A Legacy of Blood

by Megg Jensen

  "Hi, wow, I had no idea there were so many orcs down here. I'm grateful, though, that Kleim found me." Alyna rested a hand on her chest.

  Nemia watched the faun curiously. Her horns hid under her hair, and her hooves were firmly ensconced in boots. She appeared human.

  The faun thrust out a hand toward Nemia. "I'm Agatha."

  Nemia took a few steps forward and shook Alyna's hand. It was a strange human custom, but one Nemia knew from watching her royal parents. They had rarely entertained humans at the castle in Agitar, but when they did, Nemia paid attention.

  Nemia feigned laughter. "I'm sorry, too, that you are lost down here. Tell me, how is that you ended up in our tunnels?"

  Alyna looked down at her boots, then took a deep breath before telling her lies. "After the beast attacked, I was separated from the human encampment. I took shelter in what I thought was a cave. I went deep into the back of it, hoping to hide from anyone who would do me harm, and before I knew it, I was lost. I never did find my way out, but I'm hoping you fine orcs might be able to help me."

  "I promised her some food and drink," Kleim said.

  Kleim was one of the orcs Nemia trusted most. He didn't know her full plans with the infected orcs, but she felt that when he did, he would understand. He was young, like her, and felt trapped in his station. But he had remained loyal to his fellow miners and stayed underground when he could have fled.

  "Of course." Nemia swept an arm out. "We would love to have you dine with us before we take you aboveground."

  Alyna smiled and dipped into a quick curtsey, another strange human custom, this one done only by the females. Nemia found human gender roles strange. Orcs could be anything they wanted, despite the body parts they were born with. Human females pretend to be weak to please their men. It wasn't a trait Nemia admired. She wondered if it grated on Alyna to feign submissiveness. In a way, it amused Nemia to watch her do it.

  Kleim brought Alyna a serving of gruel and a cup of water. The faun took them greedily, as if she hadn't eaten in days. Nemia supposed part of her story might be true. Not long ago, they had scared that stupid General Dalgron out of their tunnels for the second time. If Alyna had been with him, that would explain her presence. Nemia would have preferred they'd both escaped, but it was too late now. She would have to deal with Alyna.

  Making small talk wasn't a skill Nemia possessed. She preferred to be ignored. Despite her anger at being denied her rightful place on the throne, she had learned quickly to be present without being seen or heard. She knew how to appear uninteresting, to blend in with the other slaves while her hair hung about her face, hiding her birthmark.

  Down here she didn't have to hide—not from anyone or anything. Here, everyone knew her as a young girl who had been fostered out to work as a slave to the queen. And yet Alyna, who had seen her during the battle with the xarlug, had never truly seen her. Nemia had blended in that day, as she always had. She was nothing, and was treated as such.

  Well, Alyna would pay for her lies and deceit. She wasn't a lost human. She was a faun, a friend of Vron's, who had snuck down here hoping to play them all for fools. Nemia wouldn't have it. Not even for a moment.

  She lifted her skirts ever so slightly and sat next to Alyna, who was ravenously wolfing down her food. Either the faun truly was starving, or she was very good at faking hunger. It mattered little. Once Alyna was well fed and relaxed, Nemia would take care of her. She would take Alyna to the quarantine room herself and introduce her to the orcs riddled with disease. Then she would use both Alyna and Vron as leverage.

  She had to keep herself from cackling, though. She was, if nothing else, extraordinarily patient.

  Chapter 29

  Maysant tapped Ghrol's arm. "Did you hear that?" Her eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the encompassing darkness, with only a few glowing plants to light the cave.

  She should go back to her mother, but the thought repulsed her. After everything her mother had done, there was nothing for her in the retinue. She was done believing her mother would one day come around. Still, what was there for her in Doros? Caverns to explore. Woods to hunt in. But truly, what sort of life could she have among orcs and humans?

  It was possible Ghrol was the only human who would accept her. He was special, not for what he lacked, but for the kindness he offered. Maysant doubted many humans would be as kind as him. And as for the orcs… after what her brother Kazrack had done to Agitar, she had no illusions about how they would treat her.

  Her heart dropped into her stomach. She was no one, with nowhere to go but deeper into the darkness, to hide from whatever had entered their cave.

  The first day, she and Ghrol had camped in the cave until night fell. Then they'd snuck out, killed a couple of rabbits, and cooked them over a small fire they built from scratch. It was like the days they'd spent together in the woods before finding Benin.

  After that first night, they gathered as many berries as they could carry in their packs, and delved deeper into the caves. Not only did Ghrol not fear the darkness, but he also seemed comfortable in it, as if he'd lived in darkness before. She'd believed they were alone—until now, when she heard the voices murmuring from the direction of the entrance.

  Ghrol nodded in response to her question. He, too, heard them. It wasn't Maysant's overactive imagination, as her mother probably would have said.

  Maysant had taken to the cave to avoid others until she was done licking her wounds. Finding someone, multiple someones, underground wasn't part of the plan.

  She pointed back the way they'd come, but Ghrol shook his head. He pointed ahead.

  "No," Maysant whispered, immediately regretting her sharp tone.

  The voices stopped.

  Maysant listened closely, regulating her nervous breathing, trying to stay quiet. She was sure the owners of the voices were doing the same.

  They'd heard her.

  Without so much as a grunt, Ghrol took off in the direction of the voices. Maysant gritted her teeth and ran after him.

  A loud roar punctuated the silence as Ghrol's arms lifted, and his hands, together in a fist, came down hard on whoever was in front of him.

  Maysant screamed as an orc body fell to the ground.

  "Ghrol! What did you do?" Maysant screamed.

  Another orc stepped out of the shadows, a sword in his hand. Ghrol feinted to the left, then swung out with his right fist, clocking the orc square in the jaw.

  "Stop!" Maysant screamed, digging her nails into Ghrol's tunic, trying desperately to pull him back. He'd attacked without provocation. Even if he was trying to protect her, he'd gone about it wrong. He should have waited. They could have spoken to the orcs. Maybe they weren't going to hurt them.

  Ghrol stumbled backward, his eyes wide, his lips trembling. "Msent okay?"

  "No, Ghrol, I'm not okay. You hurt those orcs!" Maysant dropped to her knees beside the first orc, her fingers fumbling at his throat. She moved her fingertips over his skin, pressing, looking for the one thing that would tell her this was all going to be okay. But there was no pulse. He was dead.

  She scrambled to the second orc. His neck was bent at an unnatural angle, and blood dripped from his mouth. There was no need to check for a pulse.

  "They're dead, Ghrol. Dead!" She glared at him, her head pounding. "We don't even know if they would have hurt us." Tears streamed down her cheeks, burning her dry lips.

  "Msent…" Ghrol's mouth turned downward. He stumbled backward as he pointed to the orcs. "Bad."

  "We don't know that." Maysant's frustration got the better of her. She leapt to her feet and pushed Ghrol backward. "Go away, Ghrol."

  "Msent… no." Ghrol looked confused.

  Maysant's patience had broken. "Go!" she screamed. She whirled around, putting her back to Ghrol, and crossed her arms over her chest. It was time for their little group to be irrevocably broken. She should never have taken in Ghrol and Benin. That was her mistake. These deaths were her fault.

  It wasn't l
ong before she heard the sound of Ghrol's feet shuffling away. She could also hear him mumbling that strange word she'd never been able to decipher: bder. He repeated it over and over again, until Maysant could no longer hear his feet or his nonsense word.

  Heavy-hearted, she sank to the ground again. Resting her hand on the chest of the first orc, she whispered words she'd learned as a small child. Words of comfort. Words to guide a soul to the next life. Words that were meant to console the living in the now-permanent absence of a loved one.

  Maysant needed these words for herself as much as for the dead orcs. She'd lost herself somewhere in the forest. She wasn't sure of the exact moment it happened. All she knew was that when she first entered the trees, she saw nothing but possibility hanging from the branches. A new life. A chance to be herself. And then she'd met Ghrol and Benin, and instead of continuing her self-exploration, she'd taken them back to her mother, as proof that she'd grown up.

  It was only now that she saw her actions for what they were: the desperate pleas of a child for her mother to recognize her. She'd used Ghrol and Benin, never stopping to think about who they were. Ghrol couldn't be among others. He was too dangerous, and whoever had kept him in check all those years knew better than her how to help him. As for Benin, he was clever, and she'd given him a place beside the powerful, which was all he'd ever wanted. That was a mantle she would never bear, nor, she decided, one she wanted. She'd spent so much time trying to prove herself to her mother that she'd never bothered to considered who she was, either.

  Maysant stood, brushing the dirt off her pants. No more. She wouldn't allow herself to be something other than who she was.

  And one thing she knew for certain: she cared for others. It was a trait she'd tried to force her mother to share with her, but Maysant finally had to admit the truth to herself. She wasn't like her mother, and no matter how hard she pushed, her mother would never be like her.

  Maysant cared. She loved. She empathized. That was why she had to find Ghrol. She had to find someone who could help him. Maybe she couldn't be his keeper, but she could find someone who could be.

  "Ghrol!" Maysant yelled.

  There was no answer.

  Frustrated with herself for her selfish behavior, Maysant set off to look for Ghrol. But before she could take two steps, someone grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

  "Not so fast, little elf. You can't kill my fellow orcs and expect to escape so easily."

  Maysant struggled in the grasp of an orc. She was no match for an orc's strength. And she'd sent away the only person who could help her.

  Chapter 30

  Nishta held the willowy elf's arms behind her back as she dragged her out of the cave entrance to their camp. "Why you are, an elf, consorting with a human? Is he your hired hand? Does he kill anyone who gets in your way?" She pulled the elf to her face, snarling at the trembling waif.

  "No, I swear. Ghrol didn't mean—"

  "He didn't mean it? He murdered my orcs!"

  Nishta was almost disappointed the elf could speak the orc tongue. She would have preferred the elf fear her guttural speech. But it was the other one, the one who'd run away, who caused her heart to pound in her chest. Humans. Again. It was always humans. First she'd been forced to take an assignment protecting a human and collecting a dead human's body. Now another human took the lives of the two orcs who'd traveled with her and her sister. It was too much.

  "Sister." A hand rested gently on Nishta's shoulder. "Put her down. She did not do the deed."

  "They're dead because of her." Nishta leaned in, nicking that beautiful, perfect elven face with her right tusk.

  Blood dripped down the elf's cheek and mixed with her frightened tears. "I didn't want them dead. I swear it to you. Ghrol, he's different. He doesn't understand. He was only trying to protect me!" The elf wouldn't shut up, which only boiled Nishta's blood more.

  "Put her down, now!" yelled the human woman, Hilthe. "I command it, Nishta. You are here on orders to assist me, so obey!"

  Nishta's hand trembled. She didn't want to take orders from humans. After being forced to live as a slave to that horrible mage, Damor, she had never wanted to see another human again. So what had Dalgron done? Sent her to protect this human. It was insulting.

  "Sister," Gashta whispered. "Do not let your anger take hold of you."

  Gashta was right. She was always right. She was the cool-headed sister, the opposite of Nishta and her fiery temperament.

  With a final snarl, Nishta unceremoniously dropped the elf to the ground and walked away. Her fists curled and uncurled at her sides as she attempted to divert her anger. While a slave of Damor's, she'd learned to control her anger—she'd had to in order to survive. But here, without his magic dominating her, Nishta found her emotions harder to control than ever.

  Coming home hadn't been as easy for her as it had for Gashta. Nishta suffered from nightmares. She startled easily. She found herself feeling trapped and afraid when there was nothing but the prairie and blue skies to surround her. Gashta had questioned whether Nishta was ready to take on this assignment. But Nishta knew she had to. She had to prove to herself that she was still the warrior she'd been before the humans captured her.

  As Hilthe knelt next to the elf and checked her for injuries, Gashta grabbed Nishta's elbow and pulled her to the side. "You did a good thing, sister."

  "I should have killed her before anyone had the chance to stop me."

  "No. We will not commit violence against others unless warranted. You know as well as I do that she had nothing to do with the death of our orcs. You heard her plead with him to stop. You heard her send him away. She did not want this, just as we did not want this." Gashta pulled Nishta into a hug.

  Nishta didn't return it. She stood there, still as a statue, her arms firmly at her sides, while her sister's arms wrapped around her back. She waited patiently until Gashta was done. And instead of stepping back awkwardly, as any other sane person would do after a refusal to hug back, Nishta crossed her arms over her chest and smiled.

  "You will feel better, Nishie, I promise."

  "Don't call me Nishie," she said, fighting the desire to punch her sister. She hated that name. When they were children, Gashta would use that name to bait her into a fight. They would always end up on the ground, covered in dirt, sticks in their hair, beating the living shit out of each other. It was how they showed their affection.

  But this wasn't a childish disagreement. Two orcs lay dead, and now they had an elf in their custody. Someone would have to pay. It was the orc way.

  "We will put her on trial," Nishta said, glaring at the elf who stood shakily with Hilthe's help.

  "I think we should let her go," Gashta said. "She didn't order the human to kill, nor did she condone it. She is a bystander, as we are."

  "No! She must pay. She consorted with a human!"

  "Nishie," Gashta said gently, "we are here with a human, too. We are protecting a human."

  "I hate humans," Nishta said under her breath. She spat on the ground in the direction of the human body they were transporting back to Agitar.

  "I hate one particular human," Gashta said, "and he is dead now. We have nothing to fear. Humans are like orcs. Some good. Some bad. You must know this, sister."

  "I hate humans," Nishta repeated. "All humans."

  "I hate most of them, too," Hilthe said. She walked over, the elf leaning on her arm. "Why do you think I lived among orcs all those years? Nishta's right. Most humans are horrible, selfish people. I hope you can make an exception for me." She flashed a toothy smile, and the wrinkles on her face crinkled. She spoke the orc language as if she'd known it since birth. It irritated Nishta greatly.

  "I'm sorry," the elf said again, as if this would make a difference. "I told him not to. Ghrol was only trying to protect me. You don't understand. He's simple. He's not like us."

  "He's a monster. We should hunt him down before he kills anyone else," Nishta said, grasping the hilt of the sword hangin
g at her hip.

  "I agree we should find him, but not to hurt him. If you'd give me a chance, I can make him understand." The elf bounced up and down on her toes. She was adorable, which sickened Nishta. Her golden hair swam upon her shoulders and her button nose crinkled up. No living creature should be that cute when asking to track down a murderer.

  "If he shows his face around us again, I will kill him." Nishta said it simply, hoping the elf understood the orc language as well as she spoke it.

  "Please don't. Please." Her incessant begging grated on Nishta's nerves.

  Gashta stepped between them. "I promise my sister won't hurt him until we have had a chance to properly assess the situation. I offer no guarantees beyond that. If he threatens any of us, including you, we will take action."

  "I understand." The elf's blubbering cries started again. "Thank you. Thank you so much!"

  "Now, now," Hilthe said, patting the elf's shoulder. "Where were you headed, young elf?"

  "My name is Maysant." The elf stood straighter, squaring her shoulders. "I am not young. I am probably older than all of you combined."

  "That may be true," Hilthe said, "but you are not as mature. We may live shorter lives, but do not take that to mean you are wiser. You are young, Maysant. You look it. You act like it. It would be best for you to follow rather than lead. Now, I'm asking again, where were you headed?"

  Nishta detested humans, but this old woman… perhaps Hilthe's years of living in Agitar had made her more like an orc.

  "I wasn't headed anywhere," Maysant admitted, her shoulders collapsing again. She was more useless than a rag doll. "I… well, I don't want to say I ran away, because running away is for children, but…"

  "You ran away," Hilthe said. "Let me guess, from your oppressive family?"

  "Yes!" Maysant grabbed Hilthe's arm. "How did you know?"

  "It is a tale as old as time. At one point or another, we have all run away from our families. It is part of growing up."