by Ramy Vance
Hurkah stood and walked a circle around Terra. “This is what is supposed to unite the orcish people? Some weak human bitch who thinks that just because she fucked an orc, she has the right to lead us? This pathetic excrement? Have you all fallen so low that you would follow this pitiful excuse for a warrior?”
Hurkah went to an orc in the crowd and drew his sword. “Hewn from Bone, eh? I’ll hew you from—”
Terra was on her feet, blood dripping from her lips. She reached inside her mouth and yanked out her front tooth. “Shit, I liked that tooth. First off, I’m not here because I fucked an orc. I’m here because I’m strong. I don’t lose. and I haven’t met an orc yet who could kick my ass.”
“I’ll do more than kick your ass, you insolent—”
Terra’s blood was boiling even if she was playing it cool. That was why she had already launched herself into the air. Her feet connected solidly with Hurkah’s chest, and he backpedaled. The blow was not enough to send him off his feet, but Terra didn’t want to just floor him. She wanted to eviscerate him.
She snapped her fingers at Nib-Nib, who tossed her two katars. Terra slipped her hands into them and squeezed the katar’s blades to split them into three parts. “Come on, bitch. See if you can keep talking shit.”
Hurkah roared and barreled at Terra, swinging his ax. Terra raised her katars, blocking the attack with one hand. She sidestepped and kicked Hurkah in the kneecap, dropping him to one knee. She swung her katars at Hurkah, who managed to block the attack before launching his own: an upward thrust with his ax that slashed Terra’s face.
Terra backed away, holding her face. When she moved her hand, her palm was covered in blood and her face was on fire. When she probed her cheek, she felt the separated skin. The ax had almost cut her face in half.
That was it; something clicked inside Terra. The threat of death, real and not imagined, was all she needed.
Terra surged forward, dodging Hurkah’s attack, and leaned into the orc, taking advantage of his wide-open swing. She drove one of the katar’s deep into his chest.
The orc froze, surprised.
Terra jabbed her second katar into Hurkah’s side. She tugged it out and rammed it back in, stabbing and stabbing until the chieftain screamed in pain and slumped over. He leaned heavily into Terra as she continued to hack at his side.
At last, Terra’s blood rage eased.
She dropped Hurkah on the ground, where he continued to bleed out. “This is my tribe now, do you understand?”
Hurkah tried to sit up, smiling despite his wounds. “It could not go to a better orc. My death will be the fodder of legends.”
Terra knelt to look him in the eye. “I didn’t come here to kill free orcs. If I let you live, are you going to be a shit to me?”
Hurkah spat blood. “Even if I hated you, I can see you are an orc, and a chieftain, at that. My chieftain.”
“Nib-Nib, get over here.”
Nib-Nib scuttled over to Hurkah and commenced vomiting her eggs onto the orc’s wounds.
Hurkah screamed in protest. “What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?”
Terra patted Nib-Nib on the head. “They’re healing eggs or something. I don’t know, but it’ll get you patched up in no time. Hopefully, in time for dinner. Which…uh, yeah.”
She turned to the tribe of orcs. “The other eleven tribes will be here by nightfall, and you know what that means? A goddamn feast! Let’s get fucked up!”
Luckily, the Hurkah tribe had a large throne room. Terra had never seen an orcish hall before. The other tribes she’d met were more nomadic than the Hurkah. According to Cire, the Hurkah had been dug in for some time, one of the few orcish tribes who practiced agriculture and farming.
The hall was enormous, built in a style reminiscent of Viking halls, large rounded ceilings, and strong wooden foundations. A throne sat at the head of an arrangement of long tables.
Terra took a seat at a table near the throne, and her party joined her. They weren’t sure who would take care of the preparations, but Cire reassured Terra that the Hurkah was well used to large celebrations and that someone would have begun preparations already.
The general mood of the hall of orcs was one of bemused interest. It had been hundreds of years since the orcish tribes had been united in any way. They were not warring factions, but each tribe had kept to themselves. And today they would dine with each other for the first time in centuries.
Terra thought the excitement was kind of cute.
Hurkah walked up to Terra and cleared his throat. “Your friend fixed me right up. Thank you again for your mercy. It’s not a thing we’re used to around here. The Dark One spares none.”
“Wait, you’ve come across the Dark One’s forces?” Terra asked. “How did you keep from being put under his control?”
“Luck, mostly. And status. We’ve lived here forever. If the Dark One were to attack, he’d have to bring an army ready for a week-long war. There’s no way we’d fall easily.”
Hurkah waved a hand at Cire, who sat beside Terra. “I take it that this is your shaman?”
Terra wrangled Cire into a half-Nelson and kissed him loudly on the cheek. “Yep, this is my shaman. He’s the one who declared me chieftain. Guess he saw something in me.”
Hurkah nodded in approval. “He has excellent perception. And, uh, sorry about that stuff I said earlier. You know, taunting is a useful tactic.”
Terra waved away Hurkah’s apology. “Don’t trip about it. I’m just glad we aren’t going to have one of those pissed-off-former-chief situations. You have no idea how upset some of the other tribe leaders were when they got their asses handed to them.”
Cire took a sip of his wine. “Maybe if you didn’t refer to the change of power as ‘handing people their asses,’ they wouldn’t be as irate.”
“Call it like I see it. Sticks and stones, friend. Sticks and stones.”
Hurkah pointed at the throne at the head of the tables. “Also, if you didn’t know, that is your seat. It’s meant for the chief. Since you are Chieftain Amongst Chieftains, it is rightfully your place.”
Terra jumped to her feet and clapped. “Are you serious? I get a throne? I’ve never had a throne before. Hell. Fucking. Yes!”
She ran over to the throne and jumped onto it, kicking her feet up and flopping them about. “Okay, definitely need some seats up here for my posse. Get up here!”
After some rearranging, Cire, Nib-Nib, and Persephone were sitting comfortably beside Terra.
It took almost two hours for the other tribes to arrive at the hall. They had had enough time to get used to each other, but the Hurkah had not. Their tribe was outnumbered, and the Hurkah were eyeing the other orcs with suspicion.
Terra was worried that a fight might break out, but she remembered she was an orc. She knew exactly what an orc queen would do.
She stood atop her throne and shouted a loud war cry. “Brothers and sisters! Tonight, we stand united for the first time in hundreds of years! I would thank you for accepting me as your new Chieftain, but I had to literally beat the shit out of you for it. But fuck it. Thank you. Now, I know you didn’t come here to listen to me blab my ass off for the next half an hour.”
Terra reached for the pint of wine in front of her. She raised it high. “Drink! Be merry! And let the horde thrive!!!”
The orcs cheered along with Terra, all embracing and mingling as they socialized amongst each other. The wine flowed quickly and easily as food was brought out, freshly butchered meat similar to the flesh of oxen.
The choicest cuts of meat were brought to Terra and her party first, as was the best wine and the mead. Everyone but Persephone ate heartily. It wasn’t until Terra started teasing Persephone that the drow allowed her politeness to take a break. With manners set aside, Persephone shoveled food into her mouth as though she hadn’t eaten in days.
Once the rabble-rousing had toned down some, Terra stood atop her throne again. “Okay, now that you’re all full
and drunk, let’s get down to business. You’ve all probably figured out why I’ve united the tribes. The Dark One uses orcs like slaves. That ends today. We are taking the fight to him with the strength of the horde. Orcs will not be the foundation of his army anymore!”
The orcs broke out in cheers, slamming their jugs and mugs on the table, chanting Terra’s name.
Terra raised her hand, silencing them. “But even further, it isn’t right for a human to lead the orcs. Even if I can technically wreck any of you, that doesn’t mean that I know your history. I haven’t suffered your pain. Which is why I am appointing Cire as my Chieftain. If that makes sense. Wait, no it doesn’t…uh, what I’m trying to say is that he’s calling the shots. But if anyone wants to challenge our authority, you’re still going to be getting fucked up by me. Got it?”
The orcs cheered even louder as Terra raised her jug and drained it. When Terra sat, Hurkah approached, mug of wine in hand and swaying dangerously. “Didn’t see that one coming,” he said. “Probably the least orc-like thing I’ve ever seen, letting everyone know you aren’t calling the shots.”
Hurkah steadied himself.
“That was a good thing you did there. Probably won the hearts of more people just now than you would have in battle.”
Cire nodded as he accepted the hand Hurkah extended toward him. “We both thought it best. Our history is important. Terra’s been learning, but…how do you say it, Terra?”
Terra smiled brightly as she pounded her chest, her eyes fierce. “Uhn doroth agor soldoract!”
Hurkah stepped back in surprise. “She speaks the old tongue?”
Cire’s face was filled with pride as he smiled at Terra. “As she said, an orc’s pain is manifold. It defines us. We must always remember that.”
Hurkah was speechless. He chugged his wine and wandered away to join the rest of the party.
Terra leaned closer and punched Cire. “So, how’d you think I did on my first diplomatic mission?”
Cire raised his glass to toast Terra. “I think you accomplished something amazing.”
“So, do I get like a royal room or something?”
“Already feeling like passing out?”
Terra leaned in closer to whisper in Cire’s ear. “I’m pretty sore from all the fighting. I was thinking maybe you could hook me up with one of those massages.”
“Perhaps Nib-Nib could—”
“Nope. Just you.”
Cire’s eyes widened. He jumped to his feet. “I’ll go figure that out.”
Nib-Nib chittered loudly as Persephone looked around uncomfortably.
Terra drained another jug of mead. “I’m going to fuck that orc’s brains out tonight. They’re going to be all over the floor. Like, a runny gray mess.”
Nib-Nib looked up from her food. “If brain on floor, I have first taste,” she chittered.
Terra winced at Nib-Nib’s words. “Dude, that’s gross. I will make sure his brains stay in his skull. Since when do you eat brains?”
“Never eat brain. Never have chance.”
“That’s fucked up, Nibs.”
Cire returned to the throne, walking very quickly. “Uh, I found a room.”
Terra leapt from her chair and went over to Cire, grabbing him by the ass cheeks before turning around and shouting to Nib-Nib, “You make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble, all right?”
Nib-Nib nodded as she chittered, “When you make fuck, protect eggs. Don’t let shaman take.”
“Seriously, Nibs! When did you get so weird?”
Terra and Cire stumbled off, arms around each other’s shoulders.
Persephone looked awkwardly at Nib-Nib. “Uh, I think I’m going to go for a walk.”
Nib-Nib nodded. “Fresh air. Good for both.”
The pair stood and left the main hall.
The sun had set, and the stars were bright outside. Persephone stared up at them as they twinkled madly. Her comm blinked twice. When she picked up, a hologram of Abby projected before her.
Abby waved and smiled brightly. “Hey! I was supposed to join you guys for dinner, but I think Terra forgot to call. I figured I could still talk to you.”
Persephone started gushing. She wasn’t sure what she was saying, but it felt good to hear Abby’s voice. Nib-Nib wandered around in the dark, entertaining herself. Finally, Persephone caught her breath. “I missed you so much,” she whispered.
“Me too.”
Persephone was prepared to say something she never thought she’d say, but her declaration went unsaid.
A streak of light hurtled past her and crashed into the side of the grand hall. The missile exploded, setting the hall on fire.
The drow stared at the sky. The stars were twinkling too brightly to be stars; they were spaceships, and they were firing plasma blasts at them.
“Abby, I have to go!” Persephone shouted before running into the hall, screaming, “We’re under attack. The Dark One is here!”
Chapter Forty-Three
Anabelle no longer knew how long she’d been imprisoned. Each day was the same as the last, as was each moment. There were periods when Grok was with her, and then there was the blackness of her sleep and her dreamless terror.
At any point in the night, Anabelle would jerk awake, eyes wide, screaming unintelligible words. She had stopped screaming for help some time ago. It had taken a lot to wear her down to that point.
For the first two days—at least Anabelle had thought it had been two days—she had remained silent. But Grok hadn’t seemed to care. The orc wasn’t needling her for information. And the torture was simply meant to break Anabelle. That was all.
After the first two days, Anabelle had begun to beg. It killed her on the inside to cry, but she had wept, imploring Grok to let her go. The only thing Anabelle held onto in the darkness was that she had made no offers. She’d simply asked to be released. Not in the most dignified manner, but she had never offered anything.
But it didn’t matter. Anabelle was hardly in a dignified state. She was filthy, covered in dirt, blood, shit, and piss. Toiletries had not been provided, and from the onset of Grok’s torture, Anabelle had been left to sit in her own disgusting mess.
The first time Anabelle had been forced to sit in her own urine, it had mortified her. It had almost brought her to tears to be stuck sitting there, unable to do anything as Grok sat across from her, mocking her for not being able to control her bladder. If Anabelle could have, she would have struck Grok dead right there.
But she could barely move by then. She still wasn’t certain what Grok was doing to her, but it was sapping away her strength. Not physical, her mana, just like the elf had done to the orc before. Anabelle could feel it being pulled out of her, similar to the way she had pulled mana from her surroundings. But this was so much worse; it was like having her skin split, and her veins yanked out.
In the dark, Anabelle had tried so hard to rebuild her mind, which was all that was necessary. This was a war of wills, Grok’s against Anabelle’s.
The orc would continue to pummel her to reduce her to nothing. And after that? Anabelle didn’t know what.
Grok had said she wanted to teach Anabelle the Way of the Path of the Lost. “The True Path,” according to Grok. But the orc’s explanation sounded too easy. Maybe that was what Grok wanted. But Anabelle doubted that would have been enough for the Dark One. If anything, the Dark One would do what Anabelle had seen him do in the past: make an agent out of her through indoctrination via the microchip.
Anabelle still wasn’t one hundred percent sure of the process. She’d only read briefings, but she had no direct experience of how one was brought into the Dark One’s fold other than that it involved a microchip that overrode the thoughts and personality of the victim.
These were the things that Anabelle focused her mind on. It was the only way she was able to keep herself sane. Too many bad thoughts lurked in the dark, untruths that slipped in and out. And if she held onto them for too long, they wo
uld ruin her mind.
They’ve forgotten about me. They’re never coming for me. I’m going to die here. This fucking shithead, this motherfucking bitch is going to kill me because they forgot about me and don’t care that I’m here and I’m going to die, I’m going to die…
Anabelle took a deep breath and shook her head, flinging sweat and blood.
No, that wasn’t true.
The Dark Gate Angels hadn’t forgotten about her. They were looking for her. There was no way they weren’t trying to save her.
Just because they hadn’t found her yet didn’t mean they didn’t care. That was only her mind trying to cannibalize itself, attempting to focus on something, anything other than how alone and scared she was.
Because Anabelle was scared. This wasn’t how she wanted to die. She’d seen her death many times. On the battlefield. Old and graying, her life finally having finished its run.
Not reeking of excrement and urine, weeping for comfort.
The door creaked open, and Anabelle’s ears twitched. She’d already been fed for the day.
That meant she was here.
Again.
Anabelle could hear the scraping of a chair’s legs as it was dragged across the floor.
Grok stepped into Anabelle’s field of vision. “Morning, Anabelle. Are you ready to begin?”
Anabelle spat in Grok’s face. “Fuck you.”
Grok wiped away the spittle and shook her head. Then she grabbed Anabelle’s hair, forcing the elf to look at her. She punched Anabelle’s face, then punched it again.
Anabelle blacked out from the first punch, the second sinking her deeper into unconsciousness. She didn’t feel the last blow, but Grok was only warming her up.
Grok grabbed Anabelle’s head, and flashes of pain erupted through the elf’s skull. The blackness faded, instead replaced with a blinding blur of images, memories flowing through her faster than her brain could process while her mana was siphoned off.
