by Megg Jensen
“The only one who needed saving was you, Alyna. Don’t let them fool you. You’ve seen firsthand what these ghosts are doing. We need to leave this place, and quickly.” Vitagut urged his horse to gallop.
Alyna could either throw herself from the horse—likely resulting in injury or death—or she could resign herself to being “saved.” Reluctantly, she wrapped her arms around Vitagut’s waist.
Alyna leaned her forehead against Vitagut’s broad back. Vron had risked everything to protect her. He’d shown how much he cared over and over again, and each time she’d pushed him aside to protect her own fragile feelings. She berated herself under her breath. After being abandoned by her parents as a child, she could never bring herself to care enough about anyone to stick around.
Unfortunately, it had taken Vron’s death to make her realize what she had been missing.
“No.” Vitagut’s voice was so quiet, Alyna almost didn’t hear it.
She lifted her head and looked around Vitagut’s broad shoulders. The ghosts had moved. They now floated in a pulsating mass to the east, blocking the road. The horses ahead of them bucked in fear, their riders barely hanging on. Vitagut’s horse whinnied and pranced in place, refusing to go one step further.
“They won’t let us leave.” Alyna felt the truth deep in her bones. None of them would survive this. They were fighting an enemy they could not hope to defeat.
“Then we must find another way out.” Vitagut took a deep breath and yelled, “Save yourselves! Flee!” He nudged his horse’s barrel with his heels and turned back the way they had come.
Alyna couldn’t take her eyes away from the chaos behind them. The orcs were trying to guide their horses back the way they’d come, but the horses weren’t obeying. Foam formed at their lips; fear had overtaken their senses. The horses tangled with each other, throwing riders. Some orcs fell in heaps, others were subjected to possession by ghosts. In moments, orc had turned against orc. After all they had been through, all they had survived, once again the orcs were forced to fight their brethren. Only days ago, it had been a battle against the infected; now they fought against the possessed. Their worst nightmares had come true, and the stories of their vengeful god, Drothu, were playing out before their very eyes.
Alyna couldn’t imagine a worse fate.
She spotted Vron—or the apparition of Vron—hanging at the edges of the fight. She wondered if he could be reached—if there was still a part of his soul living inside whatever he’d become. As Vitagut continued his charge toward the ruins of Agitar, she fixed Vron’s ghostly visage into her memory. She would find him again, and if there was any part of him that knew her, she would fight to save whatever was left—even if it meant giving him eternal peace.
“I’m hoping it will be harder for them to find us in the city!” Vitagut shouted over his shoulder. “Perhaps we can use the wreckage to hide ourselves until it is safe to go for help. Do you know of any good hiding places?”
Alyna hadn’t spent much time in Agitar—only enough to know the basic layout of the city—but she remembered General Dalgron telling her about a trap door underneath the barracks, leading to a hovel very few knew about.
“I may,” she yelled back. “If that part of the city hasn’t collapsed, there is a spot underground—”
“I am not going anywhere near the mines,” Vitagut said. “We already saw the horrors that emerged from there.”
Alyna shuddered at the mention of those horrors. It wasn’t long ago, barely even days, that she had been held captive in the mines. But it felt like it had been years. It boggled her mind to think of how many had been lost in such a short time.
“I wouldn’t go back there, even if someone guaranteed my survival,” she said. “No, this place leads to somewhere else.”
“Where?”
The problem was, she didn’t know. She only knew it led somewhere out of the city.
“Just trust me,” she answered, not wanting to admit she was as clueless as he was. It was their best chance for survival, and she wouldn’t squander it on a moment of indecision.
“Very well then, you tell me where to go, and we will find this escape route.”
Alyna swallowed hard, reluctant to ask the question hovering between them. “What of the others? If everyone follows us…”
Vitagut didn’t look back at her. “I don’t like it any more than you, but if we are to survive, we must do this alone. The more who trail us, the more likely it is the ghosts will find us.”
Alyna felt sick to her stomach, but she didn’t open her mouth to disagree. It was a silent oath between them: they would save their own skins while leaving others to die.
As they entered the city, Alyna ventured a backward glance at the other orcs, who continued to fight among themselves. None were following. Sadly, it seemed none would escape.
With a sigh, Alyna pointed to the collapsed barracks, guiding Vitagut toward their escape.
Chapter 21
Vitagut ducked, cursing whoever had hollowed out this ridiculous tunnel. He couldn’t even stand up straight. Even Alyna, leading the way with a meager torch they’d salvaged from the rubble, had nearly bumped her head once or twice.
Besides, there was no guarantee this tunnel actually led anywhere useful. For all Vitagut knew it would dead end, and they’d have to turn around and go right back again. It could all be for naught.
“How much farther do you think it is?” he asked once again.
Alyna stopped abruptly, irritated. She turned around to face him, and the light of her torch blinded him momentarily. “I don’t know,” she snapped.
Her red hair seemed as if it were on fire in the flickering light of the torch. He supposed she was beautiful—for a faun—though Vitagut still didn’t understand all of the cross-racial relationships he’d heard about in Agitar. What a strange place. Orcs with fauns and humans. The idea was revolting.
Her eyes suddenly grew wide. “Did you hear that?”
Vitagut closed his eyes and listened. Yes, he could hear it now, too. A quiet scrabble behind them.
They weren’t alone.
“Does anyone else know about this tunnel?” he whispered.
“The last time I was underground…” Her voice trailed off and she shook with fear.
She was truly afraid—and Vitagut didn’t like that. Up until this point, she’d been strong—even in her grief over losing the orc she loved. This fear in her eyes… it unnerved him.
He wrapped his hand around the pommel of the sword on his hip. “What is it?”
“It could be anything. The things I’ve seen…”
Vitagut heard movement close behind him. He drew his sword and spun around as quickly as he could in the tight space.
“No!” shouted a high-pitched voice.
Alyna’s hand grabbed Vitagut’s sword arm, and she pushed around him. “Maysant! How did you find this tunnel?”
Vitagut could see now it was the two elves and their simple human friend.
Maysant placed a hand on Ghrol’s arm, just as Alyna had done to Vitagut. “It’s okay, Ghrol. These are our friends,” she said in a soothing voice.
“Frnds,” Ghrol repeated, a toothy grin replacing the menacing eye he’d given Vitagut.
Maysant turned to Alyna. “We ran toward the city, thinking maybe we could hide here. But then I saw you entering the barracks—your red hair is hard to miss—so we followed you. We lost sight of you inside, but when we found the trap door, we knew this was where you must have gone. I hope that’s okay.”
Vitagut held his tongue. If these three saw them, how many others might be on their tail too? Would the ghosts be following as well? If this damn tunnel even had an opening on the other end, they might have a chance to escape, but the longer they walked, the less Vitagut believed it went anywhere. They’d be forced to turn back, and they’d walk right into the waiting hands of the ghosts these three had probably brought with them.
“Of course, it’s fine,” Alyna sai
d. “But we shouldn’t waste another moment. Come, all of you. Follow me.” She squeezed past Vitagut again, taking the lead once more.
“The rest of you go in front of me, too,” he said. “I’ll bring up the rear. Keep watch for more interlopers.”
Maysant motioned for Ghrol to follow directly behind Alyna. As the fleshy human pushed past, its foul scent struck Vitagut’s nose. His stomach turned. Humans were so disgusting.
As Ghrol lumbered after Alyna, Maysant wagged her finger at Vitagut. “We are not interlopers. We’ve been here helping the orcs longer than you have. Don’t treat us like we don’t matter.”
He eyed the bow and quiver on her back, filled to the brim with arrows. Perhaps she thought herself useful from a distance, but her skinny arms couldn’t stand against the might of an orc doused in bloodlust during combat.
“Don’t sneak up on me again, or you’ll regret it,” he said with a snarl.
To his surprise, the little elf rolled her eyes, then turned to follow her human friend, pulling her brother along behind her. So—she did have some fire within her.
As Vitagut sheathed his sword, his elbows hit the tunnel walls. He was just as glad the interlopers were friends and not foes. A fight would have been difficult in this small space.
They trudged silently through the dark tunnel for what seemed like another day before Alyna finally gasped, “There’s light!”
Vitagut picked up his pace, as did the others. He wasn’t the only one eager to get out of here.
There was indeed light. Up ahead, the cursed tunnel rose sharply to a vine-draped opening in the ceiling.
The human started blubbering, unable to contain his excitement.
“Shh!” Vitagut hissed. “We don’t know what, or who, is out there.”
“It’s okay, Ghrol,” said Maysant. “We’re all excited. But we have to be really quiet.” She patted the human’s back.
Vitagut pushed past them and stepped up behind Alyna, hovering over her shoulder. “Where are we?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m familiar with Agitar, but not with the surrounding forest. All I see are trees. Do you think we’ve made it out safely?”
“There’s only one way to know. I’ll check.”
Alyna flattened herself against the wall so he could slip past her.
Vitagut quietly unsheathed his sword, moved aside the vines, and climbed out—listening carefully for any rustle of leaves or sighing breaths before fully emerging. He held out his hand toward the others, telling them to stay underground.
Slowly he stepped through the trees, careful not to make any noise, his footsteps light. He scanned the forest, looking for any hint of ghosts, even so much as a wisp. But he saw nothing. No sign of ghosts, no sign of enemies. Not so much as a broken branch to indicate anyone else had ever been here. It appeared they had escaped Agitar.
He suddenly felt much better about running away. Not long ago, he would have jumped headlong into the fray, but his short time with Rafe had taught him that a leader must preserve himself, letting others make the sacrifice in battle. If their hopes in him were to be realized, Vitagut needed to survive. He needed to find help and be victorious in whatever was to come. That was what a leader did.
He wondered, not for the first time, what had become of the former king. Rafe had slipped off shortly after they arrived at the encampment, saying he had some business to attend to. He hoped the orc was still alive.
He continued walking—just a bit further, to be sure. He expected to peer between the trees and perhaps see the prairie far behind him. What he saw instead dropped his stomach to his toes.
He wasn’t in the forest.
He wasn’t outside Agitar.
Above him was a soaring stone ceiling dotted with holes.
He was inside the castle in Agitar. There was no mistaking it. The tunnel hadn’t led away from the city. It had led directly into the king’s own indoor garden.
He should have known he wasn’t outside. The air was too stale, the ground not moist enough. He made his way back to the opening of the tunnel. “You can come out,” he called, defeated.
As his companions emerged, he sank to the ground, putting his head in his hands.
The faun’s eyes grew wide. “What is it?” she asked. “Where are we?”
“Inside the castle. Not only did we not make it out of Agitar, we’re stuck in the middle of the ruins.”
Her expression of hope fell to one of despair. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought…”
“Don’t blame yourself. You did the best you could.” Vitagut meant it. He hadn’t had a clue where to go once the ghosts formed their border. The tunnel had been their only hope. It wasn’t the faun’s fault it hadn’t worked out.
“What do we do now?” Maysant asked.
Vitagut was trying to be a leader. And he knew a leader would find a way to inspire his followers, to assuage their fears. But at the moment, he could think of only one answer to give.
“I don’t know.”
Chapter 22
Rafe wandered the halls of his decimated castle, accompanied by Berylla, an orc shaman he’d brought with him from Inab. Rafe had loved his life as the king of Agitar, and he’d taken so much pride in the strength of his castle. Now it was all gone. Dead bodies littered the halls, lives torn asunder by the xarlug attack. And the one soul he hoped to find still living was nowhere to be seen.
There was no trace of his beloved Agamede.
He searched every nook and cranny of the castle. When he arrived at the door to his daughter’s bedchambers, he motioned to his companion to remain outside. He was concerned at what he might find within.
He tiptoed quietly through the doorway.
His daughter’s four-poster bed was broken, its frame tilting to one side, its drapes torn and tattered. Yet in that bed lie his biological daughter, the one he’d fathered many years ago, snoring lightly as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
Rafe glared. It was her fault. She’d brought this curse upon Agitar, upon all of orcdom. And he would have to end it. But until she told him where Agamede was, he couldn’t lay a hand on her.
Nemia shifted, covers rumpling under her knees as she rolled over and opened her eyes.
“You’re here,” she said, her tone flat.
“Yes, I am, my daughter.” Rafe tried not to choke on the words. The thing before him could never be his daughter. Not truly. “Perhaps you feel up to taking me to your mother?”
“No.” The answer came too fast, as if she’d anticipated his asking.
Nemia threw off her covers and sat up. She wore a nightgown—one of Sabniss’s. She must have stolen it from the wardrobe. Rafe recognized it from all the nights he’d tucked his other daughter—no, not other daughter; his only daughter—in bed.
He couldn’t stop the dark memory from rising to the fore of his mind. Sabniss, choking to death in the throne room. There was nothing he could do to save her. In mere moments, she was gone. And though he couldn’t prove anything—yet—he blamed Nemia. She may or may not have been the direct cause of Sabniss’s death, but the evil lurking inside her was the ultimate cause of all of this.
He had a plan for that evil. While he was in Inab looking for an orc worthy to take the throne of Agitar and restore it to its former glory, he had also sought out help from magic users in the underbelly of the city. The throne wasn’t worth retaking unless the evil had been purged from Agitar. He had brought this abomination into the world, and soon he would fix that grave mistake—with the help of Berylla.
He’d found her after talking with some of the more unsavory orcs in Inab, and finally met with her in a dark alcove in a back alley. She’d assured him she could rid his daughter of the demon that plagued her. The only catch was that Nemia might die in the process—if her soul wasn’t strong enough to withstand the great magic Berylla would work on her. Rafe had no objection to that outcome. But first he needed to know where Agamede was, even if all that was left of hi
s wife was her lifeless body. Until then, he needed Nemia alive.
Nemia hopped off the bed, grabbed a dress off a chair, and slipped behind the privacy screen. A moment later, her nightgown flew over the top and landed in a heap on the floor.
Rafe held back his admonitions. This was not behavior becoming of a princess. Even though she’d been raised underground by deaf miners, he still expected her to uphold some semblance of decorum, particularly if she truly had designs on the crown.
Nemia stepped back out, the brocade dress haphazardly pulled over a shift, her hair a rat’s nest. Orcs weren’t the vain type, but this… She wouldn’t even perform the simplest of grooming tasks! A queen needed pride. Nemia had none.
“Don’t ask again,” Nemia said, her eyes fiery under the tangle of hair hanging over her face.
“If you won’t take me to her, please tell me, is she well?”
Nemia ran a dirty hand through her hair. “She is dead.”
Rafe didn’t want it to be true. It couldn’t be. Nemia might have been capable of killing Sabniss, but her own mother? He considered calling out to Berylla now, having her expel the demon from Nemia before another moment passed.
But then his daughter shuffled across the floor, reached out, and tapped him on the chest. “I said the same when she asked me about you.”
Rafe looked down at his daughter. She truly was possessed, but she had just given him hope. He wasn’t dead—obviously. Which meant perhaps Agamede was alive, too.
“I’m not dead,” he said gently, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. He was struck by how gaunt she’d become. She hadn’t been taking care of herself in any capacity.
Nemia looked up at him, her eyes sad. “I wish you were.”
He was stunned to find her words hurt him. Despite everything, he was her father. Her clear contempt and dislike for him stirred feelings he thought he’d buried when he’d put her aside in favor of Sabniss. His only chance at fatherhood, and he’d failed. Not just her, but his city, his wife, and himself.
