5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Silvyr

A lot could be said about the Amesisle orcs, but one thing that couldn't be argued was their efficiency.

Silvyr had barely rubbed the sleep from his eyes when the tents were taken down, packed into carts, and the horses saddled up. They moved with such speed, and without stopping, as though it was an artform they'd long ago perfected. Silvyr couldn't help but wonder how many times they'd done this before. It would only make sense. Father told him that these orcs had been a war-faring people for longer than the Quilen family had reigned in Athowen.

If what Father told him was correct, every member of the orc tribes would have grown up learning the art of warfare, being taken from their parents to train when they reached the age of seven and remaining there until they reached their eighteenth year. In that time, they would have trained to use weapons, shields, and even their bare hands to kill. Being surrounded by these warriors now, seeing Brokil kill that man so easily last night, Silvyr could believe what his father said. How else would the chief be able to kill with such ease yet have it affect him so little? It brought him little comfort, knowing that any one of these orcs would readily destroy Silvyr if he attempted to fight them.

Watching the troop start to pull themselves into their saddles just as the sun passed the horizon line, Silvyr envied Brokil's ability to keep his troop in line. If his own troop had moved like they did, with less pomp and more purpose, Silvyr may not be in this situation. They would have been well past the forest and out of harm's way.

Silvyr did what he could to stay out of the way. He considered using the intense focus the orcs had on their jobs to make another run for it. With his arms free, he was sure he would get farther, possibly up a tree. But those thoughts were squashed each time he caught Brokil watching him out of the corner of his eyes. Predatory. Like he was expecting Silvyr to run again.

The two women he kept near him, Salthu and Murzush, were watching him too. Silvyr would need to find out who they were and what they could do. His wrist still stung from the grip Salthu had on him when she pulled Silvyr out of his carriage, so as little as he knew, he did know that Salthu was strong and didn't care much about hurting him. He was probably no better than a fly under her boot.

In the meantime, Silvyr knew he just needed to play the part of a willing captive, or at least a broken one. The other orcs around would let their guard down soon enough. He might not be able to escape Brokil's watchful eye, but if his troop slacked, even for a moment, Silvyr might be able to use that weakness to his advantage.

Heavy footsteps announced Brokil's approach and Silvyr turned to face him. When Brokil opened his mouth to speak, Silvyr cut him off.

"Are we off then?" he asked, moving his arms behind his back.

The chief eyed him with suspicion, which Silvyr couldn't blame him for. It would make sense for the captive to plot their escape at every possible moment, which Silvyr actively was. Clearly, the orc wasn't a fool, no matter how much Silvyr wanted him to be. Patience would be key here, and he was nothing if not patient.

"Yes, you're with me," Brokil said, motioning to his horse.

"I expected so."

Silvyr tried not to hesitate as he stepped up to the massive creature. There was an odd sense of relief to be sharing the horse with Brokil. The idea of sitting with another orc like Salthu or Murzush set his nerves on edge. He hated the chief, but he was at least tolerable when he wasn't talking, and Silvyr didn't fear him the same way he feared the two women. Maybe it was foolish, but Silvyr had never claimed to be anything less.

Shaking away those thoughts and looking up at the horse, Silvyr took time to consider the beast. The first time he rode on it he had been too tired to think of much else, but now up close he could see just how massive the creature was. Nearly twice Silvyr's height, muscular and wide from years of intense training no doubt, the beast stood tall and proud with its chestnut coat and deep black mane. It truly was a beautiful beast.

Without warning, Brokil's large hands scooped Silvyr up from under his arms and hoisted him onto the saddle. Silvyr gasped at the utter disrespect, his cheeks flaring as a flurry of anger bloomed in his belly. Despite his surprise, he gripped the saddle horn as Brokil pulled himself up behind him.

"You're like lifting a bushel of wheat," Brokil said with a low chuckle, adjusting himself in the saddle.

Silvyr turned to demand he shut his mouth, but the words were lost when Brokil's arms wrapped around his middle. Looking down, Silvyr let out a groan.

"Really? Rope?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as Brokil tied off the end of the cord before wrapping the other end around his own waist.

The entire idea of being tied to this man was utterly ridiculous. Did he truly expect Silvyr to jump off the horse and run? Gods, the man must be a bigger fool than Silvyr thought.

"You're not running again," Brokil told him as though reading his mind and providing an obvious solution. Maybe it was, but the insult was still there.

With a huff, Silvyr turned back to face ahead. "I wasn't planning on it," he mumbled, clearly a lie and one Brokil only laughed at as he reached around him to grab the reins. Encased by thick veined arms, Silvyr swallowed hard.

It was a small mercy that Brokil didn't bring the manacles out again. In comparison with the rope, Silvyr preferred to keep his hands free. More importantly, preferred to keep his hands in front of himself. Riding with his hands behind his back had been uncomfortable enough without having to be pressed right up against Brokil, trying to keep his hands from touching the orc's hard, muscled abdomen. From feeling his rough, battle-worn flesh each time the horse lurched to avoid outlying brush and brambles. A small mercy.

Silvyr took a moment to adjust himself in the saddle while Brokil kicked his horse forward. They moved to the head of the pack, the rest of the troop falling in line. Behind them, Salthu and Murzush took each flank, and when Silvyr glanced at them, their eyes were firmly set on him. Though at this point, with Brokil's arms acting as a bracket and the rope acting as a leash, he couldn't see why.

He made a point of ignoring them, staring instead at the path ahead. He couldn't help but wonder how the massive horses and their riders managed to pass through the thick wood at all. As soon as they left the clearing, he could hear the low branches of the forest scraping against Brokil's large torso, though the chief made no noise to indicate that it bothered him, nor did the horse loping easily through the underbrush.

In silence they rode toward Amesisle. Silvyr knew it'd be a week or two before they reached the mountains, and that was on horseback. He didn't want to think of how long it would take him to return home on foot. Yet still, even as his hopes of finding his way back wavered with each step they took, he knew he needed to try again. Knew he needed to pay attention so he could find his way if he was able to run.

He tried to memorize every tree they passed, looking around to note the flora in the surrounding forest for anything that might help. The edible plants that contained more water than others, trees with high branches or deep roots that he could hide in. There were many possibilities and Silvyr took note of all of them.

As if sensing the way Silvyr had been reviewing the trees, Brokil leaned down to his ear. "We know these forests well, boy." Brokil's voice was nearly a purr and Silvyr fought to keep himself from shuddering. "Any plans you think you have, disregard them."

"You can't possibly know what I could be thinking," Silvyr said quickly, keeping his voice low. He didn't want the others to hear him. It was better for them to believe that Silvyr was being a good little captive and that there was nothing to worry about.

Brokil chuckled and straightened behind Silvyr, kicking his horse to move faster. "I'm not a fool. You and your father believe that to be the case, but you will find that you're both wrong."

"Do not speak about my father." Silvyr hated every moment that Father was brought up. A constant reminder of how his actions put Silvyr in this situation, and how nothing he did would prove to these people that he and Father were two different men.

"I will speak how I like. You would do well to remember how little power you have here," Brokil told him, his voice carrying a sharpness that reminded Silvyr of a blade ready to cut him down.

Silvyr gripped the saddle horn, knuckles turning white. Of course, there was no use. Escaping Father's influence proved to be impossible, no matter the circumstance.

"I thought it was a simple request," Silvyr said through his teeth. "If you hate him so much, do not speak of him." Silvyr chanced a look at Brokil over his shoulder, meeting a grin so smug that it settled like a lead weight in his belly.

"It simply amazes me that he would bear a son so small," Brokil said.

He was trying to get under his skin and Silvyr knew it. For only a moment he was tempted to take the bait like he had the night before, but nothing he could say would convince Brokil to leave him be. Nothing he could say would make Silvyr believe his own words.

Turning his attention back to the path, Silvyr seethed in silence. The ride would be long if Brokil kept up his tormenting. Every word struck him like a well-aimed arrow, as though he knew just where to strike to hit the vital pieces of Silvyr's heart. Truly, he didn't think it was a wild request to ask for silence. It should be easy for the orc to ignore him and let him wilt into himself.

Then again, it only made sense that Silvyr would be on the receiving end of the anger toward Father. They very well couldn't say it to Father's face, and Silvyr stood as a representation of their hatred. Yes, Brokil had forbidden them from laying hands on him—though Silvyr wasn't fully convinced that they would obey—but his order carried nothing against those who would hurl abuse at him, including Brokil himself.

Silvyr was used to it, really.

Father and his Council used their flowery words and pretty purple prose to tear him down, and the orcs spoke plain and clear. Both completed the intended purpose of tearing Silvyr down, exposing the veins beneath to pierce through and bleed him dry.

Perhaps when he ran, Father and the Council would finally see his value.

The rest of the day passed in blessed silence. Silvyr occupied himself with the trees, naming them in his head, recounting their uses and their life cycles. At one point he reached out to pluck a leaf off a low hanging branch and Brokil's hands tightened on the reins. Silvyr grinned to himself, utterly satisfied that he had that effect on the warrior. That simply picking a leaf would make him think he needed to defend himself. A crack in the armor. Silvyr's chest filled with strange warmth at the thought that Brokil might have felt foolish from his reaction.

With the leaf in hand, Silvyr traced the veins with his fingertips, counting each one. He took his time, pulling it apart, examining the sap that seeped out of each tear. Inhaling the fragrance, Silvyr allowed himself to smile at the comfort it brought him. When he finished with the leaf, he sprinkled each piece aside, letting it return to the forest where it belonged.

Turning his head up, he looked for other leaves to do the same with, but every tree they passed appeared to belong to the same family and he would learn nothing new. The flowers on the ground were too far away and Silvyr had no courage to ask Brokil to stop for him to pick a few of them. He could only imagine the torment that would come from that.

When they reached another clearing, the sun had already begun to set. This, like the first, was created for the purpose of making camp. The tree stumps that scattered the grounds were fresh and the logs had been rolled to the side, chopped and torn for firewood. The remnants of fire circles remained in their patterns and Silvyr frowned, thinking it oddly cruel that they would not try to erase any traces of the flames. He knew they couldn't just plant trees overnight, but they could at least try to give it the best chance to regrow.

Brokil pulled off the horse first, a dark grin on his face as he yanked the rope on his waist, forcing Silvyr harshly off the horse. If Silvyr hadn't been expecting the orc to torment him, he might have fallen flat on his back. Instead, Silvyr stumbled when he landed, huffing and fighting every urge not to snarl at that poor excuse for a man.

On his feet, the soreness of the day's riding and the previous night's treatment hit him. Every muscle ached, and he longed for a bath to relieve it, though he knew there was no use in bringing it up. He would have to suffer the way his legs throbbed with each step and his back ached from sitting so long.

Brokil said nothing to him, and all but dragged Silvyr away from the horse and toward the center of the clearing. His entire body begged for rest and mercy, but Silvyr had no choice but to stumble over his own feet and follow the orc.

Around him, Brokil's troop went about erecting tents in circles around the fire pits and collecting firewood from the forest. Another group collected the horses, bringing them to another side of the clearing and out of Silvyr's view.

Brokil finally stopped moving when he met Salthu and Murzush, crossing his arms over his wide chest. Silvyr took care to stay at the very end of the rope, wanting to be nowhere near either woman.

"Have you considered where to keep the boy once we return?" Salthu asked, and Silvyr snapped his head in their direction.

"Yes," Brokil told them, his voice strong and steady. "I've made my decision."

Silvyr dreaded whatever place they would keep him, his mind running wild with possibilities. Would it be a dark cell? Locked away and kept by himself? Did Chief Brokil's orcs utilize the open square stockades?

Murzush looked at Salthu and back to Brokil. "The Council Chambers would be the safest place to keep him," she said, something in her voice telling Silvyr that the Council Chambers would also be the worst place for him to be.

"I know what the options are. My decision stands," Brokil told them, and Silvyr swallowed hard.

He needed to find out where he would be placed. If there was no chance to run before they reached their settlement, he would have to work with their land to make his escape. As long as there were no bars to trap him, Silvyr was confident that he could find something.

Their talking turned to low whispers and Silvyr struggled to hear anything with enough clarity to be confident in what they said. Frustrated with the turn, Silvyr allowed his attention to be drawn away to the orcs nearby who were setting up what looked like the tent he and Brokil had slept in the night before. They only glared at him in return, however, so he let his gaze continue until it fell on the tree line where budding pink hues caught his eye. Still attached to the damned rope, he could do nothing but observe them from afar, unable to get closer. Though he doubted he'd risk it anyway. The act of simply walking toward the trees would be cause enough for suspicion from everyone around him.

Without much hope, Silvyr turned to the ground around him for some remains only to find everything trampled from the orc's previous stay in the clearing. Anything that might have been there before now beginning to rot back into the forest. In a way, it was comforting to know that though the flowers had been crushed, they would change and serve the forest.

Squatting down with a light huff, Silvyr picked a few pieces of unharmed ferns from the ground. Few and far apart, Silvyr managed to salvage a small piece, plucking a blade from the stalk and rolling it between his fingers until it disintegrated into sap and green mush. The smell was divine when he brought it up to his nose, and for a moment Silvyr imagined the pleasure of laying amongst a field of ferns.

"In the tent." Brokil's voice broke through Silvyr's daydream, and once again he was back in his terrible reality.

Salthu and Murzush were nowhere to be seen, probably off to their own tents for the remainder of the night, but Brokil stood above him expectantly, uncaring of Silvyr's interest in the local flora.

Dropping the ferns, Silvyr lifted himself off the ground and stepped through the tent flaps. Once inside, the orc crowded up to him and Silvyr forced himself to stay in place, refusing to let the chief intimidate him further. With no permission or hesitation, Brokil grabbed the rope at Silvyr's waist to tug him closer, a dark chuckle leaving the orc when Silvyr gasped and his cheeks flushed with heat. He untied the knot he'd created, letting Silvyr free of the bind.

Every intention Silvyr had to not be intimidated fell apart, and he hurried away from Brokil, back to the side of the tent where he had slept the night before. The tarp across the ground, while comforting before, now made Silvyr's heartache. He would have liked to touch and inspect the flora beneath them until sleep took him. He supposed Brokil wouldn't let him keep any plants either, and would probably find reason to add more torment to Silvyr's life if he knew how much he craved the touch of nature in his hands. Resigned, he crossed his legs underneath himself, wincing from the strain on his muscles.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Brokil carry his chest into the tent, setting it along the back panel. For the moment, he paid no mind to Silvyr, acting as though he didn't exist. That should have brought Silvyr comfort, but even now, boredom pulled at him. If the carriage had been torture, this was certainly hell.

He could have laughed at himself. Falling into boredom while being held as a hostage was certainly not what he expected. What would Father think? Or Ascal? Or his younger brother, Arlen? Mother?

When they found out about what happened, would they be worried? Yes, Silvyr knew Father would be angry. With both Chief Brokil and Silvyr. But would Mother care? Would Arlen? More likely Arlen would be thankful that Silvyr was conveniently removed to make his own ascension to a throne Silvyr didn't want that much easier.

"What are you staring at, boy?" Brokil grunted from across the tent, and only then did Silvyr realize that he had been staring, lost in thought with his gaze firmly fixed upon the orc.

Quickly, he turned his head away, hoping to hide the heat in his cheeks. As much as he willed Brokil to just ignore him, ignore the flush on his face, the footsteps coming closer to him told him that his hopes were in vain and there was nothing he could say that would convince the orc to leave him alone.

Squatting before him, Brokil set his elbows on his knees. "Don't ignore me."

"I'm not ignoring you," Silvyr said quickly. "I was just thinking, not staring." That much was the truth, and he prayed Brokil didn't push him further.

When Brokil's lips curled into a predatory smile, Silvyr swallowed hard and looked away. "Is that so? What were you thinking last night when you watched me undress?"

Silvyr snapped his head back to him, eyes wide with the accusation. Of course, he hadn't been staring! It was the damn orc's fault for walking around so lewdly. Yet the memory of how each muscle curved and connected, rippling under the tough skin and shimmering in the lantern light, refused to leave Silvyr. Only a fool would deny that it was a sight to behold.

"You chose to undress in front of me," Silvyr managed to say, knowing that ignoring Brokil completely was out of the question.

"Yes, it's my tent and I'll do what I like," Brokil said, and Silvyr turned his face to the ground, unable to look at that smug bastard any longer. Rough fingers grabbed his chin, forcing Silvyr's head back up. The sensation of those rough fingers made him shudder, and he averted his gaze. "Look at me, boy."

Silvyr would not. He couldn't. One look and Brokil would see everything on his face, and he needed to maintain the mask, as faulty as it was.

"Can you let me rest? I am weary from travel and still sore from yesterday," he said, hoping there was some mercy in the orc. Let him sleep and recover, then Silvyr could accept whatever torment Brokil had if that meant he could get away from the conversation. Any conversation but this one.

"Poor baby prince, so sore from riding a little horse," Brokil sneered, pushing Silvyr's face away and out of his grasp. Silvyr caught himself on one hand, glaring up at the horrid man.

"You know that's not what I meant," Silvyr muttered, wishing he would have remained silent. He knew it best not to speak, and his own weakness disgusted him.

Brokil stood up, towering over Silvyr. "Rest then, before I give you a reason to feel sore," he said, a grin spreading across his face, wolven and dangerous. Unable to place his tone, Silvyr's stomach stirred with what he could only assume was wretched disdain, for what else could he feel when Brokil spoke so crudely? The orc's grin only widened. "You blush."

"I do not! Have you not harassed me enough?" Silvyr sputtered, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared intently at the lantern in the corner. Maybe if he stared long enough, the light would consume him and he would disappear completely.

"I don't think I have. In fact, I think you and I need to have a little talk," Brokil said, and Silvyr fought back a frustrated huff.

As much as boredom gnawed at him, a conversation with his captor couldn't lead to anything good, especially after Brokil poked and prodded at him.

Yet, he knew there was nothing he could say to stop Brokil from doing whatever he wanted.

"Fine. What do you want to talk about?" Silvyr exhaled, trying not to pay attention to the intensity of Brokil's gaze. He had felt small before, all his life, but on the ground with Brokil lording over him like a statue carved of marble, he was truly powerless.

"I want to know something. What do you think the chances of your father heeding our warnings are?" Brokil asked, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

Surprise nearly overwhelmed him. Why would Brokil care about what Silvyr thought? It wasn't his decision to make, and surely he knew that Father would take any threat seriously enough to scorch the earth from which it came. Silvyr didn't need to be the one to speak it into existence. Even still, he needed to tread carefully. If he didn't give Brokil the answer he wanted, he may end up in more danger than he was in before. But if he lied, Brokil would find out eventually.

"What are your exact demands? You didn't let me read the scroll before you sent my entourage away," Silvyr said.

Brokil sat down, crossing his legs and leaning toward Silvyr while lifting a hand. "We had three demands. The first is that he stops trying to collect taxes from us. Second, he will not require us to use fucking permits to trade amongst ourselves. And third, he respects our demands for full independence. Essentially, he leaves us alone, we leave him alone," Brokil explained, raising a finger for each point.

It didn't seem so outlandish, the demands should be easy to fulfill, but Father was not one to be bossed around by anyone. Let alone orcs who had stolen his son.

"That is all?" Silvyr asked. How could so few demands warrant a kidnapping?

Brokil nodded, staring Silvyr in the eyes with an intensity that nearly made Silvyr wither and try to hide. "That is all. It's not impossible to meet the demands."

"And if he doesn't accept those demands, you kill me," Silvyr said. Saying it out loud should have made the fear of his imminent future settle in, weighing him down like a stone in the ocean to drown under the pressure, but he felt nothing.

"Yes."

"Well. I think he will take it seriously," Silvyr said slowly. "But whether or not he heeds you will remain to be seen. He's a proud man. He hates being defied by anyone. The only thing I can say with certainty is that he will be angry with your audacity."

He hoped that would be enough to satisfy the chief. At least nothing he said was an outright lie. He only left out that Father's anger toward the Amesisle orcs might be outweighed by his anger toward Silvyr for being weak enough to have been taken in the first place.

"I see. For your sake, you better hope that he heeds us."