Nemia thanked Drothu and the fortune he bestowed upon her this day.
After deciding her army was ready to march, she had sent scouts to see what state the orc encampment was in. She had barely believed them when they returned and said the orcs had erected a barrier that not only kept her out, but kept them safely in.
She had to hand it to Dalgron. The infection must have hit the camp, causing great devastation, as she had hoped. He would have done the only thing he could to protect the orcs of Doros, utilizing magic unfamiliar to her. She wondered if it had anything to do with the human mage whose eyes haunted her visions. She had trouble believing the general of the orc armies would employ a human, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Her father had often spoken of Dalgron in complimentary ways. Nemia had watched the general report to her father while she was forced to skulk in dark corners, pretending to be a servant while a fake princess sat on the throne.
Thinking of Sabniss only angered Nemia more, reminding her why she was intent on conquering her own orcs. She’d been stripped of her rightful place on the throne. It was time she took it back.
And now, Dalgron had given her the opportunity to do just that. Her fortunes had changed.
“Azlinar, come to my side,” she ordered.
The old orc sat upon horseback, lashed in with leather straps. He pulled on the reins, and his horse advanced slowly toward Nemia’s. She waited patiently, knowing it was the only way he could accompany her toward the encampment. Cocking her head to the side, Nemia tried to locate Azlinar’s shadow. She could clearly see his horse’s outline on the ground, but it lacked Azlinar’s outline atop it. The sun was playing strange tricks this day.
“My queen,” he said, bowing his head.
“Do you see what has happened?” Nemia pointed toward the encampment.
“The barrier has come down.” He smiled, his blackened teeth barely visible inside his dark hood. Decades of life in the mines had made him sensitive to the light. He could only emerge from the underground covered.
“We can introduce our army to theirs.” Nemia clapped her hands, too delighted to hold back. Finally, she would show everyone the power she wielded. She would no longer hide in the shadows, an outcast. They would see the true princess of Agitar. No, the queen of Agitar.
She turned her horse toward her horde and waved to her general, indicating she was ready to move.
Vron stood with his legs shoulder-width apart, his lips slack. Though he’d succumbed to the infection, he could still obey her every order. Azlinar had made sure of that with his special concoction of herbs. Her sick orcs ingested it daily, keeping them from death and under her control.
“Vron,” Nemia called out. “We move to the camp. Bring your horde with you.”
The sick orc nodded. In a show of complete loyalty, he bent a knee to her.
Nemia couldn’t help but smile. Finally, someone understood the only thing she’d ever wanted: to be revered. It wasn’t much to ask. It was her birthright, after all.
Vron raised a fist in the air, urging on the orcs behind him. They obeyed, just as Azlinar had promised they would. His magic always did just as he said it would. She was lucky to count him among the few friends she’d made who had stuck around. Unlike Tace and Ademar, who had discarded her the moment they had gotten what they needed from her.
A fire burned in Nemia’s stomach. She hoped Tace would be in the encampment, too. She would like to show her former friend how far she’d come on her own. It would be even better when Tace bent her knee to Nemia as the true queen of Agitar.
A thrum vibrated under her horse as the infected orc army began their trek toward the encampment. Nemia rode in front, with Azlinar on one side and an orc carrying the banner of Agitar on the other. Pride swelled in Nemia’s chest at the sight of the white flag with the hammer and ax crossed. This was what she was born to do. Lead. Command. Be loved. Dalgron would see it.
They would all see it.
As they advanced on the encampment, Nemia knew nothing could go wrong. Her army had one order: destroy any orc who challenged them. And few would. Her plan was foolproof. With Azlinar and his concoctions at her side, she couldn’t lose.
A horse rode out to them, an armor-clad orc on its back. Nemia squinted, trying to figure out who it was. Surely Dalgron himself would come to her. Why send an emissary when it was clear her army was ready to attack?
The horse reared in front of her, then fell to its hooves. “Who are you?” the orc demanded with no regard for the banner Nemia’s orc carried.
“Where is Dalgron? I wish to speak with him,” Nemia said, refusing to give identifying information to this underling.
“Dalgron is busy attending to his sick orcs,” the orc said. She looked over Nemia. “I suggest you turn back.”
“Give me your name,” Nemia demanded.
“I am Nishta. Who are you?”
Nemia squared her shoulders. “I am Nemia, queen of Agitar.”
The orc tilted her head to the side. “I think not. I met the princess once. Show me your face.”
Nemia clutched the hood at her neck. If she dropped it, this impudent orc would see her disfigurement. Her hands trembled. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
“The king and queen have perished in the battle with the xarlug,” Azlinar said. “This is the princess. I am her right hand. We demand to speak with General Dalgron.”
Nishta’s eyes swept the infected army behind Nemia. “What are your intentions here?”
“I want to speak with the general,” Nemia said between gritted teeth. This orc was trying her patience. She would see Dalgron. “I am the princess. I command it.”
“I am under orders to turn you away. Nothing else. So, go. We will speak with you after we have cured the infected orcs.” Nishta turned her horse.
Azlinar began to chortle, his laughter filling the still air. “Your orcs will join our army. We will take over your pathetic little encampment before you can blink.”
Nishta slowly turned her horse back to them. “Is that a challenge?”
“It’s a promise,” Nemia said with confidence. “Vron! Strike!”
Nishta craned her head. “Vron? He’s here?”
“He’s my soldier now.” Nemia pointed to Vron, who ran toward Nishta, cudgel in his hand.
Nemia waited for the bloodshed, unsure how she’d feel when it happened. She wanted everyone to love her, to fear her.
But before Vron could reach Nishta, the orc spurred her horse and galloped away, back toward the encampment.
“Follow!” Nemia commanded.
Her orc army began to jog behind her, their footsteps thundering over the prairie. Dalgron would know soon enough who they were and why they were coming. She only wished she could be there to see the expression on his face when he realized who was coming for him.