We made our way farther into the settlement, and soon we reached the village square.In its center was a wooden platform containing just one thing, a simple bier.And on that plain dais was a body draped in cloth.
As I was stewing in my cell these last few days, I hadn’t thought much about the old orc who’d been my only companion during my wretched illness.But the sight of Taruut in a funeral shroud made my breath hitch, and I worked hard to swallow past a lump in my throat.
But then another figure joined the old shaman on the bier.And this one was very much alive.
To say he looked formidable would be an understatement.He wasn’t the tallest orc around, and a lot of his muscle had gone to fat.But he was decked out in armor that easily weighed twice as much as me…and he carried himself like someone accustomed to beingobeyed.
The honor guard immediately folded to one knee, thumping their chests.But it was the goblin I took my cues from—a fellow slave.He utterly prostrated himself, falling face-first to the packed dirt.So, I did the same.He might have pegged me for a stupid human, but I knew how to blend in when the situation called for it.
The captain of the honor guard, a pensive orc named Kof who’d lost an eye some years back, rose from his genuflection and addressed the head honcho.“I present Droko the Sage of the Two Swords Clan.Praise Ul-Rott.”
I peeked up from the ground as this Ul-Rott character regarded the new shaman through narrowed eyes.“Formerly of the Two Swords Clan,” said the chieftain.“Spoils of war.He belongs to us now.Woe to anyone who’d try to stake a claim on him.”
“None would dare go back on a deal with Ul-Rott,” Gargle immediately agreed–sickening toady.
Men in power tend to enjoy groveling…but the Red Hand chieftain already had the measure of Gargle.His gaze skimmed the guard and settled instead on Droko.He sized up the new shaman and gestured for him to come forward.“You’re younger than I expected–though anyone seems like a stripling compared to Taruut.The most promising acolyte in generations–that’s what everyone’s saying about you.So, tell me, young shaman.What makes you so special?”
Most men I knew would not have hesitated to sing their own praises.But the new guy met the chieftain’s gaze, held it for an uncomfortable moment, and after a long pause, said, “I suppose we’ll find out.”
Ul-Rott barked out a laugh.“Well said.A shaman wouldn’t be a shaman if he made any promises he couldn’t guarantee.What was your name, again?”
“Droko.”
“Droko,” the chieftain repeated.
“A common name in my clan.My…formerclan.”
Ul-Rott grunted.“Maybe we should call you Droko the Cautious.Regardless, your first order of business is to handle Taruut’s burial rites.Old man could barely hold his own dick to piss.But he served this clan since my father was too small to lift a sword, and no effort will be spared.”
“As you wish,” Droko said stiffly.He was nowhere near as easy in his own skin as Taruut had been.Then again, Taruut’s skin was saggy enough to accommodate a lot more ease.
The chieftain seemed eager to leave the arrangements in Droko’s hands–I had the sense he’d much rather vanquish another clan than say a prayer.He turned on his heel to march off toward his sprawling lodge.Kof motioned for the rest of the honor guard to return to the caves.But even as they regained their feet, Ul-Rott turned back and said, “I expect you to have the shaman’s crypt ready to receive Taruut in three days.”
The one-eyed captain shifted.“No one knows where the tomb is,” he murmured.
Ul-Rott narrowed his eyes.“What?”
Kof shrugged helplessly.“When Taruut died, he took that secret with him.”
The chieftain made a negligent gesture encompassing the entire feather-bedecked enclave.“Why do we have a shaman if he can’t make the ancestors speak?This is your problem, not mine.Find the crypt.Make it ready.”He gave Droko a stern parting look.“And it had better be perfect.”
5
DROKO
How the chieftain spoke to me—looked me right in the eye—and failed to see I was no shaman, I’ll never know.Maybe claims of his cunning and prowess were exaggerated.Or maybe he’d seen through me already and was simply toying with me.
Or maybe he was a pragmatic orc who knew that appearances were all that mattered, and even a false shaman was better than no shaman at all.
Either way, this was my first test—the crypt must be ready in three days.
The crypt whose location was unknown.
My commander back home would tell me to be like the hunter stalking his prey.Watch and wait, and only strike when the time is right.But at the moment, I felt less like a hunter and more like a wounded buck leaving a blood trail in the undergrowth.One that was sure to be spotted.
There was nowhere to hide now.So I’d better start acting the hunter.“Ul-Rott the Spinecrusher has set us a task,” I announced to the honor guards who’d accompanied me to the square.“We must waste no time in carrying out his orders.”
The men shuffled awkwardly, and I recalled that they were unaccustomed to a shaman who could walk unassisted.
