he wears the colors red and gold, with a black falcon on —”
“Blackmoore,” hissed Thrall. “I should have known he would be able to find me.”
There was a loud clanging and all the orcs turned toward the large tower. “We are to line up,” said the female. “Although it is not the usual time for counting.”
“They want you, Thrall,” said Kelgar. “But they won’t find you. You will have to go now. The guards will be distracted at the thought of the commander coming. I will create a diversion. The least guarded area is at the end of the camp. We all are coming to the sound of the bell like the cattle we are,” he said, self-loathing plain in his voice and mien. “Go. Now.”
Thrall needed no further urging. He turned on his heel and began to move swiftly, threading his way between the sudden press of orcs moving in the oppositedirection. As he shoved, struggling, he heard a cry of pain. It was the female orc. He didn’t dare stop to look back, but when he heard Kelgar shouting harsh-sounding words in orcish, he understood. Kelgar had somehow managed to reach deep inside and find a shadow of his old fighting spirit. He had begun to fight with the female orc. By the sounds of the guards, this was highly unusual. They descended to break the quarreling orcs apart, and even as Thrall watched, the few guards who had been walking the wall scurried down and raced toward the shouting.
They would probably beat both Kelgar and the innocent female, Thrall thought. He regretted this deeply. But, he told himself, because of their actions, I am free to do everything I possibly can to ensure that no human ever, ever beats an orc again.
After having reached adulthood in a tightly guarded cell, with men watching his every move, he could not believe how easy it was to climb the walls and slip down to freedom. Ahead was a dense, forested area. He ran faster than he had ever run, knowing that every minute he was in the open he was vulnerable. And yet, no one cried the alarm, no one gave chase.
He ran for several hours, losing himself in the forest, zigging and zagging and doing everything possible to make it difficult for the search parties that would no doubt follow. Finally, he slowed, panting and gasping for air. He climbed a stout tree, and when he poked hishead through its thick canopy of leaves, he could see nothing but a sea of green.
Blinking, he located the sun. It was starting its late afternoon journey toward the horizon. The west; Kelgar had said that Grom Hellscream’s clan had come from the west.
He would find this Hellscream, and together, they would liberate their imprisoned brothers and sisters.
Black-gloved hands clasped behind him, the Commander of the Camps, one Aedelas Blackmoore, walked slowly down the line of orcs. All of them shied away from him, staring at their mud-encrusted feet. Blackmoore had to admit they had been more entertaining, if more deadly, when they had had some spirit to them.
Wincing at the stench, Blackmoore lifted a scented kerchief to his nose. Following him closely, like a dog awaiting its master’s whim, was Major Remka. He’d heard good things about her; she was apparently more efficient than the majority of the men.
But if she had had his Thrall, and let him slip through her fingers, he would not be merciful.
“Where is the one you said you thought was Thrall?” he demanded of Remka’s guardsman Waryk. The young man held his composure better than his commanding officer did, but even he was starting to show hints of panic about the eyes.
“I had seen him at the gladiator battles, and the blueeyes are so rare. . . .” said Waryk, starting to stammer a little.
“Do you see him here?”
“N-no, Lieutenant General. I don’t.”
“Then perhaps it was not Thrall.”
“We did find some things he had stolen,” said Waryk, brightening. He snapped his fingers and one of his men raced off, returning in a few moments with a large sack. “Do you recognize
“Blackmoore,” hissed Thrall. “I should have known he would be able to find me.”
There was a loud clanging and all the orcs turned toward the large tower. “We are to line up,” said the female. “Although it is not the usual time for counting.”
“They want you, Thrall,” said Kelgar. “But they won’t find you. You will have to go now. The guards will be distracted at the thought of the commander coming. I will create a diversion. The least guarded area is at the end of the camp. We all are coming to the sound of the bell like the cattle we are,” he said, self-loathing plain in his voice and mien. “Go. Now.”
Thrall needed no further urging. He turned on his heel and began to move swiftly, threading his way between the sudden press of orcs moving in the oppositedirection. As he shoved, struggling, he heard a cry of pain. It was the female orc. He didn’t dare stop to look back, but when he heard Kelgar shouting harsh-sounding words in orcish, he understood. Kelgar had somehow managed to reach deep inside and find a shadow of his old fighting spirit. He had begun to fight with the female orc. By the sounds of the guards, this was highly unusual. They descended to break the quarreling orcs apart, and even as Thrall watched, the few guards who had been walking the wall scurried down and raced toward the shouting.
They would probably beat both Kelgar and the innocent female, Thrall thought. He regretted this deeply. But, he told himself, because of their actions, I am free to do everything I possibly can to ensure that no human ever, ever beats an orc again.
After having reached adulthood in a tightly guarded cell, with men watching his every move, he could not believe how easy it was to climb the walls and slip down to freedom. Ahead was a dense, forested area. He ran faster than he had ever run, knowing that every minute he was in the open he was vulnerable. And yet, no one cried the alarm, no one gave chase.
He ran for several hours, losing himself in the forest, zigging and zagging and doing everything possible to make it difficult for the search parties that would no doubt follow. Finally, he slowed, panting and gasping for air. He climbed a stout tree, and when he poked hishead through its thick canopy of leaves, he could see nothing but a sea of green.
Blinking, he located the sun. It was starting its late afternoon journey toward the horizon. The west; Kelgar had said that Grom Hellscream’s clan had come from the west.
He would find this Hellscream, and together, they would liberate their imprisoned brothers and sisters.
Black-gloved hands clasped behind him, the Commander of the Camps, one Aedelas Blackmoore, walked slowly down the line of orcs. All of them shied away from him, staring at their mud-encrusted feet. Blackmoore had to admit they had been more entertaining, if more deadly, when they had had some spirit to them.
Wincing at the stench, Blackmoore lifted a scented kerchief to his nose. Following him closely, like a dog awaiting its master’s whim, was Major Remka. He’d heard good things about her; she was apparently more efficient than the majority of the men.
But if she had had his Thrall, and let him slip through her fingers, he would not be merciful.
“Where is the one you said you thought was Thrall?” he demanded of Remka’s guardsman Waryk. The young man held his composure better than his commanding officer did, but even he was starting to show hints of panic about the eyes.
“I had seen him at the gladiator battles, and the blueeyes are so rare. . . .” said Waryk, starting to stammer a little.
“Do you see him here?”
“N-no, Lieutenant General. I don’t.”
“Then perhaps it was not Thrall.”
“We did find some things he had stolen,” said Waryk, brightening. He snapped his fingers and one of his men raced off, returning in a few moments with a large sack. “Do you recognize
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