“Maybe the human really is a witch,” one of them whispered.
“Don’t be stupid,” said another, but shadows on the wall danced as they all backed away from me, giving me wide berth.
From the second room, another orc joined us. I saw him from the edge of my crippled vision. A big one—and he stunk. And unlike the others, he acted as if he’d been…expecting me.
“It took you long enough.” He sent the others away, then sauntered over and planted himself beside me, grinning expectantly. “And you’re still fixed on that old larkwood box. What you can see of it, anyhow.”
The speaker had approached my blind side. It was an honor guard’s instinct to line up a potential threat where I could see it—but even so, the pull to keep my eye on the wooden chest was strong. I had to wrench my gaze away from the thing to see the stinking orc.
The other orc smiled. It was an ugly expression. “It always did make your skin crawl.”
“What are you talking about?”
The orc had status. He raised a hand, and the others hurried outside, leaving us alone.He looked meaningfully at the chest…and then at me. “Don’t act like you can’t remember.”
I stared back at him blankly.
“What, you need a reminder? Fine. Our wretched ol’ man locked you in for opening yer yap when you should’ve kept it shut. Oh, he hated you, almost as much as I did—such a know-it-all, so much smarter than everyone else–and you couldn’t help but let him know it every chance you got. Three days and nights, he left you. Covered in your own shit, you were, and half dead with thirst. But you never spoke out of turn again.”
It was like Ukla’s childhood story of pulling tails off rock lizards. A recollection so old, I had no memory of it.
Except the icy finger of dread that crept down the back of my neck every time I looked at that box said different.
And then there was the glint of the sword on the orc’s hip—a sword far too fine for a man like him…a sword fit for a chieftain….
His nasty smile broadened. “Ah, now it’s all coming back.” He threw his arms wide in a mocking gesture. “Welcome home, little brother.”
Scattered images hit me like flashes of lightning. Trudging down a road under the light of a full moon. The chieftain’s ancestral sword held high to raucous laughter. My older brother, bending over a wailing orcish boy—threatening me with thesame if I told anyone. The lid of the larkwood chest slamming shut.
“Osmeg,” I breathed.
He shrugged, still smirking. “It’s just Smeg, now. I like the way it makes all the wee ones cringe. And you’re called Kof nowadays, so they say—”
“Don’t.” I stopped him before he could speak some other name and claim it was mine. True or not, the child I’d once been was long dead. Another flash of memory: Taruut approaching with a sharpened bone, assuring me I’d hardly miss the eye—claiming I’d have a better life without it. Another boy just my age from the Red Hand Clan, one eye covered in a bloody poultice, lay lifeless on a stone slab.
That dead boy was last thing I’d seen with both eyes.
And ever since then, I knew no name other than—
“Kof,” I said firmly. “My name is Kof.”
“And you keep right on telling yourself that,” said another voice—one that belonged to the ruler of the supposedly leaderless Lost Clan. I swung around and found Pilgrim in the doorway of the inner chamber. Eli was held in front of him like a shield, naked save for a wisp of silk, one arm bent brutally behind his back. “Because your old self would be no good to me. But as it stands now, I could definitely use you.”
“Kof, don’t listen to a word he—” Eli’s warning broke off in a gasp of pain as Pilgrimtwisted.
“It doesn’t matter what we call you,” Pilgrim said pleasantly as the acid pong of human fear and pain filled the room. “Once Lost, always Lost. You might go around acting like you’re someimportant captain of the shaman’s honor guard, but you’re not even Red Hand. Do you have any friends among the clan? Any family? Face it: whatever your name is, deep down inside, you’re one of us. And you always have been.”
Hatred churned in my gut. “You’re wrong. I am no more Lost Clan than you are Red Hand.”
“Is that so?” Pilgrim asked. “Then where are your faithful guardsmen right now? You’re their leader, aren’t you? Did you command them to stay behind? Or did they simply watch you hurry off without lifting a finger to help?”
His words stung, even though I told myself my men’s allegiance should not be for me, but for the shaman. They rang true anyhow. I had always felt apart, an outsider, even among my own men.
But blood relation or not—I would never accept any kinship with the Lost Clan.
“I may not know where I belong—but it’s not with filth like you.”
“Fair enough. But let’s lay our cards on the table. I’ve got something you want. And I’m happy to let you have the human.” He twisted Eli’s arm. I couldsmellthe flesh bruising. “But you’ll have to earn him. Just bring the shaman around to our side and the creature is yours.”
