by Megg Jensen
The child blinked twice, pointing into the forest.
Vron stood, ready to follow its direction.
"Sir, I need to object. You cannot do as this human bids," Anthea begged him. She placed a hand on his arm. "Please, reconsider."
Vron shrugged her off, moving closer to the child.
It took off in a run into the forest. Vron followed, ignoring the voice in his head urging caution. The child looked over its shoulder, checking for Vron. It nodded, pointing deeper into the forest.
Vron broke branches as he barreled into the dark, overgrown forest. Though the orcs had cleared the trees for roads, they'd left the rest of the mountain untouched, allowing it to grow as nature intended.
Vron's heart pounded in his chest as he ran. The child stayed far in front of him, nimbly jumping between fallen branches and around rocks. Vron cursed his bulk. He wasn't made for the forest. Not like Alyna.
The child slowed down next to something on the ground. Vron slowed, too, then saw what he'd been watching for earlier—the shock of red hair.
Holding back a roar, Vron fell to his knees, reaching for Alyna with shaking hands. Her pulse beat in her wrist, and Vron let out a long sigh. She was alive. With his other hand, he pushed Alyna's hair from her face.
"Hi," she said with a small smile.
Vron wanted to yell at her, to tell her he'd been right, she never should have come into the forest alone. Instead, he said, "Hi."
"I'm glad Sally found you." Alyna's breaths were sharp. As if each inhalation pained her. "There is a magic user among the humans. A very powerful one. You mustn't let him live."
"We will kill them all," Vron assured her. The vow was as much to himself as to Alyna. He would kill them, or he would die trying.
"Do not be arrogant, my love." Alyna smiled again.
That same smile always tugged at his heart. He tried not to read too much into her words. She wasn’t well, after all. Vron squeezed Alyna's hand. "Do not speak as if you are about to die. I know you would never call me that if you thought you were going to live. And I won't let you die. Do you hear me?"
"Take care of Sally.” Alyna shuddered as her eyelashes fluttered closed.
"No." Vron scooped Alyna into his arms. "No. I won't let you die. Not like this."
"We don't have a choice," Alyna said. "What is done is done."
"I’m going to find help." Vron held Alyna tight to his chest. He looked back at the child. "Follow me, Sally."
Alyna translated between the two, her voice weak.
Vron ran through the forest, trying to keep a good clip without hurting Alyna. He would save her. She couldn't give up so easily. As he burst into camp, a group of orcs met him with their weapons bared.
"Stop!" Anthea yelled. "Come no further."
"Alyna is injured," Vron said. "Move out of my way."
"No. We are here to fight. Not to chase after human children. Not to use our resources to save fauns." Anthea's eyes narrowed. “Besides, what if this is a trap?”
"We are here only thanks to Alyna. Without her, we wouldn't know about the humans' plans to attack Agitar."
"The humans are nothing. They will be crushed. We will see to it. If you care more about one life than all of ours, leave our camp. We will not fight beside a coward." Reggin stood next to Anthea, his sword drawn.
Vron's anger exploded. Alyna’s life meant far more to him than this fool’s errand.
"Fine. I will take Alyna and the child with me. We will find our own help. Drothu protect your souls." Vron turned his back on his troops.
"Syra can help me," Alyna said, her voice weaker than before.
Vron carried Alyna to the unicorn, placing her gently on the beast's back. Syra's horn shimmered into view. Alyna tangled her fingers within the unicorn's mane as Syra took off in a gentle trot to the west.
He watched her breath became softer with each inhalation. Sally ran alongside Alyna, as if she couldn’t bear to be away from her side.
Vron took one last look at the orcs standing between him and the camp. They'd turned on him so quickly, the inexperience of youth fooling them into false pride. Feeling confident they could hold off the humans, he turned back toward Agitar on foot.
Chapter 20
General Dalgron sat alone in the garrison. The sun had barely risen. The other orcs were still sleeping in their homes. He couldn't sleep. Not after listening to what that faun said. The humans were thousands strong. Normally, such a number wouldn't give him pause. Though there were only five hundred orcs in his army, they counted each orc as four humans. With their small bones easily snapped, humans didn't stand a chance against the might of orcs.
Unfortunately, in abdicating, King Rafe had put Dalgron in a difficult situation. He now had to strategize on how to ensure a smooth transition for the throne. He couldn't afford distractions.
After the princess' death, the king had slunk away like a kitten. It was embarrassing. Orcs did not behave in such a manner.
Orcs were strong.
Orcs were resilient.
Orcs fought for the land and their kingdom.
The king should have marked Princess Sabniss’s death with a celebration, inviting the leaders of the strongest clans to honor her passing. Instead, he debased himself and his kind.
The world was a tangled mess. Dalgron had to find a way to unwind the knots and restore sanity, which meant choosing a path. Either defeat the humans or protect the integrity of the throne.
His weathered face rested in the palms of his hands, his elbows planted firmly on a table. Dalgron closed his eyes, imagining Agitar without a ruler. It would be chaos. Orcs would die needlessly, as their foes took more delight in the conquering than an honorable death. Their entire way of life would disintegrate without a good leader on the throne.
With a sigh, Dalgron stood. He didn't want to rule himself, but if it was the only way to preserve their way of life, he would carry the burden. He would bid on the throne, with the full might of the orc army behind him. And if Vron did his job right, it might work.
Dalgron stalked out of the war tent, trying not to think about his new lover, likely still sleeping off a night of pleasure in Dalgron's home. Dalgron wished he could have lost himself, but the night pressed on him, reminding him morning would soon come, bringing chaos with it.
He had to do something before their entire civilization exploded.
Making his way toward the royal palace, Dalgron struggled not to drag his feet. He would take the throne now, before any other challengers could arise. They'd arrive with their armies, only to find the seat occupied.
Dalgron hoped they'd be satisfied and take their warriors home.
Perhaps there would be no civil war.
Dalgron squared his shoulders and strode into the castle. He made his way to the throne room where two guards stood in front of the throne. As he approached, they crossed their lances, barring him from touching the throne.
"Step aside," Dalgron ordered his orcs. He'd chosen them himself, installing three shifts of elite warriors to guard the throne.
They stared at him, unblinking.
"Orcs!" Dalgron yelled again. "Step aside!"
Still, they refused to move.
"I am your general. I have given you an order. Obey!" Dalgron waited. Still, not one moved. "What is this mutiny? You will obey my orders!"
A long, low laugh echoed from a chamber behind the throne.
Dalgron's stomach tightened. "Who's back there?" His spies would have told him if other clans had arrived already, much less staked a claim.
A dark shadow loomed across the throne as someone emerged from behind. Dalgron squinted. His was aging, and his vision not as sharp as it used to be, but he was sure this was an orc he didn't know.
"You may call me My Lord King." The elf's mouth curled up into a cruel grin as he moved into the light.
An elf? On the orc throne?
"Your name!" Dalgron demanded.
"Kazrack. I am your new king." T
he orc motioned to Dalgron's guards. They parted their lances, allowing him to sit on the orc throne. He casually spread his legs to the side, his feet planted firmly on the inlaid gold dais.
Dalgron squeezed his hands into fists. How had this happened right under his nose? Who was this elf whose skin was so light it was almost translucent? How had he entered the city undetected and taken the throne? Dalgron would have to flog his spies.
Dalgron chanced a quick glance at his guards. They avoided eye contact. Not one gave any signal they might still be loyal to Dalgron or orckind.
"You are my general, yes?" Kazrack asked. "If so, I have an order for you."
Dalgron nodded, unsure how to proceed. If his best guards had defected, he had no chance of fighting Kazrack. Not alone like this. The elves were known for their magic, and if there was one thing Dalgron didn’t trust, it was magic.
"Make sure your armies spread the word: the orcs have a new king. Keep my borders safe from all intruders, human or orc. And, most importantly, do not cross me. You will live to regret it."
Two more of Dalgron's traitorous guards emerged from the antechamber, holding the former king's arms in their tight grasp. Rafe didn't even fight. His feet dragged along the floor as his head hung limp.
"As you see, your old king has given me his throne. Willingly, I might add." Kazrack made a gesture toward Rafe. The orc nodded his head once, his eyes devoid of emotion.
Kazrack motioned and two more guards emerged, Queen Agamede walking behind them, her head held high but her eyes filled with tears. "And as you can see, the queen has also consented to my ascendancy. Isn't that right, my dear?"
Agamede looked sorrowfully at her true husband. Her chin quivered as she tore her gaze away, turning to Kazrack. "Yes, my king." Her words were empty, forced.
Anger exploded in Dalgron's chest. This was not an honorable conquering. Orcs fought. They didn't compel others to follow their will. It was foul elf magic. A queen might defect to a new orc king, attracted to his power and might, but this takeover was a travesty.
Dalgron blinked, and at that moment, everything changed. The queen smiled, her tears dried. Kazrack no longer appeared threatening. It was as if Dalgron saw exactly what Kazrack wanted him to see.
Dalgron blinked again, confused. Orc revelers poured into the throne room. A party commenced before his eyes.
"As you can see, all is well. Is it not?" Kazrack asked as he held out a hand to Queen Agamede. She rested her hand on his, then took her place on the throne next to him.
"I see now," Dalgron said, not entirely sure he did see. He blinked furiously, but the scene did not change.
"Protect us, Dalgron," the queen said as he backed out of the room on his way back to the garrison.
As the doors shut behind him, Dalgron shook his head, utterly confused. What had just happened? Had he seen a happy queen or a queen compelled by magic? And her request to protect them. Had it been the dismissal of a trusted general, or a call for help?
Chapter 21
Brax saddled his horse, cinching the strap under its barrel. He gave it one final tug, satisfied it was secure. They would be riding out to the pass soon and attempting to break through the orc's defenses. Queen Lissa wanted it to be that simple. Brax was smart enough to know it would be the most difficult military maneuver he'd ever attempted.
The human kingdom was nothing more than self-imposed exile. The queen believed other kingdoms left them alone due to their might. Brax worried it was because they were so weak the orcs and elves didn't bother with them.
Yet here they were, advancing on orc lands. The orcs held every advantage. They were stronger. They were elite warriors. They knew the territory. They held the pass through the Barrier Mountains.
The only thing that gave Brax a shred of hope was that damned mage Damor. He claimed he could trick the orcs, scare them into letting the humans through the pass. If that was true, perhaps they stood a chance. At least they'd be fighting the orcs in the open rather than at the bottleneck.
"Sir." Jedd came up behind him, out of breath.
"Yes?" Brax braced himself for more bad news.
"It's the mage. He's unwell, and he's asking for you."
Brax took off in a run after Jedd. Without Damor, they'd probably all die unless the orcs were smart enough, or scared enough, to retreat. Brax's boots pounded as he weaved his way through crowds of soldiers preparing to ride off to war. Armor littered the ground. Weapons were strewn about. They were completely disorganized. Brax swallowed his guilt about all the lives that were going to be lost.
The two men reached the palanquin. The slave orcs stood outside, lazing around, their legs chained to a thick pole at the base of the mage's palanquin.
"What happened?" Brax knew their names but couldn't tell them apart. All orcs, male and female, looked the same to him. They ignored him, completely oblivious to his presence.
Brax pulled the fabric aside, his eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness within. "Damor?"
A quiet rasping breath was his only answer.
"You might want to go in there, sir," Jedd suggested, his eyebrows raised.
The last thing Brax wanted was to go into the mage's creepy den, but he had no choice but to face his fear. Brax stepped on the stool outside the palanquin, heaving himself inside.
"Close the drapes," Damor ordered, his voice barely audible.
Brax did as he bid.
Darkness swallowed them. For a moment, Brax wondered if he was still inside the palanquin, or if he'd been magically transported elsewhere. He shook his head, erasing the ridiculous thought from his mind.
"I heard you are ill. Is there anything I can do to help?" Brax really wanted to know if the mage was healthy enough to help them fight that day.
"I need rest. I will recover eventually. But you must know what I've discovered." Damor's voice trembled with the effort to speak.
Brax leaned closer.
"The orcs are not alone. They have a powerful magic user with them, though not as powerful as me." Damor's words were punctuated by a laugh, then a cough. "I defeated her, but there may be others."
Brax rubbed his temples. Great. The one advantage they had might be canceled out by the orcs. "So now what? If you aren't well enough to perform magic, how can we guarantee successful passage through the mountains? The queen will have my head...if I survive."
"You will survive. I have seen it," Damor whispered. "And we will take the pass. You must march today. Don't let anything stand in your way. I will be well soon enough. Besides, the greatest battle lies ahead. The pass is only a stepping stone. Traverse it."
Brax wanted to throttle the mage. Instead, his hands balled into fists in his lap. He had no idea how to break through the pass. Brute force wouldn't do it. They were on low ground, the orcs on high. It wouldn't work. With archers alone, the orcs could pick them off one by one. They would have to do something creative to defeat the orcs.
As if reading his mind, Damor said, "Use your cunning to thwart the orcs. Have confidence." A gnarly hand rested on Brax's thigh, squeezing gently.
Brax pushed the mage's hand off his leg, his whole body tingling with disgust. He hated working with this man. He hated the whole situation.
Without another word, Brax climbed out of the palanquin, his eyes burning at the sudden appearance of the sun.
"Sir?" Jedd asked.
Brax was never so happy to see the man. He clapped Jedd's shoulder. "We ride today. Make sure the army is prepared for battle."
"Yes, sir." Jedd took off for the center of the camp.
Brax glanced at the two orcs. "You do a brave service to the humans."
"We serve as slaves, not of our own accord," one of the orcs growled.
The other orc nudged her sister with an elbow. "He might hear you."
"I don't care. The bastard is sick. Hopefully he's dying." The first orc turned to Brax. "And if he dies, breaking his hold on us, you will be the first human I kill." Her eyes were lit with the
fire of hatred.
Brax didn't blame them. He'd hate his life and everyone around him if he was under Damor's control, too. Death for anyone complicit would seem appropriate retribution. She could easily rip him limb from limb before he'd have a chance to fight back. Just like the orcs waiting in the pass.
Though he hated Damor with every fiber of his being, Brax wanted to believe the mage's prediction that they would live to fight more battles.
Making his way back to his horse, Brax smiled confidently at his troops, bolstering their confidence, though he worried this might be his last day.
Before reaching his camp, he took a detour to the royal tent. It stood taller than all the others, the fabric dyed a deep purple and a pennant with a white horse flying from the topmost point.
"I'd like to see the queen," Brax said to the guard.
The guard stepped into the tent; a moment later he returned. "The queen will see you."
Brax strode into the tent, falling to one knee in front of the queen. "I wanted to speak with you before we head to the pass."
The queen motioned for him to sit on a pillow. Brax sank into the plush fabric. For the second time this morning he sat at the feet of someone who had ultimate control over his life. The people of Soleth were supposedly free, yet he felt almost as much a slave as Damor's orcs.
"I can smell victory in the air," Queen Lissa said. Her blond hair streamed around her shoulders and down to her knees. Her skin glowed.
Brax wondered, not for the first time, how she managed to stay so clean during the journey. None of them had had a proper bath in days.
"Victory smells of blood. Orc blood. You will make the mountains flow with it." She looked at Brax, her haughty eyes sparkling.
"My queen, the mage—”
"He is ill. It happens." Queen Lissa waved a perfectly manicured hand in the air. "I trust you can do your job, Commander. Don't prove me wrong." She snapped her fingers. A young child came running from outside, holding a bowl filled with grapes.