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

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47

Frogblood crawled from the river current, limbs as heavy as stone, both from the weight of the shackles bound to his extremities, and the extra chains the olog, who called himself 'Az-Korra,' had made the orc swim out, through the whole night, to retrieve from his wrecked ship.

Frogblood could only suppose the olog wanted the extra chains for whenever they caught up to his quarry... If they were still alive that is. He had even made Frogblood search, under threat of impalement, for the sharlob's body among the carnage and debris. But there wasn't hide nor hair to indicate her corpse was stuck within, meaning it had likely washed downriver. But Frogblood wasn't about to go telling that to the stupid brute. Not at the risk of pissing him off and endangering Frogblood's own life. It was only sheer dumb luck that the olog seemed to have caught a scent on the wind that fully absorbed his attention away from punishing his orc captive for failing to find the human woman.

Following the scent had even pushed 'Az-Korra' to drag Frogblood across the river to the far bank, where Frogblood now hauled his aching body upon.

"Up, snagaorsk," Ar-Tashk reached down and deftly pulled Frogblood to his feet, not caring just how exhausted the orc was.

"Give us a breather, troll..." the orc protested, only to have the olog take the extra chains off Frogblood's shoulders to tuck them into his own belt.

"UP, orc, or die here," Ar-Tashk snarled, piecing together what he could of Westron to get his point across. Were it not Frogblood who last had possession of his slave, the olog would have slaughtered him on the spot. No, the orc deserved his suffering to be long and drawn out. Ar-Tashk was going to take pleasure in every forsaken second of it, but for now, it would have to wait. Each moment that passed, the fainter the scent of his slave was growing. If the wind shifted direction, he worried he might lose it entirely.

While the olog combed the shoreline, picking out clues of... something that Frogblood couldn't tell what, the orc was able to take time to catch his breath, though he was still yanked unceremoniously back and forth by his captor.

It made the old slaver captain seethe with self-righteous fury to be subjected to the whims of someone so brainless, with a one-track mind that couldn't seem to figure out the slave whose trail he was on was probably blasted to pieces if not halfway to Nurn via the river current, her and those two stupid slave poaching orcs. What he needed was to turn the situation around, but how was the question.

Frogblood's mind whirred, trying to figure out just how to position himself in a place of influence and power over this olog. His chief slave hunting officer, Olrok, had raised an olog, one they named Ur-Pagurz for his empty-headed nature, from the dead once. That one, too, was just as stupid as this 'Az-Korra' seemed to be. It wouldn't be hard, Frogblood supposed, to get this olog under his thumb. He simply needed to find what would turn the olog's simple mind to following him, rather than chasing sharlob carrion.

Promising to deliver the sharlob to his feet might just ingratiate the olog, he mused, considering the brute's obsession. And as a two-for-one, in the rare case, the sharlob was miraculously alive, Frogblood could regain his lead to find the one who had murdered his blood brother. The Reaper. But, even if the sharlob could point out who the Reaper was, Frogblood would have to triangulate the location of his target first. And he was rotten at tracking. He was a commander of trackers, not so lowborn himself as to sniff at the ground like a dog. But as far as he knew, his crew, his team of trackers and slave hunters, was blown to smithereens.

Perhaps winning the olog over to serve under his own command would be beneficial twofold; rebuilding his crew and slave supply-line would be much simpler with a tracker. As well as he'd have the perfect underling to help him avenge Ku'Gohn's death. Savage strength and a giant meat shield all wrapped into one hairy beast.

Crouched over a segment along the shore, the olog huffed like a beast that had found a trail. Now was the only time he might have to put his plan into motion if Frogblood was going to manipulate the power dynamic between himself and 'Az-Korra.' He hurried forward, chains rattling in a way that make Ar-Tashk's blood boil, "Listen here, troll... You're huntin' that sharlob, right? The one my boys picked up?"

The olog's eyes flashed dangerously down to glare at the orc who put himself in the way of the trail, but he grunted in affirmation, "Ahk."

"We di'n't know you was hunting 'er," Frogblood curled his lips beguilingly, "Never woulda touched her knowing an olog as powerful as yerself laid claim ta 'er already. I feel awful to put ya through so much trouble on my account, so I want ta help."

'Az-Korra' didn't so much as twitch a muscle, staring at Frogblood with an empty gaze. Just as he figured, there wasn't a damned thought, maybe not even a brain, behind those eyes. The cursed thick-skulled giant probably didn't even understand half of what he was saying.

"Let me bring 'er to you," Frogblood put it bluntly, a hint of exasperation edging at the tone of his voice. "I'll find yer sharlob, make her bow before her mighty master, Az-Korra!"

"Hoshat," every fiber of Ar-Tashk's being burned with the desire to crush the orc with his hand. The fact he dared speak of subjugating his slave was enough to warrant his death, let alone his other grievances against Ar-Tashk. The scent of his slave was unmistakable, yet mingled with the stench of two other orcs. The voice within Ar-Tashk's head purred with satisfaction at his violent thoughts, however, it didn't need to press him further; everyone who had played a role in taking his slave would pay dearly for transgressing him, then he would deal with his escapee himself!

He shoved Frogblood aside, noting carefully where the trail lead while uttering in a low, menacing growl, "Lat krampadur mat, fushur, nulukhur, ur graurum snaga-izub, orskadug."

Frogblood stared after the olog in confusion before his chain snapped him along behind. He had at least caught the word 'snaga' in what the 'Az-Korra' had said. The green orc hurried to keep pace with the olog, not eager to be dragged through bramble thickets that quickly swallowed the path, "Er... That a yes?"

Ar-Tashk trudged along in fuming silence, refusing to even give Frogblood any further attention other than sharp jerks on his lead to shut him up every time the orc opened his driveling mouth. The smell of his slave, her blood, was growing stronger the deeper into the undergrowth they traveled, and so was the overwhelming choking cloud of warg piss territory markers. Ar-Tashk's pace quickened; he hadn't come this far just to lose her to a warg. Not after he had already thought her to be dead by the fangs of such a beast once. No, only he was allowed the pleasure of taking her life.

They came upon red splatters of footprints and a stained rock where someone injured must have rested, both the unmistakable color of tark blood. At the sight of it, Frogblood's eyes widened. He muttered under his breath so the olog wouldn't hear him, "Stripe me... That bitch really did come through here..."

As the olog circled a small area, trying to find the direction of the trail from that point Frogblood glanced around himself, trying to make sense of the overgrown wilds around him. He hated not being under the open, hazy sky, standing on the wooden deck of his mighty slave ship. Here in this vast, untapped land, where crooked trees grew thick and hunched, like wicked crones casting spells, and the beasts ruled the dusk-time air, Frogblood felt truly isolated from everything he knew. The sounds, and lack thereof were unsettling, like the woods knew something dangerous lurked nearby. The idea of it send a chill up Frogblood's spine as he looked around. Then his eyes fell upon a familiar, hideously melted face leering at him through the trees.

Zathra froze when Frogblood's eyes met his own. There were only a few yards between them and, at the moment, the olog's back was towards both orcs. The crosswind blowing through the trees, perpendicular to each of them had obscured the convergence of the pair and Zathra, putting him far closer to the olog than he had intended to get, and of all the orcs to have survived his and Barbaurak's explosive booby trap, it just had to be the green-skinned arse-boil of an orc, the Fell-Captain Frogblood and of course, he was with the accursed olog, no doubt teamed up to track down the escapees. Zathra could not have been any more exasperated even if he wanted to.

He and Frogblood could have stared each other down for what seemed an eternity as the recognition dawned upon the green orc's face, "YOU...!"

"Ah, urkiz...!" The curse slipped out of Zathra's mouth without him even realizing it, causing the behemoth on the other side of Frogblood to whirl to face him. Ar-Tashk's ice-filled eyes narrowed upon the newcomer, sizing him up for the tiny spit of meat he was.

Before the olog could form a conclusion, Frogblood was lunging at the end of his chain. The green orc was restrained by only the length of his leash and collar. If he could, he would rip the wax-faced orc to pieces, finish the job of melting down his half-oozing face to grease! Spittle flew from his mouth, "Damn slave-poaching scum! YOU BLEW UP MY SHIP!"

In the split second he had, in order to recalculate his next move, Zathra glanced at the small tangle of the human woman's hair that he had collected and held now in his remaining hand and the unintentionally short gap between himself and the pair that had been trailing after them. How the orc hadn't noticed them creeping through the forest, on the trail ahead absolutely baffled him. Plus, the fact the olog and orc had already located the trio's trail on this side of the river was frightening to think about. It was clear, even if the wargs hadn't attacked, the olog would have caught up with them by morning, and despite Barbaurak's best efforts to scrounge up woodland weaponry, they would have been defenseless.

Now, with Zathra's magic sapped, he couldn't even start to hope to keep the olog from tearing him to pieces by influencing his mind. All it would take was for the big olog to pounce, and Zathra would be dead. The unlucky orc hadn't yet fully formed a plan on how to entice the olog to follow when he had found them. How did I miss a great bleeding giant tromping through the underbrush?!

"Ta hell with it!" He threw the ball of hair at them and turned away at breakneck speeds. "Yer sharlob is this way, ya big stupid beastie!"

Zathra shot off into the underbrush from where he came from. He'd already lost one limb today, and he sure wasn't eager to lose another, or worse, his head. He would just have to hope the dogged tracker would even believe, let alone follow, him. However, even without the ability to influence his pursuer's mind, it was obvious the olog was severely overwhelmed with obsessive desire. There was no doubt in Zathra's mind that the moment the olog caught wind of the bait he had left behind, there would be hell to pay.

Sure enough, a terrible sound, like thunder rolling over a graveyard rose from behind him, roaring louder with bone-like branches cracking before the storm. But perhaps more surprising were the howls of rage as Captain Frogblood was unceremoniously dragged along behind the juggernaut; he too was frenzied for blood.

***** Translations *****

Sharlob - Human (Female)

Snagorsk - slave thief

Ahk - Yes

Hoshat - Silence.

Lat krampadur mat, fushur, nulukhur, ur graurum snaga-izub, orskadug. - You will die, slowly, painfully for touching my slave, thieving scum.

Urkiz (slang for Urk izish) - Curse me! (Zathra says this because he accidentally stumbled right up to Ar-Tashk and Frogblood)