The captives are led away to an uncertain fate

Chained together in small lines, the men and women of the castle were marched outside into the cold night air. No-one even tried to resist. The Orcs moving among them made sure of that. Every time one of the huge, hulking females stepped near, the smaller humans cowered in fear, shaking and pale.

Marcus had his own collar now, heavy and uncomfortable round his throat. The chain hanging from the front was fastened to his Mother's, the pair of them kept separate from the other, larger groups of prisoners. The Queen was still sobbing, her hands holding him tightly by the shoulders like she was afraid at any moment he was going to be torn from her grip by the cruel warchief.

That massive Orc was watching everything from just outside the gates, her huge arms crossed over her chest. Every time her cold golden eyes found him, Marcus shuddered in terror. Her awful words were all he could think about. She was going to **** his Mother and him too. The hungry way she looked at him, it felt like she was only just holding herself back from doing just that.

At last, the prisoners were all gathered in the courtyard, along with piles of food and **** the Orcs had loaded onto carts they must have stolen from the town. They hadn't taken any of the King's gold, treasure or precious artworks. It was clear these monsters had no use for those things. All they wanted, they took only to satisfy their savage appetites.

"We're done here." The warchief barked, staring up at the stone walls of the castle with distaste. "Get the slaves to the camp, then burn this place. The ruin can stand as a warning to these pinkskins not to trifle with us again."

"Yes, warchief!" One of the other Orcs grunted, slamming a fist into her chest in salute. The captives were herded forward by growling monsters and walked in miserable lines through the castle gates and out into the empty fields beyond. Marcus was crying again, hoarse little sobs in his Mother's arms that made his chest and throat ache. The thought of his home being burnt down by these awful creatures felt like one blow too many.

The warchief stepped over to the pair of them, the ground seeming to shake with her heavy steps. The Queen raised her head and glared at the monster, leaving Marcus wondering where she found that kind of courage. She didn't even flinch when the massive Orc reached out and grabbed the chain fastened to the front of her collar.

"Come with me, pretty cow." The warchief smirked, like the Queen's brave defiance was nothing more than a joke to her. "Our camp is nearby and I want you both in my tent." She gave the chain a firm tug and the Queen stumbled forward, helpless to resist. Marcus was dragged along with his Mother out through the gates. He couldn't even turn back to give the castle one last look. Would he ever see his home again? Dragged away naked by this cruel and vicious monster it really didn't feel like it.

The warchief pulled them down into the fields below the castle. It was night, and the cool wind whipping past his naked body made the young prince shiver. With the dark, the miserable prisoners all around them sobbing and shuddering, and the hulking figures of the Orcs leading them, this all felt like some terrible nightmare, too awful and scary to be real. Marcus screwed his eyes shut, praying that was somehow true and he'd wake up any moment in his warm bed. He'd run to his parent's room like he hadn't since he was a little boy and hug his Mother as tightly as he could. Of course when he almost stumbled on his own feet and had to open them again, nothing had changed. He was still being dragged around by a massive monster who wanted to **** him.

Then in the distance he saw the glow of torches. The Orcs were herding all the captives towards a large camp there, with rows of tents set up around crackling bonfires. Everyone was being taken to a large empty area on the outskirts, but the warchief dragged the pair of them away instead. She was headed to a much bigger tent in the center, almost as large as a house, the canvas walls decorated with curling patterns in red paint. On either side of the entrance, a pair of wooden stakes had been driven in to the dirt, with strings of feathers and bleached bone dangling from the top.

Marcus swallowed anxiously at the sight. He wanted nothing more than to run away screaming, but the collar round his neck was an unwelcome reminder how stupid that would be. Besides, his Mother was here! He might be weak and small, but he was still a man. It was up to him to protect her, however he could! That thought was only the slightest comfort, but it was all he had as the warchief ducked into the tent and dragged the pair of them in after her.