I scanned the crowd. Quinn, too, was absent from Marok’s side tonight, off tending to a foaling mare. That meant the only human among us now was the female, Bess. But I couldn’t tell if she was as particular as Archie about her food. The young ones she minded saved her only choicest bits from their plates, hoping to gain her favor. It’s said she’s well aware of their tactics, but lets them carry on regardless. Children are children theworld over. Though at what age they become the person they will be—industrious and proud, or lazy and feckless—I couldn’t say.
Maybe I was at the crux of my own becoming when I lost my eye…and maybe that loss made me the man I became, instead of the boy Ulka remembered.
Droko clapped his mug down meaningfully on the table. How long had he been waiting for me? I hurried to refill it from the aleskin at my waist. As I bent close, he said, “You don’t think Archie coddles the sick too much, do you? He says healing takes time, but we do no one any favor if they leave our caves strong in body but weak in spirit.”
“Why ask me?” I wondered, as Droko took a long swallow of ale. “I’m just a guard.”
“Captain of the honor guard.” The shaman wiped his mouth. “So, Taruut saw something in you—and so do I. You think before you speak. You have good ideas. And you pay attention to what’s going on…usually.” He shook his nearly-empty mug meaningfully, and I filled it again. “If you think something’s wrong, you will tell me about—”
There was a huge clang to my blind side, and I swung into position to shield the shaman from attack. But there was no blade or club, no attacking Lost Clan member, no threat. Just an old goblin covered in fish stew where the flagon he’d dropped upended the bowl of the chieftain’s fourth son.
I hadn’t been the only one to react. The guards who’d watched it all unfold just sniggered, but others had their swords at the ready, and even the chieftain himself had shifted his eating knife into an attack grip. But he didn’t startle easily. And when he spoke, his voice was calm and matter-of-fact. “Take thegoblin out of earshot and have him beaten,” he said, and turned back to his stew.
***
The rest of the meal went well enough, though a soldier accused one of the Lost Clan of taking her bread. When neither could prove their case, Ul-Rott ordered the loaf split in two instead of letting them fight to first blood. Unusually diplomatic of him. No doubt there’d be grumbles in the barracks about it later.
Back at the caves, I set to re-checking our stores to see if the larder’s last delivery had been its usual amount. There was venison, but the delivery had come a few days ago, so this deer wouldn’t be the same one Quinn had made a fuss about with the quartermaster. Still, I gave the meat a good sniff to make sure it smelled the way it should.
I was scrutinizing the dried jerky when one of my guards approached. “Hroginda is here.” Hroginda was an ogre—a regular who came around to service the men every few weeks. She didn’t do much while she was getting plowed, but she didn’t complain, either.
“She may enter,” I said. This was a formality. Hroginda knew her way around the caves better than most Red Hand orcs.
The guard paused, then said, “And will you put your scent on her first?”
Usually, I did just that, as was my right. But tonight, I had too much on my mind. I waved him off and went back to tallying our provisions.
7
Eli
As we straggled back to the house we’d commandeered, Pilgrim’s expression revealed nothing. It would be easier if he just laid into me. But he wouldn’t even meet my eyes.
I knew he must be seething. It was bad enough that the Red Hand Clan had offered no venison at their welcome feast. I’d failed to charm the chieftain—and even managed to repulse his beast of a wife. And yet, for all I could tell, Pilgrim was just thinking about the ale.
He gave me nothing to read, and that unsettled me more than if he’d raged. When Pilgrim went quiet like that, it meant something was turning over in his mind—something bad. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d already decided what came next, and I just hadn’t caught up yet.
Even when orcs ambled along aimlessly, their gait was longer than mine. My ridiculous sarong hitched down as I walked with great strides. As I caught the fabric and tugged it higher, Isaw that Smeg was watching me clutch the damn fabric around myself…and he leered.
A cold fear settled in my gut. Pilgrim didn’t share his belongings. But after tonight’s failure, he might make an exception.
Just as our new home base came into view, I blurted out, “I have an idea.”
Pilgrim slid a bland look my way.
I said, “The quartermaster took a shine to me. I could tell by the way his nostrils flared.” This was a bald-faced lie. The only thing that had transpired between that warty old orc and me had been a snippy command to not spill the beer. “I’ll make an inroad with him and find out if Ul-Rott was holding out on you tonight.”
Pilgrim’s eyes narrowed. Considering my idea? Or sensing the lie?
“I can check out the clan’s stores,” I hurried on. “Get a sense of just how full they are. Winter’s coming—”
I sounded desperate, even to me, positive that Pilgrim must see right through this so-called idea of mine. But just when I thought he’d shove me directly into Smeg’s filthy paws and tell him to use me as he liked, he nodded once and said, “You do that. And find out if the fish stew was meant as a boast or an insult.”
My stomach flipped in relief. But as I turned to go, he added, “And don’t get any smart ideas about running off. This village is surrounded by a wall twice as big as you.”
Smeg chortled and added, “And some of the piked heads outside looked like they might’ve even been human.”
For once, I was glad I’d missed the scenery on our way in. “Even if I could slip the gate somehow,” I said, “where would I go?”
