AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“In the western forest,” Rolar replied grimly. “We were searching, and then his body just … sort of rose from the dirt.”
“You mean he dug his way out of a shallow grave,” Jovak says.
“No, my chief.” I can’t help but notice Rolar is far more respectful than he was upon our first meeting. “I mean that he came up out of the dirt. He was in no shape to dig himself out. It was as if … the forest was expunging him like so much waste.”
“Sorcery,” Otunga spits and makes a sign in the air to ward off evil. “Dark elves do not care if they pollute the land itself.”
“You mean to say the forest is taking our people?” Jovak frowns. “That makes no sense.”
“What does when the damnable pointy ears are involved?” Rolar says. For some reason, he gives Jovak a very sharp look … an expression Jovak noticed but chose not to react to. There’s a story there, but of course, there’s no time to get into it now. It wouldn’t be appropriate anyway.
“We should concentrate our search parties on the western forest,” Jovak says. “And make sure no band is smaller than ten orcs.”
“What good is an entire army of orcs if the forest itself has turned against us?” Rolar asks.
“Perhaps not much,” Jovak admits. “But the more orcs in the search party, the more chance that at least one of them will be able to escape this evil and report back to us.”
Rolar’s eyes narrow to slits.
“So you would sacrifice nine orcs just to satisfy your curiosity?”
Jovak rears up to his full height.
“No, you fool. I would sacrifice a hundred orcs to find out why our people are vanishing and put a stop to it. Including myself. I will join the search personally.”
I flinched because I was hoping Jovak had abandoned that idea when he saw the condition his tribesman was in.
Right about then, a woman shoved her way in the door, leaving two befuddled guards in her wake. The orcs could easily have stopped this aging human woman, but they let her through. I found out why a moment later. She threw herself at the lean figure on the table.
“Moldar,” she cries. “My Moldar, what has happened to you?”
“Do not touch him,” Otunga says. “He is very frail, and the lightest shock could kill him.”
“Moldar’s mate,” Jovak whispered in my ear. “Amy. She is one of those I interviewed.”
I nodded, feeling very sorry for her.
Jovak turned to Otunga.
“Can you do anything for Moldar?”
She made a low hum in the back of her throat like she was considering things.
“I can give him a fighting chance. Our magic is returning but is still much weaker than it was on Protheka. I cannot replace what was lost, but his body should be able to regrow it, given time and proper care. He must be fed a thin broth or gruel several times a day and given fluids more often than that.”
“What about his wounds?”
She examined the holes, poking her fingers inside in a way that made me sick to my stomach.
“There is no sign of infection … wait, is this pus?”
She pulled her finger out and gaped at the clear yellow-brown ichor on the tip. She sniffs and frowns.
“It smells like tree sap.”
“He has tree sap in his wounds? But how?” Jovak asks.
“I do not know. But the sap, I suspect, has a wound-cleaning property. Otherwise, I would expect a bad infection to set in, given the size of these wounds.”
