by Megg Jensen
Ademar thought of Tace's tongue on his chest, then pushed the image away. "A few words here and there, but not fluently."
Brax pulled his horse up alongside Ademar's. "How long have you been away from Soleth?"
Though Ademar didn't owe Brax anything, he thought being honest might get the man to open up. "A few years. Long enough to know that I felt more at home with the orcs than my fellow humans." It was true: when he'd left for Agitar with Hugh all those years ago, he had missed little about his homeland. With humans, he had always felt like he didn't fit in, whereas around orcs, he had felt an immediate kinship. Though he couldn't count any of them as friends before meeting Tace.
Brax glanced down at his hands, then looked back up at Ademar. "I, too, didn't feel at home there anymore. Though I wouldn't say Agitar is the right place for me either."
Ademar laughed, tossing his head back. "Considering you've only seen it in ruins, I don't blame you."
Brax faced forward again. He opened his mouth to speak, then quickly closed it.
Ademar knew what Brax wanted to ask, but Tace wasn't a topic Ademar was willing to discuss. He wasn't even sure what they were to each other. She had been eager to show him how she felt physically, but she never wanted to talk about what it meant.
And perhaps that was for the best. Ademar wasn't ready to make a commitment either.
"How much further?" Brax asked.
"I suspect we'll be seeing the tops of the spires as soon as we break through the forest." They had been traveling through the western edge of Tingale Forest, keeping away from the coast. After everything they'd seen in Agitar, none of them wanted to be sitting targets for anything else that might emerge with the intent to kill them. "It shouldn't be much longer."
The two men kept silent after that.
Ademar wasn't sure yet if he liked his human traveling companion. Human males were rarely comfortable simply saying what they felt. As a child and young man, Ademar had learned to use words to hide emotion, to misdirect. He shouldn't have expected Brax to be any different. Well, if the man was uncomfortable with meaningful conversation—if they had to stick to the weather and geography—then so be it.
When the sun began to set, Tace jumped off her horse and motioned for the two men to do the same. "Want to see those spires you were talking about?"
Ademar tried to conceal his surprise. He hadn't realized she was listening, and thought she wouldn't be able to translate. Another mysterious trait of Tace's. He never knew what to expect with her.
Brax's mouth turned down. He wasn't happy about this either. It didn't matter, though. Neither had spoken of anything of great import.
"Yes, I haven't seen the tower in years. I can't wait to take it in from the northern side." Ademar motioned to Brax. "Come. You'll be impressed."
They followed Tace out of the forest to the shoreline. To the south, as she'd said, the towers rose into the clouds, their tips disappearing in the white wisps. The sun's final rays of the day glinted off the metallic spires, turning them a burnt orange.
"It's stunning," Brax said. "How did they build such a structure so high? They must have incredible engineers."
"Legend tells us the Library of Filamir was here before the orcs and the humans. Perhaps the secrets of the towers are locked in the library, like the secrets we are here to uncover about the xarlug and Drothu." Tace said all of this in the human language, and she spoke perfectly, as if she'd been speaking it since birth.
Ademar's jaw dropped.
She rested two fingers under his chin and pushed upward. "Don't be so surprised, human. We orcs aren't as uneducated as you might think. We leave at sunrise for the library." She laughed, then sauntered back into the forest, her hips swaying as the two men looked on.
Ademar shrugged and said, "I didn't know."
Brax rolled his eyes. "If there's one thing I've learned in my short time with the orcs: never underestimate them."
Chapter 6
Maysant smoothed the gossamer dress over her rail-thin body. She missed the breeches she'd worn in Tingale Forest. She even missed the sticks in her hair. Now her elven servants had washed and brushed her hair into its normal sparkling golden state.
She avoided the mirror, not wanting to see her natural beauty. Her wide eyes, so innocent and pure. Her porcelain skin and its lack of scars. She resented her beauty. It was another reminder of her heritage. Princess of Gailwyn, daughter of Queen Ambrielle. She shuddered. She'd happily give over her title, if it were allowed, in exchange for a normal life.
As she looked out the porthole in her stateroom, she longed to be back in the forest where things were simpler—instead of being drawn back into her mother's sphere, where she was expected to act every inch the princess she'd been born.
Making matters worse, she'd heard her brother Kazrack was on the ship, too. He was a pompous peacock, overly self-assured and often lost staring at his reflection in the mirror. He'd traveled to Doros as well, but instead of leading a quiet life in the forest, he'd decided to take over Agitar, throwing the orcs into chaos just before the beast attacked from underground. Maysant had heard his heroic story a couple of days ago, as it was shared from elf to elf, and would no doubt become an epic poem the bards would sing for centuries to come.
Maysant figured she knew the truth better than anyone else. Her idiot brother had probably stumbled into a situation he had no control over and was lucky to make it out alive. She wouldn't believe, not for one moment, that he'd had any hand in saving the orcs from the xarlug.
She steeled her fists at her sides. She would attend this dinner with her own story, one where she saved the lives of not one, but two unfortunate souls who'd come upon her in the forest. She'd brought these human men to the elves, where they could be of use. All Kazrack had brought were stories.
Tonight she'd prove her worth to her mother. Maybe then she would be allowed to take on a different life. One where she went out among the other races, instead of being confined to her mother's boat.
A knock sounded on the door, and a servant slunk in, her head bowed, eyes on the ground. "Your mother is ready to receive you and your friends." The voice was quiet, submissive.
"Look at me, please," Maysant asked.
The servant's head rose, but her eyes were focused somewhere to the left of Maysant's head.
"Please," Maysant said.
"I cannot look upon the princess. My eyes are not worthy." The servant shook.
"It's okay," Maysant said, though it wasn't.
The servant relaxed somewhat, now that Maysant wasn't asking her to do something against the queen's orders.
Maysant held in a sigh. Her mother ruled with an iron fist, demanding perfection from everyone around her. The poor servants lived in fear of being dismissed or disgraced. If Maysant were queen, she would change everything.
"Please, follow me, Princess." The servant stepped out of the door.
Maysant followed her down the gilt halls, where every wall was filled with paintings of the royal family and the most beautiful landscapes of Gailwyn. These were meant to make them feel at home while they sailed—but they only reminded Maysant of what she despised most.
Ghrol was waiting outside the closed doors to the dining hall, Benin in his arms. Maysant smiled at the sight of them. Finally, people who understood her.
"Prty," Ghrol said, a smile blossoming over his drooling lips.
Maysant waved a hand in the air, embarrassed.
"Yes, you look quite lovely," Benin said with a weak smile.
The poor man was still so drained. Maysant had hoped some time at sea would help him recover faster, but it seemed he was still struggling to get back to normal.
"Thank you both," she said. "But I much preferred the clothes I wore in the forest."
The servant gasped, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
Benin chuckled. "I suspected you might not be representative of the other elves."
"No, that I am not." Maysant rested her hand on
Ghrol's bicep. "Are you ready to meet my mother and brother?"
The two men nodded.
The servant opened the doors, and Maysant said under her breath, "I apologize in advance." Noting Benin's raised eyebrow, she followed the servant into the hall.
"Finally, Maysant. You're late." Queen Ambrielle looked down her nose at her daughter.
At a younger age, Maysant would have pointed the finger at her servant. Not any longer. She knew her mother would have found something to complain about regardless. It wasn't worth upsetting the young elf who'd done exactly as she'd been asked.
Ignoring her mother's barb, Maysant bowed and said, "I'd like to introduce you to Ghrol and Benin, the two human companions I brought from Gailwyn Forest."
Ghrol set Benin down on a chair, then clumsily sat next to him and rested his elbows on the table.
Queen Ambrielle's eyes grew wide. "I'm pleased to meet you both." Her tone was short and sharp, an obvious contrast to her words.
"Aren't you pleased I didn't bring any orcs with me, Mother?" said Kazrack. He was already seated next to their mother, looking resplendent as always. "Of course, many of them wanted to come along and meet you, but I thought it would be best done under proper circumstances."
Maysant sat down angrily, the chair rocking as her bottom hit the soft cushion. How dare her brother make such snide comments about her guests like that? She glared at her mother, waiting for her to chide her son, but a reproach was apparently not forthcoming.
"I brought them here because their people shunned them," Maysant said. "They want to work with us. Ghrol has become somewhat of a personal bodyguard for me, and Benin was once an advisor to the human queen."
Kazrack's eyebrows rose as he took in Benin. "I did everything I could," he said.
Benin looked at Maysant, then back at Kazrack. "What do you mean?"
"Your queen," Kazrack said. "Lissa. I tried to save her, but I couldn't. When the ground opened up, she fell into the chasm. Of course, I sprang into action, diving into the hole. I grasped her fingertips, begging her to reach farther. I wanted so much to save her. But just as I got a tight hold on her, the chasm opened further, swallowing her whole." A small tear formed at the corner of Kazrack's right eye.
Benin's eyes closed, and Maysant's heart broke for him. The woman had treated him horribly, but she certainly didn't deserve to die. No one wanted that.
"You didn't know?" Kazrack asked in disbelief. "I thought everyone had heard by now. I'm sorry I had to break the news, my poor man, but it's best coming from me. After all, I was there. I could tell you the truth of what happened, instead of you hearing a garbled story from another."
"You were truly advisor to the human queen?" Queen Ambrielle asked, sounding intrigued.
"Yes, I was. I had been her advisor for many years," he answered quietly.
"Then why weren't you with her in Agitar?" Kazrack asked. "The only man who had her ear was the head of their army, Brax."
Ghrol dropped his fists on the table, pounding excitedly.
Maysant leapt to his side. "Shhh, calm down, Ghrol. It's okay." She patted his shoulder until his agitation ceased. Then she looked over to Benin, wondering how he'd handle the question. Would he tell Kazrack he'd been left for dead? That his queen had turned on him in his greatest time of need?
"I was unwell," Benin said. "I had stayed behind to recover. That was when I met your sister. She's a very capable elf, you know. I have been very impressed by her survival skills. She, along with Ghrol, nursed me back to health." He rested his hands on the table, lacing his fingers.
Maysant took her seat again, relieved at his answer.
"I am distressed to hear of her death," Benin continued. "Queen Lissa was a wonderful leader. You know, her father, Hugh, was killed by the orcs. That's why the war began. She wanted to exact revenge."
Queen Ambrielle nodded. "Yes, I was aware of that uprising. I was quite impressed the human army managed to break through the pass at the Barrier Mountains."
"That was my doing as well," Benin said, his chest puffing up. "It was my advice they squeeze the orcs at the pass. It was quite clever, if I say so myself."
Queen Ambrielle relaxed back into her chair. "I would be curious to know what you say about the current situation. A xarlug emerged from underground, killing many orcs and humans alike. What does this portend?"
"Why don't we discuss this over dinner?" Benin suggested with an arrogance that surprised Maysant. He had never been so commanding.
"Brilliant idea, Benin. I concur." Queen Ambrielle waved one hand in the air toward the servants, who quickly brought out the warm fish and bread. She took the first bite, then invited the others to do the same. "Now," she said. "You can tell us everything you know."
Maysant could see that both her mother and Kazrack were intent on Benin's next words, and she tamped down her pleasure at the situation. She'd brought them a great ally. Maybe now they would finally afford her some respect.
Chapter 7
Vron detested idleness. He fidgeted with his sword, tossing it back and forth between jabs and slashes. He had no one to fight.
The other orcs were busy rifling through the city for supplies. They'd decided the ground had been still for long enough. Perhaps the xarlug was an anomaly; perhaps they were wasting time remaining in the prairie. So back into the city they went, ready to recover what they could and rebuild the rest.
But Vron remained in the camp during the day, keeping his body busy and preparing for another battle. Alyna said it wasn't over, that the xarlug was only the beginning. Vron trusted her, so he did as she suggested.
His muscles ached as he swung his sword, chopping at an invisible enemy. He dropped his sword and rubbed his right bicep. Everyone he might have talked to had left. Alyna. Tace. Even that human, Brax. Vron begrudgingly admitted he liked the man. But it was Tace he particularly wanted to speak with.
After he'd told her that he was her older brother, she had denied him. I don't have a brother. And she'd left the next morning with the two humans for the Library of Filamir, disappearing from Vron's life once more.
When he first ran into her, during the battle with the xarlug, he had realized immediately who she was. Since then, he'd wanted nothing more than to get to know her—to explain what had happened to him after he'd left her and their mother, to tell her how he had created a new life for himself in a new city. The same city his mother and sister eventually settled in, too. They had been destined to come together again as a family, he believed.
Maybe, once Doros was safe, they could speak of the past.
"Vron!" The shout drew him from his thoughts. An orc waved at him in the distance.
Vron sheathed his sword on his back and took off at a run. "What is it?" he called back.
"We've found something, and Dalgron insisted you come." The young orc, Marlok, stood with his arms crossed over his chest, tapping his foot. He wasn't known for his patience. He had a lot to learn.
“Then let’s go.”
Vron followed Marlok, remaining close on his heels.
The iron gates of Agitar hung crooked and mangled where the xarlug had emerged. Once they had been a shining beacon, a symbol of the most powerful orc city. Now they looked as if they'd been neglected for hundreds of years. Dalgron waited in front of them, and Marlok led Vron to his side.
"General. What is it?" Vron asked between breaths.
The older orc's brows furrowed, his mouth set in a grimace. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Vron insisted, silently reprimanding himself for working himself too hard. "Why did you need me?"
"Come, I have to show you something."
Dalgron climbed over the ruined city gates. Stepping carefully on the streets strewn with rubble, he led Vron and Marlok to the ruins of a house, where he disappeared through a dark doorway. Vron followed him in, as Marlok stood guard outside the door.
Dalgron grabbed a lit torch from an iron stand. "We were searching this house for food when M
arlok heard a strange noise."
Vron clenched his teeth. "The xarlug?"
"No." Dalgron's mouth turned down in the flickering light. "A child’s muffled screaming for help. We lifted all the rugs and found a trapdoor in the floor. It was a crude tunnel that led to the mines." He reached down and pulled up a metal handle.
"We're headed down?" Vron hadn’t been in the mines before. As a warrior, he'd spent his days aboveground, often forgetting that a large part of the population of Agitar worked underground, mining coal, ore, and precious gems.
Dalgron raised an eyebrow. "You're not claustrophobic, are you?"
"I guess I'll find out." Vron squared his shoulders and descended into the tunnel.
A fetid smell wafted to Vron's nostrils, and he nearly retched. He swallowed his disgust. "What is that?"
"It's the dead," Dalgron answered without looking back. He continued to press deeper into the tunnel.
Vron eyed the crudely excavated walls with suspicion. Nothing felt right. Not the tunnel. Not the smell. This wasn't the smell of blood or death—it was the putrid stench of decay, which he knew well from the battlefield. He flung his arm over his mouth and nose in a desperate attempt to block the smell. Dalgron continued onward as if he smelled nothing.
Before long, the tunnel opened into a wide chasm. Bodies upon bodies lay stacked in rows. There had to be hundreds, perhaps even thousands.
"Where did they all come from?" Vron asked in disbelief.
"They are the miners who lived underground. We feared many of them would be dead after the xarlug attack, assuming the beast used our mining tunnels to travel. We found one miner who was willing to talk to us. He said orcs had been dying for days before the attack, and they'd been using this passageway as their crypt. They saw no reason to inform anyone since the king had abdicated and the city was in chaos." Dalgron ventured closer to one stack of bodies. "Come here, Vron."
Vron stepped closer to the dead. He was unsure what Dalgron wanted him to see, until the light of Dalgron's torch fell fully on the piles.