We managed to free ourselves from the puppies and stood up. Ignatius brushed grass off his slacks with one hand and offered me the other to steady myself.
I took it because it would be rude not to. His palm was warm and dry and steady.
It felt like shaking hands with a business partner.
“I’d very much like to see you again.” He stepped closer, not invasive, just interested. Respectful. Kind. All the things a good date should be. “Perhaps somewhere with fewer enthusiastic puppies attempting to destroy our clothing.”
His eyes held mine. Dark and intent and full of the kind of interest that should have made my heart race.
This was the moment. The moment where I was supposed to say yes to the polished lawyer my grandmother had set me up with. I opened my mouth.
“Get away from Hazel, now!”
Every muscle in my body went rigid. I knew that voice. I’d heard it gentle with an anxious sibling, and frustrated with uncooperative protein powder, and desperately awkward when trying to make small talk about macronutrients.
I jumped back from Ignatius so fast I nearly tripped over the puppy at my feet. My heart slammed against my ribs, wild and violent and alive in a way it hadn’t been for the past twenty minutes.
I spun toward the sound.
There, standing at the edge of the lawn like he’d materialized out of thin air, was Brok.
11
The Orc Method
Brok
“How sure are you that this will work, Brok? This doesn’t smell very appealing.”
Barnaby held the basket of flat cakes as far away from himself as possible. I shot him an unimpressed look. “I’ll have you know the Kharak’dur is highly popular among the dire wolves in the Iron Steppe.”
In fact, the plant had almost gone extinct because those damn packs of wild beasts had devoured it with such greed. If not for my tribe, it might have disappeared from the realm entirely.
We were fortunate indeed to have the leftover Kharak’dur that Barnaby had refused to drink. It had been almost too easy to marinate some quality Wagyu in the liquid Barnaby had disdained and create some simple flat cakes from the meat. The result wasn’t pretty, but it would work.
This was the Orc Method. Simple, but efficient. The Rescue Paws animals were going to go wild over it.
Barnaby’s whiskers twitched, but he didn’t protest further. “If you say so, Brok. It’s my last hope, anyway.”
Juggling my own, much larger basket, I clutched the printout we’d received from Grix. The map was tiny, made for the eyes of a kobold. It also didn’t involve driving, because kobolds didn’t drive. I squinted at the cramped symbols and tried to make sense of the directions. “Come on. I think it’s this way.”
The estate sprawled ahead of us. It was as massive as the dragon’s den I’d visited the last time I’d been to the Iron Steppe. There was only one difference. The dragon living here didn’t hoard coins, but dogs.
There were so many of them, some large, some so tiny I wondered how their species even survived evolution. All of them seemed at ease, their tails wagging as they reveled in the attention.
Barnaby eyed them all with visible caution, his ears swiveling like radar dishes. So far, there hadn’t been a potential repeat of the Rottweiler incident, but we’d only just arrived.
An elderly German Shepherd spotted me first. No doubt, it must have been some kind of guard dog once. Even now, it sensed the danger.
The dog turned toward us slowly, ears flattening against its skull. This was it. The end game.
That had always been the dangerous part about coming here. Animals always knew. The glamor worked fine onhumans, but dogs saw right through it. Most of them got nervous. Some got aggressive. A few just kept their distance and watched.
From here, it would all depend on how we handled the problem. It all depended on the magic of the Orc Method.
I kept my movements slow and deliberate, trying to project calm. The German Shepherd backed away from us, never breaking eye contact. The dog’s hackles were slightly raised, body tense and ready to bolt.
Barnaby noticed. His tail started to move a little too quickly, that telltale sign of rising panic I’d learned to recognize over the past few weeks. “See? The damn beasts know something’s wrong. No offense.”
