Knight of the Blue Surcoat - IN EDITING HELL - SLOW

Chapter XX: A Game of Souls

Orlando dreamt he was in a seething crowd of men. A battlefield? Or a crowded room? It was too hot and murky to say.

Somewhere close by, Melora was calling him, but he couldn't see her anywhere. He whirled in circles, tripping over legs and arms, pushing and being pushed by the mass of sweat and flesh. No red hair, not a woman among them.

The man in front of Orlando turned; it was Mador, his face twisted into a sneer. "Stay buried forever," he hissed, drawing a blade from his belt.

"No." Orlando punched the other knight in the nose, not caring if it was honorable or not. "No!" He wrestled the knife from Mador and rose to his feet, only to see the human swarm all watching, all wearing Mador's face, all pressing in to kill him.

"ORLANDO!" Melora's scream, closer.

Orlando tore through the Mador crowd, flailing with arms and dagger, heedless of his own body. Trailing bloody streamers from countless slashes, Orlando broke through the crowd and out of the small room.

In the next room, a bear of a man cornered Melora. Her sword shattered, and the man drew back for the deathblow. Orlando threw himself at the man, tearing his hair back and sending his swing wide. He thrust his knife into the man's neck, casting him aside as he fell.

Melora turned to him, her hair wreathing her head like a fiery halo, her eyes jewel-bright. "You came!"

"I had to," he said, staring at her blood-spattered gown. "You're hurt?"

"Not much." She smiled at him. "But you look horrible."

Orlando winced at his own pain. "How did it happen?"

Melora cast her broken blade to the floor and took his hands. "It doesn't matter." Her smile was brighter than light, warmer than summer. "It just matters that you came." She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Orlando blinked, stepping back.

Something felt wrong. Melora wasn't forward like this. He didn't even know if she liked him all that much.

He stared at her, blinking. "Where are we?"

She leaned forward again. "Why do you care? We're safe now." She glanced over her shoulder and flashed him a conspiratorial grin. "No one will find us for a little while."

Her smile made his heart ache, yet still something seemed off. Orlando sheathed his knife and reached for her hand. "We should find the way out."

"There is none," she whispered, squeezing his hand and gazing into his eyes.

Her eyes were strange, the pupils slit like those of a cat. As she drew him to her, he caught the slightest hint of violet in the glittering green.

Orlando recoiled. "This is false!"

Melora laughed, shrinking and twisting before his eyes, warping into the tangled form of the Destroyer. "Round one to you, pretty princeling," she cackled, her voice still echoing Melora's rich tone. "What a pity. Won't you give a poor old woman a kiss?"

"If she was my mother," growled Orlando. "You're a monster."

The Destroyer continued laughing with glee. "Things change in time."

"Never," snapped Orlando. "Now let me out."

"Such a prince, such a fool," scoffed the hag. "I'll indulge you, though this world is so much better."

Orlando awoke with a start, his forehead slick with sweat. It was dark as death around him, and the smell of rot gathered in his lungs. Orlando gripped his face in his hands, rattling his many chains. He held back threatening tears and forced the thought of Melora from his mind. Lost to him, she couldn't hear him, and the Destroyer was the only one here.