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“Believe it or not, that is a good sign. That marker was left by my people. It signifies we are passing into my tribe’s territory.”
“Oh,” she says, relaxing a little. “Good.”
She noticed that I didn’t relax as much as her, and she frowned.
“I mean, is it good? You seem kind of tense, Jovak. Or is it your shoulder again? You want me to rub it for you?”
“No, it’s not my shoulder,” I say quickly, even though the idea of her hands on my body in any capacity is an enticing one. “I’m just … alert. On the edge of readiness.”
She nods, but I can tell she knows there’s more to it than that. The truth is, I’m a bit wary of the very tribe I lead. I’m not sure how they will react to me being gone for so long, much less what they will think of my taking in two human refugees upon my return.
As we venture deeper into Shattered Rock lands, I become aware of presences. I can’t make them out. I can’t see, hear, or even smell them, but I know my tribe is watching us from afar. They hide in the trees, behind grassy knolls, and in the depressions left by dry riverbeds. Watching and waiting.
I hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but neither did I expect to be stalked. If not for Laney and Paige, I would have already stopped and demanded that my people show themselves. I don't want to risk a confrontation, however. Not with the chance of the two humans being hurt.
“Is it just me,” Paige says, her eyes narrowing cautiously, “or does it feel like we’re being watched?”
“It’s not just you,” I respond in a low growl. My head is on a swivel as I spin my gaze this way and that. They’re close now, very close. I still can’t see them, but now I can smell them. I hear things too. The whisk of a leather sole on a rock upthrust from the dirt. The gentle shake of a leaf as a large body moves past. A sharp intake of breath as someone ducks behind a tree trunk right before I spot them.
Then, they make their move.
A dozen orcs melt out of the woods, all of them with bows drawn and arrows nocked. I tried to shield Paige with my body and drew my axes.
“Get down,” I growl to Paige as I turn this way and that, trying to keep track of all of them at once and failing miserably.
My eyes narrow to slits, and I stand straight, letting the axes droop to my sides.
“Is this how you greet your chieftain?” I snap. “With weapons drawn and eyes filled with hate?”
An orc loosens his bow, letting it go slack. He walks in front of the others, lips twitching in a snarl. He’s almost as tall as me and built like a boulder.
Rolar. The most vocal of my critics in the tribe and the last one of them that I wanted to meet on the road.
“You cannot be our chief,” Rolar growls. “After all, you are a dead man.”
9
PAIGE
I’m too scared to breathe.
Orcs melted out of the woods like magic, surrounding us with arrows drawn and nocked. I hear the tendons of the archers, as well as the bent, springy wood of their bows creaking. I’ve seen an orcish bow put an arrow through a tree trunk before.
Grandpa taught me how to hunt using a bow with a thirty-pound pull, sufficient for most game. But orcs use bows with a minimum ... a minimum ... of one hundred pounds. Most humans would struggle just to string such a bow, but there are a dozen of them aimed our way now.
No, not our way. Only at Jovak. The orc who spoke isn’t quite as tall as Jovak, but he’s twice as big around. What he lacks in grace he clearly makes up for in raw bulk and muscle. He has a scar on his cheek that makes him look like he has a perpetual sneer. Or maybe he just has a perpetual sneer, and the scar is incidental.
Whatever the case, I don’t like him. I feel hostility coming off of him in palpable waves. From all the orcs, really, but mostly from him. I get the feeling he’s something of a rival for Jovak. Maybe someone who wants the chieftainship bad enough to kill for it.
I shift in the wagon, not sure what I should do or say. It’s a volatile situation, and the slightest thing could set it off like a bomb. I don't want to be the reason Jovak gets killed. He’s done so much for me already, and I’ve had scant chances to pay him back.
Jovak still has his axes in hand and is ready to send them flying at a moment’s notice. I have no doubt he’d hit his targets, too, and probably kill them. But that would leave ten other orcs to stick him full of arrows like a pincushion.
Jovak seems to have the same assessment of the situation I do. He casts a glance back at me, and his eyes are filled with worry. I feel bad for him. Once again, I’m getting in the way. If he were alone, perhaps he would stand a chance against these orcs. Probably not, but I still feel like an anchor around his neck.
He straightens, losing his fighting stance in lieu of towering over the orc who apparently leads this band of archers.
“I always thought that one day you would take your shot at me, Rolar. But in my imagination, you were enough of an orc and a warrior to do it one-on-one. Not relying on a team of archers like a coward.”
