The chamber was simple and utterly private.It was carved out of the rock walls with only a single, circular entrance.The walls were smooth and featureless, save for a few runes etched in the stone by an inset shelf where a bank of candles flickered.Unlike the old shaman’s sleeping chamber, there was no clutter of potions and charms.Just a single, broad cushion in the center of the room.
A cushion?Was Gorgul mocking me?The soldiers in my old barracks would have jeered, asking if this was a space for a shaman or a woman recovering from labor.But I stole a glance and saw the guard was still at his station looking perfectly serious.
Even so, I gave the cushion a wide berth.
The only adornment in the room was an old tapestry covering the far wall.The woolen threads were frayed, and their dyes so faded that the designs were hard to discern.The hand-shaped pattern around the border, for instance, was probably red once.But now the threads had turned a murky brown.
I took a few steps back and squinted.
Thanks to the damage time had wrought on the threads, the imagery was confusing and difficult to make out.Eventually, I picked out a single central figure in the tapestry.An orc.The green dye had held up well.On either side of him was a muddled grayish (or maybe whitish) figure, each one smaller than the orc.Similar tapestries hung in my father’s hall, so I understood that the scale of the figures was not meant to be literal.The leader was large, while his supporters were smaller–and his enemies smaller still.I was trying to puzzle out if there was another figure behind the orc, or if he really had three arms, when Gorgul warned from the hallway, “Be careful with that—it’s a very old relic.Best not give it any reason to disintegrate.”
I scanned the room.Had it truly served to provide the clan’s shamans with vision?Or was it simply somewhere private to work out exactly what visions they’d claim to have seen?
Since I didn't want the guard to know that I had no idea how to use the meditation cushion, I rolled the large circle of stone across the doorway and sealed myself away from him.It was a relief…for a few minutes.And then I realized that if I stood there for any amount of time I'd slowly go mad.
I paced the length of the chamber, back and forth, wondering how long exactly a shaman would meditate.Did a series of calisthenics as quietly as possible.And talked myself out of throwing open the door wide simply for the sake of having something to do.
I was just about to start a conversation with the cushion when the sound of stone on stone jerked me to attention and the door rolled aside, revealing Archie.
Back in the sleeping chamber, I could smell someone coming.But the meditation room was so closed off that when the door opened, the scent of human hit me like the flat of a sword.His sweat had an intriguing sharpness to it that was distinctly un-orclike, and it was laced with the copper tang of blood.Immediately, I spotted a large abrasion on his arm, vivid against his pale skin.On an orc, the injury would have blended in, had it even drawn blood at all.
Did he have any concept of how fragile he was?He certainly didn’t act like it.Kof was stationed at the door now, and Archie strode right past him, bold as you please.He set a tray of food on the meditation cushion, then broke the silence with a soft murmur, "I’ve brought your lunch…Droko the Sage.”
“If the slave is disturbing you—” Kof began.
“He’s not.”I considered the guard.The food.The human.“Leave us and seal the door.”
As the door rolled shut, I cast back on all the years I’d been trained to do exactly what the guard captain had done—to obey—and what a burden it was to be expected to take the initiative.
The tray was covered with a dome of beaten copper.Archie pulled it off with a flourish and said, “The esteemed chef has prepared an exquisite stew of the choicest dirt-covered root vegetables and the legs of a truly impressive toad.I think there may even be a succulent grub or two.”
“You think?Or you know?You said you were the chef.”
Archie lifted one shoulder in a playful shrug.“I thought they were some kind of dumplings…till I noticed they were moving.You’ll excuse me if I leave those bits for you.I suspect they wouldn’t agree with me.”
“Fine.Any poison in them would have leached into the sauce by now anyhow.”
Archie cocked an eyebrow as he dragged a spoon through the stew, capturing various bits.“At some point, you’ll have to trust that I’ve got no reason to poison you….”He made a show of sliding the spoon into his mouth, then licking it clean…which ended with a wince.“Unfortunately, now that I’ve used up the ingredients I recognize, I can’t really guarantee my results will be palatable.”
“Forget about the taste.We’re surrounded by scores of herbs and tinctures.Everywhere you turn, there’s a bundle of dried leaves or a bowl of pounded roots—any of which could be deadly.Do you know how easy it would be to slip one of them into my food?”
“But we’re both newcomers here, strangers to the clan.What reason could I possibly have to want you dead?”
I had no idea how the mind of a human worked.For all I knew, he could taint my food for the sheer enjoyment of watching me squirm.Though the way his sky-colored eyes lingered on me, I realized he could make me squirm plenty with nothing more than a look.
I grabbed the spoon from him and focused on my meal.
I think Archie expected me to speak, but I’ve never been one for idle chatter.When the silence grew too thick for him to endure, he said, “I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of keeping company with someone important enough to need a food taster—and while I appreciate the job security, I hope you realize that I could be put to much morecreativeuses.”
I glanced up from the stew.As I ate, he’d crept closer.Quiet, and soft.His skin was the color of the inner bark of a tree, and looked just as smooth and tender.And his pale neck was so vulnerable I could surely snap it with one hand…though what I really wanted was to press my snout against his warmth and fill myself with its scent.
Something only a babe does at his mother’s breast—or a man with his wife.
The image of Farya with my elder brother came to mind, unbidden, and I turned back to my food.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Archie smile.“You misunderstand my suggestion, Droko the Sage.Oh, no doubt you’d enjoy putting me through my paces—and I’d surely revel in exploring exactly how different from mine your orcish hotspots and turn-ons may be.But while I am quite skilled in the art of pleasing a man—albeit not through his stomach—what I’m suggesting at this moment is a bit more pragmatic.”
His mouth said no—in many more words than it needed—but his teasing eyes told another story.They held my gaze as his delicate human hands dropped to his breeches and his nimble fingers toyed at the waistband.
