Amerigo had been travelling with the orcs who captured him. It was the first time they stopped since taking him into their custody, and the orcs were removing their packs and resting.

　　"Hey," someone said.

　　He caught what was tossed to him, an impressive fluke given his hands were bound.

　　"Eat," the orc told him.

　　It was a hunk of dried and salted meat. Amerigo reluctantly chewed it, barely a mouthful in all. Something blocked the sun, causing him up look up.

　　"Water," this orc said. He was carrying an oversized water skin, ready to pour it over the gnome. They didn`t trust him not to drink more than his ration. It was humiliating, but Amerigo opened his mouth. The water hit him full in the face.

　　The orc laughed and walked away, leaving Amerigo wiping himself off. It wasn`t wholly uncomfortable. The water was cool, and he drank some of what he wiped off. His hat was moist now, which was a bonus for Fen. There was no telling what the orcs would do if they learned of his friend, so the crab would remain a secret. Amerigo returned to chewing his meal.

　　He thought about when they had found him.

　　"Read it the thing," one of the two orcs had said.

　　"What thing?"

　　"The thing we read to the prisoners now, idiot. They`re not our prisoners if we don`t read`em the thing. Makes it official, Lord Kairon says."

　　"Oh, right. The thing."

　　At that, the orc drew a scroll and read from it.

　　"Savage wasteland creature:

　　You is, er& captured by the city of Hurraggh. Do not, uh, try n` get out. You is a prisoner, charged of the crime of not being an orc& an` for bein` slower`n us. Anythin` you say can an` will be used against you on the grounds of shuttin` you up.

　　Welcome to our great orc nation."

　　After the puzzling ritual, Amerigo wondered if that was what had really been on the scroll, and how much had been improvised.

　　Mere moments after he swallowed his food, the group was up and moving once more.

　　It was only a few days into his bondage and he was getting pretty good at doing things with his wrists touching. The boulders were everywhere throughout the desert. Rocks that came up to an orc`s waist were looming obelisks. But he dared not fall behind. These musclebound giants meant business, knew the terrain, and had the only water. He did his best to keep up.

　　He wasn`t abused by the orcs. Aside from giving him incentive to follow orders, they ignored him. Amerigo wondered how long this state of affairs would continue. It would be best to start scheming for ways out, though he`d prefer not to be lost in the desert again.

　　The nights were cool and dark. The orcs had no need to light camp fires. One or two looked a bit more miserable for the lack of light and heat. Amerigo mused on this, thinking it would attract unwanted attention, but he wouldn`t have imagined it was because they didn`t want to appear vulnerable to one another.

　　They ate little from their packs, mostly dried meat, and rarely spoke. The little language they used was almost purely informational, devoid of emotion. No threats at each other, though no thanks either. They were bereft of banter and song. It made Amerigo feel colder.

　　As far as he could tell, the troop of orcs was wandering aimlessly in the wastes. It was all bland, featureless rock to him. He could only hope they weren`t going in circles. Along the way they had contributed further to their capture of wasteland savages.

　　They had come across a pair of lizardfolk, who were shackled, informed of their imprisonment, and bidden to fall in line. They didn`t put up much of a fight, which was a bit odd to Amerigo because they seemed generally healthy and of a good disposition. Despite this, they looked almost willing to be taken into custody.

　　Amerigo found them to be particularly friendly toward him. He supposed there was some intrinsic link, or common denominator, between lizardfolk and the denizens of his reef. Perhaps their intelligence filled the gaps in his druidic phrasebook. At any rate, they weren`t snippy or indifferent to him.

　　On another occasion, the orcs captured most of a group of goblins. The whole affair looked something like a few adults playing a game of tag with a playground of toddlers, except much rougher. The goblins bit and scratched when the orcs picked them up, apparently forgetting the weapons they carried. Most of them dropped their makeshift pikes and spears when they were picked up.

　　Only one was putting forth a concerted effort into rebellion. It was a goblin wearing a chef`s hat and swinging a wooden paddle. It held off two orcs, who weren`t keen on getting a smart crack, until a third flanked him.

　　The rest of the group fully dispersed after each orc caught about four goblins. Amerigo was certain they would have to let some go for lack of restraints, but they conjured hobbles, shackles, chains, locks, and even a portable stockade. Somehow or another, all the goblins were detained.

　　That night, Amerigo couldn`t get any sleep for the constant chittering of gobbledygook. The one which had the paddle earlier had been the ring-leader for an escape attempt. Being made by goblins, which is to say "badly", they had woken their captors with the incessant banging of rocks on locks. The orcs resolved this by gagging the leader. Without his provocative chittering, the rest decided to call it quits and everyone was able to sleep more peacefully.

　　A night after that, Amerigo had woken from much needed rest to one of the lizardfolk making anxious noises and trying to pull away from its restraint. It didn`t respond at all to Amerigo trying to calm it.

　　Weakened by the cold night, it was putting all of its energy into getting away, pulling at its tether. Amerigo could see only panic in its eyes. Something was driving it wild with fear.

　　He turned to follow its gaze. It was looking at the other lizardfolk, restrained at the other side of the camp. This one wasn`t able to panic because there was a big cat sitting on it.

　　****

　　Hsshhshasasha couldn`t breathe. It trembled under the massive dark paws pinning it to the cold ground. It could only watch as very slowly, very silently, the jaws came down to its throat, bit down, and pulled away with almost no resistance.

　　Moments later, Hsshhshasasha got up, leaving what was left of its body behind. This pure self-ness, possibly its soul, passed through the big cat eating the mortal remains. It did a quick self-check before scrambling away. There were two of it, one here, doing the looking, and one& all over the place. The camp was dark, but the lizardfolk could see other big cats converging on the sleeping orcs and goblins.

　　There was a blood curdling screech. Someone else had noticed the encroaching doom.

　　Suddenly, the camp was up in arms, except for those arms which were shackled. No one seemed to notice the lizardfolk who had died.

　　"We`re in for a treat, Hsshhshasasha," a voice said.

　　It came from an old woman who was sitting on nothing next to the lizardfolk. There were several things odd about this, and they registered in the lizardfolk`s mind in this order.

　　First, it recognized its name. She had pronounced it perfectly.

　　Secondly, when the lizardfolk looked at her, it didn`t necessarily see an old human woman, or an old lizardfolk for that matter. Its brain filled in the details without really hitting the part of the brain that was Hsshhshasasha. It just saw what it interpreted as an old woman with short brown curly hair and wearing a plain dress and apron.

　　The final thing that the lizardfolk processed was the fact that this woman was clearly sitting, one leg over the other, on nothing. She was holding a cigarette in one hand and her elbow in the other. Hsshhshasasha knew what cigarettes were. It had often found them in the boxes of the trading wagons it had raided. Bitter things to eat, but the taste often lingered.

　　"More and more orcs lately have been dying of old age," she continued. "A sad state of affairs. They`re always so disappointed."

　　She wasn`t looking at Hsshhshasasha, but at the mounting defense of the orc camp. Each orc was fighting two cats at once. The atmosphere was full of blood and thunder. Axes were flying like yo-yos, knuckles were crunching bone, claws and teeth were rending flesh on both sides of the engagement. Hsshhshasasha, however, was not looking at the fight, but had crouched to investigate what the old woman was sitting on. It waved his hand under her. Nothing but air.

　　"You`re the only casualty in this one. I haven`t come for any others tonight." She took a drag on her cigarette, her gaze coolly fixed on the action. The orcs were frolicking. They poured into the night sky hoots and howls and war cries. It was the music of their souls.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

　　Death put out her cigarette on nothing next to her and picked up a cookie the size of a saucer from beside the invisible ash tray.

　　"Things will be made right in the end," she said with a sigh, "and they`ll start dying happier. I had to give up Ashley, but it`s for the greater good. She has a valuable lesson to teach."

　　Hsshhshasasha couldn`t find any supports at all holding her up. It had crawled under her completely by now.

　　"Hsshhshasasha," she said, standing and turning to him, "You are dead, if you haven`t guessed." She handed him the cookie not unkindly.

　　It maneuvered into sitting cross-legged while it changed mental gears.

　　Dead?

　　It hissed sadly.

　　"Take the cookie. You`ll feel better."

　　It clutched the cookie to its chest. It stared at a point on the ground in front of it and hissed like the slow release valve on an air compressor.

　　"You`ve got all the time in the underworld. If you need me, I`m here to talk."

　　And at this, the two faded.

　　****

　　The last of the cats was being slaughtered. The remains were being gleefully pummeled by the overzealous orcs, and the surrounding area was painted with viscera. By sunrise, the cats could have been juiced from the rocks.

　　The rest of the journey happened quickly to Amerigo. The encounter had put the orcs in a jaunty mood. This unfortunately meant a faster forced march and fewer breaks. They also jeered more at their captives now, too, which he thought was a nice touch. He and the rest of the alleged maggots not fit to squirm under the same sky as their shouting warden were eventually driven to the orc city of Hurraggh.

　　In the surrounding farmland, Amerigo saw orcs in straw hats moving rocks, shattering boulders, and hitting the softer parts of the ground with bent swords. There were thatch roof huts punctuating the farm plots. Houses or storage sheds, Amerigo mused.

　　Not long after, they had arrived at the gates of Hurraggh.

　　The walls to the city were stone, and very high. The portal was shuttered with large stone doors.

　　"Who that be?" came a shout from atop the wall.

　　"It`s us. Open the gate, you blind slug."

　　There was a barely audible grumble from the orc on the gate, followed by the blast of a horn.

　　It went on for an orcish lungful, causing birds to scatter. It filled the air with a rich tone which bounced off the landscape and charged savagely into the sky. When it was over, the horn was placed back down and nothing else happened.

　　The orcs on the ground stared at the orc on the gate, who looked at the orcs on the ground. After a moment, the orc on the gate turned around.

　　"That means haul on the doors you idiots! Do I have to tell you every time? Get those whips moving, you good-for-nothing drivers! Now!"

　　The words were like magic. The massive stone doors started opening inward, leaving Amerigo awestruck. He marveled at the feat of engineering while the sound of stone scraping on stone rumbled around him. A shove to the back was required to get him moving with the rest of the troop.

　　Inside the walls, he saw more stone buildings, more thatch roof, more terracotta. He also saw more orcs, goblins, and lizardfolk. They milled about with purpose. Each orc was followed by a couple of lizardfolk or a handful of goblins. These were invariably carrying a pot or a sack, if not something heavier. Orcs were obviously accustomed to putting their prisoners to work.

　　Amerigo imagined a future of hauling heavy things, never seeing the reef again. The thought sunk into the pit in his belly.

　　While they were being marched up the street, a young orc came running at them, calling for Justafar. "Lord Kairon wants to see you. He sent me special to get you when you returned." He waved a piece of vellum.

　　Justafar snatched it and scowled at it. He turned to the troop as the young orc rushed off.

　　"Take these to the prisons for processing," he said, gesturing to the group of them. "Except this one."

　　At this, he grasped Amerigo by the shoulder, causing the gnome to gulp.

　　****

　　"We have picked over seven oases in their entirety, and still it is not enough."

　　Lord Kairon was in the building he referred to as Town Hall. He was thinking, as he always did, about Hurraggh. The topic of his musings at the moment was the city`s consumption of plants. Orcs did require a certain amount of vegetation in their diets, it was true, but evidence of different kinds of consumption lay just outside the window.

　　A sector of the city lay sprawled before him. Blocky adobe buildings covered in thatch, the ends of wood struts poking through at the edges of walls and marking the occasional upper floor, comprised the layout. None of the ambitious two-story buildings reached nearly as high as his third-story offices.

　　"We cannot subsist on gathering to meet Hurraggh`s needs," he continued.

　　The sounds of eating suffused the room, its point of origin being the long table to which Kairon had his back. Several orcs, decorated each in his own way, were picking at the food that consisted of the latest meal. Remnants of food littered the area around each of them even as they piled more in front of themselves. At the head of the table was an empty chair as dark and foreboding as it was lavish and prominent. Placed before it was a single plate, scoured of all traces of eating.

　　Kairon prepared himself while his cabinet was slowly sated. There was much to do, and foremost of his tools were the tribe chiefs. He had to convince them of their own need before he could sell them a solution.

　　"We need to adopt farming, and take hold of it with both hands."

　　There were roasted beasts of all manner, now mostly bones, the meat having been liberally seasoned and sauced. Small bowls of fruits and vegetables had been picked over, leaving the pits and seeds alongside any overripe or measly specimens behind. Attendants with jugs of water and wine were present to fill waiting goblets.

　　Kairon turned away from the window and strode back to his seat. Instead of sitting, he bent over and put both hands on the table, fixing each of the others with a look. An attendant moved to fill is cup, but he covered it with a hand. The attendant withdrew.

　　"Progress needs resources, and the land does not provide in the quantities we need." The plates of his ever-present dark armor clinked gently as he moved.

　　One of the diners waved a greasy hand deferentially and said, "Marrowcrack is ready to provide, my Lord. Already we have dedicated a dozen and a half prisoners and disseminated your, erm, tutorials." He ended the statement by biting into the roasted thigh he was holding, and had been studying while he spoke.

　　 He continued with his mouth full, "But we must keep a modest number for the ceremonial prisoner arena coming up. Will anyone else contribute, or do we have to take this burden on ourselves? I challenge Boldbreak to contribute even half that number. How many have they given you, Lord?"

　　The accused slammed both hands on the table, almost tipping their drink.

　　"And where did you get the prisoners? Boldbreak makes up the majority of Kairon`s police force, if you`ll recall from discussions last season! We can`t reduce our numbers and expect to maintain a street presence and a patrol outside the city!"

　　Marrowcrack floundered at this, the ball back in his court. He settled on a different target.

　　"I don`t see any Skullcrush present. And why would that be? What contributions are they making to the progress of Hurraggh? I would have expected them to start sacrificing for the greater good by now. How long has it been since they joined our great orc nation, again? It didn`t even take the Bloodboils this long."

　　But he had stepped on another foot. The Bloodboil chieftain`s face grew stony and sullen. He growled, "Are you saying we ain`t pulling our share, Marrowcrack?"

　　The name oozed and popped like cooling magma as it came out.

　　Kairon sighed and straightened up as yet another committee meeting devolved into insults and tusk-measuring. It was a behavior for which he never felt he fit, having no tusks of his own. All of his teeth stayed demurely in his mouth, unlike those of his kindred. If it weren`t for his win-streak, they might use it against him. That, and the color of his skin, which was a sooty black, the same color as his armor, instead of the healthy green of an adult orc.

　　An attendant was at his elbow, and he allowed himself to be pulled aside. He endured a salute.

　　 "Chief Justafar has arrived as you have commanded, my Lord."

　　"Please don`t do that," Kairon sighed.

　　The attendant`s face looked confused while his body remained at attention. "What should I not do, my Lord?"

　　"I`ve told you all time and again. Please don`t salute me."

　　"Why wouldn`t I salute you, my Lord?"

　　"Because you are an attendant, not a member of the military. Please send in Chief Justafar."

　　The attendant latched onto the order at the end, which was the only thing he understood. He saluted again and said, "Yes my Lord. As you command," and then sent a prisoner to send the message.

　　Kairon sighed again and returned to watch the proceedings. He dodged a flying bowl.

　　Justafar and Amerigo entered the room, unnoticed by the rest of the cabinet. Kairon slipped away and greeted the chief warmly. "Chief Justafar, welcome back. How was your hunting party?"

　　Justafar pocketed his disgust at his Lord`s reception and prepared a response. He needed something that Lord Kairon wouldn`t disapprove of, and which wouldn`t make him hate himself.

　　"We slaughtered many beasts of the land and captured many of the indigenous creatures. It was," he paused, "a good hunt. My Lord."

　　"That`s wonderful. I`m glad to hear it was successful. I do hope you and your troop enjoyed your time. Would you like some food? Some of it remains unsodden."

　　The other chiefs had liberally coated the immediate area around the table in scraps, but it was true that some was still edible. For now. Justafar decided to take this as an order and grunted, "Yes my Lord." This was the worst kind of torture. The kind that didn`t touch the body, but went right through to the inside. Kairon was truly a terrible master.

　　He clapped his hands, each time his gauntlets ringing a soft clank, and spoke over the quibbling chiefs. Justafar picked at what remained of the meal.

　　"Everyone, Justafar has arrived. We will table the issue of acquiring bodies for farming for now, as we have other matters at hand. Justafar, I wish to discuss some minor matters in the merger of your tribe with the City of Hurraggh. It seems some of the old Boldbreak habits die hard, so a few of your tribesmen are currently recovering." The Boldbreak chief sat up straight, putting down the bare rib he was wielding to fix Justafar with a stern glare. "A couple of them attacked some innocent citizens in the streets, formerly of the Marrowcrack and Sharpteeth tribes." He tut-tutted. "One of them will make it, but the other, I`m afraid, succumbed to the loss of his lower half."

　　"We want reparations!" Marrowcrack shouted. "This was no honorable death!"

　　Justafar tried not to bridle at the outburst. "They sound like honorable warriors to me. What would you have me do, my Lord?"

　　"We don`t do that kind of thing any more, Chief Justafar," Kairon said before Marrowcrack could get a word in. "Please, in your own time, discourage this kind of behavior in the future. I`m sure the city would be most appreciative."

　　"Yes my Lord," Justafar said duly. "Would you have me flog them?"

　　"If you must. Eventually we will need harsher punishment for this kind of infraction in the future, but that will settle the matter for now."

　　Marrowcrack simmered, but was appeased.

　　Sharptooth said idly, "We do not begrudge you your victory." She grinned, displaying her namesake, the sharpened teeth her tribe cultivated. "We took&trophies."

　　Justafar`s blood boiled at the thought of honest warriors being punished for slaughtering ancient enemies. If Kairon had not already bested him for supremacy over the tribe, he would challenge him in a heartbeat. As it stood now, however, it would be nothing but further dishonor. Justafar thought he should be dead, and it was dishonorable enough that he should go on living as a Chief under a Lord. He looked at the other chiefs through the now all-too-common haze of loathing that colored his interactions with Kairon. They all seemed content being Kairon`s gaggle of second-fiddles.

　　The issue was, however, that Kairon couldn`t be beaten by anyone in this room. It wasn`t that Justafar and the others hadn`t lost. They each would have been killed if that were the case, as the time-honored rules stood among the orc tribes. No, it was just that Kairon didn`t lose. There was no punishment that he couldn`t endure. There was no weapon that could pierce his skin and, so far, no orc who could best him.

　　He looked at his Lord again. Not a proper dark lord at all, but a sheep in wolf`s clothing. The gentle calmness behind a reputation of terror and conquest. The farmer all warriors fear.

　　"That was all, Chief Justafar," he said, dismissing him politely.

　　"My Lord, I do have news from the hunt."

　　"News? What news?"

　　For the first time, he noticed Amerigo.