《The Orc and the Prince》


 The Farewell

    Sunlight streamed through the arched windows of the royal library, illuminating dust motes dancing in the golden rays. Two figures, silhouetted against the light, huddled over a massive, leather-bound tome.


    Astar, barely seven, traced a finger across the crude illustrations depicting hulking figures with tusks, glowing eyes, and weapons forged from bone. His brow furrowed, lips forming a silent ''o'' of wonder.


    "Look, Ard!" he exclaimed, pointing at a particularly gruesome illustration. "They''re fierce! Imagine, teeth like daggers, skin green as moss, and eyes like burning coals!"


    Ardariem, his older brother, leaned closer, peering over his brother''s shoulder. His expression, usually placid, held a flicker of amusement.


    "They''re just stories, Astar," he murmured, his voice soft, almost hypnotic. "Legends whispered by scared villagers to frighten children."


    Astar''s eyes widened. "But Father''s advisor, Master Elderon, he said¡­"


    "Master Elderon tells stories," Ardariem interrupted, gently closing the book. He placed a reassuring hand on Astar''s shoulder, a gesture meant to soothe, not comfort. "Stories meant to entertain, to spark the imagination. Orcs aren''t real, little brother. Never were, never will be."


    Astar chewed his lip, his gaze lingering on the closed book.


    "But the illustrations¡­" he whispered, unsure.


    "Imagination, Astar," Ardariem repeated, his tone laced with a subtle, underlying command. "Nothing more. Besides, even if they did exist, they''d be¡­simple creatures. Dumb beasts, driven by instinct. Easily dealt with."


    Astar''s brow furrowed, worry replaced by confusion.


    "Dumb? Like¡­a puppy?"


    Ardariem smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Exactly. Imagine, Astar, a prince, surrounded by guards, powerful and brave. Could a silly, dumb beast truly harm a prince?"


    Astar pondered this, his gaze flitting between his brother''s reassuring smile and the closed book.


    "I suppose not," he finally agreed, a hint of doubt lingering in his voice.


    "Exactly," Ardariem confirmed, squeezing his brother''s shoulder. "A prince is always safe. Always protected. Remember that, Astar. Always."


    ***


    Fifteen years later


    In a silent giant chamber, King Norbiel, his face pale and tired, sat propped up in his heavy velvet cushions.


    "You''re sure you won''t take more guards, Astar?" he rasped, his voice thin.


    Astar smiled, placing a reassuring hand on his father''s arm. "Father, the path to Ar is guarded, heavily. No harm will befall a simple prince on a diplomatic visit." He flexed his fingers over the soft, jeweled handle of his father¡¯s ceremonial sword. He wasn''t a warrior, not like his eldest brother. But he carried the sword as a symbol. A symbol of his lineage.


    Ardariem entered the room, his long brown hair falling over his eyes. He stood silently by the window, observing them with a still gaze.


    "Promise you''ll be careful, my son," King Norbiel mumbled, his breath catching in his throat. A star of dampness bloomed on his brow. "This alliance is¡­"


    "Of paramount importance, Father," Astar finished, his grin softening as he met his father''s eyes. "I understand."


    "Indeed," Ardariem said, his voice low and detached. "Go, little brother. Make our kingdom strong. I''ll be missing you here, taking care of father as you go on your merry way to a beautiful princess."


    Astar frowned slightly but didn''t let it show. He knew Ardariem didn''t mean anything by his words, not exactly. It was always this way, his words like stones thrown into a pond, generating waves yet producing no enduring impression.


    "Until we meet again, Ard," Astar said, offering him a small nod. He crossed his brother''s cold gaze with his own, his gaze steady. Then he turned and stepped lightly towards the door.


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    Sunlight slanted through the entrance, falling in a warm shaft across the floor ahead of him.


    Astar¡¯s retinue bustled around him, packing provisions and readying the carriages. Horses were groomed till they shone, silks and tapestries pressed and draped, every detail performed with the meticulous care that characterized all things in the Kingdom of Free Men.


    They traveled in stately procession down the royal road, past fields of perfumed lavender and orchards laden with ripening fruit. Flat, golden plains gave way to rolling hills, dotted with vineyards and scattered with the occasional temple. For days, the air was sweet with the scent of blossoms and the sound of birdsong.


    But a change began to creep in.


    As days passed and the landscape transformed, the scent of lavender was replaced by the tang of damp earth and a metallic tang, like rusted iron. Then came a new smell, something alien and unsettling; it prickled in the nostrils and clung to the back of the throat. A smell of decay, not of life, but not of death either.


    The horses, normally eager and lively, began to snort and paw the ground, their ears flicking nervously. One even reared back, braying in protest. The guards, their brows furrowed, moved closer, murmuring to their mounts in soothing tones. Their hands rested on the hilts of their swords.


    The sky, usually a brilliant azure, grew a shade darker, though it was still early afternoon. The cheerful chatter among the retinue had died down, replaced by hushed whispers and the creak of tightening reins. The air thickened, filled with the strange odor that grew ever stronger.


    Shadows seemed to lengthen and deepen.


    A knot tightened in the pit of Astar¡¯s stomach. They''d reached the edge of something wild. Unease radiated off the surrounding hills, chilling despite the persistent heat.


    Their path became treacherous, forcing their procession single file along rocky paths. Deep chasms yawned beside the road, choked by thorny bushes, and icy-looking rivers barred their passage, demanding dangerous, makeshift bridges.


    Astar saw fear flicker in his guards¡¯ eyes, and that fear was a mirror reflecting back his own burgeoning terror. They''d lost track of the familiar path, days ago, caught in this shifting, alien landscape, feeling lost.


    Then, in the distance, it began. Guttural growls, deep and echoing. Grunts of anger. Scrambling sounds followed by desperate, strangled screams. The clang of metal used to craft heavy, dangerous things. The sound of fiery animals was also heard.


    ¡°Wild dogs," someone hissed.


    Another guard choked on a whispered oath.


    Fear, cold and sharp, froze Astar in place. Even the captain of the royal guard, Kaelan, a stoic mountain of a man, paled, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword.


    "We weren''t supposed to get this near the orcs¡­"


    Astar''s heart pounded. He wanted to flee, turn back, and race toward home.


    ¡°Stay close, Prince," he growled, forcing Astar against the back wall of one of the carriages, shielding him with his body.


    ¡°Stay here! Don''t move!" Kaelan yelled, thrusting Astar¡¯s younger servants behind a towering stack of silken tapestries.


    Chaos erupted. Astar squeezed his eyes shut, a muffled roar swallowed up by screams and clashing metal.


    Orcs burst into the place.


    Towering, savage figures, muscle rippling beneath crude armor. Their eyes gleamed, eyes that hadn¡¯t seen sunshine in lifetimes. Their bodies emitted a smell of something that was natural, but not sentient, like dirt and roots of poisonous plants, a potent, primal aroma.


    Their weapons flashed ¨C crude axes, swords of bone, vicious, spiked clubs.


    One orc, monstrously larger than the rest, smashed its war club onto Kaelan''s shield. Sparks flew, bouncing off his gleaming armor. His shield, thick oak, shattered.


    Terrified by the hideous noise of a breaking shield, Astar dared open his eyes, peeking out between the silks.


    The giant orc moved through the fight, a whirlwind of muscle and rage. Each blow, effortless. Each swing a death sentence.


    One guard fell. Another. Blood splattered onto the once-pristine silk tapestries, staining the luxurious fabric crimson.


    Gravely hurt, Kaelan groaned, a dying animal, staring up at his killer. Then, his head lolled sideways, lifeless.


    The giant monster lumbered toward Astar''s carriage, the most luxurious one. His massive, scarred hands smashed against the doors, ripping splinters from wood.


    The orc easily kicked open the door, scattering gilded trinkets, silks, and jewels across the floor. Astar¡¯s breath hitched, his fear turning icy cold. The orc''s dark green gaze fell on the prince.


    Astar met his eyes.


    The giant orc gasped, an animalistic sound. His eyes, usually cold and predatory, widened, reflecting a flicker of something akin to awe. He''d seen humans before, countless ones, butchered, broken, enslaved. But none like this.


    Astar, huddled beneath the silks, looked fragile, almost ethereal. His blond hair, usually styled in intricate braids, was tousled, strands escaping to frame his pale, tear-streaked face. His blue eyes wide with terror, reflecting the carnage around him.


    A strange, unsettling feeling coiled in the orc''s gut. Anger? Frustration?


    His massive hand, scarred and gnarled, clenched into a fist. Images flashed through his mind, violent, primal, fueled by a rage he couldn''t comprehend. He wanted to crush, to tear, to¡­


    But what?


    Astar''s beauty, so unexpected, so alien, twisted something inside him. It wasn''t fear, nor hatred. It was something raw, untamed.


    His gaze locked onto Astar''s, holding him captive.


    A choked sob escaped Astar''s lips.


    The orc reached out.


    His fingers, thick and rough, gently lifted Astar''s chin, tilting his head upwards.


    Astar flinched, but didn''t struggle.


    "Quiet," the orc rumbled, his voice deep, raspy, not human, as if a giant tree could talk.


    Then, he scooped Astar onto his broad shoulders, ignoring the prince''s muffled cries.


    Turning, he strode out of the carnage, leaving behind the dying, the wounded, the fallen.

 The Princes Fate

    The land where orcs reigned, the Land of Darkness, welcomed its victor.


    The giant orc strode through the hostile place, his heavy boots crunching on the muddier patches. Astar was unceremoniously slung over his shoulder. The Prince''s face was pale, his long blond hair loose and tangled, fluttering in the wind, his sweaty body shivering in fear.


    The orcs pointed and stared at the defeated human as their leader walked with him. Some of the orcs looked with hatred, others with disgust, and others with disdain. The human was nothing.


    A chorus of laughter erupted from a group of gathered orcs, their guttural guffaws echoing through the strange landscape. Astar whimpered in humiliation.


    Astar felt deeply uncomfortable in his lower body.


    ¡°Oh no¡­ please¡­¡±


    Suddenly, a trickle of something wet stained the monster''s dark shoulder.


    The giant orc grunted, lifting an eyebrow at his captive: Astar''s legs had tensed, as he flinched and released a thin, pathetic stream that soaked into his captor''s torso with a wet splat.


    The orcs'' laughter intensified.


    The giant orc withdrew a hefty hand, carelessly touching the warm dampness between Astar''s legs. He sniffed the air cautiously before grimacing.


    He shrugged off the prince''s urine and continued his trek deeper into the heart of the Land of Darkness, towards his underground fortress.


    ***


    The celebration outside began amidst the haphazard bonfires. Orcs surveyed the spoils laid out on a rough dirt platform. Stolen silks shimmered in the firelight, scrolls and small boxes overflowed with gems, and barrels of wine gurgled invitingly.


    "Good pickings, Urhl!" one of them bellowed towards his leader, raising a jeweled goblet.


    The gathered orcs roared their agreement, passed around the bounty, and guffawed at the imagined plight of the elegant Prince lost in the wilds. Urhl caught sight of a beautifully woven camel-skin pouch. The label, he read, was inscribed with the name ''Princess Neora''--Astar¡¯s betrothed.


    The captives'' food was a delightful change from their usual fare.


    Meanwhile, deep within the earth, Astar huddled in the damp. His fevered breath misting the chill air, he shivered. His fine clothes, besmirched by travel, dirt, and a less-than-gentle bath, clung to his svelte frame. He had screamed for help, called for his guards, until his voice was raw and unusable, and walked through the long labyrinths until he got lost. Then, exhausted, he collapsed against the rough obsidian wall, sobbing silently. Sleep, a welcome respite, stole him away.


    Hours passed.


    Astar stirred, disoriented. The silence that had wrapped him had become thicker, heavier. A strange sound pierced the quiet. He turned his head, seeking the source, and his breath caught in his throat. A pair of glowing embers emerged from the darkness, growing larger, illuminating a towering form. Astar stared in terror at the giant orc, his face held in shadow save for those two piercing eyes. The giant orc carried a flickering torch.


    The fire of the torch illuminated the obsidian walls of the cave, creating a strange spectacle of shadows and shimmer, as well and Astar''s dirty, wet, angelic face. Urhl stared in disgust. Such beauty and grace. It wasn''t supposed to belong to this...thing. No human being he had seen before looked like this, let alone¡­ a male one.


    Likewise, no human he''d ever seen had looked at him with anything but fear and hatred. But now there was, for the first time, the wary fascination and purity that now held Astar''s gaze.


    His pure, unblemished eyes, large and blue with delicate eyebrows and long lashes, stared back at Urhl. Nothing could hide the fear etched on that innocent face. But there was something else, something deeper than terror. It flickered, like the candle flame dancing against the wind. Something¡­clean.


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    Urhl, a hulking mass of shadow and muscle, felt a pull, a sensation unfamiliar and irritatingly unwelcome.


    Astar, despite the tremor in his voice, spoke.


    "... I am... Astar, of the... Land of Free Men." He pointed a trembling finger at Urhl. "You...you are a monster."


    Urhl''s face, already indifferent, hardened. His nostrils flared, and a guttural growl rumbled deep in his chest.


    "Orc!"


    Astar hear this word, only mentioned in his fairytale books of his childhood, beginning to think this was not real¡­ he was hallucinating. Or he had died and was in hell.


    "Oh. So¡­ you speak the common language of the kingdoms. This is a relief¡­" he continued, nonetheless.


    The giant orc observed as Astar spoke with his masculine but incredibly soft and soothing voice. Annoying.


    ¡°Mister Orc..." Astar''s voice stupidly modest.


    Smoke seemed to emanate from the orc''s nostrils. The young prince, curled up on the damp floor, seemed oblivious to the anger simmering around him.


    The orc''s hand, calloused and scarred, tightened around the hilt of his axe. The torchlight glinted off the polished surface.


    "My name," the orc growled, each syllable a guttural rumble, "is Urhl. URHL!¡±


    Could a creature as delicate as this even comprehend the magnitude of his name? The weight of it?


    Urhl watched as Astar, his eyes wide, struggled to form a response. Now, his face was wrinkled with confusion, his mouth opening and closing silently.


    "Urhl," Astar eventually breathed, testing the sound. He frowned. "Is that how you say it? Ur-hl?"


    Urhl let out a frustrated growl, the sound echoing off the damp cave walls.


    "Mister¡­ Sir¡­ Urhl... do what you must. But please let my father know... let him know what has become of me. Please, I beg you."


    Urhl blinked, the firelight dancing in his green eyes. "Father?"


    ¡°I am a prince, second heir to the King of the Free Men. Let at least a tiny piece of my body be returned to my father after my death," Astar said, struggling to maintain a semblance of dignity. "Send at least one bone¡­so that I might be buried with him when his time comes."


    The request sounded strange to Urhl. He himself had never known the embrace of kinship. Only the fleeting companionship of his warband, where loyalty was earned through violence and bloodshed. He looked down at Astar, his expression unreadable beneath the shadows of his brow.


    Urhl squatted, making Astar look him in the eyes.


    ¡°You speak as if your life means something.¡± He reaches out a hand, his fingers thick and scarred, and strokes the prince¡¯s silk garments. The fabric was thin and weak against the rough feel of his calloused hand.


    Urhl chuckled, a low rumble that echoed through the cavern.


    "What makes you so valuable?"


    A tear ran down Astar''s face. ¡°I¡­ I am not as valuable as my brother, you are right on this one...¡± Astar mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. He looked down at the rough floor, his trembling fingers unconsciously tightening around the frayed edge of his silk tunic. ¡°Ardariem¡­ he''s strong and capable. But I am not. I am a coward.¡±


    Astar¡¯s head snapped up, his eyes pleading.


    "But...my father would weep for me. And my brother. Even if I am not worthy as much, they would miss me. A bone, even a tiny one¡­ that¡¯s all I ask¡­ sedn it to them after my demise... please."


    Urhl grunted, a sound that seemed to carry across the cavernous space like a rolling stone. He watched Astar closely, his gaze lingering on the fear and sadness etched in those miserable eyes. Astar''s fear was a feast, a luxury in the barren landscape of Urhl''s existence.


    A shiver ran through Astar''s frame. His aristocratic demeanor, if it had ever existed, had shattered, replaced by a vulnerability that could almost be pitied. He huddled deeper within himself, trying to generate some warmth in the oppressive cold of the cave.


    Urhl noticed it. The prince¡¯s pathetic attempt to shield himself from the dampness, the way his teeth chattered like a frightened animal caught in a hunter''s snare.


    ¡°You¡¯re cold.¡± Urhl rumbled.


    ¡°Oh, yes,¡± Astar pleaded, his voice choked with emotion. ¡°I can barely feel my limbs. Is there¡­ is there anything you could offer me? Even a scrap of fabric?¡±


    Urhl laughed, a sound that echoed cruelly through the cavern. Prisoners demanded nothing. Prisoners received whatever scraps the orc deemed fit to bestow, a death blow, for example.


    "You ask me for things?" Urhl rumbled, shoving Astar roughly against the damp cave wall.


    Astar hit the wall hard, falling onto the cold floor. His breath hitched, a strangled sob escaping his lips.


    Astar nodded, accepting his fate with the resigned helplessness of a lamb awaiting slaughter. Abundant tears streamed down his cheeks, tracing paths through the dirt smeared across his delicate features.


    Urhl turned, dismissing Astar. His heavy footsteps echoed through the cave as he strode deeper into the darkness, leaving the prince alone with his misery.


    A while passed.


    Astar huddled on the floor, shivering despite the rising heat of his shame. He wondered if this was how he''d meet his end, alone and forgotten, swallowed by the darkness.


    Suddenly, torch light and shadow fell across him. Urhl stood looming over him, holding something in his hands.


    Urhl threw a bearskin onto the floor, a massive pelt the color of dried blood.


    Urhl considered the trembling prince for a long moment, a strange flicker in his dark eyes. Then, with a sudden, brutal movement, he seized Astar''s arm. His grip was vice-like, bones creaking against his immense strength. In a single, swift motion, Urhl tore Astar''s silken garments from his body.


    Astar gasped, his delicate skin suddenly exposed. It was pale and pearly, damp with sweat and fear, the soft texture oddly jarring against Urhl''s rough hands.


    He threw Astar onto the bearskin, the prince landing with an unceremonious thump, his legs splayed out, his buttocks striking the rough fur. Astar winced, squeezing his eyes shut against the indignity.


    Urhl snatched up another bearskin and with a careless toss, hurled it over Astar''s vulnerable form.


    He scoffed and turned away. "Stay alive," Urhl mumbled. "Don''t expect any more."