“Not one of them fits his description.None of them are Two Swords orcs by birth, as he was.None of them have the same out-curved tusks, or the same flecks of gold in the eye.”
“Would it really be so hard for anyone to claim he was a shaman?”Crespash wondered aloud.“Especially if they’re destined for a clan who’s mostly ignorant of their inscrutable ways.”
The goblin was onto something.I said, “There must be at least a dozen other men of the acolyte’s age who’d jump at the chance to take the dead orc’s place and be known as the one who made Two Swords strong again.”
“Oh, there are, my Fearless One.But if this deception were found out, the Red Hand clan wouldn’t just reclaim our lands…they’d crush us.And your father can’t trust any of those men as well as he trusts you.”
I’ve faced many things in my life with courage.A charging boar.An enemy’s blade.Even a raging ogre.But the prospect of marching into a warring clan and declaring myself a shaman filled my belly with unspeakable dread.
My mother thrust a bundle of hides into my hands.I shook it out and revealed a deerskin cloak adorned with cryptic markings and bright feathers.My dread redoubled.She said, “These are your father’s wishes.It’s your duty to do as he commands.”
“It’s either that or stand around watching your brother marry your betrothed,” Crespash added cheerfully.“Hardly much of a choice, now…is it?”
2
ARCHIE
I’ve always considered myself a likable guy…but I guess some folks wouldn’t agree.There was the brothel owner who tore me from my mother’s side in the summer of my eighth year and forced me to go out and beg, claiming I distracted her from her duties.And the stupid boy with the ruddy birthmark on his cheek who pinched me hard enough to leave a welt whenever I got within arm’s reach.And the cobbler who’d claimed I stole from his shop, with me clearly barefoot.(When I then praised the comfort of his invisible shoes, it only made matters worse.Go figure.)
None of these tormentors were as big and scary as Taruut’s shamanic honor guard.Orcs might be uncharted territory for me…but once you learn to recognize that glint of hatred in someone’s eye, it’s kind of hard to miss.
The meanest guard was a musclebound crag of an orc named Gorgul, not just any honor guard, but the second in command.Hated me from the moment he laid his beady little eyes on me—and I hadn’t even let on how much of a struggle it was to keep myself from calling him “Gargle” by mistake.
The shaman’s caves had been my home ever since the orcs sprang me from the slaver’s tent.Maybe I was barely conscious for most of the time.But lately, they’d become as familiar to me as anywhere else I’ve had the misfortune to end up.
The lightless tunnels were confusing at first, but eventually, I learned the twists and turns.Though the air smelled like snuffed candles and the walls were damp, there was a warmth down in those tunnels that had seeped into my bones, which finally let my shoulders unhitch and my muscles relax.
Keeping out of Gargle’s way, though–that was the trick.Because without Taruut to remind everyone that my coming was foretold and blah, blah, blah, my burly buddy in the white face paint would just as soon cave in my skull as look at me.
It’s easy enough to avoid someone when they want nothing to do with you.But it’s not so simple once they’re on your tail.
“I know you’re here, little human,” the orc called out with mock familiarity.Then he made it especially creepy by adding, “I can smell your balls.”
Naturally, I did what any sensible person would do: I looked for a place to hide.Sneaking between some arcane orcish shaman stuff in a small chamber somewhere off the beaten path, I prayed to any god who might listen that Gargle was exaggerating.About the balls, I mean.
I’ve had a noseful of ripe scrotum in my time.More than once.So believe me when I say, with all the mineral baths I’d soaked up since I’d been there, my taint was fresh as a daisy.
But orcs prey on fear, and they’ll do whatever it takes to antagonize you.Now, the smell of fear?I had no doubt that stink was something they were intimately acquainted with.So I eased my way between the weird carved totems and the piles of discarded bones, and I willed the big bully of a guard to go pick on someone his own size.
Unfortunately, at that particular moment, Gargle’s heart was set on me.
My lantern was shuttered with only a narrow beam leading the way.I had no idea how far the caves extended and could only hope they didn’t go on forever.When Taruut died, offerings of food piled up at the mouth of the caves, and I’d managed to nick a few choice goodies.But the offerings were sure to dry up soon.
“If you know what’s good for you,” Gargle called out, “you’ll show yourself…before you really piss me off.”
Tough words.But, to my great relief, they were growing distant.The rumble of Gargle’s voice echoed off the rocky walls, gradually diminishing until, eventually, it was swallowed by the darkness of the winding caves.
Maybe I couldn’t hide forever.But with any luck, I could hold out until Gargle wrote me off as a lost cause and moved on to bother someone else.
I took a pause to scan the chamber I’d fled to—and then I began scavenging for potential weapons.It was a challenge to see by nothing more than my thin beam of light, but I managed.Stalagmites protruded from the floor.Could I break off a chunk and use it as a blade?Only if I had the tools to do so.Which I didn’t.Nor the skill, for that matter.
A pile of ancient bones could yield a makeshift club…though that tactic hadn’t panned out back when we were first captured and Quinn took a bone to one of our new masters, so I had little hope it would be much help now.
My best bet would be a simple rock.But only if my aim was true.
Plus, why is it there’s never a good rock around when you need one?
Just as I was about to give up and admit defeat, my meager light fell on a hefty round stone tucked into the back corner of the chamber.There it was—the weapon I’d been looking for!
