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3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Brokil

As soon as Brokil found that damned spoiled brat, he would throttle him himself.

Tracking that little pain in the ass had done nothing to quell the burning rage deep in Brokil's chest. If they didn't find him soon, their entire plan would be for nothing, and their home would face the unending wrath of the Tyrant King's fury. There was no other option than to find the elf and maintain their end of the demands.

Not even a few hours after they had taken him, the slippery fuck had managed to escape their hold, though the look on Grenu's face when he explained how the elf managed to escape would have been laughable in any other situation.

A situation that didn't have the potential to end with the annihilation of his people.

His horse followed the path they originally took from the road, Salthu on one side of him and Murzush on the other. It made the most sense for the elf to run this way, though he watched as Murzush scanned the brush and dirt to be sure. Waited as she ran her fingers over the divots in the soil, muttering to herself before returning to her horse and following whatever lead she found. It didn't take a trained tracker like Murzush to see evidence of a struggle when they reached the road.

"Well shit," Murzush grumbled as she slipped off her horse again, followed by Salthu and Brokil. "See that?"

Brokil followed her gaze to the ground where the dirt road had been disturbed on the edges. Based on the blood they found there, Brokil could only guess what happened, but if he was correct, that boy had more fight in him than they gave him credit for.

"Looks like someone grabbed him," Murzush told them, running her fingertips over the bloody dirt. "They brought him to a cart, you can see the wheel tracks here, then they went that way."

"Can you tell how long ago this happened?" Brokil asked.

"It's possible that it was not too long ago. If we move quickly, we should catch up before the sun goes down," Murzush explained, kicking her horse forward. "Carts move slow, so they won't get too far."

"Salthu." Brokil turned to his second in command. "What do you think?"

"With the blood, we know he was taken against his will," Salthu spoke slowly, her brows pinching together. "You know what comes to mind."

He did. Fucking slave traders.

Of course, that damned Tyrant King did nothing to stop their activities, even if he insisted that they were operating illegally. They were a constant source of danger in the routes surrounding Athowen. It was a problem when his own father was chief and he tried to quell them while he was still alive. While they no longer passed through his home village of Ghizol, due to Brokil's first action as chief being to increase the punishments for those caught participating in the trade, they still plagued the communities Ghizol traded with.

And now they probably had that stupid idiot prince. Maybe now that it affected him and his prized son, the Tyrant King would do something to stop their vile activities.

"I think we're getting close," Murzush said, her voice dropping low and pulling Brokil out of his head. "When we get there, what's your plan?"

Staring straight ahead, Brokil considered her question. He had been planning it the moment they discovered the scuffle, still unsure even then if it truly was the elf. "You and Salthu will provide a distraction. I'll grab the boy," he said, the women at his sides nodding their agreement.

"We should find a place to meet after," Salthu said while she tapped the daggers across her chest and at her hips, making sure they were all accounted for. "There's too much risk if we try to meet back at base camp. Better we travel to camp together."

Brokil found nothing to argue with in Salthu's recommendation. There was a reason she was his second in command. When he did not consider something, she would cover the gaps in his plans. "Yes. That clearing we passed a bit ago, we meet there."

"Will you be alright on your own?" Murzush asked, the sharp edge in her voice returning the closer they got to their prize.

"Yes. You will be most helpful with Salthu. I have better chances of staying hidden by myself," Brokil told her. She nodded and faced the road. Ahead of them, the setting sun marked that they would be arriving soon.

The caravan would need to stop for the night to rest, then they would make their move, get that damned elf back, and return home with their prize. Brokil would have some choice words for that idiot prince. If he thought there was any chance to pawn the elf off on someone else to babysit, that was gone now. Brokil wouldn't let him out of his sight again, and if he did, the elf would be locked up with no chance of escape again. He would be lucky if Brokil didn't keep him in manacles until the Tyrant King folded to their demands.

Once the wheel tracks turned off the road, Brokil and his troop dismounted, leaving their horses just within the tree line. They were strong and intelligent beasts and would not move from their spot until they returned for them. Ducking into the foliage, the trio moved forward with Murzush in the lead, tracking the path the cart took while Brokil and Salthu followed her every move.

Before they reached the caravan, they could hear their chatter in the woods. Loud and utterly rambunctious, Brokil knew immediately what they were dealing with, having come across caravans like this more than once, and flames licked through his veins.

Just as they thought. Damned slave traders. According to the Tyrant King, it was meant to have been outlawed, but clearly the punishments weren't high enough to stop the black market, and he doubted the Tyrant King cared to change that now. Though maybe, with his son in their hands, he would be forced to do something worthy of the title of King.

They slowed their movement, finally reaching a break in the trees where an artificial clearing had been created. Set in a wide circle, the carts surrounded a low campfire with meats hanging over the flames. In each cart, Brokil could see the shimmer of metal below the tarps placed over them. There was no way to tell if the prince was there, or which one he was in, but Brokil would check each one if he had to.

Looking at Murzush and Salthu, he tilted his head toward them. "I say we wait for night," he began, keeping his voice low. "Easier for us to see, harder for them to track us. Your distraction will catch them off guard."

No more words were shared between them as the moon continued to rise, and daylight was replaced by the half-moon and starlight. They sat in quiet stillness, watching the caravan go through their nightly routine of settling down and passing roasted meats between each other. One of the men stood and tossed some dried meat into two of the cages, and Brokil grinned. That narrowed his choices down. Two cages would be much easier and quicker to search than the entire caravan.

Turning to Murzush and Salthu, Brokil gave them a curt nod and they returned the gesture before slipping away into the foliage. Whatever distraction they came up with, Brokil knew he could trust them to do their work to the letter. Brokil looked back to the caravan, watching the remaining men around the fire. Only four of them, another one walking the perimeter with a dagger at his hip. The three of them could have taken them out, but the risk wasn't worth it. Better to get in and get out, just in case there were more of them.

A shrill whistle from across the clearing snapped the human heads toward the trees, pulling themselves to their feet. The man around the perimeter grabbed the hilt of his dagger, staring into the dark wood. As the men moved toward the source of the noise, Brokil lifted himself to his feet, ready to move in once they were within the forest. There was no trace of wind, despite the rustling of leaves, and the men looked at each other, whispering amongst themselves. It only took a few more moments before they slipped through the trees, leaving just the man at the perimeter alone. That would have to work.

Leaving his hiding spot, Brokil entered the clearing while keeping close to the shadows. He strained to hear the man still walking the perimeter, pleased that he seemed to be holding his position while Brokil moved from cage to cage, searching for the elf. He approached the first cage that he was certain held someone, pieces of dried meat on the clearing floor, and looked through the bars.

"Well well, look what we have here," Brokil said, his voice low, but just loud enough that the elf snapped his head up, eyes wide.

With blood still smeared on the elf's face, his lip split and eye blackened, Brokil's initial assumptions were confirmed. His silks had been torn and were covered in dirt and specks of blood, and they looked completely miserable to be wearing. In those wide eyes, Brokil saw something fleeting, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"You…?" The elf seemed to be at a loss for words, which wasn't surprising. Did the thought ever cross his mind that Brokil and the others would find him? He was a fool if he thought they wouldn't try, not with the list of demands on its way to the Tyrant King.

"Following us doesn't seem so bad now, does it?" Brokil crossed his arms over his chest, biting back a laugh when the elf glared at him beneath furrowed brows. If Brokil had been a single blade of grass, he might have caught fire from the blaze in Silvyr's eyes.

"Are you going to continue to taunt me, or get me the hell out of here?" Silvyr seethed, clearly struggling to keep his voice soft and even, though the strain in his neck showed just how annoyed the prince already was with Brokil's presence.

"I am." Brokil uncrossed his arms, slipping his hand into his side pouch. It wasn't often that he needed to use these tools, but thankfully he planned enough ahead to bring the lockpicks with them. He had assumed it would have been used to take Silvyr from his own caravan in the night, but as fate would have it, he was using it for his little rescue mission.

As he began to work the lock, listening to the whistles and rustling in the forest, Silvyr inched his way closer to the door. "Careful," Silvyr whispered once he reached the bars. "The door squeaks. Loud."

Brokil swallowed an annoyed groan. "Anything else you want to tell me?" Brokil turned his eyes up to lock with Silvyr's, but the prince did not flinch away. Instead, oddly enough, there was a shimmering determination behind his eyes.

"Yes. There's a woman and her child. We were in the same cage at first, but they moved me when we settled for camp. You need to get them out too," Silvyr told him. More like demanded of him, as though it were second nature to be giving orders. Of course, Brokil expected nothing less from the spoiled son of the Tyrant King.

Brokil stopped his careful work on the lock, staring at the elf with disbelief. "There's no time," he said simply, despite the way it twisted at his heart to leave anyone in the hands of people like this. Clearly, the elf felt the same as he began to back away from the cage door.

"Do it, or I'll scream and they'll know something is going on," Silvyr said, his tone shifting to something more serious. The flare of fire behind his eyes might have shocked Brokil if he wasn't so caught off guard by how brazen and ridiculous the prince was being. "Don't think I won't. I will."

It wasn't a matter of believing Silvyr or not. The way the elf spoke, Brokil knew he would hold up the threat if the orc didn't listen to him. He also knew the boy was right. Saving the others was the right thing to do, and yet Brokil knew better than to give in to the whims of a spoiled princeling. He couldn't be bossed around like he was one of the elf's peons or subjects. If the little brat thought he could just make demands and Brokil would fold, he was sorely mistaken.

Yet still, Brokil couldn't deny that he wanted to get the others out. Knowingly condemning anyone to this torturous fate went against everything Brokil stood for and desired.

Regardless, the elf still stared him in the eyes, stubbornly refusing to back down from his order. Brokil couldn't hold back the snarl as he dropped his hands to his side.

"I'm going to get you a muzzle once I bring you to camp," Brokil grumbled, pulling away from the lock and stepping over to the next cart. The relieved sigh behind him signaled that at least the elf would behave himself while Brokil went to work releasing the other two.

In the next cage over, a human woman with dark hair and wide eyes held a sniveling child against her chest and stared at him. The young boy hid his face against her and Brokil lifted a finger to his lips to tell the woman to be silent. The fear in her eyes faded when she realized that Brokil was picking the lock that held them. Working quickly, Brokil unlatched the lock, waiting for another whistle from the wood before opening the door, hoping it would cover the squeaking metal. It didn't.

Cursing under his breath, Brokil paused just for a moment. Waiting. Hoping the guard would pass by him.

The footsteps of the guard drew closer and Brokil rolled his eyes. He could have been out of there by now if that fucking elf had let him do his job. At least the opportunity to punish at least one of these disgusting men would bring Brokil some comfort.

"Stay there," Brokil told the woman and child, watching them just long enough to see them nodding before he turned away from the cage, pulling his dagger from the sheath.

He waited for the footsteps to come closer, adjusting his fingers on the hilt. He would end this quickly and without much fight, or he may draw the attention of the others to him, and Salthu and Murzush would ream him until Brokil's ears fell off. Crouching down, Brokil peeked below the cart to see the slave trader moving in closer to them.

"Who's there?" the man called and Brokil grit his teeth. At the side, the elf peeked through the cage, his eyes wide. He didn't need to, but Brokil flicked his wrist as if to show the prince that he had this under control and that he needed to shut the fuck up so Brokil could work.

Closer and closer the man moved, slowing his steps when he reached the cart holding the woman and child. After only a few moments with no sign the man would be moving closer, Brokil lunged forward to strike. He left the man no time to react or scream, slamming his blade into the man's throat and digging it deep inside the flesh. The trader clawed at Brokil's arm, trying to scream through the gurgling, until his legs gave out and the life left him.

Brokil ripped the dagger back out, letting him bleed as he wiped the blade clean on the man's shirt and returned it to its sheath.

Stepping up to the cage, Brokil held out his hand for the woman to take, and while she hesitated, she took it and let him pull her out. "Stay quiet. I need to get one more person, then we'll be off," he told the woman as he set her carefully on the ground. She held her son tight to herself and simply nodded at him while Brokil moved back to Silvyr's cage.

The elf had returned to the door, almost pressing right up against it to watch what was happening. Once he saw that the humans were free from the cage, he leaned back on his knees and took a long breath, all of his muscles relaxing. He watched Brokil fiddle with the lock, his eyes focused so intently on him that had Brokil been less confident, he might have stumbled over the delicate steps of picking it.

Once unlatched, Brokil tucked away his tools and swung the door open, grabbing Silvyr's elbow in a vice grip as soon as his feet touched the ground. "Don't try anything funny," he said in a low growl, determined not to let the elf run off a second time.

The elf looked up at him, lips pressed in a straight line, but behind his eyes, all Brokil could see was fire and defiance. Even so, he didn't try to pull away from Brokil and followed his lead.

The woman and child stepped in close to them and Brokil led them into the foliage. Where stealth had been his primary objective thus far, now with more than one person under his protection, he needed to get them out of there quickly while Murzush and Salthu continued their distraction. Thank all the gods, the elf and the woman seemed to understand this and they moved through the brush and kept pace with Brokil. Even the boy, now clinging to his mother's back, and kept his face pressed against her back and didn't make a sound as they moved through the wood.

With the horses in sight now, Brokil stood straight and brought them to the steeds. "You're walking with me," Brokil told Silvyr, letting him go for only a moment to lift the woman and child on the horse. His horse was a good mare and took the new riders with no hesitation. Once he let go of them, he returned on hand to Silvyr's arm, the other holding the reins.

Before leading his horse down the road to find the clearing to meet his comrades, Brokil let out a long, low whistle, flickering his throat to undulate the sounds, signaling that he was done with his job and the warriors could return. There was no response, but he didn't need one. They could handle themselves and they would join him soon enough.

To the elf's credit, he walked with Brokil without much of a struggle, though he couldn't tell if it was due to exhaustion or resignation. Running wouldn't be an option now, Brokil would find him, which he had clearly proven. More than that, Silvyr was in no condition to run. Now that they were in the open moonlight, he could see the cuts and scrapes through the tears in his silks.

He would need to ensure those wounds were cleaned. He had told the Tyrant King in his missive that Silvyr would be unhurt, yet here he was covered in cuts, bruises and who knows what else. Brokil would have to ask him what the full scope of damage was when they settled in camp.

Before they reached the clearing, the clopping of hooves approached from behind, overlaid with Salthu's bird call. Brokil stopped to turn and face the women, unsurprised by the confusion and annoyance that he met on their faces. Their extra guests were not part of the plan, they all knew that.

"Good, you're here," Brokil said, immediately putting himself back into the mindset of the chief. "Salthu, Murzush, I need you to take this woman and her child to the outlying village. Set them up with some coin."

Salthu opened her mouth, probably to protest, but Brokil had already let go of the prince to help the woman and child off the mare. She let Brokil help her down, her son's head no longer hiding in her shoulder, as he now stared at Brokil with wide eyes filled with wonderment.

Brokil led them to Murzush and Salthu, lifting her up to sit in front of Salthu, the woman putting the child in front of herself.

"Will you be alright on your own?" Murzush asked, flicking her gaze to the elf. When Brokil turned to look, Silvyr had turned to stare at his horse, neck craned at the size. There was little threat from the prince as far as he was concerned.

"Yes. We will meet you two back at camp. This will set us back, but you know how I feel about this," Brokil said, glancing back at the woman before looking at Murzush.

She knew and bowed her head. "Yes chief. We'll see you soon."

As Salthu directed her horse toward the village, the woman turned in the saddle toward Silvyr, a warm, almost motherly smile on her face. "Thank you, Silvyr," she called to him, waving her hand, her son silently doing the same.

Silvyr looked at her and lifted his shoulders as though trying to wave, but the manacles wouldn't let him. Instead, he settled for a small smile.

"Please take care," Silvyr said. He opened his mouth again as though to say something else, but quickly closed it when Murzush and Salthu simply ignored him and began their journey.

After they rode off at a solid trot, Brokil turned back to Silvyr, almost surprised to see the elf still standing there. He stepped up to him, watching as Silvyr craned his head to meet his gaze.

"You really are a headache," Brokil said, lifting Silvyr onto the mare before climbing up behind him. Silvyr tried to scoot himself forward, legs tightening on each side of the horse when the manacles made it difficult to hold himself up.

"Apologies for your headache. It must be very hard on you to do something decent." Silvyr turned to look at Brokil over his shoulder. The fire behind his eyes flared and Brokil was prepared to give chase, but was relieved when Silvyr faced ahead again, huffing his annoyance instead.

Kicking his horse forward, Brokil let silence descend over them and the night air enveloped them. Silvyr shivered against the cold, leaning back into Brokil's chest as if to chase his heat before realizing what he was doing. As soon as the elf's hands brushed against him, Silvyr shot right back up, and Brokil couldn't help but smirk to himself as he stared straight ahead.

"We'll have to keep those manacles on you much longer. If you're stupid enough to run once, then you're stupid enough to run twice," Brokil told him, the boy bristling like a vexed kitten.

"You're a beast." Silvyr scoffed. "You're also a fool if you thought I wouldn't try to run."

"I just assumed you'd be better at it. Or at the very least not get caught by fucking slave traders," Brokil replied, shrugging his shoulders. "They really did a number on you, didn't they?"

"What do you care?" Silvyr grumbled.

"Damaged goods aren't exactly…well, good," Brokil said, thinking only of what the Tyrant King would do if he discovered what had happened to his son.

"Damaged goods." Silvyr looked away from Brokil again. Even without that glare, Brokil could feel the hatred radiating off of him. Just like the Tyrant King. "You sound like them."

The words struck Brokil harder than he would have liked, and he allowed a growl past his lips. "Shut your mouth, you spoiled shit," he commanded.

"Or what? You'll beat me too?" Silvyr prodded, clearly trying to get under his skin, and dammit it was working.

Gripping the reins so tight his knuckles paled, Brokil ground his teeth, knowing that anything he wanted to say would be thrown back in his face by this fucking elf that didn't know how to keep his damn mouth shut. Instead, he said nothing as he guided his horse forward, determined to ignore the damned elf and how his attitude poked at Brokil's anger and his hands grazed against him with every movement. He had a job to do, and he would not let one spoiled brat get in the way of that.

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