| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
.
| Written by Barbara Davies / Artwork by Holly Eddy |
| Make a donation to this writer |
| Orc For Hire |
Argred glanced up at the swinging sign—a sword and a battle-axe—then pushed open the tavern door. Heads turned to
watch her and an uneasy silence fell as she made her way between the tables and chairs.
She placed both hands palm down on the counter, to show she wanted no trouble. "Ale," she told the bartender, a middle-
aged human with bushy eyebrows.
For a moment she thought he was going to refuse to serve an orc, then he grunted, grabbed a drinking cup, and reached
for the cask. As the ale flowed, she hoped his cups were cleaner than his apron. Around the taproom, the chatter resumed.
The barman plonked the cup in front of her. He'd been miserly with the contents, she noticed.
"Two coppers."
"How much?" Her hand froze half way to her belt satchel.
"Take it or leave it."
Scowling, she counted out the coins.
Argred took her drink to an empty table and brooded about money, or rather the lack of it. Her comrades in arms had
prospered since they'd split the spoils and disbanded the company last year. Karguk now ran a gambling den, Gunug had
bought a half share in a thriving diamond mine, and even Opoguk hadn't done too badly for herself, opening a brothel for
orcs that was fast becoming a going concern. Argred, however… She sighed. Somehow, money always seemed to flow
through her fingers.
Selling her horse was not an option—it would take too much time and effort to train another one to tolerate an orc. What
she needed was a job, and fast. But the jeers and catcalls of the castle's watchmen still rang in her ears.
"Join the castle watch? You must be joking." The watch captain's gaze raked her from head to toe. "Lord Ormain don't like
orcs. Says they'll stab you in the back as soon as look at you… No offence." He gave a sly grin. "Slopping out chamber
pots might suit you better." Ribald comments from his men accompanied the suggestion. "Have a word with the
housekeeper. There's always plenty of call for chambermaids. Even ugly ones."
She flushed at the memory. How she had managed to resist slitting his throat from ear to ear was a mystery. She took
another gulp of ale. She could afford a meal or a bed for the night but not both.
Face it, Argred. You're never going to have enough coin to buy that stud farm you've always dreamed of.
"Excuse me."
She came back to her surroundings. The thin woman in the grey shawl who had been going from table to table meeting
brusque refusals was standing next to her.
"Go away," Argred growled. "I've no coin to spare."
"I'm not a beggar!" the woman protested, her cheeks flushing. "I want to hire you."
"Leave her alone, Mila," a soldier with one eye called. "Even orcs have better things to do than listen to a widow's paranoid
ramblings."
From the grunts of agreement, shaking of heads, and rolling of eyes, this wasn't the first time Mila had pestered the
regulars of the Sword and Axe.
Curiosity and her depleted purse made Argred gesture to the empty chair opposite. Mila sat and adjusted her shawl.
"Scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren't you?" Argred said.
Mila glanced at the other veterans. "At least you still have all your limbs."
True. But it had been a close run thing, and Argred had the scars to prove it. She cocked her head. "You don't look the
type to be hiring mercenaries."
"I need someone who can look after himself…or herself. I'm not fussy."
"I can do that," Argred agreed. "But I don't come cheap. So?" She rested her elbows on the table. "What do you want?
Someone intimidated? Killed maybe?"
Mila blinked at her. "I don't know yet."
Argred frowned.
"It's about my son, Jero."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This Jero had probably been caught sowing his wild oats where he shouldn't and…
"He's one of Lady Dothea's attendants, and just lately… Well, it's as though he's wasting away before my very eyes."
Argred ran a hand across her crest—some orcs wore their crests long, but she kept hers stubble-short. "Sounds to me like
you need an apothecary not a mercenary."
"Do you think I'm a fool?" Mila looked indignant. "That was the first thing I tried. He charged me five coppers to examine
Jero and couldn't find anything wrong."
"You think he's lying?"
Mila shrugged. "He said that about Mondo too."
Argred looked a question.
"My oldest boy," Mila said. "He…he died two months ago." Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "Faded away almost to
nothing. It was his job that Jero inherited."
"I'm sorry."
"And now the same thing's happening to Jero."
Argred considered. "Could he be lovesick?"
Mila shook her head. "He dotes on his mistress, that's true. But the lovelorn lose their appetites, don't they? If anything he's
eating more."
"A vampire then?" It was a long shot but…
"No puncture marks," said Mila. "And the garlic necklace I gave him made no difference. No. It's something else."
"I see. Does anyone else share his symptoms?"
"Not to the same extent." She fiddled with her shawl. "I went to see Lord Ormain's steward, to ask him to investigate, but
he says I'm seeing dark deeds where there are none." She frowned. "Jero was furious. Said I could have got him fired. He
loves his job, you see. With him it's all 'Lady Dothea this' and 'Lady Dothea that'." She sniffed.
"You don't like this Lady Dothea, I take it?"
"No." Mila sighed. "I'm probably doing her an injustice, blaming her but… My boys were fine until she arrived."
Curious. Argred made a mental note.
"No one else will take me seriously." Mila held her gaze. "Which is why I need your help." She produced a small purse and
placed it on the table. "Will this do for a retainer?"
Argred loosened the drawstrings and peered inside. She smiled and tucked the purse in her belt satchel. "You've got
yourself a mercenary."
***
Argred groaned and sat up. Her head throbbed and her mouth was as stale as the bartender's apron. Blearily she took in her
surroundings: the attic room with its sloping ceiling; the tiny window with the broken shutter; the rickety bedside table on
which lay her weapons, belt satchel, and a drawstring purse.
The last item brought memory rushing back.
She rose, poured water into the basin, washed, and considered the job she had accepted. The widow's money was
welcome, the task less so, especially when seen in the cold light of day. Intimidation, a good fight, those were Argred's
stock in trade, not investigating mysteries.
She toweled her face dry. I'll give the widow her money back and move on to the next town. Maybe there…
She winced, remembering. The drawstring purse was already half empty, its contents spent purchasing more ale, a decent
supper, stabling for Argred's horse, and this cramped room.
Looks like I'll have to go through with the job after all.
What had been the son's name? Jero, wasn't it? He worked at the castle, which made it the obvious place to start. She
needed to find a way in. But how?
Then Argred had it. She sighed. Sometimes the orc gods had a very evil sense of humor.
***
Argred followed the castle's plump housekeeper, glad none of her old comrades could see her. The shabby grey dress and
apron was no substitute for her leather tunic and breeches, and she felt naked without her sword, though the throwing
knife strapped to her back, under her dress, provided some comfort.
"Argred, is it?" the housekeeper asked.
She grunted assent.
"Previous experience?"
"A little," she lied.
They hurried along a passageway then down a spiral staircase. From the cooking smells wafting their way, they were
heading for the kitchen.
"I'll be frank," resumed the housekeeper, panting a little from the exertion. "I wouldn't have taken on an orc, especially one
with little experience, but we're short staffed at present." She glanced at Argred. "Lord Ormain is very particular. He
spends most of his time in bed, but don't think he won't notice if you skimp on the cleaning. And if he doesn't, his
manservant will. Upton won't hesitate to complain if he catches you shirking."
"What's wrong with his lordship?" Argred asked.
Surprised eyes scanned her face. "New to these parts?"
Argred nodded.
"He's been ill for months. Used to be a strapping fellow. Not a day's illness in his life. Just goes to show you." There was a
certain relish in her tone. "One day you're fit as a flea, the next…"
"What ails him?"
The housekeeper shrugged. "I've lost count of the surgeons, leeches, and apothecaries who have come to take a look at
him. Useless, the lot of them." She quickened her pace. "They say it's not disease or poison. Not vampires, either. So what
does that leave? A curse? Oh, I should warn you. His lordship is too ill to get to the privy unassisted. He needs his
chamber pot emptied frequently, and you'll likely be called on to put fresh sheets on his bed at least once a day."
Argred stifled a grimace.
They came to the bottom of the staircase, but instead of turning towards the kitchen, the housekeeper headed outdoors.
"So who's in charge while Lord Ormain's ill?" Argred asked.
"Lady Dothea, with the steward's help, of course. Good thing she's sharp witted. Here's where you'll be bringing the
slops."
They emerged into the open, into a large cobbled yard with a cesspit at one end.
"Mops, brooms, cleaning stuff are kept in there." The housekeeper pointed to a little outbuilding then wiped her palms on
her apron with an air of finality. "I'll get one of the other chambermaids to show you the rest of what's what, and then
you're on your own."
***
The woman approaching Argred was beautiful as humans go. She was tall, her blue silk gown clung to a lushly
curvaceous figure, and raven tresses, kept in order by a delicate silver circlet, cascaded to her waist.
"Lady Dothea?" Argred whispered to her fellow chambermaid, a sturdy but rather plain young human named Lita.
"That's right," Lita whispered. "You want to keep in her good books."
They curtseyed as Lord Ormain's wife swept past them along the passageway. Behind her trailed several men—an
expensively clad courtier, two men-at arms, and two attendants in livery. All were tall, lean-limbed, and straight-backed,
and would be considered handsome, especially Jero.
Argred recognized him from his mother's description. For a young human in his prime he looked haggard. Dark shadows
underscored glittering green eyes that never strayed from the woman in blue.
She wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?" It was an unusual blend of herbs and spices.
"What smell?" Lita asked, and Argred remembered human nostrils were less sensitive.
"Never mind." Whatever it was had faded as Dothea and her retinue disappeared round the corner.
Lita opened a door and led the way into a large bedchamber. "This is the steward's room."
She took the washbasin across to the window and emptied it. Seconds later an indignant shout issued from the yard below.
Argred drew back the linen hangings of the large four-poster bed. The feather-stuffed mattress looked much more
comfortable than the hard pallet assigned to her in the servants' quarters, and that fur coverlet must keep him nice and
warm.
"Who were the young men with Lady Dothea?" she asked as Lita came to join her.
"Her favorites." Lita gave a disapproving sniff then began to sweep the floor. Argred sneezed as the swirling dust got up
her nose.
"From her build and coloring, she isn't from around here. Where was she born?"
Lita paused and looked at her. "Are all orcs this nosey?"
Argred grinned then remembered orc teeth unnerved humans and stopped. "It passes the time."
Lita resumed her sweeping. "I have no idea. Her parents didn't come to the wedding. Whether that was because they're
dead or because it was too far for them to travel…" She put her hands on her hips. "Are you just going to stand around
watching or are you going to empty that chamber pot?" She pointed.
Argred sighed and did as she was told.
***
"Hey you!" came a man's voice from behind Argred. "Yes you, orc. I need you for something."
Argred halted. The appetizing smell of lamb and braised leeks was wafting along the passageway from the kitchens,
making her mouth water. But it looked like dinner would have to wait for a bit.
She plastered a false smile on her face and turned. "What is it?"
"I'm Upton," panted the man hurrying towards her. "Lord Ormain's manservant." He stopped in front of her and tugged
distractedly on an earlobe—his ears were as elongated as the rest of him. "He needs changing."
"Changing?" Comprehension dawned and she sighed. "Oh."
They made their way to the laundry room. He didn't offer to help carry the heavy bed linen.
Inside Lord Ormain's bedchambers, Argred ignored the narrow pallet pushed to one side and headed for the huge four-
poster bed. There were dark circles around its occupant's dull eyes and his skin was pale and clammy. But Lord Ormain's
hair had been neatly combed to hide a spreading bald spot—evidence of his manservant's attentions.
Upton helped her to turn and lift his master, who kept slipping in and out of sleep, while she stripped the soiled linen from
the bed and put on fresh.
She stood back to assess the result. Not as neat as Lita, but not bad.
Her gaze strayed to her surroundings. The chamber was twice as large as the steward's, with a small anteroom for clothes
and other possessions, and its own hearth. It bore signs of female influence. Red velvet curtains supplemented the snug-
fitting shutters, and heavy tapestries suspended from iron rods absorbed the worst of the damp. A smaller tapestry, about
three-foot square, hung in isolation. That sky was too purple, the trees too spindly, and as for that peculiar looking castle
on the looming hilltop… Maybe Lady Dothea had embroidered it when she was a child.
"That will be all," said Upton.
Argred dropped him a sarcastic curtsey, then collected up the soiled sheets, and left.
As she was walking along the passageway, footsteps behind her made her glance back. It was only Ormain's manservant,
bustling away in the other direction, presumably about his lordship's business. She was about to face front once more
when another figure emerged from the chamber with a long, confident stride.
Lady Dothea.
Argred found that puzzling, until she remembered the anteroom. But, even that didn't settle her disquiet. Had Ormain's wife
been hiding in there the whole time?
***
"I've talked to as many of the servants as I can without raising suspicions," Argred told Mila. It was evening, and she was
reporting her progress, or rather lack of it. "It's not just attendants who're being affected. Lord Ormain himself seems to
be suffering from the same disorder."
Mila shivered, though it wasn't cold in the little front room, and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "Why
haven't I got it, then? Jero always gives me a hug and a kiss when I see him—though only when I remind him to."
Argred stifled a yawn. Being a chambermaid was hard work. What she wouldn't give for a simple fight or two. She flexed
her fists reflectively. "The apothecaries have ruled out infection and poison—they've checked all the food and drink and all
the lotions used to soften his skin. And it wouldn't explain the other cases anyway. They're baffled." She chewed her lip.
"There's something odd about Lady Dothea. And men can't seem to take their eyes off her."
"They're thinking with their loins," said Mila. "Lord Ormain was the same. He should have remembered: 'Marry in haste,
repent at leisure'."
"Haste?"
Mila nodded. "He wed within a week of meeting Dothea. Couldn't wait to take her to his bed. Well he's taken to his bed for
good now, by the sound of it."
This time the yawn escaped Argred. "Sorry." She knuckled her eyes. "Shall I continue my investigations?" Please say no.
"Jero's still fading, isn't he? There must be some reason for his condition, and I want you to keep searching until you find
it."
"But the apothecaries…"
"Are useless," Mila snapped. "But they're human, and you're not. Perhaps an orc can spot something they've missed."
Argred sighed. "Very well," she said. "I'll try."
***
"Where've you been?" the housekeeper grumbled, as Argred ambled into the kitchen, with no thought on her mind except
supper and bed. "Lady Dothea's been asking for you."
Argred didn't like the sound of that. "At this hour?"
"Yes. You're to go to her at once. She's in the treasury."
She rubbed her jaw. "What's it about?"
The housekeeper threw her a wry look. "Her ladyship doesn't confide in me."
An apprehensive Argred made her way upstairs. Two guards were stationed outside the treasury door. She gave them a
wary glance then squared her shoulders, knocked, and went in.
"You wanted to see me, my lady?" She remembered to curtsey.
Lady Dothea tucked a lock of long black hair behind her ear and looked up. The steward was sitting beside her, peering at
an account book. Flickering candlelight glinted off rows of gold coins arranged in stacks of ten.
"Ah, the orc. Good." She gestured at the steward. "Send in the guards on your way out."
"Very good, my lady." He rose, bowed, and made for the door, giving Argred a curious glance as he passed.
Dothea stretched the cramp from her shoulders. "Come closer, orc."
Argred did so, aware two guards had entered the room and were standing between her and the door. She smelled that
strange mixture of herbs and spices once more.
Dothea gave her a long assessing look. "I've been hearing things." Her eyes narrowed. "Disturbing things" She glanced at
the guards and snapped, "Arrest her."
Argred had little chance of reaching the knife strapped under her dress. Though she put up a good fight, and managed to
blacken one of the guards' eyes, they wrestled her into submission, then patted her down.
"Nice knife," one man murmured, testing its edge, while his companion bound her hands behind her back. "Think I'll keep
it."
She bared her teeth at him then glared at Dothea.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Dothea gave her an unpleasant smile. "Did you really think you could ask questions about me without my learning of it?"
Argred said nothing.
"What possible motive could a mercenary—yes, I've been making my own enquiries, you see—have for pretending to be a
chambermaid?" She curled her lip. "Plotting to let your murdering comrades into the castle while everyone's asleep?"
"That's a lie…"
"Enough." Dothea cut her off. "I'll deal with you later… Take her to the cells." She returned her attention to her account
book and her coins, and the guards frogmarched Argred from the room.
***
"What did you do?" The growl came from the adjoining cell. It was too dark even for Argred's keen eyes to make out the
voice's owner.
"Nothing."
"That's what they all say." Straw rustled as the other prisoner shifted. "Me, I stole a pig. Tasty it was too. Wasn't worth
being hanged for, though."
"They're going to hang you?"
"Next week." The straw rustled again. "What are they going to do with you?"
"I don't know." Argred began to pace, peering up at the tiny barred window set high in the external wall, through which a
chill wind was blowing. Even if the mortar holding the bars in place was crumbling, the opening would be too small to
squeeze through.
She threw herself down on her own pile of smelly straw, triggering a rustling sound followed by a chitter and the scurry
of tiny paws. She bared her teeth in the darkness. Rat made good eating, if there was nothing else.
Argred remembered the piles of gold coins stacked on Dothea's desk and frowned. Should she feel insulted or pleased
Dothea hadn't tried to bribe her? Perhaps it was just as well. She might have been tempted…
Something woke her from her doze. A measured tread was approaching her cell, accompanied by the jangling of keys and
the flicker of candlelight. The jailor coming to check on her?
But the dark shape standing outside her cell was taller and more muscular than the little man with the drooping
moustaches. It set the candle on the floor. Seconds later came the sound of a key grating in the lock.
"I've come to let you out, orc."
She didn't recognize the voice and so stayed where she was, all of her warning senses prickling.
"Apparently, it was all a mistake. You're free to go."
The figure wrenched open the door and stepped into the cell. Something glinted in his hand in the flickering candlelight—a
sword.
She got to her feet and readied herself.
"Lady Dothea sends her apologies." He took another step towards her. "She told me to release you." His voice changed,
became gleeful. "From your life!"
The sword slashed in a lethal arc, but she was no longer where she had been. She bent low and lunged, ducking under his
swinging sword, aiming her head for his abdomen, and putting all her body weight behind the butt. Orc skulls are harder
than those of humans. The breath whooshed from his lungs as he fell backwards and hit the bars with a thud. She twisted
the sword from his slack grip and used it, angling the blade up under his rib cage, feeling for the moment when it
punctured his heart.
There.
He released a gurgling breath and went limp. She let him drop to the straw-covered floor, then retrieved the sword—it
came free with a soft sucking sound—and stepped back, feeling no compunction.
Blood dripped from the sword tip as she stepped through the door and stooped to pick up the candle.
"What about me?" the prisoner in the next cell yelled, his straw rustling.
She hesitated, then dragged the key from the lock and tossed the key ring through the bars. It landed with a muffled clink.
"Thanks!" he called. "If there's ever anything I can do…"
Argred didn't hang around to hear the rest of his offer, but set off along the passageway.
"Hey! How on earth did you get…" The jailor half rose from his stool then slumped back down as her sword hilt made his
skull ring.
"Sorry."
She took the steps to freedom two at a time.
***
Argred pushed open the door to Lord Ormain's bedchamber and pulled up short. On the four-poster bed Dothea was
kneeling over her husband. At first Argred thought she was kissing him, then she realized Dothea was inhaling something
from his parted lips, a wisp, a misty trail of… What?
Dothea's head snapped round. Her eyes blazed. "Assassin!" she yelled at the top of her voice. "To me, guards. At once."
From the passageway came the sound of alarmed voices and running footsteps. The manservant continued to snore on his
pallet by the wall. Drugged, or enchanted?
Argred took a firmer grip on her sword. "What are you?"
The door burst open and three burly men-at-arms piled in, followed by Jero. His gaze took in Argred and her raised sword,
and with a cry, he flung himself at her.
She knocked him out with one blow—killing a client's son was never a good idea. A pillow grabbed from Ormain's bed
thwarted the first man-at-arms' sword thrust, and a coverlet thrown over the remaining two hampered them enough for
her to brain one with a candelabra and run the other through.
The one left standing pulled his sword free of the pillow and came for her again. As the feathers settled, they circled one
another, lips drawn back in identical snarls.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the thing that was Dothea edging towards the door.
"Fool," she shouted, as the man-at-arms lunged, catching her a glancing blow. "She's your enemy not me." She glanced
down at her forearm and was relieved to see the wound, though bleeding copiously, was superficial. "She's been leaching
Lord Ormain's life force."
"Liar!"
Anger made his swing wild, and Argred ducked under his sword and knocked him cold with her sword hilt. She got
between Dothea and the door.
Dothea hissed at her. Then her dark eyes grew impossibly wide as she locked gazes with Argred. A spinning sensation
overtook the orc, and she felt as though she was being drawn down into a bottomless whirlpool.
:Surrender, ordered a voice in her mind. :Surrender your will.
Cursed if I will, Argred thought, but her thought processes seemed sluggish. She wondered if this was what had happened
to the others.
:Do not resist. It will cause you discomfort.
Pain stabbed through her temples, and it was hard to breathe. She tried to lift her sword, to slash out blindly, but it felt too
heavy to lift.
:See? The voice sounded amused.
The pain intensified and Argred bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out. Then it ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
Relief flooded through her.
:Obey and feel pleasure. At the word 'pleasure' a warm glow of wellbeing rushed through her. For a moment she basked
in it. But only for a moment.
:Surrender, orc, crooned the voice. :I cannot take nourishment from your kind, but I can command your loyalty. Serve me
and feel contentment.
Argred bit her lip again, harder this time, until could feel the blood trickling down her chin. The self-inflicted pain centered
her, brought her back to herself. Focusing all her anger and willpower she roared her defiance, invoking her battle rage
and baring her teeth.
Never!
Her surroundings snapped back into focus. Dothea gaped at her, then grabbed a candlestick and threw it. Surely she
couldn't think such a feeble weapon would…
It had been a diversion. Argred's fist met the jaw of the charging man-at-arms.
"What's the matter, my Lady?" She panted, shaking her smarting hand, as he slid unconscious down the wall. "Doesn't
your charisma work on orcs?" On the bed Lord Ormain stirred and made a weak mewing sound. "There's no way out."
"Wrong," spat Dothea, as from outside came the sound of more shouts of alarm and running footsteps. "Help is on the
way."
"Too late to save you." Argred drew back her sword arm for the strike and Dothea sprang towards the small tapestry
Argred had earlier taken a dislike to.
I should have checked there wasn't a trapdoor hidden behind it!
Instead of pulling the tapestry aside, however, Dothea dived head first into it, her shape seeming to blur and turn a vivid
crimson before it disappeared. For the second time that day Argred's jaw dropped.
She stepped closer to the tapestry and brushed her fingers against the surface of the embroidered cloth. They sank into it.
She pulled them out again, relieved to find they were still attached to her hand. Then she noticed they had acquired a fine
sheen of moisture. Gingerly, she licked them. The acrid taste made her gag.
She turned back to the tapestry and studied the scene it depicted. It had changed from last time, hadn't it? Those blurred,
crimson shapes congregated in front of the castle gates hadn't been there before. Or that inhuman figure hurrying up the
hill to join them.
A whisper of movement made her swing round, sword raised. Jero was standing behind her, his eyes as round as saucers.
He lifted his hands defensively and she stopped her down stroke just in time.
She gave him a wary look. When had he regained consciousness? "Did you see her vanish into the tapestry?"
He nodded. "I still can't believe it! What's on the other side?"
"Another world. Not like ours. There's brimstone in the air."
He pointed a shaking figure. "Look! The figures are moving."
She turned her head and saw, with a thump of her heart, that he was right. The crimson shapes were coming down the
hill, getting larger.
Dothea's bringing back reinforcements!
Argred gripped her sword firmly and readied herself.
When a crimson claw emerged from the centre of the tapestry, provoking a loud cry from Jero, she didn't hesitate. She
brought her blade down in a strong, cleaving stroke.
The claw dropped to the flagstones with a thud, and an instant later came a muffled, unearthly wail. Wisps of black vapor
curled up from the stump before it withdrew. From the other side of the tapestry came angry, inhuman cries. There was
no time to lose.
Argred sliced both the tapestry and its wooden hanger in two. She flung the pieces onto the fire, and they caught alight at
once. The noise of crackling and the scent of burning filled Ormain's chambers. Her nostrils flared at the familiar scent of
herbs and spices that had always accompanied Dothea, but after a few minutes, the normal smells of burning wood and
fabric resumed and she regarded the growing pile of ashes with grim satisfaction.
"You'll have to find another portal," she muttered.
"What was that thing?" Jero demanded, unable to tear his gaze from the crimson claw.
"Who knows? A demon?"
"But it's wearing Lady Dothea's ring!" He pointed.
She shrugged and let him draw his own conclusions.
That rustle of movement was Lord Ormain shifting beneath his sheets. Jero and Argred exchanged a glance then crossed
to his bedside.
"It's all right, my lord. You're safe now." Jero smoothed a lock of hair out of his lord's eyes. Another's hand batted his
away and took over the task.
"That's my job." Upton looked sleepy and confused. "What are you two doing here? And where's her ladyship? She was
here when I went to sleep."
He gaped at the men lying unconscious or dead on the floor and was about to ask yet another question when the door
burst open and two men-at-arms rushed in. They growled as they saw the condition of their colleagues. Angry eyes settled
on Argred.
"What have you done with Lady Dothea?" asked the first man, a sergeant from the markings on his sleeve.
"Sent her back where she belonged."
Lord Ormain shifted again. His lips moved, but all that came out was a breathy croak.
"There, there, my lord," said Upton. "Let me get you some water." He reached for a goblet.
The sergeant frowned. "What does that mean, orc?"
He was getting on her nerves. "My name is Argred not 'orc'." She ran a hand over her crest. "Lady Dothea was a demon.
Look there if you require proof." She gestured at the crimson claw and hoped it would be enough.
Upton's gasp was loud in the sudden silence. "But that's my lady's signet ring on its middle finger!" he said.
"That was no lady," she muttered.
The sergeant's eyes took on a stony glint. "For all we know, the demon abducted Lady Dothea and stole her ring. What's
more, you played some part in it." He raised his sword and took a step towards her.
"Hold!" came a croak from the four-poster bed.
"My lord!" chided Upton. "You shouldn't be exerting your…"
A lordly hand waved the manservant to silence. "I have no love of orcs, sergeant, but this one is telling the truth. Dothea
was a demon, as I discovered too late."
The sergeant gaped at him. "A d…dem…" He trailed off in confusion. "But, my lord!"
"Do you doubt me, man?" Ormain sounded testy. "A demon I said, and a demon I meant!"
"And to think I let her kiss me!" His companion stumbled over to a corner and was noisily sick.
The sergeant gave him a distracted glance then turned back to his master. "No, my Lord. As always, your word is good
enough for me."
He scowled his frustration at Argred, but let his sword arm drop and stepped back. She resisted the urge to blow him a
kiss.
***
Argred accepted the brimming cup from the Sword and Axe's bartender and made her way to an empty table. Around her
the taproom conversation swirled.
"They say Lord Ormain's on the mend."
"And looking for a new wife."
Argred took a gulp of her ale. It was a relief to be wearing her leather tunic and breeches again, to feel the weight of the
sword at her hip.
"Ah, there you are." Mila stood beside her table, a grey shawl tucked around her bony shoulders as always. "May I?" She
indicated the empty seat opposite.
Argred nodded.
"I've brought the balance."
The widow placed a drawstring purse on the table. It clinked when Argred picked it up. She checked the contents then
tucked it in her belt satchel. Together with the reward money from a grateful Lord Ormain it should cover the down
payment on that stud farm.
"Thanks."
"No, thank you. Already Jero has much more colour in his cheeks." Mila glanced around to make sure they weren't being
overhead then leaned forward and lowered her voice. "To think that a demon was literally sucking the life out of him!"
Argred grunted. "Greed was its downfall. It could have gone on for years undetected if it had been content to take less."
"Poor Mondo." For a moment Mila looked sad, then she donned a determined smile. "What will you do now? Once people
know you have Lord Ormain's favor, you'll have no shortage of people wanting to hire you."
"I've something else in mind." She pictured herself proudly showing Karguk, Gunug, and Opoguk the first of her new
foals, then smiled and raised her drinking cup. "But first, I'm going to finish my ale."
watch her and an uneasy silence fell as she made her way between the tables and chairs.
She placed both hands palm down on the counter, to show she wanted no trouble. "Ale," she told the bartender, a middle-
aged human with bushy eyebrows.
For a moment she thought he was going to refuse to serve an orc, then he grunted, grabbed a drinking cup, and reached
for the cask. As the ale flowed, she hoped his cups were cleaner than his apron. Around the taproom, the chatter resumed.
The barman plonked the cup in front of her. He'd been miserly with the contents, she noticed.
"Two coppers."
"How much?" Her hand froze half way to her belt satchel.
"Take it or leave it."
Scowling, she counted out the coins.
Argred took her drink to an empty table and brooded about money, or rather the lack of it. Her comrades in arms had
prospered since they'd split the spoils and disbanded the company last year. Karguk now ran a gambling den, Gunug had
bought a half share in a thriving diamond mine, and even Opoguk hadn't done too badly for herself, opening a brothel for
orcs that was fast becoming a going concern. Argred, however… She sighed. Somehow, money always seemed to flow
through her fingers.
Selling her horse was not an option—it would take too much time and effort to train another one to tolerate an orc. What
she needed was a job, and fast. But the jeers and catcalls of the castle's watchmen still rang in her ears.
"Join the castle watch? You must be joking." The watch captain's gaze raked her from head to toe. "Lord Ormain don't like
orcs. Says they'll stab you in the back as soon as look at you… No offence." He gave a sly grin. "Slopping out chamber
pots might suit you better." Ribald comments from his men accompanied the suggestion. "Have a word with the
housekeeper. There's always plenty of call for chambermaids. Even ugly ones."
She flushed at the memory. How she had managed to resist slitting his throat from ear to ear was a mystery. She took
another gulp of ale. She could afford a meal or a bed for the night but not both.
Face it, Argred. You're never going to have enough coin to buy that stud farm you've always dreamed of.
"Excuse me."
She came back to her surroundings. The thin woman in the grey shawl who had been going from table to table meeting
brusque refusals was standing next to her.
"Go away," Argred growled. "I've no coin to spare."
"I'm not a beggar!" the woman protested, her cheeks flushing. "I want to hire you."
"Leave her alone, Mila," a soldier with one eye called. "Even orcs have better things to do than listen to a widow's paranoid
ramblings."
From the grunts of agreement, shaking of heads, and rolling of eyes, this wasn't the first time Mila had pestered the
regulars of the Sword and Axe.
Curiosity and her depleted purse made Argred gesture to the empty chair opposite. Mila sat and adjusted her shawl.
"Scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren't you?" Argred said.
Mila glanced at the other veterans. "At least you still have all your limbs."
True. But it had been a close run thing, and Argred had the scars to prove it. She cocked her head. "You don't look the
type to be hiring mercenaries."
"I need someone who can look after himself…or herself. I'm not fussy."
"I can do that," Argred agreed. "But I don't come cheap. So?" She rested her elbows on the table. "What do you want?
Someone intimidated? Killed maybe?"
Mila blinked at her. "I don't know yet."
Argred frowned.
"It's about my son, Jero."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This Jero had probably been caught sowing his wild oats where he shouldn't and…
"He's one of Lady Dothea's attendants, and just lately… Well, it's as though he's wasting away before my very eyes."
Argred ran a hand across her crest—some orcs wore their crests long, but she kept hers stubble-short. "Sounds to me like
you need an apothecary not a mercenary."
"Do you think I'm a fool?" Mila looked indignant. "That was the first thing I tried. He charged me five coppers to examine
Jero and couldn't find anything wrong."
"You think he's lying?"
Mila shrugged. "He said that about Mondo too."
Argred looked a question.
"My oldest boy," Mila said. "He…he died two months ago." Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "Faded away almost to
nothing. It was his job that Jero inherited."
"I'm sorry."
"And now the same thing's happening to Jero."
Argred considered. "Could he be lovesick?"
Mila shook her head. "He dotes on his mistress, that's true. But the lovelorn lose their appetites, don't they? If anything he's
eating more."
"A vampire then?" It was a long shot but…
"No puncture marks," said Mila. "And the garlic necklace I gave him made no difference. No. It's something else."
"I see. Does anyone else share his symptoms?"
"Not to the same extent." She fiddled with her shawl. "I went to see Lord Ormain's steward, to ask him to investigate, but
he says I'm seeing dark deeds where there are none." She frowned. "Jero was furious. Said I could have got him fired. He
loves his job, you see. With him it's all 'Lady Dothea this' and 'Lady Dothea that'." She sniffed.
"You don't like this Lady Dothea, I take it?"
"No." Mila sighed. "I'm probably doing her an injustice, blaming her but… My boys were fine until she arrived."
Curious. Argred made a mental note.
"No one else will take me seriously." Mila held her gaze. "Which is why I need your help." She produced a small purse and
placed it on the table. "Will this do for a retainer?"
Argred loosened the drawstrings and peered inside. She smiled and tucked the purse in her belt satchel. "You've got
yourself a mercenary."
***
Argred groaned and sat up. Her head throbbed and her mouth was as stale as the bartender's apron. Blearily she took in her
surroundings: the attic room with its sloping ceiling; the tiny window with the broken shutter; the rickety bedside table on
which lay her weapons, belt satchel, and a drawstring purse.
The last item brought memory rushing back.
She rose, poured water into the basin, washed, and considered the job she had accepted. The widow's money was
welcome, the task less so, especially when seen in the cold light of day. Intimidation, a good fight, those were Argred's
stock in trade, not investigating mysteries.
She toweled her face dry. I'll give the widow her money back and move on to the next town. Maybe there…
She winced, remembering. The drawstring purse was already half empty, its contents spent purchasing more ale, a decent
supper, stabling for Argred's horse, and this cramped room.
Looks like I'll have to go through with the job after all.
What had been the son's name? Jero, wasn't it? He worked at the castle, which made it the obvious place to start. She
needed to find a way in. But how?
Then Argred had it. She sighed. Sometimes the orc gods had a very evil sense of humor.
***
Argred followed the castle's plump housekeeper, glad none of her old comrades could see her. The shabby grey dress and
apron was no substitute for her leather tunic and breeches, and she felt naked without her sword, though the throwing
knife strapped to her back, under her dress, provided some comfort.
"Argred, is it?" the housekeeper asked.
She grunted assent.
"Previous experience?"
"A little," she lied.
They hurried along a passageway then down a spiral staircase. From the cooking smells wafting their way, they were
heading for the kitchen.
"I'll be frank," resumed the housekeeper, panting a little from the exertion. "I wouldn't have taken on an orc, especially one
with little experience, but we're short staffed at present." She glanced at Argred. "Lord Ormain is very particular. He
spends most of his time in bed, but don't think he won't notice if you skimp on the cleaning. And if he doesn't, his
manservant will. Upton won't hesitate to complain if he catches you shirking."
"What's wrong with his lordship?" Argred asked.
Surprised eyes scanned her face. "New to these parts?"
Argred nodded.
"He's been ill for months. Used to be a strapping fellow. Not a day's illness in his life. Just goes to show you." There was a
certain relish in her tone. "One day you're fit as a flea, the next…"
"What ails him?"
The housekeeper shrugged. "I've lost count of the surgeons, leeches, and apothecaries who have come to take a look at
him. Useless, the lot of them." She quickened her pace. "They say it's not disease or poison. Not vampires, either. So what
does that leave? A curse? Oh, I should warn you. His lordship is too ill to get to the privy unassisted. He needs his
chamber pot emptied frequently, and you'll likely be called on to put fresh sheets on his bed at least once a day."
Argred stifled a grimace.
They came to the bottom of the staircase, but instead of turning towards the kitchen, the housekeeper headed outdoors.
"So who's in charge while Lord Ormain's ill?" Argred asked.
"Lady Dothea, with the steward's help, of course. Good thing she's sharp witted. Here's where you'll be bringing the
slops."
They emerged into the open, into a large cobbled yard with a cesspit at one end.
"Mops, brooms, cleaning stuff are kept in there." The housekeeper pointed to a little outbuilding then wiped her palms on
her apron with an air of finality. "I'll get one of the other chambermaids to show you the rest of what's what, and then
you're on your own."
***
The woman approaching Argred was beautiful as humans go. She was tall, her blue silk gown clung to a lushly
curvaceous figure, and raven tresses, kept in order by a delicate silver circlet, cascaded to her waist.
"Lady Dothea?" Argred whispered to her fellow chambermaid, a sturdy but rather plain young human named Lita.
"That's right," Lita whispered. "You want to keep in her good books."
They curtseyed as Lord Ormain's wife swept past them along the passageway. Behind her trailed several men—an
expensively clad courtier, two men-at arms, and two attendants in livery. All were tall, lean-limbed, and straight-backed,
and would be considered handsome, especially Jero.
Argred recognized him from his mother's description. For a young human in his prime he looked haggard. Dark shadows
underscored glittering green eyes that never strayed from the woman in blue.
She wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?" It was an unusual blend of herbs and spices.
"What smell?" Lita asked, and Argred remembered human nostrils were less sensitive.
"Never mind." Whatever it was had faded as Dothea and her retinue disappeared round the corner.
Lita opened a door and led the way into a large bedchamber. "This is the steward's room."
She took the washbasin across to the window and emptied it. Seconds later an indignant shout issued from the yard below.
Argred drew back the linen hangings of the large four-poster bed. The feather-stuffed mattress looked much more
comfortable than the hard pallet assigned to her in the servants' quarters, and that fur coverlet must keep him nice and
warm.
"Who were the young men with Lady Dothea?" she asked as Lita came to join her.
"Her favorites." Lita gave a disapproving sniff then began to sweep the floor. Argred sneezed as the swirling dust got up
her nose.
"From her build and coloring, she isn't from around here. Where was she born?"
Lita paused and looked at her. "Are all orcs this nosey?"
Argred grinned then remembered orc teeth unnerved humans and stopped. "It passes the time."
Lita resumed her sweeping. "I have no idea. Her parents didn't come to the wedding. Whether that was because they're
dead or because it was too far for them to travel…" She put her hands on her hips. "Are you just going to stand around
watching or are you going to empty that chamber pot?" She pointed.
Argred sighed and did as she was told.
***
"Hey you!" came a man's voice from behind Argred. "Yes you, orc. I need you for something."
Argred halted. The appetizing smell of lamb and braised leeks was wafting along the passageway from the kitchens,
making her mouth water. But it looked like dinner would have to wait for a bit.
She plastered a false smile on her face and turned. "What is it?"
"I'm Upton," panted the man hurrying towards her. "Lord Ormain's manservant." He stopped in front of her and tugged
distractedly on an earlobe—his ears were as elongated as the rest of him. "He needs changing."
"Changing?" Comprehension dawned and she sighed. "Oh."
They made their way to the laundry room. He didn't offer to help carry the heavy bed linen.
Inside Lord Ormain's bedchambers, Argred ignored the narrow pallet pushed to one side and headed for the huge four-
poster bed. There were dark circles around its occupant's dull eyes and his skin was pale and clammy. But Lord Ormain's
hair had been neatly combed to hide a spreading bald spot—evidence of his manservant's attentions.
Upton helped her to turn and lift his master, who kept slipping in and out of sleep, while she stripped the soiled linen from
the bed and put on fresh.
She stood back to assess the result. Not as neat as Lita, but not bad.
Her gaze strayed to her surroundings. The chamber was twice as large as the steward's, with a small anteroom for clothes
and other possessions, and its own hearth. It bore signs of female influence. Red velvet curtains supplemented the snug-
fitting shutters, and heavy tapestries suspended from iron rods absorbed the worst of the damp. A smaller tapestry, about
three-foot square, hung in isolation. That sky was too purple, the trees too spindly, and as for that peculiar looking castle
on the looming hilltop… Maybe Lady Dothea had embroidered it when she was a child.
"That will be all," said Upton.
Argred dropped him a sarcastic curtsey, then collected up the soiled sheets, and left.
As she was walking along the passageway, footsteps behind her made her glance back. It was only Ormain's manservant,
bustling away in the other direction, presumably about his lordship's business. She was about to face front once more
when another figure emerged from the chamber with a long, confident stride.
Lady Dothea.
Argred found that puzzling, until she remembered the anteroom. But, even that didn't settle her disquiet. Had Ormain's wife
been hiding in there the whole time?
***
"I've talked to as many of the servants as I can without raising suspicions," Argred told Mila. It was evening, and she was
reporting her progress, or rather lack of it. "It's not just attendants who're being affected. Lord Ormain himself seems to
be suffering from the same disorder."
Mila shivered, though it wasn't cold in the little front room, and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "Why
haven't I got it, then? Jero always gives me a hug and a kiss when I see him—though only when I remind him to."
Argred stifled a yawn. Being a chambermaid was hard work. What she wouldn't give for a simple fight or two. She flexed
her fists reflectively. "The apothecaries have ruled out infection and poison—they've checked all the food and drink and all
the lotions used to soften his skin. And it wouldn't explain the other cases anyway. They're baffled." She chewed her lip.
"There's something odd about Lady Dothea. And men can't seem to take their eyes off her."
"They're thinking with their loins," said Mila. "Lord Ormain was the same. He should have remembered: 'Marry in haste,
repent at leisure'."
"Haste?"
Mila nodded. "He wed within a week of meeting Dothea. Couldn't wait to take her to his bed. Well he's taken to his bed for
good now, by the sound of it."
This time the yawn escaped Argred. "Sorry." She knuckled her eyes. "Shall I continue my investigations?" Please say no.
"Jero's still fading, isn't he? There must be some reason for his condition, and I want you to keep searching until you find
it."
"But the apothecaries…"
"Are useless," Mila snapped. "But they're human, and you're not. Perhaps an orc can spot something they've missed."
Argred sighed. "Very well," she said. "I'll try."
***
"Where've you been?" the housekeeper grumbled, as Argred ambled into the kitchen, with no thought on her mind except
supper and bed. "Lady Dothea's been asking for you."
Argred didn't like the sound of that. "At this hour?"
"Yes. You're to go to her at once. She's in the treasury."
She rubbed her jaw. "What's it about?"
The housekeeper threw her a wry look. "Her ladyship doesn't confide in me."
An apprehensive Argred made her way upstairs. Two guards were stationed outside the treasury door. She gave them a
wary glance then squared her shoulders, knocked, and went in.
"You wanted to see me, my lady?" She remembered to curtsey.
Lady Dothea tucked a lock of long black hair behind her ear and looked up. The steward was sitting beside her, peering at
an account book. Flickering candlelight glinted off rows of gold coins arranged in stacks of ten.
"Ah, the orc. Good." She gestured at the steward. "Send in the guards on your way out."
"Very good, my lady." He rose, bowed, and made for the door, giving Argred a curious glance as he passed.
Dothea stretched the cramp from her shoulders. "Come closer, orc."
Argred did so, aware two guards had entered the room and were standing between her and the door. She smelled that
strange mixture of herbs and spices once more.
Dothea gave her a long assessing look. "I've been hearing things." Her eyes narrowed. "Disturbing things" She glanced at
the guards and snapped, "Arrest her."
Argred had little chance of reaching the knife strapped under her dress. Though she put up a good fight, and managed to
blacken one of the guards' eyes, they wrestled her into submission, then patted her down.
"Nice knife," one man murmured, testing its edge, while his companion bound her hands behind her back. "Think I'll keep
it."
She bared her teeth at him then glared at Dothea.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Dothea gave her an unpleasant smile. "Did you really think you could ask questions about me without my learning of it?"
Argred said nothing.
"What possible motive could a mercenary—yes, I've been making my own enquiries, you see—have for pretending to be a
chambermaid?" She curled her lip. "Plotting to let your murdering comrades into the castle while everyone's asleep?"
"That's a lie…"
"Enough." Dothea cut her off. "I'll deal with you later… Take her to the cells." She returned her attention to her account
book and her coins, and the guards frogmarched Argred from the room.
***
"What did you do?" The growl came from the adjoining cell. It was too dark even for Argred's keen eyes to make out the
voice's owner.
"Nothing."
"That's what they all say." Straw rustled as the other prisoner shifted. "Me, I stole a pig. Tasty it was too. Wasn't worth
being hanged for, though."
"They're going to hang you?"
"Next week." The straw rustled again. "What are they going to do with you?"
"I don't know." Argred began to pace, peering up at the tiny barred window set high in the external wall, through which a
chill wind was blowing. Even if the mortar holding the bars in place was crumbling, the opening would be too small to
squeeze through.
She threw herself down on her own pile of smelly straw, triggering a rustling sound followed by a chitter and the scurry
of tiny paws. She bared her teeth in the darkness. Rat made good eating, if there was nothing else.
Argred remembered the piles of gold coins stacked on Dothea's desk and frowned. Should she feel insulted or pleased
Dothea hadn't tried to bribe her? Perhaps it was just as well. She might have been tempted…
Something woke her from her doze. A measured tread was approaching her cell, accompanied by the jangling of keys and
the flicker of candlelight. The jailor coming to check on her?
But the dark shape standing outside her cell was taller and more muscular than the little man with the drooping
moustaches. It set the candle on the floor. Seconds later came the sound of a key grating in the lock.
"I've come to let you out, orc."
She didn't recognize the voice and so stayed where she was, all of her warning senses prickling.
"Apparently, it was all a mistake. You're free to go."
The figure wrenched open the door and stepped into the cell. Something glinted in his hand in the flickering candlelight—a
sword.
She got to her feet and readied herself.
"Lady Dothea sends her apologies." He took another step towards her. "She told me to release you." His voice changed,
became gleeful. "From your life!"
The sword slashed in a lethal arc, but she was no longer where she had been. She bent low and lunged, ducking under his
swinging sword, aiming her head for his abdomen, and putting all her body weight behind the butt. Orc skulls are harder
than those of humans. The breath whooshed from his lungs as he fell backwards and hit the bars with a thud. She twisted
the sword from his slack grip and used it, angling the blade up under his rib cage, feeling for the moment when it
punctured his heart.
There.
He released a gurgling breath and went limp. She let him drop to the straw-covered floor, then retrieved the sword—it
came free with a soft sucking sound—and stepped back, feeling no compunction.
Blood dripped from the sword tip as she stepped through the door and stooped to pick up the candle.
"What about me?" the prisoner in the next cell yelled, his straw rustling.
She hesitated, then dragged the key from the lock and tossed the key ring through the bars. It landed with a muffled clink.
"Thanks!" he called. "If there's ever anything I can do…"
Argred didn't hang around to hear the rest of his offer, but set off along the passageway.
"Hey! How on earth did you get…" The jailor half rose from his stool then slumped back down as her sword hilt made his
skull ring.
"Sorry."
She took the steps to freedom two at a time.
***
Argred pushed open the door to Lord Ormain's bedchamber and pulled up short. On the four-poster bed Dothea was
kneeling over her husband. At first Argred thought she was kissing him, then she realized Dothea was inhaling something
from his parted lips, a wisp, a misty trail of… What?
Dothea's head snapped round. Her eyes blazed. "Assassin!" she yelled at the top of her voice. "To me, guards. At once."
From the passageway came the sound of alarmed voices and running footsteps. The manservant continued to snore on his
pallet by the wall. Drugged, or enchanted?
Argred took a firmer grip on her sword. "What are you?"
The door burst open and three burly men-at-arms piled in, followed by Jero. His gaze took in Argred and her raised sword,
and with a cry, he flung himself at her.
She knocked him out with one blow—killing a client's son was never a good idea. A pillow grabbed from Ormain's bed
thwarted the first man-at-arms' sword thrust, and a coverlet thrown over the remaining two hampered them enough for
her to brain one with a candelabra and run the other through.
The one left standing pulled his sword free of the pillow and came for her again. As the feathers settled, they circled one
another, lips drawn back in identical snarls.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the thing that was Dothea edging towards the door.
"Fool," she shouted, as the man-at-arms lunged, catching her a glancing blow. "She's your enemy not me." She glanced
down at her forearm and was relieved to see the wound, though bleeding copiously, was superficial. "She's been leaching
Lord Ormain's life force."
"Liar!"
Anger made his swing wild, and Argred ducked under his sword and knocked him cold with her sword hilt. She got
between Dothea and the door.
Dothea hissed at her. Then her dark eyes grew impossibly wide as she locked gazes with Argred. A spinning sensation
overtook the orc, and she felt as though she was being drawn down into a bottomless whirlpool.
:Surrender, ordered a voice in her mind. :Surrender your will.
Cursed if I will, Argred thought, but her thought processes seemed sluggish. She wondered if this was what had happened
to the others.
:Do not resist. It will cause you discomfort.
Pain stabbed through her temples, and it was hard to breathe. She tried to lift her sword, to slash out blindly, but it felt too
heavy to lift.
:See? The voice sounded amused.
The pain intensified and Argred bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out. Then it ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
Relief flooded through her.
:Obey and feel pleasure. At the word 'pleasure' a warm glow of wellbeing rushed through her. For a moment she basked
in it. But only for a moment.
:Surrender, orc, crooned the voice. :I cannot take nourishment from your kind, but I can command your loyalty. Serve me
and feel contentment.
Argred bit her lip again, harder this time, until could feel the blood trickling down her chin. The self-inflicted pain centered
her, brought her back to herself. Focusing all her anger and willpower she roared her defiance, invoking her battle rage
and baring her teeth.
Never!
Her surroundings snapped back into focus. Dothea gaped at her, then grabbed a candlestick and threw it. Surely she
couldn't think such a feeble weapon would…
It had been a diversion. Argred's fist met the jaw of the charging man-at-arms.
"What's the matter, my Lady?" She panted, shaking her smarting hand, as he slid unconscious down the wall. "Doesn't
your charisma work on orcs?" On the bed Lord Ormain stirred and made a weak mewing sound. "There's no way out."
"Wrong," spat Dothea, as from outside came the sound of more shouts of alarm and running footsteps. "Help is on the
way."
"Too late to save you." Argred drew back her sword arm for the strike and Dothea sprang towards the small tapestry
Argred had earlier taken a dislike to.
I should have checked there wasn't a trapdoor hidden behind it!
Instead of pulling the tapestry aside, however, Dothea dived head first into it, her shape seeming to blur and turn a vivid
crimson before it disappeared. For the second time that day Argred's jaw dropped.
She stepped closer to the tapestry and brushed her fingers against the surface of the embroidered cloth. They sank into it.
She pulled them out again, relieved to find they were still attached to her hand. Then she noticed they had acquired a fine
sheen of moisture. Gingerly, she licked them. The acrid taste made her gag.
She turned back to the tapestry and studied the scene it depicted. It had changed from last time, hadn't it? Those blurred,
crimson shapes congregated in front of the castle gates hadn't been there before. Or that inhuman figure hurrying up the
hill to join them.
A whisper of movement made her swing round, sword raised. Jero was standing behind her, his eyes as round as saucers.
He lifted his hands defensively and she stopped her down stroke just in time.
She gave him a wary look. When had he regained consciousness? "Did you see her vanish into the tapestry?"
He nodded. "I still can't believe it! What's on the other side?"
"Another world. Not like ours. There's brimstone in the air."
He pointed a shaking figure. "Look! The figures are moving."
She turned her head and saw, with a thump of her heart, that he was right. The crimson shapes were coming down the
hill, getting larger.
Dothea's bringing back reinforcements!
Argred gripped her sword firmly and readied herself.
When a crimson claw emerged from the centre of the tapestry, provoking a loud cry from Jero, she didn't hesitate. She
brought her blade down in a strong, cleaving stroke.
The claw dropped to the flagstones with a thud, and an instant later came a muffled, unearthly wail. Wisps of black vapor
curled up from the stump before it withdrew. From the other side of the tapestry came angry, inhuman cries. There was
no time to lose.
Argred sliced both the tapestry and its wooden hanger in two. She flung the pieces onto the fire, and they caught alight at
once. The noise of crackling and the scent of burning filled Ormain's chambers. Her nostrils flared at the familiar scent of
herbs and spices that had always accompanied Dothea, but after a few minutes, the normal smells of burning wood and
fabric resumed and she regarded the growing pile of ashes with grim satisfaction.
"You'll have to find another portal," she muttered.
"What was that thing?" Jero demanded, unable to tear his gaze from the crimson claw.
"Who knows? A demon?"
"But it's wearing Lady Dothea's ring!" He pointed.
She shrugged and let him draw his own conclusions.
That rustle of movement was Lord Ormain shifting beneath his sheets. Jero and Argred exchanged a glance then crossed
to his bedside.
"It's all right, my lord. You're safe now." Jero smoothed a lock of hair out of his lord's eyes. Another's hand batted his
away and took over the task.
"That's my job." Upton looked sleepy and confused. "What are you two doing here? And where's her ladyship? She was
here when I went to sleep."
He gaped at the men lying unconscious or dead on the floor and was about to ask yet another question when the door
burst open and two men-at-arms rushed in. They growled as they saw the condition of their colleagues. Angry eyes settled
on Argred.
"What have you done with Lady Dothea?" asked the first man, a sergeant from the markings on his sleeve.
"Sent her back where she belonged."
Lord Ormain shifted again. His lips moved, but all that came out was a breathy croak.
"There, there, my lord," said Upton. "Let me get you some water." He reached for a goblet.
The sergeant frowned. "What does that mean, orc?"
He was getting on her nerves. "My name is Argred not 'orc'." She ran a hand over her crest. "Lady Dothea was a demon.
Look there if you require proof." She gestured at the crimson claw and hoped it would be enough.
Upton's gasp was loud in the sudden silence. "But that's my lady's signet ring on its middle finger!" he said.
"That was no lady," she muttered.
The sergeant's eyes took on a stony glint. "For all we know, the demon abducted Lady Dothea and stole her ring. What's
more, you played some part in it." He raised his sword and took a step towards her.
"Hold!" came a croak from the four-poster bed.
"My lord!" chided Upton. "You shouldn't be exerting your…"
A lordly hand waved the manservant to silence. "I have no love of orcs, sergeant, but this one is telling the truth. Dothea
was a demon, as I discovered too late."
The sergeant gaped at him. "A d…dem…" He trailed off in confusion. "But, my lord!"
"Do you doubt me, man?" Ormain sounded testy. "A demon I said, and a demon I meant!"
"And to think I let her kiss me!" His companion stumbled over to a corner and was noisily sick.
The sergeant gave him a distracted glance then turned back to his master. "No, my Lord. As always, your word is good
enough for me."
He scowled his frustration at Argred, but let his sword arm drop and stepped back. She resisted the urge to blow him a
kiss.
***
Argred accepted the brimming cup from the Sword and Axe's bartender and made her way to an empty table. Around her
the taproom conversation swirled.
"They say Lord Ormain's on the mend."
"And looking for a new wife."
Argred took a gulp of her ale. It was a relief to be wearing her leather tunic and breeches again, to feel the weight of the
sword at her hip.
"Ah, there you are." Mila stood beside her table, a grey shawl tucked around her bony shoulders as always. "May I?" She
indicated the empty seat opposite.
Argred nodded.
"I've brought the balance."
The widow placed a drawstring purse on the table. It clinked when Argred picked it up. She checked the contents then
tucked it in her belt satchel. Together with the reward money from a grateful Lord Ormain it should cover the down
payment on that stud farm.
"Thanks."
"No, thank you. Already Jero has much more colour in his cheeks." Mila glanced around to make sure they weren't being
overhead then leaned forward and lowered her voice. "To think that a demon was literally sucking the life out of him!"
Argred grunted. "Greed was its downfall. It could have gone on for years undetected if it had been content to take less."
"Poor Mondo." For a moment Mila looked sad, then she donned a determined smile. "What will you do now? Once people
know you have Lord Ormain's favor, you'll have no shortage of people wanting to hire you."
"I've something else in mind." She pictured herself proudly showing Karguk, Gunug, and Opoguk the first of her new
foals, then smiled and raised her drinking cup. "But first, I'm going to finish my ale."
| Make a donation to this artist: |
