Ivan’s forehead creased, he couldn’t believe Merglan would ask such a thing. “What do you mean, what happened? You came after me and Hannah with magic. You killed her and my oldest child! You took Jazz, my father, my brother-in-law and so many bonded riders. Do you even feel anything anymore?!” Ivan studied Merglan’s blank expression, then continued, “And you ask me what happened? You killed your own father!”
“Oh, that was ages ago. Can’t we just let bygones be bygones,” Merglan said. “I was a different person back then. And you weren’t in the right headspace to see things clearly either. Let’s just start over, shall we? We can start by playing this friendly little game,” Merglan leaned down over his white chess pieces.
Ivan grabbed the table and tossed it aside, sending the wooden box and chess pieces flying. Merglan bolted from his chair, waving his arm and freezing the mess in midair. The room grew dark and a strong wind began to blow in through the window. Merglan’s eyes glowed with an anger Ivan had never seen before.
As abruptly as he’d started to unravel, Merglan regained control over himself. The wind stilled and the bright light of day returned in the window. He calmly returned the table to its original place and arranged the box and pieces as they had been. Straightening his shirt and pants, Merglan cleared his throat and said calmly, “I know it may take time for us to become reacquainted, but I believe we’ll get there. It seems as though you don’t wish to be with me at present, which is understandable given that we’ve just experienced a traumatic event together, so I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” Merglan strode from the room, exiting successfully through the door that had sent Ivan back into the room.
Ivan’s nostrils flared in frustration. He tried to summon energy, anything from his decreased magical abilities, but nothing came. Shouting, he flipped the table over watching the chess pieces crash onto the floor. He pushed himself from the chair and hobbled angrily to the window trying to discern his invisible prison bars.
Merglan exited Ivan’s room, breaking through the magical barriers he’d installed. He strode down the torch-lit hall. Descending the stairs, he walked out onto the main floor and turned sharply, entering the throne room. Striding confidently to the iconic chair, he recalled the day he’d first taken the throne, the day he’d killed the king. With a flick of his wrist, the crown came whirling onto his head as he sat.
Not a moment passed from the instant he leaned back into the throne to when the doors swung inward and an orc entered. Clad in armor and grimy from battle, the creature came into the room alone.
Merglan’s jaw dropped. Irritated at the orcs’ overall refusal to follow orders and use the chain of command, Merglan rose from the throne to ensure that his voice sounded full and more authoritative. He commanded, “What are you doing here? Have you no respect for your Commanding Officer?”
The orc began to speak in Grog, a wormy language full of hard clicks and sharp grunts. Merglan could speak it well enough, but the language sounded so awful. He hated it. He cut the orc off by pinching his fingers together, magically closing its mouth.
“Speak Landish, or die,” Merglan said, stepping toward the orc and raising his hands as if to throw a spell on the creature. The orc stepped back, its lower lip quivered, exposing the lower tusks.
Speaking slowly and in a thick accent, the orc began to explain, “Forgiveness, my Lord. I bring news of the battle.”
Merglan returned to his seat on the throne, deciding he wouldn’t kill this creature, yet. “Why are you reporting this to me and not your commander?” he demanded.
“Our battle chief has been slain, your Excellency,” the orc said in a higher-pitched tone.
Merglan shifted. Surely this creature wasn’t telling him that his battle was lost and his appointed leader killed. There had been thousands of orcs massing on the eastern coast. “The death of your orc chief doesn’t deserve my consult, that’s why I have Lageena in charge of you filth. And you can address me as your Imperial Highness now.”
“Sorry, my Imperial Highness, but you misunderstood my meaning. Lageena is dead. She was killed in one-on-one combat with the elf prince.”
Merglan flung himself from the throne and onto the orc, who now crouched in fear. He kicked the creature in the shoulder guard and sent it skidding across the throne room floor. He sprung, leaping high into the air with inhuman skill and drew his knife from his belt. As he crashed onto the orc, Merglan held the sharpened steel against the creature’s face. Lowering himself to inches above the orc, he snarled, “If you’re lying to me, I’ll gut you.”
The orc, a female Merglan now realized having come close enough to see her defining cheek markings, stammered in her native language.
Merglan roared at her, “Landish, you insolent grunt, speak Landish!” he pressed the knife blade against her cheek, drawing the orc’s dark blood.
“I swear it, Imperial Highness. I saw it with my own eyes. She’s dead. A dwarf stabbed her through the heart with a burning blade.”
Merglan narrowed his eyes, lifting the blade slightly, “By a dwarf? I thought you said it was the elf prince?”
She mumbled, “It was a dwarf that killed her.”
Merglan pulled back and punched the orc in the face, knocking her to the ground, her head bouncing off the stone floor. “Get your story straight! If you and your orc friends think you can pull one over on me by telling me that Lageena’s been killed, then you’re wrong. Did you come here to coax me out so your orc friends could try to take me on? Is that your plan!?” he shouted, lifting the orc by her armor and shaking her furiously.
“Honest!” she cried out. “Lageena’s dead. In one-on-one combat with the elf, but sneakily killed by the dwarf!”
Merglan stopped shaking the orc and released her. “Are there more of you outside?” he asked.
She nodded.
He marched from the throne room and into the entrance hall, dragging her along by the armor. Throwing open the heavy castle door, he stood in the entrance and stared out at a group of messenger orcs. They had carted Lageena’s dead body from the battle site. Merglan spotted it at once. Releasing the orc, Merglan stared at them, breathing heavily. He watched Killdoor circle in and land on the castle’s outer wall, eyeing the orcs in the courtyard.
Merglan turned to the nervous orcs and shouted, “This is what happens to anyone who enters my throne room unannounced!” With that he pulled back and thrust his knife into the female orc’s temple, letting her drop heavily to her knees. He turned his attention to Killdoor and commanded, “Devour her,” as he kicked the orc messenger down the steps.
Her body rolled onto the courtyard. In an instant, Killdoor leapt off the wall and glided down to the castle’s front steps. After charring the body with dragon fire, he lowered his head and crunched into the steel-plated armor. He then took the orc into his mouth and flew up to his roost on the outer wall. The other orcs gawked until Merglan shouted at them, “Gather your forces and bring them to the city gates! You’ll be needing a new commander.”
Merglan spun on his heels, the crown on his head nearly tumbling off. He entered the keep and slammed the doors behind him. Swelling with rage, he stomped to the throne and took his perch, pondering on how the death of Lageena would affect his plans.
Chapter 49
Disbanded
Running deeper into the bramble, Nadir barreled through the forest’s undergrowth as he snapped and tore a new path away from the orcs swarming Ryedale. Suddenly, Nadir passed into a small clearing, striding midway across before skidding to a halt, his feet cutting into the soft dirt as he stopped. Looking warily, his gaze darted in all directions in search of friend or foe. The sounds of elves collectively crashing through the forest filled the air, as his army fled from the fairnheir. He’d seen their orc masters following steadily behind them as they climbed the canyon slopes after the retreating elf, dwarf and Lumbapi forces.
Sweat seeped into his eyes as he searched the clearing, the sweat stinging his eyes and blurring his vision a bit. Trying to make sense of where the Lumbapi were taking their fleeing troops, Nadir called out to the last Lumbapi he’d seen before entering the forest, “Inama! Where are you!?” With the roar of crashing branches and stomping feet, he thought his shout might go unheard. Waiting for a response, Nadir recalled the Lumbapis’ head start on their retreat. He ordered his soldiers to follow them, but the natives seemed to disappear upon entering the forest. He knew the Southland natives were attuned to the network of trails in this dense forest, but his people and the dwarfs were not. With the enemy on their scent, Nadir worried that his soldiers, with their elven ability to run at high speeds, would outpace the locals leading them to safety, and possibly miss their directions entirely.
After taking several deep breaths to slow his heart, Nadir prepared to call Inama once more. During this pause, he heard a series of screeching whistles piercing their way through the crashing in the forest. His instincts told him that only a native Lumbapi could produce such a unique sound. Orcs communicated in a guttural monotone and the fairnheir were too hound-like to produce such a high-pitched, bird-like sound.
Launching into a sprint toward the sound, the newly succeeded Elf King barreled through the undergrowth. Nearly crashing into his fellow elven soldiers, Nadir gathered followers as he ran, shouting, “With me!” in hopes that more elves would join them.
Slowing as he neared the origin of the whistle, Nadir stumbled trying to avoid running into the group of humans who suddenly came into view. Though he and his elves arrived in the Lumbapis’ midst startled and half-crazed, Nadir felt a sense of relief at seeing their allies.
“Where’s Inama?” Nadir asked, backing away slightly from the surprised humans he’d nearly overrun. His elven speed, though slowed, was still much faster than what the humans were capable of.
Princess Inama pushed her way through the cluster of Lumbapi soldiers to address the elf. She leaned heavily on her staff and her waist was saturated in blood. Nadir admired Inama’s determination to continue. He wondered how much Natalia and Solomon had been able to help. Inama’s breathing quickened from their flight as she addressed the elf king, “We must act fast if we’re going to sneak our armies back into camp. If we take too long, the orcs will learn where we’ve gone and hunt us relentlessly.”
“Leaderless,” Nadir nodded, also panting with exhaustion. “We can use it to our advantage now, if we lose them in the forest. They’ll not work together long without a strong leader.”
