Page 43 of Agor the Merciless
Agor knew Durnak and Lyra had reached the clearing in time to hear his exchange with Grak. They had seen him make a promise, then kill the mage after getting what he wanted. They had watched him behead Grak without honor or warning. His word meant nothing now, at least not to them. He kept his voice flat, leaving no room for argument.
“Grak was a cancer. I cut him out. What happened here, stays here. No one will speak of it. That is my command.”
Lyra looked from the raider to the captain. “But…”
“No one speaks of it,” Agor said. “The horde will know that Grak the Bitter died in battle. Nothing more.”
The mage opened her mouth again, then closed it. She was confused, and it took her a moment to understand that the captain was asking them to lie. The sudden tension she felt in Durnak’s body pressed to her side told her that he shared her confusion.
Agor turned his back on them. “We will go and get the krags. We need to bring our fallen warriors home.”
He started walking toward the edge of the dead mage’s land. The air felt better already. With Grak gone, the trees and ground would heal. It was already happening. Agor’s muscles hurt less with each step. His strength came back.
He didn’t look back at his mage and his raider, knowing they would eventually fall in line, no matter what they thought about what he did. He was their captain. He was not to be questioned; he was to be followed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
All the orcs stopped their work at the sight of the returning party. Several ran forward as Agor, Lyra, and Durnak arrived with the bodies of the two dead grunts tied across the backs of their krags. Tarn and Grol reached them first, followed by others. They lifted the wrapped bodies. No one spoke as the fallen warriors were carried to the center and placed on the ground.
Pira the Forager approached with flowers in her hands. She knelt beside the bodies and arranged the flowers around them, muttering words too quiet to hear. The horde formed a circle, heads bowed, fists pressed to their chests. Not a single tear fell – orcs never cried – as they stood in respect for the dead.
Hestra stepped into the circle.
“We will bury them tomorrow, when the sun rises.”
The others nodded in agreement. Two younger orcs gathered sticks and leather strips and began to build a platform for the dead to rest until morning. It was a tradition they knew well, and they didn’t need instructions.
Agor the Merciless swung his leg over his krag and dropped to the ground. A waiting grunt took the reins from his hand and led the animal away. Across the clearing, Lyra talked with a group of older orcs, her voice low. Durnak stood by the main fire, arms moving as he told the story of the battle to a circle of warriors. The raider stopped speaking when he noticed Agor looking at him. They stared at each other across the camp. Durnak’s face hardened. He didn’t agree with what had happened back there, and his message came through loud and clear. The raider turned back to his audience, shoulders stiff as he continued his story.
This problem would need handling later. Agor touched the pouch at his belt, feeling the vial inside. He walked to the garage,passing orcs who lowered their heads but didn’t speak to him. He stopped at the entrance, taking a moment before stepping in.
The garage smelled of oil, metal, and sweat. Zoe bent over the workbench, gripping a wrench as she worked on a bolt. Her clothes were too big for her body, she breathed in short bursts, and her hands shook as she turned the wrench.
Gathering his courage to face her, Agor finally walked in, his heavy boots making small clouds of dust lift off the dirt floor. Zoe straightened up when she heard him coming, putting the wrench down. Her face was thin and tired. She looked worse than when he had left, but when she recognized him, her eyes brightened. He stopped in front of her, reached into his pouch, and took out the vial, holding it in his open hand.
“Zoe.”
She took the vial without thinking twice. She had a million questions, but no time to ask them. She saw that he was covered in dirt and blood, that new wounds and scars peppered his arms, chest, and legs, but the cure was more important. The dark liquid moved inside the glass. Zoe removed the cork and put the vial to her lips. She drank everything in one swallow.
For a moment, nothing happened. She dropped the vial and placed both hands on the bench, her head dropped low, trying to focus on her own body. The change started subtly. Coolness moved from her middle into her arms and legs, the burning in her skin went away, and her muscles relaxed one after another. Her mind cleared, thoughts becoming easier to grasp in a coherent manner. She took a full breath for the first time in days. The pain she had lived with disappeared, leaving her calm. She could feel her body becoming her own again, and that sensation was like a blessing.
“Thank you,” she said.
She flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders, and looked up at the orc captain. Her mate. Her smile faded when she realizedthat, as they stood face to face, they seemed to have grown apart somehow. The enchanted salve had been more than a pleasure. It had been the foundation of everything between them. Each time they touched, each kiss and embrace had been controlled by the ointment, which made her want him more, made her beg him to possess her. Now that effect was gone, and Zoe faced a question she couldn’t answer: what remained?
She thought back to their nights together. The heat, the need, the desperation – how much of that had been real? How much had been her own desire, and how much the product of something rubbed into her skin? The uncertainty made her stomach tight. She had no memory of wanting him before he first applied the mixture. She had no way to know if she wanted him now.
She watched him watch her, and it struck her that he was probably thinking the same things.
“Agor... what now?”
He shook his head, signaling he didn’t have an answer. His mouth opened, then closed. His hands remained at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. His eyes dropped to the floor. What could he offer her now? How could he touch her without the balm that had connected them? Would she even want him to try? The questions piled up in his mind, and he had no answers for any of them. The guilt stopped him from speaking, creating a knot in his throat. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, so he did the only thing that made sense: he turned away. He walked to the entrance and stepped outside without looking back, leaving Zoe stunned. At least she’d thanked him and tried to ask… Meanwhile, he had nothing left to give her. He was just relieved that she was okay, and he needed… he needed a few moments to himself.
Zoe stood alone in the garage. She was cured of the magic sickness, but now she didn’t know who they were to each other anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three days passed. The dead were buried, the orcs returned to their work, various tasks, and patrols, and life continued. But everything had changed.
