Page 42 of Agor the Merciless
The creatures paused in their attack, as if confused by the sudden change. Grak’s smile faded. Apparently, they responded to their master’s mood.
“Your name meant something once,” Agor continued. “But when you die, who will remember Grak? No one tells stories about a coward who poisoned women from a distance.”
The mage’s face darkened.
Agor took a step forward even as mud creatures climbed on him. He ignored them, keeping his eyes on the mage.
“I can change that.” He moved closer, his voice dropping to a low timbre. “Give me the cure for what hurts my bride, and I will make you a legend. I will tell every horde how Grak the Cunning brought me to my knees. I will speak your name with fear when I train new warriors. Your power will live in stories long after your body turns to dust.”
From his position on the stairs, Agor watched the orc’s face change. The anger remained, but something else appeared in his sunken eyes – hunger. The mage stood straighter, his gaze fixedon Agor. The promise of being remembered, of having his name live on in fear and respect, worked on him like its own kind of magic.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“You will tell them how I broke you!” Grak the Bitter shouted. “How the great Agor the Merciless begged for mercy from an old mage.” He pointed his staff at Agor. “Everyone will know how you knelt before me.”
Agor stood still on the steps, then understanding what the orc wanted, he dragged in a breath, pushed down his disgust, and kneeled. For effect, he even bowed his dead. The truth was that a single orc, no matter how strong and skilled, could not defeat a powerful mage in battle. He’d brought Lyra for that, but she seemed to still be busy with Durnak the Morose, so Agor had to come up with a solution on his own. For now, this was it. This was the best he had. And yes, he felt humiliated, but he knew that if he played this right, he would be the last to laugh. A real laugh, this time.
“Give me the cure,” he said. “My mate suffers while we talk.”
Grak smiled, satisfied. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small, corked vial filled with dark liquid.
“This will save your human,” he said, holding it up. “When she drinks it, the curse will leave her body, and her strength will return to her. But first, swear you will tell them. Swear you will speak my name with fear in every story.”
Agor nodded. “I swear.”
“Louder!” Grak’s eyes widened. “So all can hear! And call me Grak the Cunning. That is my name starting today.”
Agor looked around at the dead forest. No one lived here to hear his words. The mud creatures had no ears, and his grunts lay dead on the ground, their bodies broken. Rage burned in his chest, but he pushed it down. He needed the cure first. Nothing else mattered. However, when he glanced down the slope, he saw movement at the edge of the clearing. Lyra supported Durnak, her small frame bent under the weight of the injuredraider. They were alive. They would hear him beg. His pride ached at the thought, but Zoe’s life meant more than his ego.
“I swear that I will tell everyone how Grak the Cunning defeated me in battle, and I dropped to my knees to beg.”
Grak laughed. “Here is your prize!” He hurled the antidote down the steps.
The vial flew through the air and landed in the dirt near Agor, bouncing off his kneecap. It settled in the dry soil, intact. The mud creatures stopped moving. They stood still, dirt falling from their bodies as they waited for orders. Agor looked at the monsters that had killed his grunts, then at the vial that would cure Zoe. He took the vial in his big hand and stood up. The glass felt warm against his palm. He put it into the pouch at his belt and secured the flap, then looked back up at Grak. His face hardened, the muscles in his jaw tight under his green skin.
“I will tell them,” he repeated in a slow whisper.
Before Grak could catch on to what was happening, Agor ran up the stone steps, moving as fast as his tired legs could carry him. He raised his sword, ignoring the various aches in his body. While he’d negotiated with the mage, some of his power had returned. It wasn’t much. It was, in fact, the last of it, but he was going to put it to good use. Now that he had what he’d come here for, he didn’t care what happened to him.
The mage’s smile turned to shock. His mouth opened to speak, but no sound came out. He raised his staff too late, his old body slow when he needed it most. The captain reached the top, and his sword cut through the air. Metal hit flesh and bone.
Grak’s head separated from his shoulders.
The staff fell from the mage’s fingers and hit the stone. His body stood for a moment, blood coming from the severed neck, then it fell, hitting the ground with a thud. The headless corpse twitched once, then slid on the stone and rolled down the mountainside. It bounced against rocks until it stopped amongthe remains of Agor’s grunts. The mud creatures began to fall apart, turning back into piles of dirt as the magic left them. Grak’s head rolled down the slope next, stopping at the foot of the wall, a few feet away from the body. The eyes stared upward, now blank and empty.
Agor looked at what remained of the mage who had once been part of his horde. His family. Killing him had been necessary. By separating the head from the body, he made sure no magic would ever heal Grak. No spell could fix what his blade had cut. Grak the Bitter – not the Cunning – was truly dead. He wiped his sword on his pant leg and put it away, checked that the vial was safe in his pouch, then started down the steps.
Lyra and Durnak met their captain where the steps ended. Durnak held his ribs with one hand, pain showing on his face with each step. They stopped when they saw the bodies of the grunts on the ground, their eyes wide.
“Can you stand on your own?” Lyra asked Durnak.
He nodded and let go of her shoulder. Lyra ran to the first grunt and knelt beside him. She pressed her hands to his chest, then to his neck. Her fingers moved to his face, touching his skin, looking for any sign of life. After a minute, she moved to the second grunt and did the same. Her hands glowed blue as she tried to push magic into his body. She worked over both bodies for several minutes, moving back and forth, trying different spells. At last, she sat back on her heels and looked up at Agor. She shook her head.
“I’m sorry, captain. They’re gone.”
“It’s not your fault.”
The raider walked to the young mage and took her arm, helping her stand. Her body shook from using too much magic. He put his arm around her shoulders, ignoring his own pain to support her. He looked at Agor, too, his face hard. The two orcs watched each other. After years of fighting side by side, Agorsaw judgment in Durnak’s eyes for the first time. His second in command did not agree with what happened here today.
