Snaga shot up, sitting erect when he heard the door open. It was the elf who had captured him. Snaga felt his heart fill with dread; the elf's sword was drawn.

"Come with me." The elf ordered.

Snaga staggered to his feet (he hadn't walked in days) and he was led at knife-point down the hall to the same room where he had been tortured.

"Sit." The elf commanded, motioning to the same chair that Snaga had been strapped to before.

Snaga, against his will, took a seat.

"I'll tell you anything!" The orc sputtered, complying preemptively.

"Indeed you will." The elf said menacingly, nodding. "Answer me this: were you ever stationed at Barad Mendolin, Lug-Gülguh as you orcs call it?

"Yes," Snaga answered, trembling.

"And how long were you there for?"

Snaga gulped before answering.

"Six months. I was there for six months before my master brought me with him from Lug-Gülguh to the camp where you attacked us."

"So you were at Barad Mendolin for some time. Do you know it well?"

"Yes..."

"Is there an escape tunnel at Barad Mendolin?"

"No…" Snaga answered before correcting himself. "I don't think so…" (He didn't want to give the wrong answer lest he be tortured again).

"You've no knowledge of a tunnel in the fortress?" The elf pressed.

Snaga shook his head.

"Very well then." To Snaga's relief, the elf sheathed his sword and set it aside.

"What's your name, orc?"

"I don't have a name." Snaga confessed timidly. "They call me snaga."

"Snaga?" the elf scoffed. "That's what they call you? Slave?"

Snaga gulped, choosing not to reply. He wondered how the elf knew what the word "snaga" meant.

"Alright then, Snaga, you may have been their slave before but you're our slave now. You serve me and every other man and elf in this company, and you will obey me in everything I say. Do you understand, Snaga?

"Yes, master." Snaga murmured, looking down. There was a pause as the elf was surprised to have been met with immediate submission.

"Well, you were certainly easy to break." The elf sneered. "Pull your shirt down below your shoulders."

Snaga looked up, confused and horrified, thinking he was going to be burnt with a hot iron again.

"But I told you everyth-"

"I said pull your shirt down." The elf commanded, more assertively this time.

Snaga did as he was told, revealing the ugly, blistering burns on his shoulder.

Elaenar motioned to the workbench, it had an assortment of supplies on it.

"Dress your own wounds, orc."

Snaga looked at him stupidly, confused.

"Oh for God's sake." the elf muttered underneath his breath, rolling his eyes.

The elf, impatient, grabbed the hesitating little orc by his arm and backed him up against the workbench, then lifted him underneath his arms to sit on the table, tugging Snaga's shirt down lower on his shoulders. Despite what he had said a moment ago, the elf started to attend to his prisoner's burns. He rubbed some gel into the burnt skin; it made Snaga wince and whine in pain.

"You should count yourself lucky, orc. This is nothing compared to what your kind does to prisoners, is it?

Snaga didn't answer. He didn't feel very "lucky" at all right now.

The elf cut strips of gauze with a knife and dressed over the affected area while reminding Snaga about the many ways that orcs torture their prisoners. When he was done, he gruffly instructed Snaga to hop off the table and pull his shirt back up. The elf turned around to grab his sword.

Snaga's eyes widened when he noticed that the elf had left the knife sitting on the table. In a flash, while the elf's back was still turned, Snaga grabbed the knife and stuck it between his belt and his back. He quickly concealed the knife within the folds of his shirt; smoothing out his tunic just before the elf turned around, unaware of what the orc had just done.

"Back to your quarters," The elf commanded him, pointing at the door with his sword. Snaga was escorted back to his cell; sweating and heart pounding, terrified that the elf would see the knife he'd just stolen.

Snaga was shoved into the empty cell and the door slammed behind him. He released several shaky, panicky breaths that he had been holding in. He could scarcely believe what he'd just done and that he hadn't been caught. He pulled out the knife from behind his back and gripped it to his chest. It was small, only a few inches in length, but at least it was something.

Now he could plot his escape.