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

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61

Alaesia felt Frogblood's chilling gaze seeking her. He stood with a casual nerve in the entryway of the den, leaning against the tree root. A dark and dangerous air wreathed around the orc, paled only by the wicked glare that examined Alaesia's half-naked body like a foul bit of maggoty meat. She knew he had entered the den for one reason only: just to remind her that he was waiting for her answer; was she going to help him escape or suffer the consequences of turning against him? She couldn't stop herself from withdrawing until her back pressed against the cave wall and slumped down as if it would make her disappear. The weight of his gaze pressed down upon her, a weight like a million chain links tied until her lungs were crushed flat and breathless.

"SNAGORSK," Ar-Tashk's head snapped around, eyes shooting icy daggers at the orc who had intruded so boldly into the den. The olog maneuvered himself upright to a slightly unsteady crouch, his name bristling up in a threat display meant to indicate that any movement closer would spell death for the orc. If his Isla hadn't begged him to spare the orcs, he would have ended Frogblood immediately. But it was her shifting into his shadow, her hand bracing softly on his side, that stayed him, for the moment at least.

Why she was so insistent on permitting the orcs to live was beyond Ar-Tashk, especially when he could feel her trembling like a fawn at the orc's appearance. He would have served their heads up on a spit if she asked it of him, and they would have deserved it. He didn't want to consider the idea that she might actually care about the orcs. Even the slightest hint of such a thought made his blood start to steam. He shook himself quickly of such accusations, not wanting to grant the Voice any purchase in his mind, lest it try to fuel any rage towards his Isla.

Maybe, Ar-Tashk wondered while trying to rack his brain to see things from her logic, she did not demand their deaths out of fear they might seek vengeance should they be raised from the dead later. That might explain why she thought she should be called Alaisia, 'beast-like one' in the black tongue, as if perhaps she feared the possible return of her old master, Ku'Gohn, who had given her such an insulting title. After all, a well-trained slave wouldn't dare call themselves anything except what their master named them, at the risk of torturous punishment for such defiance.

Ar-Tashk scowled at the idea; he'd have to prove to her she had nothing to fear of these orcs. They didn't deserve her mercy, nor would she need to worry about the risk of her old master coming back from the dead. Perhaps then she would accept her new name, his name for her. While all these thoughts raced through Ar-Tashk's mind, he kept his eyes trained on the green orc, as if trying to decide whether or not to make an example of him right then and there.

"Don't mind me," Frogblood waved a hand nonchalantly and moved with blithe confidence to one of the warg carcasses, "I'm just makin' a fire, prepping rations. Following yer orders, Reaper, like a smart servant should. Yer she-slave can't even be bothered ta patch a simple scratch. I've gutted slaves fer lesser insubordinations."

"GET OUT!" Ar-Tashk snarled, his decision made, as, out of the corner of his eye, he noted his Isla's face drain of color at the mention of gutting, seemingly confirming his suspicions that she was dreading the orcs' punishment if they had their way; something Ar-Tashk would never allow. The slimy little toad would never get the chance to punish her, whether his Isla followed Ar-Tashk's orders or not. The orc was sorely mistaken to think he has any room to lord over her. The idea of it made Ar-Tashk's mane bristle, but the orc's punishment would have to wait, as the olog felt his sense of balance lurch.

Frogblood's demanding eyes didn't once divert from Alaesia; she knew that she had a fraction of a second to give him her answer. The moment he turned away, that alliance, risky as it might be, would be closed to her. The pounding in her chest made it feel like it was going to break out at any moment. The cold look in his sneer started to twist before her eyes, becoming a smirk as he started to move back at the olog's command. Time was up, it was now or never...

But Alaesia couldn't bring herself to speak up. No, she pressed back to the cave wall, sinking behind the wall of olog between them and wishing the orc and his scheming eyes would disappear.

"I see," the orc mused quietly before his attention snapped to Ar-Tashk. "Alright, alright! I'm leaving! No need ta bite abou' it! Ye juss figured ya needed a patch job, seeing as ya look like a graug took a piss outta ya! Be a shame fer ya ta keel over dead because yer slave ain't listening to ya!"

Ar-Tashk shifted to steady himself, unwilling to admit how spent he really felt and feeling horribly exposed for the fact that Frogblood was observant enough to notice his faltering strength. Ar-Tashk growled once more, with as much ferocity as he could evoke, "OUT. NOW."

Determined to get the last word in, Frogblood sneered as he disappeared quickly back out of the cave before Ar-Tashk could find enough strength to punish him, "Oohh, yer wanting some alone time! Don't be too rough on 'er, less yer planning on roasting up what's left o' that pretty pinkmeat when yer through!"

Ar-Tashk huffed angrily, slumping back to the ground. Beside him, Alaesia was biting back the urge to vomit. Her opportunity was gone. She had chosen, despite everything, to throw aside a chance to escape, for the fear of Frogblood was far greater than that of Ar-Tashk. There would be no going back now.

A giant hand reached out, resting heavily against her back, "Amul. Az narkramp lath ta fulak lat. Do not fear."

Alaesia flinched at the olog's touch, but she couldn't help but note he lacked the usual furnace-like heat that often emanated from him. Did Frogblood have a point? Was Ar-Tashk really in that bad of shape? Perhaps that was why he was acting so docile. A flicker of panic passed through her at the thought, so subtle it was almost difficult to detect. Were Frogblood to try to escape now, while Ar-Tashk was incapacitated, what sort of danger would he pose now that she rejected his offer?

"Come. Treat wounds..." The olog entreated again as if trying to draw her out of her overwhelming worries and sliding her closer with relative ease until she was practically engulfed in the bulk of his presence, like how a caragor might hold a bone for gnawing. At such close proximity, she could hear his pulse drumming angrily against his chest.

"Y-you'll have to let m-me up..." Alaesia whispered and took a deep breath to steel herself; she could only hope her suspicions of his feelings were true, for it could be the only thing sparing her his wrath at the moment, if not also carrying the threat of his wanted attentions otherwise. But, that was a concern for the future. For now... at least he was calm, perhaps even open to listening to her words. There was a moment of hesitation in Ar-Tashk at the request. A growl shuttered through him, but his hands uncoiled from around her compliantly, making the woman wonder incredulously, is he pouting?

He presented his back to her once more, but how he meant for her to deal with his wounds, without proper supplies was beyond Alaesia. What was left of her own makeshift clothing was too little to spare much else other than replacing her twine belt, especially after ripping a piece off for Barbaurak's tourniquet. The carcasses of the wargs might have made for decent enough hide bandages and gut ropes, but how she might process them was the question. As she peered around the cave, trying to consider, her eyes settled on the bundle of herbs Frogblood had tried to bribe her with. Their coagulant properties were at least something to start with, she figured.

Ar-Tashk waited, as patiently as he could, as there was some shuffling behind him, then his isla's hand rested on his shoulder once more. A slight involuntary twitch of his skin made her withdraw, "Ah... I-I didn't mean t-to hurt y-you..."

"Hah! Nar, nardur Isla-izub. Cannot hurt me." Ar-Tashk snorted in amusement, catching a whiff of something bitter, but familiar, in the air as Alaesia unraveled the bundled herbs. It was a scent he knew vaguely; sometimes barrels of grog would be laced with a similar extract, just to give it a stronger buzz, but he had never considered it might have medicinal qualities.

A cold, numbing feeling started seeping pleasantly into a few of the deeper cuts in Ar-Tashk's muscles as she applied the sap, making him sigh and relax. Her small hands brushed the wild and coarse mane aside as she worked stretching the meager supply of herbs across the many places marred by more egregious gouges. Finally, she came to the bite wound, ripping the small bit of fabric Frogblood had wrapped the herbs in into bits so she could pack the deeper punctures. Her head swam as black blood squelched between her fingers, but she pressed the pellets of balled-up fabric, soaked in what was left of the sap, into the wounds. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best she could do.

"I-I'm sorry... I-I don't have e-enough..." She stammered hard, words catching on her tongue as she tried to forestall the rise of his temper, "I-if y-you'll l-l-let me g-get Z-Zathra-the h-healer, I-I'm sure he c-can help..."

A low rumble built in Ar-Tashk's throat as she spoke and he started to roll back to face her. Whether or not the appeal bothered him, Alaesia couldn't tell, but the olog's giant hand grabbed her chain, pulling her close as he muttered, "Bhogad... Nan narkramp narin... Remember what I say, Isla. Lat-izub."

That, his final phrase, Alaesia understood too well, from Barbaurak's correcting her attempt to curse in black speech; Ar-Tashk was reminding her just who she belonged to. And yet to her surprise and confusion, he willingly took her by the chain, and led her out into the brisk evening air outside the cave.

Just a little ways off, Frogblood sat crouched by the fire he had built, glaring daggers at her, but in that moment, most surprisingly of all, it felt like she had made the right choice as Ar-Tashk's presence emerging just behind her made the orc avert his gaze. A faint breeze began to tousle her hair, it felt as if a world of weight was lifted from her shoulders to see one predator deterred by another.

"Isla... Go. Get healer orc," Ar-Tashk nudged Alaesia gently and, once he had her attention again, allowed her to take her chain into her own hands. The look on her face as he passed it to her burned itself into his memory, complete shock, confusion, and a strange spark of light that filled her up from her chest to her cheeks. He had to nudge her again, as if his command had gone in one ear and out the other, before she moved to obey. Then his attention locked onto Frogblood. With his Isla out of the way, Ar-Tashk had a promise to keep.

From where he was laying, Barbaurak lifted his forearm off his eyes as the sounds of steps approached only to see Alaesia kneel in the slate shards before him and Zathra. He growled irritably and rolled away, "I ser'sly can't believe yer not dead yet."

"L-listen to me, p-please," Alaesia pleaded softly, "I th-think I can c-convince Ar-Tashk to l-let you both g-go, but I-I need h-help."

"I don't need yer pity an' Snake-Tongue's bit the dust already," Barbaurak hissed. His nose started to curl to one side as the breeze carried a familiar scent to him, but it wasn't coming from the forest as he had detected when he first scouted through the area. No, it was coming from the tark woman. His brow furrowed; that couldn't be right... How would she have gotten a hold of Mokob-hai?

"W-what?" Alaesia's voice cracked, her eyes turning towards the silent form of Barbaurak's companion, who yet to so much twitch, "N-no, no... Zathra c-can't be dead…"

Without warning, Barbaurak whirled back to face her, grabbing her by the chain and wrenching it until she was face to face with him, "What is your game, you pul'm dagalurlob...?! Why do I smell orcsbane on you?!"

The tiny bud of confidence in Alaesia, having miscalculated the truce she thought was between them, withered within her. She tried to pull from his grasp, but Barbaurak was far stronger, even in his own injured state, "Wh-what?! I-I-I d-don't unders-s-stand!"

Before Barbaurak could respond, his eyes caught the movement of the behemoth of an olog stalking towards Frogblood, who reached casually into the fire and picked up a burning stick. A firm jeer twisted the green orc's lips, as the Reaper came within range, and with a single toss he sent the charcoal and sparks cascading over the olog's head.

***** Translations *****

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

Amul. Az narkramp lath ta fulak lat. - Be calm. I won't allow him to harm you.

Nar, nardur Isla-izub - No, my little lifemaker

Bhogad... Nan narkramp narin... - Fine. But don't forget.

Lat-izub - You are mine.

Tark - Human

pul'm dagalurlob - Fuckin' she-demon

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