by Megg Jensen
Maysant didn’t love the idea of being separated from her brother and her best friend, but she felt pulled toward the tunnel and working with Vitagut. Perhaps it was destiny. Perhaps it was a chance to prove herself. And what better place than at the side of a brave orc?
She turned to her dearest friend. “Ghrol, you stay with Kazrack and Alyna. I’ll be back soon, okay? Vitagut and I will get others to help us.”
Ghrol clenched his fists at his sides, clearly unhappy with the instructions, but she knew he would do as she asked.
“Now we just have to figure out how to get down there.” Maysant looked around the throne room for anything that might aid them.
“I have an idea,” Kazrack said.
Maysant ignored him, hoping he wouldn’t say it again. She doubted he had anything useful to contribute.
Kazrack cleared his throat. “Maysant?”
Surprised at the soft tone of his voice, she stopped rummaging through the rubble and looked at her brother. In his hand dangled a rope.
“Where did you find that?” she asked. She was both delighted and ashamed that she’d automatically discounted him. She skipped over broken stone to her brother’s side.
“It held up the tapestries. They’re very heavy pieces of fabric, so I think as long as the rope isn’t frayed at any point, we could use it to swing into the tunnel opening.” Kazrack offered the rope to his sister.
Maysant took it in her hands. She was pleased by its heft. “Yes, this might work.”
“Let me have it,” Alyna said.
She reached out for the rope, and Maysant handed it to her. Alyna tied the rope around her waist, cinching it with a double knot. She strode to a doorway, braced her hooves and arms against the frame, and said, “Pull on the rope.”
Vitagut picked up the other end of the rope and yanked.
“Harder,” Alyna said.
Vitagut adjusted his grasp, then pulled again.
Alyna rolled her eyes. “That’s not helping. Use all of your weight.”
Vitagut wrapped the rope around his bulky bicep, let the rope have some slack, then burst across the room, yanking as hard as he could.
Alyna held on. So did the rope.
“Good,” said Alyna. “Now you just need to swing down into the chasm and land in the tunnel.”
“That simple?” Vitagut asked, laughing.
Maysant shared Vitagut’s skepticism. She’d already almost plunged to her death in this chasm once today. “Are you sure you can hold us, Alyna?”
“As long as you go one at a time.” Alyna shook out her arms. “I may look human, but I am a faun, and am stronger than you can imagine.”
“Just tell me when you’re ready,” Vitagut said. He was already tightening the rope around his arm and walking the edge of the chasm, looking for the spot he wanted to jump from.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Maysant said.
“It’s the only idea we have,” Vitagut replied. He looked to Alyna. “I’m ready when you are.”
Alyna braced herself, then looked at Vitagut with eyes like steel. “Go.”
Vitagut winked at Maysant and leapt into the chasm.
He fell freely into the darkness; then the rope went taught and he swung across, his feet pointing toward the tunnel. Maysant groaned when his feet slammed against the broken entrance to the tunnel, pushing him back.
She glanced back at Alyna. The faun’s cheeks were puffed out with the strain of holding the huge orc. Maysant said a little prayer under her breath in her native tongue.
Vitagut swung backward, his feet dangling. He pushed off a wall, flinging himself back toward the tunnel.
Once again, he missed.
“Hold tight!” Vitagut called up. “I’m trying one more time. If I don’t make it, we’ll find another way out of this damn castle!”
Kazrack flung his hands over his eyes. “Oh, I can’t look!”
Maysant couldn’t stop looking. Her eyes were glued to Vitagut, as if somehow her gaze would protect him.
Vitagut pushed off the back wall once again, but this time he unwound the rope from his arm, let go, and flung himself forward. Maysant gasped as he flew through the air without anything to save him should he miss.
He let out a guttural roar as he scrambled in the air, plunging into near darkness.
He missed.
Maysant choked back a cry. He was gone into the abyss. Their ragtag party of five had become four in a breath.
Alyna scrambled up next to Maysant. “Where is he?” Her eyes searched the chasm.
“He—he didn’t make it.”
“Vitagut!” Alyna screamed into the darkness.
There was no response.
Maysant heard her brother hyperventilating behind them. But she had no time to comfort him. Not when she was so devastated herself.
Alyna pulled Maysant into her arms, the two of them shaking.
“Let me know when you’re ready, Maysant!” a voice called up from the chasm.
Maysant and Alyna spun to face the void, their eyes wide.
“Vitagut?” Alyna called.
“Yeah. Give me a moment. Almost there.”
Maysant peered into the darkness. A hand appeared on the wall. It wasn’t long before he’d heaved himself up and into the very tunnel he’d been trying to swing into.
“That didn’t go quite like I thought it would,” Vitagut said, laughing. “But I’m here.”
Maysant turned to Alyna, but the faun had already returned to the doorway, where she was bracing herself once again.
“Be safe, sister,” Kazrack said. He awkwardly patted her arm.
Maysant threw her arms around her brother, ignoring his surprise. “I love you, Kazrack. I’ll come back for you. I promise.”
Then she hugged Ghrol. He embraced her tightly.
She pulled the rope from the chasm and gripped the end tightly in her hands. All she had to do was jump.
It was best not to think about it. Just go.
She launched herself into the abyss.
She had to fight not to squeeze her eyes shut as she swung through the darkness. But her aim was true. She swung right into Vitagut’s arms.
“Well, you handled that better than I did,” he said, putting her down. “Now let’s explore this tunnel.”
Maysant nodded. “Let’s go.”
Vitagut hesitated, watching her. “You’ll…. you know you’ll have to let go of the rope first.”
Maysant realized she still held the cord in a white-knuckled grip. She forced her hands to unclench. “Right. Of course.”
Vitagut smiled and started down the tunnel.
Maysant gulped. She was alive, she’d made it. And just this once she would stay quiet for a bit.
Chapter 29
Damor’s arms wrapped around Lymetyrr’s neck. He shifted uncomfortably, his body bound in a blanket, much like an infant swaddled in the days after birth. And like a baby, he was essentially helpless. But though a child knew no different, humiliation ate away at Damor’s insides. He was willing to bear it only because he knew it would change. Someday soon he would reach his goals. He would be in possession of everything he needed to restore himself to power.
True to her word, Ylantri had made sure her elf carried him. Not only was Damor swaddled, he was tied to Lymetyrr’s back. They traversed the prairie, avoiding the orc ghosts in the distance as they worked their way around the back of the castle, stepping over the rocky outcroppings that dropped into the Orianna Sea.
Damor was jostled constantly, and gritted his teeth against the pain. Everything was pain. Nothing brought him pleasure anymore. Not even the thought of someday regaining all he had lost. He had thought he was getting better, but something deep down told him he was only getting worse.
“Do you know where we need to go in the castle?” Ylantri asked, tossing her long blond hair over her shoulder.
Damor saw past the glamour she presented to everyone else; he saw her bloodshot eyes an
d black hair. Her pale skin was so white it nearly glowed. He was surprised no one else could see it. But to the other elves, she was simply the head of their healers, a woman to obey. If poor Lymetyrr only knew she could suck his soul right out of his body, he’d drop Damor on the ground, dive into the sea, and try to swim to his homeland.
A sudden wave of pain hit Damor, forcing him to take a deep breath. She was close. The one he had been looking for. The one who could grant him the power needed to achieve his goals.
Ylantri's eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”
“She’s close. It’s not much further.”
Ylantri looked up at the castle, soaring into the very clouds above them. “We need to find a way in. I assure you, despite the magic we hold, we cannot scale those walls.”
“We will find a way in,” Damor said. “If nothing else, an entrance created by the damage from the xarlug.”
“What about that over there?” Lymetyrr asked. He pointed to a craggy rend in the castle’s rocky base.
“It looks promising. I’ll scout ahead.” Ylantri winked at Damor, then scurried off.
He watched her over his valet’s shoulder, her hips swaying as she leapt over the fallen stones. She was a remarkable elf, so unlike anyone Damor had ever known. If he were younger and he had such urges, he might have even considered taking her for his mate. But a great wizard like him needed no companionship.
“You were right!” Ylantri yelled back, her hands cupped around her mouth. “Let’s go!” And she disappeared into the castle.
“You heard her,” Damor said to his valet. “Pick up your pace. We’re not safe out here.”
Damor thought of the orc ghosts floating over the prairie, devouring anything that got in their way. They’d already destroyed the bulk of the army Tace and her rotten friends had put together. While he was grateful to them for that, they were a danger, and he didn’t want to get caught up in their mindless destruction.
He needed to find Nemia. He would convince her only he could restore her to the throne. Then he would find a way to use her power to amplify his. Not just her power as the queen of all orcs, but the power of her magic. Azlinar had said Nemia had deep wells within her, but she had only been able to access it sporadically, and could not control it.
That was for the best. That meant Damor could access her magic without her knowledge.
Lymetyrr ducked as he entered the hole in the base of the castle. Damor rested his head on the elf’s shoulder, an action that might have wounded his pride if he had any left. He was in survival mode now. If he didn’t get help from someone in a position of power, he’d waste away until there was nothing left of him but a sentient husk.
He was used to the dark and could see just fine in the tunnel, but the elf carrying him flailed his arms in front of him almost comically, treading carefully. Just ahead, Ylantri’s form leapt nimbly across the rubble. Perhaps her nature allowed her to see in the dark as well as he did. She continued to surprise him.
Ylantri stopped at a fork in the tunnel. One way was covered in far more rubble than the other.
“Can you tell which way is best?” she asked Damor.
He closed his eyes and reached out with the magic. Two invisible tendrils slipped from his fingers, reaching into both tunnels, feeling for Nemia’s presence.
Ylantri gasped. “They’re so beautiful.”
Damor’s eyes snapped open, his concentration broken. “You… you can see them?” Even he couldn’t see them. Magic was invisible, ethereal. It didn’t take on a corporeal form.
“Yes, it’s… a special talent, I guess.” Ylantri shrugged.
The other elf appeared not even the least bit interested in their conversation. He, of course, could see nothing at all in this darkness. “I just hope there’s more light in whatever tunnel you choose,” Lymetyrr said. “I can barely see in here. I have no idea how the two of you are getting along so well.”
Damor chuckled. “I’m completely at your mercy. You’re doing just fine.”
He wished the elf were doing much better.
“So, which way should we go?” Ylantri asked.
“To the right,” said Damor. “I feel her presence strongest there. She’s not far.”
“Who’s not far?” a voice called from the tunnel. “Show yourselves now, or prepare to die.”
Ylantri’s eyes grew wide.
But Damor smiled. “It’s her.”
Chapter 30
Nemia held her fists at her sides, annoyed and frustrated. She’d managed to get rid of her father and mother, and now there were more interlopers in her castle. When she decided to rule Agitar, she had no idea it would be so difficult. Why couldn’t everyone fall into line behind her? She could be a good, fair leader, if only they’d give her a chance—and do exactly as she said.
Instead, she had to keep dealing with these imbeciles.
She rounded a corner in the tunnel and was surprised to see two elves, one with some strange rumpled lump on its back. She squinted in the low light, trying to determine exactly what the lump was.
“Bow,” said a snarling voice. “Bow to the rightful queen of Agitar.”
Without hesitation, the two elves fell to a knee.
Nemia gasped. No one had ever recognized her as the rightful queen. No one other than Azlinar.
She waved her hand in the air, and they stood. Finally, she saw what was on the elf’s back. Some type of living creature, shriveled and barely alive—though she believed he was the one who had commanded them to kneel.
She tapped her foot impatiently under her long gown. “Why have you come here?” she said. “As you can see, the castle is in ruins. We are fighting enemies that continue to overwhelm us. Now is not the time for a state visit from the elves.”
The form on the elf’s back moved ever so slightly. Dark green eyes peered at her over the elf’s shoulder. “Do you not know me?”
Nemia took a step closer, peering at him. “No. Should I?”
“We have—had—a friend in common. Perhaps he told you to seek me out?”
Was he speaking of Azlinar? Azlinar did tell her there was another who could help her, but she hadn’t believed anyone could ever know her the way Azlinar did. He was the most powerful orc she’d ever met. How could anyone else fill his shoes? Particularly this… shriveled human?
“I know of no such thing,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek. Perhaps if she convinced him, they would leave. She couldn’t have anyone poking about. After all, her father and mother were still in the dungeon, alive—for now—and if anyone were to accidentally discover them, she would lose her claim to the throne.
The human sighed. “Azlinar spoke to both of us. You know it as well as I do. I am here to help you, to serve you. Don’t squander this opportunity.”
“Oh?” Nemia crossed her arms over her chest. “And what have you to offer me? So, you know Azlinar’s name. So what? You don’t have his power. You’re just a husk of a human, straddling the back of an elf like a swaddled babe.”
“Don’t speak to him in that manner.” It was the other elf who spoke. She glared at Nemia, her eyes burning with fire. “He’s come here to help you. To help everyone. It’s time to return the orc empire to its former glory by defeating all of its enemies. But… perhaps you’re not the queen to do this. Let’s go, Damor. We were wrong.”
She turned on her heel and stomped back the way she’d come. The crippled human shrugged, then tapped his bearer on the shoulder. “We will not stay where we are not wanted.”
As Nemia watched their retreat, her heart beat erratically and her mind raced. Azlinar was gone. Her parents would soon be dead. The castle was in ruins and soon to be overrun by the ghosts of the dead. She had nothing left. No one would help her.
All of her hopes for the future would be for naught if she was alone.
“Wait!” she called.
They turned around.
“Since you came all this way… perhaps we should talk
. We can go to my rooms. Follow me.”
Nemia took a different route back to her chambers, avoiding the tunnels that led back to the dungeon. What if this human, this Damor, disapproved of her treatment of her parents? Then she’d have to kill all three of them. And she was still tired from all the magic she’d used earlier in killing her father’s pathetic shaman.
Azlinar had told her she’d learn to control her magic with time. That it would not only become easier, but that she would become stronger, more powerful. But so far, she’d still only been able to call on it when she was distressed. And as for control? She was lucky she didn’t kill herself when the magic burst out.
Refusing to look back, or even to talk to these strangers, Nemia picked her way through the destruction. She decided to go to her chambers. It was no audience chamber, not with its cracked and tilted bed, its broken chairs, its miscellaneous rubble. But the whole castle was in a similar state. It would have to do. And it was where she felt in control. It was her reclaimed personal space. The first step into reclaiming all of Agitar for her own.
She stepped over the dead body outside her room. Oops. She’d forgotten about the orc her father had brought to trap her. Oh well.
The elf carrying the emaciated human followed her in, but the blond elf knelt on the floor next to the shaman’s body, laid a hand on the orc’s chest, and closed her eyes.
“What is she doing?” Nemia asked the other elf.
“Praying,” he responded. “She is a healer by trade, but when death takes someone, she is the first to send their soul to another plane with prayers. Ylantri is the best of all of us.”
Nemia grunted. Dead orcs went to Drothu. Not some magical place on the wings of the prayers. It was laughable. Clearly the elves didn’t understand the honor of death and how orcs longed for the day they would meet their maker.
“How long will it take?” Nemia asked. Part of her wondered if she ought to turn away from this ritual, give them privacy, but another part didn’t care at all. The orc was dead. Her body would need to be removed, eventually, to ward off smell and disease. Perhaps Nemia could convince these two elves to help her with that task.
