The next morning, Fidgug and Ushat set out with us on their ponies, while the rest of the band, at Ashton's suggestion, rode on to meet the forest orcs and warn them of what had happened in the mountains. High Queen Mor would be outraged at this suborning of her people, and it was likely she'd lead a raid in retaliation.
"Just don't discount my people's former penchant for bloodthirstiness," Fidgug warned. "With the geas gone, they're gonna be nasty little fuckers. I won't sully this good morning with the more horrible tales, but it was the deeds we did while under the thrall of the dark elves that made our leaders realise we were bein' fuckin' stupid."
Ailsa nodded, her face pale, and I realised that, should High Queen Mor declare war, as her heir, Ailsa would be duty bound to ride at her side. Ashton was as pale as his wife, and I prayed an all out orc civil war wasn't in the offing.
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That evening, we rode into Shadowhen, and the bad news hit us in the face almost as soon as we reached the town centre. Bumph, one of Mor's distant cousins, came running. "We've trouble!" she cried. "Disaster has struck our home!"
Ailsa swore bilingually as she reined in. "What's happened?" she demanded.
"High Queen Mors led a strike in retaliation against those of our people who broke the geas," Bumph explained, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself. "Gonk133Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSrJ8OZgz7D
and Mogak rode at her shoulder in your absence; her Grace didn't want to trouble you with a fly-swatting mission. But those damned she-bitches had been suborned days ago, and when she was out of the Hellgate's boundary, they struck her down. Stabbed her in the fucking back before hacking her to pieces."
"Oh fuck me," I groaned, trembling with rage and sorrow. Mor had been a good and kind ruler. To hear of her loss was a blow, and Ailsa's face showed the strain of suddenly divided loyalties. Bumph had more bad news, however.
"The Hellgate's been overrun and destroyed, and our forests are up in flames," she said. "I was one of the lucky ones, but Gonk's got it out for me; she's huntin' me like the damned bitch-hound she is, and Mogak's holdin' court in the remains of the great hall. She's got the Crown of Madness, and Prince Xaakt is her War-Hound."
"But she isn't queen," Aisla contradicted, hefting her flails. "So long as I hold these, I am queen, not that bitch-bred upstart. And as long as Bonesnapper and Life's Limit are bound to me by blood, there's no orc alive who can wield them without going mad."
Bumph shook her head in denial. "Not anymore," she said grimly. "Mogak had new flails made, and she's callin' them Ruiner and Despoiler. She's now High Queen by dint of binding them to her by blood, which means you've now a price on your head. You're wanted, Ailsa, dead or alive."
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After Bumph left us, we rode to the inn, purchased rooms, and then gathered in the largest one Ashton and Ailsa had commandeered for their use. "No question," Ushat said grimly. "We have to go to The Moaning Wild and crush Mogak before she can suborn more orcs. If she gets the hill orcs on side, we are done for."
Ailsa nodded, her face pale. Ashton squeezed her hand and she gave him a grateful smile. "Not everyone has to come along," she said. "Fionn, you, Lanlanor, Paradox and..." She trailed off when she noticed we were all looking at her, and she sighed. "I'm wasting my breath, aren't I?"
"We're not leaving your side until this is done," Temara insisted. "In fact, I'm calling in that favour I owed you from the time you saved me from those ravens. This is my repayment for the life you preserved that day."
"Very well," Ailsa agreed with a faint smile. Then her jaw firmed. "To The Moaning Wild, then. Fidgug, find Bumph and tell her we're heading back to the old home for a bit of justice."
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But Bumph was nowhere to be found, and when Fidgug returned, he broached the uncomfortable supposition that Bumph had been subverted as well. "She never liked me when I became Archduchess over her," Ailsa said grimly. "I've the feeling we're walking into a trap, but we're going to do it anyway. If Mor is still alive, she's likely a hostage, which means the throne is still up for grabs. I say we go there, spring the trap, and finally put down the dissenters once and for all."
Ashton was the only one who looked more than a little worried about this. "Personal revenge, love?" he asked.
Ailsa sighed. "Yes," she said firmly. "Bumph and her friends tormented me aplenty when I was a child. And they haven't grown up. If this is an elaborate hoax, it's time to show Bumph the business end of my flails. I only held back because Mor asked me to, but this time, I don't care what anyone says. Bumph and her bitch-bred friends will accept me as Archduchess, or eat flail. Personally, I'm itching to give them the pointy end, but if they can see the light, I won't have to mop up blood."
"If I may make a suggestion," Temara said. "Send Ushat or Fidgug in. If Mogak has taken over, you're going to be either killed or taken prisoner. Let one of them scope out the lay of the land, and if they haven't reported back by day's end, then we'll know to proceed with extreme caution."
"Fair enough," Ailsa agreed, and we could all feel the tension in the air as she resisted the lure of her orcish side, the heritage which urged her to throw all caution to the wind and go in with flails swinging. "Fidgug? I'd ask you to go, if you would."
"Gladly," he said, bowing deeply. "Khithran seems as unlikley to let Ushat out of his sight as she is to let her out of his. If you don't hear a nightowl call at the setting of the sun on the day we get to the Wild, know I've been kidnapped, and proceed with caution."
We all nodded. A nightowl's call was very difficult to make, but orcs had perfected it. I also knew that an orc who had lost his or her way could no longer make the call, partly because nightowls were in fact sentinels I had created many years ago, using the same unmatter I'd used when making the dark elves and the orcs. Nightowls and orcs had formed a very close relationship, so if an orc lost their way, their bond with the nightowls was broken, and they could no longer mimic the multi-toned call nightowls used. Fidgug would, therefore, be unable to mimic the call if he became subverted, used as a tool to lure us into a trap.
At least, that was what I hoped, as we made our way downstairs for an early supper. I had the nasty feeling all the rules had been thrown out the window with this latest setback looming in our path.
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