The Orc King's Captive

When Queen Quolondra heard that
the walls had been breached, she refused to believe it.

"Impossible," she
said, leaning forward on the Ivy Throne. "They're orcs."

The messenger bowed his head,
but not without betraying a flicker of discomfort. "They have been...
armed, Queen Mother."

"Armed? With what?
Intelligence?"

The jape fell on deaf ears.
She'd just returned from successfully routing the orcs on the plains of the
Estril via the Archstone and had barely had time to change from her armor into
a dress before she'd been forced to call an assembly. The assembled councillors
were murmuring amongst themselves in an uncharacteristic state of agitation.

"Well, out with it. What
secret siege weapon have they brought to bear?"

"
Urtolothia
, My
Queen. The Ur stones."

The queen rose to her feet,
drawing everyone's attention. "That's impossible. The Ur stones have been
hidden."

Her chief advisor stepped
forward, clearing his throat. "It seems our enemies have conspired
together to secure these artifacts," he said smoothly. "Kerlok has
been treating with the Horned Ones for months now. Clearly their warlocks have
made more progress on that front than anticipated. It's of little importance.
The brutes will be dealt with."

She turned on the advisor.
"Dealt with? How? With soap?"

"My Queen—"

"They outnumber us ten to
one, Tolterian. I don't care if they're savages. Without our magic they'll
overrun the city. Why am I only hearing of this now?"

The smooth planes of the
advisor's face were expressionless, every hair of his long dark braid perfectly
precise. "We had no wish to disturb you, Your Excellence. Commanding the
troops on the Estril—"

Quolondra strode down the steps
of the dais and slapped him. The assembled councillors fell silent.

"Do you think I'm a
fool?" she said. She felt fire burning in her cheeks. She hadn't been this
angry in centuries.

The advisor retreated half a
step, placing his fingers lightly on his cheek. Being struck was a serious
affront, even coming as it did from the queen. He smiled down at her, but there
was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"I've dealt with traitors
before, Tolterian. I know your games."

She turned to her guards.
"Arrest him. I'll deal with him when—and if—we vanquish our
foes." She wondered how Mygamyl was faring. She'd sent the Master of
Flames to the wall upon hearing the news of the siege's progression but now she
missed his counsel. Having Kerlok's army breathing down their necks in a
year-long siege was one thing, but arming them with Ur stones supplied by a
traitor...

There was a sudden cracking boom
in the corridor outside the throne room, quickly followed by the sound of
crumbling stone. One of the inner walls had collapsed. Quolondra could see
billows of smoke rising from the courtyard below through the tall, ivy-trimmed
windows. Their enemies had made rapid progress. Too rapid. They had more than
Ur stones working in their favor. They had allies on the inside as well, easing
their passage. Only the guards at the palace gates seemed to have opposed them.

"Bring me my armor,"
she said, turning to her chief of staff.

"That won't be
necessary," said Tolterian.

She turned, surprised to hear
his voice. The guards she'd ordered to arrest him hadn't budged an inch. In
fact, the points of their halberds were now turned in her direction. She looked
at the others assembled in the throne room. None of them made any effort to
intervene.

"What is this... a
coup?" Quolondra raised her hand and uttered the word of binding.

She expected to feel the Elder
Power course through her, but the gesture had no effect.

Her bodyguards seized her by the
arms.

Tolterian chuckled, amused by
her confusion and alarm. He reached into his robe and drew out a small sphere
no bigger than a walnut. It looked like verdigrised bronze but a sickly black
haze seemed to emanate from it, making it difficult to look at.

"A wondrous thing," he
said, holding it up to the light. It seemed to drain the warmth and color from
the air around it, turning his emerald eyes the color of decayed flesh. "A
bit of stone with the power to render the Queen of the Elves as harmless as a
milkmaid."

Quolondra tried to shrug off the
guards, but they only tightened their grip. "You fool! What do you hope to
accomplish? Even if you hand me to the orcs, do you think they'll let you live?
They won't suffer an elf to sit on the Ivy Throne. Without your magic you're as
doomed as the rest of us."

Tolterian slipped the orb back
in his robe and gave Quolondra a tight smile. "Your concern is touching,
Queen Mother, but you don't need to worry about me. I've made all the necessary
arrangements."

There was a resounding boom on
the large double-doors. The orcs were using a battering ram. The doors shook
but held.

Tolterian made a quick gesture
to the chief of staff. "Bring her collar."

Quolondra struggled to free
herself, but she'd hand-picked the guards herself for their strength and
discipline. Without her magic, she was as helpless as a child. If Mygamyl were
here... but no, he'd be as helpless as she was. The mere presence of the Ur
stone was enough to strip them of their power.

The chief of staff brought over
a small, plain chest and unlocked it. Inside was a ring of Ur stone, fashioned
in the shape of a dog collar. Tolterian lifted it gingerly out of the bed of
silk, as if it were as delicate as glass. He clicked it open at the hinge and
then took a step toward her.

Quolondra tried to pull away but
Tolterian grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back, making her
wince.

He snapped the collar around her
neck, then he drew a small key from a pouch inside his robe and locked the
collar in place.

"So ends the reign of the
Queen," he said, placing the key back in its pouch. "I trust you'll
make the most of your new life as a slave. I dare say you'll be poorly
treated." He gestured at the others. "Chain her to the throne. Her
new master won't be pleased if he has to chase her around the room."

The doors rang again. This time
dust and bits of stone fell from the wall around the hinges. A large dent had
been made in the middle of the doors. It was only a matter of time, now.

Two more guards drew a long
chain from a chest and affixed it to her collar before attaching it to the
throne. The weight of the chain dragged on her. It was made of the same metal
as the collar.

"You'll regret your
treachery, Tolterian," she said, baring her teeth. Her heart was beating
in her chest like an angry hawk. It had been centuries since she'd known real
fear. She'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

"On the contrary. I imagine
you'll regret it much more than I will. Personally, I expect to enjoy the
fruits of my treachery for a very long time."

The doors to the throne room
buckled and the stone frame crumbled in a cloud of dust. There was a metallic
screech as the heavy metal portals tore from their hinges followed by a
thunderous clang as they crushed the marble. The delicate pillars supporting
the high, arched ceiling trembled.

Tolterian and the others
disappeared hastily through a secret door behind the throne, sealing it behind
them.

Quolondra cast her eyes desperately
around the throne room. She was alone.

––––––––

W
hen the dust settled, she saw
the vanguard of the invading army. A pair of massive, dull-witted ogres held
battering rams in their hands like wooden clubs, towering over the hordes of
savage-looking orcs. There must have been a hundred of the vile, hairy brutes
standing in the hall, and no doubt there were thousands more crawling over
every surface of Hylandryl.

I've failed,
thought
Quolondra.
My people are dead or dying and I am helpless to avenge them.

The orcish victory, though
sudden, hadn't been a painless one. Brightly feathered elvish arrows poked out
of the orcs' spiked, black-ring armor, and dark, purplish blood dripped from
countless wounds. Her people hadn't gone down without a fight. Even without their
magic, they'd left a bloody hand print on the enemy.

A tall orc at the front of the
vanguard advanced on her with an imperious stride. He was easily seven feet
tall, a full head and shoulders taller than Quolondra and five times her
weight. His breastplate bore a symbol: a pair of severed hands. It could only
be Kerlok, their leader.

The orc king stopped in front of
her, his helmet a snarling wolf mask frozen in black metal. He undid the strap
on his helm and pulled it gracelessly from his head, tossing it aside. It
clanged on the marble floor and rolled down the steps.

The face beneath the mask was,
if anything, even more bestial. Low, heavy brows; a short, up-turned snout;
silver-blue irises as cold and hard as metal, and a head of black hair as thick
as a mane.

"To what do I owe this
pleasure, Kerlok?" said the queen, openly expressing her disdain.

The orc king snorted, flexing
the muscles of his wide jaw and his jutting chin. He almost seemed disappointed
to find her helpless.

He took two steps forward and
slapped Quolondra in the face, sending her to her knees.

She felt her mouth fill with
blood. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to strike her.
The
great Queen of the Elves helpless to defend herself from a common thug,
she
thought, wiping her swollen lip.
Before Tolterian's treachery, I could have
incinerated his entire army.

The orc undid the belt for his
sword and let it fall with a clatter. Then he began to remove his breastplate,
loosening the straps with complacent languor.

What's this?
she
wondered.
He couldn't possibly...
She scurried backwards like a crab,
trying to put whatever distance she could between them.

The heavy steel plate dropped
with a bang, chipping the marble.

At the edge of the dais, she
felt the chain pull taut. She'd reached its limit.

Kerlok continued to remove
pieces of his armor, flinging each component aside indifferently, until only a
grimy loincloth remained. Then he removed that as well.

There were so many scars on his
body that the hairy, chestnut brown skin pulled tight over his lean, rippling
muscles looked like it had been sewn together. Thick veins stood out in stark
relief on his arms and thighs, pumping dark blood through his powerful limbs,
giving him a bluish cast. His body had been designed for one thing and one
thing only: hard, violent physical exertion. Quolondra caught herself staring
at the cock dangling between his thighs like a serpent and looked away,
recoiling.

Now that he was naked, she could
smell him more clearly. He stank like an animal; even worse than a human. But
below the rankness was a pungent, captivating odor that seemed to lodge in her
nose and affix itself. It was wild and musky, like the scent of a stag or a
bull, a rich, sickeningly appealing odor like overripe fruit. She tried to
ignore it, but the aroma made her feel warm and anxious, as if it hinted at
some buried need which she refused to acknowledge.

The orc king reached down,
grabbed the chain, and pulled.

Quolondra slid across the floor
toward him, skidding on her knees, thrusting out her hands to keep her face
from hitting the marble. He jerked it again and she found herself face-down at
his feet.

His strength was tremendous.

He wrapped the chain around his
hand, pulling her up by the neck until she was on her knees in front of him.
She gripped his thighs for support, digging her nails into his hide to raise
herself up and keep herself from choking. His legs felt like the boles of
trees, impossibly strong and firm. What the orcs lacked in intelligence and
craft they more than made up for in sheer physical strength and endurance.

He ran his calloused fingers
through her hair and closed them into a fist, yanking her head back.

The way he pulled made tears
pool in the corners of her eyes but she held them back, staring up at him
defiantly.

He smiled, showing his fangs.
"I'm going to enjoy making a whore out of you." His voice was
guttural. A voice of lust, cruelty, and power.

She spat in his face, catching
him in the cheek below the eye.

The muscle running from his nose
to his upper lip twitched. He extended his tongue, a dark pinkish-purple organ
as long as her hand, and licked up her spittle.

"I like it when a bitch
puts up a fight."

He crushed her head into his
crotch, pressing her sensitive nose into the thick tangle of pubic hair around
the base of his cock. She gagged. The stench was overpowering, but the effect
on her body was instantaneous. Raw animal lust flooded her. She felt heat and
moisture gathering in her folds, threatening to run down her legs.

Gods of the Wold, why is this
happening to me?
It wasn't her defeat that made her despair, but the way
her body was responding. It was as some spell had been cast on her, turning it
against her.

She heard a raucous round of
japes and cheers from the assembled crowd. She turned her eyes up to look at
Kerlok and saw his broad nostrils flaring. He could smell her excitement. They
all could.

"Now,
elf
, show my
companions what
your
kind are good for."

He grabbed his cock and pressed
it against her cheek, rubbing it over her face. The tip was getting tangled in
her hair, leaving slick trails in her tresses. She growled and tried to pull
back, but he only pulled on her harder, suffocating her. Wiry hairs were
getting into her nose, poking between her lips. "Lick the balls of your
master. Show my people an elf who knows her place."