The Runes of Destiny

by Megg Jensen

  Maysant looked to the eastern sky, but the day was clear.

  “No, elf,” Tace said. Her voice made Maysant mildly uncomfortable. “Look at the horizon.”

  Maysant trained her eyes on the far distant ground. A dark brown swirling cloud headed in their direction.

  Tace rested her hands on the daggers at her hips. “We don’t know if they’re coming here to help us or kill us. But either way, we will be prepared.”

  As she stalked away from them, toward Ademar, Maysant watched her go. She liked the way this orc talked to her brother, but there was also an edge to Tace. One that Maysant feared. Getting too close to that orc could mean danger, and Maysant wasn’t sure if that was a risk she was willing to take.

  Chapter 8

  Vitagut sat up on his horse, back straight, jaw strong. The night before, he’d polished his tusks until they gleamed and sharpened the tips to intimidating points. He’d also grilled Rafe on all things Agitar until the old orc had fallen asleep midsentence.

  Vitagut was proud of both his body and his mind, two traits that would certainly endear him to the orcs of Agitar. Rafe had assured him as much. So had Vitagut’s father, Rangar, an old friend of Rafe’s. Together, they’d decided Vitagut was the most capable orc to take charge of Agitar while it rebuilt. A new dynasty was about to dawn on Agitar. Vitagut only needed to be himself, and the rest would fall into place.

  But as he rode into the encampment, with the former king hidden among his retinue, Vitagut noticed the orcs were too weary to even hold his gaze. Their eyes quickly shifted away, showing defeat before he even had a chance to say anything to them. Shoulders drooped as they shuffled away. This wasn’t what he had expected. Where were the strong orcs ready to fight at a moment’s notice? The orcs of Agitar were famous, even infamous, for their battle lust. And here they were acting as though they were already dead.

  All save one. She stood proud, her hands at the ready near the daggers on her hips. Her clothes were rumpled and filthy, as if she’d crawled out of the ground itself, yet as her gaze fell upon him, her eyes were every bit as defiant as he’d expected.

  Vitagut couldn’t help but smile. In this one orc, he had found the spirit of Agitar.

  He pulled up his draft horse. “I am Vitagut of Inab,” he said to the proud orc. “I’ve come to claim the throne of Agitar.”

  The orc rolled her eyes and sauntered over to him, the swoosh of her daggers exiting their sheaths cutting through the quiet morning. “What if we don’t want you or need you?”

  Vitagut had expected such an answer. “Your king abdicated his throne. You are clearly in need of assistance. If you allow me, I will help. Don’t make me take this pathetic excuse of an encampment by force.”

  Her upper lip curled as she snarled at him. But before she could act, a human male rested a hand on her arm. A human! Vitagut was taken aback. Such familiarity between a human and an orc… Wasn’t it partially the humans’ fault all of this had happened in the first place?

  “Taking a broken community by force is a show of weakness,” said the orc with disdain. “And demanding the throne while we are in pain is a pompous act. Perhaps if you want to earn our throne, you will get off your damn horse and offer to help us bury the dead.”

  She turned her back on him, grabbed a shovel, and walked away.

  Shame washed over Vitagut. Not only had he let this female get the best of him, but he’d sat there, meekly atop his horse, and taken it. His eyes swept over the encampment, recoiling at the number of dead scattered across the prairie. He had to admit—she was right. At the moment, they needed help—strong hands and strong backs—more than they needed a king.

  He slid from his horse, landing on the ground with a solid thump. He lifted a shovel and followed her into the sea of dead. Her stride was long and sure, and Vitagut had to push himself to catch up. He suspected she was purposely trying to outdistance him, but he wouldn’t allow it. Nor would he call out to her and demand she wait.

  Instead, he mirrored her actions. If she crouched down to check the pulse on a body, he would do the same nearby. If she dropped her shovel and carried a body to the communal grave, he would carry a body. He’d come to Agitar knowing he would have to prove himself to the residents. Apparently, she was the first he would need to win over. He saw how the other orcs looked to her, the respect in their eyes. She was not their official leader, but she might as well have been for the way they treated her.

  After a while, she turned to him and glared. “Thank you for helping. It isn’t necessary. We can care for our own.”

  “We are all orcs,” Vitagut said. “We help each other when we are in need.”

  She slammed the point of her shovel into the ground. “Where were you when the humans were invading Agitar? Where were you when the xarlug struck? Where were you when our encampment was beset by illness? You only bothered to come here once we were truly defeated, once you knew the might of Agitar had crumbled.” She spat at his feet and glared defiantly.

  Vitagut counted slowly to ten in his head, then said, “You’re right.”

  She started, blinking rapidly before regaining her composure. “Of course I am.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  He let his own arms dangle at his sides. He would make her listen. He would make her understand that he was not here to conquer. He was truly here to honorably take the throne and lead the orcs of Agitar through their recovery.

  That was one reason his father and Rafe had chosen him. He had no designs on being a ruler. A more ambitious orc would have come in, torches blazing, ready to beat the orcs into submission. Vitagut could see these orcs were already thoroughly beaten. They didn’t need a strong arm holding them down. They needed a strong hand to help them up.

  The orc’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you really here?” she said. “Why now? No one else has heeded the call to Agitar since the cowardly king gave up his throne after his daughter’s murder.”

  “Murder?” Rafe had told Vitagut the story of his daughter’s death, but he had neglected to use the word murder. “What do you know about it?”

  “Nothing.” She stared at him—too hard. Clearly, she knew more than she dared to whisper.

  Vitagut would probe that topic later. “You ask why I am here, when you can see with your own eyes that I hold a shovel. I am here—we are here—to help you bury your dead. To help you rebuild Agitar. Will you allow us to set foot on your land and assist in this?”

  She looked over his shoulder at his retinue, taking their measure. Finally, she returned her gaze to him, less defiant now. She sighed. “It seems all we do in Agitar these days is bury the dead. Many of the bodies you see around you… these orcs themselves buried bodies after the xarlug attack. Now it is their turn to be returned to the earth. I cannot guarantee your safety here. There are powers at play I do not understand.”

  Vitagut squared his shoulders. “Then we shall help. Thank you…” He looked at her expectantly.

  “Tace,” she muttered. “My name is Tace.”

  “Are you the leader here, Tace?” he asked.

  “We have no designated leader. We do what needs to be done.”

  “But the others listen to you?”

  Tace snorted. “I have no idea why.”

  Then she did the most surprising thing: she smiled. Reaching out with a tattooed arm, she touched Vitagut’s elbow. “Come. Let us introduce our orcs to each other. There is work to be done.”

  They walked together back to the tent, where Vitagut’s retinue waited patiently with the others.

  “This is Ademar,” Tace said, pointing to the human male, who nodded awkwardly at Vitagut. “And this is Alyna.” Tace’s hand rested on the shoulder of the redhead.

  Vitagut raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t noticed her horns at first. A human and a faun with the orcs of Agitar. Rafe had told him nothing of this.

  “I guess we are the current leaders here since our king ran off like a pouting toddler and our war leader, Dalgron, was killed
by…” Tace trailed off. “He was killed by someone who meant us great harm.”

  “Can you tell me more?” Vitagut asked. “Perhaps it will help us if they attack again.”

  “They won’t,” Tace said. “What will help is to bury our dead. If your orcs want to grab a shovel or carry bodies, it matters not. Divvy it up as you see best.”

  Vitagut turned to his retinue. “Divide yourselves up evenly. Tonight, we bury the dead. Tomorrow, we assist Agitar back to its feet. Now go!”

  His orcs dismounted and began the manual labor without question. There were many good men and women among his retinue, most he’d known since childhood. They were honorable orcs with good intentions. There were many more at home should he need to call upon them for help. The orcs of Inab were hardy and true.

  Vitagut turned back to Tace, but she had already returned to the prairie to continue her work. He had to admit, this journey was turning out to be far more interesting than he’d imagined.

  Chapter 9

  Tace collapsed onto her bedroll, exhausted. Every muscle ached. She half wondered if she was dead again.

  They’d spent the entire day carrying bodies to a giant pit that others had dug. Body after body after body. Orcs who died fighting or from the magical infection. And what had they been fighting against? She couldn’t even say for sure.

  Ademar stuck his head in the tent. “Can I come in?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly, though she knew he would ask questions for which she had few answers. This would be the first time they’d been alone since he’d pulled her from her grave. Every moment since had been spent taking care of others.

  Ademar sat next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve been up for two days straight. I need to sleep for three. How about you?”

  She faced him in the dim light of the fires flickering outside the tent. His smile was weary, his eyelids droopy. “I could use some sleep too,” she said. “I…” But she couldn’t finish. She didn’t know how.

  Ademar spread his legs and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry, Tace. I am so ridiculously sorry. I thought you were dead. If I had known… I never would have buried you.”

  Tace bit her bottom lip. “I was dead. You made the right choice. But somehow… I’m not dead anymore.”

  “Do you remember anything?”

  Tace closed her eyes, thinking of the strange cavern with the other lost souls. She’d found the dragons, real dragons, not just souls, trapped in the same place. Her essence had entered one of those dragons, and together they had escaped the prison. None of it made sense. Not when it was happening, and certainly not now. Saying it aloud would only make it sound more ridiculous.

  She was almost willing to believe it was all a dream. But she knew it wasn’t. She had been told of the dragon that had burned the invader to a crisp on the battlefield, causing all of his troops to die instantly. She’d spent much of the day burying those troops.

  It was definitely real. Confusing, but real.

  And then there was the question of Nemia, the orc who had accompanied the evil mage Tace killed. Nemia was the true heir to the throne of Agitar. The real queen, should she step forward to take the throne. She had been removed from the role of princess by her parents—but by blood, she was the rightful heir. Not that Vitagut from Inab, who’d come here demanding to be king.

  What had Nemia been doing with the evil mage? Was she a captor or a participant?

  “Everything is fuzzy,” Tace finally said.

  Ademar chuckled to himself. “You know what’s interesting? Right before you thrust your hand from the ground, a dragon swooped over your grave. It was as if the dragon was paying you homage.”

  Tace swallowed hard in the near-darkness, hoping Ademar wouldn’t notice. She’d been in the dragon, one with it, until it ejected her soul from its body back into her own. There were moments when she wished she could have stayed within the dragon. But nothing could ever be that easy. Whether she liked it or not, her destiny was intertwined with the orcs. She began this journey as an orc, and it was clear she would finish it that way.

  She glanced at Raseri, sleeping in the corner. What, if anything, did the little dragon know? Tace wished she could speak with her—with someone who might understand. How could she possibly explain it to anyone else? Even to Ademar, who had unflinching trust in her word? It was all too far-fetched.

  “I hope you can forgive me,” Ademar said.

  “Forgive you?” Tace asked. “Whatever for?”

  Ademar stared at his boots. “I should have told you about my test at the Fifth Sanctum. Maybe you wouldn’t have slit your own throat.”

  “I doubt anything you said would have made a difference.” Tace had known that killing herself was the right choice. And it was. It had brought her to the realm of the spirits, where she released the dragons and stopped the infection. “I make my own choices.”

  “I know. Which is why I didn’t say a word. I promised I would follow you, no matter the choices you make. It is a vow I take very seriously.” Ademar caught her gaze and held it.

  “It is I who should apologize to you,” Tace said, “for getting you caught up in all of this. I never should have let you see my face when I was attempting to assassinate Hugh.” She laughed. “I can’t believe we’re sitting here nattering on like penitent children. What’s done is done. We must move forward, never backward.”

  “Agreed.” Ademar grabbed her shoulders. “Tace… I want to kiss you.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Tace said, with a low growl in the back of her throat.

  “Excuse me!” Frensia strode into the tent and looked down at the two on the bedroll. “Oh! Go on. Just pretend I’m not here.”

  “Frensia!” Ademar said through gritted teeth. “We are not going to continue while you’re in here.”

  “Why not? I see Raseri in the corner. What difference is it if I’m also in the tent? I’ll just continue reading this book and pay you no mind, no matter how loud or violent you get.”

  What difference? Tace thought. Raseri is like a pet—and is asleep. You, on the other hand, are likely to study our method of coupling and offer pointers afterward.

  But she kept her thoughts to herself, and with a sigh she crawled away from Ademar to the opposite side of the tent. Dalgron’s tent. The orcs had given it to Tace since they recognized her as one of Dalgron’s most trusted advisors. It was so big that Tace had offered to share it with Alyna, but the faun preferred to sleep outside under the stars. And then—though she was regretting it at this moment—she had offered to share it with Frensia, since the orcs looked upon the umgar with fear.

  With their tall, lithe body and silvery frame, the gender-neutral umgar was definitely an oddity. But they had also proved a loyal companion since they’d met in the Library of Filamir. They insisted all they wanted was to explore the world and experience life in Doros beyond the library. Frensia also held a treasure trove of knowledge in their head, which Tace wanted to mine.

  “I heard your brother died in the battle,” the umgar said to Tace, without a hint of sorrow. “Tell me about him.”

  “I know very little.” Tace ignored the strange wave of disappointment in her chest. “When I was little, Vron was a good big brother. He was kind to me. But our family separated after my father was killed, and I only recently discovered that Vron was my brother. We didn’t have time to get to know each other as adults before he was killed.”

  “Pity,” Frensia said. “I should have liked to have met him.”

  Tace thought of the orc who had claimed to be her brother. She wasn’t proud of the way she’d brushed him off. But at the time, this sibling relationship felt like something she could explore later, when their world wasn’t in peril. She hadn’t considered he might fall victim to violence.

  Now he was gone, and it was too late.

  “I suspect you don’t want Ademar and me to tell anyone about your death,” Frensia said, their eyes wide.

 
“Let’s just forget it happened,” Tace muttered.

  “Well, that’s unlikely,” Frensia said. “Unless I suffer some sort of traumatic injury, it is something I shall remember for all time.”

  “You’ll quickly suffer a traumatic injury if you ever bring it up!” Tace shook her fist at the umgar. “I’m going to sleep.”

  Tace lay down on her bedroll, and Ademar lay next to her. He rested an arm over her hips, and it was only then that she realized he hadn’t said a word since Frensia broke up their tryst. She rested her hand on his and squeezed. Ademar squeezed back.

  She wanted to think that meant everything was okay. But how could it be? She had killed herself. He had buried her. And here she was, living and breathing.

  The tattoos on her arm burned, reminding her nothing would ever be normal again.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, Ademar awoke to an empty tent. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, stretched his legs, and slowly got up. After days of no sleep, he’d slept like a log, not waking even once. The bright light outside the tent told him he’d probably overslept and missed breakfast. His stomach growled, confirming it.

  Pulling his tunic over his head, he stumbled out of the tent. Alyna was sitting next to the nearest fire, sipping on a mug.

  “Tea?” he asked as he lumbered over to the log next to her.

  “Yes. There’s plenty. I couldn’t sleep last night, so I gathered some herbs.” She leaned over and whispered, “I wanted to be sure those orcs from Inab weren’t going to ambush us in the middle of the night.”

  Ademar had thought the same thing, but was too tired to do anything about it. At that point, he knew he’d be useless if they did attack. Alyna grabbed the kettle of boiling water from the fire, sprinkled a few herbs in the bottom of Ademar’s cup, then poured the water over them. “Here, I think you’ll like it.”