“Kof!” the shaman called, but I was already too far gone. I was out of the caves and storming across the village, consumed by white-hot rage. The quartermaster had failed, and he would have let Eli take the blame. Even if Eli had to pay the ultimate price.
The chieftain’s men were still on watch at the larders, but they stepped aside, startled, as I shoved my way in. “Trawg!” I bellowed. “You will answer tome!”
The larders stank of garlic and rue. I shoved through sacks of grain, sending mice skittering, until I came to the meat stores. There, in the corner, Trawg huddled on a wretched pallet. He was shivering violently, green skin ashen, eyes glassy and unfocused. A line of drool hung from his slack mouth.
My heart clenched. I knew these signs. It was the sickness that had claimed Ulka—the disease Quinn had tried to warn us about.
“The Wrack,” I said. “How long have you had it? Why keep it hidden?”
“Not hidden,” he slurred, his words thick and halting. “The meat...it’s fine. I’m fine. No such thing as Wrack. It’s the nasty humans…they…they….”
I towered over him where he trembled on his pallet. “We both know the humans have nothing to do with it. The sickness started with the deer Ul-Rott felled.”
Trawg’s eyes rolled wildly. “No...no...lies. The witch brought this...brought the storm….”
“Enough! You know it’s not Eli.” I scanned the room, searching for the curing stag head. The salt block was empty. “Where’s the head?”
Trawg looked around blearily. “I told the guards it wasn’t ready yet. But Ul-Rott was hungry.”
“You let it go to the chieftain’s table?”
“I would have switched it after the hunt—but instead you came back with a boar—”
“You knew,” I said flatly. He’d known because he’d sampled the chieftain’s prize stag himself. “You knew and you said nothing.”
“Had to keep the clan...strong….”
The old man’s eyes rolled up into his head and he began to convulse. I staggered back, mind reeling.
Trawg’s deception would spell the doom of us all.
22
Eli
Up in the night sky, the barest sliver of dark clung to one side of the moon. It lookednearlyround, or maybe just slightly misshapen. I shivered in my ridiculous sarong as the winter wind cut through the flimsy fabric like knives, and my bare feet burned against the frozen ground.
Pilgrim yanked me forward by a slim decorative chain that bound my wrists. A pair of Red Hand guards crossed their swords at the entrance to Ul-Rott’s lodge as we approached.
“Stand aside.” Pilgrim’s voice carried that dangerous tone I knew too well. “I’ve subdued the witch. Your chieftain—ourchieftain—needs to see him before the curse spreads further.”
My teeth chattered. The guards’ eyes darted between my bound wrists and Pilgrim’s face.
“Ul-Rott is not to be disturbed,” the taller guard said, but uncertainty crept into his voice.
Pilgrim’s words dripped with concern. “You saw what happened to that boar. Next time it could be your friends. Your children. The whole clan corrupted from within.”
The shorter guard swallowed hard.
Pilgrim eyed them both. “Which of you will explain to Ul-Rott why you kept him from staving off disaster….”
The guards exchanged glances. The taller one nodded and stepped aside, lowering his sword.
“The chieftain’s in his dining hall. But if this is some trick—”
“Just an opportunity.” Pilgrim yanked my chain, nearly snapping the delicate links. “One we can’t let slip through our fingers.”
They let us pass through the heavy wooden doors into the torch-lit corridor beyond. As we moved deeper into the lodge, I caught glimpses of rich tapestries and gleaming weapons mounted on the walls. The glint of all that metal reflected in Pilgrim’s greedy, glittering eyes.
