When Erestor regained consciousness, he was suffering a sore neck. What was more, when he tried to rub it, he could not seem to move his arms. Either death was more painful than he had anticipated, or he had not been so lucky. He looked around to see a floor, and a wall, and his feet. He wiggled his toes, coughed, and figured he was somewhat alive. With a groan, he managed to turn his head and struggle up onto his knees. His arms were heavy, stretched out to either side, and tied to a yoke, ropes around his shoulders, elbows, and wrists. The wood was pressing painfully into the back of his neck, and bowing his head was the only way to relieve the pain. He saw now that of all of his clothing, the only item that remained was his slightly torn up loin cloth.
A grubby hand grabbed hold of his hair and forced him to look up. The pain bit into him, and temporarily he felt blinded. When his vision cleared, he found he was in Verdev’s chambers – or at least, what had become Verdev’s chambers. There were four guards lined up behind the orc lord, each of them holding a spear at the ready, and while many of the fine paintings and sculptures which had always been in this room still remained, added were spoils of war from other regions, as well as a large painting of Verdev himself.
“Why do you feel the need to test me?” Verdev picked up an ornate crystal pitcher and poured a glass of water for himself into a matching goblet. “Are you stubborn, or stupid, or a little of both?”
Erestor said nothing, glaring with as much malice as he could muster.
“Stupid little elf thinks he can sneer me to death.” The orcs behind Verdev chuckled, their evil laughter echoing off the walls. “I wonder how fast you will run now.” Verdev sipped his water, then splashed the rest into Erestor’s face. The elf coughed, blinking water from his eyes and blowing it from his nose. It ran down his chin and dribbled onto the floor as he listened to the continuous laughter around him.
Verdev took up one of the spears held by a guard. “Get up,” growled the orc lord.
When Erestor did not respond, Verdev nodded to the guard who no longer held a weapon. The nameless orc stepped forward and roughly yanked Erestor to his feet.
“When I- give- you- a command- you- will- listen!” Each word from Verdev was punctuated by the sound of the spear whistling through the air and cracking Erestor across his exposed back and shoulders. The wood continued to strike him, and while it did not create any fresh wounds, the scrapes and scratches from the tiger which had dulled now burned, and he stumbled back down onto one knee.
Verdev kicked Erestor in the small of his back, causing the elf to lose balance completely. His cheek hit the floor so hard that one tooth chipped and another cut open the inside of his cheek. “Take him back to the dungeon – let his friends know they will all be whipped if his bonds are removed.”
A moment later, Erestor was pulled up by his hair. He felt the blindness again, and stumbled forward as he was poked in the back by a spear. With his eyes still closed, he attempted to make it through the doorway, but the yoke stalled him. He tripped backwards upon impact, his arms stinging from where they had smacked into the doorway. He managed to open one eye as a hand gruffly pulled him up by the hair again. A headache was quickly being added to the list of items ailing him.
“Get through there!” barked the orc behind him, who was none other than Furog. The spearpoint poked into his skin and was cruelly twisted, purposely shoved into a wound made by the tiger.
Too tired and sore to argue or offer any snarky remarks, Erestor moved sideways so that he could make it through the doorway. He had to walk sideways, and almost fell down the steps had it not been for another orc in the hallway yanking him back.
The trek across the courtyards was an ordeal as well. While random orcs shoved and pushed him, others taunted him with insults and curses. Sometimes they would trip him, and when he fell, the orc charged with returning him to the dungeon was merciless. Eventually, the torment lessened when the door to the dungeon was kicked open.
It was an extraordinary feat as Erestor made it down the stairs, stumbling once or twice as he twisted and turned in strange ways in order to reach the bottom. Every time he thought he was about to fall, the orcs behind him would grab hold of the yoke to steady him. Once he was in the dungeon, the orcs worried less about him falling or tripping, and in fact kicked him down numerous times when he came into view of the other prisoners. “You all see this piece of shit here?” asked Furog. He shoved his foot into Erestor’s back, making him cough and sputter all over again, his mouth filling with blood from the cut in his mouth and a freshly split lip. “This is the reason none of you are being fed until your master changes his mind. Keep him in his bonds, or we whip you all in the morning.”
Furog slid his boot under Erestor’s stomach and flipped him over into the cell, which was securely locked. For emphasis, Furog spit onto Erestor’s face before shutting the door and cutting off the meager candlelight that usually lit the cell.
Four hours later, once everyone stopped asking questions of Erestor and had curled up to sleep, Erestor was looking for something sharp. A ragged metal edge, a piece of glass, anything. Eventually he felt his way along the stone wall enough to find a spot that was stuck out just a little more. Backing up against it, he began to rub the rope that was wound around his wrist back and forth against it. The angle was odd, further causing him to strain his whole body in order to manage it.
The rope, despite being cut through, also tightened around his wrist, making it sore, then tingle, then hang limp. Warm droplets slid down his arm, from the rope cutting into his skin and from splinters in the wood. The stone was rubbing his back and elbows raw, but a sudden loosening of his bonds brought out a relieved sigh.
His victory was short-lived. As Erestor slid down to the floor and shakily began to untie his other wrist, he heard a rustling from the other side of the room. There was barely any light coming in through the windows on account of an overcast night, but very little light was needed for them to see.
As it turned out, Erestor was not the only one awake. The commotion, though quiet as it might have been, was still enough to alert Ardinir that something was going on. He had watched from the shadows, and approached now as Erestor struggled with the bindings around his other arm. “What are you doing?” he hissed.
“Escaping. Attempting to, at least.” Erestor fought with the knotted rope. “Help me, will you?”
Slowly, Ardinir shook his head. “You heard Furog. If I help you- if any of us helps you- we might as well be as good as dead. They hit hard, you know. They do not care if they kill us, either. There are elves enough for them to find and enslave. I might not be living the best life, but at least I am alive.” Ardinir took hold of the yoke to steady it and rewound the rope around the empty side. “Sorry about this, Erestor, but you need to understand that I would expect you to do this to me if our roles were reversed.”
“What do you mean?” Erestor tried to move away, but his free elbow hit the wall behind him. He attempted to stand, but weakness caused his legs to give out. By then, Saeldan had joined Ardinir, and there was no conversation that needed to take place. Saeldan took hold of Erestor’s free arm. There was a bit of kicking and struggling, but eventually they managed to retie the ropes tighter than they had been the first time around before leaving Erestor in a heap on the floor.
Unforgivable by Zhie