Vron sat in the darkness, his hands bound behind his back. Sickness surrounded him. The hacking coughs. The sniffling. The strange wailing coming from behind the walls of his room.
They'd set him up in one of the miners' homes. If he could even call it that. It was a hovel, dug into an alcove within the mine. The walls were rough bitumen, black as the darkest night and cool to the touch. Only a faint torch flickered in the room. At night, or what he assumed was night, the torch would extinguish, seemingly on its own. He thought it had been four days. Maybe five. Or maybe less. He was disoriented underground, quickly losing all sense of time and place. Ever since the orc had sneezed on him, he'd felt off balance. Confused.
And yet, the sickness hadn't touched him yet. For that he was grateful. He held on to the hope he might survive this disease that had killed so many.
The curtain to his room parted, and a small figure stepped in. Vron squinted. He thought it was a female orc, a young one with long black hair hanging over most of her face.
"Do you know me?" she asked.
"No," Vron croaked. He cleared his throat. It was the first time he'd spoken in days. His lips were cracked and his throat dry. The water they brought once a day wasn't enough to keep him hydrated; it was only enough to keep him alive.
"It is better you do not know me, then," she said. "But I know who you are. Vron, a captain in the orc army. You are a brave fighter. An honorable orc. All who know you admire you."
Vron cared little for flattery. Perhaps it worked on other orcs, but not on him. "Let me go."
She shook her head, her black hair still covering the majority of her face. Vron could see only one eye peering out between stringy strands of hair. "I can't do that. You have been exposed. Until I can be sure you're showing no signs of illness, you must remain here. Otherwise you could carry the infection out among others. You wouldn't want to do that, would you?"
"Then why am I bound?" Vron struggled against the ties around his wrists. He'd tried everything he knew to break free, but all he'd succeeded in doing was chafing his skin. The blood from his original attempts had dried, cementing the ties.
"If you were not bound, you would try to leave." Her logic grated on him. "I cannot allow that. You must remain until we are sure."
"You are no more than a child." Vron glared at her. "Why should I listen to you?"
She stepped closer, stopping directly in front of him. "I don't fear you, soldier. But you should fear me. You will do as I say, or you will die." She cackled. "You may die anyway if you contract the disease."
Vron ignored her attempts to intimidate him. "And you?" he said. "Why aren't you sick?"
"I am immune. The infection cannot hurt me."
She tilted her head, her hair moving to the side. He recoiled at the mottled pink birthmark extending across much of her face. He'd never seen such a thing on another orc.
"How long until you decide I'm healthy enough to leave?" he asked. He was running out of patience with this child. "And maybe I should talk to your parents. Where are they?"
Her dark eyes narrowed. "My parents are dead. I'm trying to protect everyone from this insidious infection, and all you care about is whether I'm competent enough to make decisions. I am. Trust me, Vron, I am."
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. An innocent child replaced the strong, angry orc. She changed so quickly, he almost wondered if he was delirious.
"I am truly trying to protect everyone aboveground. I lived here in the mines. I know the miners. They know me. We want to keep this infection contained, away from the population aboveground. After that beast attacked, we don't want to give them anything else to fear. Can you please believe me when I say I am only trying to help?"
Vron, too, wanted to keep the infection contained. It was why he'd agreed to the onerous task Dalgron had given him. Seal the entrances to the mines. Keep the infection from spreading.
"As much as I hate it," he said, "I do understand. Though I would prefer I wasn't tethered like a wild beast."
"And I wish circumstances were different, too. You will remain like this until I'm sure you're well. It's for your own good."
She parted the curtains and left without another word.
Vron struggled against his bonds again, as if her visit would have made a difference. Of course, it didn't. He was weaker now than he'd been when they first brought him down. He was a fool to think he could suddenly muster the strength to break free.
He slumped against the cool, damp wall of his room, letting his eyes close. He focused on his breathing. Inhale to a count of four. Hold for four. Release for four. It wouldn't be long before he was calm again.
In battle, his bloodlust worked for him. It led him to victory every time. Here, he had no outlet for it, and he couldn't allow it to fester. Unexpressed bloodlust led to a burst of anger he couldn't control. And he needed every ounce of control he had.
It wasn't long before his heart slowed to match his breathing. He felt normal again, as if he were simply relaxing in his own home after a day of combat training. Spent, but relaxed.
Two voices whispered on the other side of the canvas curtain. Vron kept his eyes closed.
"How is he?" a decidedly masculine voice asked.
"Fine. He shows no sign of illness." It was the girl who'd spoken with him. "Yet."
"When the time comes," the girl said, "I will let him go. Then he will bring everything I need back to me. You do understand how this plan works, don't you, Azlinar?"
"Yes, my queen, I do."
"Very good. Now, let's see to the sick."
Their voices faded as they moved away.
So—she wanted something from him. Frustration spread in Vron's chest. If only she had asked, he would have considered her request. There was no need to hold him prisoner. He was an honorable orc—she had said so herself. An orc who held to his word.
Yet she’d asked nothing of him. What could he possibly bring her later that he couldn’t bring her now? He would wait them out, and at the first chance of escape, he would take it.