Natural Magic

Chapter 7 - Hurraggh

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.