Ul-Rott just wanted to eat. “You see danger where there is none. Give him a drink from the cup he just poured and have done with it. Your food’s losing its bite.”
Never taking her eyes off me, the missus handed me Ul-Rott’s mug. I took it from her and drank deeply. Orcish ale is thick and bitter, but even so, it reminded me of better times. Of exploring taverns on shore leave and waking up the next day with a well-earned headache and a half-invented story to tell.
Ul-Rott grabbed the mug from me, sniffed the contents, and knocked back the rest himself. “There, satisfied? No poison.” As I refilled the cup, he said, “Besides, look at what he’s wearing—if he had a vial of poison, where would he even put it?” Ul-Rott chortled, slurping up a big spoon of stew. His sons all joined in the laughter.
But his wife’s eyes went to my sarong.
Before I knew it, the fabric was a wad in her fist and the night air was slicing across my ballsack. Her sons laughed harder.
She glanced down disdainfully at my shrunken manhood, then met my eyes and said, “I still don’t trust it.” She tossed the wrap to one of the guards behind her and turned back to her stew. “Don’t get any clever ideas, human. I’ll be watching you.”
It wasn’t humiliation that burned my cheeks—it was rage. But at that moment, I could only swallow my pride and bide my time.
I whirled around and grabbed for my sarong. Only once I had my hand on it did I register that the other end was in the grasp of the biggest, scariest, one-eyed orc I’d ever seen.
6
Kof
I stood frozen, clutching the flimsy bit of fabric in my fist. The man’s scent hit me like a blow to the gut—a heady mix of human sweat, fear, and something else. Something both strange and familiar. My nostrils flared as I inhaled deeply, trying to capture that scent again.
The human stood just as still, clutching the other end of the cloth. His cheeks burned red, but his eyes were filled with defiance. He set his jaw and shifted his grip.
His fingers brushed against mine, sending a jolt through my body.
He yanked the fabric away and the contact was broken.
The human snapped the fabric open and wrapped it around himself with quick, angry motions. “What areyoustaring at?” he hissed.
That brought me back to my senses. “I am captain of the shaman’s honor guard—and you’re standing between us.”I shifted my spear and wedged it between him and Droko meaningfully, striking the butt into the ground with a solid thump. “You don’t approach him unless he summons you. And I don’t care how weak you are. No one touches his food or drink but me.”
“Fine. Suit yourself.” The man edged away, but his scent lingered in the air, taunting me. I inhaled again, attempting to place the smell. It reminded me of something... something from long ago. A memory tugged at the edges of my mind. But as the human took up his flagon and turned his attention to serving Ul-Rott’s sons, the connection slipped away before I could grasp it.
I was so focused on placing that smell, Droko had to actually turn in his seat and snap his fingers to get my attention. My focus was always the shaman. I should have noticed even the smallest summoning twitch of his fingers.
What was wrong with me?
I bent toward the table, and Droko spoke for my ears only. “Don’t worry about that human. He’s harmless. If anything, his people are using him as a distraction. That’s what I would do.”
Unlike most shamans, Droko had been trained in the ways of war.
Though…we weren’t at war with the Lost Clan, I reminded myself. Until the bright of the next moon, they were not just our guests.
They were our clan.
They were us.
But they didn’t feel like us, regardless of what tradition might say. The Lost Clan was so aimless and lazy, they were hardly orcs at all.
The tattooed human worked his way down to the far end of the table, where Ul-Rott’s younger sons and semi-favored generals spared him a glance and then proceeded to ignore him. Maybe they would have thought of him as a novelty, once. But that was before Quinn tamed Destroyer and became one of Ul-Rott’s most trusted men. According to grumblings I’d heard, all but Marok preferred things before there was a human among them, continually spouting his strange human opinions. But Quinn was useful and they gave him no insult.
If the chieftain’s lodge was different now that the humans were here, the shaman’s caves had changed even more. Not only did we have a young warrior for a shaman, but a human consort whose presence was foretold by Taruut’s visions.
Come to think of it…. “Where is the Bearer of the Prophecy?”
Droko said, “He stayed in the infirmary. The archer is back again, and he claims she needs watching. I think he was leery about what would be on the menu.”
For creatures who couldn’t smell worth a damn, humans were picky eaters.
