The Chained Maiden: Bound by Hope

by Ian Rodgers

  “Rather rude fellow,” Ain muttered, recalling the dismissiveness of Durmod’s greeting.

  “You’ve been spoiled by my bright and kind personality,” Dora snarked. “Out here, that guy’s attitude is the norm. Dismissive, bitter, and suspicious towards outsiders. And it’s worse for us because Durmod no doubt dislikes being used as a stepping stone for our own needs. Caravan bosses are like that. I know Scarrot was, when Reed asked him to do things he didn’t want to do.”

  “So, we have an antisocial orc as our guide. What could go wrong?” Enrai joked.

  “Stop tempting fate! It’s bad enough out here in the Dreadlands without idiots asking the gods to make things worse!” Dora admonished, slapping the back of his head in anger.

  Their by-play seemed to attract some attention as they reached the grove of tents, all set up in a circle around a number of empty wagons and cages. The Greysliver Caravan’s crew members all watched, amused, as Dora berated Enrai. One of them, another orc but taller and with darker green skin than Durmod, stepped forward to greet them.

  “Well, well, well, so these are our little guests for the trip down to the jungle,” the orc said with a drawl.

  “If you have any comments about how we don’t look tough enough to roll with your crew, save it, we already heard that talk from your boss,” Dora said, interrupting him. A frown flashed across the orc’s tusked face, before he leered at the Healer.

  “Hey, pretty thing. You should know, I’m the second in command around here. If you want a pleasant journey, you need to stick with me. Otherwise, who knows how uncomfortable the trip might become?”

  Dora stared at him, an unreadable expression on her face. She then turned to Enrai, who had a scowl as he glared at the orc.

  “Enrai. Break him.”

  The Monk blinked in surprise as he turned to the half-orc. “Really?”

  “Really, really. Show him who’s the actual boss around here.”

  A wide, unsettling grin split the Qwanese man’s face, and the next thing anyone knew, the tall orc was flat on his back ten feet away, a tent collapsing around him.

  As the rest of the Greysliver Caravan watched in muted astonishment, Dora strode over to where the second in command had fallen and, with a display of strength, dragged his semi-conscious body back into the middle of the area. She then proceeded to heal him, fixing his broken ribs and concussion with practiced ease.

  As the wannabe bully groaned and staggered to his feet, Dora was already back at Enrai and Ain’s side, arms folded.

  “Nice to meet you all. I’m Dora. This is Enrai, and the elf is Ain,” she said calmly, introducing herself and her friends as if one of them hadn’t laid out the biggest member of their crew in a single blow. “Hopefully we all can get along. Will one of you show us where to put our horses and set up our own tents?”

  One of the men, a half-orc with pale green skin similar to Dora’s own hue, walked forward and inclined his head politely. “I am Surd. Your horses can stay with ours over here, and I’m sure we can find some space for your tents near mine. Welcome aboard the Greysliver Caravan.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Real-Second-In-Command,” Dora responded cheerfully. Surd nodded, a pleased smirk on his face she had figured out the trick.

  “What gave it away?”

  “First off, the right hand of a caravan boss never stoops to intimidating the new guys. They delegate that task to the biggest and meanest of the group. Secondly, you were watching the whole thing play out with a sharper, more calculative gleam in your eyes. Proof you’re used to looking closer at different topics and people, a good trait for anyone tasked with relaying orders and running things when the boss isn’t around,” Dora explained. The male half-orc grinned like a shark at her words, and with a parody of a gentlemen’s bow, escorted the trio towards a space for their tents.

  “Wait, this was all just a show?” Enrai asked, confused as they were led around.

  “A display of power. Common among caravan crews who trawl the Cracked Land. If you can’t pull your own weight, then you are dead weight. It’s a test to see if you’re either strong enough to stand up for yourself, or smart enough to keep your head down and listen to orders,” Surd revealed. “Miss Dora saw that immediately and performed brilliantly. I highly doubt anyone is going to bother you three much. Well, except maybe the elf. He didn’t do anything.”

  “So, they’ll test me next? Bring it on,” Ain declared confidently, and a few stray sparks of electricity danced around his fists.

  “Don’t hurt them too badly,” Surd asked, showing genuine concern for the safety of his men. Dora smiled comfortingly.

  “No matter how much Ain messes them up, as long as they aren’t dead I can bring them back to full health,” she assured him.

  A frown spoke of how little the male half-orc thought of that, but couldn’t argue against it, either. He decided to wave it off, and spent a few minutes explaining what the Greysliver Caravan did, and what the trio’s roles would be.

  Dora would, of course, be assigned to healing anyone who got hurt, as well as tending to the animals when they became tired or injured. The Monk and Spellsword were put on what half-orc affectionate called ‘Grunt Duty.’ Doing basically any heavy or tedious manual labor the rest of the caravan crew didn’t want to do.

  Their jobs given, Surd left them to set up their tents alone. He had other tasks to see to, and couldn’t keep an eye on them all day. Which left the trio alone to do their thing. And complain.

  “Now, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great we’re surrounded by a bunch of men who’d love to kick the shit out of us but now know they can’t, but do either of you think this trip is going to be a pain?” Enrai asked, an almost petulant whine in his voice.

  “Stop complaining! Gods, you’re as bad as an elf sometimes,” Dora groaned, ignoring the indignant ‘Hey!’ from Ain.

  “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. But this is the plan we’ve got, and the best one we’ve thought of on top of that. It’ll only be… I wanna say three weeks… yeah, about three weeks of traveling with the Greysliver group. Then we’ll be on our own again. So, suck it up!”

  “I share a portion of Enrai’s concern,” Ain admitted after a moment of silence. “What’s to stop Durmod from breaking his promise? He’s a slaver, don’t forget! He might be peddling salt right now, but the three of us would be prime slaves. We should stay alert.”

  “And risk angering Reed?” Dora asked with a scoff. “He might not be a Tower Lord, but he is a feared and renowned man in the Cracked Land. Not to mention there is his secret patron, whose evil puts the rulers of Annod Bol to shame! No, trying to go back on his word would be foolish. Durmod will get us to the Sprawling Jungle safely.”

  She then tapped her chin thoughtfully. “And, believe it or not, there is some degree of honor out here in the Cracked Land. Caravans don’t prey on other caravans, even if they’re down on their luck.”

  “‘Honor amongst thieves,’ huh? Well, if you say so, I’ll trust you on this matter,” the Grand Elf said, though his voice conveyed his skepticism.

  Enrai reached over and slapped Ain companionably on the shoulder. “Ah, don’t worry! If they do try to turn against us, we can just wipe out their whole caravan! I mean, I highly doubt they’re capable of containing all three of us! I’m a Master Monk, the youngest in centuries! And you’re a Spellsword, trained by an X-ranked adventurer! And Dora! Well, um, she has magic! And can control slave collars and stuff! No way we’re getting caught by these chumps!”

  “You seemed to hesitate for a moment there while trying to think up reasons why I wouldn’t get caught,” Dora said with a pout.

  “Ah! I didn’t mean it that way! I just meant you’re not really strong! No, wait, I mean…!” Enrai panicked, trying to soothe the Healer’s bruised ego. It didn’t work as well as he’d hoped, however, as Dora’s expression continued to darken.

  Ain stepped in quickly, placing a calming hand on the Monk’s shoulder. “S
top. Just… stop. You’re digging yourself deeper into a hole with every word you utter.”

  Enrai let up, head bent in shame. Dora simply glared at him before snorting and looking away.

  “Set up my tent and I might forgive you.”

  The Qwanese Monk latched onto that request and began putting Dora’s tent up first. As he worked, Ain nodded towards Dora with a carefully controlled smirk.

  “Good job. I was almost convinced myself you were actually angry.”

  Dora turned to him with a sharp, knowing grin of her own. “Who says I’m not?”

  Ain stared at her for a moment before shivering in terror.

  ‘Women,’ he thought to himself, recalling the times his own sister had done similar tricks to him.

  The Grand Elf was very careful not to say his comment aloud, though. He, unlike Enrai, knew when to keep his mouth shut around irate females.

  So, he began to pitch his own tent, wondering what the next few days would bring.

  Chapter 12: Traveling the wilds

  True to Durmod’s words, the Greysliver Caravan only stuck around the Weeping Outpost for a single day, staying just long enough to grab the trading goods, a few supplies, and a single night on the town for the crew.

  There was a general amount of grumbling in the ranks of the caravan at that. From what Dora overheard, the Greysliver Caravan often stayed a whole week in one place, haggling for better deals and letting the men carouse to their heart’s content. However, Reed’s request meant they didn’t get their usual time off. Sure, they got a small bonus pay for the trouble, but that didn’t stop the muttered complaints, glares, or general unfriendliness sent the trio’s way.

  Dora didn’t care. At all. Their displeasure meant nothing to her. Same with Ain and Enrai. The aloofness the group of outsiders displayed only fueled more of the Greysliver Caravan’s animosity, but any attempts to trip the trio up or mess around with them were stopped harshly and quickly by the Monk and Spellsword. Dora had healed about half of the crew of the caravan by the time they departed the next morning.

  “Some of the men looked rather ragged this morning,” Durmod commented as the wagons and horses got underway, creaking and clacking their way across the grey dirt roads as they departed from the Outpost.

  “Just a little bit of rough housing. Boys will be boys, regardless of race or species,” Dora had said, laughing it off. Durmod grunted in agreement at that. He then frowned at the half-orc, and gave her a knowing look.

  “Try to keep your escorts under control. You healed up the injuries they made, but I would prefer it if they did not cause any in the first place.”

  Dora bristled at the way he’d described her friends as ‘escorts,’ having clearly heard and understood the meaning the orc was using. She forced herself to remain calm. A prickly orc Durmod might have been, but it was still his caravan, and she was his guest.

  “I shall endeavor to do so,” the green-skinned Healer replied evenly. Durmod grunted, accepting the non-committal answer.

  For a few more hours, the ride was quiet. Most of the men were still sore, mentally if not physically, about having their butts whooped by the outsiders, so conversation was sparse. Enrai was meditating in the saddle, somehow, and Ain was watching their surroundings like a hawk.

  That left Dora bored and desiring stimulation. After thinking it over she edged her steed over to Surd.

  “What is the border town like?” Dora asked. He raised an eyebrow at her question.

  “It’s a town. On the border. Not much else to say,” he said, confused.

  “No! I mean, who runs it? Who do we talk to if we want to stay somewhere? Where do you go from the town to reach the jungle?” Dora said in exasperation.

  “Oh, that’s what you meant,” Surd said with a slow, understanding nod, followed by a wink. Dora stared at the other half-orc and growled, realizing he had been teasing her.

  “Well, you see, the border towns along the edge of the Sprawling Jungle technically belong to the orcs. They run them and control them based on their own laws and customs. And most of them pay homage and tribute to the city-state of Graz Tur Yenod, the sole orcish nation in the Dreadlands,” Surd explained. “Of course, this is partly lip service, since the distance between the city-state and the border is quite far, and it doesn’t have all that much ability to enforce its will on distant regions quite yet.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard about, um, Grass Tour You Nod?” Dora stammered, trying to sound out the unfamiliar words.

  “Graz Tur Yenod. Or, in our mother tongue, ‘We do not bow.’ It is quite the sight. I’ve only been there once, but it was an impressive city all the same. It has a distinctly orcish style despite being modeled after Varian architecture,” Surd said. “It overlooks the Agate Sea from the Fang Peninsula, and is a busy trading port. It houses the only temple ever dedicated to our god, Grendal, and also contains a vast number of orcs who study and learn like Orrians. A few humans even live there as well, helping the nation come together.”

  “They don’t follow any of the Second Elfish Domain’s styles or teachings?” Dora inquired, surprised. The Domain was the closest nation to the Dreadlands, aside from Saluda, and should have had some manner of trade or contact with the orcs.

  Surd barked out a laugh at that. “After the War of Tusks, you should be glad they even allow elves into the jungle, instead of killing them on sight. No, us orcs prefer to be friends with humans instead. Sure, they’re greedy, and think they know best, but they do have some neat ideas here and there, and are much more agreeable than an elf to spend time with.”

  “I take it orcs don’t like elves?” Dora said weakly. Surd laughed again.

  “You really know nothing! Hilarious!” the half-orc crowed. Dora frowned as she was mocked.

  “You’re right, I don’t know much. I was born outside of the Dreadlands,” she said with a hint of steel in her tone.

  “Heh, alright, lady, let me drop some knowledge on you so you don’t embarrass yourself or get killed out in the Sprawling Jungle,” Surd replied after he wiped away a tear of mirth from the corner of his eyes. His expression immediately turned serious, and Dora was taken aback by the sudden shift.

  “Orcs hate elves. That is a fact of life. And the reason for that is the War of Tusks. Tell me, what do you know about it?” the male half-orc inquired.

  Dora furrowed her brow as she thought. “Um, not much. I only know it was a large conflict between the indigenous tribes of the Sprawling Jungle and the Second Elfish Domain that took place about two thousand years ago.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, in broad strokes at least. See, the elves weren’t satisfied with just conquering Orria. They wanted the Dreadlands too. But the Cracked Land held little of worth to warrant dispatching an army, and Saluda was too far away, even for their forces to occupy. That left the hot, sweltering jungle inhabited by primitive, green colored barbarians,” Surd sneered as he recounted the history lesson. “So, the elves came, and they immediately began to pillage, enslave, and destroy. Just like they’d done to the humans. One orc stood up and resisted, however. Bolg Boartusk, the chieftain of a minor clan, who rallied the other weakened tribes into a large guerilla fighting force.”

  “It was bloody. Atrocities occurred on both sides,” Surd growled. “And the war was going poorly for the orcs. Until the humans back in Orria had had enough as well. A war of their own erupted in Varia when the elves foolishly executed Princess Liliana Ar-Varia, turning her into the Martyred Saintess. Her brother, known now as Savior-King Cyan Ar-Varia, led a rebellion which eventually drove the elves out of Orria completely.”

  He smirked. “And that victory had more consequences than you can imagine. While the elves were scrambling to resist the humans, they also had to contend with the orcs in the jungles tying up their supply lines. The orcs also drove the elves out of the Dreadlands.”

  Then Surd’s face took on a furious scowl. “But those knife-eared glurk retaliated by using a spell to burn do
wn a huge swathe of land as they retreated, which ended up spreading wildly and killing a large number of orc women and children who been hiding to avoid being dragged into the conflict. That is why the orcs hate elves. Invaders and despoilers. Everything they touch dies. No orc will willingly give shelter to one, and some of the Inner Tribes, who cling to the past and refuse to modernize, will gleefully murder any elf who steps into their territory.”

  He then smiled at Dora with a wide, fake grin. “Have fun with that!”

  With a snap of the reins, Surd rode his horse a bit further ahead, leaving Dora with a stunned expression on her face.

  She looked back over her shoulder at Ain, who, by all accounts, was still busy with staring at their surroundings, ignorant of the conversation that had just happened. She however knew his hearing was better than most assumed, even with his longer ears, and the tiniest amount of tension on his face betrayed he had heard what the vice-leader of the caravan had been saying.

  Dora sighed and rubbed a palm over her eyes, resisting the urge to use magic to deal with an oncoming headache.

  ‘I’ll just have to talk to him when we make camp this evening,’ she decided, and focused on nothing in particular as the day wore on.

  ∞.∞.∞

  When the sun began to set, the Greysliver Caravan called it a day, and settled down near a small mud puddle that was apparently a local oasis.

  “We have more mud than actual water around here. The closer we get to the Sprawling Jungle, the more splashes of dirty water you’ll see,” Durmod said with his usual gruff tone. “Horses don’t mind it, though. Which is good for us as it saves the clean stuff for us.”

  Dora looked leery at letting the horses drink from the mud pit. She didn’t argue though, and spent some time tending to them, checking their hooves for bits of gravel, and their bodies for signs of injuries.