by Alana Serra
Wesley’s blood ran cold. It could have been a threat, but he was more inclined to believe it was simply a promise. He wasn’t powerful enough. Even though he’d pacted with Aeredus, there were limits to what he could do. Limits the Dark God had never told him about, of course, the terms of their agreement always changing. They’d changed again, that door he needed to reach so tantalizingly close, yet moving ever further away.
“What do you mean pact with me?” he asked, finding Aeredus had moved away from him to stare out the tiny window.
“The Dark Lady—ugh, I hate that name—must form a voluntary bond with each of her guardians to unlock—” He stopped himself, turning back to Wesley. He couldn’t be sure if he saw boredom or amusement in Aeredus’ gaze. “Why am I telling you this? Here.” He waved his hand, a sweeping gesture that moved slowly in front of his body. “Now you know.”
Wesley felt a sharp pain behind his eyes as if he was getting a terrible headache. He gritted his teeth, squinted against it, but slowly it let up, blissful relief taking its place. Relief, and a wealth of knowledge that hadn’t been there before. Dark Ladies of the past. The role of a guardian. The deal Aeredus had made with this Rhiannon. And the moment in which the Lady and her three guardians became more powerful.
Powerful enough that Wesley would never have to worry over Emma’s safety again. It felt like a trap. Another promise made by Aeredus that came with a myriad of terms and conditions. But still he felt compelled toward that path, toward this woman he was meant to serve who would serve him in turn. He would find her. Win her trust. Then she would pact with him—mind, body, soul—and he would finally have the means to protect Emma.
Even if that meant protecting her from himself.
Chapter 7
There had to be some mistake.
That was Karak’s only thought as he pulled his remaining men back. There must have been some misunderstanding, because the Dark Lady would never attack his people. Aeredus’ chosen had always aligned themselves with the orcs, and Karak had seen two in his lifetime approach his father and then him in turn, asking for men to serve.
He’d always given them willingly, gladly, because it was an honor to serve the Dark Lady, even if Karak himself wasn’t especially keen on serving Aeredus. But their pacts with his chosen had given his clan the strength they needed to fight off their enemies. It was only this last run, when the Dark Lady had refused to even look their way, that they’d begun to lose staggering numbers to the humans.
When he first felt that familiar pull of dark magic nearby, he’d assumed she was there to support them in their quest. He’d given his men instruction to do as little damage as possible—they were here for the one adventurer who had blood on his hands, not the rest of the humans who’d only done as humans were wont to do. They were like animals, just following primitive instincts to attack anything they didn’t understand—anything that didn’t look like them.
A strange thing for Karak to realize when he’d been younger, as his mother was human. This one, though… she’d attacked them. There was no mistaking it. She’d set off an explosion of dark energy beneath their catapult, instantly killing several of his men. He’d tried to call to them, to pull them off, get them to drop to their knees, but they hadn’t heard him. They’d paid for it with their lives, and now only Karak and two of his kinsmen remained.
He’d taken them through the tall grass, trying to approach the Dark Lady from the side. He’d hoped if he could call out to her, show he wasn’t a threat, that he could explain the situation. Maybe she thought he and his men were attacking this village unprovoked, in which case all he needed to do was speak to her face to face and clear everything up.
But he hadn’t been able to get close to her. She’d gone into the village, which was suicide for her kind. They’d caught her, bound her, and Karak had only been able to watch from a hill on the outskirts, a spyglass showing him exactly what they intended.
“We have to help her,” he told the other two warriors.
“She killed our men without remorse!” Urzog pointed out.
He’d wanted to retreat since the catapult explosion, but Karak had ordered him to stay. He hoped he wouldn’t come to regret it; that it wouldn’t be a mistake Urzog would pay for with his life.
“She didn’t understand what we were trying to do,” he said, hoping against hope that he was right. “I’m sure she thought we were just attacking that village for the hell of it.”
“And what if we were?” Xag asked. “No Dark Lady has ever given a damn about some backwoods humans.”
No, they hadn’t. The fact that this one did told Karak she was special, though. He’d felt drawn to her from the moment he’d sensed her, and even more so now that she’d tried to help her fellow humans. As foolish and misguided as it had been, there was empathy in this Lady that was rarely present in the others.
“You can leave if you wish, but I’m going to save her,” he swore, his gaze fixed on the stake at the center of the village, sticks piled high all around it.
Orcs were rarely the heroes in any tales, even those told by his own kind. Half-orcs even less so. He’d had to fight for every ounce of respect he’d earned among his people, but this was his chance to be more than that. This was his chance to serve a Lady directly. To be one of her guardians.
And if she pacted with him, perhaps she would help his people. Perhaps she’d actually care about them as he did, and would want to see justice done for Karak and all the others who’d lost loved ones.
With a Dark Lady who actually cared, his people would be strong again. They could finally rebuild and start to mend everything that was broken—Karak included.
It helped that as soon as the thought to save her solidified in his mind, he felt invigorated. Something swelled inside of him, some certainty he could only explain with one distant hope: the calling. So many orcs longed for it, and he’d been told all his life that it would never happen for him, given what he was. He could feel it now, though, deep in his soul. The sense of absolute rightness that coursed through him, the surge of adrenaline.
“It’s best if we warn the clan, in case there’s retaliation,” Urzog said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Be careful, Commander.”
Karak placed his own hand atop Urzog’s, giving the older man a smile, the barest hint of his stubby tusks catching his lip. “You as well, my friend. I’ll return soon, and with a Dark Lady to help us.”
“For your sake, I hope you’re right.”
The words were spoken in a somber tone, and a hint of fear gripped Karak’s heart. While he was in charge of these expeditions, he wasn’t in charge of the clan as a whole, nor would he ever be. If he couldn’t pull this off, there was every chance he would lose his position. He might even be exiled from the clan. It was such a sharp and real possibility that Karak’s convictions faltered for a moment. But only a moment. They recovered quickly as he redoubled his hope. He knew this was going to work out. He could feel it.
He could feel something else, too. As he skulked through the hills, trying to find the best entry into the village, Karak felt a presence that seemed tethered to his own. Then another. They approached from different directions, thundering closer. On horseback, if he had to guess, a thought that was confirmed as he heard the pounding of hooves. Karak reached behind him for the heavy battle axe strapped to his back. He didn’t feel as though these people were a threat to him, but he wasn’t so naive as to face them unprepared.
He would never have thought to be attacked by a Dark Lady, after all, and yet here he was.
Crouching low to the ground, axe in hand, he was prepared to sweep the legs of the horses out from under them. But the figure from the northwest slowed, and so too did the one coming from the southeast. They were both human, but one wore a long overcoat of simple cloth, the trim embroidered with enchanted thread. A silk waistcoat and trousers completed the ensemble, along with soft-soled boots that told Karak this one was not used to martial combat. As if hi
s figure wouldn’t have done that already. He was tall and slender—a bit gaunt in the face, even—without the muscle definition he might expect to find in a warrior. Light skin, several days’ worth of stubble, and haunted blue eyes. Judging from the glimpse he caught of a thick tome strapped in a holster beneath his coat, he was likely some kind of sorcerer.
The other was his opposite in nearly every way, aside from being human as well. He was on the shorter side, but sturdy and well-built, his muscular frame making him look like an immovable wall. That was only complemented by the stern set to his jaw and the stony look of his features. His dark green eyes took in everything around him without mercy, scrutinizing both Karak and his surroundings. He was the first to dismount, easily doing so, his brigandine not seeming to weigh him down at all.
As he came closer, Karak eyed the longsword sheathed at his hip. The man made no move to reach for it, though his gauntlet-covered hand remained close by, his fingers twitching just so.
“You are here for the Lady?” he asked, hoping it would not come to a brawl.
He would win, but it would be a fierce battle, and the time they wasted measuring cocks was time he wasn’t saving the Dark Lady.
“I am,” the leaner man said, sliding down from his horse with the grace of one who had been riding for some time. “Though I have no idea who this is,” he gestured to the armored man.
“All you need to know is that I’m here to make sure the newest Lady doesn’t get herself killed not an hour into the job,” he said tersely.
“Oh, is that all? I don’t even get a name?”
For a moment, Karak thought he might draw his blade on the other man. In close combat, there would be no contest, but he’d yet to see what kind of magic the sorcerer could do.
To his surprise, the very edge of the warrior’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but not the snarl he’d expected. “Liam.”
“Wesley,” the sorcerer said, his gaze already moving away from Liam toward the center of the village. “What the hell happened? How was she captured?”
“She was trying to help them, but they think she’s responsible for the attack I led.” He looked between the two of them. “Karak, by the way. If you care.”
Liam said nothing, but Wesley at least had the social grace to look slightly abashed. Fortunately Karak had developed a thick skin over the years. He was used to humans either ignoring him or thinking him some mindless, violent beast.
“Do you have a plan in place?” Liam asked, surprising him again.
“I’d thought to create a distraction, draw away as many as I could before going in. But with the two of you here, we can refine that a bit. Wesley, you’re a magic user?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he said, almost grimacing.
A strange response, but not one Karak cared to analyze right now.
“You can create a distraction from afar, then one of us can be in position to take out whoever grabs the torch. The other can free the Lady, and we can cut down any resistance from there.”
“I can take care of the torch-bearer,” Liam offered.
Karak felt a rush of satisfaction at the fact that he was going to be the one to save her. With the help of the other two, of course. Others who’d experienced the same calling he had, just as it had always been with a Dark Lady. Three men summoned from across the land, representing three different areas of expertise.
All equally important, like the legs of a table. If one was cut from underneath, it would no longer stand.
Still, he couldn’t help his pride. It was possible to appreciate the contributions of the other men and be glad he was the one who would be first in her favor, wasn’t it?
“They’re getting the torch ready,” Wesley said, and Karak’s attention was immediately drawn to the thick bundle of sticks swiped through a blazing fire.
Before he could give the order, he heard Wesley saying something under his breath. The same words over and over, an obvious incantation. Darkness welled beneath him, threatening to swallow him whole before it was drawn upward, almost seeming to evaporate into the air around Wesley.
He looked over just in time to see the man’s eyes burn with black energy, his words distorted. There was a roar in the village, and Karak’s attention seized on a massive, tentacled beast that suddenly appeared in the middle of the crowd.
Not a sorcerer, then. A warlock.
“That’s some distraction,” he said, his eyes wide.
But Liam was already moving into position, and he knew he should, as well. Returning his axe to his back, Karak brought out his hunting knife and crept around the distracted crowd. The woman he’d seen earlier was tied to the bundle of sticks, her hands bound behind her, a gag in her mouth. She thrashed violently, screaming against the cloth, but Karak waited until he saw Liam reach the edge of a nearby building.
The bulky warrior moved with surprising speed, surging forward with his longsword drawn. In one fluid thrust, he buried it inside of the torch-bearer’s back. The man gurgled, blood pooling at his mouth, and Karak took that opening to shear his knife through the thick rope binding the Lady. She pulled her upper body away from the would-be pyre, throwing herself forward and off of the soon-to-be-lit stake. Her legs were still bound to it, though, and he was quick to sever the ties there, too.
“Come, we have to get you out of here,” he called to her.
The Lady tried to speak through her gag, the words obviously urgent. She put up her hands as if to defend herself, and even though it was muffled, he could make out a clear “Stay back!”
Her voice was firm and resonant, yet there was a current of fear beneath it. She truly did think he meant to hurt her. That thought struck Karak harder than it should, but there was no time for him to explain the situation. Especially when the villagers were growing wise to the illusion Wesley created.
“We have to go!” he urged her.
He’d intended to remove the irons once they were safe, assuming it would take more effort than he could expend in a short time. But she needed to feel like she had some control over the situation, and so Karak reached for the irons even as she lurched backward from him.
“I’m just going to get these off,” he told her, every muscle in his body tense as he tried to summon his strength.
Grabbing hold of opposite edges, he pushed outward, a strained grunt leaving him as the enchanted metal slowly began to give, bowing outward. He wasn’t able to break it, but he was able to give her enough room to slip her hands free.
“Come with me,” he pleaded, reaching out to her as the villagers closed in.
He didn’t want to kill any more of these humans. They might have information his clan needed. But as one of the burlier ones charged the Dark Lady, Karak wasn’t given a choice. He hefted his axe in a downward arc, cleaving through flesh and bone. The woman he was protecting sucked in a sharp breath and scrambled away from him.
“Wait!” he called.
“You already lost her?” Liam growled, shoving a guard away with his shield.
“She’s afraid. I didn’t—”
Liam slammed his shield forward with a growl, then dodged an incoming blow from a flail. A thick tentacle wrapped around the attacker’s ankle, dragging him to the ground so Liam could very easily stab him. Apparently the warlock’s creation wasn’t an illusion after all, and it didn’t seem in danger of fading any time soon.
“Meet me on the outskirts of the village, back where we were. I’ll fetch her,” Liam said.
He was tempted to argue, his pride taking a hit, but so long as she was safe it didn’t matter. He nodded, hefting his axe, the familiar weight of it a comfort as he stood among his enemies. Liam dashed off, weaving seamlessly through the crowd in pursuit of the Dark Lady. Wesley was still some distance away, and Karak saw his lips moving as he controlled and commanded the creature wreaking havoc in the center of the village.
There was an opening here. A chance for him to find the information he needed and get it back to his
people. It was risky, but he wasn’t going to have another chance. The man who’d once carried the torch had dropped it on the ground and it now set fire to the dry autumn grass. It was only a matter of time before the buildings caught, too. Making the decision, Karak ran for the largest building—the one typically occupied by the village chieftain.
He took the stairs inside two at a time, bursting through the door to find the chieftain cowering in his bedroom. Had he not seen fit to help defend his people during either of the attacks? It was such a shocking, pathetic sight that Karak just stood there for a long moment.
“Please, I’ll give you anything you want,” the man whimpered. “Don’t kill me.”
The bloodlust that ran through his orcish side craved vengeance. This man was responsible for the losses Karak’s people had suffered so many years ago. He hadn’t carried it out directly, but he’d paid the coin to see it done. There was no doubt in Karak’s mind about that.
But here in this room, huddled in the corner, the front of his breeches stained, he wasn’t a threat to anyone. Karak’s blood cooled even as he hefted his axe again. The man shrieked, but Karak brought his axe down hard on the lockbox at the foot of the bed, popping the iron lock free with brute force rather than finesse.
It sprang open, the lid bent beyond repair. There was gold within, something Karak only had passing interest in, though he scooped it up anyway. The Dark Lady would need it to build her forces, and he needed to clear it out of the way because underneath all of the heavy gold coins was a scroll case. Small, fit to fly with a raven. His fingers closed around it, a surge of triumph filling him.
