Femi marched with the warband caravan, his bound wrists chafing against the coarse rope. The human prisoners were corralled in the center like livestock, their hollow-eyed stares fixed on the snow-dusted ground.
Their arms remained bound, ropes leashing them to the creaking wagons.The guards moved with trained ease around them, their green-skinned frames towering over the captives, spears glinting under the twin suns' glare.
Hours bled together under the twin suns' glare, time slipping like sand through his fingers. Femi's breath came in ragged puffs, his short legs struggling to match the Krags' stride. When he stumbled, he scrambled up before the nearest guard could react.but not fast enough to avoid Varga's sharp yank on his leash.
"Move, rat," she growled.
"He thought he wouldn't be tied up if he joined them. Isn't this unfair?" he seethed silently. But Varga hadn't answered his earlier complaint, and speaking aloud now risked a blade to the tongue. He bit back his frustration, grumbling under his breath as he forced his shorter legs to keep pace.
The prisoners shuffled in their chains, their uneven footsteps kicking up snow. A gaunt man with a split lip stumbled, his chains clanking. He grumbled something under his breath, too quiet for most to hear. But caught the attention of a green-skinned warrior. The warrior eyes narrowed, and with a swift motion, he seized the man by the collar.
"We are not orcs," he snarled, baring tusks."we are krags, decendant of Kraggoroth! And we do not tolerate defiance from humans!"
With a roar, he slammed the prisoner against a tree. The crack of bone against bark made Femi flinch.
Then, a hand clamped around the warrior's wrist.
"Enough."
Varga's voice cut through the disorder. The Krag warrior hesitated, his grip tightening, but she didn't blink. "The boss won't be happy with broken goods. Drop him."
A tense silence followed. Then, with a derisive snort, the warrior obeyed, but not before spitting in the prisoner's face.
"Note to self," Femi thought, watching the man slump back into line. "Never call them orcs."
The caravan pressed deeper into the forest, the pines growing denser, their branches weaving a cage of shadows. The wind coiled around Femi's ears, whispering like restless spirits.
He glanced up at Varga as she returned to his side, unable to help measuring her with his eyes. Up close, her stature was clearly smaller than the other Krags, who stood about seven feet tall, but she still loomed over him. At six feet, he barely reached her waist.
Three feet eight inches of uselessness, he thought bitterly.
She walked in silence, her presence as inscrutable as the shifting woods around them.
As he trudged onward with the other prisoners, the cold wind bit at him, making him shiver. "Ah, damn this cold," Femi thought, recalling the armor he'd worn in the dungeon. "I wonder what happened to it. Probably stripped off me by the traders."
His face was numb, and his fur did little to keep him warm. He could feel himself nearly frozen. He turned his head and looked up at Varga. Noticing his gaze, she stared back.
Femi asked in his most polite voice, "Would you mind sparing me a cloak to keep me warm?" He tried to sound respectful, but the female krag warrior snorted.
"If you can't survive this mere cold, then you should just die now. You're of no use to us."
"Ah, what kind of wickedness is this?" Femi thought. "Did I offend her? Is she taking her anger out on me? Who hurt her?" He wanted to say, "A beg, no be me hurt you," but he knew better than to voice that aloud.
He considered asking Varga about their customs but doubted she'd answer. Instead, he kept quiet and marched on.
----
The warband slowed as the twin suns dipped below the jagged peaks, painting the snow in hues of fading embers. The land here was flat and open, bordered by a half-frozen creek that gurgled weakly beneath its icy crust.
Aerius raised a fist, and the column halted in seamless unison.
Two scarred, older Krags stomped out a wide circle in the snow, packing it down with their massive boots. Others drove sharpened stakes into the ground at intervals, lashing them with gut cord adorned with bone charms that clacked in the wind. A trio of younger warriors dug shallow depressions with their bare hands, lining them with stones pried from the creekbed. Not a branch or dried tuft of grass was wasted; each was placed for maximum burn.
A ring of sharpened wooden poles was planted point-up in the snow, angled inward. The captives were shoved inside, their breath steaming in the rapidly cooling air.
Femi noted the position, it was close enough to the fires to prevent freezing to death, but far enough to feel the wind's bite.
"A form of psychological torment as much as physical," he thought.
The creek water moved sluggishly, its surface a mosaic of ice and dark, pebble-studded currents. Krags took turns breaking the thinner ice with their axes, filling waterskins and scrubbing blood from their armor. The smarter ones drank upstream; downstream, another group butchered a scrawny deer, its entrails tinting the water pink as they were rinsed.
Varga claimed a flat rock by the water's edge, her axe flashing in rhythmic strokes. Every few passes, she tested the edge against her thumb, green skin parting easily. She'd smirk, lick the blood away, and continue. "That woman is not okay," Femi thought.
Talon lurked near the prisoner pen, pretending to check bonds but lingering too long near a sobbing human woman. Goruk noticed and cuffed him hard enough to rattle teeth, growling something about "Grimvar's share--"
Aerius stood apart, staring north where the mountains formed a broken-toothed silhouette. His nostrils flared as if scenting something on the wind. One hand rested on the iron-capped tusk at his jaw. Femi didn't know why, but it made him uneasy.
Over the largest fire hung a blackened pot, filled with a stew of melted snow, dried meat, and scavenged roots. The smell was gamey and thick with marrow. Femi's stomach growled despite itself.
When the ladle came around, the Krags ate first, then the prisoners. Femi caught the way Aerius watched him lap at his portion, those crimson eyes unreadable.
"This guy is making me uncomfortable," Femi thought.
As night fully claimed the camp, the wind rose to a howl. The bone charms danced on their cords, their clattering nearly drowning out the low, rhythmic chanting from the Krags' side of the fires. A war hymn or a prayer, Femi couldn't decide. But he memorized every word regardless, never know when it would be useful.
---
The campfire's glow painted the Krags in flickering shadows as Femi hit the dirt. He settled down, gazing at the stars after being dragged about all day. The night sky felt strange and alien, yet it made him feel free even tied up as he was. On his back, he stared at the glittering dark when a boot slammed into his temple.
"My head!" The sharp pain startled him. Varga loomed above, her shadow blotting out the stars.
"The boss is calling you," she said. She didn't let him respond. Grabbing the rope binding him, she hauled him forward like a sack.
She dragged him toward the firepit where Aerius lounged on a log, Goruk at his shoulder like a stone pillar. A half-circle of Krags flanked them, spears and blades in hand.
Varga threw him. The world spun, snarling faces, the sick lurch of weightlessness, before the ground slammed into him. His shoulder took the brunt, pain exploding down his arm in a white-hot streak. A grunt punched from his lungs.
For a heartbeat, he just lay there, tasting snow and blood. Then the anger came.
Femi had had enough. "My friend, are you mad?" he spat at Varga, voice raw. "Is something wrong with your head?"
Varga's face hovered inches from his. Her green eyes stabbed into him. "You want to die, rat?" He wanted to flinch back, but if he did, this would never end.
His eyes blazed with dark determination. "If na fight you want," he growled, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper that carried through the suddenly silent camp, "I will beat you black and blue." His claws clenched, the ropes around his wrists straining.
Varga sneered, her lips curling in amusement at his bold claim. She rolled her shoulders, the firelight glinting off the knives and short blade at her belt. "This rat thinks he can bite," she mocked.
The air grew thick with tension, so heavy Femi could almost taste it. The Krags formed a loose circle, their silence spoke of expectation. Aerius leaned forward on his makeshift throne, his grin widening as he watched the confrontation unfold.
So Femi held, brown eyes locked onto green, and they both stood there waiting for the first person to move.
Then...
Aerius's laugh erupted behind them. Goruk joined in, then the other Krags. "Good to see you've got fire," Aerius said, still chuckling. "Soft-belly rats don't last here." He flicked a glance at Varga. "Tomorrow, you take him hunting. Let's see if he fights as hard as his mouth."
"Eh?" Femi's anger snuffed out. "You say what? Hunt? Hunting who?"
All eyes turned to Aerius.
The boss just smiled.