The Chronicles of Onyx Book Two - Fight of a Hero

Chapter Six

The Orc complained like a bratty child, a constant stream of complaints that wouldn't subside. His voice grated on her nerves. To her, this endless nagging felt like a test of her patience, a cruel twist of fate for a being whom drowned herself in compassion for fellow kindred. As a druidess she seeked light in the face of darkness, often envisioning herself as a peaceful figure. Yet here she was, her altruism stretched to its breaking point by this deranged beast's constant whining.

At times, she fantasized about silencing him with a decisive punch to his throat, a thought she quickly dismissed.

She had the Orc's hands bound together in front of him with thick, vine-like ropes, as she led him through the dense thicket of the forest. Each tug on the cord tightening the knot securing the Orc's hands. Causing even more bickering. Suddenly she felt a resistance on the line—the Orc had stopped. Irritation bubbled within her, and as a price of the Orc's reluctance to cooperate she yanked the rope sharply, causing him to lose his balance and tumble face-first into a puddle of muddy water.

The sound of his groan was almost satisfying, a small but significant act of retribution. She heard him push himself up slowly, his voice tinged with the bitterness of a spoiled child.

"Ugh. You could at least try to get me to her alive, you know!" he snapped with a sharp tongue.

She turned around with narrowed eyes, her patience fraying at the edges. "It's just a little mud. You'll live."

Wiping the mud from his face with a scowl, the Orc muttered, "On my face." with dissatisfaction lacing his voice.

She couldn't help the smirk that tugged at her lips. "Oh please, your kin practically bathes in it."

He glared up at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of annoyance and frustration. "You have no idea what you're doing. You think this is some kind of game?"

Her smirk faded, replaced by cold glare. "This is not a game. I have a purpose here, and it's not to coddle you."

She glanced at his now-muddied face, noting how the golden tusks had dulled from the filth and how the brown water left stains as it slid off his skin. With a sigh of exasperation, she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and tossed it at him. "Clean up," she hissed through clenched teeth.

The orc snapped the handkerchief out of the air with his bound hands, his movements a mix of frustration and grudging compliance.

"Why do you care about how I look?" he grumbled, attempting to wipe away the grime.

"I don't," she replied tersely. "But if you want to maintain some semblance of dignity while you're in my custody, you'll have to make an effort."

The orc shot her a defiant look but began to clean his face, the act of wiping away the mud doing little to alleviate his frustration.

Upon finishing he threw the contaminated piece of cloth into the pool of water and stomped it in the ground. Splashing the murky water back up on himself.

"Well, I see you'll never change" she responded dryly as she watched the event unfold before her. In truth she had expected him to throw a tantrum. Turning away she tugged at the rope once more, only this time with renewed vigor, before resuming her pace. The Orc stumbled along behind her, the mud splattering with every step, his frustration palpable. She could sense the storm of emotions roiling within him—anger, resentment, and a grudging sense of defeat.

Soon we can part ways. She reminded herself.

-ooooo-

As they reached a small clearing a meadow greeted them, with grasses so tall a horse could go unnoticed for several days, even if its rider were searching for it.

"Are you sure we are going the right way, Orc?" she sighed, having little to no trust in the Orc's given directions.

"For starters, I have a name you antlered Elf!"

She narrowed her Emerald eyes until they were merely slits, "Excuse me for not having trust in you" She said in a slow and deliberate tone.

He rolled his Obsidian eyes, "Yes—this is the right way"

She reached for her side, slowly unsheathing the Orc's blade from which she had carried for the time being.

Holding out in the sun's rays the cursed blade's edge glistened like tears caught in firelight.

"Your blade–" she started, never breaking away her gaze from it as she turned it over in her grasp, "was created by her, yes?" she asked with a demanding tone.

The Orc never gave a response, perhaps he was too attached to this material item that he couldn't tolerate seeing it in the possession of one such as her. Regardless, she knew the answer, and even as the distant thought of welding such darkness mocked the very essence of her being. She also knew she had a way of finding this Raven if the Orc proved to be a natural disappointment like the rest of his kindred had demonstrated to be in the past.

"Very well then Orc" she said, finally shoving the sword back into its leather confinement; to which returning her Jaded gaze back onto her prisoner before finishing her thought.

"Lead the way"