CHAPTER TWO

The last notes of my song thrum through the room, the entire pub having quieted while I played. Then chaos breaks loose as my clan mates clap and yell and stomp heavy feet on the sawdust-covered wooden floor. Smiling green faces surround me, broken only by the occasional oval in various shades of cream and tan—the human witches the goddess brought as moon bound brides.

The pub is the heart of any orc town, and it’s no different here in Moon Blade Village. The honey-colored wood of the heart tree that houses the pub glimmers in the golden light of the fire and the glow stones hung throughout the room. Orcs fill the long wooden tables, drinking and talking. A brawl breaks out on the other side of the room, cheering for the opponents punctuated by the meaty smacks of striking fists.

I slip my guitar back into its case to prevent any damage if the fight escalates.

“Retired, my right buttock.” Wranth plonks a tankard of ale onto the table in front of me, the yeasty smell of rich ale filling the air. He sits on the bench opposite me, whipping his long, black warrior braid back over his shoulder before it can dip into his drink. Dressed much the same as me in a linen tunic and brown leather pants and boots, only a small pin on his collar marks him as one of the king’s guard. “I knew there was no way you actually retired. You were one of the best guardsmen. By the goddess, you’re not even forty.”

I pause with my ale held in midair in order to scowl at him. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I don’t know.” He shoots me a penetrating gaze. “Am I?”

Instead of answering him directly, I say, “I do my king’s bidding.”

He leans forward, seven feet of well-honed muscle, deadly with the sword at his hip. Wranth’s always been one of the guard’s fiercest fighters, giving over to the bloodlust that lies in the heart of every orc. We are cousins to the elves, with their sparkling castles and balls and layers of spell-cast glamour, but you’d never know it to look in Wranth’s eyes. Never has the appellation of Wild Fae seemed truer than in him .

Some would say we’re deemed wild by the camouflaging green of our skin, meant to blend into the forests of Faerie. Others by the magic that connects us to nature.

Yet he shows the truth of it. Orcs are wild creatures, meant to hunt and fight fiercely.

And love. My heart aches, the feeling familiar after two decades yet still painful. Oh, yes, we love most fiercely of all.

Wranth’s gaze turns assessing. “King Aldronn wanted someone here in Moon Blade Village, and he chose you.”

My oath keeps me from confirming, yet I also don’t deny his words. I will not lie.

The fire leaves my friend’s eyes. “Does he not realize how painful it is for you to be back here?”

My heart twangs again. Moon Blade Village is the home I left at sixteen, the home I left right after Bruna died.

“It doesn’t matter.” I shove away the pain and take a deep drink, the ale rich on my tongue. King Aldronn wants someone here in the village because the Moon Goddess has given my clan mates four moon bound brides. Each of these human witches offers a special magical power that aids our quest to keep our people safe from our enemies. Whatever the goddess is up to, Moon Blade Village rests at the very heart of it. I offer my friend what truth I can. “With so much happening here, the king wanted more strong fighters to help Dravarr.”

“Only now he’s sending you off on a quest. And he’s assigned me to the village while you’re gone.”

“It’s a temporary posting.” I clap him on the shoulder and wave my hand to take in the pub and everyone around us. It’s been good to spend each evening here, playing and singing for my clan mates. It’s made it easier to fit into this place it still hurts to think of as home. “And you have to admit staying in one place for a while makes a nice change from the constant travel.”

The brawl on the other side of the room finishes, the crowd yelling approval for the victor as she reaches down to offer a hand to the orc on the floor. He grins up at her and takes it. Then they both head to the bar, their disagreement settled. Brawling is an honored tradition among orcs. As long as the old ways hold true and no blades are drawn, a good punch-up provides a way to settle issues before they get bigger.

Dravarr, the clan’s warlord, stops by my table on the way back to his. He claps me on the shoulder. “Good singing.”

I grunt my thanks.

“That song’s so beautiful,” Ashley says. Short, plump, and pretty, she’s got a mass of fiery red curls and light skin dusted with little brown dots. She radiates joy with a force you can feel.

Dravarr gazes down at his wife with a look of adoration I never expected to see on his usually scowling face.

She says, “It always makes me cry.”

“You will stop singing it.” Dravarr’s expression shifts into the expected scowl as he eyes me.

I bristle, anger flaring through me. My fists curl. There’s no way I’ll stop playing that song, not even at his order. He might be warlord and a decade younger than me, but I’ll fight him, and for this, I will win.

His gaze softens as it returns to her. “I don’t want you to cry. ”

“Not all crying is bad.” She offers him a soft smile. “And don’t you dare make him stop singing my favorite song. What’s it called, again? We didn’t have it on Earth.”

“It’s called Under the Apple Tree .” My muscles relax. “And thank you. I’m glad you like it.” It was Bruna’s favorite as well, and I always play it in her memory.

They move off to their table, full of couples made up of human women and the orcs who’ve been blessed with them as their moon bound brides.

Wranth snorts. “Goddess, they’re all so disgustingly happy.”

I grunt in agreement. There are happy couples everywhere, but the goddess-matched pairs make my heart ache with loss.

“They’re never going to accept me.” Wranth, if anything, is even more taciturn than me. Our friendship began because we were the two in the guard who didn’t quite fit in, and over the years, it’s grown into a bond strong and true.

I reach across the table to grip his shoulder. He won’t have music as a way to break the ice with my clan mates. “Go hunting with Branikk and the others, then celebrate your wins here at the pub. Put meat in their bellies, and they’ll toast you soon enough.”

His mouth quirks at one corner, showing off his left tusk.

“Moon Blade Village is a good place.” The words feel like knives slicing my throat, but I choke them out because they’re true, and I don’t want my history to sour my friend’s time here. “They’re good people, and Dravarr’s a fine warlord. Nothing that happened all those years ago has anything to do with them. ”

My heart clenches with old, familiar pain. The blame is all mine. I’m the only one who was with Bruna on that fateful day.

I’m the one who couldn’t save her.

As I stride across the open area of the village green the next morning, my clan mates wave and call out good wishes for my trip.

Gerna hurries out of her apothecary and presses a glass vial into my hand. A fine young woman and a gifted herbalist, she offers me an easy smile that flashes her tusks. “The deathsleep antidote. In case.”

“Thank you.”

She hasn’t been able to make much of the newly discovered antidote yet. It’s very precious, since it’s the only thing that can keep a fae from falling into a coma for a hundred years. Leaving my packs in place on my back, I tuck it into the pant’s pocket that holds the speaking stone I carry in case… In case of what, exactly? The moon goddess gifts me with a moon bound bride? Ridiculous. But it is one of the king’s orders to be prepared to speak with any new humans, and I am loyal.

King Aldronn waits at the edge of the green, Dravarr by his side. Both are warriors in their prime, exuding competence and strength. As Moon Blade Village’s warlord, Dravarr is newer to his position, but the king is in his late thirties like me and took on the mantle of power young. It hangs around him now, an aura of command so strong it’s almost palpable. Even after being around him for many years, I still feel it. Wearing a linen tunic and leather boots and pants like everyone around him, he doesn’t drape himself in finery or jewels, but there’s no mistaking him for anything other than my king.

Wranth stalks past them to take point as we wind through the heart tree cottages of this side of the village and pick up the forest trail to the cleaning stone. Wind sighs through the heavy pines, swaying needle-covered branches and ruffling the thick clumps of ferns lining the path. Golden larks dart overhead in flutters of yellow wings punctuated by high, sweet notes of birdsong.

“Sheevora the Magnificent does you a great honor,” Aldronn says. “No one’s ever ridden on her before.”

“I’m aware,” I say.

“I hope you’re good with heights,” Dravarr mutters. “Dragons…” He grunts. “Let’s just say dragons aren’t unicorns.”

When I left my commission in the king’s guard, my unicorn mount of several years took her own leave, returning to her herd to take up a leadership position and begin her family. I could secure another unicorn mount, but dragon flight will carry me to the Dular Mountains in hours instead of days. Besides, once there, I will be clambering around inside caves, which isn’t anywhere a unicorn can go.

“You have to find this crystal the dragons speak of,” Aldronn says. “You must not fail.”

“It’s the only way to protect humans from deathsleep,” Dravarr adds with a scowl. His new bride is one of the human witches our enemies want, and his voice thrums with worry for her.

“I will not rest until I do.” I tip my head. “You have my word.”

The way ahead lightens, sunlight bathing the clearing around the tall granite pillar of the standing stone. Magic tingles in the air like an almost-heard song. Even if orcs don’t have some of the stronger magics, our goddess provided us with the standing stones. The cleaning stone is one of the most useful and why our ancestors founded Moon Blade Village close.

Ashley waits beside two dragons. The redhead breaks into a sunny grin as soon as she spots her husband.

Dravarr hurries over to her, and Ashley uses her witch powers to lift into the air a couple of feet to plant a loud kiss on his cheek.

Love pours from them, the pure love of a moon bound pair, and my heart pangs again. Bruna and I used to dream we were mated, our union blessed by the goddess, but she was taken from me while we were too young to know for certain.

Drake, the dragon youngling, lifts his wings and rubs his cheek on the leg of the massive dragon he stands in front of. He’s the same green as his mother and growing quickly, but Sheevora the Magnificent is the size of a cottage. She cleared an entire extra area of trees simply to make a space large enough to land, and she only fits because she keeps her large wings furled on her back.

“Come, orc.” Her deep alto booms through the clearing as she cocks her other foreleg for me. “We must go. ”

I hurry toward her, only to be pulled up short when someone grabs my elbow. Wranth swings me around into a quick hug, slapping me on the shoulder. “Hurry back.”

I glance at the people waiting for me, counting on me, and nod. Then I clamber up onto Sheevora’s back, her scales warm and smooth under my palms as I settle into the divot right above her shoulders. My packs and travel guitar remain on my back—there’s no place to anchor them.

Muscles gather and bunch below me, and a punch of magic blasts outward as the dragon leaps into the air, her huge wings snapping open with a percussive whomp.

A yell tears from my throat as my legs clamp tight, but it’s in pure exhilaration as we angle up into the sky, the village flashing past below. Sheevora picks up speed, great magic pouring off her. It’s one thing to know dragons are the strongest of the fae—it’s quite another to feel it.

“Aldronn tells me you have the voice of an elf,” she says. It’s a high compliment, since our cousins the elves are known for their beauty in all things. “Sing for me, orc.”

So I do, words pouring from me. Old ballads of love and loss and beauty. If I’d been traveling with my guard troupe, they’d call for jaunty traveling songs to make the miles go faster, but this experience pulls a different sort of song from my soul.

As one of the king’s guard, I traveled constantly from one orc village to the next and even visited the grasslands of the unicorns a few times. But this… Nothing in my life prepared me for this.

Flying is song given physical form. Each beat of wings sings a new line, each tilt and bank adds a new instrument. It is a million individual notes forming into a chorus of perfection.

The air cools, slicing across my face and hands with the force of strong wind. I can’t tear my gaze from the landscape below. The darker green of pine forest gives way to lighter green as she crosses the Umbriall Plains in what feels like minutes. Time means little up here. All too soon, the purple smudge of distant mountains on the horizon grows into distinct peaks.

The final note of my ballad rings through the air as we circle down for a landing in a meadow clearing halfway up the side of a mountain. I’m now farther away from my people’s lands than any orc has ever been, well past the tip of the Dular Mountain range where Krivoth and Taylor ventured in their quest.

I slide down the dragon’s side, my feet cushioned by thick grass. Fading sunlight oranges the sky and turns the surrounding mountain peaks into dark triangles. I should say thank you for the ride, but words feel inadequate, so I bow deeply instead.

“You do indeed have a beautiful voice. Even more so, you feel things deeply, orc.” Sheevora cocks her head to turn a huge golden eye upon me, piercing straight to my soul. “You should not suppress that side of you.” Then she lifts her great wings. “I will send a messenger with exact instructions about retrieving the crystals. They will arrive within a few days. Remain here.”

“I will.” I tip my head. “Thank you, Sheevora the Magnificent. ”

She launches into the air, a dark shadow that blazes bright green as she crests the shadow line and enters the last of the day’s light.

I make camp, pitching my tent and arranging my furs, fully willing to do as she bid. Our crucial alliance with the dragons is new, and my quest is far too important to neglect even the smallest request.

Yet as soon as I close my eyes, a different song haunts me, the notes so sweet and pure no mere mortal could ever fashion them. Light, brighter than day, floods my tent, making the stretched leather sides glow.

I roll outside and stand.

A silver moon shines overhead, the goddess come to me. Does she bring a sky gift to aid my quest? Instead of dropping an artifact from another realm of Faerie, the orb drops lower, coalescing into a ball of brilliant silver shot through with blue. Music continues to play, teasing me with a song I feel I should know, even though I’ve never heard it before. Louder and louder it grows, and the sphere dashes forward to splash across my eyes, sinking into my very being.

My body turns, pointing in a new direction. The Moon Goddess has summoned me. It must be some horrible mistake, because I lost my true love years ago. Yet when the goddess next shines her light on Alarria, she will deliver unto me a moon bound bride.