I called up a mental image of the orc. There was that brutal scar, of course, where the eye used to be. But aside from that? Broad. Muscled. Wiry dark hair in a short braid, and thick, blunt tusks.
True, orcs were all the same—big and green—but I could definitely tell them apart. The shape of his head, the form of his tusks…there were definitely enough similarities between Kof and Smeg to mistake the one for the other.
Aside from that eye.
No doubt he’d lost it in battle. Or, knowing orcs, it was just as likely he’d been caught looking at something he shouldn’t, and was taught a lesson he’d never forget.
Kof didn’t seem like the type to incur that sort of punishment, though, what with the quiet, steady way of his….
I quashed that line of thinking. I was getting carried away with myself if I ascribed actual personalities to the ugly green beasts. His offer of food and clothing? There was a motive behind it. And if I mistook it for compassion, then I was nothing but a fool.
As I pulled on my boots, Smeg tossed a trinket my way. It was a crude string of beads we’d picked up as the Lost Clan worked their way through orcish villages. “Better make yourself pretty. You’ll have lots of guards to satisfy before you get to the top.”
He was chuckling as he said it. Orcs and their so-called humor.
The day was gray as I made my way to the caves the clan’s shaman called home. I could taste winter on the air, but I didn’t dare double back and beg Pilgrim for a cloak. I could still practically feel his fingertip trailing down my bare shoulder.
According to the murmurs I’d gleaned through the walls of the chest, the shaman of the Red Hand Clan—the blunt anvil of an orc I’d seen at the feast—was rumored to be subject to fits of prophecy. It was also said he shared his private quarters with a man. It wasn’t the companion’s gender that the orcs found strange. Only the fact that he was human.
Still, maybe the presence of this human was working in my favor. When I presented myself at the shaman’s den, the honor guard at the mouth of the cave stood aside and let me pass before I could even come up with a plausible excuse to be there.
Orcs say that the Lost Clan becomes part of their own tribe, but I’d always thought that was nothing more than lip service. But if it was this easy for me to gain an audience….
The antechamber was big, strung with totems and symbols. But it filled quickly enough as three big orcs poured into the space. Their armor was light leather, tooled and painted more decoratively than the chieftain’s guards, but they all had the bearing of soldiers.
Clearly, I’d been too quick to pat myself on the back for getting past the gate if they thought I needed this much supervision.
“How much?” one of them asked.
“How much for…what?”
That question rendered him as baffled as I was. He and his cronies conferred for a moment. When they came to a conclusion, he turned back to me said, “Suck me while Tarq fucks you and Rikon watches.”
“And then I shoot my load on you,” one of the other ones added.
My mouth worked stupidly.
“I’ll give you four coppers,” the last one offered. “But only if you’re good and tight.”
I’d been expecting a challenge, an argument, or even an outright refusal. This matter-of-fact negotiation—forsex—had me flummoxed. If Pilgrim had sent ahead word that a whore was coming, he could have at least warned me….
But then another beast filled the doorway. Theentiredoorway. And judging by the pendulous breasts straining against her threadbare tunic, this one was female. No clue what she was, with no tusks and grayish skin instead of green, but she was definitely not orcish. Her scalp was shorn, her brow was low, her shoulders were broad, and she stood a full head taller than even the biggest orc. And around her neck was a string of beads—suspiciously like the one Smeg had given me.
When I did finally end Pilgrim, hopefully I’d get the chance to take a shot at Smeg, too. Though I suppose I couldn’t deny that the beads had gotten me through the door.
“You’re lucky I’m through here,” the creature said to me in passing. Her voice was like a storm rumbling low over a too-quiet sea. “If you ever cut in on my trade, I’ll squash you like a louse.”
“I’m not here to work,” I said as I yanked the strand of beads off and bunched it in my fist. The voyeur who wanted to jizz on me looked disappointed, but the others just shrugged and headed back the way they’d come. The guard who’d let me in was leery of me now. He frowned and flexed his grip on his spear. Before he tossed me out, I said, “I need to see Kof.”
The frown deepened. “What for?”
“That’s between your captain and me.”
Good thing you can always count on an orc to defer to his superior. The guard led me deeper into the caves, and into a smaller, more intimate chamber. Runes and markings etched into the walls and bones of various animals adorned the space, from a tiny, delicate squirrel skull to a boar’s skull with tusks as big as any orc’s. There was nowhere to sit, naturally, as orcs think they’re too good for furniture, and the caves smelled of sulfur. But the air was deliciously warm against my bare skin.
I was pondering the etchings when a string of bones clattered behind me. I whirled around, expecting an orc—but it was only a man. Young, slight, with tousled coppery hair and a wry smile. Normally, you can gauge a man by the quality of his boots, but this one went barefoot. But though his outfit was simple, the cloth looked fine.
“I’m Archie. Bearer of the Prophecy, consort of the Shaman, and token redhead. And you must be the Eli everyone’s going on about.” He raked a casual gaze over me. “No one told me you were a sailor.”
