The Lady Penitent

XXIV. Choice

Khagra was no stranger to being alone in the wilderness. Even the darkness was not something to fear. Being unable to navigate by stars, however, posed a definite problem. This whole place seemed designed to disorient, and thinking of the nature of elves, perhaps it was. Still, she moved through the ocean of shadow like a ghost. All she needed to do was find Ardashir and Vladan. A simple task, she told herself. With the noise a fully armored knight and Vladan make when they move through the wood, I'll find them. The words felt a little bit hollow when she reflected that she had no idea how far she'd been transported. The Vale was vast.

She hesitated when she heard voices and flattened herself against a tree, palms against the rough bark. Her breath caught in her throat at the sound of silver bells on a harness. That could only be elves. A burning anger started to surge through her veins, that orc battle-rage starting to rear its ugly head. She hated it, hated what it could make her do, so she choked it down as best she could. Control was something she had been learning from the priests of the Denah. She would use it now.

"She's more difficult than I thought she would be," a soft, silvery voice said. It sounded familiar, though it took Khagra a moment to place it: the female elf from earlier. "She'll require more than just glamor."

"Don't pout, my dear. They always give into you eventually." That voice made the anger worse. It was Vaeroth. She remembered his voice very clearly. "Though why you don't simply break them from the start is beyond me."

"One cultivates a flower before plucking it to watch it wither," Lieren said. "Regardless, a few more days and she'll not remember her name, let alone her purpose. I think I might keep her a while. They say the stamina of a demon's child is most impressive."

Khagra felt a growl coming. Holland was in more danger than she likely knew if the elf was correct. The orc pressed her lips together tightly to smother it, drawing the long knife she wore on her belt. She heard the sound of two people dismounting.

"The orc is here somewhere," Vaeroth said casually. "As for the other two, last I checked, they were well off the path as well. I wonder if they're wise enough to avoid the wisps. They might think the lights are the orc's torch."

"Orcs don't carry torches, darling. They have those horrible little animal eyes," Lieren said.

Gods, but they were going to pass right by her hiding place. The wise thing to do would be to just hide until they passed, then resume her search. However, Khagra wasn't feeling particularly wise at the moment. When she saw Vaeroth pass her, she crouched and whipped the blade out, hamstringing him. The elf let out a cry of pain and toppled. Without waiting for a reaction, the orc leaped out of her hiding place, slamming into Lieren with her body. She pinned the female elf against another tree, knife at the creature's throat. "Where is Holland?" she snarled.

"You don't want to do that," Lieren purred, layering every syllable with magic. "Lay your blade down."

Khagra felt her thoughts start to cloud and loosened her grip on her anger slightly. The elf was very powerful, but she was furious. She pressed the knife into soft flesh until blood welled up. "Where is Holland?" Her voice came as a growl and she saw the elf blanch when the spell failed.

"Vaeroth—" Lieren breathed out, reaching up to grab the orc's hand to push it away from her throat.

The weakness of elves was that no matter their magic, they really were delicate creatures. Khagra grabbed the rising hand and twisted hard, wrenching the elf's wrist back at a painful angle. She could feel absolute hate burning in her own chest, threatening to consume. "Where?" she demanded.

She heard Vaeroth coming and ducked out of the way of his fist, breaking Lieren's wrist as she moved. Fortunately for the elf, Khagra's tight grip on her damaged wrist didn't falter and pulled her out of the way of the blow that splintered wood. The orc threw the female elf to the side and focused on Lieren's infuriated companion, who had managed to heal himself until he could stand. Khagra knew she was incredibly fortunate that neither of the two seemed to be proper mages. Lieren was some manner of enchantress and Vaeroth channeled his magic into his own body. She knew of the tradition—she doubted he had the training to actually carry out the threat he'd made to Ardashir. He was njoshari, like Dunak. The orcs had their own traditions of magic that obviously came from similar roots, though they focused on defense rather than offense, making their own skin like iron and their frenzy unstoppable.