Page 26 of The Outcast Orc

I wasn’t sure what, exactly, was bubbling away in the huge stewpot—but it smelled like heaven. It had been so long since I’d had a hot meal, I didn’t even care what it was. Worst case scenario? Boiled grubs. And I was so ravenous, it made no difference.

We dunked our bowls in the pot and found a clear place to squat…a place that was suddenly even clearer once Marok settled in. Something was going on. This was obviously not the best time to ask about it—though even if we were back in the privacy of his house, I doubted he would enlighten me.

Turned out, if there were grubs in the stew, they tasted suspiciously like venison.

Even though Marok helped himself to three bowls, he finished his food first, since he could swallow it while it was still scaldingly hot. He waited blandly while we finished. As Bess and I were slurping up every last dreg, he suddenly shot to his feet, startling me so badly I nearly tipped onto my ass. I stood just as quickly, though my knees protested and pins and needles played through my feet.

A pair of stout orcs approached. They were decorated with feathers and white paint—the shaman’s men.

Don’t stare.

I turned my gaze to the back of Marok’s elbow and fixed the orcs in my peripheral vision.

“Taruut is ready now,” one of them said. “You will surrender the humans.”

They say that prisoners sometimes form an inexplicable bond with their captors. I’d never taken much stock in that. Until now. Maybe that phenomenon was at play…or maybe I just preferred the devil I knew.

Compared to what we’d suffered at the slaver’s hands, Marok’s treatment of us was downright genteel. But who knew what we could expect from the shaman?

“You’ve left them unchained?” one of the shaman’s men asked.

Marok shrugged. “I hardly saw the point. They have tiny, blunt teeth and no claws whatsoever. No weapons, and nowhere to run. But if you’re afraid of them….”

“Never mind,” snapped the shaman’s man, then gave me a shove to the shoulder that nearly flattened me. “This way—and I’m not in the mood to go chasing you. So don’t get any dumb ideas.”

He didn’t need to tell me twice. Though as I headed off to wherever he was taking me, I did turn and glance over my shoulder to steal one last look at Marok. All I saw, however, was his broad back as he returned to his house without a parting glance.

15

QUINN

The shaman didn’t live in a timber structure like the other orcs. His dwellings were in a hollowed-out cave system carved into the side of the bluff. It seemed like a naturally occurring space, but it was lavishly decorated with intricate carvings and strange symbols painted across the lintel. Some in chalky white, some in yellow ochre…and some clearly in the russet brown of dried blood. “Kneel for Taruut, you savage,” the shaman’s man barked, prodding me behind the knee with the butt of his spear.

I folded involuntarily to the ground, landing hard in the packed dirt, as Bess quickly knelt beside me. A curtain of small, painted bones strung together covered the broad opening—hundreds upon hundreds of bones—and they gave off a sifting clatter when the shaman came through. He was borne on his sedan chair by his team of four strong orcs, who placed him at the front of the opening, then stood with their hands resting on the hilts of the long knives at their hips.

At home, the shaman dispensed with the feathers and jewels in which he’d greeted us earlier, but his blind eyes were the same unsettling pale jade. He whiffed the air and said, “Well, if it isn’t the humans.”

The butt of a spear jabbed me in the kidney. “When the shaman speaks to you, you reply.Taruut the Wise, we are unworthy.”

That was gonna bruise. I repeated the phrase, keeping my eyes planted on the ground at the shaman’s gnarly feet.

“Don’t punish their ignorance,” Taruut said. “I may have picked up plenty about humans and their ways on my Great Journey, but these two have yet to learn much about orcs. Now, if you see this one coming at me with a handy rock, feel free to cave in his skull.” He chuckled…though I kind of doubted he was joking. “But humans are too fragile to withstand much discipline—so save it for deliberate infractions.”

I risked a glance back at the orc with the spear…who was eyeing me like he was eager for me to pick up a rock and give him a reason to punish me.

“You will learn our ways soon enough,” Taruut said. “What’s left for me is to learn why you are here. Tossing the Ivories only told me of the one called Archibald. His purpose is clear…but yours is still shrouded in mystery. For now, the Slumbering Whale is just about ready to rouse. Let’s get the stink of the slavers’ tent off you.”

The guard was only slightly less gentle when he shoved me with the spear butt and told me to get up and walk. If I ever had the chance, I’d be sure to return the favor—though I was careful to avoid eye contact while I tried to memorize his face. Contrary to Marok’s opinion of me, I’m not stupid.

We were hustled through the bone curtain and into a huge cavern. About half of the rock formations were natural, while half were carved into chunky, fantastical shapes of animals and faces. Nothing like the effete statuary of my last employer, which was delicate, gilded, and indistinguishable from the art in any other lavish estate. But what the orcish statuary lacked in finesse, it more than made up for in scale and abundance.

Not to mention horror.

Fortifications artwork was all about symmetry, prettiness, and polish. But the carved figures in the cavern walls looked like they could tear themselves free at any moment…and eat you alive.

The forbidding entrance chamber branched off into smaller tunnels and the floor sloped down, leading us deeper into the earth. “Orcs weren’t made to live underground,” Taruut told us. “We are green, like the moss and trees and grasses, not stony gray like the dwarves and their gnomish cousins. But when the Earth offers you Her treasures, you’d be a fool to turn them down.

“Hurry, now,” Taruut instructed his porters. “The Whale is running early today—I can smell it. She’ll spout soon.” Over his shoulder, he said, “I’ve got the best nose in the village. With age comes infirmity…but also its own kind of power.”

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