“Hold on, shaman.I didn’t come all this way just to pat you on the back.”
He looked at me expectantly.
I hadn’t the faintest notion what to make of it.“You say you value bluntness,” I said.“As do I.What is it you want?”
He gestured to the spot at my hip where my sword hilt used to hang—which now bore an entirely different weight.“Whenever I saw Taruut alone, he’d end the visit by tossing the ivories.”
A dozen excuses sprang to mind, but none of them felt plausible.It would be an insult to remind him that I wasnotTaruut after he’d just spent so long remarking about that very thing.This was Ul-Rott’s clan.And it was clear I was expected to do things his way.
And so I swallowed hard, plucked the bag from my belt, and dumped its contents on the table.
As the teeth scattered, I held my breath.My pulse pounded in my ears.Through that, the sound of teeth clacking against stone dragged my fitful dream to the surface again.The walls were fire.In the distance, thunder.Followed by rain.
“Even your milk teeth are big,” the chieftain remarked.
But I hardly heard him over the clatter echoing through my mind.“The sky will mourn Taruut’s passing,” I found myself saying to prevent him from asking about the crypt.
Ul-Rott cocked his head as if trying to deduce whatever pattern I’d seen in the teeth.Or maybe he’d spied the pebble among them.“Are you sure?”he said.I quickly scooped the “ivories” into the pouch.The chieftain hadn’t seemed to notice the stone.“There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
Why hadn’t I predicted something more ambiguous?I could hardly back down now.It would only make me look weak.So, I dredged up a phrase my father’s shaman always used.“In the dark, your feet must find the path with no help from your eyes.”As far as I was concerned it was an awfully precious way of saying,Who knows?But it did sound the part.
“I’ll never ken to the ways of a shaman,” Ul-Rott chortled with a shake of his head.“Unnatural, if you ask me.But knowing the weather before it happens would give me a fine advantage on the battlefield.So we’ll see if this brash prediction of yours comes to pass.”
The chieftain turned to go, and I released that breath I’d been holding.But before my heart could stop trying to pound through my ribcage, Ul-Rott paused in the doorway and added, “And you’d better pray to your ancestors it rains.”
16
ARCHIE
No one challenged me as I hurried toward the kitchen.Why would they?I’d been preparing the shaman's meals since he arrived, and frankly, I'm sure the big, strapping orcs had better things to do than worry about one puny human slave.
The last meal I'd prepared, I sifted through all the ingredients looking for something to impress Droko.This time, though, the only thing I cared about was portability.
I needed food—all I could carry.Because once I carved just a few more steps…I wassooutta there.
Stupid cloak.
While the shaman’s pantry held nothing overtly useful like hardtack or jerky, there were some supplies that would travel well: dried fruits and nuts, coarse bread, and even some leathery mushrooms.I gathered as much as I thought I could carry without being noticed.Hopefully, if any of my captors smelled the food on me, they would just think I picked up the scent in the kitchen.
The green shirt I bought from Silver, even with its laces and ties, had absolutely nowhere to hide a bundle of provisions.Droko’scloak would do the job—but I’d left it hanging by the kitchen door with no intention of putting it back on.
Why would I have simply tossed such a valuable garment aside?It was cold out there in the big, bad world outside the steamy confines of these caves.And if I'd gone off without it, surely I’d be sorry by the time the sun set.What compelled me to even dream of abandoning the silly garment anyhow?
Obviously, I wasn’tangryabout the damn thing.It's not like I actuallycaredthat the gift was only a way to cover his scent.I neverexpectedhim to think of me as something more than a passing diversion.I wasn’t some starry-eyed virgin who’d fall inlovewith the first man he bedded.In fact, I should be thanking Droko—cloaking myself with his scent might very well make me harder to track.
Really, if anything, he’d done me a massive favor.
“Thanks a lot,” I said under my breath as I stomped back to the kitchen and grabbed the damn cloak from its peg.I did my best to ignore the earthy scent of rain on moss that billowed out from the lining when I snapped it open.
As I latched the bundle to the back of my belt and covered it with Droko’s cloak, a scrap of paper fluttered to the floor.The peddler’s hasty map.Except, when I picked it up, the map side wasn’t facing me.The potion was.Dreamweed.Night Laurel.Rocknut oil.The first two ingredients would be in Taruut’s apothecary, not the kitchen.But I might find the rocknut oil….
No—I wasn’t about to start looking.There was no reason to look.None.I took a decisive step back from the shelves.It didn’t matter whether I’d seen that damn oil here or not.
I was leaving.And that was that.
The corridors and the caves were familiar now.I kept my lantern low and my ears pricked for the sound of footsteps.Size might be an advantage for orcs when it came to combat, but it made them a lot easier to hear.
I felt my way along the dim tunnel by memory and instinct, and found the passageway leading to the crescent-shaped gap much sooner than I'd hoped.My heart pounded with the anticipation of finally being free, and my stomach filled with butterflies.Not over the regret of leaving Droko, obviously.I’m sure it was just nerves.
