Infiltration
The forest was cool and dark, and he could feel no breeze against him. The humus beneath his feet barely whispered as he pelted through the underbrush, and only a few bushes waved behind him as evidence of his passing. The air smelled faintly of pine and spruce, with a slight touch of cedar wafting through the air to his nostrils. But there was not the smell of anyone else: he was alone in the night-draped forest.
A gully loomed ahead, wallowing in shadow, and from deep within its folds, the rushing sound of a small river could be heard. His carefully paced flight grew slower, and his heavy brow furrowed in thought. There was no bridge in sight (of course; he was in the middle of a forest!) and the river was certainly to wide to leap across. As to fording the stream — here his pale green countenance twisted into a grimace — he could do it if he must, but would prefer to avoid entering the water. Bright crimson eyes cast about for a solution, and found one as they alighted upon a large tree growing just on the banks of the gully. The river had worn away much of the ground beneath it, and a massive tangle of roots and dirt clods could be seen hanging out over the small ravine. It was already tilted toward the river, and seemed as though it was about ready to complete its journey. He approached it carefully but quickly, aware that at any moment a pursuer might grow close enough to detect him. Surveying the tree with an expert eye, he chose his spot, and wrapped his massively muscled arms around the trunk of the tree. Then he braced his feet against a rock in the ground, and pulled upwards.
For a moment, there was nothing. The tree obstinately refused to budge. Then there was a slight creaking sound, and dust began avalanche down the side of the gully below him. There were snapping sounds as roots broke under the pressure, and then the weight of the tree suddenly began to push down on him as it broke free of its moorings. Quickly releasing his grasp and leaping out of the way, he dashed to the side.
For a moment, the old pine stood waveringly, pointing uncertainly into the night sky above at an oblique angle. Then, with a shudder than conveyed the ageless years during which it must have stood in its spot, it let go of the last of its anchors, and toppled toward the river. The moment stretched out, and then was broken by the sonorous crashing an crunching that accompanied the top of the tree’s landing on the opposite side of the river.
He knew now that his time was limited; anyone anywhere near here would have heard — and possibly seen — the tree fall. He clambered dexterously onto the precarious trunk of the giant, and scuttled across its fallen length, the river rushing below him, but he and the precious contents of his pocket safe from the water’s clutches. The tree trembled dangerously beneath him, still trying to settle into its new foundation.
As he leaped from the opposite side of the trunk down to the ground several meters below, he saw that the tree had barely reached this side of the river: the branches were all that held it from sliding down the slope.
His task was astonishingly simple, for he had only broken a few of the largest branches before the entire mass of the tree gave a great shudder, and slid away from him, down the side of the ravine. There was a slurping sound as its body dragged through the muddy shallows of the bank, and then a splash as the other end of the tree rolled off the far side and into the water. Within moments, the dark shape of the log could be seen floating down the river, and soon it was gone… and with it any chance of pursuit. Grinning toothily (both tusks showed prominently), he headed off into the woods, moving away from enemy territory.
* * *
As the glowing red eyes cast about for a way to cross the river, another pair watched the fugitive closely from the safety of the dark canopy of trees. They watched him pull down the tree, cross it, and knock down his makeshift bridge behind him without blinking. As the dark figure slipped out of sight on the far side of the river, the watcher in the trees began to move.
The river was only around fifteen meters across; and most of it was less than a full height deep. The stranger in the trees agilely clambered down the trunk and crossed the short distance between the trees and the banks of the river. The moon was only a thin crescent, and the sky was overcast, so the light that fell from the heavens above was sparse at best.
But even in the dimmest of light, the figure which now moves lithely across the intervening space between the forest and the water could be seen:
slender and tall, virtually floating over the ground rather than walking.
Before more could be seen, the moon slipped behind the clouds, and the scene was once more plunged into darkness.
With no compunction at all, he slipped into the frigid waters, moving slowly but surely across the current to the far side of the river.
The water tugged at him, threatening to pull him from his feet and drag him to his death in the icy waters, but he stood firmly against the river, walking laterally across its width. Only at the center, where the bottom grew to deep, did he swim, and then he was pulled some ways downstream before he could regain his footing on the opposite bank. But within five minutes he had crossed the river and emerged on the opposite bank.
From there his task was once more simple. Let the other pursuers puzzle over the river. He would find the prey. Taking once more to the leafy treetops, he moved through the canopy as though it was his home, following the figure whom he could still faintly hear moving through the benighted woods. A smile played across his thin lips, and the soft sounds of his whispered laughter echoed into silence: only the night answered him.
* * *
It had been some time now since he had bridged the river, and he must have gone nearly two kilometers. He didn’t have any maps with him, but he felt fairly certain that the road must be near. Once he reached that, it was but a journey of a day or two, and he would be out of danger entirely.
The forest around him, though, gave no sign of abating; if anything, it grew thicker as he pressed farther into it. Pangs of doubt began to rise within his mind.
Perhaps he had taken the wrong direction farther back. Perhaps he had become lost in the forest, and was heading east, or north, or even back the direction from which he came. It was still dark, and he had no way of telling which way the directions really were. He might wait for daybreak, to see where the sun rose, but… that was still many hours away. He certainly didn’t want to be sitting in one place until morning. Too dangerous. And yet, he also didn’t want to be running in the wrong direction all night. By the time morning came, he could far from where he ought to be, with little of chance of finding his way again. But if he had been heading in the wrong direction, then he was certainly far from where he ought to be already.
No, there was nothing for except to press on. Perhaps it would be in the wrong direction, but dawn would tell, and he preferred to at least have the chance of finding the road, rather than lying about, waiting for the day to tell him where he was. He didn’t like waiting.
He moved faster, broad feet pounding rhythmically into the soft ground. A tattoo beat unconsciously in his head to the sound and pattern of his run, up and down and up and down as branches waves behind him as he brushed by them. He dodged and weaved around the many obstacles that trees and bushes represented, never slowing as he hastened on toward the road.
He ducked around another large tree, and as his body pushed past the overhanging branches from its fronds, there was a sort of snapping sound from behind him. Instantly, his mind responded, tensing his muscles to leap to the side. His body sank down, knees flexed powerfully, and the muscles prepared to relax and propel him to the side. One more second and–
But there was no more time. With a searing hot pain, something smashed through his trousers and into the fleshy backside of his thigh, knocking him forward onto his face in the muddy ground before him.
Grimacing from the injury, he twisted his head quickly around to see what had happened. It was perfectly clear. An arrow, replete with red feathering at the protruding end, stuck perpendicularly from his leg, the shaft sunk into the flesh to some depth. He could not see the other end emerging from the opposite side, so the arrowhead must still be inside. He repositioned himself deftly, and wrapped one hand around the shaft, ready to try to remove it from his body before the archer could appear.
But again he proved too slow. Even as he prepared to remove the arrow, the leaves above him rustled slightly, and dark form dropped from the foliage above. His attacker (as assumed this newcomer must be) was tall and slender, silhouetted against the dim night sky behind. A bow was slung over one shoulder, and a thin sword was drawn, resting in the attackers left hand, and directed toward the supine figure of the fugitive on the ground. It seemed hardly necessary, given the injury, but the hand holding the sword did not waver as he lay prostrate.
“I,” said his pursuer harshly, “am Kenyan, and you are defeated.”
With that, the sword swung towards him, and struck him hard on the side of his head with the flat of the blade. His body instantly crumpled as blackness flooded over him, drawing him away from the realm of reality and into unconsciousness.
Kenyan still stood over him, and after a few minutes, sheathed the blade and moved toward the comatose figure on the ground. He bent down carefully, and hoisted the heavy body up, draping it unceremoniously over one shoulder. Turning around, he strode back into the woods in the direction from which the fugitive had been running, bringing with him his prey.
* * *
Blackness swam before his eyes, moving and swirling around as his mind reeled. It was bright around him — very bright. Carefully, experimentally, he pulled open his eyelids, and then instantly shut them again against the blindingly bright light that was outside. He tried again, slowly raising the lids to allow only incrementally more light into the dilated pupils, giving them time to adjust before opening them further.
After a minute’s time, he had managed to open his eyes sufficiently to see what has going on around him.
There was a wooden ceiling above him, and he appeared to be lying on his back. He made to sit up, but something held him back. Glancing to the side, he saw that he was restrained by several heavy chains which held down his arms, legs, and torso. He was lying on wooden pallet, raised above the floor, it seemed, and located in a fairly eclectically furnished room. A few rickety chairs lay in one corner, and the remains of a fourth seemed to be shoved back against the wall. Following that wall, he could see a door in the center of it, and a window–shuttered–just adjacent. In the other corner was the end of a long table formed of lashing together the pliable twigs from some tree. The table stretched all the way down the wall, continuing past his head and behind him where he could not see. The table was populated with all manner of inscrutable vials, containers, and other devices for which he hadn’t any name. He turned his head to survey the other side of the room, and saw that it was empty except for some large wooden crates, and another door located about in the middle of the wall. He seemed to be alone.
He turned his attention back to the chain, the objects of his captivity. He tested their strength with one hand, pulling against the manacles which constrained his arms. But even has he strained with one, he felt his other arm being pulled painfully outward. Instantly he relaxed his pressure on the chains, and the pain vanished. Upon a quickly survey of the chains’ structure, he saw that both of his arms were held with the same chain, which was lopped down under table and presumable run through a rivet in the floor, keeping him captive. Nevertheless, pulling on one end of the chain would only exert pressure on his other arm. He guessed, and was correct, upon examination, that the situation with reference to his legs was the same. As for the chains which held down his midsection, they seemed to merely loop around the table, to keep him from wriggling excessively.
Just then, the second door opened as someone entered the room. He turned his head to see who it was. It was boy…or a man, it was hard to tell. Perhaps around sixteen or seventeen, reflected the prisoner. It was, however, a human, which could mean only one thing in these parts: this was a healer. His hair was a dirty dark blond color, with a slightly brownish tinge, scarcely touched from nature’s disorder and seemingly lost in a mass of waves. The face was friendly, with a few hardly visible freckles, a ready smile, and slaty blue eyes. He wore a forest green jacket (definitely a healer), and slightly iridescent silver-gray trousers
(far more sensible clothing than the elves’!) which were far larger than the boy’s waist or legs and must have been held up with a belt. Little could be seen of his figure, for it was hidden underneath the voluminous folds of the garment. The human’s head looked about quickly
(nervously?), finally settling upon something behind the prisoner. The healer turned in that direction and spoke:
“This is the one you wanted me to see?” The voice wavered slightly, and the prisoner was darkly pleased at the prospect of so frightening the healer. The orc detected a fairly prominent lisp in the boy’s voice as well, making him seem all the more juvenile.
“They sent a boy!?” demanded a second voice, harsh and cutting.
Someone else was already in the room, and the voice did sound oddly familiar.
“I was all they could spare, Defender,” said the human apologetically. “I was told that there were many other defenders injured.”
“Only superficially!” snapped the second voice. There was a brief pause, then footsteps as the speaker approached. A face swam into view over the prisoner–that of the assailant who had felled him last night.
“Look at this!” Kenyan demanded, gesturing to the arrow which was still protruding from the prisoner’s leg. The boy looked puzzled.
“It’s only an arrow,” he said, seeming rather confused.
“It’s poisoned,” replied Kenyan grimly, “or at least it was before it went into the orc’s body. Now he’s the one poisoned.”
“What sort of poison do you use, defender?” asked the healer quickly, already rummaging about on the counter.
“This arrow was coated with the resin of the reolu tree,” replied Kenyan.
“Wait a moment, let me see if we have an antitoxin around here anywhere…”
The boy continued to poke around among the canisters and bottles on the shelf. Meanwhile, the prisoner looked up at Kenyan, who was still standing over him.
“What is your name, orc?” asked Kenyan disdainfully. The prisoner did not answer. Kenyan leaned close over the orc’s face and asked once again, speaking very quietly: “What is your name?” The prisoner could see the bronzed skin hovering above him, could see the burning yellow eyes dancing furiously at the insolence of the prostrate orc, could see the ponytail of chestnut hair falling over the elf’s shoulders. He suddenly hated that face intensely. He raised his head and bit at one of the elf’s pointed ears, which he had carelessly let draw too close to the orc.
Kenyan leaped back with a yelp, then quickly regained his composure, for a moment looking slightly embarrassed at his outburst.
Then, with a mien that showed none of the anger that he must have felt, he approached the orc again, one hand on the bloodied ear.
“That,” he said coldly, “was a very poor idea.” The orc sneered.
The healer walked to the opposite door and left the room. Kenyan looked around for a moment, then back toward the orc.
“That arrow,” continued the elf, “is going to have to be removed.
It might cause an infection if left unmoved.” He strode quickly around to the right side of the pallet, and wrapped on hand around the arrow shaft.
“Most people think that it’s best to poke the shaft through the body and then remove the arrowhead there…otherwise it could be left in the flesh.”
He pushed the arrow slightly farther into the orc’s leg. The orc’s face contorted with pain, but he gave no sound. “It has to pushed all the way through the leg,” said Kenyan, twisting the arrow cruelly in place.
Still, the orc made no noise. “It might, of course, tear a few more muscles,” persisted Kenyan, stabbing the arrow suddenly downward, “but what’s a little pain for your life?” With one final gratuitous twist, Kenyan pushed the shaft all the way through the orc’s leg. With a sickening squelch, the bloodied arrowhead popped out the opposite side.
Deftly, the elf removed the arrowhead and pulled the shaft back out through the leg. “Feel better now?” asked Kenyan, smiling saccharinely.
The orc only growled and glared stonily at his attacker.
“I’m going to go get this ear treated,” said Kenyan lightly.
“I’ll be back later on to see how you’re coming.” Without another word, he left through the door in the far wall. For a moment, as the door opened, the orc could see sunlight streaming in from the outside world, and then the door shut again, returning him to the darkness of the room lit only with oil lamps. A few minutes passed. The pain from his thigh was not diminishing; if anything it was growing worse. He closed his eyes and tried to wait for the healer to return.
* * *
He woke up to the pain from his leg. Clearly, nothing revolutionary had been done while he slept. Glancing down, though, he saw that the his trousers has been shorn off and the wound beneath exposed. It was a rather sickly sight. A large blister or sore had formed by the point of entry, and the entire area of skin had taken on an atrophying black coloration, which seemed to be spreading up and down his leg. For a moment, he thought again that there was no one in the room, but then the healer walked by him, carrying some vial in hand.
“What is that?” asked the orc roughly. The healer started sharply, backing away from the table, but quickly recovered. The orc waited patiently for him.
“It’s a poultice for your wound, treated with an antidote for the poison,” said the boy tremulously, lisp still quite prominent. The healer waited a moment, and then approached the orc once more.
“Don’t worry, I won’t bite you,” said the orc, almost lightheartedly. The boy placed the ointment on the wound, and then placed a bandage over the wound.
“I can’t feel anything in my leg,” said the orc suddenly, with more than a little bit of anxiety in his voice.
“Don’t worry about that,” said the boy, finishing the knot on the bandage. “Your leg has been severely affected by the poison; it would be dead in another day. But if the antidote works, you should be able to feel it again quite soon…or at least begin to.” There was another long pause as the boy walked over to the counter. “If you don’t mind my asking,” began the boy. He paused, handling something on the counter, obscured from the orc by the boy’s body.
“Yes?” asked the orc, rather more irritably than he would have preferred under neutral circumstances.
“Do you have a name?” asked the boy. The orc seemed taken aback at the question.
“Yes, I have a name,” growled the orc.
“What is it?” The boy picked something up and walked back toward the inflamed thigh.
“You could never understand it properly.” The orc looked vaguely amused at the thought.
“Why not?” asked the healer. “Does it only mean something in your language? I just wanted to know so that I could call you something.” He slid a small metal pan underneath the orc’s leg. Then, reaching down to a pouch, he withdrew a pair of bulky- looking gloves, and slipped them over his hands. Finally, he returned to the counter and withdrew a frightening-looking needle from a small fire, where it had obviously been heating. Moving back to the orc’s leg, he held the needle firmly over the grossly swollen sore, and cocked his head toward the orc. “This is going to hurt like hell,” he warned. So saying, he stuck the lancet into the blister. Immediately, yellow-gray liquid leeched out, running down the black flesh of the leg and collected in the pan beneath. The boy waited for a short while for most of the liquid to drain out, then he continued, running the red-hot tip of the needle over the flesh below. There was sizzling sound, and a rotten, pungent odor sprung into the air. The orc clenched his teeth together and bore the pain stoically. After a few moments, the boy raised the needle and surveyed the burnt flesh with an expert eye. He applied the tip a few more times, each time with the same sizzling sound, and each time with same numbing pain. Finally, though, the boy returned the needle to a brass container and announced: “There. Your infection has been cauterized.”
“That’s good?” breathed the orc laboriously, still gasping.
“Yes. With any luck, your leg will be as good as new once the wound and burn heal. You’ll probably have a scar, though.” The orc smiled genuinely.
“My name would be unpronounceable as well as incomprehensible to you, but you can call me Enriko.”
“What’s that?” asked the boy, turning around to face the orc.
“It means `scar’ in Piruto” The boy smiled.
“My name is Dyjha. Nice to meet you.” Now the orc smiled as well–not particularly pleasing to anyone besides an orc, because it exposed the full front row of his cruelly sharpened incisors and overgrown canines. The boy seemed slightly disconcerted, but nevertheless replied:
“It’s nice to meet you too.”
* * *
It was several days before the orc was “well enough to be questioned,” at least according to Dyjha. Kenyan made a point of stopping every so often to see how the “patient,”–as he was fond of calling the orc–was faring.
Most of the time, Enriko was asleep, although once Kenyan caught him while he was awake and the staring match which ensued was only ended because of Dyjha’s interposition between the warring gazes, ostensibly to change the orc’s bandages.
Finally, after nearly four days of convalescence, Dyjha declared that Enriko was well enough to undergo interrogation. Kenyan said that he would return by nightfall, and thus departed. Enriko had had few discussions with Dyjha, seeing as how Enriko (at least by his own protestations) did not speak Lutres exceptionally well, and that Dyjha could not speak the orc’s language at all. Most of their conversation was about the medical treatment which Dyjha administered. Dyjha was quite happy to tell the orc exactly what he was doing, and did so repeatedly at Enriko’s asking, to make sure that the orc understood what he was saying.
On the second day, Dyjha had found another mass of swelling to be forming under the scab tissue from the first, and had used a bit of acid to burn through the tissue and to excise a chunk of the flesh beneath, to make sure this time that the infection would not return again. Once the acid had burnt away enough of the tissue, he flushed out the area with water.
It was about an hour after Kenyan had left that Enriko started peering concernedly back down at his leg. “Dyjha?”
“Yeah?” The boy stood and walked over from the stool where he had been sitting on the side of the room.
“I think that there’s another infection under the scar,” said the orc, a tone of concern in his voice.
“Shit!” said the healer frustratedly. “I thought that we’d gotten it all last time. All right, let me get the acid. You know that this is going to hurt.”
“Kenyan said to me at one point: `what’s a little pain for your life?’” The orc smiled toothily. “It will only take a second.”
As Dyjha turned to retrieve the vial of acid from the shelf, Enriko let one of his hands slip down off the side of the table, releasing slack in the chain and allowing the hand on his right side more flexibility.
“I’ve can’t believe that the infection has returned again,”
muttered Dyjha angrily. “We practically burnt out the entire thing last time… what if it’s in the wound itself. Then we would–” His thoughts were rudely interrupted as the orc’s hand, suddenly mobile, snaked up and grabbed the vial of acid from the boy’s hands. Dyjha whirled suddenly, thinking that he had dropped the vial, but the orc was already pouring the contents of the vial onto his manacles. Pain instantly leapt up as the acid splashed onto his arms and wrists, but within a few quick moment, the manacle had disintegrated. The acid still eating away at his arm, he sat up quickly and emptied the bottle onto the cuffs restraining his legs. The acid proved equally efficient on the legcuffs, as they quickly fell away from his legs.
He sprang from the table, quick as lightning, crossing the floor from the pallet to the door to the outside with only a slight limp. Dyjha backed away from the suddenly free prisoner, moving slowly towards the door leading further into the infirmary.
He stepped slowly, not wanting to agitate the orc, but Enriko did not give him a chance to reach the exit. Darting forward, he grabbed one of the severed chains from under the table, and whipped it forward like a giant scourge. It struck the boy on the side, tossing him across the room with but an astonished cry as he flew. Enriko bounded over to the fallen healer and dealt him a stern blow across the side of the head, sending him into unconsciousness. Once Dyjha had been rendered comatose, Enriko dragged the body under the wicker counter and covered it with one of the blankets that were piled in one corner. The rest of the room he left in the disarray in which he had found it.
Slowly cracking open the door to the outside, he peered out. It was already twilight outside, and he could see sentries patrolling tall walls outside the door. He was in a stronghold of some sort, and clearly he could not just walk through the main gates without attracting notice.
The courtyard itself outside was relatively deserted, though, and as he slipped out the door, and closed it behind him, none noticed his escape.
* * *
A short time later, Kenyan arrived at the same door, pulled it open impatiently, and strode in, taking two steps before he noticed that neither Dyjha nor the orc was there. Instantly defensive, he swung about, bringing his back to the wall, and withdrawing his sword. He stood for two minutes, waiting silently to see if the orc was hiding anywhere, waiting to leap out. Seeing as how he did not, Kenyan strode immediately over to the blanketed body under the wicker counter, which was clearly visible from the wall against which Kenyan had stood. He tore away the blanket to find–as he had expected–the body of Dyjha. Only, as he looked over the small form, he saw that the chest rose and fell slowly, and that breath still passed between his still lips. After shaking failed to rouse him, Kenyan put the blanket back over him and stood.
What a strange specimen, this orc. It escapes, but leaves a witness. Perhaps, mused the elf, it thought that it had left the boy dead.
A loud voice at the back of his mind protested that of course an orc would be able to distinguish life from death, but Kenyan gave little thought to the question after it had crossed his mind. He had a clear task once more;
he was once more the hunter.
And once more his prey would fall.
* * *
The passage was damp and rough-walled, but Kenyan pressed onward. The complex was not that large; it had been relatively simple to ascertain that the orc was not hiding anywhere aboveground, and similarly simple to determine that he had not passed through the gates. Then, Kenyan had concluded, it must have taken to the subterranean passages.
He crept along silently, three elven defenders moving along twenty meters behind him down the passage, sweeping the side tunnels and making sure that the orc did not double back and escape.
Kenyan reached a fork where the main tunnel branched in half. He did not remember which half went where, but it was immaterial at this point. He ripped a bit off of the hem of his tunic and left in hanging from a cleft in the left fork, into which he ventured after making sure the scrap of cloth would not fall.
The passage was leading downward, and he had not seen any side passages since the fork. This was good; it meant that he could quickly eliminate this path and return to take the other fork. The passage continued for another ten meters before ending abruptly in a door. The door was wooden and seemed rather old, though the moisture could have eaten away at it enough that almost any wood down in these tunnels seemed old.
But as before, the age of the door was immaterial. Kenyan but one booted foot to the door and kicked it open, sword leading him in.
He was actually surprised when Enriko leapt at him from one side.
Not so much surprised in the sense that he was not ready for attack, but surprised in the sense that he had not honestly expected the orc to be waiting behind this door. But there was no question that the orc must have been waiting, for his ambush almost immediately put the elf on the defensive. The orc raked with one clawed hand across the elf’s torso before Kenyan could even respond, and even then it was only to swing his sword out to deflect any other attacks. The orc moved back to charge at the elf again, but was clearly hampered to a certain degree by the injury to his leg, and fell short of hitting the nimble elf. Still, the injury which the elf had already sustained was definitely taking a toll, as he began favoring his right hand, going so far as to even switch his sword to that hand.
Enriko scuttled around Kenyan quickly, almost like a spider, and then leaped back in to rejoin the attack. Kenyan’s blade swung down and up again, nicking Enriko slightly but failing to impair the efficacy of the attack, which connected solidly with him side, and tearing down across the abdomen. Bright red welts again appeared, in some places crisscrossing with those from the previous attack. Kenyan staggered back, numbly fumbling with his left hand to staunch the bleeding. Enriko moved again to gain a better spot from which to attack. He clambered up a set of stone steps leading to a shallow dais, and leapt at Kenyan as he turned slightly to regain his footing.
But Kenyan had somehow sensed Enriko’s attack before it came, and his sword
was brought to bear far more quickly than Enriko had anticipated. As Enriko descended toward the bleeding elf, the sword interposed itself firmly, and Enriko’s body slid right onto the thin blade. Kenyan twisted it and yanked it out once it had penetrated up to its hilt, and Enriko tumbled down the stairs, landing on his face in the middle of the chamber. Quick to capitalize on his opponent’s costly mistake, Kenyan leapt down to the center of the chamber as well, holding the orc at swordpoint as Enriko raised his head.
“Don’t get up,” said Kenyan firmly, backing up slightly so that the point of his sword could, when fully extended, reach just up to the orc’s neck. “Just kneel.”
Obediently, Enriko dragged himself to his knees, and knelt looking up at Kenyan with hard eyes set. Making sure that his sword was firmly in place and keeping his eyes on the orc, Kenyan called out: “I’m down here, and I’ve found the orc! Come on!” There was an answering cry from a ways down the passage outside, and the faint echoes of pattering footfalls. Kenyan turned his attention back to the orc.
“Now, put your hands out where I can see them.” Enriko extended his arms out before him. The talons at the end of his right hand were still bloody. This seemed to remind Kenyan of his own injuries, and more a brief moment, his eyes darted down to his side, to see blood still trickling copiously from the open wounds. But Enriko was not about to let the momentary distraction pass uncapitalized.
As quick as a flash, his left hand darted up the bottom of the elf’s tattered tunic, and just as deftly pushed inside the loincloth which lay wrapped around the elf’s vital organs. Before the elf could bring his sword forward once more, the orc’s strong hand had wrapped itself around the elf’s testicles. Kenyan could feel the ten pinpricks of coldness on them, the ten points where claws pressed lightly into the sensitive skin.
Enriko looked up with a countenance of triumph.
“A single bad move,” he whispered, “and”–at this he tightened his grasp on the ballsac, only as quickly to release it. “You get the picture.”
Kenyan swallowed visibly. The orc slowly stood up, slowly rotating his hand around the testicles so that he could stand with his back to the elf. Once he had reached this position, he turned his head around halfway and whispered, “Now drop your sword…throw it across the room.” Kenyan hesitated, and the nails dug fiercely into his testes. A massive wave of nausea rolled over him, and he quickly tossed the sword away. It clattered as it skidded across the floor.
“Here’s the way it works. I’m going to pretend to be dead.
You’re lifting me up. When your men come, you tell them that you have the situation under control and that you’ll meet them up top with the orc’s body. Make it very clear that they should wait for you up top.”
“I can’t do that,” said Kenyan. “They won’t listen to me;
they know that they’re supposed to be backing me up–” The grip tightened again. Kenyan’s adam’s apple bobbed prominently up and down. “I’ll convince them,” he said quietly.
No sooner had the elf pronounced the words than the door burst open, admitting the three defenders which he had brought with him. As they did so, Enriko’s body sagged, and Kenyan had to grab him to keep from being crushed against the wall. Still, once arm, hidden out of sight behind the orc’s body, still held tight to the precious balls which insured his safety.
“I’m afraid that I had to kill him to subdue him, gentlemen,”
said Kenyan. “I’ll bring him aboveground; could you three go and tell the commander”–suddenly the grip on the sac became tighter–“to meet me above ground”–the claws relaxed–“to dispose of the body.” The first of the three elves opened his mouth to speak, but Kenyan interrupted him.
“Now!” he barked. “I want this situation resolved as soon as possible.” There was a brief pause, and then the three defenders exited the room as hastily as they had entered. Kenyan waited a few moments, and then whispered fiercely “Now what!?”
“Now,” said Enriko, rising up from his slump, “I kill you.”
* * *
“That’s ridiculous,” said Kenyan, after a moment. “If you’re going to kill me anyway, then I might as well try to resist you now–you know that as well as anyone–and therefore your stranglehold”–he smiled slightly, in a weak sort of way–“becomes useless. Clearly, you’re bluffing.”
“Ah, but you forget,” said the orc, still with his back to the elf.
“If I leave you alive, then you will be able to come after me… eventually. And we both know that you will. Besides, I haven’t forgotten the bit with the arrow.” He gave the elf’s sac a fierce twist. Kenyan sagged visibly, staggering slightly, holding himself up against the wall.
“You seem to have a problem,” said Kenyan, gasping for breath. “So what are you going to do? You don’t have forever, you know.” There was a pregnant pause. “If you just let me go up,” continued Kenyan, I could probably distract them for a while longer, while–“
“Don’t patronize me,” snarled the orc bitterly. “You know just as well as I that the moment I leave you alone, you’ll either come after me or dash up top to bring everyone back down here.”
“They’re going to get suspicious,” said Kenyan firmly. “You have to do something.”
“You seem awfully helpful for someone whom I’ve just threatened to kill.”
“You aren’t going to. The liability is too high.”
“I’ll do whatever I want!” snapped the orc.
“Then decide what you want to do!” retorted the elf angrily. “I have a life to live…at least for the time being…and I don’t want to waste it down here with some freakish orc fondling my scrotum!” The orc looked up anxiously at the elf’s proclamation echoed down the corridor, but quickly he regained his composure.
“We’re far too far down for anyone to hear us,” he said, more to himself than a question.
“You never know,” replied Kenyan lightly. The orc only glared.
“Don’t try to make me paranoid,” warned Enriko. “It’s only going to make me more inclined to be rid of you and be damned the liabilities.” The elf wisely closed his mouth, and Enriko returned to thought. There was a long pause, until finally Enriko burst out:
“I can’t believe you, elf!”
“What now?” asked Kenyan, feigning nonchalance.
“You’re getting off on this!”
“It’s not that…” said the elf, turning a reddish tinge, which still looked metallic over the pallor of his skin. “I have to take a piss.”
“Oh, really?” asked Enriko, looking less than convinced.
“You’re hornier than I am!”
“It has nothing to do with anything of the sort!” said Kenyan irritably. “I haven’t urinated in quite some time; I’m in a situation of no little danger and anxiety, and you, sir, are stimulating the impulse quite handily.”
“By all means, then,” said Enriko. He once more twisted his hand about so that he could turn, then stood to the side. “Just move slowly…and of course, don’t try anything funny.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” replied Kenyan drably. Without further ado, he lifted the skirting of his tunic and stuck one hand beneath. Enriko felt another hand slide next to his within the breechcloth, and then fabric fell away.
The elf’s member, even partially soft, looked drastically different from that with which the orc was familiar. It was quite narrow, although it more than made up for this discrepancy in its length–nearly eighteen or twenty centimeters in its current state. The skin looked soft and malleable, spongy almost, with a few veins dimly visible beneath the mottled surface. But most prominent was the texture of the skin over the cock. It was somewhat bumpy, although still smooth, like hundred of tiny papilla all crowded together and smoothed over. It was a very strange sight. But perhaps most strange about it was the fact that it lacked a foreskin, or even any remnant of its circumcision.
The orc was still staring at the foreign object when the stream of urine (a pale green, even!) trickled to halt, and the elf let the softening member fall. Now, though, there was no breechcloth to restrain it, and it dangled loosely, the tip just barely visible from under the hem of the tunic which Kenyan had left drop down. It rubbed slightly against the orc’s meaty hand, and it occurred to him that he had best say something.
But Kenyan beat him to it.
“You like what you see?” asked the elf wryly, no doubt having observed the orc’s transfixion with his member.
The orc would have blushed heavily had his countenance been capable of such things, but instead, he growled dangerously. There was a long pause as the elf looked over at him pointedly.
“I’ve never seen a cock like that before is all,” said Enriko finally with something or a sheepish tone which quickly resolved itself into bellicosity as the sentence neared its end.
“Yeah, I’ve always thought that it was pretty impressive,” said the elf casually.
“It’s not impressive,” snarled the orc.
“It certainly seemed to impress you,” pointed out Kenyan.
“It wasn’t impressive,” said Enriko carefully. “It was strange.”
“I can certainly believe that,” replied Kenyan, swallowed suddenly.
“Not again,” said Enriko with a disbelieving tone in his voice.
“You just went.” Kenyan glared at him.
“It’s your hand. You’re rubbing it!”
“I’m doing no such thing,” protested the orc loudly. “I’m doing nothing but holding, and that only for tactical reasons.”
“This is ridiculous,” said the elf once more. “Why are you still holding onto by balls anyway!? You could have simply picked up the sword and kept me and swordpoint.”
“We’ve already seen just how reliable that gambit is,” quipped Enriko.
“No,” said Kenyan, ignoring the orc’s gratuitous gibe, “I think that there’s something else at play here.”
“And what would that be, elf?” asked Enriko, voice menacing as he drew to his fully height from his slump.
“I wouldn’t know,” said Kenyan innocently. “You’re the one with the plan.”
“Well, I think that I’ve just figured out what next,” said Enriko, tone unchanged.
“And what would that be?” asked Kenyan, eyes suddenly hard.
“I’m going to suck you off.”
* * *
The elf was stunned for a moment, and then he quickly replied. “You are going to suck me off? Shouldn’t I to be doing that to you?”
“Certainly not!” the orc snapped. “Not only is it a revolting idea to contemplate your mouth on me, but I’m afraid that such a sensitive area of my anatomy under your control would be… intolerable.”
“But why should anyone be doing that at all!?” demanded Kenyan, looking both repulsed and angered at the same time.
“Because I say so,” said the orc imperiously. “I wouldn’t think that you would exactly be complaining.”
Kenyan looked shocked. “Wouldn’t think that I would be complaining?” he cried. “What you’re suggesting is a perversion of nature in more ways than one! It’s immoral! It’s revolting! It’s–“
“–totally irrelevant what you think,” finished Enriko.
“Fine,” snapped the elf. “Then what are you thinking? Why would you want to do something so despicable?”
The orc adopted a fierce demeanor. “I already told you why.”
“As much as I am loathe to fall back on the oft-repeated protest,”
said Kenyan dryly, “I must do so nevertheless: that isn’t a reason at all! It’s simply a statement of your intentions!”
“You certainly aren’t in any position to demand reasons,”
observed Enriko.
“I’m merely making pointed questions,” replied Kenyan. “You said before that the idea disgusted you.”
“I said that the idea of your mouth on me was revolting.”
“There’s hardly a difference,” retorted Kenyan venomously.
“Perhaps not to you, elf. But as I said before, I care little for your sentiments.”
“You honestly draw some distinction in terms of disgust between whom is giving and whom is receiving?”
“This,” said the orc grimly, “is what is ridiculous. I’m willing to entertain–to a certain degree–some conversation, purely as a means of amusement, but I feel under no obligation to explain my every decision to you.” Kenyan looked rather insulted. “Here’s the way it’s going to be. I am going to suck on your cock. At some point I may release your precious eggs. I warn you, though, do not take this as a sign to try to escape, because at the slightest sign of mischief, I will not hesitate to simple bite down.” The elf flinched. “I’ve done it before,” warned the orc ominously. Kenyan did not even try to consider the implications of that.
“I’m not going to bother to appeal to your better graces or moral fiber.”
“Good,” said the orc. That makes this whole nasty ordeal so much easier.” So saying, he dropped to his knees, eyes still upswept to the elf’s, which were hard and dispassioned. The tunic was quite soaked through with blood, as the wound to the abdomen had not even begun to scab over yet. Snorting slightly, the orc took hold of the sodden garment and removed it carefully, sliding it up and over Kenyan’s shoulders. After a bit of wriggling by the hostage elf, the bloody clothing was removed, and Kenyan stood before him clad only in an undershirt, which was largely torn up and soaked through with blood as well. That garment, though, did not attract the orc’s attention now that his primary target had been exposed.
The cock was still hanging limply from the elf’s crotch–a testament to the actuality of the revulsion which Kenyan had professed.
The orc’s hand still clutched tightly Kenyan’s testicles. He stared intently at the organ, almost reverently. His head drew close to it, and Kenyan could feel the fetid breath from the orc’s nostrils puffing over the organ. It was almost erotic, had not the situation been as it was.
For a some time, the orc merely kneeled and stared and breathed onto the organ. Several times, Kenyan changed position, shifted his weight from foot to foot. Each time, at the brush of movement, Enriko immediately returned his attention to the elf, tightening his grasp on his insurance and not returning his gaze to the exotic member until he was quite sure that the elf had finished moving.
Finally, though, the orc’s mouth parted ever so slightly, and a long tongue emerged, dark gray or black in color. Kenyan shuddered as he saw the tongue extrude, and then brush, ever so lightly, on the tip of the still-soft cock. The tip of the tongue hung there for a moment, and then began to slide up the sides of the fleshy organ. Kenyan could feel the rancidity of the breath on his, could smell the rank odor of the orc’s cavernous maw, could almost taste the foul tongue, so vivid was his imagination as he stood, nearly shuddering at the intrusion. The tongue swept up and down, sliding from side to side, almost as if possessed of a life of its own. As Kenyan watched in dismay, he saw his own cock, like a traitor, rising slowly under the careful ministrations of Enriko. As the cock swelled, Enriko smiled around his tongue, showing both rows of cruel teeth, almost as if to remind the horrified elf of their presence.
It took the better part of a minute, even once the cock had started rising, for it to reach its full erect length: about twenty-five centimeters. Clear pre-cum had already begun to leak from the cock-head, as Kenyan looked away from the scene in silent protest, seeking distraction elsewhere. As if signaled by some unseen timer, Enriko’s tongue flashed back into his mouth, and the elf twitched under the influence of a silent groan. With painful slowness, the orc bent his head forward, slowly engulfing the erect member within the confines of his mouth.
Instantly, the elf’s attempts to distract himself shattered, as his attention was brought solely back to the unique sensations rippling upward from his traitorous penis. The orc began to slid slowly to and fro, and the elf could feel the length of his cock rubbing up again the orc’s teeth as it slid through the mouth. A few times he felt the abrasive rub of a sharp edge against it, and once the sharp prick of pain, but most of the time it glided and slid over the numerous internal protrusions of the orc’s mouth, each bringing a new sensation of pleasure. Uncontrollably, unwillingly, the elf began to moan softly, in time with Enriko’s see-sawing motion on the cock. The tongue once again returned, slipping up and down, and twisting around the cock, and even the thought of the horrid slime pit that was the orc’s mouth seemed far more distant, secondary to the waves of pleasure that billowed up from the cock. The orc’s fingers began to massage the ballsac fiercely, pinching it between them and crushing it rudely against his legs, but even that was pleasurable, only adding to the crests of ecstasy on which the elf rode. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice protested against the debauchery, but the voice was lost in the fray, and the elf closed his eyes and rocked slowly back and forth, back an forth, swaying in the air that seemed to be so still that all there was in the world was pleasure…
* * *
Some interminable time later, the elf blinked his eyes open. He was on his back, staring up at a stone ceiling: clearly, the ceiling of the same room which he had occupied for… how long? He had lost all conception of time in the haze of pleasure. All he knew now was that he was awake again, and that the orc was, at the very least, no longer maintaining his stranglehold. The elf tried to stand, but instantly his muscles and bones protested against him, pain flashing from every side. He had no idea what such all-encompassing injuries might be, but he could well believe that his existing injuries had been reopened or exacerbated by his… indiscretion.
But the defenders would return sometime… they must return sometime, and then they would discover him.
Something wet and sticky in which he lay attracting his attention.
By contorting his left arm slightly and craning his neck, he raised himself slightly off of the ground, he could see a bit more around him. His undershirt was still quite present, but it had been torn into strips and bound around his wounds, which seemed at least to have stopped bleeding.
There was still a great deal of blood smeared over him and on the floor, but that was not the element which was so disturbing. An unmistakable odor wafted to his nose. He was speckled, as was much of the floor around him, with a creamy (pale green!), viscous substance, that from the smell could only be one thing.
His own cum.
When the defenders came, they would find him bloody in a pool of his own semen. His head dropped back down into the mixture with an expression half of anguish and half of bemusement clouding his normally stern features. Only his own cum. There was scarcely any trace that the orc had been here at all.
* * *
As the orc cautiously crept through the underground passages, he whispered imperceptibly to himself, the words indecipherable even as they echoed lightly in the cavernous subterranean tunnels. He had–must have–taken a wrong turn at some point, for here he was, wandering aimlessly through the maze of passages. There could not be any exit from here to the outside world: no, that would seem far too easy for a stronghold which had thus far proven so impermeable to escape, even from the inside!
Another passage loomed before him, crossing that on which he traveled, and he sighed. How long had it been since he left the elf? How long had it been since he made his escape? Certainly at least a few hours from the latter, quite likely more. Maybe as much as half a day. He had not eaten in some time–some days–and he knew that he could not go on like this interminably. He had to escape from the stronghold itself, though that possibility was rapidly decreasing as time passed. Every moment made it all the more likely that the defenders (why had they waited so long to return!?) would find Kenyan and the manhunt would begin once more. He was surprised that no one had descended into the room while Enriko had waited
(after Kenyan had exhausted himself, of course), but perhaps a spot of good luck was showing. Perhaps something else aboveground had distracted them.
Perhaps they were all gone. Perhaps.
But he could profit from none of it unless he could manage to be rid of the labyrinthine tunnels! It was maddening to wander from junction junction, with no particular method to his increasing madness than to look for passages that took him upwards. But as often as he found such wayfares, he was forced back downwards by intersection where all the paths went down. It was almost as if the tunnel system had been intentionally designed to befuddle the stranger to its ways.
And indeed it might have been, for there were no signposts, directions, or any means of identification of any of the passages. There was only intermittently any light at all, and this was shed only by torches burnt down to the wrappings and a few flickering oil lamps that did little more than cast shadows about. The rest of the time the orc was forced to proceed in darkness, relying upon his sense of direction, smell, and touch to guide him to the next spot of light.
As he crept along down yet another deserted stretch of tunnel, he reflected that it must be the dead of night, and as such it might prove easier to escape now, rather than in broad daylight where he would easily be seen. But he must get aboveground!
At that moment, he heard, echoing down the length of passage ahead of him, voices, sharp and loud, seemingly unaware that he might be listening. He could not make out the words, but certainly it seemed to be drawing closer, indicating that the speakers must be approaching. For a moment, the orc considered returning the way he had just come and trying a different route to elude what could only be defenders searching for him.
But quickly, he rejected the idea. The defenders had come from aboveground, and it was certain that if he could somehow get around them, he might be able to retrace their footsteps and escape. Besides, fleeing had an irksome sort of cowardice hanging about it.
So resolving, he moved quickly forward, trying to find some unlighted alcove where he could hide undetected. The voices were gone now, and only the faint sound of footfalls heralded the defenders’ arrival.
The hall was in complete darkness; there had not been any course of light since the last junction, and thus Enriko was forced to run his hands along the walls to determine whether there was any aperture therein. The passage, moreover, was wide enough that he had to move from side to side, in an unwieldy and thoroughly burdensome manner, to insure that the crucial hideaway was not missed altogether.
The footsteps sounded much closer now, and Enriko began t worry about actually running into the who-knows-how-many armed defenders in the darkness. He could almost smell them now, a faint odor in the air, but it was difficult, as the air in the tunnel was already heavy and unmoving, and the smells did not carry well. But soon it became quite apparent that there were defenders coming–quite a few, from the cacophony of smells–and that they were very close. So close, in fact, that flight suddenly seemed less–
And then his right hand slipped from the wall and over an expanse of nothingness. Without bothering to further explore what might lay beyond, Enriko darted to the right, slipping through the aperture and beyond.
It was not an aperture; it was a passage, and the orc slipper farther back into it, determined to escape detection by the oncoming defenders. He could smell them strongly now, and their footsteps were loud and–
The first passed before the mouth of the passage (Enriko’s dark-accustomed eyes could easily pick out the movement) and four more followed in quick succession. They did not even give a look down the passage in which Enriko lurked, and the orc could tell little about them save for their numbers; in fact, he only assumed that they were defenders
(though that seemed to be a very safe assumption). As the footsteps faded away once more into the darkness, Enriko made to emerge once more into the main hallway when a sudden whiff of air brushed against his back. Quickly swiveling around, he found himself peering only into darkness. But from where had the air come? He stepped slowly forward, shuffling carefully down the length of the narrow hall.
Suddenly, his feet ran up against a protrusion from the floor.
Bending down, he ran his hands over it, and discovered, to is immense surprise and elation, that the unknown obstruction was the first step in a flight of stairs. Standing, Enriko carefully stepped onto the first step, and then cautiously onto the next. The flight of stairs stretched onward, up into the seemingly interminable darkness. Step after step, he ascended.
Finally, however, as he raised his foot to move up one more flight, he found that the ground had leveled out again. There was a very dim glow in the tunnel now, and he knew that something must be near. He must have ascended at least back up to ground level, if not higher! Creeping carefully forward, he saw the glow around him strengthening, until finally he stepped around a corner in the featureless passage and found himself staring at a stout wooden door set before him in the passage, beside which burned a torch, which, like the others he had seen, had nearly exhausted all its fuel. The floor around the door was dusty and undisturbed;
clearly, this portal had not been used in some time. As he neared the door, he saw that it was possessed of a lock and no handle. Clearly, Enriko had no key, and the door posed a certain obstacle to his progress.
Removing it would make quite some noise, and he had no idea who might be about, either behind him or before the door. But after sniffing about and examining the door more closely, he came to two conclusions: firstly, that there did not seem to be anyone about, and secondly, that the door was not going to be defeated by any means other than brute force.
Within a minute, the door lay in splinters and the orc was already venturing down the passage beyond. The walls were stone, but cut stone; he was in a building of some sort aboveground rather than below. This was corroborated by the oil lamps in the hall, which were quite full and burning well, shedding a great deal of light on the otherwise gloomy hall.
There were more wooden doors much like the one through which he had entered dotting the hall, but he pressed onward, searching for one that might indicate a means of escape or aperture to the outside.
Behind him, the orc heard a door begin to creak open. Quick as a flash, he pulled open the nearest door and scuttled in, shutting it firmly behind him, though as quietly as possible. Once on the other side, he listened intently to the hall outside. There was the sound of the door being opened further, some footsteps in the hall, and then another door opening and shutting. Enriko breathed easier.
As he stood facing the door through which he had just entered, another sound suddenly aroused his attention. It was a slight scuff, as of feet on the dirt floor, from behind him. Whirling around, he swiped with his massive claws at whatever or whomever might be approaching him. There was a slight cry, and then the orc’s eyes widened at the sight.
* * *
It was (of all people!) Dyjha who had been sneaking up behind him, and now that Enriko ad a brief chance to survey the situation, he saw that the boy had been clutching a rather cruel-looking scalpel in one hand. In fact, this was the very room from which the orc had escaped… how long ago?
Certainly long enough for the healer to recover from the blow, and try to practice his arts on himself, thought the orc, noting the mess of materials spread out on the counter on the opposite side of the room.
Dyjha had intelligently leapt back as the orc turned around to attack him, and was no standing defensively against the counter, eyes blazing and scalpel at the ready. It was an odd picture, the healer brandishing a makeshift weapon at the mammothine orc towering over him. It was strangely humorous even, and the orc smiled.
Of course, as before, the sight of the orc smiling seemed more disturbing than reassuring to the boy, and he cringed at the sight of the teeth, extending the scalpel out further before him.
“Just let me pass,” said the orc wearily, eyeing the door to the outside warily, carefully contemplating how fast he could ash to the door and run out before the boy could sound the alarm. Too long. The boy would easily have the whole place down on his head before he would even have a chance to escape. “I just want to get out of here,” he repeated, taking a slow step toward the healer. One more step, and–
“No!” said Dyjha with unexpected ardency, shuffling to the side.
But the orc would have none of the boy’s sudden bravery. Lunging suddenly forward, he quickly knocked the scalpel from his hand, and hauled the boy up by the neck, holding him at arm’s length from him. The boy’s feet dangled a good thirty centimeters over the ground, kicking pitifully. He was so childlike, thought the orc, mind briefly wandering at seeing the boy’s pathetic struggles. So sad and yet so endearing…
But there was much to be done before the night was over. Before Dyjha could think of it, Enriko clamped his hand over his mouth, stifling any cries which might have brought unwanted attention to him.
The orc strode quickly over to the pallet located in the center of the room, from which still dangled a few lengths of the chains which had been used to imprison the orc before. Chuckling inwardly at the irony, the orc deposited rudely the boy onto the table, still keeping one hand over his mouth.
“Be quiet!” warned the orc menacingly. “If you do as I say, you’ll get out of this alive.” Dyjha nodded quickly. The orc slowly removed his hand and went to work using the severed chains to restrain the boy. It was difficult, as much was unusable, but he finally managed to get a loop of chain around the healer’s midsection tightly enough that he could not wriggle out. The orc stepped back, surveying his work “I suppose that that will have to do,” he commented. Dyjha said nothing.
The orc went to the shuttered window and drew it open a hair, applying one eye and staring out with a watchful eye. A sentry stood not twenty meters away, illuminated by the glow of a torch in a holder next to him. He watched the courtyard carefully, and Enriko was sure that he would be seen if he left while the defender’s watched. Cursing, he turned away from the window and strode back to the boy.
“Dyjha!” he hissed “Quietly! Are there any other exits from this complex besides the door over there?”
“Yes,” said Dyjha in a shrill whisper, “There is one at the opposite end, and one more from the main examining room. But all of them have guards at night.” The orc cursed once more.
“Do the guards ever change?”
“Of course,” replied Dyjha quickly. “At a few hours before daybreak, a new man comes on.” It was probably about midnight, reflected the orc, or a bit after, and daybreak would not be until seven or eight.
He would have to hole up somewhere until four or so, then. And, as long as he was here, he reflected, looking down at Dyjha, what the hell…
* * *
The orc reached down and began to unbutton the green jacket which the boy still wore. The buttons were small, and the orc’s fingers fumbled over them,
“What are you doing?” asked Dyjha in a frightened voice. Enriko looked up.
“Is there anyone else in the building?” he asked roughly, ignoring the boy’s question.
“A few others, I would think” said Dyjha. He looked to the far door quickly, then returned his gaze to the orc’s.
“Where would they be?” queried the orc, returning to the buttons.
“In their offices, doing work, most likely,” replied the boy.
“Usually we get people all at once, and so we only keep a few people around at any one time.
If something comes up, the rest can be summoned.” He paused and swallowed. “I’m not even supposed to be here now.”
“Where are you supposed to be, then?” asked Enriko, without looking up. He was almost done with the buttons.
“In a domicile, of course… sleeping, usually,” said Dyjha.
“I’m generally on during the day.”
“Lucky you,” muttered the orc, unclasping the last button. Task completed, he turned to the boy. “Lift yourself just a bit off the table, please.” He smiled again. The boy opened his mouth as if to ask something, then closed it again, and brought his torso just off the table.
The orc grasped hold of either side of the now open jacket, and tried to pull it off of each sleeve. However, the boy’s arms were shaking slightly, and the jacket was large, and it proved only to get snarled as the orc tried to slip it off. He finally gave up.
“Take off the damn jacket,” he finally ordered in frustration.
Dyjha slowly rose into a sitting position, and removed the jacket.
“Here,” he said, proffering it to the orc. Enriko took it and dropped it on the ground. He could see now that the boy was wearing a glossy white shirt underneath, much the same material as his pants. He had no idea what the fabric was, but it seemed very finely woven and of great quality. The shirt was a bit tight across the chest, evidence of what must have been growth in the wearer since its commission. The orc did not even make an effort to try to remove this garment.
“The shirt, too,” he said, still standing back from the pallet.
The boy crossed his arms and pulled the shirt over his head, turning it inside-out in the process. As the golden flesh peeked out from beneath the rising shirt, the orc moved in closer. Dyjha handed him the shirt quietly, and the orc dropped this on the floor as well.
The boy’s chest was a golden brown color, hairless and smooth.
There were the outlines of his abdominal muscles prominently displayed descending down his stomach, interrupted only by the puckered navel which rise and fell with the boy’s breaths. His pecs were large and muscular, laying flat against his chest, but ever so slightly pendulous, heavy with muscle. His shoulders (as the orc could see even when the shirt was on)
were broad and strong, although his arms seemed a bit too flaccid to match the rest of the body. Overally, though, thought Enriko, a perfect specimen.
“Just lay back,” murmured the orc to the boy, who was already laying back. The orc leaned over, and the long black tongue flicked tantalizingly from between layers of serrated teeth. The orc was now standing right next to the pallet, and he was bent over the boy, so that the tip of his tongue could just barely contact the skin. His tongue danced around for a short time, as the boy watched with a mix of interest and horror.
Then, the orc, tongue still dancing along the boy’s chest, hoisted himself up onto the pallet and seated himself on top of Dyjha’s waist. Bending down, he now applied himself fully to the task, running his tongue up along the boy’s chest and abdomen, leaving shiny trails of moisture behind. His fingers reached up and pinched the boy’s pecs and nipple, and within short order, they were hard and pointed up into the air.
His hands massaged the pecs with circular motions, pushing them up and down, squeezing them and kneading them. Meanwhile, the tongue was making itself fully acquainted with the boy’s abdomen, running along the depressions between the abs and slipping down Dyjha’s sides to where he was sensitive.
Dyjha was breathing hard and making soft sighing sounds now, and the meaty hands caressed him roughly. One hand now reached up and gathered both of Dyjha’s into its grip, holding them up above the boy’s head.
There was a fair nest of hair in the armpits, and the orc began to wonder just how smooth the boy really was. He ran his lips over the boy’s skin, and he could feel the tiny hairs, not yet mature, poking from the boy’s pecs and descending down towards the navels. From there, the hairs become visible, a sparse dirty yellow line running down from the navel until it disappeared under the hem of the trousers.
Suddenly, Enriko, midway through another bout of the tongue stimulating the boy’s nipples, he felt a sudden pressure under him.
Smiling with glee, he lifted his mouth from the boy’s chest and looked right at him. His eyes were still partway open, and he could see the orc staring at him.
“You like that?” asked the orc, rhetorically, of course.
“Yes…” breathed Dyjha slowly. “Yes.”
“Let’s see how much you like it,” said Enriko coarsely. So saying, he leaped off of the boy and back onto the ground below, landing with the grace of a cat. Instantly, the boy’s pants tented up, displaying quite a degree of length trapped beneath their material.
Without hesitating an instant, the orc (who was breathing heavily as well), reached down and snagged the hem of the trousers beneath one claw. With a single well-placed movement, he had torn all the way down one leg. As his surgery was completed, he whisked the torn cloth away, like a matador taunting the bulls.
But his plans were frustrated by the appearance of another barrier.
A pair of short cloth pants covered the boy’s groin, tied at the top by a drawstring. Clearly, the boy was excited, for the cloth was damp where the cock beneath strained against it. Enriko reached down and carefully severed the drawstring. In an instant, the waistline of the shorts flew apart, and an erect cock bounded forth from beneath.
Enriko had seen human cock before, so the sight was not nearly as exotic as that of the elf, who were notoriously more guarded about their organs. But certainly he was surprised at the length, which was–for a human boy–quite long indeed, perhaps eighteen or twenty centimeters. It was very curved, almost like a scimitar, with a small, circumcised pink head that glistened with its covering of precum. It quivered slightly as the constraining fabric moved out of the way, almost mesmerizingly. There was a long pause, as the orc gazed at it, and then he spoke:
“How old are you, boy?” For a moment, the boy, seemingly lost in his own world, did not answer, but then he quickly responded.
“Sixteen, almost seventeen years.” He smiled weakly.
“You have a fine cock,” said Enriko frankly, reaching his hand down and rubbing the balls slightly.
“Thank you for saying so,” said Dyjha, smile growing somewhat larger. “I’ve always thought so.”
“So forward,” said the orc thoughtfully. “Dyjha, seeing as you seem to be unexpectedly mature,”–Enriko cleared his through with an ominous growling tone–“I’ll leave it up to you as to what happens next.” The orc began to rub the boy’s cock. Dyjha closed his eyes, but said nothing. Enriko rubbed harder, squeezing its length and massaging the small ballsac laying beneath.
“What will it be, then?” asked Enriko, drawing his head close to the boy’s.
Dyjha could feel the foul breath on him, but he could not help himself.
“Yes,” said Dyjha softly. The orc grinned widely.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, standing suddenly. “I’ve already given a free blowjob today, so I’m afraid that that’s out, but… I’m in for a little satisfaction myself at the moment.” The boy’s eyes widened as Enriko reached down to his own belt (which had survived the antics of the previous day well) and quickly removed it, dropping it on the pile of the boy’s clothes. Free of support, the tops of his trousers sank a bit, and a midriff opened up between the bottom of the orc’s jerkin and the hem of the pants. The skin was a rich green color, scarcely mottled at all, although a triangle of black spots snaked down from below the shirt and disappeared under the low-hanging pants. The orc reached down and stuck his hand into the pants, and before long, he was grunting heavily.
“That’s enough of that,” he said suddenly almost as if snapping out of his reverie, and he turned so that he was facing the boy down the table. Then, with a dramatic flick, he dropped what remained of his pants.
The boy’s shock was immediately visible on his shocked face.
Clearly, although Enriko had seen the human member before, Dyjha had never seen the orcish variety. Indeed, he reflected, it was a formidable tool.
As it finished swelling under his own carefully ministration, his mouth opened in an evil leer. The cock which sprouted from the orc’s loins was truly a monster to behold.
It was almost wholly black in color, or at least exceedingly dark green, so dark that it could not be distinguished from black except where the green color was hilighted. It was very wide at its base, perhaps almost seven or eight centimeters from one side to the other, and extensively veined with red vessels, giving it a varicose appearance. As it extended from the base, it began to corkscrew, twisting around in a sharp helix with pronounced ridges–defined by cartilaginous strips of tissue which wound along the orc’s member. At the end, where both the boy and the elf had had a naked bulb, the orc had a massively wrinkled foreskin, which dropped conspicuously over one end of the cock. All along the length of the spiraled organ were tiny flexible needles, directed backwards along the length, barbs that seemed almost like hair–and hair was conspicuously absent from anywhere about the orc’s genitalia. Of course, the most distressing thing was its length: longer even than the elf’s extended cock, ballooning to thirty centimeters from thick base to hooded tip. There was good cause for the boy to fear. This cock was the largest that he had ever seen, and too large by far to even fit into the boy’s ass.
* * *
“Don’t worry,” whispered the orc, his smile changed to a lascivious grin. “This will only hurt like living hell.” So saying, he reached down and pulled the boy’s legs up cruelly, wrenching them until the feet reached onto the orc’s towering shoulders. The boy’s body was partially lifted off of the table by this action, but the chains held his waist down. With a quick flick, the orc grabbed the shorts and cleanly ripped them from the boy’s body, tossing them across the room in a flash of color. The boy’s virgin hole was laid bare, pink and inviting, hovering just in front of the orc’s immense cock, suspended in the air.
With a quickly lunge, the orc reached down and pulled the boy’s body up, holding one brawny hand over the boy’s mouth and around to the back of his head.
“Shhhhhh,” murmured the orc, as his cock pushed up against the boy’s hole. The boy’s sphincter was closed tight, and on his face was abject terror. “You can make it better by relaxing,” said the orc softly, waiting a moment to see if the boy would take his advice. As expected, the boy did not, only trembled in the orc’s hands. “Have it your way,” said the orc glibly, and pushed in.
The boy’s scream was mostly muted by the orc’s hand, but even had it not been, Enriko would hardly have stopped for it. The sphincter groaned under the vast girth of the orc’s cock, and Enriko thrust forward brutally. With a final squelching pop, the sphincter gave up the fight, and the cock rushing into the anal canal. Dyjha was whimpering hysterically, his whole body convulsing so much as Enriko’s hold would allow. The cock moved with excruciating abrasion up the boy’s canal, having to fight for ever centimeter it gained in the much-too-small passage. The boy’s eyes flashed violently, crazily around the room as the orc pushed steadily in, the rough skin tearing at his insides. It seemed as though there were no more space o the orc, but his cock was not even in all the way. He paused for a moment, gathering strength, and then he thrust his hips forward in a mighty effort. Dyjha screamed again under the new intrusion, as the cockhead, with nowhere left to go, surged into the lower part of the boy’s intestine. Dyjha could, in a faint way, over all the numbing pain, feel the orc’s hips against his ass, and he knew that the orc had pressed all the way into him. For a moment, it was blissfully still, as the orc waited… for something, and the boy gasped for precious breath.
Then the orc, with another burst of strength, yanked outward, retracting the massive cock and pulling it back out of the hole. The myriad tiny barbs along the orc’s cock caught and released over and over as the immense member pulled out, doing no more physical damage to the canal but stimulating a thousand tiny pinpricks of pleasure in the boy’s ass, which surged beneath the pain. Then the orc thrust into Dyjha again, and the pain returned, along with an aching feeling as the bulbous head pressed through once more into his intestine. But now it was less painful, and there was a curiously euphoric, powerful feeling of pleasure rippling up from his ass. The orc began to pull in and out in rapid succession, and the alternating feeling of the barbs stimulating his skin and the head squeezing his prostate began to take him up. The orc moaned and swayed back and forth, thrusting and withdrawing as though in rhythm to a faraway drum. The cock swelled and surged, pressing at Dyjha’s insides, and driving him to new heights of pain… and pleasure. In and out it went, and Dyjha soon forgot why he had ever feared the orc, for now he gave such exquisite pleasure.
Suddenly, Enriko, eyes still shut, leaned forward, and swept the boy up into his arms. For a moment, Dyjha felt weightless, and then the motion ceased, and he was hovering in the air, held to the orc’s body by his strong arms, and held from falling by the cock which impaled him. His ass was pulled down onto the member by gravity, and for a long time both Enriko just stood, moving the cock slightly within the boy, making it rise and swell. Then, taking the initiative, Dyjha pressed against the orc’s body with his feet, pulling himself up Enriko’s mighty shaft. When his legs could support him no further, he released them, and he plunged back down the cock, spearheading himself on its mighty length. Enriko growled softy, as Dyjha repeated the maneuver, rutting himself on the orc’s cock. Enriko’s growls grew louder, and he raked at the exposed flesh of the boy’s stomach, causing tiny lines of blood to appear. But the boy only laughed and drove harder, and the orc groaned heavily and rocked with the boy’s movements.
Then, the boy gave a massive shudder, and a thin white stream of cum rocketed from his cock, trapped between their two bodies. It splashed mostly against the orc, but quickly coated both of their chests as Dyjha gave one final push and landed, spent, on the cock. Surprised momentarily by the cum, Enriko lost his balance and fell forwards. The boy landed once more on his back, and Enriko’s heavy body slammed into him, driving the cock in further than it had ever gone before, the shaft pushing into the intestine as well. Enriko grunted, and then Dyjha felt the cock spasming and surging within him. A warmth filled his innards, and the orc above him was sighing and pushing into the boy with unprecedented ardency. He spewed load after load of cum into the boy, until finally, he toppled back, he cock still completely hard and completely embedded in the boy. For a few minutes, he just lay and breathed hard, and then, as if possessed, by a foreign spirit, he sat (cock still embedded) and leaned over the nearly asleep Dyjha.
“This,” he said quietly, “is going to be the worst yet.” Picking up Dyjha in strong hands, he suddenly pushed him away, forcing his own cock out of the boy. As it emerged, a gout of black semen and blood flew out, spilling onto the floor beneath them. The boy (whose mouth was once more covered) shrieked in the unadulterated pain as the cock was withdrawn, and the cock was bloody when the bulb finally emerged. Under the blood, every one of the tiny barbs had hardened and extended with the orc’s ejaculation. Even as it was exposed to the cool air, they began to sink down, and the cock began to grow limp.
The orc dropped the boy’s body, now only semi-conscious to the floor, and limped over to the pail of water in the corner to wash off. His leg was bleeding again, and the bandage had fallen off again at some point in the orgy. Within ten minutes, though, the orc had washed himself clean of the blood and cum, and rebandaged his leg. He left the mess on the floor–as he had with the elf–and checked outside. The defender was there, but suddenly the orc felt impatient and emboldened. He wanted to leave. Quickly throwing the door open, he rushed silently outside.
* * *
The stronghold was in disarray for the next few weeks. The orc had left three defenders dead in his escape from it, and had viciously assaulted both Kenyan and Dyjha in a manner which neither was likely to forget.
Officially, the orc was recorded as having merely escaped, but everyone there at the elven fort knew precisely what had happened. The orc had not merely escaped with his life from the fort; he had escaped with their dignity and honor as well. Although the elves still patrolled the walls of the keep, and the healers still practiced their arts within, there were no more victories from the defenders of that citadel, and when it was eventually attacked by the orcish armies, it surrendered immediately.
The orc had taken the fort.