Siege State
Chapter Sixty-Five: Captivity

Tom and Rosa sat in silence for a while, watching the tired captives. Tom’s heart sang that she had come back, that they had found her and freed her. The comfort he felt at their simple togetherness was indescribable. Eventually, she spoke, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“I thought I would die. Thank you, you brave, stupid fuck.”

“It’s nothing. What else could I do?”

She stared at him, her brow slightly creased. “You could have done nothing, but that is not you, is it, Tom Cutter? I hoped you would come. Does that make me selfish? That I wished you would endanger yourself, and your friends, to save me?”

“It makes you human.”

“I thought myself invincible. With these powers, I had imagined smiting orcs by the dozen. And then they rolled through the village in the middle of the night, a hundred of them or more. We killed so many, but there were always more… And then they just dragged us away. Like sheep. I felt so …useless.”

Tom knew the feeling well. “Goddess casts our lives as she will. Some things can’t be helped. And you seemed to get your own back well enough during the rescue. Don’t confuse circumstance with ability.”

“You’re sweet, Tom. I’m lucky to have met you.”

They sat in companionable silence a while longer, her resting her head on his shoulder, him slowly rubbing her back. Even after having to run for their lives, it was nice.

Eventually, Tom saw his mother finish her rounds of the captives. Rosa had fallen asleep, so he laid her gently on the grass, and walked over to her.

She was washing her hands in the spring when he joined her. Tom decided it was as good a time as any to freshen up himself, and scrubbed his face and hands while they talked. She was fine, but tired. She hadn’t suffered any mistreatment, thankfully, under the orcs. They had determined she had Healing, and once they had, they had treated her as though she were made of fine porcelain.

Once they had washed, they began setting up a small fire near Rosa. Val, Scriber, Cub and Officer Dale joined them too. Scriber set Cub and Tom to building another two fires. He produced three big enchanted pots, and a sack of assorted foodstuffs, and the trio each began cooking over a different fire.

The smell of the stews began to draw the hungry captives in. The healthiest seemed happy to sleep, for the most part, but the most wretched looked as though they couldn’t ignore the cooking if they tried.

Tom’s mother oversaw the distribution of the food. She ladled servings into bowls and handed them out. She mentioned they needed to be careful with the worst off: feeding them too much at once could kill them, and they would do exactly that if they let them.

While everyone settled in to eat, they discussed logistics. This many people would need a lot of food. Tom, Scriber, and Cub each had decent stocks in spatial storage, but it wouldn’t last long spread between so many.

They would have to hunt. Luckily, there was a relatively easy solution to that problem. Tom set Sus and Sol searching the nearby forest. The birds could kill relatively large prey with their crushing grip and sharp talons. After a quick word, the wolf and cat familiars also slunk out into the woods to hunt for them. It would not feed everyone, but it was a start.

That night they all went to sleep with food in the bellies, and allies around. Officer Dale and Val set up a rotating roster of sentries from among those combat capable Idealists. The night was broken sporadically with nightmare-induced cries, but everyone had the best sleep they’d had in a week. If not far longer than that, for some.

In the morning, Val and Scriber gathered everyone around. The pair stood on top of crates by the pool to address them. The captives looked remarkably better for a single hot meal, one night’s decent sleep, and a thorough wash.

“Morning all. I’m glad to say we actually pulled this off.” There was some small cheering at that. “We’re safe enough for now, but we can’t stay here forever. The orcs won’t just let a hundred odd Idealists wander around behind them.” People began to look to their neighbours nervously. Others stared at Val with fires burning in their eyes.

“Now, many of you must be keen for home. I can’t blame you. If that’s what you want, we’ll arrange to get you back into Wayrest. The Watch have agreed to keep an eye out for us. But you should know that Wayrest might not be any safer. The Lord of Blood was plotting to overthrow the Council, and if he hasn’t made his move yet, he will soon. It’ll be civil war, on top of a siege. Still, it’ll likely be safer inside than it is out here. The Lord isn’t after the people, or so he said, anyway.

“We have another offer for you, if you’ve a mind to take it: stay. Stay with us and fight. We Hunters have been out here since way back, fighting monsters in the Deep. This is just a particularly busy day at work, for us.” There were some snorts at that. Tom saw that they came from those captives who were likely Hunters. They had the appropriate, rugged look that seemed to slowly ingrain into all who lived the life.

“If you want to head back to Wayrest, we’ll get you there. But if you want to stay, if you want to fight, if you want to make a difference, we welcome you with open arms. We can teach you to survive out here. How to thrive out here. Most importantly, we can teach you how to ensure the orcs are paid back in full for every ounce of misery they inflicted on you.”

The crowd was silent. Many still looked hesitant, but more looked determined, filled with righteous anger. They looked as if they wanted to charge off and throw themselves at the orcs right then and there.

“We’ll take another day here, to recover our strength. For those who want to leave, we will journey back the day after. Think about it. Think carefully.” And with that, Val looked to Scriber. He awkwardly cleared his throat.

“I’ve never been good with people, so I’ll get right to it. People call me Scriber. I’m an enchanter. I place a premium on any strange or unique Ideals or skills. If you’ve got any you think would fit the bill, I’ll pay you to study them. Even if it’s just for an hour. Gold, materials, enchantments: you can have them, if I can have some of your mana. Thank you.”

“Right folks, that’s all. Rest up. But one last thing. If you have any information about the orcs that could help us, anything about their leaders, any secrets, how they’re making Idealists, and if you don’t mind sharing, come and replace me. The information could make all the difference.”

She stepped down from her box and retreated to their campfire. Tom moved to join her, and Rosa, his mother and Officer Dale came too. The crowd slowly dispersed, with much muted discussion. Scriber wandered off a short way, and was quickly approached by several people. Cub sidled up beside him; it didn’t surprise Tom that the smith was perhaps as curious as the enchanter when it came to strange Ideals.

It wasn’t long before a trio of former captives approached Val: two women and one man. All three of them were one step removed from a skeleton, so thin and frail were they. The man looked apathetic, defeated. One of the women was very young, just a teenager, and looked fearful, constantly snatching glances over her shoulder and starting at every small noise.

One woman, clearly the leader of the trio, looked stern. Even without an lick of fat or muscle on her frame, she managed to look stern and imposing. She gave Val a terse greeting, and shook her hand.

“Thank you for rescuing us. I think most of us had given up hope, by this point. You mentioned you wanted information?” Val nodded, and gestured for them to sit.

“I’m Lis Delve. I was -am- a soldier. I was captured during the Reaping.” Tom’s ears pricked up at that. There was only one unit that ran into troubles with orcs during the Reaping. He didn’t recognise the woman, but she probably looked a lot different now, after almost a year of captivity.

“This is Tam” she gestured to the man “and Erin. Tam was a-”

“A Hunter,” Val interrupted. “I know him. He was based out of one of the northern villages. It’s good to see you, Tam.” The man barely reacted, his eyes shifting slowly until they met Val’s, and then giving her a shallow nod. Val’s lips drew into a thin line, but she didn’t press the man any more.

“I know the story of your unit. Tom here was a part of it.” Lis looked at him again, clearly trying to jog her memory, just as he had done with her. No light of recognition flared in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, man. I don’t recognise you. I’m doubly glad you got out, if it means you were here to save us. Though I wonder how you ended up a Hunter.” She waved the question off, focusing again. “Erin was a student with my unit. She hid in the forest once the unit broke. Manifested Shadow, she hid so hard. Got sniffed out by orcs eventually, though.

“They dragged us back to their camp. It feels like we were there for years. Every so often they’d drag in some more unfortunates like us: survivors of our unit. There were others, though, too: Hunters, and a good many traders and their guards coming down the trade roads.” Now that she mentioned it, many of the captives didn’t have the earthy Wayrest look to them. He could pick out the olive tones of Horizoners, the swarthier folk from the Rust Sands, and even some of the pale skin common to Safe Harbour in the east.

“They began to take us away, one at a time, at first. They had built some …forges, I guess you would call them. There they would draw up our Ideals from us, make them feel like they were about to strip them away, and then forge them onto an orc. Copying them, somehow.” Lis shuddered.

“Goddess..!” His mother breathed.

“How..? How did they do it? It sounds impossible,” said Dale.

“Tell that to the folks that near had their Ideals stripped out of them every day.” Lis shivered again. “Their leader, his Ideals, they’re twisted. I still don’t know how he managed it, not exactly. All I know is this: he is special. A leader among the orcs, but more than that, too. His Ideal of the Forge, it was the only way they could copy our Ideals from us.

“There was one thing though, the most important. He copied his own Ideal onto his chieftains, so that they could produce even more. But they were weaker than his own, the original. Every copy they made was weaker, and every time they copied from the same Idealist, it would hurt that Idealist more and more. They would eventually have to stop, let them recover. It caused delays.

“The leader, the Great Smith, they called him, was often angry. But the angriest I ever saw him was when he realised he couldn’t simply rip our Ideals and stamp them on his foul ilk as often as he wanted. He was impatient. And worse of all, zealous.

“One day I was in the forge, and I almost died. It felt like they were tearing out my soul. One of the chieftains was forging. The leader arrived. He was blind with anger, almost out of control. He was mad that they couldn’t keep forging at speed, mad that us frail humans couldn’t keep up with their demand, mad that they’d almost killed me and lost a resource.

“In his anger, he said something I have never forgotten, much good as it will do us. He said the Plan would not work if they were so slow. He said his Kin would outdo him, and he would be relegated. It was clear from his context he was not talking about his chieftains.” Lis paused, gulping.

“I think there are more, like him, out there. Somewhere. More like him, able to forge more Idealist orcs.”

Her revelations met stunned silence. Tom couldn’t think of a single thing to say. It was insane, and yet he knew it must be true. They were forging new Idealists. And not only that, there seemed to be some grand plan, some massive, coordinated effort too.

“Well,” Val said, at length. “At least we’ve taken his Idealists from him. He can’t forge any more, now. As to these Kin of his, you didn’t see any other orcs with equal authority to him? No others that could forge freely, without restrictions, like him?”

“No. Never, and thank Goddess for that. We were used enough as it was. I don’t think it’s harmed our Ideals, but, well…” she gestured at Tam, sitting stonily, like a dead man. To the young woman, Erin, who looked like she might bolt off into the woods at any moment. They hadn’t escaped without injury.

“He had his favourites. Erin, with her Shadow. Tam was exiled originally for having Rage. I was popular for my Growth. The Smith, he copied Ideals from all of us, but we three in particular were used up as often as they dared.

“I’m not sure how much help that’ll be to you, but it’s all we know. We spent the most time in the forge, the most time around the Smith. I’m not sure there’s much else worth knowing.”

“Thank you, truly,” Val said. “It takes courage, to do what you’ve done. Reliving it, I mean.”

Lis gave a sad smile. “I see it every time I close my eyes. I wake up feeling like my Ideals, the part of my soul they make up, is getting drawn through my chest with hot tongs. This is nothing.” She dithered a moment, chewing her lip.

“I don’t know about these two, but if you’ll have me, I want to fight. Those fuckers ruined my life, and I want to ruin theirs.” She had an almost feral gleam in her eyes as she said it.

“I’ll fight too,” Tam said suddenly. His voice was slow and gravelly, like a boulder turning over.

“I -I want to go home!” Erin said, and the fright in her voice was almost painful. Tom’s mother patted her leg gently.

“You’ll all get what you want,” said Val. “I’ll make sure of it.

“Every one of us has scores to settle with the orcs. I mean to collect.”