Page 32 of Agor the Merciless
“The ointment contains poison. We need Grak to break its hold on you completely,” she said, closing the leather-bound tome. She’d studied it thoroughly, and knew what had to be done.
“I will find him,” the captain said.
“You shouldn’t go by yourself.” Lyra started rummaging around her workshop, taking pouches and bottles from the shelves and placing them in a leather bag. “Grak will have set traps all around his territory.” She turned to Zoe. “You need to stay here and let your body fight the magic still inside you. Your blood has to push out what doesn’t belong.”
Zoe nodded, more and more aware that the feeling she’d been having lately that she was dying was, in fact, accurate. Grak the Bitter stole her strength while she grew weaker, and each time she begged for the ointment, she gave him more power. She tried to breathe but couldn’t get enough air. She still wanted the salve even if it killed her, and that scared her. Her fingers dug into the blanket as she looked around the small room. She couldn’t get away, couldn’t run, couldn’t hide. The need for the ointment and her fear of death filled her mind, until all she wanted was to escape from her own body. Her brain was starting to become foggy, and the fog increased until she could swear there was only darkness churning between her temples.
Chapter Seventeen
The jar had to be somewhere in this room, hidden among Lyra’s herbs, potions, and books. Zoe stood from the cot on unsteady legs and looked at the shelves, while her skin burned and her muscles twitched. The darkness in her mind was relentless. What if they were exaggerating about the poison in the salve? That damn mixture was the only thing that mattered to her. Lyra must have hidden it, and Zoe would search until she found it. She was vaguely aware that she wasn’t thinking or behaving normally, but the hunger inside her every cell won.
“Where is it. What did you do with it?” Not ever her voice was her own anymore.
The mage stepped behind her workbench. Agor moved closer, his hands in front of him, trying to stop Zoe in case she wanted to do something stupid, like hurt herself somehow.
“No!” Zoe screamed. “You can’t keep it from me!”
“Zoe, please,” the captain said. “The ointment is killing you.”
“You don’t understand.” She pointed at Lyra while looking at Agor. “Tell her the truth. Tell her how we need it, how it connects us when nothing else can.”
Agor shook his head. “The ointment carries Grak’s curse. It drains your life with every use.”
“Lies!” She took a step forward. “You want to take away the only good thing I found here, the only thing that makes me feel something… something…”
Lyra moved in front of a row of containers. “The magic changes how you think. These aren’t your thoughts.”
“Then whose are they? I came here for him.” She looked at the orc captain again, uncertain whether she loved him or hated him. “The salve brought us together.” Her eyes moved around the room, over the table and the shelves. “Just tell me where you put it. I need just enough to make the pain stop.”
The mage shook her head. “The ointment creates the pain. Each time it touches your skin, the magic takes more life and makes your body crave more.”
Zoe felt heat in her arms and legs. Her muscles grew stronger, which shouldn’t have happened after weeks of not eating much. She felt a rush of adrenaline and decided not to squander it. She lunged forward. Her arm swept across Lyra’s workbench, sending glass containers to the floor. Plants and powders spilled everywhere, a book fell open, pages tearing. Screaming in frustration, she pulled a parchment from the wall and ripped it down.
“I know it’s here!” She opened drawers and turned over baskets, spilling everything. “What did you do with it?”
“Stop this!” Lyra caught a falling bottle.
Agor blocked Zoe from reaching a cabinet. “That’s enough.”
She ignored him and pushed both hands against his chest. He fell backwards into a shelf as pots and bowls crashed down around him. While he tried to get up, Zoe ran past him through the tunnel. He couldn’t believe she had actually managed to knock him off his feet. The sudden strength coursing through her was not natural, and he exchanged a terrified look with the mage.
Meanwhile, Zoe’s bare feet hit the cold stone with unexpected force as she ran through the mountain. The passage opened to the main cavern, and three orcs looked up and stepped away as she ran past them. She didn’t slow down, didn’t even think about how she looked and what they thought about her.
Night air touched her face as she left the cave. She ran past the tanning racks and krag pens, beyond the clearing, into the trees. Branches scratched her arms, and roots caught her toes as she pushed deeper and deeper into the forest, where she hoped no one could find her or stop her.
***
Agor the Merciless stood frozen in the middle of the mess his human mate had made. Broken glass and spilled herbs covered the floor of Lyra’s workshop. He looked at his hands, then at the shelf he had crashed into when Zoe pushed him. No human had ever moved him before, not even slightly. Warriors in his horde, orcs twice his size, had tried and failed to make him step back during training sessions, yet Zoe had shoved him across the room with her small hands. He thought about it over and over, his brain stuck in a loop. The curse gave her unnatural strength, but only when it came to her searching desperately for her next fix. A human woman who had grown thinner over weeks shouldn’t have been able to push an orc captain.
A shadow fell across the entrance to the mage’s chamber. Durnak the Morose stood there, watching silently. His eyes moved from the scattered books to his captain, taking in the situation without comment.
“Captain.” Durnak’s voice broke the silence.
“What is it?” Agor asked.
“I saw her. She ran out of the cave and into the forest. I know which direction she went.”
Agor looked up, his thoughts clearing. The confusion about Zoe’s strength didn’t matter now. What mattered was finding her before something happened to her in the woods. Before she hurt herself.
