by Megg Jensen
The pumping slowed. His breathing regulated. His chest rose and fell softly under the pink gossamer robe he wore. Every other fabric was too rough for his delicate skin. Others laughed, saying the robe feminized him. But Damor knew he could crush any of them in an instant with his magic. If all they cared about was the size of their penis, so be it. Damor had power far beyond what their muscles provided them. Besides, he had the queen's ear, something no man, save her father, had ever been able to attain.
The orcs crossed through Damor’s chambers in the palace, winding to the entry and out into the courtyard. They set the palanquin down on a large stone table in front of the queen's throne. Normally it was reserved for religious purposes, but it also served as Damor's place when he spoke to the queen.
"My queen," Damor began.
"Stop," she said abruptly. "Show me your face first."
Damor sighed. Queen Lissa preferred to hold court outside in full light of the sun. Damor's eyes were sensitive. He could only see in the darkness. The light blinded him and often served him migraine headaches. He reached out with one shaky hand, parting the linen.
The queen gazed upon him, her long, silky blond hair, sweeping above the ground. Her pert nose turned up ever so slightly toward the sun they worshiped. Her rosy cheeks were round and her pink lips full. Light shone around her body. Likely the sheen of the sun, but sometimes Damor wondered if she glowed from the inside.
Something stirred deep inside Damor, as it did every time he laid eyes on her. But that part of him was long gone. It died the first time his body expired. Now he was only a shell of the man who once desired women.
Not that it would have mattered one bit. Lissa preferred the company of females. The only male who graced her bed was the husband she nabbed through an arranged marriage. She used him to breed the brood that would eventually take over the crown. Four daughters. Three sons. All as stunning as the queen.
"So it is you, Damor," Lissa said, her voice as smooth as honey.
"It is, I, my queen." Damor squinted, adjusting to the light. "I had a vision. A frightening one."
"Do tell," Lissa replied.
"Something has happened in the North, beyond the Barrier Mountains. Something that will impact the world as we know it." Damor took a deep breath, then slowly released it. He'd often given her true visions, but this one... if he was wrong... she would burn him at the stake. "Your father. He's dead."
The queen took in a sharp breath. Her hand reached for the linen curtain, ripping it off all the way.
Damor threw an arm over his eyes, blocking the blinding sun. "My queen!"
"Is this vision true?" she asked, her voice desperate and shaking. "How can you be sure it was not a dream?"
Damor knew she'd hate the next part more. "Because your father came to me. He told me."
"My father? But he is in the North. How could he tell you such a thing? He is a holy man, but he is not capable of entering one's dreams." Queen Lissa’s lips quivered. She knew, as Damor did, exactly what it meant.
"Your father has expired." Damor didn't wish to cause her pain, but the look on her face told him he'd done just that. Still, he couldn't explain the dream without telling her the whole truth.
Queen Lissa's hand rested on her chest. Tears sprang at the corners of her eyes. "No. It cannot be true."
"It is."
"I won't believe it. Not until I see his body." Queen Lissa pointed at the bright afternoon sky. "Do you see? Is that the sky of death? No! That is the sky of a god who loves us. Sornal will not let my father die. Not now."
Damor followed her finger, still sheltering his eyes from the brunt of the sunlight. "It appears so, my queen, but I assure you, this vision is true."
Queen Lissa turned her fury on Damor, her green eyes blazing with anger. "You will go back to your chambers. You will think on this more. You will choose your words more carefully next time we meet. You will also learn to tell the difference between a nightmare and a vision."
Damor dipped his chin and eyes in silent acquiescence. He was used to her outbursts. This was a true vision. The queen would come to understand eventually.
"Take him away," she ordered.
Gashta and Nishta lifted the palanquin, knocking Damor to the side as they steadied it between them. Damor grasped the front supports, his veiny fingers wrapping around the skinny posts.
"Faster! Move!" the queen yelled.
The orcs ran, jostling Damor on his pillows. He hung on tighter, not relaxing until the palanquin suddenly settled. They must be away from the queen, around a corner or in a grove where she couldn't see them.
"Oh no," Nishta said, fear trembling in the back of her throat.
"What is it now?" Damor asked, annoyed and ready to return to his chambers where he could continue to contemplate the grave news. The queen's doubt was niggling at him. He knew what he saw. It was real. And yet... she'd never been so reluctant to believe him.
"They're circling."
The palanquin dropped to the ground, landing with a jarring thud on the grass. Damor jerked forward, clutching the posts once more. "What is wrong with you? Pick me up now!"
Damor waited.
Nothing happened.
He shielded his eyes and tugged the fabric to the side, looking at the sky.
Craytors. Hundreds of them, their feathery, humanoid bodies flying in circles over the palace.
“Back to the queen! Now!” he yelled. The palanquin jostled violently as the orcs finally obeyed his command.
Damor held the curtains open, braving the bright sunlight.
One craytor broke away, diving toward the queen.
“Put it down!” The orcs dropped the palanquin. Damor pulled himself out. He was too weak to walk, but he stabbed the ground with his long fingernails, forcing his body back toward the woman he cherished above all things.
Queen Lissa stood, her hand on the sword she carried at her hip. Drawing it, the blade's tip twinkling in the sun, she yelled, "Back off, craytor, or blood will be shed this day."
"Blood has already been shed," the craytor screeched.
Damor fought the urge to cover his ears. Instead, he continued forward, doing his best to reach his queen. To protect her in any way he could.
"Your father is dead. Hugh no longer draws breath from this world. He has passed on, into The Nether." The craytor hovered in the air, out of Queen Lissa's reach.
"He cannot be in The Nether. My father was a loyal follower of Sornal. Nothing he could do would ever cause his soul to enter the orc land of death." Lissa's hand trembled, doubt showing on her face.
Damor strained harder, coming ever closer. His breath caught in the back of his throat, his body failing him. He had tried to warn her. Apparently, he was not the only who knew dire events had befallen them.
"And yet it is true. Your father traveled to The Nether and conspired with the dark souls. He paid for it with his life." The craytor cackled, flying back up to her flock. The others screeched along with her as they flew away from Soleth.
Queen Lissa collapsed to the ground, her hair spread around her in a golden fan.
Damor finally made it to her side, his strength failing as he rested a gnarled hand on hers. "I am sorry, my queen. I will protect you."
Queen Lissa looked up, glaring at Damor. "Protect me? How will you protect me, you impotent little man? All you do is bring word of death. No one need protect me; I can care for myself. No, what you will do is help me exact revenge on those who took my father's life. We will march on Agitar. We will leave with the dawn." Queen Lissa rested delicate fingers under Damor's chin. "And you will help me crush them."
Damor's chest filled with pride, despite her cruel taunts. He'd waited so long to be of use to her beyond his visions. The magic he kept deep inside him had been dying to spring forth, but their religion, their dedication to Soleth, held him in check. Now he could use his magic in retaliation. As long as the others struck first, he was justified.
"We will kill them
all," he said, unable to hold back a smile, despite knowing the beautiful queen would see his black, sharpened teeth.
"Together. You will help me, won't you Damor?" She leaned in close, her lips so close he could smell the sugared candy on her breath.
"Anything for you, my queen." Damor shuddered, his frail body collapsing with exhaustion on the ground next to her.
Chapter 5
The cawing of the birds woke Alyna from a deep sleep. She stretched, her arms reaching toward the blue sky as she thanked the goddess for another day of life. A smile curled on her lips as her eyes fluttered open. She sat up on the bed of moss, reveling in the beauty of nature.
A crow landed on her outstretched arm, its talons carefully wound about her flesh so as not to harm her.
"What do you have to say, friend?" Alyna asked the bird, cooing at its beady black eyes.
Alyna listened not with her ears but with her other senses—the ones humans didn't have. Though born to human parents, Alyna was different. It wasn't the horns protruding from her head or her cloven feet. She could understand the animals and the trees. The wind spoke to her. The rain brought her news from other lands. She could draw on the magic of nature. She was human, but she was also a faun.
Though her parents had tried to hide her differences, it hadn't taken long for the other villagers on the Torrent Peninsula to discover Alyna was not like them. Alyna was shunned, and her mother took her far from the village, leaving her tiny and defenseless in a grove.
To die.
She'd known it then, even only as a small child. Her parents couldn't bear to kill her themselves, so they'd left it to nature.
But they hadn't realized exactly how in tune with nature Alyna was. The wolves came for her, hoisting her on the back of the largest, and spirited her away into the forest.
Forcing herself to focus on the present, Alyna's jaws clenched at what the crow was telling her. "The old man is dead, then?" Alyna couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. Most humans believed as they were told, never searching for the hidden truths. Their religion built around the god Sornal was one example. Hugh was exceptional. He had traveled to Alyna's grove many times, seeking her wisdom and blessing. He gleaned true knowledge and brought it back to his congregation.
And yet it was their prerogative to live as they chose. It was the way of nature. Live and let live.
Just as her parents had let her live, despite the villagers' threats.
The crow took flight. Alyna stood, reaching toward the sun like a flower might. Her limbs awakened as she ran her hands along her moss-covered body. Dew sprang from her skin, falling on the plants eagerly awaiting a drink at her feet.
"I am sad for his passing, but it is the natural way of things. We all must live. We all must die. Hugh will be remembered by many for a very long time." Alyna held out a hand to the bird.
The crow nipped the tip of her finger.
She closed her eyes, listening to what it had to say next. A frown erased Alyna's smile as it continued.
"No," she said.
The crow emphatically nodded its head, feathers flying off in agitation.
Alyna stumbled backward, coming to rest against a tree. She pressed her fingers into the bark, using its strength to buoy her. The heartwood responded to her distress, soothing Alyna. But it wasn't enough.
Nothing could stop what had been set in motion.
"What did Hugh do?" Her words were no louder than a whisper. "He has challenged the god of the humans and the god of the orcs."
A screech echoed in the sky as a flock of craytors circled.
"Your relatives have come," Alyna said to the crow.
Like her, the craytors were part human and part something from nature. In their case, crows. They had existed for as long as anyone could remember, their origins unknown. Alyna was the only of her kind today, as far as she knew. She had taken two years traveling the known world, looking for others. Disguised in a hooded cape and heavy boots, Alyna had encountered many humans and orcs. She listened to their stories. She tried to learn from them. She tried to be like them, taking part in their festivals and their carnal pleasures.
There was only one who had learned her secret and made her feel as if she weren't an aberration. Vron, a great warrior in Agitar to the north. He had discovered her horns as he ran his hands through her thick red hair. Though they were a feature strange to both human and orc, he hadn't balked. Instead, he insisted she show him everything else that made her unique.
Alyna shut off that part of her memory before the door could be opened too far. Vron had to stay in the past. Her present was in the forest. Her future would be determined by how long the world as they knew it remained stable.
Alyna knelt, resting her hand on the grass. For the first time, she felt a shudder underneath the earth. Fear passed through the soil. It knew, just as the crows knew. Just as Alyna now knew.
"Can they be stopped?" she asked the crow.
It stared at her, its black eyes unblinking, its thoughts silent.
"I have to do something, tell someone." In a time like this, Hugh was the first person Alyna would think to tell. But he was gone now, his death heralding the beginning of the chaos. There was only one other Alyna knew would listen.
Vron.
"I must head north," she said to the crow.
It nodded, agreeing with her.
"Thank you, my sweet one, for bringing the news to me personally." Alyna leaned over, kissing the crow on its black crown of feathers.
The crow took off, its wings beating furiously as it rejoined the flock. The crows and the craytors flew around each other in a dizzying circle until Alyna's crow broke away, the rest of its flock following it to the north.
She looked at the moss resting on her skin. "I shall have to clean myself if I am to rejoin the world. No one will take me seriously if I come to them covered in the forest."
Gently Alyna peeled the moss from her body. Her soft skin glistened in the morning light. Soon she was completely naked. The slightest breeze raised an army of goosebumps on her arms. Alyna returned to the tree, reaching into the hollow and pulling out a gown of green velvet. It was one she had worn while she traveled the world. She'd had no need of it in the forest, where she lived only as her natural self.
Alyna pulled the gown over her head. It fluttered over her body, covering her from her shoulders past her ankles. Her hooves pressed into the earth one last time before she pulled on the boots she'd kept with the dress.
She detested the feel of the clothing. Her body was trapped inside it, forced to conform with everyone else who wore clothes out of so-called modesty. The body was to be celebrated, not hidden. Though she loathed the convention, she followed it to blend in. It was the same in the forest. The moss protected her skin while helping her hide should a trespasser come too close to her grove. The difference was Alyna loved the forest. The world outside was dark, dirty, and depressing.
Alyna plucked her cloak from the ground. It was a verdant weave of leaves and moss. With a flourish, she rested it on her shoulders. She fluffed up her red curls so they would cover the horns protruding from the top of her head.
She didn't need to glance at her reflection in the nearby pond. She knew how she looked. Fully human. It sickened her to hide her true identity, but it offered her safety.
Alyna lifted two fingers, resting them on her lips. She blew once, a shrill whistle calling out to the beast who was her long-time companion.
Four long, sinuous legs pushed through the undergrowth, a well-muscled barrel atop them, with a proud head covered in a long, silky mane. One horn extended from her forehead. Like Alyna, the unicorn was an aberration of nature. That commonality—the commonality of difference—was why they had approached each other after a surprise meeting at the pond many years ago.
"We must ride, Syra. We must head to the North. I have news that cannot wait. May I climb upon your back?"
Syra bowed her head, straightening out one leg. Her barrel dipp
ed low enough for Alyna to clamber on her back.
The horn twinkled once, then disappeared from sight. As Alyna had found ways to hide her true form, so had Syra.
Syra took off in a canter toward Agitar.
Chapter 6
Vron's green muscles shimmered with sweat as he hacked at the human body on the ground. Starting with the head, Vron dismembered it limb from limb, careful to make a clean cut. His heated ax head immediately cauterized the wounds, leaving little to no blood on the ground underneath.
"Impressive," General Dalgron said, his hands behind his back as he paced around Vron's demonstration. "You've made excellent progress."
"Thank you." Vron stood up straight, the ax handle clutched in his hand. "I think if I can perfect this blade, we won't have to worry about blood spatter. The dead can keep their lifeblood for their journey to The Nether."
General Dalgron clapped Vron's shoulder. "You're not only my best warrior, but you'd also make a good priest."
Vron smiled, holding back his annoyance. All of the orcs in Agitar should be both. The best way to serve Drothu was to kill properly. The body was a temple, not something to defile. Not even in battle. Those who died fighting deserved highest honors. He intended to give them their best chance at salvation.
General Dalgron only seemed to care about destruction. It was a sentiment too common among military orcs. Vron wished more of them thought past their next kill to the afterlife.
"Get someone in here to bury this filthy human," General Dalgron said.
Vron lowered his eyes in respect. Even if he didn't always agree with the general, Vron obeyed. Without order, their military would fall to pieces.
After Dalgron had left him standing alone in the training tent, Vron gathered the pieces of the body, avoiding the charred scabs forming over the wounds. If he accidentally peeled a piece off, the blood would spurt out, ruining his best training uniform.
"Hey Vron, there's a human here to see you." A page stuck his head in the tent, his eyes wide.
