by Megg Jensen
“I’m done.” Ylantri stood, her eyes half closed. She sighed, took in a deep breath, and composed herself once again. “I’m pleased you invited us up here.”
They assembled in Nemia’s bedchambers, and Nemia turned on the shriveled man. “Now. Tell me exactly how you’re going to help me, or the three of you will be just as dead as the orc out there. I have no time for games. As you can see, my city needs me.”
Damor didn’t so much as blink. “You can’t kill us. No matter how hard you try, my magic is far stronger than yours.”
Anger bubbled in Nemia’s stomach. Why did everyone think they were better than her? For once, she wanted someone—other than Azlinar, who’d always cooed over her greatness—to admit she was the most powerful.
“I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” she said. She raised her palm, and the familiar buildup of magic filled her veins. She strained with every breath, focusing her magic on one target—the pompous mage. She breathed in deeply through her nose, and as she exhaled, she let the magic loose.
Nothing happened.
Panicked, she thrust her palm at Damor, willing the magic to release itself on him. But it remained inside her, roiling, as if trapped by a dam, unable to spill out. She fell to her knees. She had to release the magic before it imploded. She’d seen what her magic could do. She wouldn’t survive an internal implosion.
“I’m not here to serve you,” the mage said, his small, pointy teeth grinning at her pain. “We can work together, but I will never pretend to be your servant. Agree, and I will release you.”
Nemia hated the idea. Being on equal footing with this mage? Never. She would rule this land herself, on her own terms. And he was human, of all races! Humans were inferior idiots.
A fist gripped her heart. Her magic was pressing inward, threatening to snuff out her life in one squeeze.
“No,” she whimpered. “I won’t.”
The fist around her heart tightened. For just a moment she blacked out—then her vision returned, lit with sparkling stars, as she gasped for air.
“One final chance,” the mage said.
Nemia hated being controlled. She hated everything about her wretched life from the day her parents chose to put her to the side. Everything she’d ever done was within the confines of what someone else wanted from her. It wasn’t until she’d trapped her parents in the dungeon that she’d finally felt in total control.
And now, mere moments later, it had all been taken from her again.
She bent at the waist, her forehead on the floor, the rubble boring holes into her forehead. The pain was too much to bear. She wished he would just end it.
“Ylantri,” Damor said. “Don’t let her leave.”
Leave? Nemia thought. Did he think she was in any condition to run away?
The blond elf knelt beside her and rested a hand on her back.
Nemia felt something pause inside her. It felt as though her body was being ripped in two. Part of it wanted to expire, to take its last breath, but something was stopping her from dying. Was it the elf? Did she have magic to control life and death?
“Say you will partner with me. Say it!” the mage screamed.
“I—I will,” Nemia sputtered through gritted teeth.
“Release her,” Damor commanded.
The elf lifted her hand, and Nemia felt… something—my soul?—settle within her again.
She sat up slowly, then rose unsteadily to her feet. Sweat streamed down her brow. This human’s magic was indeed as strong as Azlinar had said. Stronger. And he had this strange elf witch to assist him.
Powerful or not, the mage had just made an enemy. Nemia would find a way to kill him and his witch friend. No one would control her like that ever again.
No one.
Chapter 31
Ylantri stood by as Lymetyrr set Damor down on Nemia’s bed and carefully arranged him on the blankets. The orc princess remained on the floor, cowering in fear. Ylantri didn’t blame her. Even she was slightly shaken by what she’d just done.
For years, Ylantri had taken the souls of those on the brink of death and given them a new life within the confines of her own body. But she had never held a soul hostage and then returned it to its original body. And she’d performed the task of her own free will. Damor had ordered her, yes, but he hadn’t compelled her.
It made her uncomfortable. She wanted to help Damor regain his power. And she couldn’t help but want to study him—he was the only living being she’d ever met without a soul. She wouldn’t rest until she understood how he lived. That meant she had to stay near him, in order to observe. But she did not like what she had just done. Nor did she like that she had done it at his bidding.
“Now, let us begin again,” Damor said from the bed, sounding winded. “Will you work with me?”
Nemia glared at him and struggled to her knees.
“Stay where you are.” Damor flicked a wrist, and she fell on her bottom.
The young orc took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. She hated every moment of this. But she wouldn’t resist for long. How could she?
“What do you want from me?” she asked, glaring at Damor from behind a curtain of hair that had fallen over her face.
“Cooperation.” Damor said it as if it were the simplest concession. “Together, you and I will restore Agitar to power.”
“What do you care about my city? You are a human. You belong south of the Tingale Forest. Leave Agitar to the orcs.”
Damor sneered. “Because you’ve done such a good job with it?”
Ylantri’s stomach curdled. She knew he wasn’t the kindest person, but she was beginning to wonder about the depths of evil he was willing to dive into to achieve his goals.
“What’s happened in Agitar,” Nemia retorted, “has been beyond all control. If you think you can fix it, then why haven’t you done it already?”
The child was bold, and she was right.
Damor’s brow furrowed and his lips turned up in a snarl. “I have my reasons,” he said.
“Your only reason is that you aren’t as powerful as you claim to be. So what if you’re stronger than me? You’re still not strong enough to defeat the forces at work here in Agitar. You need me and you know it. Otherwise, why not just kill me now?”
Nemia locked eyes with Damor, then slowly stood.
Ylantri bit her lip. Impressive. The child had bested the mage—even if only momentarily.
“I will kill you when I’m ready,” Damor said.
Nemia’s eyes flashed, then she returned to her steely-eyed gaze. “Perhaps I will do the same.”
Ylantri had heard enough. “Well. Now that the two of you have your roles sorted out, I suspect it’s time to make a plan. How will we defeat the ghosts and stop future attacks?” She sat on the room’s only unbroken chair, ignoring the bits of it poking her on the bum. After walking all day from the prairie, she was utterly exhausted.
“Azlinar created this mess,” Damor answered. “And your little army is the one that’s now terrorizing us as ghosts. I have to clean up his mess, then find a way to close the portal that Drothu’s minions are coming through.”
“Portal?” Ylantri asked. It was the first she’d heard of that. “Drothu exists in death. He is not of this world. You make it sound as if it’s an entrance to a cave and we have to plug it.”
“That is a rudimentary way to describe it. As you know, there are pathways between the living and the dead. Some are well-traveled roads. Others are secret passageways only open to those who have the arcane knowledge. Azlinar knew enough to be dangerous, but not enough to be successful.”
“And it’s easily closed, this portal?” Nemia asked.
“With the right tools, yes. I suspect Azlinar was traveling between worlds, but was unable to properly close the door behind him. I will succeed where he failed.” Damor’s breathing became more labored with every word. His pallor was a disturbing gray.
“Do you need to rest?” Ylantri asked.
She stood and rested her palm on his forehead. “You’re warm.”
“I’m fine. It’s simply been a long day.”
“You feel feverish. I have some herbs in my bag that can help you.”
“No!” Damor said, his words tinged with anger. “I will not take any herbs. I’m fine. I want to rest for a bit, then Nemia and I will get to work on stopping the ghosts. I will explain it all to you when I awaken.” He motioned for Ylantri to come closer.
She leaned in, her ear close to his lips.
“I am ill,” he whispered. “It will not be long now. Guard me while I sleep.” His eyes closed, and he sank into the pillows.
Chapter 32
Ademar sat on the wooden bench in the corner of the cell he and Frensia had been thrown into. He’d tried to sleep, but hadn’t been able to get comfortable. His butt ached. There wasn’t enough space to pace adequately. And he was desperate to escape and retrieve what he’d come to Soleth for.
The guard’s snores echoed—he was sound asleep. Not that it mattered; there was no way out. Ademar had searched, to no avail. Soleth’s prisons weren’t used often, but they were secure.
The former queen’s grandfather had seen to that. He’d imprisoned as many people as he could during his reign, even for the smallest of infractions. Ademar’s father had often whispered that the king did that to make up for some kind of physical lacking. His mother always laughed and rolled her eyes in response. Ademar didn’t get the crude joke until he was older, and when he did, he was surprised that his religious father had told it. He chuckled under his breath now, thinking of it.
“What is in the box?” Frensia asked, their voice loud and unrestrained.
Ademar pressed a finger to his lips, glancing over at the sleeping guard.
“Oh, yes, I will speak much more quietly,” Frensia said in an exaggerated whisper.
“It’s something that might make the ghosts go away,” Ademar said.
“What is it, though?” The umgar’s eyes were wide. “I have read about many things in the Library of Filamir, and I don’t recall anything about talismans that can drive away specters. There are spells that might work, but they would only be attempted by the greatest of shamans. And even then, I cannot think of any that were successful. What makes you think whatever’s in that box will help?”
Usually Ademar appreciated Frensia’s blunt attitude. Right now, he didn’t want to hear it. The truth was, he didn’t know if it would do… anything. It was as much a mystery to him as anyone else. But he’d seen its power once when he was younger; he’d seen it cleanse someone of their vices and turn them onto a path toward bettering the world.
That someone was Hugh. The king’s son and the future queen’s father. He touched the stone, and his entire life changed its trajectory. No longer was he the lackadaisical prince; he became a man who cared only about finding truth among the light.
Ademar had been only four years old at the time. But Hugh had wrapped the stone in a cloth, secreted it in a box, and asked Ademar to keep it hidden for him. Years later, when Hugh proclaimed he was leaving Soleth behind in the pursuit of knowledge of the orc religion, Ademar chose to follow him. He left the box behind, hidden, and didn’t think of it again.
Until now.
“Do you have any better ideas?” he asked Frensia.
“I’ve already helped you with that once—or have you already forgotten?” Frensia wagged a long silver finger. “We met because you required help for the orc city. But without my books, I have few ideas; I only know what I read. And sadly, I have not read anything that can solve this.”
“Can you ever go back?” Ademar asked. “To the library, I mean. Will they forgive you?”
“It’s more likely they’d kill me.”
Ademar had never meant to hurt anyone, much less this unsuspecting librarian who’d gotten caught up in their problems. “I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do to change that.”
Frensia sat next to Ademar and rested their cold hand on his shoulder. “There is no need for you to change anything. I prefer this over another day in the library. I’ve spent the bulk of my life there, reading and shelving and researching. I loved it, but this adventure is by far the pinnacle of my life. Most umgar spend their sheltered lives doing simplistic things. I’ve been waiting my whole life to do something exciting!”
“Exactly how old are you?” Ademar asked. Unlike humans, who aged ungracefully, the few umgar Ademar had seen all appeared to be about the same age.
“It is rude to ask.” Frensia turned away.
Ademar held back a laugh. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was simply curious. Forget I asked.”
As quickly as they turned away, Frensia turned back. “I forgive you. Never ask again. It is the rudest question to ask an umgar.”
Curiosity got the better of Ademar. “Can I at least ask why it’s rude?”
“Yes, you can ask,” Frensia responded, very serious.
“Why is it rude to ask an umgar their age?”
“It's rude to ask questions when the answers are forbidden. Revealing our age is taboo because it reminds us we do not live forever. Age marks the passage of time. Umgar prefer to live in the present.” Frensia glared at Ademar. “But you have changed the topic, clever human. You still have not told me what is in this box or how it will help our friends in Agitar.”
Ademar had hoped Frensia would let it go, but he supposed that had been too much to hope for. After all, the box was the reason they were in prison. It was the reason they were in Soleth in the first place.
“I have seen powerful things happen to those who touch what is inside,” he said.
“And who will you have touch it?” Frensia asked. “The ghosts? It is likely they will only pass through it.”
“Maybe that will be enough?” Ademar said.
But he couldn’t help but feel that Frensia was right. The whole idea was ridiculous. They’d come here on a fool’s errand.
“Well, it is better to try something, however… desperate… rather than stay there to die. I am glad we came.” Frensia smiled their inauthentic grin.
“Don’t,” Ademar said. “I know you don’t mean it.”
“Perhaps I do,” Frensia said. “Perhaps I am learning more about feelings than I thought possible. Perhaps I do feel hopeful and wanted to express that feeling with a smile. I will work on forming a more pleasing expression in the future.”
Frensia’s face contorted in various iterations of smiles. The left side higher than the right. The right higher than the left. A small curl at the corner of one lip. Not a single one of them looked anything remotely like an actual smile.
Ademar couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter so loud it woke the guard.
“Quiet in there!” he yelled at them. “What’s so funny?”
“Is this funny?” Frensia turned to the guard, their face set in the most ridiculous attempt at a smile Ademar had ever seen.
The guard leapt from his chair, his hand hovering over a staff standing in the corner. “Are you trying to intimidate me? It’s not working, freak.”
“Intimidate? No, of course not. I was attempting my best smile. Here, let me help you understand my race better. I will sing you the lays of the umgars’ birth on this planet.” Frensia’s mouth dropped open, and the most hideous wail emanated from their lips. Undulating arms joined with ululating vocalizations as Frensia began to, presumably, act out the entire history of the umgar.
The guard threw his hands over his ears. Ademar sat back on the bench and relaxed. He was determined to enjoy the show. Maybe it would even be their ticket out of the prison. He chuckled to himself. Surely the guard would do anything to make that sound stop.
Chapter 33
Frader sat with his elbows on either side of the box he’d taken from Ademar. Ed sat across from him, obscured by shadows at the table they’d chosen in the back of a pub.
“You think we should open it?” Frader asked.
Ed shr
ugged. “Of course we should. I mean, if he says it can end what’s happening up in Agitar, maybe we can use it. That campaign was a nightmare, but what if you and I could be the big war heroes?”
“Soleth does need a leader…” Frader mused. He imagined himself with a crown atop his head, his wife by his side. He thought of her large nose and obnoxious red hair, and quickly replaced her with a buxom blonde. Hey, if he was to be a leader, he needed a woman worthy of the position.
“So, let’s do it. Open it,” Ed said.
Frader studied the box. Part of him wanted there to be nothing in there, to prove that Ademar was a traitor, if not completely insane. They could execute him and move on with their lives. But if there was something useful in the box, some kind of arcane secret…
Frader thought once again of the buxom blonde.
“What are you waiting for? Afraid it’ll bite?” Ed reached out for the box.
Frader slapped the man’s hand away. “No. This was my idea. I’m going to open it.”
He ran his thumb over the simple latch, flicked it open, and lifted the lid. Inside was a silken cloth wrapped around a lumpy object.
“Well? What is it? What’s in there?” Ed asked, eager.
“Not sure yet. I have to unwrap it.” Frader let the lid fall back so Ed could see.
Ed looked disappointed. “It’s just a scrap of cloth.”
“No, there’s something inside it.” Frader’s fingers shook, just a little, as he took the silk between his fingers and pulled it aside, revealing a stone. Its edges were jagged, and it was the dullest gray he’d ever seen.
“Geez, Frader, it’s just a rock. A fuckin’ rock,” Ed said. “One of Ademar’s childhood treasures, probably. He was cuckoo even as a kid. It’s obvious nothing has changed.” He stood, knocking his chair over with his ample backside. “I can’t believe we imprisoned him over a rock. It’s embarrassing. I’m glad no one but my wife knows. I’m headed home. You coming?”