Seed, p.3
Seed, page 3
"Tanyth's playing tricks?" Dregu asked.
Murzol shrugged. "Impossible to tell. They could all be telling the truth. Perhaps that's exactly where the elvish wards were before the war began. But the maps do not date from that period. I can feel their youth. So there's no way for them to prove ownership."
Dregu nodded and rejoined the rest of his advisors at the table, contesting the maps' validity. The elvish councilors withdrew the maps but the disagreement dragged on for another few hours. Tanyth finally called a halt to the proceedings a few hours before dinner. The delegations dispersed as Tanyth stalked out, flanked by his silver-armored guards. A servant was assigned to each orc to ensure they didn't become lost in the palace and doubtless also to spy on them and report any suspicious activity to Tanyth's spymaster later.
Bula and some of her more boisterous companions left for a tour of the training grounds used by the royal guard. Tanyth's young sorcerer left for the library with Murzol, more eager to discuss his counterpart's traditions and magics than afraid of divulging elvish secrets.
Dregu turned to his assigned attendant, the same trembling woman who had shown him to Tanyth's chambers that morning. "Take me to the dining hall," he requested.
"But the evening meal is not for another three hours," she protested.
"I merely wish to know my way around the palace." He gestured for her to proceed him and she bobbed a quick bow, hurrying down the corridor. He followed and she led him through the labyrinth of halls to a set of tall oak doors.
"It is here," she said, pausing.
Dregu nodded in thanks and pushed one of the doors open, peering inside.
The hall was long, the arched ceilings hung with sturdy iron chandeliers that already glowed with candlelight. There were rows and rows of tables and benches stretching the length of the hall and a raised dais at the front of the room where servants were pushing Tanyth's intricately carved seat to the side to make room for another for Dregu beside it. The lord himself stood beside the dais.
"I told you every inch of this floor," he barked, "and you're not half-way done."
Dregu followed his gaze. The prisoner from the previous night knelt on the flagstone floor, a sponge and a bucket of water before her as she scrubbed the stones. She still wore the slave collar about her neck and a guard held the chain. Another two guards stood at the side of the room, their eyes trained on her every move.
She dropped the sponge in the bucket and wiped her forehead on her arm, looking up at the lord, her face expressionless. She spoke quietly, her voice barely reaching Dregu at the door. "You know full well it takes a dozen servants a whole day to scrub these floors."
Tanyth shook his head, his lips curving up with a soft chuckle, his hand tightening into a fist. "You will be defiant to the last, won't you?"
She shrugged stiffly, wincing at the gesture. "The day I'm not, you'll lose interest in me and I'll be as good as dead. So what enticement have I to be meek for you? I am obedient; is that not enough?"
He strode forward, planting a foot on her chest and pushing her to her back on the wet stones. Her breath left her in a gasp and she grasped his ankle, pushing at him as he leaned his weight onto her. "No, betrayer," he hissed. "Your death will be enough, but I will not send you to the block a stoic martyr. If it takes me the rest of my life, if I must cut you down piece by piece, I will break you, see you beg for mercy. And then..." He sneered at her, stepping back and watching as she coughed for breath, rolling onto her side and pushing back up to her knees. "I dream of the day," he whispered, before lifting his cloak around him so that the fabric did not touch her as he stalked away.
The woman knelt by the bucket, her head hanging, dirty hair concealing her face. She rubbed at her chest, taking long shuddering breaths. The guard tugged at her chain and she held a hand up to him in surrender before wringing out the sponge and scrubbing the floors once more.
Dregu frowned. From what he had seen last night, she was a well-trained warrior, her reflexes quick and her strength impressive despite her battered state. If she were not injured, she might have a chance at taking the three guards by surprise. Yet she seemed disinclined to fight back. Perhaps the will to fight had already been beaten out of her. Her will to live was still strong, though, and Tanyth clearly hated it.
Dregu suspected she wasn't the type to be broken. Tanyth would try until he sapped the strength from her and she died, defiant and unbroken. It was a pity to snuff such fire out.
He closed the door quietly and turned to the servant. "Who is that?" he asked.
She looked up at him, eyes wide, before turning her gaze back to the floor. "A prisoner," she answered.
"I know that much. Why is she a prisoner?"
The woman bit her lip for a moment. She knew more than she was supposed to tell, he suspected. "She is a traitor against the king," she said finally.
"She seems to receive... special treatment."
The elf's eyes widened and she looked away, her lips pressed shut. Dregu didn't ask more. It would be unwise to excite the servants' gossip or alert Tanyth to his interest. He started back the way they had come and the servant hurried after him. "Take me to the training grounds where the rest of my warriors are," he ordered, a plan forming in his mind. "And make sure a bath awaits me in my chambers after dinner tonight."
The woman was still scrubbing the floors of the dining hall when Tanyth threw open the doors that evening and ushered in a long procession of elvish nobles and orcish delegates. His lip curled and he swept around her, giving her a wide berth. "Get that filthy creature out of here," he ordered the guards. They rushed to do his bidding, dragging at her chain too quickly for her to stand from her task. Her feet scrabbled for purchase on the stone floor and she clutched at the iron collar with both hands to prevent it choking her, but there was no time for her to walk with dignity as they hauled her out. Bula took one step after her and Dregu cleared his throat sharply. She stepped back, shoulders trembling with suppressed rage as one of her fellow warriors pushed her towards a seat.
"You must join me again, as equals," Tanyth said to Dregu, smiling as if it were a gesture of magnanimous kindness for him to offer it, rather than a basic courtesy to a foreign king.
As they sat, a procession of servants laid trays of food on each table. Dregu ate more heartily than the previous night. The elf was determined to see him as beastly and uncivilized, which might play into his interests perfectly. He took a meat pie and broke it in half, scattering crumbs of crust across the table as he shoved one half into his mouth. The elf pretended not to notice, his lips thinning as he beckoned a servant to fill his wine glass.
The hall filled with the loud chatter of voices. Dregu finished chewing and turned to the elf beside him. "I had your servant show me around the palace," he said. "It is a marvel." Tanyth preened and Dregu chuckled. The orcs had no architecture quite so detailed as the Crimson Palace; they preferred function over the delicate carvings and embellishments of elven architecture, and where possible, their buildings were seamless with the landscape, built into hillsides and cliffs, but Dregu could appreciate the elves' style none-the-less, even if he would feel uncomfortable living in such a place. "I saw you with that prisoner in here. You let her out of the dungeons often?"
Tanyth drained his goblet and sighed in disgust. "I treat her like a servant, a slave. I give her degrading work." He shrugged. "As you surely saw, she does it without complaint, if not without insolence." He smiled tightly. "She did try to run once, rather than take her punishment. I saw to it she wouldn't refuse again."
Dregu nodded thoughtfully. "She was... insubordinate."
"Impertinent and unrepentant," Tanyth snapped, driving the point of his dinner knife into the table. "As I mentioned last night, I have tried to break her spirit with little success. She is surprisingly resilient."
"Have her sent to my rooms tonight. I appreciate a resilient woman," Dregu said, his stomach turning. He gritted his teeth. "Clean her up, first," he added as he reached for a leg of mutton. "She's filthy."
Tanyth's lips twitched, a smile spreading across his face. "Intriguing idea," he murmured. "I like it." He pulled the knife from the table and speared a boiled egg. "I've never seen how an orc... handles a woman. I want to watch."
Dregu growled, his lip curling. The disgusting man. "I'm not a trained dog. I don't perform for an audience."
"Of course." The lord pressed a hand to his chest. "I meant no disrespect, your highness. I was carried away with excitement." He sighed. "Such a pity, though, not to see the look in her eyes..." He recovered from the disappointment quickly, popping the egg into his mouth. "I'll inform the guards you're not to be disturbed. No matter what they might hear." He grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Unless you wish the guards there to control her?"
Dregu shook his head. He was twice the size of the woman, and unlike her, he was well-fed, healthy, and not wounded. "Unnecessary. And have the collar removed. It will only get in the way."
Tanyth raised an eyebrow. "I'm rather desperate for information as to why, but I have a feeling you won't give it." He clapped his hands in delight. "It will be done. I can hardly wait for the morning."
Dregu beckoned a servant forward to re-fill his goblet and drained it, pushing away his plate of mutton. Deep in his gut, he felt sick. Orcs had a reputation for ruthlessness on the battlefield which was not undeserved. Humans and elves often assumed that to mean they were ruthless in all situations. Some were. Some were not. But no orc under his command had ever raped a prisoner. There was no honor in that. No justice. It was despicable to rob someone of their dignity in such a way. No matter what he promised Tanyth, he had to help her.
He leaned towards the servant. "Have a large tray of food brought to my rooms after the banquet," he ordered, gesturing to the tables around him. "The remnants are fine, whatever is left."
Tanyth beckoned a guard over. "Have the traitor's collar and chain removed," he ordered. He grinned at Dregu. "I should have invited you here years ago."
Chapter three
The clink of a key in the cell's lock woke the woman. She pushed herself slowly up to a sitting position against the wall, breathing out through her nose as her arm protested. She touched the scabs where the wolf's teeth had punctured her skin. She couldn't see them in the dark of the dungeon, but the skin around them was hotter than it had been earlier in the day. Infection was setting in. She needed clean water, but Tanyth would undoubtedly deprive her. It hardly mattered to him if her arm rotted off. He'd threatened to take her limbs one day anyways, if his other tortures didn't produce his desired results.
There were days she thought she was wearing him down, when she glimpsed something soft inside him. This was not one of them.
Light flooded the cell as the guards entered with torches. One of them knelt before her and gripped her collar, jerking her forwards. She tried to stand so she could walk wherever they meant to take her rather than be dragged through the dirt of the dungeon again, but he put his elbow on her shoulder to still her and she heard the click of a lock, the collar falling away. He picked it up and the guards filed out in silence, taking their torches with them. She was left alone in the darkness again.
She didn't mind the darkness anymore. Once, it had left her shaking, struggling to conceal her fear whenever Tanyth came to drag her out of the cell and toy with her. But now she knew every notch in the stones of this little room. There were no secrets here and there was solace, for a few hours a day at least.
She leaned back against the wall and touched the raw skin at her collarbone where the weight of the collar had sat, wearing away at her day after day. The tender skin stung and she grimaced.
He was wearing away at her, piece by piece. For every feeble chip she might make at the ice in his veins, his unrelenting degradations, tortures, wore her down like water smoothing rocks into sand.
She had learned to predict his patterns over the years. A little pain inflicted, some blood. He loved his knives. She could see the pleasure in his eyes when he pressed them to her skin, the sharp blades sinking into her flesh as if it were butter. Perhaps next he'd work her like a slave for a week or throw her to his soldiers to slake their lusts. She might be left in her dark cell for days without food, her only drink the trickle of dirty water that ran down the far wall. It was blissful peace. She could sleep and heal, until the gnawing hunger in her stomach grew so great it kept her awake through the night. Then there were the days he enjoyed pampering her, dressing her in an elvish lady's gowns, letting her eat from his plate as he mocked her. The respite might last for an hour or two. He liked her to wear pure white on those days, so that when he beat her senseless he could see every bloom of blood on the delicate, pale fabric.
She had grown used to pain. She could bear it now with a stoic face that drove him mad with rage. He wanted her tears, her begging, so desperately.
On the worst days, he made her kill. Never with purpose; only for his amusement. She pressed her left hand over the tooth-marks in her arm again. He'd kept the wolf in the dungeon for a week before the banquet. She could hear it howling and snarling in the next cell as they starved it. Had he wanted it to tear her apart for his entertainment, she wondered? Eat her alive? He must have known she wouldn't give it the chance.
She wasn't ready to die.
She wasn't ready to run, either. She had work to do, here, and while every day it seemed less and less possible, giving up was not an option. Too much rested on her ability to endure.
As she was beginning to fall back asleep, the cell door opened again. The guards dragged her out and pushed her to her knees on the dirt floor of the dungeon. She looked up at Tanyth's finely embroidered boots sparkling in the murky light with gold thread.
"Good evening, betrayer," he said smoothly. She could hear the smile in his voice. Something tonight pleased him. She knew it wasn't her.
He reached down, his hand closing over her jaw so tightly her teeth ground together. He pulled her face up until she looked him in the eyes. The jeweled dagger in his belt was only inches from her reach. Her hands itched. So close... She could have it out of its sheath in under a second, gut him before any of the guards could move to stop her.
She flexed her hands at her sides and remained still.
"On your knees for me like this..." He leaned down to her. "It brings me such memories. You were good, betrayer. But then, I suppose you had to be." His face hardened. "Last chance. You could have a quick and painless death. Kiss my feet and weep and beg me for one and it's yours."
She wondered what horrific tortures he had in store for her that he would offer her one last chance at going to the executioner's block in one piece. It hardly mattered. She could not take that offer. "Never," she assured him.
He released her jaw, straightening, then the back of his hand cracked across her face, the glittering rings on his fingers leaving scratches across her cheek. She fell back, raising a hand to her face on instinct, covering the stinging skin.
"You will regret it," he spat, "and I will not show mercy. You will beg me to be given that choice again, and I will not give it." He raised his boot to kick her, then put it back down with a soft laugh. "He'll crush you, body and spirit," he said quietly. "A shame I cannot be there to see."
He gestured to the guards and they hauled her upright, tossing a bucket of frigid water over her head. She gasped, shivering, and wiped her wet hair out of her face.
His lip curled back as he examined her. "Good enough. He'll hardly care." He reached out, grasping her threadbare undershirt in his fist and tearing it from her. "My royal guest has offered to help me with you; a true gesture of allyship. I have high hopes." She kept her face carefully neutral and the corner of his lips twitched up in a sneer. "Take her to him," he ordered, stepping aside.
The guards marched her forwards. She couldn't keep pace with them, tripping on the steps leading out of the dungeon, and they dragged her by her elbows as her wet feet slipped on the gleaming marble of the hall floors, leaving a trail of mud behind her.
At least she no longer wore her collar, so they couldn't drag her by her neck, choking her.
Tanyth was giving her to the orc king. The man had barely seen her twice. Why would he want her? Unless he was simply willing to do Tanyth's dirty work for him in exchange for some of the land the elves had taken from his people. Tanyth had fallen into a routine with her lately, the creativity he'd once displayed in his depravity now gone. This must be his way to fix that.
Like everyone in the Crimson Forest, she had heard the soldiers' reports of how orcs treated the women in the elvish villages they sacked. Horror stories of women raped until their minds shattered and they went mad. So, this was now her fate. Tanyth would enjoy watching her lose her mind.
She would bear it like she had borne everything else. The orc king was massive, well over seven feet tall, his hands big enough to crush her skull, and she was not a petite woman. He would undoubtedly break her body, but her mind had not broken so far, and it would not now.
She had faith in the Goddess. She had faith in herself. Though with each passing year, those words held less and less weight.
The guards stopped before a door in the guest wing. They knocked, then pushed it open, throwing her inside. She had expected them to take her in and tie her up for the orc's use, and the action took her by surprise. Her body slammed to the floor, her jaw hitting the tile. She grunted in pain but her throat was too dry to make much sound. Behind her, she heard the doors close.
She lay there for a moment, her palms pressed against the cool stone, trying to regain the breath the fall had knocked out of her.
A hand touched her shoulder and she pulled away instinctively, struggling onto her knees, her arm throbbing. She looked up. She would have to crane her neck back to look up at his face from her position on the floor, so she didn't, staring at his legs instead. He wore thick leather boots and a kilt made from a coarse deep blue fabric. Above that, he was naked, his skin a mossy green. It was marked with scars like hers.
