Triumph Chapter 4

Amelie smiled as Brigitte met her at the entrance of the castle.  Though a little shorter than her, Brigitte’s soft brown hair, bold brown eyes, lithe body and fair complexion made her look like Anne, Amelie’s own daughter.  The similarities ended there, however.  Anne took to etiquette and decorum the way that Amelie took to swords and javelins.  Brigitte certainly knew what diplomacy was, she just didn’t care.    The young Princess was forthright to a fault, resulting in her still being unmarried despite nearing her mid-twenties.

“Amelie, it’s good to see you again.”  Brigitte smiled at the Queen.

“You as well, Brigitte.”  Amelie smiled back.  She did genuinely like the younger woman, and after a fashion even respected the way she ignored courtesies that didn’t serve a purpose.

“I’m pleased you survived the battle.  Have you received any updates from Heste since you departed?  Henry seems intent on not telling us any more than the bare minimum.”  Brigitte’s smile twisted down into a pursed frown.

“He’s worried about a bird getting intercepted, it’s nothing personal.  Anyway, to answer your question, the army in Heste has besieged Dromstadt.  We’ve sent scouts down over the bone bridge, and it seems that Belkor has retreated all the way to the Duchy of Braden.”

“It has been quiet here as well. The main Zentaran army has been stalled in the Hell Pass, and they have only a screening force in the Duchy of Haverset to prevent our army crossing in from the Seven Forts.”  Brigitte seemed to have expected the answer, but Amelie could see the gears turning in her mind.  For all that she lacked in decorum, the girl was still smart.

“What are you thinking?  Something to do with the plan you mentioned in your letter?”

“Yes, but I’ll explain at the council.  I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”  She reached into a pocket in the skirt of her dress and pulled out a scroll.  “Here, this is for you; a letter from Anne.”  She paused a moment, and then added, “I hope she is well.”

“I’m sure she is; she was the last time I heard from her.”  Amelie slipped the letter into her belt.  She would read it in private later.  “Is the Duke of Lisene still arguing to take the offensive?”

“Yes, as I’m sure you’ll hear soon.  I’ll let him describe the plan to you.  You don’t need me to point out the flaws, Amelie.”  The castle immediately opened up into a great hall, which led further back into the throne room. 

The throne room was smaller than the great hall, but still large enough to accommodate the King’s petitioners.  It wasn’t as large as her own, or even Zentara’s.  Sandora was the smallest Kingdom, which was one of the reasons it chose to ally with Thesta.  It was also one of the poorest, a fact which the throne room reflected.  The large columns supporting the ceiling were unadorned and the tapestries lining the walls were simple and common. The throne itself was almost unassuming.  Though raised on a dais and lined with red velvet, the back was framed in bronze instead of gold.  Still, despite their relative strength compared to Thesta, Sandora was still an important ally in the war.  Their soldiers blocking the Zentaran army while the Thestan, Catabrian, and Hesten forces fought Belkor.

The meeting room for the council was off of the throne room.  The small room was empty, so Amelie and Brigitte moved to inspect the map laid out over the table and the position of the army markers.  “Lisene and my father will be here soon, I sent for them when I saw you approaching the gate.”

Amelie smiled to herself at that.  It wouldn’t occur to Brigitte to ask if she wanted to freshen up before the meeting or even rest.  Brigitte wanted to get on with the business at hand.  In truth, she didn’t mind: there would be time enough for rest tonight and sleeping in a bed again was worth the wait.  It was better to settle things first, so she wouldn’t lie down with uncertainty tonight.

“Excellent.  The sooner we settle things here the sooner I can get back to the front.  With a bit of luck Henry will have concluded the siege by then and we can return to the war of maneuver.”  Amelie reached down to the table and picked up the bronze falcon which she assumed represented the Falcon Guard and studied it.  Her fingers stroked along the smooth, curved mantle before she placed it down at the Sandoran capital.

“Are you certain that it’s best not to try and entrap their army and destroy it?” Brigitte looked at the far end of the map for the marker identifying Belkor’s army and moved it to Castle Wareg and then moved the Bronze lion symbolizing Henry’s army and the steel falcon representing the rest of the Thestan forces to Dromstadt.

“Yes, at least, not yet.  I don’t want to have orc insurgents raiding my supply lines; I’d rather sweep them all out of Heste in one go.  A series of battles will demoralize them, but more importantly, demoralize the orcs back in Zentara and Ruar.  That will make the Zentaran Duchies all the riper for rebellion, when the time is right.”   

“You really think they’ll rebel?” Brigitte asked.  “The last time they tried it didn’t end too well for them.”

“Oh yes, I think they will,” Amelie replied, thinking of Drauken, “it is up to us to create the conditions where they’ll be successful.”

“Your Highness!”  Boomed the Duke of Lisene as he entered.  “Welcome!  It’s good to see you!”

Amelie forced a smile as he entered the room.  “It is good to see you as well.  Though I wish it were under better circumstances than war.”

“True true,” he agreed, if not sincerely, “but at least it’s a winning war, eh?  Come on, tell me all about how you smashed the orcs.  I’ve been dying to hear your firsthand account!”

“There will be time enough for that.”  The King said as he shuffled into the room.  Older even than Jeanette, the King was past his prime and no longer in a position to lead from the field.  Even in his youth, the King was of a more scholarly bent.  Brigitte’s brother, Crown Prince Renard, was more martial, and currently commanded the defenses in the Hell Pass between Thesta and Zentara.  “She can tell us all about it tonight at the banquet.  For now, we should focus on the matter at hand.”

“Welcome, Your Highness.”  Amelie said, inclining her head to the King.”

“To you as well.  I hope you’ll forgive us foregoing a formal reception in your honor, but the exigencies of war preclude it.”

“I don’t mind at all; on the contrary, I prefer it.  There is too much to do in too little time to spend on frivolities.”  Amelie gestured to the table.  “As you can see, Brigitte and I have adjusted the map to reflect the current disposition of troops as we know them.  Belkor and his Hesten orcs have fallen back to the Duchy of Braden, while King Henry has led the Hesten and Thestan forces into a siege of Dromstadt.”

“Excellent, excellent.”  The Sandoran General said.  “The war is turning in our favor.  With the defeat of the first orc army in the Catabrian Hills, and the second orc army in Heste, we’re well positioned to begin pressing the offensive and bringing this war to a conclusion.”

“That’s premature, Your Grace.”  Brigitte cut in.  “The siege will take time, and the plan was to push the orcs completely out of Heste before invading Zentara.  Belkor and his army are still in Heste, so it’s not yet time to invade Zentara.”

The Duke of Lisene bristled at being corrected by a young woman.  “What would you know of it, Your Highness?  Forgive me, but you have no training in war.  With respect, I’m not even sure why you’re attending this meeting.”

“What does it say about you that even with no training I see the folly in your plan?”  Brigitte shot back.

“Peace, everyone.  We’re on the same side.  Brigitte, you’re obviously familiar with the General’s plan, but let him relay it to me so I can hear it direct.”  Amelie gave Brigitte a look asking the Princess to let her deal with it, and then turned to the General with a placating smile.  “How would you bring us to the offensive?”

“Our screening force in the Pass is strong enough to hold the Zentara army at bay.  We take the main strength of the Sandoran army and march east to the Angrian March, and then push down from the Seven Forts into the Duchy of Haverset and seize Shropfordshire!”  Lisene traced his proposed line of advance across the map.  “In one fell swoop we’ll cut off their trade with the Eastern Kingdoms and seize on of their wealthiest Duchies!”

The idea of cutting off the Eastern Trade was interesting, but Amelie decided it would do more harm than good.  The trade wasn’t substantially aiding the Zentaran war effort, and it would alienate the Council of Guilds, who had provided excellent intelligence so far.

“The plan would probably work as you described, General, but I have some reservations.”  Amelie picked up the carved marker denoting the Sandoran army and placed it on Shropfordshire.  “When you occupy Shropfordshire, our armies will be at near polar opposite ends of the Western Kingdoms with two orc armies separating them.  The Zentaran army,” Amelie picked up the Zentaran marker from the Hell Pass and moved it to Shropfordshire, “would be able to march on you and cut you off, leaving you without support and unable to escape.”

“See, that is what I was telling you!”  Brigitte pointed out.

“I hope they do!  We’ll crush them the way you defeated Agmar and Belkor, and then march on Ruar itself!”

“Perhaps.”  Amelie conceded.  “Or perhaps not.  Fighting pitched battles helps the orcs more than it does us.  They need this war to be over quickly, before their food runs out.  The longer it goes on, the weaker they become.  Pitched battles are how they are going to do that.  I attacked Belkor because we had solid information on where and when they were going to be allowing me to ambush them.  Plus, our armies were of equal size.  You’ll be outnumbered by the Zentaran forces, with no appreciable terrain to defend from.”

“My men will be flush with victory after sacking Shropfordshire.  We’re also fighting for our freedom, and the freedom of all humans.  The orcs are only fighting for plunder.  They won’t have the will or the courage to defeat us in battle, as you’ve proved twice now.”  The General huffed as his face started to turn red.  He had been certain Amelie would support his plan.

“You may be right, General.  But it’s high risk for low reward.  Even if you repulse their counterattack, you won’t have the strength to push on to Ruar.  The best you can hope for is to occupy Haverset.  They’ll lose a Duchy, and be cut off from the eastern trade. But they don’t really need that to prosecute the war.” Amelie began to rearrange the pieces on the map.  “On the other hand, if you’re wrong and they defeat you, the way will be open for them all the way back to hear.  Their army will be positioned to strike deep into Thesta and Sandora, while our own will be trapped on the other side of the Lyskean Mountains faced off against the Hesten orcs.  It does not seem worth it, not when the war is already going our way.” 

Amelie returned to the western end of the map.  “We need to keep them contained and let them eat through their food stores.  After we take Dromstadt, we’ll push them back to the Lyskean Pass and into Zentara, freeing all of Heste.  Then, after the string of defeats and with starvation setting in, our allies in the Zentaran Duchies will strike, and we’ll be there to support them.  Then you can march into Zentara and close the net around their remnants.”  Amelie moved the markers across the map, showing the orcs retreating towards the center of Zentara as the Thestan, Sandoran, Hesten, Catabrian, and Ducal forces closed in from all sides.

“You show great tactics, Your Grace,” the King began, cutting off the Lisene’s protest, “but the Queen shows great strategy.  We entered this war with a plan, and the plan is working.  We should keep with it.”

“Yes Your Highness.”

Seeing her opportunity, Brigitte spoke up.  “There is a way to enjoy the fruits of both plans.”  When all eyes turned to her, she continued.  “We should send envoys to the remaining orcs in the Angrian March, and bribe them to attack Haverset.”  She quickly held up her hands to quiet the impending protests.  “Listen to me a moment, please.  I’ve been studying the tribes that remain in the March.  They were never conquered by Turogg, and have resisted all Zentaran entreaties to settle down.  Further, they no longer travel to Shropfordshire to sell the spoils they steal from us.”

“They’ve also shown no interest in settling, so they’ll likely return to the Angrian March after the attack.  Plus, it will relieve our eastern border from their raids.  Shropfordshire hasn’t been properly defended since Zentara was unified.  The walls have crumbled away, but they’re been collecting tolls for centuries.  It is a rich, soft target that should appeal to the orcs; much more than our fortified borders anyway.”

“Out of all the tribes remaining in the Angrian March, there are roughly ten thousand warriors.  How would you unite them under one banner, when even Turogg couldn’t?” Amelie asked, trying to keep an even expression on her face.

“I’ve spoken to several of the merchants who deal with them.  The tribes will sometimes unite under the banner of a great chieftain for a grand raid.  That is how Turogg started, after all, but it is supposed to be temporary; just different clans pooling resources for one large raid.  There is an orc chieftain named Morkaz in the Boshdog clan that is often spoken of by the remaining Tribes.  If we approach him, and convince him, he could unite the remaining orcs into a strike force.”

“We cannot make common cause with orcs!  That is what caused this mess to begin with!”  The General exclaimed.

“I’m inclined to agree.”  Amelie said a moment later.

“But it’s the perfect solution! Why should we spend our lives fighting the orcs when we can get them to fight each other?”

“This war is about much more than defeating Zentara and Heste,” said the King, “it is about ending the orc presence in the Western Kingdoms and restoring the traditional balance of power which made the Age of Peace possible.  Hiring orc mercenaries is counter-productive to that point.  It is a crutch; it will weaken our cause and make our soldiers doubt themselves.  No, we must do this alone.”

Just then a messenger burst into the room looking pale and clutching a scroll in his fist.  “My Lords, there is news from the Hell Pass.”

****

Seemingly endless rows of tents stretched out towards the horizon.  Augras nodded in approval at the orderly way they were laid out.  When he looked either way down each row he could see all the way to the end of the camp.  Grotok runs a tight camp, he thought.  That’s good.  As long as he-

“You’ve grown since the last time he saw you, Augras.”  Marishka interrupted his thoughts, “Your uncle is wise enough to make use of you, and in doing so, will grow to respect you.”

Augras scowled as the Mincenntti woman seemed to read his mind again.  Fortunately, she seemed to be the only one who could do so.  It would be a disaster if the rest of his family, let alone his enemies, could read him so easily.  “I’m sure you’re right.  I’m carrying his mother’s recommendation after all.”  He looked back at the train of wagons following him that carried weapons, armor, and food.  “I’m also carrying some vital supplies for his army.  That will count for something too.”

“You bring the future with you and you think he’ll be impressed with grain?”  Marishka threw her head back and cackled shrilly.  “I hope he’s not so small minded.”

“You can’t eat the future, nor slay an enemy with it.”

“Yet the future will slay all of us, in time.”  She countered.  “It won’t be these gifts which sway him, it will be you…and in time, he will be the one seeking your approval.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but hoped that she was right.  Augras wanted to believe that her eerily accurate insight would prove true but there was a family dynamic that she didn’t know.  Grotok never liked Trogar and Trogar despised Grotok.  If Grotok carried that prejudice still it might prevent him from giving Augras a fair shake, regardless of the Queen’s favor.

The found the King in the command tent with his lieutenants and captains.  When Grotok saw Augras, a big grin crossed his face, “Augras!  Is it really you?  The last time I saw you I could pick you up and bounce you on my knee!”

Is he trying to provoke me like he would my father?  “And now I could bounce you on mine, uncle, but I’ll refrain out of respect for the royal dignity.”  Please, I have more self-control than that.

“You’ve certainly grown large enough to.  You must be twice your father’s size now!  Are you sure you’re your father’s son?  There was always some doubt, you know.”

Augras threw his head back and laughed louder than necessary.  “Are you questioning my mother’s virtue?  My mother’s?  Well, if you must.  I love my grandmother too much to treat you in kind, but I think we both know how that comparison would go.”

Grotok looked at Augras for a long moment, before laughing as well and giving Augras a genuine smile.  “Welcome home, nephew, it’s good to have you back.  I understand that you come bearing gifts?”

“The weapons and armor are from the Queen.  The food is mine though, yes.”  Augras replied, striding forward confidently towards a large table with a map stretched across it.  “This is Marishka-”

“The Mincenntti woman I’ve heard so much about.  Welcome to my camp, my lady.”  Grotok looked at Marishka speculatively, still smiling.

“Yes it’s true I can read your mind.”  Marishka said, making Augras smile and wiping the grin from Grotok’s face.

“It’s not really true, uncle, but best not to test it anyway.”  Augras said before turning his gaze back to the map.

“I’ll keep that in mind.  The Queen says you have some way to break the stalemate?”

“Aye, I can bring the castles down.”  Augras ignored the look of skepticism on Grotok’s face.  “I just need a few things first.  A prisoner, mainly.”

“A prisoner?  What for?”

Augras suspected Grotok wasn’t going to like this part, but before he could say anything Marishka said it for him.

“Powerful magic is required to bring down stone.  Magic to be powered by the life of your prisoner.”

Grotok kept his face even, but the scorn in his voice was obvious.  “A sacrifice?  Who do you think you are, Andarrion reborn?”

Marishka looked at Augras questioningly.

“An old King of Zentara.  He believed he was a sorcerer, and killed many people trying to do magic.  He’s generally considered a mad tyrant.”

“Ah.  There is a difference then, King Grotok.  Augras can actually do magic.  You’d have no issue slaughtering a thousand of their soldiers.  Ten thousand, even.  Why do you object to just one?”  Marishka asked.

“A prisoner is no longer a combatant.”

“They don’t feel the same way, uncle, or haven’t you heard?  They butchered every orc they got their hands on after the battle in Heste.”

A scowl crossed the King’s face.  “I’ve heard.  It’s an outrage.  They paint us as barbarians while they’re the ones butchering captives.”  Grotok shook his head, “But we won’t sink to their level; we need to prove ourselves better than they are.”

“Doing that is going to keep us here mired in mud.  We’ll be sitting here a year from now after The Princess Knight has swept Uncle Belkor out of Heste, and then we’ll find ourselves trapped between two armies.  No, we need to move quickly, uncle.”

“I have seen it,” Marishka added, “the castles must come down if we are to win this war.”

“I’ve been fighting wars since before you were born, nephew, and without the benefit of magic.  I’ve no doubt your tricks could come in handy but they won’t prove decisive.  Certainly not decisive enough for me start sacrificing captives.” Gorotk scoffed dismissively.

Augras swallowed down his frustration.  Is nothing going to come easy?  “I’m sorry you feel that way, uncle.   Nonetheless, I have permission from the Queen to cast my spell.  It is going to happen, with or without you.”  That’s too harsh, he thought.  “If it will ease your conscience, uncle, I will find my own captive.  I don’t want to undermine you, I want to work with you, to coordinate our efforts so that we can exploit the gap in their lines when their fortresses fall.”

Grotok took a deep breath before finally nodding his assent.  “Very well, capture your own prisoner if you’re so set on it.  If you want to dance on the precipice of the abyss, let it be on your own head.  Either way, the credit will be yours.  If you fail, I’m going to let the entirety of the Western Kingdoms know that you engaged in human sacrifice in your madness.  However, if you succeed and do manage to take down their castle, everyone will know of your miracle.”

“Good enough uncle, good enough.”  Augras gestured to Marishka.  “Summon Brindhour.  We’re launching a sortie tonight.”

****

Augras cursed the darkness as he led Brindhour and a small party of Minotaurs through the pass. I picked a poor night to launch a raid, Augras thought, but it’s not like I had much choice. Blackness enveloped them like a cloak, and each step was like wading through the Abyss.  The moon was new, so they didn’t even have its light to guide them.  I can’t afford to wait a fortnight for the moon to be better.  At least, that’s what he told himself.  At least the Minotaurs have good night vision that will make it easier. 

As they cut over the broken terrain on either side of the pass, Brindhour reached out to grab Augras’ arm, stopping him.  He gestured up ahead, signaling for the war band to halt.  The burly minotaur cocked his head, listening to the stillness of the night for a moment, before shaking it and waving for them to continue.

The twin fortresses Amelie built to guard the pass weren’t much farther ahead, not that he planned on raiding the castles themselves.  Whoever was in charge of their defenses was bound to have sentries watching for the orc army.  It would be hard to find them in the dark, but with luck it would be just as difficult for them to spot his party.

Augras clenched his fingers tighter around the hilt of his sword, keeping it still inside his sheathe to keep it from rattling.  He bit his lip to keep from grunting as he stumbled on a rock, and stiffened as he heard it clatter down the steep side of the hill.  The Minotaurs all stopped and waited, ready to fight if any enemies charged out of the shadows.

Seconds passed, but no enemies attacked so they continued through the night.  I’ve got to be more careful, he thought, not that there’s much I can do about it.  Minutes passed, it was hard to tell how many since he couldn’t track the movement of the moon through the night sky.  An hour maybe, or half of one and he saw pinprick lights in the distance.  The castles.  We’re bound to find some scouts now.

Moments later his prediction came true.  As he came around a bend, Augras found himself looking at a Sandoran soldier pissing against the rock face.  They both stared at each other in shock. And then without thinking Augras drew his sword and plunged it into the man’s belly.  He gurgled out a last groan before falling to the ground, hand still on his cock.  Brindhour came up beside laughed in spite of himself.  “I thought you wanted a prisoner, Augras?  What did you kill this one for?”

That was stupid, he thought, I can’t believe I just did that.  Augras had been thinking of finding the enemy and surprising them with an ambush.  He hadn’t been thinking about blundering into one, and when that happened he responded on instinct and muscle memory.  “I got a little excited.  There will be more where he came from, so get ready.”

“Shut your mouth Bryan.”  Someone whispered harshly in the night.  A moment later another soldier appeared, and when he saw Augras his eyes widened.  “Orc!  Orc!”  In a flash his sword was drawn, and a moment later his compatriots came around the corner and the battle was joined.

“Don’t kill them all!”  Augras shouted.  “We need at least one!”  Augras charged the first human and raised his sword to block the Sandoran’s attack.  He towered above the man, but the soldier didn’t shrink away and met him head on.  Their steel rang in the night as they traded blows. 

Around him his Minotaurs rushed into battle.  Brindhour led the way, and with a swing of his great axe split a crack straight down his opponent’s shield.  The soldier dropped the splintered wood, screaming in pain as he drew his arm back.  The force of the Minotaur’s blow had shattered his forearm.  As Brindhour closed in to grab the man he struck out wildly with his sword, scraping the blade over his armor.  The tip just barely managed to reach his bovine face and cut a thin line down his muzzle.

Brindhour howled in rage and wrapped his meaty fingers around the man’s neck, lifted him up, and then smashed him down onto the stone earth with a sickening thud.  Another bellow rang out from his throat as he squeezed the man’s neck until his trachea collapsed and then smashed his head once more, caving in the back of his skull and splattering brain, blood, and bone across the rock.

“What were you saying, Brindhour?”  Augras called out with a laugh as he parried his opponent’s attack.  His size and reach made it easy to keep the human at bay, giving him time to come up with a plan to take him alive.  “If you’re all done there, come over and give me a hand.”

The Minotaur lumbered over, flanking the Sandoran warrior.  He and Augras carefully maneuvered, herding the soldier and boxing him in to cut off his escape. 

“Throw down your sword and surrender, we’re only here for prisoners, not bodies.”  Augras said, trying to keep his true intent hidden.

“Fuck you, orc.  I won’t be tortured into telling you anything!”

No, you won’t be.  Augras nodded to Brindhour, who feinted forward.  When the soldier turned to block the attack, Augras dashed in and smashed the flat of his blade across the side of the man’s head, knocking him down.  With surprising quickness for his size, he flung his arm out to snatch the soldier’s sword away.  “Take him, Brindhour, the sooner we get back to camp the better.”

As the Minotaur chieftain scooped up the prisoner, Augras turned back to the skirmish.  The Minotaurs were clearly winning, though he noted sourly that they didn’t seem to be taking too many prisoners.  Maybe they weren’t the best choice for this after all, but it’s not like Grotok was going to lend me any of his warriors and this isn’t the best terrain for Centaurs.  At least we got one prisoner.

“Augras!”  One of the Minotaurs called out.  “Look!  Prisoner!”  The Minotaur held up a soldier who looked to be barely clinging to life.  Every breath was a labored rattle, and from the dark stains seeping out from his torn armor Augras guessed he didn’t have long to live.

“Good job, but we already have one.  You can kill him.”

The Minotaur gave a broad smile and snapped the man’s neck, splitting the night with a loud crack.  It’s time to end this, he thought.  Only one knot of resistance remained: three soldiers in a tight formation holding off the Minotaurs.  Their fighting in unison, he realized, while the Minotaurs are fighting as individuals.  Augras positioned himself on the far end of the Minotaurs.  “On me, work together.”  I’m going to have to spend some time drilling them when we return to camp. 

As the minotaur on his left struck, the center human thrust his sword out and stabbed him in the leg.  The human he was facing then chopped his sword down towards his shoulder but Augras stepped in to block it with his shield.  Then, quick as a flash, he brought his sword down and across from behind, cutting the tendons behind the man’s left knee.  As the Sandoran fell to the ground the Minotaur swung his hammer down and split the soldier’s skull.

“There’s one down, roll them up now, roll them up!”  A few moments later, the last two were dead.  “Good work everyone.  Let’s get back to camp…it’s time to bring down the mountain.”

Without having to worry about stealth Augras’ group made excellent time and had the prisoner returned to the Zentaran camp before the moon reached its zenith.  They were met with cheers from the whole camp upon their return, which Augras welcomed:  there was enough racial tension in the Western Kingdoms already, he didn’t want to add to it with more discord between the orcs and the Minotaurs and Centaurs. 

Marishka and Grotok were waiting for them at the far edge of the camp, near where Augras’ soldiers had settled in.  While they were away, his remaining forces had dug a pit twice the length of a man.  Channels had then been dug into the ground surrounding the pit at forty-five degree angles.  Augras carried the unconscious prisoner over and dropped him in, careful that he wouldn’t land on his head or neck to seriously injure him.

“Well, it looks like you can fight at least,” Grotok remarked, “what are you going to do with him now?”

“Marishka hasn’t told you yet…or did you not want to ask?”  Augras replied.  “It’s no secret.  You’re free to watch, if you like.”

“The human will stand in place for his brothers,” Marishka explained, “and these will stand place for the castles.”  Marishka said, pulling out two model castles sculpted from clay.

“Golinchkar,” Augras called out to the Centaur chief, “bring the water up.”

The Centaur nodded to his men, and a moment later his tribesmen brought up a half dozen carts holding barrels of water.  The Centaurs began to unload them, positioning them around the pit.

“That’s a lot of water, Augras.  Water that could be sustaining my army.  This had better be worth it.”  Grotok said with a scowl.

“You still don’t believe it will work?”  Marishka asked.  “No matter, you will see.  Yes, when you see for yourself you will no longer be able to disbelieve and then you will look upon the Child of Three Races with respect.”

“That’s a long way of saying that the ‘proof is in the pudding’, uncle.”  Augras chuckled.  “Now, give me a moment to prepare.”  Augras closed his eyes and took a deep breath to clear his mind.  When it was blank, he began to fill in the darkness with a picture.  He saw the pinpricks of light from the two fortresses.  Slowly the darkness fell away until the castles were there clearly in his mind.  He began to push his power into the ground, thrusting it into the earth.  He molded it around the contours of the pit, surrounding it with his energy. 

“Begin.”

The Centaurs began tapping the barrels and letting the water flow out into the channels they had dug.  The water flowed through the earth, transmuting the dirt into mud.  The channels did not run into the pit, but stopped before breaking through the wall.  But as the water pooled, the pressure grew and weakened the integrity of the pit.

As they watched silently, Augras continued to throw his power into the ground.  He could feel the water running through it, and let it soak and permeate his magic.  He used it and helped the water push through the dirt towards the pit.

The first stream broke through, showering the captive with water and mud.  He awoke with a splutter and rolled over, before sitting up.  “What’s happening?”  A moment later, another channel broke adding another geyser of water into the pit.  The captive jumped to his feet and looked up.  “What are you doing?  Let me out of here!”

Augras ignored the man’s pleas.  It has to be this way, he thought, better their soldiers should die than ours.  He focused on his magic and in his mind’s eye he saw the castles start to turn from stone to mud.

More water flowed into the pit, and as it reached the captives knees he sloshed through the muddy water and tried to scramble up the side of the pit.  However, the walls were too weak and muddy now, and as he placed his foot in the hole left by the water, it sank through and he fell onto his back.  “Don’t do this!  It isn’t right! I’m your prisoner!”  He screamed.

Grotok growled and clenched his teeth, shooting Augras a dark look.  But the half-orc didn’t see; all he saw was the twin fortresses collapsing into mud.  Holding that image in his mind, he pushed a great burst of magic into the earth.

Seconds later the first wall collapsed and caved in, burying the prisoner up to his waist in mud.  “Please!  Let me out!  I’ll tell you what you want!  Don’t let me die like this!”  No one moved to help him, though.  The Centaurs and Minotaurs watched impassively, while Marishka chanted softly in her own tongue and pulled out the clay castles, which she tossed into the pit.

Only Grotok looked moved by his appeals, but his hands were tied.  The life of one Sandoran wasn’t worth defying his mother’s command, nor going back on the agreement he made with Augras.  Especially if his nephew’s promises were true and the castles would be taken care of.

Another wall collapsed, and then another, trapping the Sandoran up to his shoulders.  The prisoner began to sob and scream, but Augras was committed.  As the fortresses in his imagination crumbled into mud, the last wall of the pit collapsed and the captive’s screams went silent.

For a long moment no one said anything, but then Grotok broke the silence.  “Is that it, then?  When do the castles come down?”

Marishka ignored the sneer in his tone.  “It is already happening.  Look!”  She extended her long, spindly arm and pointed into the pass.  As the King turned around, a bright flash of lightning lit up the sky in the distance.  “Augras has brought the storm, which will wash away those castles.”

In the distance thunder crackled again and a strong wind picked up, howling viciously in the night.  Torches flickered and then went out as the gale winds picked up.  “We should return to our tents, uncle, it’s going to be a long, wet night.” 

****

The next morning, Grotok, Augras, and Marishka rode through the pass to see the destruction.  Both castles were gone, struck off the face of the mountains.  Nearly all trace of them had vanished, except for the odd stone jutting out from the mud.  Augras and Grotok looked on, stunned by the scale of the destruction.

Marishka looked smug.  “Now that you see for yourself, do you still doubt the strength of his power?”

Grotok’s expression became dour.  “His power is great, no doubt about it...perhaps too great.”  He gestured to the mountains of mud filling the pass.  “The castles are gone, yes, but it’s going to take months to clear this mess out enough to march our armies through!  Longer, probably, once the winter sets in and freezes the mud!  We’re not going anywhere!”

Augras continued to look on for a moment, before turning to Grotok with a shrugs.  “The castles are gone.  What took Amelie years to build were wiped out overnight, with all the soldiers manning them.  Maybe it will take a few months to progress, but that is still better than sitting here stuck.  Either way, we need to wait until spring to campaign.” A smile crossed his face, “besides, my Centaurs will be able to easily get through that muck in the meantime.  They’ll scout and raid behind their lines and report back.  Look up, uncle!  This is a great victory!”

****

Brigitte froze as she heard servants bustling down the hall outside of her room, but a moment later they were gone.  Seeing to more preparations.  Everyone is busy getting Amelie ready to depart for the pass.  With all the chaos in the castle no one should notice when I leave.  At least, that was the plan.  With the destruction of the fortresses in the Hell Pass the situation had changed: the strategy of keeping the orcs contained in Zentara was no longer going to be possible.

It was fortunate that Amelie was on this side of the mountain when it happened; it would be much faster for her to ride to the Pass to try and slow down the orc forces while the Sandoran troops marched to intercept.  With a bit of luck, they could stall the orcs long enough for Henry to push Belkor out of Heste, and then everything would proceed as planned.

Brigitte pulled on her lambskin breeches, a tunic, and then wrapped herself in a dark cloak.  After pressing her ear to the door to make sure the way was safe, she slipped out of her room and began making her way out of the castle.

I have to do this, she thought.  Amelie should be able to slow them, but with whatever weapon they used to destroy the castles we can’t rely on that.  If they get past her both Orlous and Megdis will fall into their hands like leaves in the Fall.

They needed something to distract the orcs.  In point of fact, they needed all the help they could get.  So she decided to slip out of the castle and ride into the Angrian March to try and recruit the orcs to their side.  She had no illusions about how it would go.  Brigitte knew enough about them to know that they would violate her.  Likely repeatedly, and in ways she didn’t dare imagine.  Women who were made captives of orcs became little better than slaves. 

It’s not like I’m needed for an important alliance, she reflected, Amelie doesn’t have any relatives my age, not that we need marriage to bring the alliance closer.  Nor does Henry.  So I might as well make an orc alliance.  She smiled wryly to herself. 

Still, she thought her plan would work.  At least, she hoped it would.  Originally, this would have been handled by a diplomat who could meet the orcs as equals.  But with her father disapproving the plan, she had to strike out by herself, likely to be captured.  But the orcs weren’t used to willing captives, especially not a Princess.  Her offer would make them listen to her, she just had to be persuasive.  The Duchy of Haverset lay just across the mountains from her home of Megdis.  They shared a border, and she knew more about their wealth and defenses than anyone in Sandora. 

The loot would be more than enough to tempt the clans remaining in the March.  Sacking Shropfordshire could be just what was needed to tilt the balance of the war in their favor, and if it did, it would be all worth it.  Even if she had to spend the rest of her life as an orc’s concubine.

She spent the first few days on the road desperately looking over her shoulder, fearful that she’d see her father’s men riding behind her.  At night she cuddled with her horse for warmth and half-wished her father’s men would find her.  Brigitte lasted the week it took to get into the territory of the orc chief she was looking for.

On the wide open plain she knew it wouldn’t be long before orc outriders spotted her.  Just as she expected, she soon spotted riders on the horizon, using the setting sun to mask their approach.  “This is it,” she muttered to herself, and closed her eyes to take a deep breath, “this is when I start showing them how willing I am.”  She pulled on the reins of the horse and rode in the direction of the orcs.

Within the hour two orc raiders were circling her, a base, leering expression on their faces that she had no trouble discerning for all that she was a virgin.  “Good afternoon, gentlemen.  I’m so glad you found me.”

The orcs laughed and exchanged a look before one of them addressed her.  “I hope you’re not about to tell us you’re lost, little girl.”

“Not at all, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.  I’ve been looking for you.”  She replied, trying to sound confident.

“Is that right?  I don’t need to ask what would bring a pretty thing like you out here in search of an orc.”  The orc leered at her.

“Maybe you should, the answer might surprise you,” She retorted.

The orcs moved closer to her, and the one with whom she had been talking reached out to stroke her hair.  “Alright dove, I’ll play.  What brings you out here?”

Brigitte tried not to shudder as the orc played with her hair.  His bulky form was so close to her, possibly closer than any man had ever been to her outside of her family.  She could smell him, his leather, his horse, the scent of his body.  It took a moment to steady herself before she continued, “I want to tell your chief where he can find great treasure, and many captives.”

The orc threw his head back and laughed.  “Let me guess, on the far side of the Angrian March, far from these lands, where we’ll never trouble you?”  The orc continued to play with her hair, while the other one reached around from behind to grasp her tits, squeezing them in his big hands.

“Ah!”  Brigitte gasped as she felt the strong fingers massaging her breasts, making her nipples harden.  The orc rubbing them was quick to exploit that, pinching the nubs and giving them a soft turn.  “N-no, not far from here at all.  Just three weeks ride from here, to the south.”  Brigitte raised her arm and pointed in the direction of Shropfordshire.

The orc smirked and licked over his pointed tusk as he watched Brigitte respond to the other orc’s touch.  He wrapped her hair in his hand and yanked it sharply, pulling her over to him.  “An ambush then, is that the way of it?” 

“N-no!”  She replied, shocked.  It honestly hadn’t even occurred to her that they would suspect such a thing.

“No?”  The orc pressed his lips against hers and plunged his tongue into her mouth.  He thrashed it against hers, twisting them about before breaking the kiss.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes!  I’m Princess Brigitte Farthing of Sandora.  The place I’m speaking of is in Zentara.  I have no interest in helping them!”

The orc behind her laughed and pinched her nipples again and gave them a hard twist.  “So you want us to fight your war for you, Princess?  Why would we do that?”

“Mmmph.  I’ve already told you: gold and captives, as good as undefended.”  Brigitte couldn’t help but finally shudder as she mewled in response to the abuse of her nipples.

“She did tell us that, it’s true.”  The first orc mused and stroked her cheek.  “I’ll tell you what, come suck my cock and I’ll bring you to my chief, and you can tell him all about it.

This Brigitte laughed, though it was more nervous than the orcs’.  “You’re going to take me to your chief regardless; it’s not as if you’re about to let me go.  It’s his cock I’ll suck, and it will be him who decides whether I suck yours or not.”  Her face flushed red: she could scarcely believe herself that she was saying these things.

The orc behind her laughed.  “Thinks she’s clever, doesn’t she?”

“Yes she does.”  He replied, before a grin spread across his lips.  “But if you’re a captive tribute to the chief, then you need to look the part.”  The orc released her hair and sunk his fingers into her shirt, and then ripped it open, straight down the middle.

Brigitte gasped as her tits spilled free, exposed to the open air and the two orcs.  If she was blushing before, her face was on fire now.  But she knew this was a possibility; it was inevitable, really.  She shuddered again as her breasts were revealed to a man for the first time.  To an orc, to two orcs!  She thought, groaning softly as the orc behind her began to play with her now exposed nipples.

The first orc slid off his horse before pulling Brigitte off hers and set her down on the ground.  “Your pants too.  You won’t need them where you’re going.”  He gave her another toothy grin.

I’m willing, she thought, I have to convince them I’m willing.  “Whatever you say.”  She unlaced her britches and, with her heart pounding furiously in her chest she shimmied them down over her hips and stepped out, leaving her naked in the setting sun before the two orcs’ gaze.

The first orc stepped forward and pressed his big hands between her legs and started to rub her pussy.  Her mount was completely covered by the orc’s rough palm, and she couldn’t help but shudder as she felt the masculine grip touching her most intimate spot.

“Very nice girl, but I think I’ll be getting my dick sucked after all and something more besides.  See, there’s one thing your pretty little head didn’t think of.”

“O-oh?  What’s that?”  She moaned, her hips starting to push against the orc’s fingers as they stroked her slit, making her petals blossom.

“I’m the chief around these parts.  Morkaz of the Boshdog clan.  Which means your hot little mouth, and really, every hole you’ve got belongs to me now, don’t it?”  Morkaz grinned as he saw her eyes widen in surprise, and chuckled as he felt her pussy spasm against his fingers.

“Ah!  Y-you’re Morkaz?”  She asked in surprise.

“Indeed I am.  Now, say it, my little slut.”  Morkaz curled his fingers up, sliding two digits into her tight pink slit.

“Mmmm!  All my holes belong to you!”  Brigitte closed her eyes as she felt the thick fingers pushing inside her, filling her where she’d never been filled before.  “But, Chief, my idea, the plan to attack Shropfordshire…”

“Hah hah hah.  Is that really what you want to talk about?  There will be time enough for that later.  After you’ve been properly inducted into the tribe.  For now, let’s put your mouth to better use.”  Morkaz then drew his fingers out of her pussy and stroked the wet digits over her hard nipple, before placing both hands on her shoulders and pushing her to her knees.

At least he’s thinking about it, she reassured herself, Keep going along with him, stay in his good graces, and bring him around.  Despite her lack of experience, Brigitte knew very well what Morkaz intended when he pushed her to her knees.  She reached up with shaking hands to untie his pants, and then pulled him down to free his cock.

The sight of the twisted grey slab of flesh made her gasp.  Is this what it looks like?  Well, an orc one anyway.  I know human ones are different.  She tried to think about it clinically but as the thick cock dangled before her, as she smelled the musky scent, as she finally reached out and touched the turgid meat her thoughts were anything but clinical.  Her body continued to grow hotter and hotter as she stroked it upside down.

“It’s magnificent, my chief.”  She murmured.  You can do this Brigitte.  She finally mustered up the courage to lift the cock to her lips.  She wrapped them around the slanted tip and pushed forward, guiding her mouth down the corkscrewed path to take the first few ridges in her mouth.  She probed the underside experimentally, lapping up and down with her tongue.

“Heh, I can see you’re eager, slut, but this is for my enjoyment, not yours.  Let’s get a move on, shall we?”  Markoz grinned down at her and stroked her hair, before he pulled her further down his cock.

“Ulk!”  Brigitte coughed as she suddenly found the tip of the orc’s cock slamming against the back of her throat.  She reached out to grasp the root in her hands, holding it steady in a soft grip as she worked her lips around its girth.  She started massaging his cock, stroking it up and down clumsily.  Her sucking was awkward and unpracticed, a fact that Markoz was quick to pick up on.

“Don’t tell me that you’re a virgin?  A virgin princess wandering into the March to try and bargain with orcs?”  He bellowed out another throaty laugh, and then pulled his cock out of her mouth and rubbed it against her cheek.  “How did you think this was going to turn out?”

“Like this.  I had no illusions, Chief Markoz.  I knew I would end up your slave.  Haven’t I proven myself eager?”  She turned her head into the cock, and nuzzled it against her face.  “It seems a fair exchange, especially for you.  You get an eager slave, great treasure, and more captives than you’ll ever need.”

Markoz’s face turned into a leering grin.  “And you get all the orc cock you can swallow, is that it?”

Brigitte took a deep breath and looked up at him, straight in the eyes.  “Look on the bright side, my chief, you get to train me however you like.”

The orc laughed again, louder this time.  “Still have all the answers?  You’re reminding me why I plugged that mouth of yours in the first place.”  Still, there was some affection in his eyes as he looked down at her.  “But you’re not skilled enough for my dick yet.”  He shifted his gaze to the second orc.  “What about you Bakrush?  Feel like getting your dick wet?”

“Always, chief!”  Bakrush responded eagerly, already pulling his pants down and freeing his cock.

“This is important, princess, so listen closely.”  Markoz bent down close to Brigitte’s ear.  “There will be many orcs looking for your attention.  Some may even say they have my permission.  But that permission must come from my lips-only from my lips, is that understood?”

“Yes Markoz.”  Brigitte nodded her understanding, in a way even grateful that he was attentive enough to look out for her that way.

“Good.  Now, suck Bakrush’s dick.  Practice your skills, my slutty princess-slave, while I claim my right to your body.”  Markoz picked Brigitte up and spun her around to face Bakrush and then positioned himself behind her.

Brigitte’s spine stiffened as she felt the sopping wet cock pressing against her folds.  This is it.  She quickly pushed the tension and worry from her mind.  It’s not about me, she reminded herself, remember his instructions.  Be amusing but obedient.  Make him see the wisdom, of my plan.

Distracting her nervousness at losing her virginity to the orc could only last so long.  When Bakrush rubbed the slanted tip of his cock against her mouth and Markoz began sliding his shaft inside her she was forcibly brought back into the reality of the situation.  Her ordered and disciplined thoughts were washed away in the wave of new sensations that tore through her body.

Brigitte’s lips parted around a cock for the second time in her life.  She sucked it eagerly, forcefully, almost bracing against it as she felt the walls of her pussy stretch around the thick girth of Markoz’s shaft.  She winced in pain as his cock lodged deep inside her.  “Nng!”

“Ah, that’s nice and tight, princess.  It’s done now, my dear, you’re mine.  I’ve claimed you.”  Markoz grunted in pleasure as he started to move his hips, pumping slowly in and out of her as he gave her a chance to adjust.

“Be careful with those teeth, slut,” Bakrush said, “this is supposed to be a reward.”  Still, the orc snorted in pleasure as he felt the young human princesses’ mouth work around his shaft, inexperienced though she was.

“Mmmph!”  Brigitte groaned around the dick in her mouth as the chief’s cock began to move faster.  Not faster, she realized, easier!  I’m moistening for him!  The thought shocked her, but honestly she was glad: having her body respond in this way would lubricate her and reduce the pain and discomfort.

The growing arousal in her loins led her to get more enthusiastic with Bakrush’s dick.  She started to move her head up and down the orc’s twisted cock.  “Mmm…”  She moaned softly as she ran her tongue along the corkscrewed path.  It’s actually not that bad, she thought, the taste kind of grows on you.

Her hips began moving as well: soft little movements, gently rising and falling as she pushed herself into the chief’s dick.  The walls of Brigitte’s cunt hugged the ridges tightly, conforming to its shape and girth.  The tight pressure the invading member created began to feel even better than before, and her pleasure grew to even greater heights than before.

“Heh, that’s it princess, move those hips.  Get into it.  You’ll need that enthusiasm to survive the days ahead.”  Markoz grunted in satisfaction and began to move his own hips faster, picking up the pace.  She was responding even faster than he had expected, which boded well.  Her cunt felt so good around his dick he didn’t know how much longer he could last. 

Not that he had any particular reason to hold out; he had all the time in the world to enjoy his newest woman.  He began to move even faster, clapping his hips against her backside as he rammed all the way inside her.  The tip of his dick hammered against her cervix and as she moved quicker beneath him he slapped his hand against her round ass.  “That’s it lass, keep moving.  Don’t forget to keep sucking though, you must do both at once.”

“Yeah, don’t forget that!”  Bakrush seconded.  He stroked through Brigitte’s hair, enjoying the silky texture of it.  He enjoyed her silky lips around his cock even more though, and as she moved her head up and down the shaft he responded with his own thrusts.  Bakrush met each and one every one of her movements with his own, breathing faster and harder as his arousal grew.

Brigitte shook her head, signaling that she wouldn’t forget.  She placed both hands on his hips and began bobbing up and down deeper onto his cock.  The tip hit the back of her throat, making her eyes water.  But she continued to throw herself into her labor.  Her body was flush with pleasure, and her mind swam.  It felt better than she had imagined it would be.  No wonder the Queen of Zentara went mad!

Bakrush pulled his dick from her mouth and began to stroke it furiously, and a moment later rewarded her efforts with a thick load of creamy cum onto her face.  Spurt after spurt of the gooey globs splattered on her parted lips, and drenched her face and hair as he emptied his balls onto her.  “Ah, that’s a good look for you girl, I wish you could see it.  I’m sure you’ll get another chance though!  Hah!”

The princess, former princess, panted for breath, desperately filling her lungs as the pleasure inside her built to a pitch from Markoz’s movements.  She threw herself back to him, trying to take his cock as deep inside her as possible.  “Ah! Aaah ah!”

“Get ready for it, I’m about to fill you up, girl.  You’ll be bearing another of my kids before long.”  Markoz gripped her tightly by the waist and pulled her back hard, slamming himself all the way inside her.  He grunted deeply and then released himself, blasting her cervix with his cum.  His dick pulsed inside her as he shot more and more of the virile seed directly into her fertile depths.

His words triggered a cascade of images in her mind.  She saw herself naked, surrounded by orcs.  Getting taken by all of them.  She saw her sex filled with orc seed and then swollen with child.   “Aaah! Mmm!  Aaaah!”  Brigitte cried out again as she finally climaxed and the sweet pleasure that had been building finally released and rippled through her.  She twitched and spasmed, squirming on his cock as she pushed back tightly against him.

After several long moments, her climax receded and her mind returned.  It happened.  I’ve been taken by an orc.  I’m committed now, there’s no turning back.

Markoz slid out of her, pulled up his pants, and then looked at Bakrush.  “Grab her horse, let’s get her back to camp.”  He gave her a leer.  “Don’t bother getting dressed, we’ll find something more suitable for you soon enough.”