[Firefoot]

Grimkul’s initial sulk at being captured had turned rapidly into a blazing glower at Kharn’s appearance. With every passing moment the long-kindled fire of his hatred burned closer and closer to out of control.

Presently, Kharn tugged at the rope around their waists. “Come on, deserting vermin. You've got a lot to explain, and let's make it nice and slow...” The single shred of sense that remained in Grimkul warned him not to attack with his back to the conversing officers. He followed Kharn grudgingly, hatefully, and Ulwakh sulked along beside him, bound so closely that there were but a couple scant inches between their shoulders.

All of Ulwakh’s being screamed at the unfairness of this all. He hadn’t even been planning on deserting! Or, rather, he wasn’t going to while there had been any chance of getting caught, which clearly there had been being that it was broad daylight and at least one captain was standing around! Simplified, he wasn’t supposed to have been caught at all. And the humiliation at being tugged around at the end of a rope! Just before raids, he had seen young lads treat their dogs so. Bitterly did he rue his dependence upon his fool of a companion. To make matters worse, he now realized he had left his pack back at camp. Some other Orc would have undoubtedly carried it off and looted it by the time they returned.

As they approached the tent, Kharn turned his head and sneered. “Quiet today, aren’t you? Not so fierce all tied up, are you? Into the tent, now.” Grimkul glowered; an angry red haze seemed to obscure his vision. Kharn wisely herded the pair inside ahead of himself.

The tent was a sparse, smelly thing, containing a worn pallet, two chairs, and a few odds and ends: a short length of rope, a pair of unneeded weapons, and some other unidentified objects. Kharn entered behind them and walked around to face them, a gleam of malice in his eye. He untucked a whip from his belt, swishing it around almost lazily; his other hand held a short dagger. “Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He walked around his captives, looking very much like a predator closing in for the kill. “Just to loosen your tongues…” He snapped the whip expertly to curl and sting about their legs, noting with especial interest Ulwakh’s tender calf. “Just what were you doing around the edges of camp, when clearly you should be here with your unit?” When neither answered immediately, he cracked the whip again.

Ulwakh made a split second decision, driven by the desire to survive. “It’s not how it looked – we weren’t trying to desert.” He felt the warning sting of the whip. “Grimkul here mostly just wondered if it could be done; he wasn’t actually going to do it – I already talked him out of it.”

“A likely cover-up,” spat Kharn, drawing back the whip with particular force.

“Wait! It’s true!” Ulwakh cried. “See, look – if I had really wanted to desert, wouldn’t I have brought my pack?”

Kharn scowled fiercely, but could not deny the truth of this statement. “Here’s for your insolence!” he snarled, and snapped the whip as hard as he could, drawing blood from both Orcs. “And why doesn’t the big one say anything? Not very bright, are you?” Grimkul had been building up and fueling his anger with every whip-crack, every condescending word. He couldn’t hold it in any longer; the last Orc who had questioned his intelligence had died within two heartbeats. Silently, for his fury transcended words, he swung about, balling his fist and drawing back for the punch in the same motion.

Things would have gone ill for Kharn had Grimkul not been roped so closely to Ulwakh, for Grimkul’s abrupt turn swung Ulwakh off his feet, knocking Grimkul off balance so that the heavy blow that would have bashed in Kharn’s skull instead glanced off, causing no more than a bruise and a headache. Kharn’s dagger-hand had jerked upwards in self-defense, scoring a deep cut in Grimkul’s inner forearm even as he collapsed in a heap on top of the falling Ulwakh.

Grimkul scrambled to get his feet beneath him, but before he could do so he felt a cold blade placed against his throat. “One false move and I’ll stick you with this,” hissed Kharn. “You could have had the easy way out, but I see that that just won’t work for you, will it? I’m going to have to tie your hands, now, I see. Now stand up nice and slow.” Chest heaving in fury, Grimkul did so, hauling Ulwakh’s aching body up with him. Ulwakh stood woozily, having felt every ounce of Grimkul’s sturdy frame come toppling down on him. He was short of breath and surprised not to feel any broken bones.

Through a series of commands which were obeyed by Grimkul only because of the cold blade pressed against his throat, Kharn managed to get Grimkul’s wrists tied. Only then did Kharn withdraw the dagger. He turned briefly to Ulwakh and sneered, “Too cowardly to desert, I bet. Now,” he turned his attention back to Grimkul, “were you or were you not trying to desert?”

“No,” growled Grimkul, “he already told you that.” Crack went the whip. Time upon time Kharn repeated the question, and each time Grimkul answered the same way, receiving a blow each time, to the legs, to the arms, anywhere there was exposed skin, both front and back. Grimkul didn’t care about the pain anymore; his fury drowned out all sensations other than its own. In fact, he took perverse pleasure in seeing Kharn’s mounting frustrations. Grimkul had long since lost count of his denials when he for once did not feel the biting sting of the whip, but the cut of a dagger – not deep, but cutting nevertheless. This time, he did howl both in pain and surprise. But no matter what, he wouldn’t give Kharn the satisfaction of knowing he had been about to desert. And then, when he did get away from this tent, he would – but first, Kharn was going to die.