Chapter

Thirty-Five

ANYA

T he gathols greet our arrival and the news of their mates with an impressive rush of activity. As segments of their numbers work tirelessly to prepare for the flight over the mountains—because they certainly aren’t going to chance Drisk’s route, which I quickly come to learn after the fact is considered suicidal by most of the gathols—the wing leaders sat in conference with me as we go over the situation in the palace peak. They listen grimly and their eyes occasionally stray to Drisk, who reclines lazily behind me since he refuses to be parted from my side.

No one can really blame him, but I am fascinated with the amount of reverence they seem to hold for him as they frequently watch the light cast a blue blush onto his black scales. Because of this, he is also a bit of a distraction and I’m glad when business finally concludes, and the wing leaders leave us in peace outside of sending a pair of males back with a basin of hot water so that I might wash and a set of clothes.

Although the basin is nowhere near big enough for me to sit in, I sigh with pleasure as I scrub every inch of my body with the wet cloth, especially the dried mess between my legs. Kicking away my soiled clothes, I dress gratefully in the clean surc and tunic provided before lying down at Drisk’s side on a pallet made of straw. Its warm scent surrounds me as Drisk croons, lulling me swiftly to a dreamless sleep.

No nightmares haunt me. It is as if there is a light kindled deep within me that drives them away, burning them up before they can even touch me. I sleep deeply and wake just before dawn to pull Drisk’s saddle and harness around him and tighten it in place as the gathols assemble around us, orcs mounting on their bonded wyverns, their gazes fastened upon me expectantly. A hum starts up from the wyverns as I climb up into his saddle and I feel it prickle over me as I slide into place and sigh with the invasion of his strands sliding inside and around me, securing me tightly in place. Every eye is on me as I shiver with pleasure, but what do I care? I merely cling to the curved handgrip of the saddle and give Drisk the command he has been waiting for.

“Let’s go burn shit down.”

His cackle echoes through the valley, but it is his dark delight that fills me as he launches from the ground with a burst of blue ice-fire and a powerful beat of his wings. I soar aloft over the snowy peaks, everything settling into a stillness within me as, for the first time, I truly take in my surroundings. Not with the grim patience of the daily sweeps that I endured at Daghel’s side, nor with the frantic escape from the palace peak. It is with a calm mind that I survey my surroundings and feel the echo of its ancient power filling me. The quiet stretches on with a peace that seems to unite all wings as we rush over ice and snow of the peaks drifting below and around us until finally the palace peak breaks into view, the iced black stone catching the weak winter sun as the deep, resonate sound of a massive horn bellows a warning into the air.

It is a primal call that dances over my skin even as it is echoed by the gathols who rise from the rookeries ahead of us, their wings beating like a drum of war as they take to the air, heading directly for us. I grit my teeth, my jaw tightening as I prepare for the confrontation. They do not know who we are from this distance. They are only rising in response to the rising alarm that calls on them to protect the palace and upper village. The gathols are like a shadow looming ahead of us, flying for us with deadly intent. I see the fire spew from some of the wyverns’ mouths, preparing to attack.

“Fuck this,” I growl. “Let’s see if this trick works more than once, Drisk. Nothing catches the eye quite like ice-fire.”

Although it feels heavier than my muscles remember, I draw Daghel’s sword from the scabbard, enjoying the way it comes alive with blue flames as I free it and lift it to the sky. Drisk flames with a roar and I feel the intense cold wash of his fire running over with a sigh of pleasure. It is an exquisite sensation, but more than that, it does exactly what I intend. The fires of the approaching gathols snuff out and as one, the wings of wyverns drop, passing below us as we fly unobstructed over them. I turn in my seat, a laugh of wonder breaking from me as a roar of triumph breaks among the wings following me, fists jabbing triumphantly into the air, as I see the younger gathols rise at the rear, the sunlight catching along the scales and wyvern wings as they twist in the air and fall into formation behind us.

“The gathols have all been rallied,” Drisk observes with pleasure and his wings catch the air, snapping us forward with greater strength so that we sail ahead straight for the palace.

My heart swells as if it is being carried on wings, but the triumphant filling is short-lived and my smile falters and is chased away by the sight of the panicked villagers fleeing beneath us. Shouts fill the air from below and weapons are hurtled at us as males cover the females who busily assist the young and the elderly inside. I stare at them in confusion as Drisk dodges one particularly well-aimed arrow. Don’t they see that we are trying to help them?

The wing formations break and scatter in the air as the gathols work hard to avoid the projectiles aimed at them, slowly following our single-minded trajectory for the palace. As none wish to harm an innocent villager, the gathols keep control over their ranks with not a single wyvern fire flaming in attack or even a threat.

I growl in frustration as we are forced to side-dive away from another projectile. Collectively, we are no longer moving forward as we roll and dive through the air to avoid being hit. Fucking Vorn. I know he is at the heart of this. Or more likely, Ajek. Someone has stirred the villagers into a panic so that they are reactively trying to attack us before we can even get to the palace defenses.

“Just one stream of fire is all it would take to send them all scurrying to safety,” Drisk complains, but I shake my head.

“No. They are already frightened. I do not think they even know who they are attacking, just like the gathols who rose to meet us. They likely have been lied to and told that an invading force is on its way. That is the only thing that makes sense. But if we attack now and the clan becomes distrusting of their own gathols, it will not survive.”

Drisk grumbles in agreement as he kicks off, glancing off the side of a cliff as he attempts to correct our course back for the palace. I bite my bottom lip in frustration as we spin through the air, silently willing for something, somewhere, to give.

Another horn cuts through the air, this one brighter, louder, and closer, and my eyes scan the peak beneath us. A sparkle of blue catches the sun, and my gaze draws immediately to it and then focuses on Linahna standing on the summoning hill just above the village, a horn pressed to her lips as it sings her demand. One by one, the villagers respond, their gazes drawn reverently to the amulet she holds above for all to see. Weapons lower in surprise and those who have hidden inside emerge from their dwellings, heading her call. Several among them fall to their knees in respect and a wail goes up, even among the younger gathol who had not yet received word, as the message is received loud and clear.

The queen is dead.

Linahna lowers her horn and stares over them, her voice rising, booming over the village in the very specific fashion that the placement of the summoning hill that allows all to clearly hear.

“I am Linahna, daughter of queen Leedra. I am the sole heir of my mother, and I reject the unlawful authority of my brother Vorn. He slowly poisoned our mother in bed and sanctioned her murder when he believed the power of our gathol to be dead. But look above… our gathols survive and they have come to tear out the poison that has been destroying our clan. By my mother’s authority, witnessing by this amulet that she gave me with her own hand, rise with me, for all orcs are warriors of old and vanquish those who hold tyranny from the palace peak!”

“Bring down the warriors of the peak,” a female shouts as she steps forward, her face horribly scarred but proud. “Bring down the violators and murderers in our midst.”

“Bring them down,” a male growls as he joins her, his fist rising to the sky. “Bring down those who feast upon the ruin of our village and clan.”

“Bring down the monsters.”

“Bring them down!”

A shout of agreement goes up and then another and my breath catches in wonder as orcs, males and females both, turn away to gather their weapons from homes and barnyards. Even burly and lean humans raised among their kind grab arms while the more vulnerable of their numbers are sent to keep watch and guard the families as the villagers boil up from the valley, their growls and shouts of anger echoing the skies above. I laugh in wonder and hold my sword to the sky, summoning the attention of the gathol to me.

“To the palace!” I cry and Drisk roars as his wings flap in rapid snaps that sends us bolting across the sky with the gathol wings in hot pursuit.

Flames spurt as the gathols descend upon Vorn’s warriors gathered on the outcroppings around the castle. Their bodies bulge and tremble with violence and with whatever the mage has dosed them with. Wyverns dive for them from above, spitting fire as the villagers attack head on, rushing forward with weapons raised as they collide with the males ill-prepared and too easily frustrated with a fight on two fronts. They rage violently as they are pulled down, the villagers hungry for their destruction as all their terrors and wounds are repaid with the swords plunged into them and limbs hacked off with blades. A wyvern swoops in to take off the head off one of Vorn’s warriors and cheer rises from those swarming him.

I wince a little but smile despite myself. This is cathartic for the clan, that much is clear, for Vorn as his warriors had brought much pain and misery even as they held the upper village under their collective thumb while wielding the gathol as a shadow of a threat against them by the authority that they pretended to hold.

Drisk bypasses the main conflict, darting over the falling warriors as his wings fold and he drops, crashing through the wide entrance of the palace. His head whips violently, his teeth catching the nearest orcs as they flee in terror from him. Just ahead, I spot Kael and the male stumbles as he pulls his cock roughly from the young woman he held pinned against a table, his terror obvious in the way he trips over his own feet in an attempt to get away from us. I shake my head in disgust and give Drisk’s strands a tap in a silent command. I slide from the wyvern’s back, leaving him to devour to his pleasure as my feet lightly hit the floor. Bouncing off the balls of my feet, I stalk toward Kael, and his eyes widen further as he focuses on the flaming sword. I smirk a little at his cowardice, but I’m not surprised. Only Kael would be here getting his prick wet while a battle rages just outside the walls.

Although I’m half his size, the orc spins and tries to run from me except the woman that he was ruthlessly fucking stretches her leg and trips him, sending him sprawling to the floor. He hits with a loud thud, but I take advantage of the opportunity presented and rush forward, lifting my sword above my head. He crosses his arms in front of him in an attempt to block me and entreaty that I completely ignore as I drive the burning blade straight through him as images of the dying queen fill my mind. A sort of peace settles into my belly as I lean there on the blade, as my previous pain at the hands of the male washes away with his blood as Drisk’s flame blasts by me, scorching a pair of orcs into a greasy black smear on the wall.

I slowly straighten, but from the corner of my eye, I catch the bright flare of a ball of magic hurtling for me and I instinctively raise my blade, striking it with all my strength. Magic explodes harmlessly around me, but my arm instantly goes numb and sags with the weight of my blade. I cry out and circle my opposite hand around my wrist in an attempt to lift my blade as the mage draws near, his eyes glowing as they narrow on me. He lifts his hand, energy cycling and pulling at me as magic begins to gather once more in his hand, only to sputter out of existence like a candle blown out as his back bows with the force of the blade driven through him. He slumps and crumples to the floor as Linahna grins victoriously behind him.

Her eyes meet mine and she jerks her head in a silent order for me to go and find Daghel. I give her a quick smile and take off across the entry, my numbed arm supported with my hand as I run, focus trained on the way to get back down to the dungeon cells as Drisk’s roars shake the surrounding palace. My gaze skims all my surroundings as I run deeper along the inner corridors of the palace, searching for the reinforced metal door that leads to the lower levels beneath the palace.

There. Found it.

I grin as I run for it, transferring my sword from my weakened hand to the other. This arm is not as strong, but it will have to suffice. If it can cut through magic chains, it should cut through a simple door like a hot knife through butter. I am nearly at the door, my sword rising as I prepare to strike, but something, or someone, plows into me with such strength that I’m thrown to the floor. I hit the stone hard, my breath expelling from my lungs with such force that I choke and gasp as I struggle to draw in a breath of air. I try to roll to my side, but a sword taps against my neck, and I freeze as my eyes lift to Ajek’s smiling face.

“Just look at what I have,” he murmurs as he sheaths his blade. “If it is not Daghel’s little mate.” He crouches down beside me and pulls my sword from my hand, the flames dying the moment he does so. He gives it a disgusted look but shrugs and lays it across his knees as he regards me. “You know, Vorn entertained some interesting ideas about you and the other gathol females. I never quite understood what drove those deviant thoughts, but I would have played along and enjoyed screwing your little cunt while your mate rotted within a prison of magic.”

He sniffs thoughtfully and grunts. “But seeing how you orchestrated this little attack, I am no longer feeling so charitable. I worked hard to get Vorn into power and seeing how you wish to ruin all of it, I have decided that my vengeance is better than fucking. Daghel took from me someone I loved very much—my son. That monster destroyed him. So now I am going to destroy you. But for it to be true justice, he must suffer like I suffered. He must watch you die before his eyes and know that there. And who knows,” he growls into my face, “just maybe I will fuck your corpse after all that while he weeps.”

His hand clamps around the back of my neck and he stands, hauling me to my feet before dragging me down into the depths of the dungeon.