Page 22 of Agor the Merciless (Orc Mates #10)

Zoe stood at the edge of the clearing as the morning sun broke through the trees.

Birds called from branches while Agor the Merciless secured his weapons to his krag.

Their goodbye had been said the night before.

Now, they only nodded to each other before the captain swung onto his mount.

Lyra, Durnak, and the two grunts waited in formation, ready to follow.

The small group rode into the forest and branches parted for them, then closed again as they passed.

When the last rider disappeared among the trees, Zoe took a deep breath.

The morning air filled her lungs, sharp and clean.

Her body felt stronger than it had in days.

She wouldn’t waste this chance. She marched across the clearing, past the tanning racks and the fire pit where Pira worked on the morning meal.

Her steps grew more certain as she approached the patchwork structure at the camp’s edge.

Grol and Tarn worked inside the garage, moving tools around a large workbench.

In the center sat an engine block, its metal surface stained with oil.

A crack ran along one side of the casing.

The two orcs looked up when her shadow fell across the floor.

Tarn grinned, trying to contain his excitement.

Grol nodded and stepped back from the workbench.

“This one stopped working a few days ago,” Grol said, pointing to the broken machine.

Tarn approached her, holding out an assortment of tools.

“We have these from old human garages. I’m not sure what half of them do.”

Zoe picked up a ratchet, testing its action.

The tools were worn but would do. She approached the workbench, studying the damaged engine.

Her eyes tracked the crack in the housing, followed pipes to their connections, noted the pattern of wear on the moving parts.

She nodded to Grol and Tarn, grabbed what she needed, and attacked the engine housing.

Metal turned against metal as her hands found their old rhythm.

The cover came off quickly, revealing the internal components with all their complexity.

The physical work and problem-solving filled her mind completely. This was a battle she knew how to fight.

***

The krag shifted under Agor as they crossed into Grak’s territory.

The change happened without warning – one moment, they traveled through healthy forest with green leaves and birds overhead, the next they entered a place where life had stopped.

Trees stood bare against the sky, their bark falling off in strips that covered the ground.

No leaves grew on their branches. The forest floor had no plants, just black dirt that looked wrong.

Agor raised his hand, signaling the group to halt. He listened, but nothing moved in this dead place. No insects, no animals in the brush, no birds making noise.

“We’ve crossed the border,” Durnak said, his voice too loud in the quiet.

The captain nodded. The dead forest made his muscles tighten.

Grak’s magic had pulled life from this land over years.

He’d seen the early signs when the old mage started affecting their camp, but here the damage went much deeper.

The krags noticed, too. The beasts moved from side to side and growled deep in their throats.

His mount pawed at the ground and tried to turn back toward living trees.

“The animals know,” one of the grunts said, struggling to hold his krag still. “They feel it.”

“We continue on foot,” Agor decided, getting down from his mount. “Tie the krags at the border. They will wait for us there.”

The others got off their animals and tied them to the last healthy trees at the edge of Grak’s territory. The beasts calmed once they knew they wouldn’t have to go farther. They started grazing.

Agor checked his weapons – sword at his hip, daggers in his belt, axe on his back.

Durnak and the grunts did the same, touching each blade and handle to make sure everything was in its place.

Lyra stood away from them, looking at the trees ahead.

Her blue robes stood out in the gray-black woods.

She turned to Agor, concern marring her young face.

“The energy Grak takes from the earth flows to him constantly. He only lets the trees regenerate enough to keep feeding him, but I wonder if he might want to move soon, find another place to deplete.”

“Can you tell where he is?” Agor asked.

Lyra shook her head. “Not yet. I need to look deeper.”

She walked forward into the dead woods, her boots sinking into the black dirt.

After a few steps, she stopped and closed her eyes.

Her hands went up in front of her, palms out.

Words came from her mouth in their old language.

Light appeared around her fingers, a blue glow that spread between her hands.

The spell grew as she continued to speak, the light spread around her, changing with each word.

The ground under her feet reacted, energy rising to meet her magic.

Agor and the others watched Lyra work. They didn’t understand the spell, but they knew she looked for hidden things.

Sweat formed on the mage’s forehead. Her voice stayed steady, but her eyebrows furrowed, and her fingers shook.

When she finished speaking, the blue light went into the ground.

Lyra opened her eyes and turned to her companions.

Her face had gone white, and she breathed faster than normal.

She walked back to the group, carefully making her way through dead twigs that tried to trip her.

“What did you find?” Agor asked when she reached them.

“The air itself is a trap. It has his parasitic magic in it. With every breath, we are weakened.”

***

Light faded from the garage as the sun dropped behind the mountains.

Zoe had worked through the day without stopping, her hands moving steadily while Grol and Tarn worked beside her.

The broken engine sat half-rebuilt on the workbench, its parts organized in neat rows.

But as evening came and her body grew tired, the distraction started to fail.

Her fingers slipped on the wrench in her hand, forcing her to readjust her grip.

A drop of sweat fell from the back of her neck onto the engine block.

Cold spread across her skin despite the stifling heat of the garage, and her shirt stuck to her back as more sweat seeped out of her pores.

Zoe wiped her forehead with her arm. She felt too warm one moment, freezing cold the next.

She positioned the tool against the next bolt, but her fingers refused to close properly.

The metal shifted in her grip, sliding in her suddenly damp palm.

If she continued like this, she would end up having an accident.

The craving hit her, not as a thought, but as a pain that ran through her very blood.

It grabbed at her stomach and chest, demanding attention.

Zoe gritted her teeth and focused on the engine part.

Just three more bolts to secure the housing.

Three simple tasks she had done thousands of times before.

Her arm muscles burned with the effort to keep steady as she pushed down with all her concentration.

The wrench slipped free from her fingers and hit the dirt floor with a loud clang that echoed through the garage.

Grol and Tarn turned from their work and saw her hunched over the workbench, hands trembling at her sides.