A murmur rippled through the assembled orcs. One or two nodded, considering my words. Most others shifted uneasily. Ul-Rott remained impassive, but I pressed on.
“The Red Hand Clan has suffered losses. Our best archer, taken by the Wrack. Our warriors, fallen in battle against the hobgoblins. Winter approaches. Our numbers are dwindling. Our enemies watch, waiting for weakness. We can’t afford to weaken ourselves further.”
I turned to face the Lost Clan directly. “These orcs…some might be strong. Skilled hunters, fierce warriors. They could replenish our ranks. Help us prepare for the harsh months ahead. We can offer them a purpose. A chance to redeem themselves.”
I looked back at Ul-Rott, my gaze steady. “Mercy, Chieftain. Not for Pilgrim, but for those he misled. Judge them not as a single entity, but one by one. Turn our losses into gains—before our enemies do.”
Ul-Rott looked at the bound orcs skeptically. “Are there any hunters among you?”
As a few orcs raised their hands, Eli said, “The one in the doeskin vest is an archer, chieftain. And the shorter one has a knack for snares.”
“This human has lived among them,” I said. “He knows their ways.”
Ul-Rott’s gaze settled on me, heavy with the weight of my proposition. The silence that followed stretched painfully. I could feel the stares of my fellow orcs, their breaths held in anticipation. Finally, the chieftain grunted, a sound that in another orc might have been the prelude to a laugh. But Ul-Rott was not known for his mirth.
“Your words have some merit,” the chieftain said. “Tradition says the Lost Clan may give or take. But everyone know they only care about growing their ranks.”
“No, chieftain. That’s not the case—and I can prove it.” I swallowed hard. “I know they’ve left someone with the Red Hand before. Because that someone is me.”
A gasp rippled through the crowd, but I kept my gaze fixed on Ul-Rott.
“When a boy called Kof died from a festering eye, Taruut claimed me as his replacement. Taruut dug out a good eye and kept me hidden in the caves for years. Long enough that any changes in me could be attributed to the passage of time. Taruut’s reasons for doing this died with him—”
“That, I can guess,” the chieftain said. “He didn’t want anyone to know his cures had failed.”
Possibly. But I had known Taruut better than most. Maybe he’d seen the chance to give a quiet, frightened boy from the Lost Clan a better life. “Whatever the shaman’s reasons might have been, Taruut was wise. I have served the Red Hand Clan with loyalty in the highest of callings, the shaman’s honor guard. And I am evidence that there is something to gain from the Lost Clan.”
Stillness settled over the courtyard like a held breath. Everyone’s focus was on Ul-Rott, waiting for his judgment. The chieftain squinted at the scar where my eye had once been, and then his gaze shifted to the Lost Clan orcs, bound and helpless before us.
After what felt like an eternity, Ul-Rott nodded. “Very well. We will give them a chance to prove their worth. They will bewatched closely. Any sign of treachery, and they will meet the same fate as Pilgrim.”
As Ul-Rott’s words hung in the air, a huge, ragged figure pushed forward from the bound orcs. Osmeg. His voice shook with false humility when he said, “Ul-Rott is wise—praise Ul-Rott! My sword is yours—even though it hangs now at the belt of the shaman.”
Eli flinched, and he recoiled from the reeking orc.
“I live only to serve,” he babbled on. “And surely my brother will agree—”
“This man preys on the clan’s young,” I said, with no need whatsoever to ponder my words. “He’s no brother of mine.”
The chieftain grimaced, then motioned to his closest guard. “Mount that one’s head beside his leader’s—”
“Wait!” I said. The quiver in Osmeg’s voice hadn’t been acting, I realized. “Don’t take his head.” Hope blazed in my so-called brother’s eyes.
Ul-Rott said, “Despite what you claim about his actions, you beg mercy?”
I shook my head. “Not mercy. This man is sick—beheading him will only spread the disease.”
And the Wrack would be death sentence enough.
27
Kof
It was a long, cold night sorting out the Lost Clan, but the moon was bright, and by morning, our ranks were strong. We had replaced all our fallen warriors and filled our roster with new hunters and fighters. And those left to resume their wandering swore an oath to never again take from the Red Hand.
It was settled.
But my only concern was for Eli. His fate had not yet been officially decided.
