Bile rose in my throat.
“And what would that solve?” Pilgrim’s tone dropped dangerously low. “The Red Hand won’t be satisfied. The human stays with us.”
“Your pride will get us all killed—”
Pilgrim’s laugh held no humor. “This has nothing to do with pride. You think I don’t see what’s happening? How quick you are to suggest giving away what’s mine? Don’t forget who saved you from the angry mob after you nearly tore that daft boy in two.”
The silence that followed was thick with tension.
“How was I to know the whelp was the chieftain’s brat?” Smeg finally muttered.
“The human stays. And if anyone from the Red Hand comes sniffing around, we’ll be ready for them.”
“Will we?” Smeg said. “Maybe they’ve lost a few good fighters to the hobgoblins, but we’re still outnumbered, and their weapons are strong. They expect us to stay until tomorrow’s full moon, but we could leave tonight. Pack up and slip away before they have a chance to—”
“Enough.” Something shattered—probably one of the fine clay vessels the house’s previous owner had left behind. “The human is mine. No one touches him. Not the Red Hand. Not you.”
“What could possibly be worth—”
“I have plans.” Pilgrim’s words dripped with dark promise.
“Plans! Your plans always end with us limping away like a beaten cur.”
“My plans are what keep you fed.” A sharp crack—Pilgrim must have landed a solid hit on the vile toady. “Question me again, and I’ll remind you exactly what happened to the last man who did.”
The silence that followed made my skin crawl. I pressed myself deeper into the wooden chest, willing myself to become invisible. Smeg’s breathing came in short, sharp bursts.
“As you say,” Smeg finally grumbled.
“Good. Now get out of my sight. And spread the word—anyone who touches my property answers to me. And don’t pack a thing. When the full moon comes…we’re not going anywhere.”
21
Kof
We sent an honor guard contingent to watch over the proceedings and insisted the roast boar be kept whole. Normally, it would have been portioned out piece by piece. And between its weight and the heat of the charcoals, it took the slaves nearly a full day and night to finally wrest the beast from its pit and heave it onto a wagon bed. By then, the flesh was leathery and charred, and buzzing with a few intrepid flies that had somehow weathered the early snowstorm. The temperature was above freezing again, though thankfully, not by much. The black ooze smelled bad enough without the flesh around it falling to rot.
“I hope you don’t expect me to have that thing dragged any farther than the entry chamber,” Droko said to me.
I watched as the slaves and the honor guard struggled it into the caves. “Only far enough to keep it from prying eyes and meddling hands.”
Archie joined us in the entryway, mopping his brow. His clothes were damp with sweat from the moist heat of the caves. “Whew! And I thought the constant smell of sulfur took some getting used to. So this is what caused all the ruckus. Are you sure it’s sabotage? When would someone have had a chance to tinker with the poor creature?”
“Many times,” I said—because of course it wasn’t witchcraft. At least, I hoped not. “During the storm. Or as the coals were banked. Or even in the larder while it marinated.”
One of my men said, “The chieftain’s men were guarding it. And Trawg would never let that happen. His pride wouldn’t allow it.”
I wished that were not true. “There was ample opportunity,” I said stubbornly, and drew my eating knife. As Droko, Archie, and several of my men looked on, I thrust my knife into the boar’s flank and sliced it open. My blade was much smaller than the chieftain’s, and the hide had practically cured into leather by now. But I would hack through stone if need be.
I pulled the stiff hide open, sure that treachery would soon be revealed. But the boar had been stuffed with gourds, wild apples and bundles of herbs—soft and rank by now, but nothing out of the ordinary.
Except….
“What’s that?” Archie said, pointing.
His sharp human eyes had immediately pinpointed the source of the foul liquid. The bilesack was still in place—an organ that should have been removed with all the rest—and it was distended and black, diseased. There had been no sabotage after all, but simply neglect in the preparation. In fact, we found manyof the innards were still intact, as if someone had field butchered the carcass in a hurry.
But Trawg had been given days…with his own equipment, in his own larder.
