The Desolate Throne

XII. An End

Khagra packed together her bag of healing herbs and bandages methodically. She and the demon were out in the Argent Forest, near a small flowing stream that was surrounded by thick growth of lush grasses and wildflowers of a dozen varieties. Weeping willow branches trailed into the rippling water, swaying slightly in the faint breeze from the east. She'd been relieved of duty guarding Naris by Lieren so that she could go replenish her supplies before the battle. "Would you have saved Devyn if you didn't think his death would break Holland?" she asked as she rolled up the clean linen strips that she'd cut after she finished gathering plants necessary to make poultices and tonics.

Orobas was silent for a long moment, considering the question. He seemed less out of place now that they were in the woods again. Seeing him in the palace and even Tamaris as a whole had been strangely jarring, even though the orc knew that he had once dwelled in a great city. Maybe it was just because she knew him as the Horned King of the Mere. Then the quiet continued until Khagra realized that he wasn't going to answer.

"She told me to ask you about the Throne." The healer closed up her kit and slung it over her shoulder as she got up off her knees. She stopped to brush away some of the dirt and grass that she'd gotten on herself while rooting around for plants.

"THAT WAS MY ORIGINAL PURPOSE IN HEADING TO THE KEEP. I HAVE AN ANSWER." The demon's voice was as thoughtful as ever.

"And?" The orc was a little bit impatient, but only because the sky was beginning to lighten. Nearby, Zajar gnawed on a deer carcass with an abandon and noise that most would have found incredibly distressing. The cracking of bones could be heard as he tore free chunks of meat and gristle before gulping them down. He was used to hunting in woods, though he preferred more open spaces when possible. Thankfully, this was nowhere near as impenetrable to the sky as the Vale of the Undying.

"THE DESOLATE THRONE IS NOT, AS I BELIEVED, CONCEALED IN YSSA. IT IS NOT ON THIS PLANE AT ALL. IT EXISTS AS AN ISLAND AMIDST THE VOID, LAID AGAINST THIS REALM BUT NOT WITHIN IT. ONLY ONE ENTITY CAN CALL IT ACROSS INTO EXISTENCE HERE AND NOW: DEUS."

Khagra felt a horrible twisting dread start. "Orobas, does that mean...?"

"IT MEANS THAT WE WILL REQUIRE THE SHARD. IT ALSO MEANS THAT WE WILL REQUIRE HIS ASSISTANCE."

"Holland's going to have to make a deal with the Deceiver?" Khagra shook her head. "And here I thought the bad news for today was going to be death and dismemberment."

"THAT IS STILL VERY MUCH POSSIBLE. LAENUS IS A SKILLED COMBATANT AND HE HAS BATTLED AGAINST HER BEFORE. SHE HAS CHANGED, YES, BUT I DOUBT HER BATTLE-MIND IS SIGNIFICANTLY DIFFERENT FROM WHAT IT ONCE WAS. HE IS UNIQUELY QUALIFIED, OF ALL FOES IN THE EAST, TO KILL HER."

The orc sighed. "I know. We all do. This isn't going to be like her fight against that ogre. This is...it's not about honor or proving herself."

"IT IS ABOUT AN END." Orobas bowed his head to the orc. "MAY YOUR SKILL SERVE HER WELL, KHAGRA OF THE WING."

"I'm gratified you think I'm skilled," Khagra murmured.

"I DO NOT THINK. I KNOW." Orobas raised a clawed hand in farewell as she approached Zajar.

It was not a long flight back to the training grounds, but she still was barely there in time. Holland and Laenus were already about to begin, walking out onto the grassy field beside the barracks that stood just down the street from the palace. It was normally a place for knights to train their horses or themselves while the more professional soldiers drilled in the area. Khagra jumped off Zajar's back at the edge, hitting the ground beside Ardashir. Everyone else had flinched away when they saw the incoming dragon. His bloody snout didn't make him look particularly harmless. "How was she?"