The Broken Song

Chapter Twenty-Eight

—Kiverryn—

There were times when Ori reminded Lulu so much of Aunt Teryn. Her pretty smile, her gentle and kind nature. Aunt Teryn was, without a doubt, one of the best people who had ever lived. Lulu would dare anyone to find someone with a better heart, more courage, or a more generous spirit. Aunt Teryn would win that contest, every time. But Ori walked in her mother's footsteps. It was easy to see the relation.

But there were other times, when Ori scared the utter shit out of her. They were the times when her Ralia blood, the gentle kindness that endeared her to so many people, was overshadowed by the strength of the Tor'Varyan spirit within her. She could be fierce, unforgiving, and ruthless when the situation demanded it. Ori possessed her father's tactical mind, his brutal fighting spirit. And there were times when Lulu looked at her and saw a war commander.

This moment was undeniably the latter.

The situation in Lower Town had been described as utterly hopeless. It would take weeks, perhaps months, to fully restore order, and then, rebuilding would take—no one could guess how long. The Lower Town Guard had been overwhelmed for the last two months, unable to maintain order, unable to offer justice to the victims suffering while the Crown turned its back. The plague had infested the residents, people were disappearing at an alarming rate, and still more were turning up dead. Law and order had vanished in this forgotten part of the city. Nothing could return hope to these suffering masses.

Except Ori.

Lulu had watched as Ori and the Light Wardens marched through the gates of Lower Town, and with little more than her will, she set about setting things to rights. Her first task had been to face a man known as Garren the Butcher, a local thug who had taken matters into his own hands. He had ruled these streets with an iron fist. A tall, heavy-fisted man with a shaved head, a ridiculously thin, pointed moustache, and muscles larger than Lulu's head, he had tried to intimidate Ori on physical size alone. He seemed not to care that she wielded a staff. He would remove her from Lower Town regardless of her magic, he claimed.

Yet, Ori hadn't bested him with magic, or even steel. Lulu had thought her insane, as she first laid down her staff and then her father's blade. Ori was the smallest of the family, standing only slightly above five feet, with toned muscles from years of sword practice to be sure, but she looked to be at a distinct disadvantage. Which was why Garren the Butcher had laughed at Ori when she approached.

Unfortunately for him, it would be the last time he laughed in a long, long time.

Without a word, Ori had laid the large man low, her every strike precise to inflict the maximum damage. Nothing of her mother had been in that fight. Every movement, every blow, had come from her father's teachings. And when the Butcher hit the ground, his face bloody, arm broken, and throat crushed, it felt as though the entire city went silent.

And then, a howling, cackling laugh.

It was an old woman that approached. Her face was wrinkled and mottled from too many years spent beneath a hot sun. Her skin was graying beneath a pale, blotchy complexion while red, irritated eyes remained fixed on Ori. She shuffled down the dirty street, bare feet blackened with all the muck of the city. Her fingers matched her feet, cracked nails crusted with blood and grime. Long gray hair, tattered and tangled, brushed gently about her shoulders.

Her appearance cast a ripple of fear into Lower Town. Fully armed guardsmen were scrambling back in an effort to get away from her, mothers were shielding their children behind their backs, and husbands were trying to angle their families away. The fear was palpable.