***** Author's Note *****
Thank you to everyone for their patience while I've been burnt out. In the meanwhile, I've added some art to the end of Chapter 76! ( doesn't allow pic embeds so this art is viewable on my other posting sites like Ao3, Wattpad, or Discord. Links in bio). Plus I got some fan art from the awesome Lulu over on Discord (check it out at the end of this chapter!)
Don't want to wait for more? Now Available! Read up to Chapter 82 on my discord! Link in my bio!
77
"Narkurzku, pulum pug!"
"WAIT!" Zathra tried to stop him, the moment the horrible thought flashed across Ar-Tashk's mind but it was too late. A blood-red rage had filled him and he was deaf to the orc.
The olog's foot slammed down, shattering bones, smearing purifying flesh, and erupting fetid organs. He ground all of his weight down with all the fury he could muster. Dark utterances cursed the worm-meal as he felt metal chains and shackles resist the crushing force before they caved and gave way with a sharp clang. He would ensure there was nothing left of this orc filth... Ar-Tashk's attention was suddenly snapped away from his onslaught as a terrible broken cry escaped his Isla's throat.
Alaesia dropped to her knees like a stone. Her whole form convulsed with the urge to vomit at the carnage Ar-Tashk wrought upon Frogblood's corpse. She curled up on herself trying to blot from her mind the scarring sight of his decimated body splitting wide under Ar-Tashk's heel in a horrible torrent of black ooze. But it was the stench that broke her. She wretched, every inch of her trembling uncontrollably, and rattling her breath into hopeless sobs, "I-I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
Ar-Tashk's brutally firm hand clamped over Alaesia's shoulder, lifting her with ease. That fury-filled tone in his throat turned low and threatening in her ears, "Amul. No fear..."
"YA BLOODBLIND COCKHEADED IDIOT!" Zathra snarled and scrambled to his feet. He could feel every creatures' emotions running high like a wildfire across dry grasslands; the warg was whining in near-death pain, Alaesia's mind was shuttering to brace herself, and even though the monstrous serpent had fled, Zathra could sense it was lurking, circling, waiting. But the olog was the most troublesome.
Every bizarre misunderstanding clamoring through the Reaper's head was plainly clear to Zathra's inner sight. The orc knew Ar-Tashk could taste the thick scent of his Isla's fear in the air, and it made the olog's mouth water with a terrible hunger that could only be satisfied by one thing. But Zathra had promised he couldn't let that happen. He had to do something! But what?!
All it would take was one spark blown in the wrong direction to destroy any chance there was for mutual understanding. However, before Zathra could take a step, he was stopped dead still.
The olog had whirled on him, bristling over his human captive like a dog with a bone, and daring him to step even an inch closer. If this orc meant to avenge what was left of that green orc's corpse, he'd meet the same brutal end! Ar-Tashk's tone grew hoarse and tense, waiting for Zathra to make a move, "Skatat, uruk. Lath izish grish lat. Isla-izub narbolkat bak lat nokhar..."
"It ain't me she's afraid of!" Zathra spat viciously at the brute, "You are so damn blind! She's afraid of YOU! Na us lat grat azat na!"
"Nar..." Ar-Tashk would have beat Zathra right then and there for his impertinence, if not for the tiny gasps that fled his Isla's lungs. Her skin was icy cold within the crook of his arm, and her striped face paled... She wouldn't meet his eyes. He had thought destroying the green orc's corpse would assure her that she was safe from the threat the vermin would pose, but, he wondered in bitter silence, if he had been mistaken.
With the orc's accusations came that same rotten Voice from the visions that had endlessly plagued him while unconscious. The lurid spell it weaved sought any crack in his resolve that it could, even his self-righteous fury for his Isla's sake. The uruk speaks true. She fears you! She will never stop trying to escape you! A cage is the only thing that will keep her alive. The human scum would ally herself with the orcs-
"Don't let 'im get in yer head! 'E'll promise anything ta get a muzzle back on ya! Give me a chance… Az gashnurat kuluk-" The scrawny yellow orc cut through the Voice with acute precision, though finding the right way to get his point across in the black tongue made him stumble over his words. As Zathra spoke, the olog's grip started to tighten possessively around the woman in his arms, as if he thought he could consume Alaesia by holding her to his chest, causing Zathra to bark sharply, "AH WAIT! Yer gonna kill 'er!"
The Voice roared louder in Ar-Tashk's ears, trying to drown out Zathra. It dug deeper, seeking to root out the orc from the olog's mind, Silence him! He bewitched your slave like the Dum-Shatraug! Like Vezhir! He will try to bewitch you too! Destroy him now!
"Come on..." Zathra grit his teeth and muttered under his breath. He could feel his mind being slowly forced out of the olog's head, fighting it every step of the way, "Ya don't want ta do that, right? Lat nargzabat atish na, bash? Ya don't have ta lissen to 'is voice... Lat brusat urdan... Juss set yer Isla down before ya crush her..."
Tense silence filled the air. Zathra was frozen. He bit his tongue for the Voice did its job in casting him out of the olog's head. He couldn't do anything now to sway the hulking beast, at least not directly, Say something, anything, Lass! Yer the only one the brute might lissen to!
Alaesia felt small sparks of power emanating from Zathra, reaching out to her, urging her to speak up, to try anything to capture Ar-Tashk's attention. But what he wanted from her, she couldn't make any sense of. Zathra had been doing his best to silently translate the olog's words directly to Alaesia's mind, but it only served to create more confusion like they were talking over each other in a tumultuous clamor of voices inside and out, until she snapped. I can't think with all this noise, Zathra!
Besides that, she was helpless before Ar-Tashk's wrath; the orc must be mad to believe that either of them might be able to curtail the olog's vengeful nature and yet... the relentless pressure holding her to his chest slowly began to lift without her bidding. Alaesia found herself set on the ground, and spun around to meet him face to face.
"Hontum izish, Isla... Look," Ar-Tashk's rumble vibrated the air as he knelt over her. If it hadn't been for his hand holding her upright, she was sure her legs would have given out again. She obediently craned her neck up at him, however, she struggled to find the courage to look him in the eyes. Ar-Tashk's free hand brushed a lock of hair from Alaesia's face, but she flinched away, sending a sharp sting through his gut, "No fear... Narbak. No hurt. Narfulak. Ghashkrutat narfur... lat nargzabat uruk? You... You want orc alive?"
Alaesia swallowed thickly. Her eyes were red and blurry, but she met Ar-Tashk's icy-white gaze. Why would he ask such a thing? Was it a trap of some kind?
Ku'Gohn held out his trident, with his ex-boss' decaying head still planted firmly on the center spike, ears pierced through by the other pair of sharpened tips, presenting it to the green orc captain as he disembarked the slaving ship, "Consider this a loan, from the Gourmet to my ole blood brother, The Poison-Eater. I swear on this 'ere weapon, that the day this bleedin' sod's head rots off this 'ere trident, is the day I become overlord! An' on that day, when the last fang falls outta his skull an' hits yer deck, is the day you will return ta Nurn, to devour the ol' guard of the fortress!"
"Hear that lads?" Frogblood guffawed and snatched up the trident eagerly. He swung it up over his head, roaring across his ship to the scattered members of his crew who were going about their stations and duties to unload Ku'Gohn's living cargo. "This pit-gut will be treatin' us to a proper feast when 'e becomes overlord!"
Amongst the clamor of orcs and slaves, some of the crew could be heard grumbling at the bluster between the pair of leaders.
"That's fine and all, but I don't wanna wait. I need some meat in my belly now!"
"Yeah! Whatta'bout now? We've been on the river fer days! I'm starvin!"
"Quit whinging and move yer arse. We're joinin' Ku'Gohn's lot tonight fer dinner, thick'ead."
Alaesia and a number of other slaves were dragged up from below deck in a jumble, tethered together with hodgepodge bindings. Some were bound in leather, others in rope, some with metal. One slave in particular, a young lad who looked to be a couple years younger than Alaesia, but he had a rough and troublesome look about him, making him look wizened for his age. The boy had been working incessantly at the cords holding his hands bound. He'd spent much of his time in the hold of the ship gnawing at the rope until his mouth was starting to bleed and he had chipped a number of his teeth in the effort.
As soon as they were hauled from the belly of the ship and dragged down to the shore, Alaesia tried to hiss at him under her breath so as to not catch the ear of their captors, "Landeilyn! Stop! They'll see you!"
"Didn't you hear that orc? Who do you think is gonna be dinner tonight, you fool?" He gave her a scathing look and spat out a gob of blood and rope fibers. What he wouldn't give to have his kit of knives and tools. That would have made quick work of his bindings. "I promise you one thing, it ain't gonna be me!"
She and Landeilyn had been captured by Ku'Gohn's crew the same day in Udun. It turned out he too was an outcast, though he had been sentenced to the bitter fate for his own actions, unlike Alaesia. While being dragged across Mordor, to get to Nurn, Landeilyn had been brusque and guarded towards the other slaves, until their captors found a bundle of hooks and blades on him and confiscated them. It was only then that the boy's stoic facade started to crack. Alaesia found him crying quietly one night, and from that point, he stuck to her side like a thorn.
After some time in each other's company, he shared his story with her. He was just a young thief who had found himself in a bad spot, and according to his own account, accidentally stabbed some rich Gondorian noble, before getting cornered by his guards. Landeilyn claimed the noble wanted him hanged for his crimes, but the Lord Steward's law meant that petty thieves were to be given a choice between death and exile. Landeilyn had chosen the latter, figuring he would have been able to sneak back out of Mordor easily enough, but that was before he was captured.
Alaesia had struggled at the time to make sense of the boy's tale; she couldn't imagine a Gondor in which one would need to be a thief, for all the riches Gondor held. But none of her questions ever ended up mattering in the end. One of the captors' sharp ears had heard the boy's retort, and pinned him viciously to the ground with a hook and kicked him in the gut. Once the human was thoroughly rattled, the uruk stooped and grabbed the writhing boy by the collar, hefting him up with one swift movement, snarling through a toothy grin, "Is that so, ya pinkskin pig?! Ya thinkin' ya could escape?"
"Landeilyn!" Alaesia lunged, grasping at her fellow slave's feet, only to be kicked roughly back by the uruk who leered down at her with hungry, blood-colored eyes.
"Oh, this one yer kin folk, is 'e, lil sharlob? Beg fer 'is life. Maybe I'll find it in my heart ta let 'im live!" The uruk jeered, shaking Landeilyn. The boy scowled and spat blood at the uruk, who swiftly drew a blade and held it against his throat with a furious snarl, "Don't got brains in that eggshell skull of yers, do ya, brat?!"
"Please!" Alaesia had held tight to Landeilyn's legs, doing as the uruk had commanded. If she had known at the time, when the uruk laughed in her face and threw the boy back to the ground, that he was going to return that night, maybe she wouldn't have sighed with relief. Maybe she wouldn't have believed Landeilyn would be spared for his offense. If she had known Landeilyn would shriek her name in an unholy curse as the uruk tortured him and ripped his guts from his body while he was kept alive until dawn, maybe she wouldn't have been so quick to beg for his life.
Alaesia's mouth went dry, staring at Ar-Tashk, trying to decide how to answer. She couldn't bear the thought, having given Zathra her name, to hear it screamed that way again if Ar-Tashk's query was meant as some sort of trap... but how could she turn her back on the orc now?
Don't worry yer pretty lil 'ead about me, Zathra was privy to every deep seeded memory that the woman tried to suppress; he bit his tongue as the olog grunted, and rose to his feet to face the puny orc. He resolved to stay silent, no matter what the Reaper's verdict was.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Alaesia tipped her head; a nod, but one that she didn't even want to give, if it turned out her master was toying with her.
"Gakh..." Ar-Tashk growled bitterly through clenched teeth and seized the broken chains hanging from Zathra's wrists. He heaved downwards forcing the orc to drop to his knees before muttering darkly in Black speech, "Lat slaiat, ur rad, molku ghung lat ya hontum shi na fik, lat maturzat."
"Akhoth..." The orc gave one brief nod of affirmation. What else could he do? The olog agreed to spare him, but the seething rage Zathra could feel emanating from the woods around the clearing was growing stronger. Now wasn't the time to be arguing with each other. "Whatever ya command, but we need ta leave... ta go anywhere but here. Sir mazlat mulkrut Nurnen-"
"Nar Nurnen... Az kramp dalgat Isla-izub ghara Mordor..." Ar-Tashk scowled once more at the orc, turned to face Alaesia and drew her close. He shoved the orc face-down into the dirt and rocks, prostrated before Alaesia, "Ta labu snaga rad. Your slave, Isla."
***** Translations *****
(I've included who was saying what for clarity here)
Ar-Tashk: Narkurzku, pulum pug! - Never again, fucking scum! (Narkurzku is a conjunction of Narku meaning 'never' and Urzku meaning 'again')
Ar-Tashk: Amul. - Be calm.
Ar-Tashk: Skatat, uruk. Lath izish grish lat. Isla-izub narbolkat bak lat nokhar - Come, orc. Let me bleed you. My Isla won't need to fear you anymore.
Zathra: Na us lat grat azat na! - She thinks you plan to kill her!
Ar-Tashk: Nar... - No...
Zathra: Az gashnurat kuluk- - I'll explain everything-
The Voice: Dum-Shatraug - Fate Witch
Zathra: Lat nargzabat atish na, bash? - You want to keep her, right?
Zathra: Lat brusat urdan... - You are in control (He is implying Ar-Tashk has more self control than the olog believes of himself, having seen Ar-Tashk's deep worries about losing control and accidentally killing Alaesia)
Ar-Tashk: Hontum izish... - Look at me...
Ar-Tashk: Narbak - No fear (Don't be afraid)
Ar-Tashk: Narfulak - No hurt (I won't harm you)
Ar-Tashk: Ghashkrutat narfur... lat nargzabat uruk? - Answer truthfully... you want the orc?
Ar-Tashk: Gahk... - Fine
Ar-Tashk: Lat slaiat, ur rad, molku ghung lat ya hontum shi na fik, lat maturzat.- You live, for now, but if you so much as look at her wrong, you are dead.
Zathra: Akhoth... - Yes sir…
Zathra: Sir mazlat mulkrut Nurnen- - The river can lead us back to Nurnen-
Ar-Tashk: Nar Nurnen... Az kramp ghara Mordor... - Not Nurnen… I'm leaving Mordor…
Ar-Tashk: Ta labu snaga rad - He's your slave now.