"Do not move," he commands me, his voice harsh for the room to hear.
The naga grins, his fangs glinting, and follows Othic toward the back door. They disappear into the darkness of the alley. The door swings shut with a heavythud.
I am alone.
I am tied to a post in the middle of the most dangerous tavern in the world.
My breath is shallow, coming in short, panicked gasps. I am "property" left unattended. I am a piece of meat left on a hook. My hand is gripping my dagger under my cloak, but what can I do? If I cut myself free, I break the illusion.
I count my breaths.One. Two. Three.My hands are shaking. The dfam elf at the bar is watching me. He is smiling. The topless barmaid is watching me, her eyes flat. A Minotaur in the corner snorts, a cloud of steam erupting from his nostrils.Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Where is he?
I hear a muffledthudfrom outside, a sound like a heavy sack of grain being dropped, but it is lost in the tavern's roar.
Please, Othic, come back. Please, please, come back.
The back door bursts open. Othic stalks back in.
Alone.
His knuckles are split and raw, dripping fresh, dark blood.
Oh, gods. He killed him. He killed him.He is a monster. He is my savior. He is walking toward me, his face dark and thunderous.
A different naga from a dark corner, his scales a dull, muddy brown, shouts across the room. His voice is a sharp, suspicious hiss. "Hey, Mersey! Where is Mersey? He just left with you?"
The tavern's noise level dips. The music stops. The laughter dies. Every eye in the room snaps to Othic. The air becomes a solid, heavy thing, pressing in on me.
Othic does not pause. He does not look at the naga. He does not break stride. He stalks toward me, his gaze locked on me.
"He is taking a shit!" he shouts over his shoulder, his voice full of disgust.
He is at my side. He does not untie the knot. His dagger flashes—a silver arc in the dim light. In one motion, heslashesthe thick leather belt, freeing me. He grabs my arm in a bruising grip.
"We are leaving," he whispers, a low, urgent command that cuts through my terror. "Walk."
He does not wait for an answer. He pulls me to my feet and we walk, not run, toward the front door. I keep my head down, my steps hurried but not panicked. I am his slave. He is my master. He is an orc who just finished his business.
I do not look at the naga in the corner. I do not look at the dfam at the bar. I just look at the floor, two steps behind him, as we walk calmly out the front door. We plunge back into the screaming, chaotic river of the Dark Market, and the tavern door swings shut behind us.
27
OTHIC
My hand is fisted in the cut leather of the belt. Aurora is two steps behind me, her head bowed. I am a battering ram, shoving through the churning river of bodies in the Dark Market. Thesmellof cheap zhisk, unwashed bodies, and urine is overpowering, but we are out. We are clear.
My knuckles sting, still sticky with the naga’s blood. I forced the words from him:“Go north… find the monsters of your visage.”A trap. Almost certainly. A naga’s dying words are a final venom. It does not matter. It is a lead.
I scan the crowd. The Dark Elf guard from the gate is nowhere to be seen. The lie about the shit seems to have worked. For now. My first priority is to get Aurora out of this open cesspit. We need a defensible room, a place to hole up, a place where I can find areallead. I need to find my clan brothers.
I am halfway across the main thoroughfare, heading for a cluster of shacks that promise a grimy inn, when the door ofThe Drowned Ratexplodes open behind us.
"DEAD! HE'S DEAD! THAT SAVAGE ORCKILLEDMERSEY!"
The roar is from the second naga, the one from the corner, his voice a raw, furious shriek that slices through the market’s din.
The street-level noise dips. A sudden, terrible silence falls, thick and heavy. I feel dozens of eyes on my back. I pull Aurora closer, my hand moving from the belt to the hilt of the clumsy human sword at my hip.
