by Megg Jensen
"We will keep you safe. I promise on my life." Alyna crossed a finger over her heart. She turned to Hacun. "Do you have any mounts?"
Hacun rushed out the door, motioning for the others to follow. She led them to a barn. "There is one draft horse. I knew Crotus would leave one for me just in case."
Hacun looped a harness over the horse's head and neck, holding out the reins to Vron. "You must go, now."
"We can ride together," Vron said to Hacun.
"No. I told my husband I was staying, and I am. If you see him, will you tell him I love him?" Hacun kissed her palm, then touched it to Vron's cheek. "Thanks to the four of you, the orcs stand a chance at survival. Go. Don't dally!"
Vron mounted the large horse, settling comfortably on its back.
Alyna climbed onto Syra, pulling Sally up behind her. "Thank you, Hacun. Your sacrifices will be sung across the ages. All of orckind will remember your name!"
Hacun bowed as Alyna and Vron turned their mounts to the west, taking off in a gallop.
Chapter 33
Damor lay on his back, his breath so shallow he could no longer detect it.
Neither could the others attending to him.
"The mage is finally dead, call for the queen."
He wished he could open his eyes or recognize the voice, but he was doing all he could to hang on, to keep his soul from wandering away from his body forever.
The fawn had set fire to his palanquin. He had to live to exact revenge. He didn't know how long it had been. Moments? Days?
The curtains rustled as they closed, shutting him inside, alone. It was a sound he recognized well. One that often gave him comfort. Today he forced himself not to panic. The others would come back. They would bring the queen. She would know in her heart he was not dead. She had to.
Damor tried to remember what he could about the incident. He'd been asleep, weak human that he was. Despite trying to teach himself to meditate instead of sleep, he'd never been able to fully master the technique. Sleep left him weak and vulnerable.
They'd struck so fast, he hadn't been able to defend himself. His body, already weakened from years of disuse, hadn't moved fast enough when the flames began. And those wretched orc slaves had done nothing, despite his screams for help.
After everything he'd done for them, they'd betrayed their master.
He would survive this, as he had so many other obstacles in his life. An unseen enemy wouldn't vanquish him. Not today. Not ever.
The curtains fluttered open, followed by a gasp.
It was Queen Lissa. She would see he still lived. Damor trusted her, the one person who'd treated him as deserved, to know the truth.
"He is dead?" she asked.
"It appears so," another voice answered.
Silence followed.
Damor imagined the queen, a tear trickling down her delicate, porcelain cheek. He wanted to reach out and lift it with his fingertip. Not to control her as he’d done with Sally, but to soothe her.
"Bury him as quickly as possible. We need to continue our march without delay. Make it quick. We need every soldier for the coming battle." The queen's tone was cold. "Damor never properly helped us anyway."
The curtains swished closed, and the palanquin began to move. His heart turned to stone as he realized his fate had been sealed. Unable to communicate with anyone, he would be buried alive. He would suffocate. Would his soul soar after that? Or would it, too, be snuffed out? He was already a prisoner in his own body. Soon he would be a prisoner of the earth. If he could have screamed, he would have.
The palanquin rocked from side to side. Whoever carried him had no care for his comfort anymore. His body was but a husk, a thing to be discarded. He rolled to one end of the palanquin and back again. Over and over until the pain was only a dull slap.
They had no respect for the dead. He meant nothing to them. Not when he was alive, nor in his death.
Damor was nothing more than a nuisance, one the queen was happy to dispose of.
Hurt at Queen Lissa's betrayal blossomed in Damor's chest, spreading like a weed through his body and ramming through his throat, until in a final moment of desperation his lips parted and air entered his lungs.
He tried to speak, but couldn't form words yet. Soon, though, soon he could tell them. Perhaps when they stopped. Before they dug his grave. Then he could say the words.
What would he tell them? What did he want? The thought of going back to the queen was too painful. She didn't want him. She had never loved him as he hoped.
He had nothing left. Nothing but an ember deep inside pulsing with the heat of revenge.
Dead grass crunched under the feet of his bearers. Branches brushed against the top of his palanquin like bony fingers trying to tear through the fabric.
Damor's eyes opened. He glanced around the palanquin. He was coming back to himself. He reached out with one hand, bracing himself.
His palanquin jostled to the ground. Damor was jarred, but landed on his soft pillows. The pain barely registered.
"It's going to take a long time to dig a grave," one man said, clearly annoyed with the task he'd been given.
"I say we leave his body out here. Who's going to know? We're marching out soon. I'd rather leave with them than have to catch up."
"Agreed."
The curtain ripped open.
Damor squeezed his eyes shut.
Rough hands grabbed his arms and legs. They dragged his limp body out of the palanquin, dropping him face-first onto the grass. Damor lay still, formulating a plan.
"Let's get out of here," the first man said.
"Hang on. I need to take a piss." Warm liquid rained on Damor's back.
He bit his lip, remaining prone on the ground. He would suffer this final humiliation if it meant they wouldn't bury him alive.
At least he stood a chance of surviving.
One of the men laughed. "Stupid cripple. I can't believe the queen let him travel with us. She should have left him back in Soleth."
"She felt sorry for him," the other man said. "She's a good queen, taking care of those less fortunate."
"Someone told me they once overheard him pleasuring himself behind those curtains of his, calling out her name." He snorted. "Even if the queen liked men, she never would have touched his shriveled body. She likes 'em pretty and buxom."
"Don't we all!" The second man joined in on the laughter.
As they walked away, the noise of their footsteps receding, Damor kept himself from shaking. If one of them should look back and see him move, there was no telling what they'd do. Kill him, or take him back to the queen. After what she’d said about his death, neither was a good option.
He waited until there was nothing but the sounds of the forest. Then he counted to one thousand to be sure.
Damor was alone.
He sat up slowly, his muscles aching with the effort. His skin stung, much of it burned from the fire. He would need a salve to keep it from infection. He would need food. Shelter.
For the last year, Damor had been unable to walk. His orc slaves had carried him everywhere. He’d be stuck here until he died.
Damor surveyed the trees. Their limbs seemed to shrug. They had nothing to offer him but shelter from the sun. Perhaps the occasional drop of rainwater might fall into his lips.
Maybe death would have been better. Or going back to the queen and pretending he hadn't heard the hurtful words she'd uttered.
He would die here, but at least he wouldn't die of suffocation.
Damor lay back down, accepting his fate.
His magic was all but depleted. His strength nonexistent.
It was over, and all he could do was wait for the final exhalation.
His breaths came in measured beats as his thoughts passed over the final years of his life. Hatred swirled in his chest. The revenge he so coveted would never be his. Everyone around him, for his entire life, detested him. And he, them.
A snap broke his thoughts. Damor's ey
es darted. He stilled his breath, keeping it as shallow as possible.
Another snap.
And another.
Someone, or something, was headed toward him. Not those two idiots who'd brought him here. They wouldn't have come back. It was an animal. One who'd realized easy prey was waiting on the ground. A meal served on a silver platter.
Damor squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pounce and the teeth sinking into his flesh, the moment when his body would snap in two and blood would spill from his veins. He waited. And waited.
"Dead?" The voice was strange. Deep, but childish. The pronunciation almost unintelligible.
"I don't know, Ghrol. You stay back. I'll check." The second voice was young, sweet, and innocent. A hand rested gently on Damor's shoulder. "I think he's alive!"
Damor kept his eyes closed as strong arms scooped him from the ground and carried him deeper into the forest. If he survived this, he swore he’d rise from the ashes and exact revenge on everyone who’d ever hurt him.
Chapter 34
Maysant studied the half-dead man in Ghrol's arms. His head lolled to the side, his eyes unfocused. She'd watched from high atop a tree as two humans dumped his body in the forest. At first, she'd assumed he was dead. Why else would they leave him like that?
When she climbed down, she saw him move. He was alive.
She wrested Ghrol from a nap, coaxing him to where the man lay.
Ghrol placed the man carefully on the ground in the middle of their camp. Maysant looked him over quickly, surprised at the state of his burnt and puckered skin. She scurried around the bushes and trees, gathering berries. Pulling out her mortar and pestle from her pack, she ground their stems into a powder and squeezed the berries until juice dripped out. She mixed the two into a paste.
"I'm going to spread this on your open wounds," she said to the man. "I promise I'll be gentle."
Maysant scooped the paste with her fingertips. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Even the lightest touch would hurt, but without the salve, he might not recover. At the least, infection wouldn’t set in.
With a steady hand, Maysant spread the salve on the man's skin. His eyes remained closed. He didn't flinch.
Maysant continued until she had covered every visible burn with the salve.
She washed her hands in a bucket of water Ghrol had brought from the stream that morning. She’d come to the forest very prepared, keeping a small bucket in her inventory for such occasions.
When she turned back to the human, he was still lying in the same curled-up position.
"Can you tell me your name?" she asked. As a child, she'd been taught fourteen languages, two of them nearly dead. She disliked the human language the most. Its rough words and harsh consonant sounds challenged her lips and tongue. But Maysant liked a challenge. She had been the best in her class.
His eyes opened, and he looked at her with sadness.
"I won't hurt you," she said, holding out her empty hands. "Neither will Ghrol. Don't be afraid of him. I was at first, too, but he is really very gentle."
The man's eyes darted to the simple giant. Then he looked back at Maysant. "Benin. My name is Benin."
"I'm Maysant." She sat on the ground next to Benin, smiling. "I can take you back to your people, if you'd like. It's likely they think you're dead." Maysant rested her hands in her lap. Her mother would have a heart attack if she knew what Maysant had offered. She was to stay away from orcs and humans on this trip. She'd promised over and over again. It was the only reason her mother had let her go. She trusted Maysant that much.
But now that she had met two humans, Maysant couldn't believe all of them were cruel, disgusting beasts. There had to be some good ones out there. She'd been lucky enough to stumble upon two in the forest. She smiled, happy to prove her mother wrong.
"No. I don't want to go back there." The corners of Benin's mouth fell.
"Oh, I'm so sorry." Maysant nearly reached out to pat his shoulder, but caught herself in time. She couldn't do that! He was covered in burns!
"I feigned death so they would leave me behind." Benin's eyes bored into hers.
Maysant refused to look away. He needed someone to listen to him. It was clear no one had for a very long time.
"Those people," Benin pointed weakly toward the edge of the forest, "they are a cruel lot. They are here to invade the orcs for no reason other than misplaced revenge."
Maysant gasped, covering her mouth with a hand. "That's horrible."
"It is," Benin said. "I was sleeping when my tent caught on fire. They decided to dispose of my body in the woods. It was faster than a proper burial."
A tear slipped down Maysant's cheek. "I am so, so sorry to hear that."
"Tell me, why are you alone in this forest? A young thing like yourself with only a simple giant as your bodyguard?" Benin asked. "Where are your parents?"
"My parents are at home. Probably worried about me." Maysant rolled her eyes. "I can take care of myself. I'm old enough to be on my own."
Benin laughed quietly. "Not many young girls live in the forest to spite their parents."
Maysant's eyes grew wide. Yes, many elves took a trip on their own before they entered into adulthood. Very few came to the Doros. Usually, they stayed in a dormitory in the Library of Filamir, studying. Boring.
"You must be a very special girl." Benin smiled. "Thank you for helping me. I'm afraid I'm so weak, I wouldn't be able to help myself."
"Me!" the giant yelled from behind.
"Yes, you too, my gentle friend," Benin said, turning his head toward Ghrol.
Maysant could see how it pained him. The poor, poor man. Perhaps her mother was right. Some humans were incurably cruel. Not Benin, though. He was one of the good ones.
"You're welcome to stay with us until you're feeling better." Maysant gestured at their camp. "It's not much, but we have food and drink. The canopy offers us shelter."
"Thank you so much for your kind hospitality," Benin said. The smile on his face slowly disappeared. "Even when my burns heal, I might not be able to walk. I have an affliction making it difficult. I'm not sure I can anymore."
"Oh no." Maysant's sympathy for the man continued to grow. "I can help you, if you'd like. I can teach you exercises that might help your muscles to grow strong again."
"I'd like that very much. Imagine, me walking again!" Benin skipped two fingers along the ground. "I can almost remember how fun it was to move. I've spent such a long time wallowing in my infirmities. Maybe it is time I recover fully."
Maysant clapped her hands and spun in a circle, her hair floating off her shoulders and into the air, exposing her pointy ears.
"You're an elf?" Benin growled.
Maysant stopped spinning, and her hair settled back on her shoulders.
The man's kind eyes had changed to a dark void.
"Yes," she said, her voice trembling.
"You speak the human tongue, and your traveling companion is human. What are you doing on Doros? Especially up here, in orc land?"
Maysant wasn't sure she wanted to answer his questions. Benin was scaring her now. Only a moment ago he had seemed like a gentle man who needed her help. Now... now she feared her mother had been right all along.
Humans could be cruel. They tricked others into believing lies. They were hell-bent on killing, her mother had told her that, too.
"Answer me!" Benin snapped. "Now!"
Ghrol lumbered over, standing between Benin and Maysant, his back to the young elf. "Msent. Safe."
"I'm okay, Ghrol." Maysant rested a trembling hand on Ghrol's arm, reaching back for her bow with the other. She almost felt silly, feeling threatened by a crippled, burnt man who could do nothing to harm her.
"Where did you come from?" Benin screamed.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Maysant said, stumbling over her words. She'd always been able to remain calm in any situation. It was one of her strengths. But this man put her off-balance.
&nb
sp; Benin attempted to stand, but fell to the ground again with a soft thud. His body was so racked by his mysterious affliction that he couldn't support himself. Maysant had to fight the urge to run to his side and make sure he was okay.
He was upset. He'd been burned and left for dead. Of course, he was confused and lost. More than anything he needed her help.
"I swear, Benin, I don't know what you're talking about. I saw you out here. That's all. I only want to help." Maysant took a step forward. "I mean you no harm."
"You are an elf!" Benin spit out the word as if it were poison.
"And you are a human, yet I'm willing to help you. Can we come to a truce? You won't survive without help. Let me give it to you." Maysant bit her lower lip, wondering if she could truly tame this human. Perhaps he would see how good she was.
Benin looked at her, his glare softening as he processed her words. Yes, he realized she told the truth. Hope leaped in Maysant's heart. She'd been taught her whole life that humans couldn't be negotiated with. That they were feral animals, likely to bite the hand that tried to help them.
Maysant would prove them all wrong. She would make this human see that elves were their friends.
"I will try to trust you," Benin said. "But if you betray me, elf, you will pay." Benin sank back to the ground, his eyelids fluttering. A moment later, he was asleep.
Ghrol still stood between the two, protecting his new friend. Maysant was grateful for his companionship. "I think we can all be friends eventually, Ghrol."
The giant man looked at her, his lips turned down. He shook his head and went back to his side of the camp.
Maysant sighed, then climbed her tree. She settled into a nook and closed her eyes. Taking a trip into the forest had certainly turned out to be far more exciting than she'd ever imagined.
Chapter 35
Crotus slogged into Agitar three days after leaving his beloved Hacun in Gunder. She'd chosen an honorable death, and it was his responsibility to keep his people safe against the human invaders, no matter the cost. The trek had been grueling, taking so long on foot with the entire village moving slowly. They had taken all but one of their horses, leaving one behind for Hacun. The orcs of Gunder spent the night outside the city walls. Crotus entered Agitar early the next morning, alone.
