Chapter 5 Chapter Four

Thrall met his first orc at the age of twelve. He was training in the courtyard outside the castle.When young Thrall won his first battle at the tender age of eight, Blackmoore agreed with the officer's advice to give the orc more freedom—at least in training.He still had shackles on his feet, thoughtfully attached to a large boulder.Not even an orc as strong as Thrall could escape from the fetters on his feet.The iron chain was thick and strong, and it was impossible to break it.The first time or two, Thrall didn't notice anything.The iron chain is very long, giving him enough room to move.The thought of running away never crossed his mind.He was Thrall the slave, Blackmoore his master, the officer his trainer, and Tyrasha his secret friend.That's how it should be.

Thrall regretted that he never made friends with any of the humans he practiced with.Every year there was a new group of people, all carved out of the same mold: young, enthusiastic, contemptuous, a little startled when they saw the big green monster they were supposed to train with.Only the officer praised him from time to time; only the officer intervened when one or more guys were about to make trouble with Thrall.Sometimes Thrall wished he could fight back, but he remembered the concept of fighting with honor.Although these men saw him as enemies, Thrall knew they were not, and that killing or maiming them would be wrong.

Thrall's hearing is very sensitive, and he often pays attention to people's gossip.Because people thought he was a mindless beast, they didn't pay much attention to what they said when Thrall was around.Who pays attention to their words when the only witness is an animal?This is how Thrall learned that the orcs, a once formidable foe, were weakening.More and more orcs were captured and sent to some so-called "shelters".Dunholde is the base, in charge of all the nearby camps, and his subordinates manage the round-the-clock operation of these camps.Blackmoore was the leader of them all.There are still some minor conflicts, but they are getting rarer.Some of the trainees had never even seen an orc fight until they met Thrall.

Over the years, the officer taught Thrall excellent hand-to-hand combat.Thrall has mastered every weapon used in battle: swords, broadswords, spears, bolas, daggers, whips, nets, axes, clubs, halberds.He was allowed to wear only the crudest of armor; the spectators would be more excited if the fighters had little protection. Now he stood among a group of recruits.This was a familiar scene for him, and it was for the benefit of those young people, not for him.Officers called this game "making dumplings".The recruits were (no doubt) supposed to be humans who ran into a remnant of the fleeing orcs, who wouldn't be captured without a fight.Thrall is (no doubt) that defiant orc.Its main purpose is to let them think of at least three different ways to capture or kill this "orc bandit."

Thrall doesn't like this kind of game very much.He preferred one-on-one combat to being the target of sometimes as many as two dozen people.The gleam in people's eyes when they wanted to fight him, the smile on their lips, always displeased Thrall.The first time an officer implemented the game, Thrall couldn't make the resistance necessary to make this training method effective.The officer had to take him aside and assure him that posturing was all right.Those men had armor and real swords; all he had was a training wooden sword.There was no way Thrall could do even a little damage.

So now, after having routinely done so many times over the past few years, Thrall instantly became a snarling, predatory beast.Separating fantasy from reality was difficult the first few times, but it got better with practice.He never lost control of the game, and if things went wrong, he believed in the officer with his life. Now they rushed at him.Unsurprisingly, in their first three plays, they opted for easy offense.Two with swords, four with spears, and the rest with axes.One of them lunges forward. Thrall dodged quickly, his wooden sword bursting with startling speed.He raised one strong leg and kicked out, hitting the assailant in the chest.The young man flew back, his face full of surprise.He was lying on the ground, waving his hands in the air.

Thrall danced, anticipating the approach of the other two.They rushed forward with spears.He sent a human being flying with his sword, as easily as if the human were an annoying insect.With his free hand, and since he had no shield, he grabbed the other man's spear and jerked it out of his hand, turning it over so that the pointed end was facing the one a few seconds before The one who still wields this weapon. If this had been a real fight, Thrall knew he'd driven the spear into the man.But it's just a connection, and Thrall is in control.As he raised the spear, about to drop it, there was a terrible sound that made everyone freeze to the ground.

Thrall turned his head and saw one or two small carriages approaching the castle along the narrow, winding path.This happens many times a day, and the passengers are always the same: farmers, merchants, recruits, some visiting dignitary. Not this time. This time, screaming horses are pulling a wagon full of monster-like green creatures.They were in metal cages and looked humiliated.Thrall saw them chained to the bottom of the wagon.He was terrified by their strange appearance.They were huge, misshapen, with huge tusks instead of teeth, and small, fierce eyes... Then the truth hit him.These were the orcs, what he called the people.This is what humans look like to him.The practice wooden sword slipped from his suddenly weak fingers.

I'm ugly.I'm terrible.I am a monster.No wonder they hate me so much. One of the beasts turned its head, looking intently into Thrall's eyes.He wanted to look elsewhere, but couldn't.He stared back, barely breathing.As he watched, the orc somehow snapped the chain with all his might.With a roar that shook Thrall's eardrums, the creature slammed its body against the bars of the cage.He gripped the bars with bloody hands chafed by handcuffs, bending them just enough to let his massive body pass through before Thrall's shocked eyes.The carriage was still going, and the frightened horses were running at full gallop.The orc fell to the ground and rolled several times, but stood up after only one heartbeat, and rushed towards Thrall and the warriors at a speed that was not commensurate with his size.

He opened his terrible mouth and yelled something that sounded like language: "Kagh! Bin mog g'thazag cha!" "Attack, you fools!" cried the officer.Although he wasn't wearing armor, he grabbed a sword and rushed to meet the orc.People sprang into action, rushing to help the officers. The orc didn't even bother to look the officer in the face.He reached out with his handcuffed left hand, grabbed the officer's chest, and sent him flying.He goes forward, unstoppable.His eyes were fixed on Thrall, and he shouted those words again. "Kagh! Bin mog g'thazag cha!"

Thrall stirred, finally pulling himself together from his fear, but he didn't know what to do.He raised his practice sword, in a defensive position, but did not charge.This horrible ugly thing was rushing towards him.That's almost certainly the enemy.But that was one of his people, the people he was connected with by blood.An orc, as Thrall was an orc, Thrall couldn't bring himself to attack. When Thrall was staring at the orc, the crowd jumped on the orc, and the tall green body fell into the light and shadow of the sword and ax and the black armor.Blood trickled from beneath the crowd, and when it was finally over they stood back and looked at the green and red flesh of what had once been a creature. The officer propped himself up on his elbows. "Thal!" he called. "Now take him back to his cell!" "In the name of the Light, what have you done?" Blackmoore yelled, staring in horror at the officer who had been strongly recommended to him, and who now Blackmoore came to loathe more than anyone else. "He's never allowed to see another orc until... now he knows, damn it. What were you thinking?" The officer bristled at the verbal assault. "I was thinking, sir, that if you don't want Thrall to see any orcs, you should probably tell me. I was thinking, sir, that if you didn't want Thrall to see any other orcs, you should arrange for the wagon to Thrall brought them in while he was still in the cell. I wondered, sir, if..." "Enough!" roared Blackmoore.He took a deep breath and calmed down. "The damage has been done and we have to think about how to make up for it." His calm tone also seemed to relieve the officer.The instructor asked in a less aggressive tone, "Did Thrall never know what he looked like?" "Never knew. No mirrors. No calm pools. He's been taught that those orcs are scum, and that's unmistakably true, and he's only allowed to live because he's making money for me." As the two searched for ideas, silence fell.The officer stroked his red beard thoughtfully, then said, "So he knows, so what? Just because he's born an orc doesn't mean he can't do more. He doesn't have to be a brainless beast. He's not, actually. If you encourage him to think of himself as more of a human..." The officer's suggestion angered Blackmoore. "He's not!" he exploded. "He's a beast. I don't want him to think he's just a big green-skinned human!" "In that case, pray, sir," said the officer, forcing a word through clenched teeth, "what do you want him to think he is?" Blackmoore did not answer.he does not know.He never thought about it that way.It had seemed so easy when he happened upon the orc baby.Raise him as a slave, teach him to fight, give him a human blade, and let him lead an army that defeats the orcs and attacks the Alliance.With Thrall at the head of the nascent orc army, leading them into the charge, Blackmoore could gain power beyond the wildest imaginable. But things don't work that way now.In the back of his mind, he knew that somehow the officer was right.Thrall really needed to understand how humans thought and reasoned if he was going to learn how to lead an army of savage orcs.But if he learns, won't he rebel?Thrall must be imprisoned in his place, reminded of his humble origins.It has to be.In the name of Holy Light, what is the right thing to do?What is the best way to treat this creature in order to create the perfect war leader without letting others know that he is more than just a gladiatorial champion? He took a deep breath, he must not lose face in front of this servant. "Thrall needs to know, and we have to give it to him," he said very quietly. "He's done enough training with those recruits. I think it's time we move him specifically to fight." "Sir, he was very helpful in training," the officer said. "We haven't wiped out those orcs yet," Blackmoore said, thinking of the thousands of orcs held in the camp. "Their leader, Doomhammer, has escaped, and they are a dispersed race. Peace is upon us. We will no longer have to train new recruits to fight the orcs. Any battle they will fight will be face-to-face. To other humans, not monsters." Damn.He almost talked too much.The officer appeared to have sensed something, but did not respond. "People at peace need an outlet to vent their bloodlust," he said. "Let's lock Thrall into a gladiatorial fight. He'll fill our pockets and bring us honor." He smirked. "I have yet to see a single human stand against an orc." Thrall's rise in rank in the arena is definitely a phenomenon.He was tall enough at a very young age; as the years went on, he began to add volume to his tall build.Now he was the biggest orc many had ever seen, or even heard of.He's the king of the arena and everyone knows it. When he wasn't fighting, he was kept alone in his cell, and though Blackmoore had ordered a new one for him, it was too small for him as each day passed.Thrall now has a modest sleeping area with bedding and a much larger practice area.Beneath a fireplace, this sunken ring has models of every weapon, as well as Thrall's old friend, the broken training troll with which he can practice.Some nights, when he couldn't sleep, Thrall would get up and vent his unease on the puppet. It was those books that Terasa had given him, and their precious letters, now a board and a pen, that really illuminated those long hours of solitude.They communicate secretly at least once a week, and Sal imagines a world just as Teri paints it: a world of art, beauty, and friends.A world full of food but free from corruption and waste.A world in which he has a place. Occasionally, his eyes fell on the increasingly frayed square cloth with the white wolf's head emblem on the blue shield.He would quickly look away, not wanting to let his heart travel down that road.What good is that?He had read enough books (some of which Blackmoore didn't know Terry had secretly handed to him) to understand that the Orcs lived in small groups, each with its own unique markings.What could he do, just tell Blackmoore that he was tired of being a slave, thank you, and could he let Thrall out so he could search for his family? The thought haunted him now.His own people.Terry has her own people, her family, Tamis and Kleinia.She is valued and loved.He was glad she had those loving helping hands, because she had put herself in situations that were far from safe in order to help him. Sometimes he wondered what the rest of the Foxtons thought of him.Teri never mentioned them much.She had told him that her mother, Clenia, had fed him on her own breasts, to save his life.At first, Thrall was very moved by this, but when he grew up and knew more, he realized that Clenia did not raise him out of love, but just out of a way to improve her life in Blackmoore. The desire for status in the heart. Blackmore.All thoughts stop here.He could forget that he was only an appendage when he wrote to Teri and read her letters, or searched for her golden hair in the stands during gladiatorial matches.He, too, could revel in that stuff that heady officers call "bloodthirsty."But those moments are too short.Even when Blackmoore came to see Thrall in person, to discuss some military strategy Thrall had learned, or to play a game of eagle and hare with him, there was no connection, no sense of family with this man.When Blackmore was happy, it was the attitude of a grown-up to a child.When he was provoked, often sullen, Thrall felt helpless like a child.Blackmoore could have him beaten, starved, burned, chained, or--everything worse, and the only thing that Blackmoore was thankful for was that he hadn't vetoed his title to the books yet. He knew Teri didn't have that kind of privileged life, unlike Blackmore's.She was a servant, in her own way, a slave just like the orc's name.But she has friends, she's not left behind, she belongs. Slowly, his hand began to fumble with the blue piece of swaddling cloth by its own will.At this moment, he heard the door unlocked and opened behind him.He dropped the cloth as if it were something unclean. "Come on," said a sullen guard.He handed over the shackles. "It's time to fight. I hear they've found you a worthy opponent today." He grinned grimly, showing his brown teeth. "If you don't win, Master Blackmoore is ready to skin you."