by Megg Jensen
Amusement danced in the elf’s eyes. “I’m already doing as the queen commands. If you are who you say, you know she wouldn’t take kindly to me ignoring her orders. Now move along. The shield will be completed in moments.”
“I have something that will halt this disease in its tracks,” Maysant insisted. “If you’d give my friends time to get beyond this limit, then you can finish lowering your shield. Please.”
“I promised the queen I’d do this now, and so I shall. She said no one comes in or out!” The elf thrust her arms in the air. “Go away!”
Maysant’s shoulders dropped. Everything she did was a complete failure. She had befriended Benin, who promptly left her for her mother’s service. She had made Ghrol run away. She couldn’t even get Hugh’s body back like she’d promised Hilthe. Nishta was right about her. She was a waste of air.
She slogged back to Hilthe, Nishta, and Gashta.
“What happened?” Nishta asked, her voice quivering with anger.
Maysant shrank back, sure the orc would rip her arms from her body when she told them. “I tried to tell her. I swear it. But she wouldn’t listen!” Tears spilled from her eyes and poured down her cheeks in an embarrassing stream. “The shield is almost complete. We’ve failed. I’m bad luck. I ruin everything.” The words came out between sobs and gasps for air.
“Buck up, child,” Hilthe said. “And before I say another word, I know you are older than me. But you certainly aren’t as wise. I’ll handle this.”
Hilthe hiked up her skirt and sprinted to an elf with speed belying her age. Maysant watched as the human approached the elf, then proceeded to talk, not letting the elf respond. Hilthe kept going until the elf nodded.
Hilthe waved to them, and hope surged in Maysant’s heart, brushing away the feeling of defeat.
“Let me help,” she said to the two orcs. She grabbed Hugh’s middle as Nishta and Gashta hefted him into their arms.
The three of them moved quickly to Hilthe’s side. The elf looked down at Maysant. “Your human friend has convinced me to let you in. I’ll hold this open for a few more moments, but you may not leave after that. Do you understand? Once I speak the final words, the barrier will be closed, and opening it will cause a rend I will be unable to fix. The entire barrier will shatter. Queen Ambrielle has ordered the barrier remain intact until the disease is cured.”
“We understand,” Hilthe answered. “Thank you.”
“Ready?” the elf asked.
She dropped one hand and pointed her palm toward the orange barrier. She twirled her wrist three times, then flicked her fingers. A tear appeared in the barrier.
“Go, now.”
The four ran through the hole. As soon as Gashta was through, the elf closed the hole behind them.
“There is much you do not know,” the elf said, “but you will learn soon enough, I’m sure. Now, go. Do what you have come to do...”
The elf muttered words Maysant didn’t understand, then clapped her hands together once. A loud snap reverberated inside the barrier as the boundaries took hold. Now nothing, and no one, could get in or out.
Maysant walked with her new friends to the general’s tent. Whereas most elves despised orcs, Maysant liked them. She genuinely wanted to stop the spread of this disease; she wanted them to get better. And once they were cured… well, then she could figure out where her life would go next. Likely she would have to return home.
Her heart was heavy at the thought of leaving Ghrol behind. She knew she might never find the human again, but she still hoped that perhaps he would turn up. She wanted to apologize for yelling at him. He was simple and only trying to protect her. He hadn’t meant to kill those orcs. It wasn’t in his nature to be cruel for cruelty’s sake.
General Dalgron emerged from his tent, grimacing. “You’re back. Good job, Gashta and Nishta.” He craned his neck. “Where are the two warriors I sent with you?”
Nishta shot a glare at Maysant. “This elf’s human companion killed them. Tore them limb from limb before they even had a chance to fight back.”
Dalgron turned to Maysant, clasping his hands behind his back. “Explain yourself, elf. And I only give you the chance to do so because your kind is here helping us fight this disease.”
“Ghrol is simple,” Maysant said quickly. “He doesn’t know what he does. If I had been able to stop him, I would have.” She told the truth where others might have lied to save their skin. She wouldn’t do that.
“And where is this Ghrol?” Dalgron asked. “Did you dispose of him, Nishta?”
“No, sir, he ran away before we could stop him. I am sorry I failed you. I should have returned with his head.” Nishta bowed her head in shame.
“No matter,” Dalgron said. “We will spread the word throughout our troops. As soon as this disease is eradicated and we leave the barrier, we will find him and deal with him.”
Maysant felt her stomach sink. Ghrol hadn’t meant to do anything wrong. Why wouldn’t anyone ever listen to her?
“Now tell me, Hilthe,” Dalgron said, turning to the human female, “how does this work?”
“With Alyna, all it took was wrapping a strand of Hugh’s hair about her finger. She began to get well within hours.” The old woman nearly bounced with anticipation. She was so sure Hugh’s relics would help. “I ask permission to try it on a few of your orcs.”
“Granted,” Dalgron said. “I already found some willing to volunteer. Not every orc will agree to this—at least not until they see some proof it works. We tend to be skeptical of humans, as you know.”
Hilthe nodded. “I understand and respect that. I, too, am often skeptical of my own people.”
“Three tents over to the left, you’ll find Logrut. He has agreed to try first. Gashta, will you accompany Hilthe?”
“Of course, General,” Gashta said.
“And me? What will you have me do?” Nishta asked. She seemed nervous at being separated from her sister.
“I need you to join me in a council meeting. I have a special task for you.” Dalgron then turned to Maysant. “As for you, stay out of my way.”
“With all due respect, General,” Maysant said, calling on all her strength, “I would like to attend this council meeting. I feel I can be of use to you. I am Queen Ambrielle’s daughter, Maysant.”
She heard Nishta gasp behind her.
Dalgron’s eyes grew large. “Really? A princess of Gailwyn? But it doesn’t help your case. The queen—your mother, if you’re telling the truth—hasn’t even been invited. If Kazrack asked, I’d turn him down flat. Why on Doros would I include you?”
Maysant steeled her hands into fists at her sides. “Because I am not like them. I am my own elf, and I want to be of use to you.”
Dalgron looked at Nishta, apparently asking for her input. Worry filled Maysant’s chest. Nishta hated her. She would never, not in a million years, endorse Maysant.
Nishta shrugged. “So far, this ridiculous little elf has been nothing but brutally honest. I have no reason to doubt her now. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to have her join us.”
Maysant’s jaw dropped.
Dalgron narrowed his eyes at Maysant. “Then you may join us. Come.” He went inside his tent, the canvas flap falling behind him.
Maysant turned to Nishta. “Why did you do that?” she asked.
Nishta looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Just don’t embarrass me—or you won’t live to regret it.” Her lips curled, her tusks bared.
“I won’t. I swear it.”
Maysant barreled into the tent, determined to finally be of use to someone.
Chapter 39
Dalgron’s eyes readjusted to the candlelight in the tent. His new council, consisting of three warriors, Henoch, Kavol, and Parthert, sat at the table looking at him expectantly. Only one had experience in leadership. The other two were barely battle-tested. Losing Vron had seriously compromised how Dalgron would continue to operate his army. He hadn’t realized how much he’d r
elied on Vron until he was gone.
At least he had Nishta back. When she’d gone missing a couple of years ago, he’d all but given up on her return. She was a strong warrior. Her sister, Gashta, was a good warrior as well, but too soft. Dalgron could count on Nishta. He would make sure she knew how much he needed her.
That was the only reason he had allowed the elf to join him. She would serve no purpose here—she was as annoying as a gnat, and he wanted only to swat her away—but to his surprise, Nishta had approved of her.
As Nishta and the elf took their places at the table, Dalgron addressed the group. “I’ve called all of you here today to discuss the current situation and our path forward. The healers have completed the barrier over our encampment to keep the disease from spreading. No one can come in, no one can leave. Our job is to keep our orcs calm as we work through this. There’s bound to be some resistance.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Henoch asked. “We’ve put everyone under house arrest. They’re going to think you’ve doomed them all to catch the disease.”
Dalgron sank into his chair. “I know. But damn it, isn’t that better than letting this disease spread even further? We’ve already lost some of our best orcs to it. If anyone takes this disease to the other orc cities, it could mean the destruction of our entire race. Approving this measure was our only choice.”
Nishta crossed her arms over her chest. “You trust the elves to defeat this disease?”
Dalgron glanced at Maysant, whose lips were pressed together. “Our healers haven’t been able to make any headway. I think it is our only option, other than that dead body you brought us. If that works, the two combined may save us.”
“General,” Kavol said, clearing his throat. “I want to talk on this further, but not in front of the elf.”
Maysant’s lower lip trembled, but she squared her shoulders. “Dalgron said I could stay.” She looked up at the general with wide eyes. “I can be of help to you.”
“In what way?” Parthert asked, her head cocked to the side.
“I, um, I’m a good archer.”
“She is,” Nishta agreed reluctantly. “I’ve witnessed that.”
“I don’t see how an archer will help us deal with a disease,” Kavol said. “She has no place in this council.”
Dalgron tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Tell us, Maysant, how can you useful to us at this time?”
“I can…” Her voice trailed off. Then her eyes lit up. “I can help you understand my mother and her ways. I can tell you when it’s best to listen to her advice, and when it’s not.”
“You would turn on your own kind?” Henoch asked.
“I don’t consider it turning on them. After all, we’re here to help you. I can simply inform Dalgron on my mother’s quirks. It will help him make better decisions for his orcs.” Maysant smiled, looking pleased with herself.
Dalgron was surprised to find that he approved of this suggestion. “I think this could be a mutually beneficial relationship,” he said. Queen Ambrielle was unlike any other monarch he’d encountered. She was self-assured to the point of overconfidence. And he had difficulty believing she’d come to Doros out of the goodness of her heart. “Maysant stays.”
“Do you think your healers can truly cure the sickness?” Parthert asked the elf.
“I hope so,” Maysant said. “I don’t know that they’ve ever faced this particular virus before, but many of the healers are very skilled.”
“For now, we will continue to accept their help,” Dalgron said. “If anything changes, be sure to tell us, Maysant.”
The elf nodded. Dalgron hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in trusting her. He wouldn’t treat her as a spy—he doubted she would agree to that—but whatever she was willing to share, he would take under advisement. After all, she was his only line into the queen’s thoughts.
“Now, to one other matter. The mines.” Dalgron shifted in his chair, still uncomfortable with what had happened down there. “Since the two of you left with Hilthe to fetch Hugh’s body, we lost another soul to whatever evil is lurking down there. I accompanied Alyna, the faun, to the entrance. She insisted on trying to find Vron, despite my assurances he was long gone. Unfortunately, she also succumbed to the darkness.”
“Vron? Is he lost? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Nishta asked.
“I wasn’t aware you knew him well,” Dalgron responded.
“We used to be acquainted before the humans captured me,” Nishta said. “He is a good orc. If he is in need of help—”
“No,” Dalgron interrupted firmly. “I lost Vron, then I lost Alyna. I will not lose you to the mines, too. You are an asset to the orcs of Agitar, Nishta. It was a great day when you and Gashta found your way home. I refuse to let anyone else die in those tunnels.”
“But you don’t know he’s dead,” Nishta insisted.
“If Vron weren’t dead, he would have already come home. You know that as well as I do. The answer is no. You will not enter the mines, and that is a direct order.” Dalgron slammed his fist into the arm of his chair.
“Yes, General.” Nishta bowed her head slightly, but he could tell she didn’t mean it. And if she chose to enter the mines, she likely could. There were too many entrances to guard, even within the elven barrier. Well then—he would just have to keep her too busy to even think about heading for the mines.
“Now, Nishta and Maysant, you protect the orcs closest to the elf camp,” Dalgron said. “It will give Maysant a chance to visit her mother, and as my strongest orc, Nishta, you will be the barrier between our kind and theirs. Henoch, Kavol, and Parthert, you take the north, east, and south sides. I don’t care which you each choose, just make sure you hold your posts. Keep everyone calm. If you have any trouble, sound your horn. Others will come to your aid. Together we can get through this.”
The three warriors nodded and left the tent without another word. They were good at following orders. Dalgron had no doubt they would keep the peace in their portions.
“Are the two of you willing to do this task?” Dalgron asked Nishta and Maysant.
“Of course,” Maysant replied.
“Yes,” said Nishta.
“Then go on your way. The sooner you’re at your posts, the faster we can get through this. We need cooperation from orcs and elves alike. The two of you will help in assuring that. But Nishta, I may recall you if I need someone to be my right hand.”
“Thank you, General.” Nishta looked at Maysant. “I suppose we’re stuck together now. Let’s go.”
“Thank you for letting me be of use, General,” Maysant said before leaving. “I promise, we’ll all make it through this alive.” She scampered out behind Nishta before Dalgron could say another word.
Dalgron sighed. He knew he would have to recall Nishta sooner rather than later. With Vron gone, no one else could do the job. Nishta was a dedicated warrior, despite her years in captivity. He could trust her with any task.
Chapter 40
Alyna squatted in a damp corner, shivering. All the orcs in the room with her were ridiculously sick. The orcs’ apparent leader, Nemia, had acted kind when Alyna was first brought to her, giving her food and drink—but by the end of the night, Alyna had been led to this room where sick orcs strained for every breath. She’d been shoved in with them, and the door was locked behind her.
At first she’d been distraught. But then it occurred to her—they hadn’t killed her, they’d just exposed her to the disease. If they had done the same to Vron, he might still be alive. She had to hold out hope that he hadn’t succumbed completely to the infection. She’d tried asking the other orcs in the room about him, but their minds had already left them. They stared at her blankly, drool dripping from their slack lips.
Despite being surrounded by the sickness, Alyna didn’t feel ill, not in the slightest. Her body had conquered this disease once already, and deep down she knew it was unlikely she’d be infected again. Even more importantly, she still had Hugh’s hair
, which she kept wound around her pinky finger. But her captors didn’t know about any of that, and she would use that to her advantage.
Alyna had always considered herself clever and resourceful. But since entering the tunnels to the mines, she’d been a victim, helpless at the hands of the orcs who controlled this underground warren. No more. She steeled her fists at her sides. One of them would come to the door eventually. And when they did, Alyna would be ready. She would break out and do what she’d come here for in the first place.
She spent her time imitating the sick orcs. She practiced letting spittle drip from her lips. She stared at the wall, tilting her head to the side, her eyes unfocused. When they came back, she’d do her best to make them think she’d been infected, too. That she was no threat. Get them to let their guard down. That might be her only way out.
But she waited, and she waited, and no one ever came. It was just her, alone, with these sick orcs.
Time passed slowly. She had nothing to eat, and her only source of water was a bit of moisture that formed on one wall. The diseased orcs didn’t seem to need food or water, but she did. It wasn’t long before the blank look she’d practiced was real—though due to hunger and dehydration rather than disease. She felt her body beginning to waste away. She did everything in her power to remain strong, to not give in to the despair. She tried not to think about the possibility she might die of starvation before they came to retrieve her.
A noise startled Alyna awake. She struggled to open her eyes, and her body ached.
“There she is. In the corner. Get her.”
Alyna whipped her head around, her tangled mess of curly red hair covering her eyes like vines in an overgrown jungle.
Someone grabbed her arms and yanked her to her feet.
“She looks awful.”
“Good. That’s what the queen wanted.”
The queen? Alyna wracked her memory. Which queen? The queen of the elves? There were no other queens currently. What would Queen Ambrielle want with her?