the olog's chest as he started to ready himself for an attack.

Is he insane?! Zathra wondered. He was burning alive and still thought he was in any condition to fight? Was there no end to trollish endurance?! The orc bit his lip, hoping that whatever seemed to be emboldening his magic would hold, and sent a desperate command directly into the Reaper's mind: Go to sleep, you giant maniac! A pulse of energy coursed through Zathra's heart as his mind uttered the words, making his own gait stagger with slight disorientation. Then the olog hit the ground.

Zathra narrowly skirted around the brute, and his eyes finally fell on the pitiful form of Alaesia where she lay curled upon the slate shards. Her mouth was wide in a silent cry as she held her forearm with the opposite hand pressing a clutched fist of fire into the dirt. The appetizing scent of scalded human flesh mixed with the odious fog of burning Mokob-hai made Zathra's stomach churn in confusion, but he pushed that all aside, dropping to the ground alongside her.

"Shrakh! Shrakh!" He hissed, "Don't close your hand! Keep it open!"

Alaesia's eyes shot open in surprise at hearing the orc's voice, but she couldn't muster much of a response, "It h-hurts..."

"I know, lass, just bear with me... Yer gonna be alright..." Zathra seized her wrist, bracing himself, before using his own hand to force her fingers open to prevent the burning flesh from melting together into permanent disfigurement. The sensation of his magic, previously drained and void of vigor, was now coursing about his body like great chains of lightning, seeking any ground it could find; it started flowing from his fingertips into Alaesia's uninhibited, but even as it started mending her burns, it couldn't stop the source of the fire. The Mokob-hai residue upon her hand immediately clung to his own skin, like a loathsome leech, prickling and scalding while his magic fought to heal it simultaneously. He had to bite back a horrible grimace, casting up a glamour to hide his agonized expression in favor of one of reassurance, but her tear-struck face said she wasn't fooled in the slightest.

"Z-Za-thra...! S-Stop!"

He bit back a growl, "Don't argue with me. This is the only way yer not gonna lose a hand! I can't promise ye'll be unscathed, but..."

Without really thinking about it, he had moved to restrain her with his other, missing, limb. His voice trailed off as he realized just what he had done; there, where his hand once had been, was another, perfect appendage, entirely made of ethereal blue energy and doing exactly as he intended as if he had never lost it in the first place.

Zathra had to swallow his shock. Was he just hallucinating? No, he was able to twist and manipulate Alaesia's hand with his own; a hallucination wouldn't be able to do that. Further investigation of this bizarre development would have to wait though; the brief moments that her hand had been on fire had done significant damage and needed his attention far more than magic mystery.

"But... " He shook himself, finishing his sentence, "I'll do what I can."

She whimpered in protest, but didn't resist as he leveraged her fingers until they were straight again and held open by the pressure of the strange ghostly fingers.

Just a few feet away, the once proud Frogblood thrashed against the flames that had spread from his face to his hands, then to his body as he had tried to wipe the sap away in panicked desperation. He could only sit there moaning as the fire ate away the flesh of his face and limbs. Alaesia's palm had struck him right across the mouth, and the soft tissues quickly started to bind together in the crucible of heat, sealing his lips shut.

Zathra barely spared the orc a scathing glance, but the slightest of twitch of the corner of his mouth might have betrayed a cold, approving smirk at his fate. The high and mighty Frogblood, slaver-lord, brought down by a slave woman; it was sweet poetic justice, but more questions remained than answers, "I need ya ta stay awake, Lass. Tell me what happened."

"I d-don't know," Alaesia couldn't feel her hand anymore. It had gone numb as Zathra's magic fought the perpetual flames, or maybe she was just going into shock. It was difficult to tell. "He w-wanted me to h-help him e-escape."

Zathra didn't try to access her mind, but suddenly it seemed like Alaesia was forcing images into his head of her own accord. He saw and heard Frogblood's foul threats, felt Alaesia's terror when he cut her cheek and gave her the bundle of herbs, her confusion when her master started to assault her only to stop at her request, her conflict in choosing to side with the olog over the orc, and finally her guilt. The fire, Ar-Tashk's roars of pain and anguish, she recognized too little too late that she had fallen for Frogblood's tricks, and she blamed it all on herself...

"I th-thought..." Her face contorted as a wave of magic surged up her arm. "I thought i-it was medicinal... I d-didn't mean t-to..."

"Ya didn't know," Zathra hushed her, trying his best to calm the rapid beat of her heart. The sap residue on both their hands was slowly starting to wane into small spluttering sparks, much to the orc's relief. "Lass... Alaesia. That ain't yer fault. I doubt ya've ever hear of or seen orcsbane afore. Ain't much of it left up North. But I need ya to focus. Did that toad include any berries? Try to remember."

Alaesia bit her lip until it nearly started to bleed, before concluding hesitantly, "N-no...? Why?"

"Yer absolutely sure?" When she nodded, Zathra felt a weight lift off his chest. If the answer had been yes, he dreaded to think what he might have had to do to mitigate her suffering, "Mokob-hai... Er... orcsbane berries is poisonous. I can heal wounds, but I can't stop poison once it's in yer blood. As long as there weren't any berries in the mix, ye'll be a bit worse fer wear, but ye'll live."

Alaesia met his glowing eyes, searching his face for reassurance. Before she even uttered her plight, Zathra heard her mind questioning, "Wh-what about Ar-Tashk...? P-please, I-I don't want h-him die b-because of me..."

"Ya can't possibly be serious, lass? Ya actually want that bastard to survive?" Zathra's voice was filled with incredulity, even though he could sense in her mind she meant it.

"P-please..." Some warped part of her psyche was wracked by the idea that he, her beastly master, might die. Like a wicked vine taking root, she truly believed she needed him, as if he was her only lifeline keeping her alive.

Zathra debated with himself and glanced back over his shoulder at the olog, passed out cold even as his gnarled hide burned with the majority of the sap concentrated on wounds across his back. To his surprise, standing, standing just a bit back, Barbaurak stood, glaring daggers in their direction. Carefully avoiding contact with any of the fire, he knelt and extracted the short sword from the olog's unconscious grasp.

The hair at the nape of Zathra's neck bristled with unease, unable to sense his intent for the iron walls around Barbaurak's mind as he stalked towards them, "Bar... Don't... That worm used her. She didn't mean ta-"

Barbaurak's jaw was taut, his mouth curled into a rancorous snarl, interrupting his subordinate, "I KNOW."

***** Translations *****

Skai lat! - Damn you!

Lat... bagbaur... - You... asshole...

Snagalob - slave (female)

Shrakh - Shit

***** A little more info about Mokob-hai! *****

Mokob-hai which translates to "Bane of the people" in Blackspeech (or "The People's Bane" or "Orcsbane") or also known in Westron as Balefire Weed is called such because of the properties it possesses:

1. An incredibly powerful scent that orcs find noxious to be around.

2. A viscous, sticky sap that has incendiary qualities and burns for an extended period of time aka Nature's napalm (feels cool/numbing to the touch due to trace amounts of toxins in it, not enough to kill).

3. A small berry-like fruit with higher concentrations of toxins (high enough to kill if consumed, but also can be prepared into various alcohols to make the drinker high at the right dosage)

Mokob-hai is a (non-canon) plant I fabricated for the purposes of this story and came about somewhat as an explanation for elements that appear in the Shadow Of Mordor/War video games such as:

1. An explanation of what "balefire" is (poison + fire)

2. A resource used by orcs (all those weapons in game that are perpetually on fire? In my story, they are coated in Mokob-hai sap and lit ablaze. Or sapper canisters being filled with actual sap lol) And the fruit being distilled down to a potent poison (for all the poison coated weapons from the game).

3. An explanation of how Zathra & Barbaurak got their scars as well as how they developed their explosive sabotage traps that they had set up on the river for blowing up rival slavers' ships.

4. A reason for Frogblood's eagerness when he found a new source of the plant as the south side of the river is relatively untapped resource-wise compared to the stripped barren wastelands north of the river. He saw it as a means of gaining wealth, power, influence, and rebuilding his slaving operation, as well as using it as a critical tool in his schemes for revenge on Ar-Tashk.

There will be more information about Mokob-hai elaborated on in later chapters, but hopefully this fills in any gaps you may have had currently!