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Nothing makes sense. Where am I? How am I not dead? I try to sit up, but pain shoots through me and steals my strength. I groan involuntarily, my vision whiting out, and fall, when strong arms catch me and slowly lower me back into my bedding.
“Easy now,” an alluring and smoky voice says. “It’s not time for you to wake yet. You still have much healing to do.”
A healer then? Did I somehow survive the orcress’ blow? Am I still at Fort Attis? No, that can’t be. There are no caves at Fort Attis. My vision is still gone as the healer lays me back. I feel healing magic flow into my chest, soothing the pain and allowing my whited-out and blurred vision to come back.
With my eyes open, I seek my savior and am shocked. Before me is an orcress. Not any orcress, but the one from my memories. The one who stabbed me!
“You!” I gasp out and try to jerk back. But my muscles are weak from disuse, and she easily holds me down, keeping me in place.
“Me,” she agrees, grimacing lightly. “Stay still or you will open your wound again.”
My first reaction is to disobey. I am obviously the prisoner of the orcs, and the first duty of a captured soldier is to resist and escape. But her words also make sense. I can’t escape if I’m dead.
So, I warily let myself sink into the bedroll. It’s a rough resting place, just a blanket over a pile of leaves. I can hear the crinkle of the foliage crushing as I lay back. What kind of holding is this for prisoners? I can’t see the entrance to the cave from my vantage point, nor any other captured soldiers. I am unbound, with no ropes or chains to hold me in position. Perhaps they figure I am not a flight risk, injured as I am. But why save me in the first place? I know the orcress struck a death blow. I could feel it when her knife sunk in. Why are they wasting resources to keep me alive? It makes no sense.
“Where am I?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. Captors have no reason to answer a captive’s questions after all.
The orcress surprises me by placing a hand on my chest. Healing magic enters me again, soothing the ache of my wound and lulling me into relaxing further. She says, “We are in a cave. I believe your people would say that it’s in the Deep Wood.”
The Deep Wood? The one that surrounds Fort Attis? Why are the orcs holding here? If the fort has fallen, they should push their advantage and head north. Unless they already have and have just left the prisoners behind.
The orcress’ hand leaves my chest, and I am feeling better than I have since I awoke. I am tempted to try to sit up again, but think better of it. Something tells me that the healing won’t last if I move too much.
“How long have I been asleep?” I ask, pressing my luck since the orcress seems to be in an answering mood.
“About a month.”
“Amonth?” I repeat incredulously. Perhaps that is why there are no other prisoners. They must have already been moved to Orikeshwork camps. The country has no doubt fallen to the orcish onslaught. And my sister . . .
“What have you done to the queen?” I demand. “What have you done with Adalind?”
The orcress goes very still and then looks at me deliberately. There’s something hard in her eyes and very much like suspicion. “Why do you care?” she finally asks. “Is she your lover?”
I sputter, feeling a little sick at the question. “She’s my sister! Please, just tell me what they have done with her.”
That seems to bring the orcress up short and when she looks at me again, there’s pity mixed into her gaze. “I don’t know,” she responds. “But last I heard, they were not planning on letting her live.”
Pain slices through me again, this time in my heart. Adalind, dead? But wait, why is the orcress speaking as if she doesn’t know? She was with their king when they broke through our defenses, side by side with their top generals. She must be very high ranking, so why doesn't she know what has happened to Adalind?
“Who are you?” I ask, not caring that I sound belligerent. If they have indeed hurt my sister, then we are still enemies, no matter if she is healing me or not.
“I am Dura,” she responds, though she doesn't expound on her clan or rank.
The name seems familiar, a hazy echo in the back of my mind. “Have you told me this before?” I demand.
“Many times,” she returns, turning away from me and moving toward the glow of the fire. “You never remember in the heat of your fevers.”
I do not feel fevered now, my mind clear, even as I am confused. Every piece of information she so willingly hands me only brings up more questions.
“Where are my men? Where are the other prisoners?”
“I don’t know where your men are, though when I left the fort it did not appear that there were going to be many prisoners.”
“Whenyouleft? You are no longer with the orcs?”
The orcress visibly flinches at my question, as if my words are painful to her. She turns around again, bringing a cup of steaming liquid toward me. “No,” she answers curtly before tilting my head up and bringing the cup to my lips. “I am not with the other orcs anymore.”
I take a sip of what she’s offering me, not that I am left with much choice not to. It’s a broth of some sort, bitter and herbaceous without enough salt. But I feel the warmth seep into my weakened limbs and nutrients fill my bloodstream. I eagerly take another sip and another until the cup is empty.
