by Megg Jensen
Chapter 26
Kazrack sat tall on his horse, basking in the glory of the elven retinue behind him. He was a prince of Gailwyn and the king of Agitar, whether or not his mother recognized it. The former king, Rafe, had abdicated, and Kazrack had taken over. He had held the throne when the xarlug attacked—and as far as he was concerned, he still held it.
His mother could pretend all she wanted that she was leading this parade. Kazrack respected her and her position as queen of Gailwyn—but that's all she was. He was the king of Agitar. The orcs would make that clear. General Dalgron knew the truth.
As his horse cantered into the orc encampment, Kazrack's confidence grew. He nodded to the orcs, smiling as a leader should. They didn't return the smiles, not because they were stoic orcs, but because they recognized Kazrack as their king. After all, he was the one who had kept them calm before the humans arrived. He was the one who had done everything he could to ensure their safety from the forces amassing below.
True, perhaps he hadn't realized how the xarlug would attack, or that so many would die—but he did the best he could manage, and surely the orcs would thank him for that. He had stood with them, and with the humans, during the battle, instead of running away in fear.
Kazrack spurred his horse and trotted up next to his mother. She wore her brightest, tallest headdress, a golden band with fourteen stars on the ends of fourteen rods. She looked every inch a glorious leader. It was a style Kazrack hoped to emulate here on the continent of Doros. The orcs could use a little elegance injected into their dreary lives.
"Mother, when we arrive at the general's tent, I should be the one to talk. He knows me, and after all, I am—"
"Don't say you're the king one more time, Kazrack." Her icy blue eyes settled on his. "It's getting tiresome."
"But Mother, I am the king. I hold the throne."
"You took it with trickery, then held these orcs under your thrall until that ridiculous human queen arrived. Please stop pretending like you've done something amazing. I doubt the orcs will be very pleased to see you. Now get behind me and stay quiet. Do not speak unless I speak directly to you."
She pressed her heels into her horse, taking the lead again.
Kazrack scowled behind her back, but he refused to give up. He would arrive second, ahead of that sickly human his mother had taken pity on.
He glanced to the side, taking in the strange cloak his mother had gifted Benin. The velvet fabric seemed almost to glow—but he knew it was simply a trick of the sun. The human couldn't control the cloak. He had no elven magic. Kazrack could perform simple magics like that. Benin was but a human who had only barely recovered from near death at the hand of his people.
Without a word to the man, Kazrack aligned his horse directly behind his mother's.
In front of her were two guards. One approached the orcs first, to ensure they were amenable to speaking. When he returned, he stated that all was well and that the general would see them. Kazrack was fairly certain this meant the guard had mentioned his, Kazrack's, name. Kazrack and General Dalgron knew each other. They had fought against the xarlug together. They were nearly brothers.
As they approached the general's tent, Kazrack squared his shoulders. The pads sewn into his jacket helped him to appear more regal. Like a king. A king of orcs.
His mother's horse stopped, and she slid to the ground, smoothing out her gown. Lifting her head, she smiled, then cleared her throat.
Dalgron stepped from his tent, a weary look on his face.
"Greetings, General," Queen Ambrielle said in the orc tongue, while offering a delicate hand to the general.
Instead of bowing and taking her hand in his, Dalgron stared at her woodenly. "Hello."
Kazrack's mother withdrew her hand as if the slight had never happened. "We've come to aid you in rebuilding your city."
"We have no plans to rebuild right now," Dalgron said. He looked Kazrack straight in the eyes, then returned his gaze to Queen Ambrielle. "We are abandoning what is left. Agitar is no more."
Queen Ambrielle gasped, her hand fluttering to her chest. "Why, no. Don't give up so easily. I will bring my elves over the sea. We will help you."
Dalgron looked over his shoulder at the city in ruins. The rampart still stood, though shakily. Not long ago, Kazrack had stood there with Dalgron, Alyna, Vron, and Brax, united against the beast from below. Now, the walls of the city had crumbled. The rampart spiraled into the air, leading nowhere. It was a sight to behold. The glorious capital of the orc realm demolished, like a tower of blocks knocked over by a child.
"There is more here than destruction," Dalgron said. "Below the city is a warren of mining tunnels. They harbor something much darker."
Kazrack held a handkerchief to his mouth in horror. "Don't tell me the xarlug has babies roaming the tunnels!"
Dalgron stared at him with the same amusing expression he always had on his face—a mix of annoyance and anger. A charming orc, to be sure. "No. There is an illness. Something has been unleashed, and I do not believe we can fight it. Already, hundreds of our miners are dead. We can't rebuild upon a shaking foundation. A few in our encampment recently fell ill and, I fear it may spread. Rebuilding is the last thing on my mind right now."
"I see your dilemma." Queen Ambrielle patted Dalgron on the shoulder. Her delicate hand seemed so tiny compared to his green bulk. "Still, I believe I may be able to help you. We have healers of great renown in Gailwyn. I can send a raven, asking for help. If there is illness, you must combat it. You must fight for your home."
"You'll put yourself in harm's way if you choose to remain here," Dalgron said. "But if you think you can help, I will accept your aid. Though I cannot promise anything in return. You can see how battered we are. I know many of my orcs want to leave, but I am asking them to stay in order not to spread the infection."
"We can help!" Kazrack said, finally feeling as if he had a chance to prove himself.
Dalgron turned to Kazrack, crossing his arms over his chest. "You think you're king of Agitar still, don't you?"
Pride bloomed in Kazrack's chest. Finally, the orc general had acknowledged his true leader—and he had done so in front of Kazrack's mother. She would see now how much Kazrack had meant to the orcs in their greatest time of need. She couldn't continue to dispute his importance after this.
Kazrack nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly.
"Well then," Dalgron said, "cure us." He turned on his heel and disappeared into his tent.
Kazrack stood dumbfounded.
"My son." Queen Ambrielle grabbed Kazrack's hand. "I believe the general knows only the elves can save the orcs now. We must send for our healers. We will bring the city back to life. Under your leadership, of course." She leaned in and kissed her son gently on the cheek.
Tears sprang to Kazrack's eyes. Everything he'd wanted had come true. He had his orc city back. His mother respected him. And he could prove himself by saving what little remained of Agitar.
"Thank you, Mother. I promise I won't let you down."
"Of course not, my dear." As she turned back to her horse, Kazrack could have sworn he saw her wink at the pathetic human slouched on his horse's back. But no, she must have had something in her eye. To think she was conspiring with a weak human was beyond comprehension.
"We will cure the remaining orcs. We will rebuild Agitar!" Kazrack proclaimed to whoever would listen, thrusting a fist into the air.
He expected a response, but the orcs around him were apparently too busy tending to their daily chores.
Kazrack knew he could turn things around, no matter what stood in his way.
Chapter 27
Alyna steadied her breathing as she brushed her fingers along the cold rock wall of the mines. Her stomach growled, and her lips were parched. She had no idea how long she'd been down here. A day? Two days?
She didn't know what had happened to Dalgron. Or what had happened to her. She had been running behind him, and the next thing she knew,
she was lying on the ground in a helpless heap. Whatever had happened, two things were immediately clear: Dalgron was gone, and she was trapped underground.
She had survived ever since then by licking the water that dripped down the walls and eating the meager greens that grew between cracks in the ground. It wasn't enough, and her stomach reminded her of that fact. The only thing keeping her going was knowing Vron was down here somewhere. If she could only locate him, maybe they could find their way out together. Imagining that escape was what kept her feet moving. As long as she had hope, she could persevere.
In quiet moments, the broad extent of the tunnels crossed her mind. She knew enough about the orc mines to feel moments of panic. Her will, her focus, kept her from giving in to despair.
"Vron," she called out.
Her voice echoed back to her. The first time this had happened, she had thought someone was calling back to her. She'd frantically called out his name over and over again until she realized it was her own voice replying. She nearly gave up then, feeling the overwhelming weight of being lost in the mines. But instead she kept going, calling his name at regular intervals.
Or what felt like regular intervals. She really had no idea. It could have been moments between calls, or it could have been days. Without the rising and setting of the sun, she couldn't be sure. Time stretched on for infinity. Or perhaps it stood still. Only the beating of her heart assured her she was still alive and not stuck in a deathly nightmare.
An orange glow in the distance beckoned to her from the darkness.
Someone, or something, was up ahead.
The orange flicker bobbed up and down, side to side. It grew larger with each passing moment.
Alyna scuttled backward as quickly as she could, pressing herself into an alcove. She waited. The light grew larger; the pale orange glow on the floor and walls grew.
The figure was almost to her.
Almost…
Alyna jumped from the alcove, tackling the person. The torch fell to the ground and guttered, but didn't go out. The person under her grunted and fought back. Though Alyna was weak, she was determined; this was her chance. She wrestled the person to the ground, face down, pinning their arms behind them and straddling their back.
They grunted as she lodged her knee into their kidney.
"Who are you?" Alyna asked.
"Who are you?" the figure mumbled back in the human tongue. He turned his face to the side, revealing tusks. Nice-sized ones, too. Alyna was lucky she hadn't cut herself on them during the scuffle. So, this was an orc, but one not accustomed to fighting. A warrior would have taken her out in mere moments.
She eased off of him. "I'm lost in here." She figured telling the truth wouldn't hurt. The xarlug had come from below the city, but the orcs down here were miners. They were hard workers. Good orcs. At least, she had to believe that. "Can you help me find the way out?"
"There is no way out. The assholes above blocked us in because a few of our orcs died from illness. I don't know what they're thinking. We've tried to remove the rocks, but they did something on the outside to seal them. You're as trapped down here as I am."
The orc lay still, his body relaxed. He didn't fear her. Perhaps she shouldn't fear him.
Alyna stood, then stepped to one side. Just in case he meant her harm, she kept her arms bent, prepared to fight.
The orc sat, grabbed his torch, and held it up. The sputtering flame strengthened once more.
Alyna threw her arm over her eyes. She hadn't been that close to light in days. Or weeks. Or however long she'd been down here.
"I can't get you out," the orc said, "but I can take you back with me if you'd like." He held out a hand. It was covered in callouses, the marks of a lifetime of hard work.
"You hear very well for a miner," Alyna said, still suspicious. "I thought most of you were deaf from working in the mines."
He laughed, the sharpened tips of his tusks glinting in the light. "I was a foreman. As was my father before me. Birth shaped my path. I was one of the lucky ones." He squinted. "But you're not an orc at all. A human, I reckon. How did you end up down here?"
Alyna decided to play along with his assumption. If they had Vron down there, he might have spoken about her. The faun he loved. If there was any chance he was held against his will, she mustn't do anything to put him in harm's way.
"I got lost. Our army came up here to invade, but when that horrible beast emerged from underground, I was trapped down here. I've been wandering for Solnar knows how long." She invoked the human god to add authenticity to her story. She smoothed her long skirt over her boots. Her hair was enough of a rat's nest to ensure her horns were well hidden among the red curls.
"You should know," she added, "I wasn't in the human army. I was a camp follower. I made food for the soldiers. I didn't have much choice. They made us come here." She looked down at the ground, hoping she appeared contrite. It was how she hoped any human with half a brain might act around an orc.
"It wasn't my war, either." The orc grabbed Alyna's hand. "Come, I'll get you some food. You must be famished."
"I am," she admitted. She was ravenous. She needed food and water. And maybe a nap, if she felt secure enough to fall asleep around a group of strange, potentially diseased orcs. But first, she needed to gain this orc's trust.
She studied him as they walked. He didn't seem sick to her. He was hardy. His eyes were bright. After Dalgron's story, this wasn't at all what she'd expected to find down here.
"Kleim," he said.
"I'm sorry?"
"My name. Kleim."
"Oh! Of course. Nice to meet you, Kleim. I'm Agatha." It was a human name. Her mother's name. It was the name she used whenever she traveled into Solnar under the guise of a human.
"It's nice to meet you too, Agatha. Though I'm sorry it had to happen under these circumstances. Since your holy man Hugh died, nothing has been normal here in Agitar. I think we all have a lot to work through. I will make sure my fellow orcs treat you with respect. You don't have to worry about being harmed." He laughed, deep and hearty. "Though after the way you took me down back there, I have no concerns about your ability to defend yourself."
"I had the element of surprise. I doubt I could do such a thing again." Alyna felt it was true, too. He was much larger than her and much stronger. If she was going to get to Vron and out of the tunnels, she'd have to rely on her wits.
"It's not much farther. Soon you'll be able to rest." Kleim squeezed Alyna's hand.
She squeezed back. Whatever awaited her ahead couldn't be worse than being lost, alone, in the mines.
Chapter 28
"Kleim found someone roaming the tunnels alone. He's bringing her to the common area." The nameless orc spoke the words, then backed out of Nemia's room.
Nemia turned to Azlinar. "Who do you think it could be? The entrances were sealed. Vron should have been the last orc to enter. Do you think they're looking for him?"
"I don't know," Azlinar said. "I thought we made it very clear to the general that Vron had caught the infection. They'd be fools to send someone else down." He shuffled across the floor, listing to the side, his right shoulder hunched.
Nemia felt so bad for him. Though he was in full control of his mental faculties, his body had betrayed him. She understood how that felt. Her body had kept her from fulfilling the destiny assigned to her at birth. She was a princess. And someday, thanks to Azlinar, she would be a queen. She would make sure he was always cared for, too. No one deserved to be pushed aside like rubbish.
"Then where shall we put her?" Nemia asked.
This woman could ruin all of their plans if they didn't handle her properly. The miners were nearly all infected now, and those who weren't served Nemia directly. Only Azlinar's magic kept them from dying… though it also kept them from living. There was no cure, and yet there was no death. The infection needed to continue to thrive until Nemia was ready to unleash it aboveground.
"Allow me to handle it,"
Azlinar said. The tip of his tongue caressed his dry lips as he rubbed his gnarled hands together.
"No." Nemia stood and squared her shoulders. "I want to do it. After all, if I am to be queen someday, I need to know how to deal with others diplomatically. I'll practice on her."
"And if it goes poorly?" Azlinar asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Then I'll send her to the quarantine room next." Nemia's heart jumped as she thought of the innocent exposed to the infection. Still, it was necessary. If Nemia was to make a claim, she needed an army. And her army's only weapon was the infection.
She gathered her skirts, holding them up ever so slightly so she wouldn't trip, and walked down the hall. She knew breeches were a better choice, but she preferred the gowns that would have been hers if she'd been presented as the princess. She had watched Sabniss, the slave orc they'd chosen to take her place, prance around in the gowns for years. Before retiring underground, Nemia had fetched those gowns—and she'd worn them ever since.
She swept through the hall to the common room, a place where the few healthy, loyal orcs spent their days. The infected were kept far away, deep in the mines, in special locked rooms.
Kleim entered a moment later, a woman behind him.
Nemia immediately recognized her. It was the faun, Alyna, who had helped Tace and Vron take down the xarlug. Nemia had only seen her briefly, but it had been enough to leave an indelible impression. Alyna's beauty was exceedingly rare. Her curly red hair streamed down her back, and her green eyes flashed, even in the dim light of the underground. She stood tall and proud, as if the world had never pressed down on her shoulders. The only question was, did Alyna recognize her? They hadn't even formally met before Tace so cruelly dismissed Nemia, sending her away as if all the help she'd given Tace had been for naught.
"Hello," she said to Alyna in the human tongue, leaving the woman an opening to admit she knew Nemia.
Alyna's green eyes scanned the room before settling on Nemia. There was no spark of recognition. Not so much as an extra blink or the cock of an eyebrow.