There, a pair of fine antlers protruded from a hollowed-out block of salt. “Is that...the head of the chieftain’s stag?”
Trawg looked up, a proud grin on his face. “Damn right it is. The family allowed me to save it for the chieftain. When those freeloaders move on, it will be the centerpiece of the feast.”
My stomach churned. What if Quinn had been right, and the deer was tainted? Curing the head would only allow its poisons to fester. Maybe even to the point where they’d be dangerous for an orc. If anything happened to Ul-Rott, the clan would be in chaos, and Two Swords would break our truce just as fast as they could march across the river.
But at least Eli would be safe, long gone with the rest of the Lost Clan.
Which was somehow no comfort at all.
11
Eli
At sea, a funeral would involve a turnout from the crew, a word from the captain and a moment of silence before the body was surrendered to the embrace of the waves. Here, in the orc village, the corpse of the dead archer smoked on a heap like a suckling pig for nearly four days. If there was any upside to the rank haze that settled over the village, it was that no one was sniffing at me trying to catch my scent, because if they did, they’d end up with a snootful of their dearly departed.
Pilgrim probably suspected that Kof hadn’t “put his scent” on me. The baggy tunic and breeches had done me a favor, though, since I smelled enough like orc now that he couldn’t say for sure whether or not I’d made any headway with the captain. And it would be totally unlike him to come right out and ask. That would be way too direct, and Pilgrim always liked to keep me guessing.
Still, sooner or later, the pyre was going to snuff itself out. So, when Pilgrim announced that he wanted to take a dip in the nearby river, I tagged along to try and stay in his good graces.The river curved along the eastern border of the village, not deep enough for a barge, but too wide and swift to navigate by foot. The river protected the village from their neighbors across the water without need to maintain a wall, and fishing nets and crayfish traps were staked along the shoreline. The bank was rocky and slippery with algae, and the water was frigid. But I’d bathed in worse—and I was eager to erase whatever trace of scent I might (or might not) have been carrying.
Smeg lumbered over and immediately emptied one of the traps onto the rocks, stuffing the wriggling crayfish into his mouth. A pair of slaves were hanging clothes to dry downstream—a bored gnoll, and the goblin flagoner from the other night, moving gingerly. They watched Smeg crunch through the catch, but quickly looked away when they saw I’d noticed them. Slaves are invisible to orcs. Probably because the beasts are so good at breaking their captives’ sprits. But I always took an interest in anyone wearing an orc’s brand. It was a reminder of what I’d become if I ever let Pilgrim win.
Maybe they were just as interested in me as I was in them…if the murmur of “witch” I heard when I tugged off my tunic was anything to go by.
Pilgrim chuckled. “Who knew all those doodles on your soft pink skin would come in handy?” he said.
I hung my clothes on a bush to keep them dry, ignoring him.
“Maybe you should do something ‘witchy,’” he suggested. He and all his toadies shared a good laugh.
Let them. I’d heard him late at night talking to Smeg from the confines of my box. This clan’s fear of me was something he could turn to his advantage. It was probably the main reason Ihadn’t been punished for not coming back from my meeting with Kof reeking of orcish spunk.
The cold water stung, but I forced myself to stay in, neck deep, as I scrubbed myself with a handful of reeds. “Be careful the current doesn’t take you,” Pilgrim called from closer to shore. I hadn’t even considered it, truth be told. But now I saw that if I took a deep breath and allowed the current to have its way, I’d hardly need to swim at all.
For just a moment, I let myself imagine that the rapids to the south didn’t kill me…and I saw myself crawling from the river downstream. Cold, wet, naked…and a free man.
But while I might be free, Pilgrim would still be alive.
He’d find me again if it was the last thing he did…and he’d truly make me pay.
All too soon, the chill of the water leeched into my bones, and I could stay in the river no longer. Even the short amount of time I’d been bathing, the current had nudged me a good bit downstream.
I could run. I have a head start.
Maybe so…but my feet were bare and the rocky shore was slimy. And a motivated orc can move a lot faster than you’d think.
And, most importantly, my chance to finish Pilgrim would be gone.
I waded out from the river, water dripping from my hair, and trudged back toward the Lost Clan. Pilgrim was watching from the corner of his eye, making sure I didn’t get any bright ideas, sohe hadn’t yet noticed that the slaves had paused in their washing to point at something on the far bank.
Across the river, a doe stood poised, its large brown eyes fixed on us. She was full-grown but thin, ribs showing. Still, there’d be more than enough meat on her to go around.
I slogged up the bank, pulled on my clothes, and joined the gathering. By the time I got there, Smeg and the others were already in a heated discussion, their voices hushed but urgent. One claimed he could take it down with a good spear—which we didn’t have—and another was already complaining we’d have to share it with the Red Hand.
“I could make that throw with this,” Smeg said, with his hand on the hilt of his eating knife.
A toadie snorted. “This far off? You’d be lucky to hit the side of a house.”
Voices had grown louder. But the deer, seemingly unbothered by our bickering, remained frozen in place. Why hadn’t it bolted yet?
