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Chapter 13

Wodred

In the cold light of morning, seeing the devastation wrought by Grazrath on my clan lands makes my heart ache. Plumes of smoke rise from the wreckage of many homes, the burnt-out skeletons of cottages that have existed for generations. Then there are the walking corpses. The bodies of fallen clanmates who fought the imps and tried to defend our homeland, only to die under cursed claws and rise as mindless monsters. I, along with Gunag, spent the night putting down many whom I called friends in life. The funeral pyres burn as the sun rises, turning the fallen to harmless ash.

This was a place of peace, of plenty. A place untouched by violence or war. My last refuge away from the life of brutality I have had to live. No longer. I can only be grateful that my family is all safe and intact. Largely that is thanks to Melelea. If she had not stepped in last night, little Kiva would have been lost. As it is, the orclings are traumatized and fearful but at least they are whole and hale. Sawa, pregnant as she is, has taken the clan’s orclings to the woods to the south of the village, to hide in the hunting blinds, in case Grazrath returns with his army of the damned. Kirigard has stayed to ply healing among our clan members, his healing as a full-blooded elf being stronger than all of our other healers combined.

All told, our losses are not as great as they could have been, but it was still too steep for me. I will never forgive Grazrath for bringing violence into the lives of the orclings of my clan. I have fought my whole life for peace, so that my people would not have to live a life of war, only for my life’s work to be threatened by the greed of a demon.

I am tired. Oh, so very tired. But there is no time to rest. Grazrath is in Orik. He must be stopped before more lives are lost.

Turning to Gunag as we finish lighting the last pyre, I say, “We should find Lady Melelea and see if she has had any luck tracking the beast.”

Gunag nods grimly, none of his usual bluster apparent on his features. “I saw her with your brother-in-law. Dame Zera is there guarding them both. We also need to send a falcon to Ilustan. Rognar must be informed of this newest attack and that Grazrath has reached Orik.”

I grunt in agreement and we move to the baker’s shop, one of the only buildings that did not burn in the night. Kirigard has set up his triage there, healing burns and claw marks on the wounded. Entering the space, I find that Melelea is in the thick of the survivors, applying poultices and helping with the injured. It is easy to forget that Melelea, though also a seer and illusion-wielder, is a wisewoman with a great knowledge of herbs and medicine. She looks magnificent, moving efficiently through the space and helping Kirigard, still wearing my cloak. I send a silent thanks to the Father God that I was able to free her from the burning building last night in time and that she was not further injured. I don’t know that I could have continued if I had lost her. Not again.

Melelea looks toward the door, as if drawn to my gaze and locks eyes with me. Murmuring something low and sweet to the wounded orcress she is treating, she stands up and makes her way over to me.

“The undead?” she asks, worry in her eyes.

“Taken care of,” I respond. “We are ready to move after Grazrath. There is no time to lose.”

Melelea nods wearily. None of us slept much last night before the attack came. Though my instinct is to protect the trolless and insist she take some rest, I know that is out of the question for now.

“The javelin is in the back rooms,” Melelea says. “I should be able to scry there, away from distractions.”

I nod. “Do you need me?”

Melelea bites her bottom lip, her gold-capped tusks glinting in the low light of the bakery. “Yes, I think so. I may need you to pull me back and break the connection if Grazrath notices me searching for him again.”

“I will do my best,” I vow solemnly.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Gunag says. “I need to send the falcon.”

“Go,” I say. “We’ll be here when you’re done.”

We make our way to the back room as Gunag leaves, and I catch Dame Zera’s eye and signal her to follow us with a jerk of my head. When the three of us are in the back kitchens of the bakery, Zera asks, “Are we tracking the demon?”

Melelea nods and grabs the javelin from one of the worktables. “I’m going to use his blood to push past the block between us. No matter how far away he’s teleported, I’ll be able to find him . . . and ascertain his true plans.”

“How do we break the connection if it gets dangerous?” I ask.

Melelea grabs a large bowl from a cabinet and brings it over to the pump in the corner of the kitchen to fill it with water. “I’ll need someone to disrupt the water in the basin and another to physically pull me away if Grazrath tries to attack me again. I’ll also use an illusory proxy this time, just in case.”

“Do what you need to do,” I say. “But be careful. We cannot risk losing you.”

I can’t risk it, I silently add and my Mating Instinct rumbles in agreement deep in my chest.

“Yes,” Dame Zera says, oblivious to my personal yearning. “You are our only tie to the demon. If we lose you, we lose our ability to stop him before more lives are lost.”

“I’ll be careful,” Melelea assures us, before placing the basin of still water on the ground. Sitting cross-legged in front of the bowl, the trolless looks up and says, “Get ready. This will be quick.”

I exchange a look with Dame Zera and then say, “You get ready to disrupt the water. I will pull Lady Melelea back, if need be.”

The knight nods at my instruction and crouches by the bowl, while I get in position behind Melelea, my hands hovering over her shoulders in readiness. The trolless lifts her hands to hover over the clear, still surface of the water in the bowl and begins to lightly trace in the air above the water. The water begins to glow with a silvery light, and images rush over its surface in a blur, too quick for my eye to track. Then Melelea whispers a word of power, and for a moment the whole scene seems to shake, and then there are duplicates of Melelea, Dame Zera, and me hovering over the bowl, a perfect illusory copy to our left. The illusory proxy. The trolless then reaches to her side and grabs the javelin. Without looking, she scrapes some of the dried blood from the tip of the javelin head and then sprinkles the flecks into the water.

Suddenly, the images get slower and more clear. From behind Melelea, I can see the inside of a cave and Grazrath sitting on a pile of giant bones, nursing the wound that I gave him. The archdemon looks angry, annoyed even. The wound on his chest is still bleeding, thick, viscous black blood dripping down the human skin on his chest.