A Legacy of Blood

by Megg Jensen

  "I know who you are, Damor of Soleth. Don't even begin to think you can fool me. My daughter is a simple girl; she takes everything at face value. It is why she will never inherit my throne." The queen sighed and sank into the back of her plush chair. "Neither will Kazrack. They are both fools. I'm embarrassed to call them my own. Luckily I have one more child out there who will properly fulfill her duties some day."

  For once, Damor was completely taken aback. This wasn't at all what he'd expected to hear.

  "I know you are a very powerful mage. I had it all put together before dinner was over the other day. I only needed time to decide how to proceed." Queen Ambrielle sat forward, staring intently at Damor.

  "I think—" he started.

  "It's not your turn to think, mage. I am already ten steps ahead. I know you style yourself a clever human. I know you have used your cunning to get where you are. I know you are powerful beyond imagination." Queen Ambrielle tapped her long fingernails on the end table next to her. "I want to use your power to strengthen my position further. We have to agree on how that will happen."

  Damor cleared his throat, then let his fingers trail down the damask drapes. "If you know how powerful I am, then you know I am capable of killing you before you could make a sound."

  The queen rolled her eyes. "Without me, you might as well be back in the forest, half dead. My children would take the throne, and then where would you be? They are easily fooled, yes, and they will be terrible rulers. They would lose the kingdom to a more powerful elf before my body had gone cold. You would go into disgrace with them. No, I am your only chance at attaining the type of stature I know you crave."

  Damor was frustrated. She'd already seen past all of his plans to the core of truth. "Then what have you to offer me?"

  Queen Ambrielle smiled. "I knew you would see sense in cooperating, Damor. Oh, and don't worry, I won't call you that in front of anyone else. We don't want them to know our little secret, do we?"

  Damor bit back a bitter response and said instead, "And how may I serve you?" He swallowed his anger, burying it deep in his gut where it would fester. He knew this feeling. He'd often had it with Lissa. She'd held power over him, and she knew it. He didn't want to end up in a similar situation with Queen Ambrielle.

  "I think we can effectively serve each other," Queen Ambrielle said. "Don't think of this as blackmail, think of this as a mutually beneficial partnership. I believe it's important for us to reach a goal together. How does dominion over all of Doros appeal to you?"

  "We would share?" Damor asked, already knowing her answer.

  Queen Ambrielle laughed. "Of course not. I would rule, but you would sit next to me as my most trusted advisor."

  "I want to rule Soleth." Damor saw no sense in hiding his intentions. Not now.

  "The human lands?" Queen Ambrielle's nose wrinkled. "It's so hot there and such an insignificant part of Doros. Why on earth would you want to rule them? Just to get back at your people? I did not think you so petty. Have I overestimated you?"

  "I want to show the humans what happens when they treat someone poorly for being different. I want them to know they are nothing, that I am better than all of them combined. I want them to fear me." Damor paused, then added, "It is a small boon to ask, my queen. The humans of Soleth are insignificant. The orc lands are overflowing with natural resources and strong orcs. You can do with them as you please. I simply want this one tiny thing."

  Queen Ambrielle folded her hands in her lap. "I will consider it. If you do a good job as my advisor, then perhaps, one day, I will give you what you ask."

  Damor nodded once, his eyes downcast. What she didn't know, what no one knew, was that he'd left something very powerful behind in Soleth before leaving for orc country. Something that could only be wielded by him. A secret he would give his very life to protect.

  But if Queen Ambrielle wanted to believe him petty, he would let her. It would be a small sacrifice to once again lay hands on the secret he'd left in Soleth.

  Chapter 12

  Ever since Vron was assigned to protect the underground tunnels, he'd felt uneasy. He'd spent days supervising the workers who were using the rubble from the xarlug's attack to seal off all of the entrances to the tunnels. It was back-breaking work, but it had to be done.

  Something other than the xarlug had been lurking in those tunnels, something just as deadly, and they couldn't fight this beast with swords and arrows. Vron had little clue how to protect the orcs aboveground from the disease. For now, he supposed Dalgron's plan was for the best. How else could they contain whatever had killed the miners?

  He still felt overwhelmed by guilt at the possibility that there might be survivors underground, that he might be leaving them there to contract the virus, or simply die of starvation. But as of yet, they hadn't come across anyone alive in their quick searches underground. It was just dead body after dead body, littering the floors of the tunnels and the hovels where the workers lived. Vron dreaded the moment they encountered a survivor—the moment he would have to sentence someone to death for the simple offense of being a resident underground. There was little honor in killing an innocent to save thousands.

  Still, he would do it. If nothing else, Vron was bound to follow his duty.

  "Captain?" Marlok said, coming up behind Vron.

  "Yes?"

  "There's only one final entrance to close. We thought you'd want to take a look before we seal the boulders."

  Vron squared his shoulders, reminding himself this was the only way. Innocents might die today, but the needs of the majority took precedence over the few. "Take me."

  He followed Marlok through the rubble-strewn streets that used to be Agitar. The city looked more like an ancient ruin than the capital of the glorious orc nation. How long would it be before another city rose to power? Kanta, or Dongar? One of them would surely raise a king soon.

  "This way, Captain." Marlok motioned toward an opening. At one time a solid structure had stood around it, but now it was a crumbling mess Vron would have overlooked as easily as he would a rabbit hole.

  He ducked, crawling into the gap. "Wait here," he said to Marlok.

  Vron walked fifty steps down the tunnel before coming to a fork. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he called, "Can anyone hear me?" It was the same question he asked every time before sealing an entrance. So far, no one had responded. The dead could not speak.

  As he turned to leave and give the order to seal the tunnel, a sickly cough echoed in the tunnel.

  Vron cursed under his breath, then called out again, "Can anyone hear me?"

  Another cough answered, this time wracked with wet phlegm.

  Someone was there. They were still alive.

  Vron turned in the direction of the cough. It wasn't long before he stumbled upon a cloaked orc on the ground.

  "Have you seen anyone else?" Vron asked. He needed to be sure this coughing orc was the only one left alive in this section.

  Another cough punctuated the silence—from farther down the tunnel.

  This orc wasn't alone.

  Vron wished he'd been able to see the maps of the underground tunnels, but they were buried in the rubble of Agitar. He had no idea how deep this tunnel went—or how many orcs could be living here.

  "Can you stand?" he asked the cloaked figure.

  Again, his question went unanswered.

  Vron stepped over the orc and continued down the tunnel toward the source of the second cough. Darkness encompassed him as he descended further. He cursed himself for not bringing a torch. He didn't expect he'd need one, as he'd never received a response to his calls before.

  But now he had two survivors to deal with. One who was too weak to rise, and another whose cough echoed from somewhere ahead.

  Vron pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose. Overwhelmed by his own stench—he'd been living without easy access to water for cleansing—he took shallow breaths.

  Something scrabbled behind him. He whipped
his head around, but saw very little in the dark, only the eerie glow of illuminated underground vegetation. He squinted, trying to see who, or what, had made the noise.

  Another cough came from up ahead. Vron shook off the uneasy feeling crawling over his skin and continued. He took one careful step after another, running the fingertips of one hand over the walls to steady himself. He thought perhaps the tunnel was sloping downward, but he couldn't quite tell.

  The cough came again. Closer this time.

  "Hello?" Vron called.

  He paused, waiting for an answer.

  None came.

  He took another step, then another, the rocky wall pricking the tips of his fingers. He found himself pushing ever harder, steadying himself against the rising dread traveling up his spine.

  Another scrabbling sound behind him. Then another cough ahead. His head moved back and forth, unsure where to look.

  There was definitely someone, or something, behind him. Maybe it was the weakened cloaked figure, following him. Maybe it was a rat. Either way, he had to see about the coughing orc up ahead. He had to know if there were more orcs hiding out in this section of the mines.

  A whimper sounded behind him, and Vron swallowed hard, turning back the way he had come. That was no rat. It had to be the cloaked figure he'd come upon earlier. The orc was following him down the tunnel.

  "Are you ill?" Vron asked, his throat suddenly dry.

  Something grabbed the front of his shirt and ripped it away from his face.

  Vron gasped in the stale tunnel air and threw an arm over his mouth. "Are you ill?" he asked again, knowing how ridiculous he sounded. The figure hadn't answered before. Why would it now?

  A cough exploded. Not from far down the tunnel, but right in his face.

  Vron closed his lips, clamping his fingers over his nose.

  But it was too late.

  He felt the wet phlegm land on his nostrils before he could protect himself.

  "You will be one with us," a voice cackled. "Come."

  As Vron's vision began to dim, he felt a hand slip into his, guiding him away from the entrance and deeper into the mines he'd sworn to seal.

  Chapter 13

  Dalgron's hands rested on his sprawling war table. He'd used this table many times to plan coordinated defenses against invaders—most recently that ridiculous human incursion—and he'd ordered a few of his stronger orcs carry it out of Agitar and into his tent. He had been relieved to find it had survived the attack unscathed—unlike most of Agitar. Having it here gave him a small amount of comfort. The table was his touchstone. It was familiar. It helped him feel grounded, quelling the panic that started deep in his stomach every time he thought about what had happened when that huge, pink tentacle burst through the ground.

  Marlok burst into his tent. "General! Captain Vron has gone missing!"

  Dalgron slammed his fists on the table. "Missing? Explain."

  "The final entrance to the mines. We were preparing to seal it up. He always likes to check the tunnel first. This time, he didn't come back, and he's not answering our calls." The orc stood firm, but his slumped shoulders betrayed the truth: he was concerned.

  "Take me there." Dalgron motioned the orc out of his tent.

  They stepped into the blinding light of midday. Dalgron kept a quick pace, urging the orc on ever faster. Vron would never venture too far into the mines alone. He wasn't stupid. He knew only death awaited them underground. That's why Dalgron had shown him the corpses.

  But Dalgron knew Vron's heart, too. The orc was strong and solid. He relished battle. And yet, Vron had a damned soft spot that he let show too often. Dalgron had hoped having that faun around wouldn't soften him even more. Maybe, now that she was gone, Vron had to find something else for his bleeding heart to focus on.

  Skirting the wreckage they once called Agitar, Marlok led Dalgron to an opening. The other orcs came to attention as Dalgron strode over.

  "At ease." This was no time for formality. "How long has Vron been gone?"

  The orcs looked at each other, shrugging. "We sat down to play a game of dice when he went in," one said. "We thought it'd be only a little bit. But then we got distracted by our game and didn't notice the captain hadn't returned for some time."

  Dalgron fumed. Idiots. They'd gone soft already. It was disgraceful, so unlike the orcs he'd trained all those years for battle. He balled his hands into fists, then stepped into the entrance.

  Sunlight streamed into the tunnel from behind him, illuminating his every step. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "Vron!"

  He waited for anything. A word. A whimper. A scrabble of rocks under feet. But there was nothing.

  Where had that damned orc gone? Vron knew how important it was to seal up these passageways. They had to contain the infection before it spread to the outside.

  "Vron!" His voice cracked as he strained his vocal cords.

  Still nothing.

  "Damn it!" Dalgron took a few more steps, then stopped, wary of moving out of the sunlight. "Can one of you hand me a torch?"

  Marlok ran in, holding a lit torch. Dalgron noted that the orc's hand was trembling. Good. At least he's aware he screwed up. Dalgron snatched it from his hand, then plunged into the dark tunnel.

  For a long time, Dalgron had considered Vron the closest thing to a son he'd ever have. Of course, he'd never told Vron that; there was no sense in playing favorites in the orc army. But when Vron had come to him long ago, fatherless, begging for a chance to serve, Dalgron had seen something in the young orc's eyes, something he recognized as a mirror to himself. Since then, the young orc had excelled beyond Dalgron's expectations, quickly rising in the ranks of Agitar's army. Vron was one of his best fighters.

  But this, whatever mistake he'd made, Dalgron wouldn't repeat it. If he couldn't find Vron… well, he'd have to make the hard choice.

  "Vron!" It was going to be the last time he called out to his friend. Dalgron bit the inside of his lip as he waited for a response.

  With a sigh and a dip of his shoulders, Dalgron turned on his heel and started heading back toward the entrance. It was over. Vron had known what the risks were. Dalgron had taught him that the soldier's right and wrong was different than the average orc's. Soldiers made sacrifices, including, sometimes, sacrificing those they loved.

  "Go," said a voice.

  The word was faint, but it was enough to make Dalgron stop in his tracks.

  "Vron?" he said.

  "Leave."

  "Who is that?" Dalgron held his torch into the darkness, hoping to see something, anything. "Is that you, Vron? Are you hurt?"

  A figure burst from the darkness, and Dalgron's torchlight extinguished.

  He blinked furiously, hoping his eyes would adjust quickly to the near-darkness. The bioluminescent plants weren't enough to help his old eyes. Something moved around him in a circle, touching him, then pulling back before Dalgron could react.

  "Leave," said the voice.

  "Go," said another.

  "You are not wanted," said a third.

  "Who are you?" Dalgron's voice trembled, despite his best effort to stay strong. The putrid scent of death wafted around his wrinkled nose. It was a scent Dalgron knew well. He recoiled, feeling suddenly and deeply afraid.

  "Go back the way you came. Leave us. You are not wanted." This voice was young. Female. Familiar, in some way. But Dalgron couldn't place it. He could barely keep his wits about him. Besides, it wasn't as if he knew many young females in Agitar. His tastes lay elsewhere.

  "Where is Vron?" he demanded.

  "Dead."

  A cloth fell over Dalgron's head. He scrambled to get it off, his arms flailing, his heart pounding.

  "Leave us!"

  Dalgron's torch inexplicably roared back to life. He grabbed it from the ground and waved it around, but whoever had been there left.

  He picked the fabric up off the ground. His heart sank as he realized what it was. Vron's cloak.

&
nbsp; He bundled it under his arm, then took off in a run toward the entrance. As he burst into the sunlight, he shouted, "Close the entrance. Now!" He yelled it louder than he'd meant, but it worked. The orcs sprang to life, grabbing stones and covering the opening.

  No one asked about Vron, or the cloak under Dalgron's arm, or the sweat running down his face to the collar of his cloak. They saw the horror on his face. They knew when to keep their mouths shut.

  When the entrance was sealed with rocks, they applied the pitch, locking the it shut from both sides.

  Only as they were cleaning up did Marlok look up at Dalgron. "General, what did you see in there?"

  Dalgron stared at the sealed entryway. Without a word, he walked back to his tent. He wouldn't speak of it. Not to them. There was only one whose counsel he wanted.

  Chapter 14

  Frensia's thin lips moved while reading yet another text. Despite days of mind-numbing exhaustion, it appeared they were no closer to an answer than they'd been when they'd first arrived at the Library of Filamir.

  Brax was used to exercise and physical exertion, but he'd had no idea sitting and reading produced its own form of exhaustion. The longer he sat, the more he wanted to crawl back to his chamber and sleep.

  "Brax!" Tace punched his arm.

  Brax bolted upright, blinking furiously. Had he fallen asleep again? He thought he'd only been thinking about it, but perhaps he'd accidentally dozed off.

  "Sorry, I was just—"

  "Resting your eyes, I know." Tace smirked.

  Brax looked over at Frensia. He was still perplexed, not knowing what Frensia was.

  The being looked up at him. "Do you have something to ask me?"

  "Um, I… No?" Embarrassed, Brax dropped his gaze to his folded hands on the table.

  "You are curious about me. It doesn't take a fool to see this." Frensia nodded at Tace, then at Ademar. "I am correct, aren't I?"