by Ramy Vance
It made sense that Myrddin provided so well for the prisoners. At least they didn’t complain about room and board. Still, Sarah thought it would be best if this place didn’t exist, especially not right under HQ.
Sarah turned a corner and walked down to cell number 415. She peered through the viewing window and watched her prey pacing. Grok.
The door was controlled by a keypad. Sarah had lifted the security code earlier in the day, but no one had noticed. She had wondered if she had clearance for the code. Since she was unofficially part of the DGA, Myrddin had forgiven her past discrepancies and given her a high security clearance. Either way, it didn’t matter. Breaking into the system gave her a good idea of where HQ’s security currently was. There was a lot of room for improvement.
Sarah opened the door and stepped inside. She’d made sure to leave anything that could be used as a weapon upstairs. All the cells were equipped with spells that Myrddin had cast to nullify whatever magical, supernatural, or technological abilities the prisoners had. Thankfully, like all Myrddin’s wards and spells, they had continued to work after he was incapacitated.
Grok looked at Sarah as she calmly walked into the room. At least Sarah hoped she looked calm. Internally, she was freaking out. She knew Grok could probably still kill her if it came down to it.
The orc smiled grimly at Sarah. She still wore the scars of her beating. Anabelle had done a number on her. Sarah still thought it had been foolish of the elf not to kill Grok, but if she had, Sarah wouldn’t have anyone to talk to about the questions on her mind.
Grok gestured at the two chairs in the corner of the room. “Can I get you anything?” the prisoner asked. “The meat here is particularly good.”
The orc sat first. Sarah watched Grok’s movements, searching for hostility. She was pretty good at getting a read on potential danger. Grok seemed relaxed, but not too much. That was good. This meant Grok still saw Sarah as a threat or was at least curious to know why Sarah was there.
Grok waved her hand in front of the conjuration sigil installed in the cell. A moment later, a raw steak appeared on a plate on top of the sigil. The orc tore off a piece and tossed it to Sarah. “So, are you to be my torturer?” she asked.
Sarah caught the meat and sniffed it before taking a bite. “No. Myrddin doesn’t like to know those things happen. I wouldn’t do that under his roof.”
Grok laughed as she chewed. “He prefers a blind eye? It’s funny—all the horrible things that have to be done for war, and there are still people who try to pretend their hands are clean.”
Sarah smiled despite herself. “We aren’t that different, you and me.”
“That’s my line, and trust me, I know. I’ve heard tales of the human assassin who kills without a conscience. Kind of like being an attack dog.”
Sarah crossed her arms as she leaned back. “I prefer to think of myself as a tool. Granted, I have more autonomy than that, much like you. That battle wasn’t sanctioned by the Dark One. That was all you.”
Grok nodded, her eyes looking far off. She relaxed a bit, her shoulders dropping slightly. “It was a gamble. Did you come here to find out why?”
“Not interested. I assumed you were trying to make your own lieutenant take on the Dark One. Frankly, I would think you’d be smarter than to assume you could challenge him, but if I had to guess, that would be it.”
“His war has gone on for too long. He’s getting weak. I wanted to be prepared for a chance. Much like you and your DGA.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Grok. “What are you talking about?”
“Merely noting that now would be a perfect time for a coup if any of you had the slightest ambition. Your leadership is weak. I see four powerful women who could easily have an army if they played their cards right.”
“True, but that’s not why I’m here. I want to know about the lich.”
Grok waved her hand over the conjuration sigil again, and a plastic cup of mead appeared in front of her. Sarah did the same, reaching out to grab the cup, carefully watching Grok for the slightest hint of aggression. There was none. “The lich? Hopefully good questions,” Grok said.
“From what I gathered, she was fairly happy to have been released from her prison, and she killed with abandon for the Dark One. Then she suddenly vanished. She killed one of the Dark One’s top orc leaders and provided you an army, then didn’t take part in the battle. What’s going on?”
“Why do you think I would tell you anything?”
Sarah sipped her mead. “Because you don’t care about the Dark One or his war. You have the old tribal orc blood in you. The fight is what you care about, and I might be able to offer you a better fight—one that doesn’t take place in a prison cell. That is, if you don’t care who you’re killing.”
“And you would trust me?”
Sarah drained the last of her drink. “There’s a shortlist of people I trust. You aren’t one of them, but you don’t need to trust a tool. Now, what do you know?”
Grok leaned back and watched Sarah, her eyes darting back and forth as if she could get a read on how honest Sarah was being. “Granted, me and Rasputina aren’t besties like you and your girl scouts, but we share a disinterest in the Dark One’s plans. Rasputina even more so. Everything that happened before, that’s because she’s insane beyond repair. She enjoys killing for the sake of the simple fact that she can. She has ideals, but I don’t know if she believes any of them. The Dark One made a mistake bringing her back.”
“Why?”
“Because she is a true lich. She’s immortal and has centuries of magical knowledge. She can’t be stopped, maybe not even by him. I’ve seen what she’s capable of. The Dark One might be able to conquer entire universes, but he needs an army. She doesn’t. It would take more time, but she could do it.”
Sarah had heard stories about how powerful liches were, but she knew Myrddin had been able to at least slow Rasputina down. “That doesn’t explain why she wasn’t at the battle.”
“She’s unpredictable. She’s as likely to kiss you as kill you. But she was off the Dark One’s radar very quickly after she fought against you. He’s looking for her. Hunting her. He thinks she might have turned on him.”
“What do you think?”
Grok looked around. “It’s hard to gather my thoughts in a cell.”
“Don’t bullshit me. Be honest, and I will too.”
Grok’s smile disappeared, and her age became apparent to Sarah for the first time. It was always hard to tell with orcs. They were like elves; they could live for hundreds of years, although few did. “A string of elvish libraries has been ransacked since the lich was released. I know she was behind it.”
Sarah sighed. She thought Grok was baiting her with unimportant information. “Liches acquire knowledge. That’s nothing new. She’s—”
“She didn’t kill anyone. No one knew she was there. The only reason I know is that she let me know. Rasputina didn’t want anyone to know, other than the person who she knew also wants to kill the Dark One.”
Sarah thought it over for a second. “I’ll talk to Roy. Thanks for the chat.”
Grok stood and motioned to the door. “Don’t worry. I won't stab you in the back.”
Sarah opened the door and slipped out, closing and locking it tightly behind her. “I hope you mean that in more ways than one.”
Grok pressed her face against the glass separating her from Sarah. “Find me a better fight, and you can trust I won’t.”
Chapter Ten
The next day, the remaining DGAs and Mundanes met for breakfast. Terra had been called to deliver a speech to the orcish tribes as soon as she could. She’d be leaving the Mundanes and Anabelle to explore the dungeon again.
Terra rushed through her meal, scarfing down her greasy eggs and bacon as fast as possible. She traded barbs with Stew the entire time, who was busy bragging about the horde of orcs he’d taken on single-handedly. “Okay, but have you ever had a horde of orcs
flee at the very sound of your name?” Terra mumbled through her full mouth.
Stew puffed his chest out as he waved the waiter over for more mutton. “Uh, well, they would if they knew my name.”
Terra stood and patted Stew on the back. “It’s cute what you’re trying to do, kid, but I’m the de facto leader of all the free orcs. You don’t have much on that. Your axe is really cool, though. Catch you around. I gotta go talk to my peeps.”
She headed upstairs and pulled out her HUD. After finding the right contact information, she dialed Cire and placed the HUD on the table.
His face popped up as a holograph. “Good to see you, Terra.”
Terra was busy picking food out of her teeth. “You too, boo. Is that cool to call you that? I’m not sure how you feel about pet names and shit like that?”
“Why would you call me by the name of a pet?”
Terra retrieved a piece of bacon from between her teeth and swallowed it. “You know, ‘cause we’re kinda like a thing. We are like a thing, right?”
Cire smiled, his sharp teeth gleaming. “There are no other mates I’m interested in. And we have ‘pet names’ too, though they tend to be somewhat more fitting.”
Terra sat down to get a better look at her orc. “Oh, really? What would you call me?”
“She Whose Ass Could Break an Army.”
Terra blushed as she tried to hide her giggles behind her hand. “Okay, that is pretty good. A mouthful, but pretty good.”
“It is the name I would use for you while speaking to friends and family so they know of your glory.”
“Well, I’m going to have to come up with something better for you. Give me a few days. Am I allowed to talk about your cock to friends and family?”
Cire laughed as he beat his chest. “It would be considered a mild insult if we did not praise each other’s genitals and bestial lovemaking to others.”
Terra made pistol hands and pretended to fire at Cire. “Gotcha, boss. Everyone’s hearing about our sex life. Now, on to business, I guess. You ready for this speech?”
Cire stood, showing his full ceremonial garb. He was wearing a fur poncho that went down to his navel, along with fur pants and boots. The skin that was visible was covered in war paint. “I’ve prepared my thoughts. Are you sure we should both speak?”
Terra started to apply war paint to her face as she nodded. “Yeah. We’re doing this together. I’m not speaking for you. I’m flattered the tribes still want me as their chief and don’t feel insulted by…you know, the whole human savior thing, but it’s important that you’re as much of a leader as I am. A chief and a shaman, like you taught me.”
“The tribes have assembled. They’re waiting for you.”
Terra put the final touches on her face and looked into the mirror. Her face looked right, even if she didn’t feel that way. Speeches weren’t her thing, and neither was being front and center. This felt much different from speaking to humans on talk shows. Terra was one part of a leadership team now. It was a lot of pressure, and she wasn’t comfortable with it yet.
Cire thought this was the right thing to do. All she had to do was make sure she didn’t fuck it up.
Naota, Blackwell, and Roy were sitting at a bar on the orcish homeworld. Roy was the only one who didn’t look hungover. Blackwell looked to have seen better days but was not a complete wreck. Naota, on the other hand, was as pale as a sheet of paper and staring miserably at his plate. “Long night?” Roy asked.
Naota burped, covering his mouth and trying to stifle the urge to vomit. “I went out with Lora-gak last night. She can drink much more than me. God, is this what dying is like? Have I died?”
Blackwell raised an eyebrow at Naota. “Did you go home with her?”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Blackwell sipped his drink as he played with his food. “Hm.”
Roy cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. “If you two don’t mind, I’d prefer to stay out of your lovers’ quarrel. Terra’s speech is coming up.”
The free orcs in the bar had quieted, waiting for the speech to be broadcast on the holoprojector toward the front.
Before Naota could respond, the holoprojector flickered to life. Cire and Terra stood next to each other.
Cire took a step forward. “Brothers and Sisters, today is the beginning of a glorious time for our people. We are united for the first time in hundreds of years. The horde is reborn stronger than ever, and our strength will wipe the Dark One from the face of the universe. We are no longer slaves to his devices. We are masters of our own lives.”
The orcs in the bar cheered and pounded their cups to the table, spilling mead and beer everywhere.
Cire continued. “Our strength is not only physical, it is of the heart. We will not be dominated by those who wish to use and control us. We will not be seen as beasts by the other races of the nine realms. We are proud. We are powerful. We are the voices of our ancestors made flesh. We are orc!” The shaman stepped back.
Terra bowed her head slightly and pressed her fist to her heart. “I’m still humbled by all this. It is an honor to lead the horde. The trust you’ve given me…I don’t think I deserve it, but I will work to earn it. The horde will grow in strength. Our fight against the Dark One will not be easy, and it’s going to be painful. A fucking shitshow. But we are orcs. We will survive.”
The orcs shouted riotously.
Terra slammed her fist to her chest. “Do-hak, no-ja, no ja seela. Do-hak, no-ja, do hak no-ja.”
Silence washed over the orcs, and the bar was silent.
Terra continued to chant, pounding her chest in rhythm to her words. Cire joined the chant, his fist keeping the beat as well.
Slowly, the orcs in the bar joined in the chant, quietly at first, but growing louder with every second until the bar was vibrating.
Roy leaned over the counter and asked the bartender, “What does that mean?”
The orc did not answer at first. Tears were rolling down his face, as they were for nearly every orc in the bar. “The Horde, my blood. My blood, my life. The horde, my blood…” The orc beat his fist to his heart. “The ancient cry of the horde. I never thought I’d hear it in my lifetime.”
Roy looked at Naota and Blackwell. “Gotta admit, those two make a really good team.”
Blackwell’s head was lowered as he poked at his food. “Yeah, looks like they do.”
Anabelle and Terra left with the Mundanes to take care of the dungeon shortly after Terra’s speech was over. They had all listened to it. Anabelle heaped loads of praise on Terra, but the Mundanes were much less interested. Terra attributed that to the Mundanes being involved in a completely different aspect of the war.
Not that Terra was upset. She did find it interesting, though.
At the insistence of the Mundanes, they did not teleport directly into the dungeon. Suzuki was adamant about wanting to see the area around it. He thought it would give him a better idea of what they would be up against. Anabelle had argued that it didn’t matter because she and Terra knew what the dungeon had to offer. They had run it over two dozen times already.
Anabelle eventually yielded. The Mundanes provided steeds, bizarre ostrich creatures with axes for beaks that made a ruckus when they were brought into the Red Lion. They managed to get their steeds under control quickly, but Terra and Anabelle had a noticeably difficult time. “You just gotta bash them in the head a little,” Stew advised. “Like this.”
Stew slapped the back of his axebeak’s head, causing the creature to let out a little yelp and stare back at Stew. The creature did stop squawking and fidgeting, though.
Terra reluctantly slapped the axebeak. Hers did not let out a yelp but straightened up and looked around attentively.
Anabelle did the same, muttering under her breath about the barbarism of hitting an animal.
Then they were off, passing through the portal and teleporting roughly a mile from the dungeon. They kept to an easy trot, c
onversing with each other, Suzuki showing Anabelle and Terra the draft for the riddle he, Abby, and Sandy had worked on. “The problem with riddle doors is that sometimes the riddles are supposed to be very literal,” Suzuki explained. “I have some theories about this one.”
Terra, who was only half-listening because Stew had chosen to ride at her side and refused to shut up, looked at Suzuki. “What do you mean, ‘very literal?’”
“Well, the last riddle door we came across wanted a riddle about a thief. What it really wanted was for us to steal something in front of it, which was extremely difficult to put together. We had to find someone we didn’t know, convince them to come to a dungeon with us, and then rob them in front of the door. Granted, we gave everything back once the door opened, but still. It was ridiculous.”
Sandy, who was riding next to Suzuki, nodded as she coaxed her axebeak on. “And the nature of the riddle reminded us of something José told us a while ago.”
“Yeah, it’s been a little bit, but I remember. He told us that we were eventually going to have to die to go on to the next level of everything. I don’t think José reaching out to you was a coincidence. I think the riddle and what José said to us is tied together.”
Terra scoffed at what she thought Suzuki was implying. “Are you saying you think we’re going to have to die?”
Suzuki didn’t look like he was joking. “Something along those lines. I came up with an idea.”
Terra scanned the area around her. None of this looked familiar from the last time the DGA had headed toward this dungeon. “Hey, where are we?”
“Oh, totally forgot to mention. We aren’t going to the riddle door yet. That’s what me, Abby, and Sandy were talking about. I thought Abby told you. We’re on our way to get a vase.”
Anabelle pulled back on her axebeak and stopped. “Okay, you’re going to have to spell this one out for me. I know you’re used to working with people who understand your weird, nerdy maze brain, but I’m not following.”
