Page 24 of Sacrificed to the Orc

Vorkar licks his thin lips. “Tell me what you felt, Askan.”

“I felt tired, like I’d been running for a week straight. Then I woke up, and I was fine.”

Draegon’s nostrils flare. “Did you feel anything else? A pull towards the song? A…beckoning of sorts?” He coughs, and wipes his lips, smearing blood on the back of his hand. He sniffs it and wipes it with contempt on his black loincloth.

“No.”

Vorkar drums his fingers on his bone staff. “But you wished to be near her, always.”

“Aye. The Gods themselves beckoned me.”

Gorrim looks at me, then at the elders, and back to me, and my blood runs cold.

Draegon sniffs, again, turning his milky eyes to Gorrim. “Speak your mind, warrior.”

“I can’t be certain, but I think the sacrifice called out for him when she woke. Her accent… and her voice was soft, but…” Gorrim bites his lip, unease in his scent.

I rise to my feet, fury filling me. “Speak plainly,brother.What do you accuse me of?”

“Nothing, only that…”

Draegon’s raspy voice interrupts. “Songs of black magic can affect even the strongest warriors, in subtle ways. It is no fault of yours, Askan. If she heard your name, she might have been trying to use it in a word of power.”

I force myself to stay calm, to relax my body, to let no trace of my fear enter my scent and betray me.

“Perhaps you should hand us the keys, Askan,” says Vorkar, softly.

I realize I am still clutching them. I toss them to Rakar without hesitation. He’s got a look in his eyes I don’t much like, staring at me like I am a stranger.

“Perhaps it would be best if you remained in your home, Askan,” rasps Draegon. It is phrased as a suggestion, but from the shaman, it is an order—one met with harsh punishment if I disobey.

“How long am I going to be a fucking prisoner in my own home?” It bursts from me, rage that I hope sounds like I am angered by being suspected. I raise my hands, placatingly. “My tone. I apologize.”

“No apology needed, honored warrior. Fare will be brought to you. You will remain secluded here, until the blood-moon wanes.”

Desperation bubbles in me. I’ll be trapped here, a prisoner, unable to do anything to stop the knife from ripping through her throat.

“I would do nothing to hurt this tribe. I went to the cave last night and saw the glorious future, bought by her blood.”

Vorkar smiles, showing his thin, sharp fangs. “Tell us what you saw. Your war-brothers will be pleased to hear.”

“The tribe, restored. Elk herds, changing their migratory paths, bringing themselves to us, giving their lives. I would do nothing to jeopardize that.Nothing.”

“You speak the truth, as you see it,” rasps Draegon. “The spells of demonspawn are insidious. You would not even know it there. You will remain in your home—no guards of course, we trust you. But please, allay us. You understand, of course?”

“Of course. If there is any demon spell inside me, I need you to rip it from me. Can it be drawn from my blood?” I reach out my arm, proffering my vein.

“The magic will die with the witch,” says Draegon, in a voice meant to reassure, one which curdles me. “Do you hurt, badly, from your wounds?”

His tone is even, but it makes me flare up in alarm. The pain in the deep gash on my back is faint, but my temples throb. “The headaches. I’ve been getting them, but not from her spell. A rock the size of an apple nearly split my skull,” I say, something from deep inside me telling me to embellish.

“I thought so. You’ve been taking too much stillroot for your pain. Too much dulls the senses, warrior, and leaves the mind open to poisonous influence. Abstain, and it will aid your recovery,” he says.

My mouth goes dry. He smelled the ground stillroot, but because of my quick answer, he believed I’d been taking heroic doses. One slip up, and he would have gotten my war-brothers to search the entire place.

“Thank you for your counsel, elder,” I say, with a bow of my head. “And forgive me one of my own. My dream gave me a dark omen if the sacrifice is guarded by another. Let the guards keep their distance.”

“Do not fear,” says Draegon. “She will be kept under constant guard, by at least three trusted men, but they will not get too close.”

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