“Are you telling me youstillhaven’t found it?”
“Your predecessor lived to a ripe old age…which means the crypts haven’t seen any use in our lifetimes.Maybe even our fathers’ lifetimes.If there ever was a trail for me to pick up, the years erased it long ago.But I didn’t come entirely empty-handed.”
He unhitched a pouch from his belt and presented me with a cloth sack.
“It’s not a crypt.But it may buy you some time.”
There was a round bulge in the sack about the size of a spring melon, but it was lighter than it looked.I opened it and peered inside, and was greeted by the bony curve of a skull.“What am I supposed to do with this?”
Crespash sighed and rolled his oversized eyes.“You need ivories?Take this poor sod’s—he won’t be needing them.”
I turned the skull in its swaddling of burlap and inspected the teeth.Only a few were missing.
“Good,” I said brusquely.
It was probably the highest praise I’d ever given the goblin…and he noticed.“You’re not in the clear just yet.You’ve still got a chieftain breathing down your neck and a crypt to find.And only one more day in which to do it.”
“We’ll find it.I have a whole team of guards searching.”
“Maybe so.But who’s to say they’re actually looking?Trust no one, and you won’t be disappointed.”Crespash sidled toward one of the tunnels, readying himself to slip off into the warren of passageways.“No one.”
This was the way goblins thought.Always scrambling for power, always willing to step on whoever it took to get it.He didn’t understand that orcs knew the strength of the clan was more important than personal glory.Yes, the one who found the crypt would hope to be acknowledged.But there was no doubt in my mind that they were all looking.
I thrust a hand into the sack and pried at an incisor, but soon realized I’d need to get a good look at what I was doing, or else risk ruining the teeth.But not here.
I headed to the only spot I knew I’d be undisturbed: the meditation chamber.I rolled the stone into place, relieved to finally be safe from prying eyes.My guards might be loyal—but if they found out I was no shaman, the natural order of things would be shattered.
As I lit the brazier from a torch I carried, the room danced with firelight, and the old tapestry fluttered.Back when Gorgul had first offered me the room, it had felt too close, too quiet.But now that I was more familiar with the space, I felt a calmness steal over me.Probably just relief at being able to pull some teeth without anyone seeing.But it was a welcome change.
I squatted beside the ludicrous cushion and pulled out my eating knife.I kept the blade keen and the point sharp, and soon I’d managed to pry out a good handful of ivory.
The teeth were definitely better than pebbles, but I wasn’t sure they’d pass muster if anyone looked at them too hard.They seemed awfully large.What I needed was a child’s skull.
Or a human’s.
A tap on the round stone door snapped me to attention.“It’s suppertime, Droko the Sage,” called Archie.“Don’t make me set down this tray to open the door—evidently, you might end up with spider babies in your food.Though maybe orcs are into that sort of thing….”
I swept the teeth into my belt pouch and tucked the skull behind the hem of the tapestry, then rolled the heavy stone door aside.
The human stood there in the doorway in his linens, with a platter in his hands and a challenge in his eyes.But it wasn’t the way he looked that struck me.It was the way he smelled—like human sweat.
Sharp.Pungent.
Good.
The last time I’d been this close to him—that morning, when he’d slipped me the cure for the chieftain’s ailment—he’d smelled of human, certainly.But also of sulfur and herbs.Now, though, the scent of him filled my nostrils, alluring and rich—laced with something else I couldn’t quite place.
I parted my lips and let the scent settle on my palate.It played across the back of my tongue like a mystery.
“I knew you’d be hungry,” he said, and shouldered his way into the room.
He plunked the tray on the meditation cushion.Sacrilege, no doubt.But no worse than me using it to pry out a dead man’s teeth.
“Are we still playing the little game where you pretend I’m going to poison you?”he asked breezily.“Not that I mind, of course.I think I’m getting the hang of orcish cuisine.”
He plucked the dome off the food, and the smell of the meal blotted out everything else.Not the venison.And not the cave carrots.
But the spice.
