by Megg Jensen
Ademar rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’d like to believe you saved them from a worse fate.”
She swallowed hard. “There’s the encampment. Let’s go. I want to get there before everyone falls asleep. I need to speak with Dalgron, Alyna, and Vron.”
Before Ademar could say a word, she left without him. Again.
Chapter 3
Alyna trod carefully through the bodies scattered over the prairie. As soon as the dragon had killed Azlinar, all of the infected had fallen to the ground, dead. Just like that, all those whom Azlinar had controlled were sent to their eternal rest.
The two orcs who’d been guarding Alyna were so frightened they ran off after Nemia, who’d spurred her horse and escaped. Alyna didn’t bother to watch where they went.
Right now, she wanted only to find Vron’s body. She’d care for him first, above all others. She knew these bodies were only shells, the souls departed, but still she would give her love priority.
She owed him at least that much.
She took a deep breath. Without Vron, Alyna had no one to care for; he had been her only tangible connection to the living. And now… her inevitable retreat back to the forest loomed over her. Even Syra, her unicorn companion, had run off during the battle—at Alyna’s urging. She hoped Syra was alive. She refused to contemplate any other fate.
As Alyna neared the spot where Vron had died and she had killed his attacker, she slowed her pace and steeled herself. She stepped around body after body, her heart aching with each lost life.
Then she saw him.
Vron’s limp form rested on the ground, in the same position in which she’d left him. Part of Alyna had hoped she would find another outcome. She’d wrapped the strand of Hugh’s hair around his finger quickly before she’d left him, and a small part of her had believed the relic would have saved him as it had saved her.
She knelt at Vron’s side, her back to Nishta, the orc who’d killed him. In a fit of rage, Alyna had then killed Nishta. She had turned her back on all she believed to avenge the orc she loved.
Tears slipped down her face as she bent over his body and rested her cheek on his chest. So often she’d pushed Vron away, claiming she needed to be alone in her clearing deep within the forest. He’d taken every rebuke in stride, patiently waiting for her return. He’d loved her beyond measure, and she’d been unwilling to let him know she felt the same.
She ran her hand down his arm to his hand. Her fingers lightly brushed Hugh’s hair, still wrapped tightly around Vron’s ring finger.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She knew the words would echo in her head for a long time to come. If only there had been another way for his story to end. Alyna would have done anything to make it come true.
A hand lightly touched her shoulder.
Alyna looked up, blinking away her tears. She laid eyes on the last orc she expected to see. “Tace?”
“I have returned.”
The way she said it was so very strange—as if she had gone much further than the Library of Filamir.
“Your brother…” Alyna choked on the words, unsure if Tace had even come to terms with the revelation. “He’s gone.”
Tace knelt next to Alyna. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back in time to save him. I tried. I wanted to help everyone.”
“If I had to guess, I would assume you had something to do with the dragon who killed Azlinar.” Alyna sat back on her heels, her hand still on Vron’s. She wasn’t ready to let go yet.
A small smile pulled at the corner of Tace’s mouth. “You could say that.”
“Then you did save everyone. At least everyone who could be saved. Vron was gone long before you swooped in.” Alyna looked at him again. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful. “Nemia, who claims to be the trueborn daughter of King Rafe, did this. Somehow, she gained control over those who were infected, forcing them to fight on her side. But when you killed Azlinar, they all fell dead instantly. They should have been dead already.”
“I saw Nemia. She was working with that evil mage?” Tace said.
“Yes, and she is plenty evil herself.” Alyna shuddered, thinking of what Nemia had subjected her to in the mines.
Tace tapped her a fingertip on her lips. “I know Nemia well. I don’t understand any of this…”
“Any of what?” Ademar came up behind Tace.
A very peculiar being followed closely behind him. Alyna knew what it felt like to be looked at strangely—she’d experienced it every time she left her grove—but she couldn’t help herself. She gaped.
“I am Frensia,” the being said. “I’ve always wanted to meet a faun. I guess this is my lucky day!”
Alyna’s nose wrinkled. This Frensia walked through a battlefield filled with remains and called it their lucky day.
“Frensia means well,” Ademar said. “They’re an umgar. They don’t quite look at things the same way we do.”
Despite her grief, Alyna’s curiosity was piqued. She’d heard whisperings of the strange genderless race that had originated far across the oceans. Their homeland was so distant it made Gailwyn, the elven homeland, seem only a small jaunt away.
“An umgar?” she asked. “Did you meet at the library?”
“We did! And how did a faun get to Doros? I imagine you must have traveled quite far. Much farther than I did!” The umgar blinked its wide, black eyes at her.
Alyna was unsure how to answer. She knew so little about her race, seeing as she was the only one. Or at least, the only one on Doros. Frensia’s words implied that there were others elsewhere.
“We have a lot of work to do here,” she said. “But I want to start with Vron’s body.”
“Of course,” said Tace. “How many orcs are alive?”
Alyna shrugged. “I don’t really know. I was gone for some time—I can explain all of that later—so I can’t make a solid guess.” Her eyes swept the encampment. She was saddened to see how few were left.
“We will get this done,” Ademar said, “but it will take some time. Digging a grave is hard work.” He shot a glance at Tace, but she gave no response.
“Where is Brax?” Alyna asked, feeling a pit of apprehension in her stomach.
“Brax died.” Tace spoke matter-of-factly, as if he were nothing more than an afterthought.
Alyna forced herself to hold back a barrage of questions. They had only been separated a few weeks, yet clearly there was much to explain. For both of them. She didn’t even know how she’d begin to explain everything that had led up to Vron’s death.
“We should get started,” Ademar said, his voice nearly as emotionless as Tace’s. “We need shovels. Lots of them.”
Alyna gestured toward Dalgron’s tent. “I know there were some in there before.”
The umgar pointed over Alyna’s shoulder. “I wonder who that is? Friend or foe?”
Alyna spun around and looked out to the east over the prairie. In the distance, a great cloud of dirt grew larger with each passing moment. Whoever it was, they had a lot of horses, and they were traveling quickly toward the ruins of Doros.
Chapter 4
Damor mentally prepared to reinvent himself—again.
He’d hidden his identity from Maysant when she’d found on him on death’s door in the forest, calling himself Benin. He’d lied about this name because he didn’t want Queen Ambrielle to know he was still alive and plotting to exact revenge. It was some time before he discovered his human queen had died during the xarlug attack.
Then the queen of the elves had offered to give him the human kingdom of Soleth after she’d secured Doros. Instead she chose to leave Doros while orcs died.
Not Damor. He stayed. He would continue to pursue control of Soleth—and the prize he’d kept hidden there. Unfortunately, due to his physical limitations, he was often at the mercy of others in pursuit of his aims.
Ylantri puttered around his tent, straightening the same pillow repeatedly.
“Stop,” Damor said, agi
tated.
“What do you expect me to do?” She glared at him, her black eyes swirling with anger, dark veins pulsing under her pale skin. This was the face she would let no one other than Damor see. Her visage marked her as Shadari, a dark elf who consumed the souls of the living.
Her body was overrun with the souls she had collected over the decades. Her dreams were so vivid, filled with the memories of the dead, that she screamed at night. To muffle the sound, she slept with a gag in her mouth. Damor found it repulsive… and enthralling.
“We must venture out of this tent and offer our help to those who remain living,” Damor said. In truth, he cared little for the orcs. They could all perish, and he wouldn’t blink an eye. But they were a stumbling stone in his quest, one he had to overcome before continuing toward his prize. “After all, you are a healer of great renown. You remained when your queen abandoned the orcs. They will be grateful for your presence.”
“And yours?” Ylantri eyed him. “Will they accept your help?”
“No, they will not. There are a few who know me, assuming they live. I must take every precaution not to be recognized.” Damor took a deep breath. He prided himself on knowing more than everyone around him. This time, though, he needed Ylantri’s help. “Can you teach me to disguise my face as you do with yours?”
Ylantri burst into laughter. “You think this is a magic trick? I just wave my hands, mutter a few arcane words, and then my face changes? It is much more than that. It is part of being Shadari. I was born with this skill.”
“Yet someone must have helped you to hone those inborn talents.” Damor pushed ever so slightly. He wanted—no, needed—Ylantri’s help.
“That may be true, but I doubt someone like yourself could handle it.”
Damor cocked his head to one side. “Because I am a human? Don’t underestimate me. I am far more than I appear.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Ylantri turned to the same pillow and fluffed it again. “But I cannot teach you this. It is not in your nature. It is a gift given only to the Shadari. It goes far beyond the normal elven glamour. It is not a game. It is our survival.”
Damor didn’t believe her. Not for one moment. But it was clear she wouldn’t share her secret with him—so he would simply have to find another way, as he always did.
He needed to gather power somehow. He’d already lost two queens; he would need to find a third. Someone worthy of his service who could repay him with power. His human queen was dead, and as far as he knew, no one had yet risen in her place. Her children were far too young to rule effectively. The land of Soleth was likely in complete chaos. As for the orcs, the princess had died, leading to her father’s abdication. No one had seen the queen or the king of the orcs since the xarlug attack. It was widely assumed they were both dead.
The entire world was in chaos. An ideal circumstance for someone like Damor. He only had to figure out the best way to manipulate that chaos to his advantage.
A voice called from outside the tent. “Ylantri?” It was one of her healers, Lymetyrr, who’d chosen to stay with them. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Damor eyed Ylantri, who had agreed to tell everyone he was a broken human in her care. For now, he had to remain anonymous.
She closed her eyes, and her face transformed into the visage she showed everyone except him. “Cover your eyes,” she said.
Damor peered out from behind his cloak and cowered on his pillows, pretending to be meek.
Ylantri parted the curtain. Sunlight streamed into the tent.
“Hi, I’m Alyna,” said a voice, and a sunlit silhouette entered the tent. “I heard you stayed, so I wanted to check in. Are you willing to help the injured?”
“If you don’t mind,” Ylantri said, “I’m going to let the curtain drop. The light is low in here, but that is for the comfort of my patient.”
“Of course. By all means,” Alyna replied.
The curtain fell, blanketing Damor in familiar darkness. He took the opportunity to casually examine their visitor. The red curls falling over her shoulders. The piercing eyes.
He knew her. All too well.
This was the woman he’d tried to kill with magic before the humans entered the pass at the Barrier Mountains. She had retaliated against him later, with magic of her own, setting his tent and his body on fire. He had nearly died. It was because of her that he’d been left for dead in the forest and found by Maysant and Ghrol. It was because of her that he’d been forced to realize his queen hadn’t loved him as he’d so hoped.
All because of her.
But now she looked on him with wide eyes, obviously not recognizing the mage she’d fought with magic. And why would she? They had never met in person.
She reached up, smoothing her hair, and two horns emerged from the tangle of curls. Damor had to suppress a gasp. He let his eyes travel slowly over her body. Her hips were wider than a normal human’s, as were her legs and feet. This Alyna was no human. She was a faun.
No wonder his magic hadn’t worked on her as he’d intended. Fauns were naturally resistant to many forms of magic—or at least, so claimed the literature he’d read long ago. He’d never actually met a faun before. Until now, he hadn’t even been sure they still existed.
“Many of our orcs were killed during the battle,” Alyna said. “Especially at the end, after the dragon set that evil mage on fire. So many just… collapsed. Dead. Others are still injured and require our attention. I was hoping you could be of aid.”
“Of course.” Ylantri bowed her head. “It is why I remained when my queen chose to return to our homeland of Gailwyn. My skills are needed here. I would be honored if you would allow my healers to assist you.”
Alyna glanced over at Damor once more. He feigned disinterest, though he was curious if she would recognize him as the mage she’d tried to kill. Her eyes swept over him with no spark of recognition.
“Is he well?” Alyna asked Ylantri. “If he harbors the illness the other orcs suffered from, then I cannot allow either of you near us.”
“Oh, he is of no danger to you or the orcs,” Ylantri said. “Benin is a cripple, left behind by the human army. The elves have been caring for him.”
Alyna looked Damor over again, her eyes pausing briefly on his face, then turned back to Ylantri. “The orcs are grateful for your help. We’ll take anything we can get right now.”
“Of course.” Ylantri bowed. “My healers and I will gather our supplies and begin ministering to your injured.”
“Thank you. Everyone who is healthy and able will be burying the dead. We appreciate your assistance in preserving the living.” To Damor she added, “You are welcome in the orc lands as long as needed. But shall I presume you will want to return to Soleth soon? We may be able to provide you with an escort.”
Damor pressed his lips together and lifted his arms, letting them shake ever so slightly, as he signed a response. It was pure gibberish, but until he was sure Alyna didn’t recognize him, he had to pretend he wasn’t a threat.
“I believe Benin is saying he is comfortable here for now.” Ylantri took Alyna’s elbow and guided her toward the exit. “He was truly left for dead. I cannot imagine he has any desire to return to his people. Don’t worry, though, he won’t be a hindrance to us. Benin requires little.”
“I understand, and of course, I wouldn’t force him to return,” Alyna said. “It’s not my place anyway. Agitar does not belong to me, nor do I have designs on ruling it. I simply am doing the best I can to support the friends I have made here.”
“I feel much the same.” Ylantri smiled. “We will walk among the orcs soon. Trust me, I will make sure they are healed, if it is possible.”
When Alyna was gone, Ylantri collapsed on the pillows next to Damor. “I suppose you know her, and I suppose you won’t tell me anything.”
Damor grimaced. Alyna was another obstacle in his way, one he would have to dispose of sooner rather than later. “You suppose correctly. On both counts.
Now go. Take the orcs’ souls. I will wait here patiently for your return.”
Ylantri looked at him with eyes filled with expectation. They would make a good team—so long as she served him well. Damor genuinely liked Ylantri, and he was curious about her magic. But the moment she became dispensable, he would do away with her.
No one could be close to him and live for long.
Chapter 5
Rafe sat astride his draft horse, weary but hopeful. At least he wasn’t dead, as he’d let everyone think. It had been many weeks since he’d escaped Agitar, narrowly avoiding dying during the xarlug attack. He felt guilty for leaving his city behind, but it was for the greater good.
Agitar needed a new king, and it was his job to make sure the right orc took over. Not that foppish, ignorant elf who’d sat upon the throne after enchanting him and his wife. As soon as the spell broke, Rafe had escaped through the city using underground tunnels reserved solely for use by royalty.
It was a shame his wife, Agamede, had chosen to stay behind, weeping for their biological daughter and clinging to the hope that Nemia could be redeemed. Rafe held no regard for the child. He knew Nemia’s soul, and it was dark. Her birthmark wasn’t just an omen, it was a true gateway into her personality. The child was broken, ruined—and he would swear, though he couldn’t prove it, that she had killed the young orc they had chosen to replace her as princess.
Not that any of that mattered now. Nemia and his wife both likely lay dead among the rubble of Agitar.
Rafe still had every intention of giving up his throne. His time had passed, and though he’d failed to produce a viable heir—and would not do so now, since a riding accident left him impotent—he would not allow the survival of the orc empire to be put in jeopardy. He could not pass on the crown to a biological heir, but he could make sure the crown ended up in capable hands.
So, he’d ridden hard to Inab and spoken with their leaders. And there he’d found a new king, an orc willing to do what was right to reclaim Agitar. Vitagut. He would make a good king. Born of excellent parents, he’d spent his childhood in training in the military and toiling in rock pits. His personal aspirations were modest, but perhaps that made him a better choice than someone who felt royalty was their birthright.
