Frost Fang screamed from its scabbard as Mira leapt in front of Echo.
Finally, something she could put a face to in that damned forest. Not a plant that projected images of her childhood eyrie or a grove of trees reminding her of her crime. Faces. Ones she could partly see through. But faces nonetheless.
Healer’s hulking form was quickly at her side. Holy light pulsed through him as prayers to Estoria muttered across his lips.
The knight may not have understood what he was saying, but she’d heard those prayers before. They were the same ones he called at the roots of Mama’s Tree in the Larris Marsh. The same he used to blast that thing from existence.
The ghostly paladin raised a halting hand as he stepped to the front of the group of apparitions. “Hold, priest of Estoria, champion seed.”
Champion seed? Mira’s brow furrowed. Healer’s a divine champion? But I didn’t think Estoria summoned those. Glancing to him and the golden light pulsing through his being as he connected to his goddess, her lips twisted. Guess that explains a few things.
“We seek no violence.” The ghost continued as he touched his other hand to the holy symbol emblazed on his armor. “I am the shade left behind of the one once called Orvok, champion of His Holiness, Maldroon the Just, and these were his companions, the wizard Ilana, Father Carlon, and—”
“Ermay,” the half-elf interrupted as she shoved her way past him, raising a hand for a handshake that could never come. “Heh,” she laughed at the reflex. “Sorry. Force of habit. Kind of forget that whole corporeality thing…”
Vadanian raised an eyebrow. “How long of a while?”
“Impossible to say, I’m afraid,” said Father Carlon. “Days blend together. At least a few years, I’d surmise.”
Reaching up, Orvok unclasped his helm and removed it.
The air caught in Mira’s chest. Never had she seen one of his kind before. None of them had! Thick, black hair, blazing red eyes, a greenish-gray complexion, and tusks.
Orc. Orvork was an orc!
“Be not frightened by my form,” Orvok apologized. “I know well the evils my father’s people have brought upon the world.”
“It’s not that,” Vadanian scarcely muttered. “It’s just that, when you said, ‘A while,’ you weren’t kidding.”
Orvok cocked his head.
Echo slipped to Mira’s side. “I’m sorry, Sir Orvok,” she began apologetically. “It’s only that—” She took her lip in her teeth, the duty of explaining twisting her features as she searched for what to say. “Your kind, the orcs, they… they were destroyed. Killed to the last centuries ago.”
The look that swept across the paladin’s face was unreadable. Part surprise. Part relief. Part… sorrow?
“How?” he breathed.
“The Crescent Bow, mate,” said Vadanian. “They brought war upon the tribes in the name of the Galacians. So many died; it forced Garutal to manifest physically. Melias, the Shadow Seeker, I think you called him back then, turned out he was the last of the Galacians. Fired one arrow. Put it right through his heart. And that was it.”
“Without their creator god, they couldn’t exist,” said Healer. “Every orc just ceased to be all at once. Not dead. Unmade. Even the folk that was only part orc, half of them just up and vanished, and the other half, they transformed fully into their other parent’s kind.”
“Not to sound rude, sir knight, but,” Echo looked him up and down, “it’s quite shocking you exist at all.”
Taking in their words, the paladin’s eyes drifted closed.
His companions closed ranks around him. Even in death, their bond was palpable. There was no telling how many friends they’d lost in their days.
“I see,” he eventually said.
Ermay stroked his back comfortingly. “You okay, big guy?”
He nodded. Slowly. Contemplatively.
“Surely, my persisting is the doing of His Holiness,” he assured himself. “I’d always hoped my people could be free of our creator’s influence. It’s clear, however, that time and chances ran out, but if the Just One has chosen to keep my shade here, then there must be a reason.”
Raising his head, he offered the softest smile of acceptance. “We’d come to present ourselves, as we do to all travelers who make it so far into this accursed forest, to offer our services as a night watch.” Looking to Echo’s mystical cabin, he permitted himself a soft laugh. “Clearly such is not needed of us.”
Ilana stepped forward; she bowed her head to Echo as a fellow wizard. “Figured it was the right thing to do. We died in this forest because we overestimated our abilities and underestimated its. Now we’re trapped. The last thing we want is for more souls to join us.”
“We do what we can, but…” Ermay shrugged. “There’s only so many times you can scream, ‘Wake up!’ before it’s too late.”
“Come, friends,” Father Carlon said to his companions. “Let us trouble them no longer. There might still be others within the forest this night.”
The priest’s flickering form turned to leave. As silently as they arrived, they moved to depart the camp. Guilt gnawed at Mira’s insides. But what could she do? They were already dead.
“Hold on a mo’,” Healer called after them.
They stopped to look back at him. Weariness wore upon their features. Even in death, the burden they’d placed upon themselves pressed on them.
“You said you died in this place? I mean, pretty obvious, but you don’t know why you ain’t moved on yet?” Healer continued.
Father Carlon sighed. “I’m afraid the forest won’t permit it.”
“Bollocks,” Healer grunted.
Mira’s wings flared at his rudeness. Head whipping to him, the muscles in her neck stiffened as she fought the urge to yell at him.
“I don’t give one bloody damn what some overgrown hedge maze will or won’t permit,” he continued before she could. “Now I can’t speak for the others, but if there’s some way I can help you pass on, I’m here to hear.”
“Well, I can speak for myself and my knight,” Echo interjected. “So let’s hear it.”
“Pastor.” Father Carlon shook his head. “My lady. We couldn’t possibly ask such a thing.”
“Besides,” Ermay grumbled. “It’s not like we even know how we died exactly.”
Healer cocked his head. “You don’t remember?”
The four ghosts shook their heads.
“I went first,” Ilana confirmed. “Didn’t even know we were under attack.”
“All I remember was something sticky hitting me,” Ermay muttered. “It burned like hell. Barely got the chance to scream before I was gone.”
“It was big,” said Father Carlon. “The only thing I saw was a huge mass coming down on me, and the sound of every bone in my body being ground to dust.”
“I’d not the chance to draw steel before a great wall of teeth engulfed me.” Orvok’s head fell in shame. “I’m afraid that’s all we can tell you. Our shades refuse to persist near where we fell. If we approach too close, we flicker out and reappear at the edge of the swamp.”
Mira’s heart went out to the paladin. To die in battle avenging allies was one thing. A good death. An honorable death. But to not even get the chance to draw his sword? As a fellow knight, she couldn’t imagine how long it must’ve weighed on him.
A tear slid down Echo’s cheek. “How horrid.”
Healer stroked his chin contemplatively. “I’m afraid there won’t be no way to avenge you. Whatever it was what ambushed you’s gotta be long dead by now. But I could see about finding your remains. Might only be a few bones left now but.” He nodded. “But at least I can give you a proper burial.”
“We,” Echo corrected him. “Mira and I will accompany you.”
Rosalie scoffed. “Well, you’re mental if you think I’ll let you three go without me!”
“Fine,” Vadanian groaned. “But just so you know, I’m charging you another fifty quid when we get back for this diversion.”
Echo inclined her head to him. “Duly noted.” Turning back to the ghosts, she offered the weakest smile. “If you would be so kind as to point us in the correct direction, we can begin our search in the morning.”
Pain filled Orvok’s face. “We can’t ask—”
“Look,” Healer interrupted. “Do you really think this is a negotiation? I couldn’t live with myself knowing I didn’t at least try. I serve the Lady of the Harvest, and it’s her will to help those who’ve passed on to Shadow’s domain.”
Orvok opened his mouth to protest, only to be met with Ermay’s hand on his chest.
“Save it, tusks,” she chided him. “This lot’s a few fireflies short of a summer’s night. There won’t be no reasoning with them.”
“I’m afraid she’s right, old friend,” said Father Carlon.
“We’ll lead you as close as we can, but once we flicker out…” Ilana shrugged.
“Swear to me you’ll not tarry long in this accursed place,” Orvok muttered. “This burden isn’t yours, and my shade would be damned if anything were to happen to you.”
“Half a day,” Echo offered. “We’ll search for half a day. If we can’t find your remains, we’ll move on. Sound fair?”
“I’d prefer nothing more than you leave us, but if these are your terms,” Orvok nodded, “then aye.”
Turning his head to the dense canopy overhead, Vadanian’s eyes narrowed as he assessed the time. “If it’s decided, then we’d best be making our way inside. We’ve a long day ahead of us, la?”
“Rest well, friends,” said Father Carlon. “I know your mage’s spell will keep you safe, but we’ll post watch nevertheless.”
“Sleep’s a luxury of the living.” Ermay winked. “Gives us something to do.”
Centuries. It was the one shared thought among Mira and the others as they retired into Echo’s magical cabin. Those four had wandered the forest for centuries. And not merely the sort that boggled human minds. They predated the extinction of the orcs.
Vadanian couldn’t begin to fathom the concept, let alone Mira. Not even the most ancient elves knew of Garutal’s tribes beyond the stories passed down by their grandparents. Yet they’d persisted in the depths of the Falefal since before that.
“You do realize,” the nu-sadis murmured to break the silence, “that this is a fool’s errand? Bones that old’ll be buried deep.”
“Better to try and fail than not try at all,” said Healer.
“Maybe.” Vadanian groaned. “But I don’t like the idea of giving them false hope.”
“You heard, Sir Orvok,” Echo whispered into her stew, unable to meet anyone’s eye. “He’d rather we leave them than endanger ourselves. We can at least give them a few hours of poking around.”
Mira sighed. “Is there anything in your spell book that could help, my lady?”
Echo shook her head. “Doubtful, I’m afraid. It would require training in necromancy far beyond what I’ve received. Detecting such ancient…”
Brow pinching, she trailed off. Her lips began moving wordlessly. Mira straightened in her seat. She knew that look. And moreover, she knew not to interrupt someone when they were on to something.
“He was a champion,” Echo muttered to herself. Jerking up, she turned wide-eyed to Mira. “Orvok! In his day, he was the Champion of Maldroon!”
“Does that mean you have a spell that can find him?” said Mira.
“No,” said Echo. “I’m afraid not. He,” she slowly turned to Healer, “on the other hand…”
Healer backed away slowly. “Wait now, your ladyship. That’s not how that prayer’s intended to work.”
“Mr. Priest, sir?” said Rosalie.
“There’s a prayer I could try,” Healer admitted. “It allows us to confirm an awoken Champion’s Seed. Not locate one.”
“Yes, but if we can just get close enough, it could work!” Echo cheered.
“Maybe. Could.” He stressed both words. “But you’re missing the bigger part, your grace. He’s been dead for centuries. Just because his shade persists don’t mean the seed is still active.”
Her feathers puffed with pride at her brilliance. “Have you heard of another champion of Maldroon?”
“No,” he admitted. “But that’s the other problem. I serve Lady Estoria. Not Lord Maldroon. Even if I was right on top of a champion, there’s no guarantee the prayer will even work for anyone but hers!”
Taking his hand, she turned her magenta eyes pleadingly upon him. “But it could.”
Groaning heavily, Healer’s shoulders fell. “Dogs with bones ain’t got nothing on birds with ideas.” Shaking his head, he relented. “I’ll try, but that’s all I can do.”
“And that’s all I’m asking, pastor.”
He lifted his stew bowl to his lips and gulped it down in two breaths. “I best be turning in. I’ll need all the sleep I can get if I’m gonna try to pull this one off. Sleep well, friends.”
“We won’t be long behind, old man,” said Vadanian. “My gut’s telling me, this’ll be more than fifty quid worth of diversion.”
Slowly they retired to their rooms but rest refused Mira.
She lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Even safe inside the magical cabin, she couldn’t get the images the forest had shown her out of her head.
Vivvy stuck with her over some law she didn’t know existed. Echo half dead on the soul-sucking muck of plague-struck swamp town. Watching helplessly as Rosalie bled out amid a burning camp. Blood. Always blood. Everywhere she went. Always… Charek…
Murderer!
“Mira?” Echo’s voice was barely a breath. “Are you awake, my knight?”
As quietly as she could, Mira drew a breath and forced a smile upon her lips.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Are…” The duchess paused, but in that pause meaning no words could convey were spoken. Worry. Real concern that couldn’t be conveyed through speech alone. “Are you alright?”
“Mmhmm,” Mira confirmed.
There was no way the knight could deny it. Her reply came too fast. A lie that tolled like a bell in the night. An answer rehearsed and performed so often that it had lost all authenticity and become nothing more than a hollow husk of sincerity.
The cot next to her creaked as Echo shifted in it. Even in the dark, Mira could feel the dawn plumed zephyra’s magenta eyes trembling as they sought her lying there.
“Mir—?”
“I’ve seen a lot of things, my lady.” Mira pressed her palms to her eyes. “Lots of things I don’t want to remember. But this forest—” She shook her head. “With any luck, we’ll find something that I can stab properly tomorrow. Get some sort of revenge on this gods-damned place.”
Soft fingers brushed her forearm. Sliding up and down its length in search of her hand, Echo at last found it and pressed them into her grip.
“I’m here, my kni… dear.” Echo’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “I’ll not pretend I can guess all of what you’ve seen, but… but if you need to talk, I’m here.”
Mira’s heart quivered. Not for love or desire, nor want or anything else. It was a pinch in her chest. The stab of guilt she’d lived with for fifteen years. Since home. Since Charek. Since the blood began.
Her fingers trembled in Echo’s grip. And for the first time, she didn’t feel like the strong one. She was weak. Weaker than the orange tabby form Rosalie wore as she slept next to the fire in the main room. So weak that she couldn’t resist the pull of the petite duchess as she slipped from her cot to sit next to her knight. So weak she couldn’t stop her from pulling her hand from her face. So weak that she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. So weak that there was nothing she could do as her mistress pressed her hand to her cheek before laying her head next to hers to sleep there on the floor the rest of the night.
