I’ve thought long and hard about using Dreadforge to ease my last companion’s suffering, but it would be a dishonor, and I cannot give in to the temptation.Instead, we worked together to build our own biers, prying loose the stone with our daggers.The final bier, mine, is nearly complete.When the time comes, I will lay myself to rest with Dreadforge in my hand, and prepare to be judged by the Great Smith, and hopefully deemed worthy to throw myself upon his forge.
How will the gods of our captors judge them?I’ve heard they have no gods, and pray only to their ancestors.That would explain why they care nothing for honor.The wretched orcs can deprive us of our tools, our freedom, and even our lives.But my honor is something they can never take away.
Crespash flapped the bit of parchment.“A lot to digest from such a tiny slip of hide.You see the density of the dings and dots of their writing.Now imagine a whole book of the stuff.It’ll knock you out faster than a sleeping draught.But the question is…where did you find the scroll?”
“On the floor.”The lie came easily.It was the standard reply by the red lantern, where besotted customers might lavish you with their family heirlooms while they were in their cups, then accuse you of having stolen them once the drink wore off.
“I suppose you never know what sorts of valuable items might simply be scattered around for the taking.Take, for instance…an impressive lump of stormsilver.”
“What’s that, some other dwarvish thing I’ve never heard of?”
“Not as such, though they’d pay a pretty penny for the chance at working the stuff into one of their weapons.It so happens that Droko has a piece of it almost as big as that lunch you’re doing such a bad job of hiding.”
“Forget about the food.Do you realize what this scroll means?There’s definitely a crypt here somewhere.It’s just very well hidden.”
“And if you’re the one to help Droko the Sage find it, no doubt he’ll shower you with adulation and cherish you forever.Is that what you’re thinking?”He didn’t have to be such a dick about it.“Well, think again.He’s an orc.You’re not.He’ll never think of you as anything more than a slave.”
And yet, when Quinn fingered that heavy gold chain and spoke of Marok….
“Now, before you warm to the idea that being Droko’s slave might actually have its perks—yes, I’d need to be blind not to see you mooning over each other—you’ll want to hear the rest of the scroll.”
“There’s more?”
“There is, indeed.”Crespash fixed me with a meaningful look, then eased open just the bottom and read,An undignified ending.I should have expected no less from a barbaric race that buries its slaves alive with its masters.”
As he spoke each fateful word, Crespash took a step forward, and I took one step back.By the time he’d finished the ugly pronouncement, my ass was up against the unyielding surface of the tunnel wall and the goblin was way too close for comfort.I couldn’t read him.I’m great at reading men—even orcs.But I was at a loss.Was this a show of dominance?A threat?Or—stars help me—was that gummy, gray mouth closing in to seal our deal with a kiss?
I flinched, hard—horrified by thekissingthought most of all—just as the goblin struck.He was about my height, but that’s where the similarity ended.His arms were long and gangly, and he moved faster than any human I’d ever seen.Lucky for me, he had terrible aim.
Or, did he?
He stepped back, clutching something to his chest that he’d plucked from the wall beside my head.It squirmed and writhed, trying to wrest itself from the goblin’s grasp, but despite his lack of proper fingers, he managed to hold on tight.I had no idea what it might be until a spindly leg popped free, and then I recognized it for what it was: a spider.Not the common creatures that nested in the cracks of the walls at the brothel, but a monstrous thing like the husks I’d encountered in the old pantry.
Those dried shells had been creepy, but to see it all fleshed out and moving was downright horrifying.You’d think all those legs would be the worst part—or even the fangs.But it was the flesh that made my skin crawl.Unlike the whitish remains of the dead spiders, the shell of the living creature was see-through.And the guts underneath were translucent and pink, like the meat of a boiled prawn, with a sickening webwork of colored veins pulsing through it.
Without thinking, I went for the dwarven dagger I’d been hiding, and managed to clear it from my breeches without cutting an artery.But instead of being glad for my help, Crespashhissedat me and said, “Don’t you dare!”
“But—”
He caught one of the flailing legs, trapping them all to the body, then brought the writhing creature to his lips and blew a puff of air between its clicking mandibles.The bug stiffened.Not entirely still—it was twitching vaguely—but most definitely subdued.
“The Opal Widow is a rarity in these parts.The peddler could get a good price for it—and no doubt he’s got a thing or two we’ll need if we plan to survive out there.”
“If you say so.”I shuddered.
Crespash dropped his gaze to the dagger in my hand.“I suppose you found that on the floor, too,” he said with a smirk.“You’re resourceful, I’ll give you that.Tell you what—procure the stormsilver for me and I’ll make sure we both make it out of this wretched pit alive.”
I reluctantly agreed.With him standing between me and my hidden sword—Dreadforge—I didn’t have much choice.Bad enough he knew I’d “found” the scroll.I shifted my grip on the dagger to hide the workmanship, in case the hilt was obviously dwarvish.
“I used to have ten such lovely weapons,” Crespash said, “right on the ends of my very own fingers.That’s what happens when you get caught stealing from orcs.”
“In Wildwood they’d take your whole hand.”
“Ah, but the orcs weren’t using me as an example.They were just trying to make sure I was defenseless so I couldn’t tear out their throats as they slept.”He nodded toward the dagger.“You keep that little claw, human.I’ve nowhere to put it.And besides….”He flashed his gray gums at me.“I think you’re gonna need it.”
17
DROKO
