Chapter 22

Dura

W e run through the woods, putting more distance between us and the vampire camp. The light of dawn starts to break between the tree branches and I am glad for it. Vampires are weak to the sun and it will be harder for them to follow us when they discover Marvik is missing. But, it is still possible if they cover up their skin, so we can’t waste time.

We need to get to Marvik’s hometown quickly. There's no telling what will happen if we can’t have the townspeople get to safety in time. And when Marvik’s disappearance is noted, the vampires could move up their plan of attack, even risking the daylight hours.

I’m conflicted though. I know that there are other orcs waiting at Grimblton. If I go with Marvik, they will see me and recognize me. Maybe instantly brand me as a deserter, as I have worried about before. But if he goes alone, he may not be believed about the invasion. Even though he would be talking to his own people, the idea of Barakrin going to war is a hard one to swallow. He may need me to back him up and my Mating Instinct doesn’t like that idea of leaving him in a lurch. My sense of honor doesn’t either.

We reach the town wall and Marvik turns to me. “I’ll head to the gate,” Marvik says. “You should stay in the woods. I’ll come back for you when I’ve convinced the magistrate that he needs to let the townsfolk and farmers into the castle and they need to implement siege tactics.”

I shake my head. “They might not believe your story, since you are going to be so suddenly back from the dead. And the orcs there won’t recognize you. They might not even let you through the gate. I’ll come with you. ”

“You can’t!” argues Marvik. “If they put it together that you are a deserter . . .”

“I’m still coming with you,” I interrupt. “It’s not safe in the woods besides. What if the vampires have realized you are gone and give chase? I don’t relish the idea of fighting more than one assailant without my ax.”

That seems to bring Marvik up short. He looks behind me and I glance back too. No one, so far, but that could change.

“Fine,” acquiesces my Ash’ka , “but let me do the talking.”

That’s no hardship. He is better at talking than I am. I nod and follow him.

We circumnavigate the town wall. It’s tall, but only maybe ten feet high. But I’ve heard that vampires can fly and, though I don’t know necessarily if that’s true, they probably still could get into the town, regardless of the wall.

We finally come to the town gate, and it is still closed for the night. It’s a sturdy wooden double-door and is most likely held shut by a plank on the other side. Fine for keeping out bandits and werewolves, but, again, vampires are another story. The innocent townsfolk will not be safe until they are behind the walls of the castle.

Marvik bangs on the gate, the sound booming in the silence of early morning. No response. He bangs again. Finally, a small peephole in the door slides open, squinting eyes peering through. Before Marvik can say anything, the man behind the gate makes a startled yelp.

“Is that . . . it can’t be . . . it is! Sir Marvik! But that can’t be! You’re dead!”

Marvik replies, “My death is mere rumors, Karn. Now open the gate and let me in.”

The eyes narrow. “How do I know that you’re not one of the undead?”

“Because the undead cannot talk,” Marvik says, sounding amused. “Now open the gate. I have an urgent matter to address with the magistrate. Immediately.”

“I don’t know,” Karn says, “the orcs said to keep the gate closed until morning bell . . .”

“It’s me, Karn,” Marvik insists. “You know me. Let me in.”

“If you’re here because of your mother’s trial,” Karn says, “you’re in the wrong place. They’re doing that in High Citadel.”

“I didn’t know that hadn’t already happened. That’s not why I’m here. Please, just open the door. It’s urgent,” Marvik urges.

“All due respect, your lordship, but you’ve been gone a long time and your father’s gone too. You’re not in charge, the orcs are.”

Marvik looks as if he doesn’t know what to say. But we don’t have time to waste on a debate right now. If the stubborn old man needs to hear from an orc, he will. “Open the gate,” I order, in my firmest commander’s voice. “We need to speak to whoever is in charge. Grimblton is in danger.”

The eyes flick to me. “And who’s this, then?”

I draw myself up to my full height and say, “I am Dura ka Woreki, Keeper of the King and General of the Southern Horde and we do not have time for this. Open the gate or the lives of your people will be on your head.”

“Well, there’s no need to be so touchy about it,” grumbles Karn, sliding the little peephole shut. A moment later, there’s some scuffling and movement from the other side of the gate and, after a bit, one of the doors swings open. An older man stands in the doorframe, wearing breeches and a long white shirt, like he came here directly from sleep. Not much of a guard.

Marvik and I stride through the door. “Rouse the rest of the guards,” I instruct, still in my commander's voice, “And bring the magistrate, as Sir Marvik requested. This cannot wait.”

“Look,” says the old man, “I know you said that you are some important orcress with lots of fancy titles and I know the orcs are in charge now, but you can’t just . . .”

“NOW!” I bark, glaring at the argumentative codger.

Karn huffs and harrumphs, but stomps back to the guardhouse that is next to the gate, tucking his long shirt into his breeches as he goes. I hear some muffled voices from inside and, in a moment, an orc exits the guardhouse, looking wary. When he sees me, however, his eyes go wide.

“General!” He does a quick sign of respect, both his fists on his chest. “We were told that you perished in the Battle of Fort Attis! How . . . ?”

“That doesn’t matter now,” I interrupt. Better for him not to think too hard on things. It is good that he is not immediately accusing me as a deserter, as I feared, but if the orcs are given time to put things together, I have no doubt that they will and my word will lose all meaning. “What matters now is that this town is in great danger. A Barakrini war party is on their way here, meaning to take the populace as blood slaves. They are strong and fast, and you do not have enough soldiers to stop them from their designs.”

More orcs and another human come out of the guardhouse, listening intently to my words. The human, younger than Karn, speaks up. “How do you know this?”

Marvik finally speaks again, holding up the manacles still on his wrists. “We happened upon them in the Eastforte Thicket and they took me prisoner. General Dura freed me, but we were able to gather intelligence before we left. They have great numbers and plan to attack at sundown. We have to move quickly and evacuate the townsfolk into the castle. It is their only hope.”

The orcs look at Marvik, sizing him up, and when they look back at me, there’s suspicion in their eyes. “General, wasn’t this the human that you were fighting at Fort Attis? The queen’s brother?”

I don't know what to say to that. How do they know about Marvik? But Marvik immediately barks out, “Did you not hear us? We are hours away from an attack! Maybe less, if the vampires move early. How many soldiers are stationed here?”

“Ten orcs and five humans, sir,” the younger human supplies helpfully.

I shake my head. “The vampires had at least five times that. And they have sentient blood slaves, which gives them more strength and stamina. The town will fall under their onslaught, unless we can act. Now .”

There’s some hesitation, but then the orc that spoke earlier says, “You heard the general. Rouse the magistrate and the townsfolk. Send a rider to the farmsteads. Start moving everyone into Castle Grimble. Move!”

The guards scatter at his words, even Karn, who had come back out of the guardhouse. A warning bell rings from the top of the guardhouse, breaking into the early morning stillness. The orc that gave the order is still in front of us, looking at us with a strange mixture of respect and suspicion.

“Thank you, soldier,” I say, “for your prompt action. What is your name?”

“Verog ka Roknir, general,” says the orc.

“Clan Roknir is a good clan,” I remark. “A strong one.”

“We’ve been tasked with keeping the peace in Adrik, as their own forces were decimated in the war,” Verog tells me. “But, general, why have you been gone all this time? And what were you doing in the Thicket so far from Fort Attis? The king has been sending scouting parties to the Deep Wood for the past two months to find your bodies, but here you are. Can you explain your whereabouts?”

Again, I don’t know what to say. It’s bad that he’s asking questions, though. Marvik interjects, “Our whereabouts are restricted information, soldier. That is a story that we can only tell to your king. But for now, we need to plan how to get reinforcements to Grimblton, as quickly as possible and get word to the capital that we are under attack. This action from Barakrin is nothing short of a declaration of war.”

That seems to sober Verog. “War again, so soon,” he remarks, sounding somber. “And from such an unlikely quarter. What could have spurred the vampires to attack? Adrik and Orik have long left them to their own devices.”

“A demon has taken hold of the throne in Barakrin,” Marvik says, telling the orc what we know. “Grazrath, Lord of Pain and Misery. He has somehow escaped the Nether.”

To my surprise, Verog doesn’t look shocked at all. “We wondered where he went.”

“You knew the demon had escaped?” I ask sharply.

“A group of humans, one that used to be led by the dead human king, unleashed the demon by accident when they were trying to expel the orcs from Adrik through dark magic. The ritual led to all of their deaths, but the demon ended up escaping and cementing his hold on this plane. I suppose we should not be surprised that he has dreams of conquest.”

No, I suppose not. The demons were first bound in the Nether by Karnia when they tried to overthrow the gods. Their lust for power is legendary.

Marvik speaks again. “Well, the demon has already taken one country, but we cannot allow him to take more. For now, the townsfolk will be safe for a night in the castle, but cannot hold out on a long siege. We need to call for reinforcements to forcibly remove the invaders.”

Verog nods. “There are more orcs and humans in Kingsbury. It’s a larger force. And there’s increased soldiers in Aquilar and the surrounding villages because of the king and queen’s visit.”

“Riders should be sent to those areas immediately and bring back as many soldiers as they can. I fought these vampires, Verog. They fight like demons, with an inhuman quickness. This is a skilled army headed this way,” Marvik says bluntly.

A human, hastily dressed, suddenly comes up to us, his hair still sticking up wildly from sleep. He gasps. “Sir Marvik! I thought Karn must be drinking again, but it is true! You are alive!”

Marvik chuckles a little. “Magistrate Tomen, it is good to see you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Karn said that there’s going to be an attack?”

“Yes,” confirms Marvik. He begins filling the human in on everything that we already told the guard. I turn back to Verog to continue the conversation of reinforcements.

“Do you have falcons for sending messages?” I ask.

“A few,” Verog answers. “We can send messages to Orik, but you should ride to High Citadel yourselves to report to the king and queen. You’ll get there faster on a warbeast than a falcon could fly.”

“Me?” I ask. “I should stay here and help with the siege.”

Verog shakes his head. “We can handle that. The reinforcements from Kingsbury may even arrive before sundown if they ride at full force. We’ll be fine. But the king should hear from your own lips what is going on . . . and where you’ve been.”

There’s that suspicion again. I’m almost certain that Verog knows I must have deserted at Fort Attis, but is keeping it to himself. Probably he doesn’t want to accuse someone with so much prestige without solid proof, which is wise. He continues, “This is a matter of duty, general, and your sense of honor is renowned. I’m sure you will do the right thing.”

His words spear me. My honor used to be renowned, but now? What have I been doing these past months? Running, hiding, deserting. Pining over a human. I feel ashamed, looking into the eyes of one of my people. Last week I told Marvik he’s been selfish, but what about me? I’ve put my own happiness above my duty, been hiding in the woods like a coward, unable to face the consequences of my actions. Is that what I’ve become? A coward? That can’t be. Still, going to meet Rognar at High Citadel will only mean my doom. But Verog is also right that the rulers need to hear of this attack swiftly, so that they may respond to the threat. And who better to tell them of the attack than the ones that discovered it? One whose word has never been in question? It’s a neat little trap that Verog has maneuvered me into. Only a true coward would avoid it.

Holding back a sigh of resignation, I say, “Bring your fastest warbeast, then. I will ride to High Citadel.”

Verog does the sign of respect again, though a little more hesitantly than he did the first time, and strides away.

Marvik comes back to me, the human magistrate hurrying away from him, obviously moving to obey Marvik’s orders. “What are you doing?” he asks suspiciously. “What were you talking about with him? I thought you said you’d leave the talking to me?”

“He wants me to go to High Citadel and report on the attack to the king and queen,” I tell him. “I agreed.”

Marvik spears me with his eyes. “You agreed ? But, Dura, if we go to High Citadel, if they ask questions, there will be nowhere to hide. They’ll send you to the Killikar .”

I smile faintly at his butchered pronunciation of the Orikesh word, but then sigh. “You know as well as I do that we owe a duty to Rognar and Adalind. We need to tell them what we know and protect our countries. It would be selfish to do otherwise and I, for one, think I have been cowardly and selfish long enough. It is time for me to face the consequences of my actions.”

Marvik looks at me gravely, his face unreadable. I find myself wishing that we had fully mated, so that I could feel what he is feeling. Oh well . Now that will never happen.

My Ash’ka finally says, “Well, you won’t do it alone. I’m going with you. And I’ll make them understand that what you did was under duress. There were mitigating circumstances that weren’t under your control.”

I don’t think that his defense of me will do much. Excuses are not the Orikesh way. I did desert after all. Other deserters before me would have had their own excuses. I don’t think mine carries more weight than theirs. Still, I’ll be glad to have Marvik with me, for at least a little while longer.

I don’t have time to reply, however, before Verog returns, leading a huge warbeast. It is not a purebred, judging from its mottled green and black skin and fur, but with its long, barbed lizard tail, huge, rippling physique and wolf-like head, it is still good beast-flesh. My own Kava is a purebred, a royal mount. She is sleek and fast, but this warbeast is all muscle and power .

“This is Yarro,” says Verog. “My own warbeast. His stamina is unmatched and he can run for days without stopping. You should be able to get to High Citadel quickly on his back.”

“I thank you for the use of your warbeast. I will return him to you, as quickly as I am able,” I tell him.

Verog nods in acceptance of my words, then hands me a pouch along with the reins to Yarro. “Bloodroot,” he tells me. “You do not look like you have slept this night and you’ll likely not be able to sleep for a while more.”

It is a thoughtful gesture, more than I expected. But practical as well. If we are to ride all the way north to High Citadel without rest, bloodroot is necessary.

I take a pinch with a murmur of thanks and put it in my mouth, chewing. Strength and awareness floods me, a familiar feeling. When I feel it reach its peak, I spit out the remnants. Then I take a pinch and hand it to Marvik.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Bloodroot,” I say. “An herb that strengthens you and makes you more awake. It has the side effect of making you more aggressive, however, so keep that in mind.”

Marvik takes the dried root and cautiously puts it in his mouth.

“Chew until you feel strong and then spit it out. A few moments will suffice.”

Marvik chews and makes a hideous face. “This is terrible.”

“It is quite bitter,” I agree.

After a few moments, Marvik spits, the dark remnants of the root splattering on the ground. I move to the side of Yarro and swing up. Yarro is a well-trained beast and doesn’t snap his sharp teeth at me at the intrusion, just waiting passively as I get situated. Then I reach out a hand to Marvik. He doesn’t hesitate before putting his hand in mine and I swing him up behind me.

“It’s similar to riding a horse, I imagine,” I tell him. “Just follow the rhythm of the movement and keep your seat. If you feel you are going to fall, you may hold on to me.”

“Understood,” says Marvik.

I turn to face Verog, who looks at the two of us, a question in his eyes. I see his gaze flick to Marvik’s neck, but there is no Mating Bite there. Nothing to tell him about what Marvik and I are to each other. Not that I really know what we are to each other, either.

“My thanks, Verog ka Roknir,” I say. “Your valor will be noted when we give the report to the king.”

Verog makes the sign of respect. “Go with the gods, General Dura. We will protect the people here.”

With that, I spur Yarro into movement, taking him at his highest speed. As I ride, an unsettled feeling rests in my chest. The closer we get to High Citadel, the closer I get to Rognar. And his judgment awaits.