by Megg Jensen
“Drothu doesn’t know where you are. And that, my new friend, will be the key to our success.”
“I don’t understand.” Tace felt an uneasy dip in her stomach.
“You will. In time.”
“I don’t have time!” Tace yelled, unable to contain her frustration any longer. “I need to get back to Agitar. There is much to do!”
“As we speak, Agitar has been beset by yet another enemy. This time the ghosts of the dead have risen and are killing the living, to swell their numbers for the coming battle.”
“What? Then I need to go back!” Tace instinctively reached to her hips, where her daggers usually rested. But the orc had taken them. They were probably hidden in the mysterious hatch under the floor.
“How will you fight a ghost?” the orc asked, cocking his head to the side. “Come now, tell me of your majestic plan.”
Tace opened her mouth, then shut it just as fast. She had no idea how to fight something that was already dead. When she’d been trapped in the underworld, the forms had floated past her, no more than clouds. Her daggers would have done her no good there, and it was likely they’d do no good here in Agitar.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “And you think you can teach me how to defeat this darkness that never seems to leave my orcs alone?”
“I know I can. If you will let me. Will you, Tace?”
His eyes locked on hers, and for a moment Tace believed he could help her make sense of everything that had happened to her since the night she’d tried to kill Hugh, the human priest. Since then, her world had been in chaos, and nothing she’d done had brought her peace. In fact, she now felt more unsettled than she had in her entire tumultuous life.
Her resolve melted, and she dropped her arms to her sides. “Help me.”
He smiled and pulled a flask from his vest. “Drink this, and we shall begin.”
Tace took it from his hands and unstoppered the spout. Taking a long draught, she glanced at Raseri once last time before passing out.
Chapter 18
Ademar stepped out of his tent, his pack on his back. He’d argued with Frensia for far too long. The umgar had tried to convince him to take them along, but Ademar refused. Frensia had already risked too much leading him across the southern part of Doros. It was time for the umgar to return to their home.
His eyes widened as he looked toward the burial mound, where the orcs had gone to discuss Vitagut’s plan to move them to Inab. The orcs were there, as expected, but they were in total chaos. A cloud of swirling specters swooped among them. Some orcs fought back ineffectively; others ran.
What was going on? Ademar had truly believed they had finally gotten past Agitar’s horrors. And now this…
He watched in horror as a ghost floated into the body of a living orc—and did not emerge on the other side. The orc’s eyes blackened, and his lips turned up in a snarl. He unsheathed his sword from his hip, raised it in the air, and sliced right through the chest of the orc next to him.
“Take him out!” Vitagut shouted, raising his own sword and running toward the possessed orc.
In battle frenzy, Vitagut hacked at the possessed orc, killing him. But the orc’s death had no effect on the ghost, which simply floated out of the body and toward another, living orc. Vitagut chased after the ghost, slashing through its foggy form to no avail.
“I will not kill all of my orcs just to stop the ghosts from possessing them!” Vitagut’s voice cracked with anguish. “To your horses! Flee as fast as you can!”
Pandemonium broke out. Every orc grabbed the nearest draft horse, mounting quickly and riding to the east. Clouds of dust rose from the horses’ pounding hooves.
A hand landed on Ademar’s shoulder, startling him from his terror. It was Alyna, atop a draft horse.
“Come!” she said. “We must flee! There is no way to stop this!”
“I need to find Tace,” he said.
“You need to run,” Alyna said. “You’ll have to chase after Tace later.”
Ademar saw that Tace’s trail away from the camp had been trampled by the fleeing orcs. Even if he had time to examine the ground, all signs of her path were probably now gone.
But maybe there was something else he could do to help the orcs.
He reached into his pocket and fingered the token the boy had given him at the Fifth Sanctum. The boy had said he could use it to transport anywhere, but that it had only three charges. He’d already used one to bring Tace’s body back to Agitar. With two charges left, he could travel home to Soleth and back again. There was something there that might be of use to the orcs in this fight.
“Ademar!” Alyna said. “Now is not the time for deep thoughts. I know you are a religious man and not a warrior, but standing still will only get you killed.”
Ademar stood firm. “I’m not coming.”
“You must! If you argue, I’ll be forced to knock you out and throw you over the horse’s back myself. Don’t think for a moment I won’t.”
Despite the destruction around them, he had to laugh. “I believe you. Now follow your own advice. Go.” He patted the horse on the rump.
The horse took off, sensing the danger and leaving without waiting for a command from Alyna. The faun glared at him over her shoulder as the horse spirited her away.
Ademar ran to the tent he’d shared with Tace. He found Frensia sitting comfortably on the floor with a book in their hand.
“Why are you still here?” Ademar asked the umgar. “Have you not looked outside?”
Frensia took a moment before tearing their eyes from the page. “Oh, yes, I am aware of the excitement. But have you not noticed the ghosts are only targeting the orcs? I believe you and I are safe.”
“Safe?” Ademar asked incredulously. “There is no safety from a possessed orc. Even if the ghosts ignore us at first, it doesn’t mean they won’t try to kill us once they’ve entered an orc body.”
“I suppose.” Frensia dropped their eyes to the book again.
Ademar held in a frustrated sigh. “I’m leaving. Do you want to come with me? Or would you rather stay behind and tempt fate?”
Frensia stood, closing the book and dropping it into the pack strapped over their shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask. Where are you taking us?”
“To Soleth.”
“Your home?”
Ademar didn’t answer right away. Soleth was no longer his home. The only place he thought of when he used the word “home” was Agitar.
“Where the humans live, yes.” It was the best answer he could give. “There is something I left there that might help us.”
“So, you’re going to use that stone of yours twice, thus rendering it useless if needed later in an emergency?” Frensia stared at him with their large black eyes, unblinking.
“You don’t call this an emergency?” Ademar gestured at the flap leading outside the tent. “Everyone is running for their lives!”
“Not everyone. You and I are standing here quite calmly.”
“Umgar,” Ademar whispered under his breath. He grabbed Frensia’s clammy silver hand, pulled the stone out of his pocket, and ran his thumb over the smooth surface. “Hold on,” he said to Frensia as the token warmed under his thumb.
He blinked once—and the scene around him changed.
Instead of being inside a tent, they now stood at the edge of a forest on the southern end of Doros. Ademar immediately recognized the smells of the human land, a mixture of manure from the farms and rising yeast from freshly baked bread.
Frensia dropped Ademar’s hand. “Mustn’t let the humans think you’re involved with an umgar. What a scandal that would be!”
Ademar knew Frensia was right. The humans almost never mixed with the other races. His relationship with Tace could result in his banishment, if he were to stay in Soleth—which he wouldn’t. Nothing could entice him back to a permanent residence with the humans. He hadn’t felt at home there as a child, and he certainly didn’t now.
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br /> “Involved or not,” Ademar said, “I warn you, they may be nervous about meeting you. Humans are fairly isolated in this part of Doros. Most have never left, except when they marched on the orcs of Agitar. And they were out for blood then, thinking only of Hugh’s death and not who was truly responsible.”
“You mean Tace?” Frensia asked, eyes wide.
“Tace didn’t kill Hugh,” Ademar replied between gritted teeth.
“Ah, but she would have if Hugh hadn’t killed himself.” Frensia wagged a finger. “The humans blamed the orcs for his death regardless. Perhaps if they’d been able to kill Tace…”
“Enough! That’s irrelevant. Just… expect them to look at you strangely. And expect some cruel words too.”
“They won’t try to kill me upon first sight? Well, isn’t that comforting?” Frensia adjusted the pack over their chest. “By all means then, introduce me to your fellow humans.”
Ademar would have preferred to have left Frensia behind in Agitar, but he couldn’t risk the umgar’s life. After everything Frensia had done to help them at the Library of Filamir and the Fifth Sanctum, Ademar owed them protection.
“We’re going directly to my childhood home. My parents will treat you kindly. Beyond that, I can’t promise anything. Just keep your mouth shut, okay? They won’t understand your candor.”
Ademar started for the city limits. He just hoped Frensia would be received without too much suspicion. It was the best he could hope for, considering how humans felt about anyone who wasn’t… well, human.
Chapter 19
Damor cast his mind out of his body and into the void, searching for the orc Azlinar had told him about. If she was truly out there somewhere, and she was truly the rightful heir to the throne of Agitar, then he had to find her. Particularly if she was so easily manipulated by Azlinar. The orc had been powerful, yes, but he was nothing compared to Damor. Azlinar had masters he obeyed; Damor obeyed only himself, despite pledging his loyalties when and where it suited him. If Azlinar could control her, then Damor could outright own her.
He found her in the ruined castle in Agitar.
He reached inside her; felt her pain. She’d wrapped it around herself like a warm blanket. Interesting. She used it to soothe herself, unlike so many others who used pain as a form of self-torture. She took comfort in the pain, as if it were a salve on her soul.
Damor was intrigued. If he could reach her, bring her back, she might be just the one he needed. Drawing deep from his well of magic, he reached out, breathed as one with her.
She sat up suddenly on the bed and looked around.
Good. She felt his presence.
She swung her feet off the bed onto the warm wooden floor and padded over to the window. It faced west, toward Damor. His tendrils of magic beckoned to her, pulling her to him. Then she looked to the west, and a rush of pain interrupted his work. Agitar was her home, but it had caused her nothing but anguish.
Damor gently withdrew, but only a little.
She reached her hand toward the window. A wistful sigh escaped her lips as her fingertips ran down the glass to the sill. Her shoulders slumped.
Damor pushed forward once more, sending a vision of orcs crowding around her, vying for her attention.
Her back straightened. She grasped the sill with both hands and leaned ever so slightly toward the glass. Her breath quickened, her chest quickly rising and falling.
Damor smiled. He had her. She still wanted it.
And he would make sure she served him.
Without another thought, he let go of the vision and returned to full awareness of his body.
Ylantri paced in the corner of the tent, distraught. Apparently, the dead orcs had transformed into ghosts and were wreaking havoc on the remaining living orcs. Damor had laughed at the thought. These poor orcs. They couldn’t seem to stop the march of death and destruction. If Damor had a normal lifespan, or even a soul, he might be more concerned for himself. As it was, this was just another skirmish between the mortals and the immortals who sought to control them. All of it was beneath Damor.
Ylantri paused in her pacing. “What are we going to do?” she said. “All of those souls…”
“You want to help them, don’t you?”
That was, after all, what Shadari did. Ylantri could draw the souls of the dying out of their bodies. Then, deep within herself, she would tend to them, keeping them safe from whatever horrors waited for them beyond death. For death was not the end of life. It was only a passage to another form of being—a form Damor never wanted to take on.
“I think it’s too late for me to help them.” Ylantri sank onto the pillows on the floor next to Damor. “I might as well go home to Gailwyn like the others. It was foolish of me to think I could stay here and help.”
Damor waited for a few moments, not wanting to rush the suggestion.
Ylantri wrung her hands, clearly distraught.
Damor waited until a tear slipped down her cheek.
“I have had a vision,” he said softly. “I know where we can be safe and you can continue your work.”
Ylantri’s eyes widened. “There is so much to be done. So many souls to save from Drothu’s clutches. You’ve seen what he can do. It was probably he who made these lost souls rise and wreak death and destruction on their own kind. Do you really think you can help me?”
Damor caught himself. Not for the first time, Ylantri had tugged on feelings deep within him. Feelings he’d buried. Feelings he no longer acknowledged—or needed. There was just something about her…
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. She was a tool, not a friend. She was the only one who could take him to this princess of Agitar.
“I think so,” he said gently, faking those emotions he refused to access. “We can help each other in this.” He reached out, letting his arm tremble slightly more than was natural. “I will need your assistance to move, though.”
“Of course.” Ylantri jumped to her feet. “I will find someone with a cart and a horse. You won’t be left here alone, even though…” Her words trailed off, but Damor knew what she had been about to say: that he would be safe here, in this place of ghosts. For he had no soul. Not one to save, nor one to steal.
“Thank you,” he said. He managed a weak smile.
With a bow, Ylantri exited the tent.
Damor lay back on his pillows and let his eyes close. He reestablished the connection he’d made with the orc to the east—Nemia—and entered her dreams.
Diseased orcs lumbered forth from the deepest recesses of her mind. She felt in control, but at the same time… she feared them. Feared what would happen if they ceased to obey her. Feared their retaliation if they knew she could have released them from their prison. Every choice she made in the frantic dream came from a place of fear, not one of ambition.
Damor was surprised. A princess should have deep wells of ambition. But this orc appeared to be ruled by insecurity. Now he could understand how an orc as weak in magic as Azlinar had controlled her so easily. If Damor could just get to her, he was sure he could help her defeat the ghosts and retake the throne of Agitar. It would be child’s play. Perhaps a few orcs would lose their lives in the process, but wasn’t that how these things went? They pledged their lives to the throne, and to the throne they would give them up.
Once she was installed as the queen, he would have his place of power, too. A place from which he could finally begin preparations for his personal goals. After they were enacted, he would be ruler, and she would be disposable.
Just another life given to his mission.
The tent flap opened again. Ylantri, shadowed by a bulky elf. Damor recognized him as Lymetyrr, one of the elves who had stayed behind. “He will take us,” she said, “but we must leave now. Are you prepared?”
Damor smiled weakly. “Thank you, Ylantri. I owe you my life.”
She leaned down and whispered into Damor’s ear, her lips tickling the air next to his lobe, “We will go toget
her. I promise, I will never leave you behind.”
Then she did the most surprising thing. She pecked him on the cheek with clear affection.
If Damor had feelings, he might have blushed.
Chapter 20
Alyna sped away on the horse’s back, clutching its silky mane in her hands. The cold breath of a pursuing ghost brushed the nape of her neck, spawning legions of goose bumps on her arms. Despite her best efforts to focus on what lay ahead, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder.
What she saw took her eyes hostage. What followed her wasn’t just any ghost. It was a ghost in the image of the orc she’d loved.
“Vron.”
The name escaped her lips as the horse picked up speed. It was as if it knew temptation had seized her companion.
Alyna let go of the mane with one hand and reached out toward the ghost. It was him; she was sure of it. Despite the hazy form and gray pallor, she could see the love in his eyes. He was still there somehow. And he still loved her, too.
With trembling fingers, she leaned farther off the horse. She needed to touch him. Just once more. She had to tell him she loved him now, since she hadn’t been able to tell him in life. Perhaps his soul would rest if he knew.
“No!” yelled a voice.
An arm wrapped around her waist. Alyna was pulled off the horse’s back and onto the back of a draft horse.
She was snapped out of her dreamlike state. “Vitagut!” she snarled. “Let me go!”
“Let you go? A ghost was about to possess you, and you were letting it! I will not take you back there. Look!” He pointed behind them. “Even now the ghost lingers, watching you.”
She looked back. It was Vron. She knew it. His ghostly head drooped as she pulled away from him, and he floated away to rejoin the pulsing mass of spirits.
Her heart lurched. If it really was Vron, wouldn’t he have kept trying to reach her?
“He was trying to tell me something,” she insisted. “I was going to save him.”