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

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49

Once, twice, again and again, too many times to count the blows made contact with flesh. Left to his own devices when the olog dragged the tark woman away, Frogblood was going to take every second he had to pummel his fists into the chained orcs, kicking them with his studded boots, and lashing an extra chain across their bodies like a vicious whip. Saliva sprayed from his mouth wildly as he lorded over the pair, emphasizing each word by striking as hard as he could, "Think I don't know sabotage when I see it huh?! Don't think I know blasting gel eh?! You bloody poaching scum reek of it! You will pay for destroying my ship! You will SUFFER!"

From where Barbaurak had been unceremoniously dragged and dumped by the green orc, he could only watch as Frogblood focused most of his attention on the unmoving form of Zathra. The fall from the rock slide hadn't done much additional damage to Barbaurak, but Frogblood certainly did now that he had clasped the pair in irons. Barbaurak grumbled hoarsely in protest, trying to not let their abuser see just how incapable he was at the moment, "Get yer piss-rotten claws off him..."

Frogblood's red-filled eyes snapped to Barbaurak and he lunged, stomping his foot into the orc's flayed leg and digging in with all of his weight, "You think you can tell Captain Frogblood what to do?! You insignificant shit-stain! I give the orders around here!"

Barbaurak's voice was a mixture of a shriek and a howl as he writhed under Frogblood's foot. The green orc pressed harder, grinding his heel into the already mangled flesh. Barbaurak could only count himself lucky that, in the darkness just before dawn, Frogblood hadn't noticed the tourniquet around his upper leg. He was sure the crazed orc would have ripped it off if he had seen it, and subsequently left Barbaurak to bleed to death. But no, Frogblood was having far too much pleasure in making his targets scream, at least he was until a thunderous roar cut into his machinations, "SNAGORSK! TAKE SNAGA-IZUB! NANT NA LUT GON-IZUB!"

Frogblood's hand hesitated for just a moment as he punched Barbaurak's jaw, yet the orc glared up at him, his tone dripping with defiance and mockery, "'Snagorsk?' Is tha' what yer master decided to call you? 'Slave thief?'"

"Shut her trap, scum!" Frogblood struck his gut with a swift strike, but he knew Barbaurak was right. Of course, that stupid olog was summoning him. If only the brainless giant would quit speaking in tongues, Frogblood might actually have believed there was a brain in that giant thick skull of his.

Barbaurak wheezed, still insistent on getting the final word, "Hop along little Froggy... Yer boss wants 'is slave dealt with!" He received another fist to his nose for his belligerence, but Frogblood withdrew, all the while hissing under his breath, to comply with the olog's orders.

"Ya look a right corpse, Bar..." Zathra's voice coughed once their tormentor was gone. Fresh blood dribbled down his lip. The orc's entire body was beaten near to a pulp, having only been saved by the fact during the pursuit of the one-armed orc, the olog had witnessed the cave-in of the cliffside crumbling, spitting his precious sharlob into the middle of a pack of hungry wargs. It had drawn the olog off Zathra, simultaneously confirming some of his suspicions about the olog's motivations. After all, if she was just a slave, no orc, uruk, or olog would bat an eye at a warg pack making a meal out of her. Rather this olog had thrown Zathra aside and charged headlong in to attack the wargs themselves. Zathra supposed he could be grateful for that, even as he mused towards his leader, "Ya just live fer pickin' fights with orcs bigger tha' yerself, don'tcha?"

Barbaurak lolled his head towards his subordinate, scowling with fervent disgust, "And jus' where have you been, ya shrakh-eating coward?" He wiggled a loose fang in his jaw with his tongue, causing lancing pain to shoot up to the top of his skull. The bone around the tooth was cracked for certain, but it was impossible to assess the extent of the damage Frogblood had inflicted before he was called away at the order of the olog.

"Oh ya know, jus' figurin' out how ta save yer pathetic hide," Zathra was struggling to keep from vomiting as blood was filling his stomach. It took all of his concentration to try summoning enough magic to heal even a tiny cut, let alone massive internal bleeding. "Shame, if I'da known ya'd be ungrateful I woulda let the wargs eatcha."

"Fine job saving me, ya git..." Barbaurak could disguise his incredulity, "Wargs is the least of our troubles now... Now there's a troll an' that slimy green toad to deal with!"

Zathra's reply was curt and to the point, even as he forced it through his teeth, "We're both alive, fer the time bein', ain't we?"

Barbaurak grumbled something foul under his breath, assuming Zathra would simply hear him through his mind reading. Yet to his surprise the magic freak seemed oblivious. Barbaurak stared through blackened and swollen eyes at Zathra in shock, "Wot's wrong with you?"

"Whattya mean?" Zathra didn't even glance at him. He was far too distracted with his own injured condition to care if Barbaurak was feeling neglected. The headstrong fool could wait his turn while Zathra took care of himself for once.

It was a strange sensation, trying to channel piddly bits of magic throughout his chest cavity, hoping he was repairing things right, if at all. It was uncomfortable in a way that felt like flies nibbling on his innards; probably, he imagined, what a corpse felt like when maggots got all up in it. He could feel small pops and crackles, and a dizzy rush swam up the back of his neck, but he didn't black out. Maybe that was a good sign? He could only hope.

Barbaurak wasn't fond of being ignored, and he grumbled again, louder this time, "Yer not all in my head, yer usual piss an' tricks!"

Zathra let out a hollow chuckle, and there was an unnervingly loud 'THOCK' that rolled up from his throat as something seemed to snap into place along his sternum, "Owww... I ain't in yer head cuz I'm runnin' on naught but a bit of grog fumes, Bar. Not sure... if I'll make it through the night really."

"Skai..." Barbaurak cursed. Zathra was usually the hopeful one between them, if he was so broken that he had resigned himself to death, things were pretty bad. "Ya can't be serious, Snake-Tongue?"

Zathra limply held up his new stump of an arm so Barbaurak could see, "This took a lot outta me. I'm trying to patch meself up, but it's rough... I think when that olog caught me, he busted my tubes up bad... And I don't got a lot left in me... ta stop the internal bleeding."

Barbaurak scowled, realizing how stupid he had been to not believe Zathra when he had warned him that there was an olog tracking that sharlob they had found. He would never admit it out loud, but he should have taken Zathra at his word. Sure he was Barbaurak's subordinate, but maybe he had a thing or two worth listening to. Maybe they wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place if Barbaurak hadn't stubbornly insisted on forging a path back through warg territory to their slave ship and captain. If they had just let the tark woman go free on the river beach and followed the shoreline to take the long way back, like Snake-Tongue had suggested, maybe they wouldn't both be half-bled to death now.

As if thinking of her brought her into view, Frogblood had reappeared, half-dragging the weighed-down form of the human woman. He approached the pair of orcs where they lay unmoved, and slung her into them with disgust. He grumbled, a low threat before turning back to return to the warg den as his master had ordered him, He wasn't particularly worried that the recaptured trio would try to escape or anything. They were half dead and chained in manacles. If they were foolish enough to dare braving the wilds, any remaining wargs that the olog hadn't killed would easily pick them off; that and they were far too crippled to make it even a few yards.

Barbaurak and Zathra snarled at the pain of the woman slamming into them, before exchanging glances with each other. She carried on her freshly bruised skin the unmistakable scent of sexual musk. It was the kind of stench slavers were familiar enough with; it wasn't uncommon for a crewmember of a slave team to lose themselves in blind lust around such easy, vulnerable prey that slaves often made.

Usually, it devolved into an accidental murder for how easy it was to lose one's mental control in the moment. In those cases, the victim was usually divvied up as rations, while the offender was punished in a way to ensure it could never happen again. Slaves were hard enough to come by in decent condition for resale, so few slaver captains had tolerance for destroying their cargo. The average slave owner though? They would burn through slaves all the time, especially those who tried escaping. Those ones would immediately be put on the chopping block if they were recaptured. For this tark woman, who had escaped her master only to be recaptured, to stink of such a smell, and to be alive, was very telling.

Being beaten within an inch of his life made movement difficult, but Zathra shifted and tried to assess the state of the woman. A hint of worry crept into his voice, though he was trying to be reassuring, "Yer alright, jus' breath."

Even as he said it, he didn't think it was true. The back of her neck, chin, and other parts of her body were swelling with dark angry bruises the size of his own fist, and where her loose clothing slipped over her shoulders shards of slate had dug numerous cuts into her bony back. But none of the surface-level injuries were what concerned Zathra. What disturbed him was that the woman's countenance seemed void, like her spirit had wandered away from her body. Any other time, he would have immediately entered her mind, to try finding her, returning her to herself, but he couldn't even try right now for how depleted he was.

"I'll fix ya up, just... I need some time," he murmured while using his aching arm to shift her to a more comfortable spot on the ground where she wrapped her knees to her chest, shivering.

"Oi! Yer gonna heal that tark before me?!" Barbaurak snarled.

"She's in a bad way right now, real bad. She ain't like you an' me. She's too soft to be thrashed around tha' much," Zathra growled, feeling the sting of it in his lungs. He glanced at Barbaurak, scanning his injured leg with a critical eye, "You on the other hand? Orcs can handle a lot more than man-things. Ye'll survive and I suspect it's thanks ta the likes of her for that too. Can't bind yer own leg like that ta stop the bleeding. Prolly saved yer life, ungrateful bastard."

That seemed to shut Barbaurak up, at least for a moment. Even without his mind reading, Zathra could tell the idea that a human had saved him in any capacity disgusted Barbaurak. At least this time, he must have been conscious to witness it himself, otherwise, Zathra suspected he would have outright denied it had ever happened, just as he had denied her involvement in hauling him out of the river. With his boss finally silenced, Zathra's attention turned back to the woman.

"That brute ain't killed ya yet, lass. Don't let him win..." He couldn't afford to use his waning magic on the woman right now. He was toeing the line between life and death, and the more distractions he had, the closer he came to crossing that line; but he couldn't just leave her as she was. He'd seen dead orcs brought back to life who had had more of a soul than she did at the moment. He grabbed the side of her face with his clawed hand, trying to get her to look him in the eye, "Come on... Snap outta it Alaesia!"

The woman suddenly jerked back, eyes focused and wide at Zathra. Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, "W-what did y-you just say...? What did you call me?"

***** Translations *****

Tark - Human

Nant na lut gon-izub! - Get her out of my sight!

Snagorsk - Slave thief (Ar-Tashk's demeaning name for Frogblood)

Sharlob - Human (female)

Shrakh - shit

Skai - shit (damn)