Page 18 of The False Shaman (Claimed by the Red Hand #2)

ARCHIE

Did I think Droko’s plan for faking a tomb would work? Maybe. Too bad I couldn’t stick around long enough to find out. Real or fake, a tomb is a tomb. I had no intention of being sealed in and ending up like those petrified dwarves. Especially when Droko had just proved exactly how much I meant to him by refusing me the stormsilver.

No matter. While Crespash was busy unloading the spider, I’d take a few more swings with Dreadforge and cut my way to freedom.

If I could ever manage to reach the sword, anyhow.

Avoiding the orcish guards was bad enough at the best of times. But now they were tromping all over the place with armloads of pottery and bones. The sound of their footsteps echoed so it sounded like they were coming from nowhere and everywhere. And if ever I needed to escape their notice, it was now.

So, naturally, I turned a corner thinking I was in the clear, and nearly collided with a seven-foot-tall lump of orc flesh. Lucky for me, not only was the huge mound of artifacts he carried blocking his sight—but he only had one eye.

Kof.

The captain didn’t delight in tormenting me—not like Gargle—but I still couldn’t risk him catching me so far from the kitchen.

The natural caves in this section were rough and the flickering lantern light danced over the surface, throwing tricky shadows as I flattened myself to the wall without a sound. It probably wouldn’t do much good—the orc would be able to smell me—but I wasn’t about to stand there and volunteer to be searched.

Unfortunately, judging by the echoes, Kof wasn’t the only orc I’d need to avoid.

I pulled the shaman’s cloak around me more tightly with one hand and scrabbled at the wall behind me with the other. With raw fingertips, I probed the rough stone, hoping some hidden dwarvish doorway would come to my rescue. No such luck, but I did find a shallow crevice where I could tuck myself away, hold my breath, and pray to all the gods I didn’t believe in that I’d somehow manage to be overlooked.

Two more guards rounded a corner. Kof halted them, lowered his voice, and said, “This plan of the shaman’s…it’s a big risk. If the chieftain finds out—”

“Who would tell him?” Dang, I knew that voice: Gargle. I pressed myself into that crack so hard I practically sodomized myself on a stalagmite. “If the new shaman fails, we all fail. And none of us want to bear the chieftain’s wrath.”

“But there’s still time to find the real crypt,” Kof insisted. “I will speak to the shaman—”

“He’ll see no one. He was very clear.”

“Maybe so. But he’s new to this clan—and so young. If I don’t offer my council—”

“And shame him by mistrusting his decisions?” Gargle said with a scoff. “Nothing leads to failure faster than disrespecting the shaman.”

Kof grunted thoughtfully. “Good thing I have a second in command who sees things from every angle. It’s not the first time you’ve saved me from myself, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

I risked a glance to see if I was alone, only to find Gargle and one of the other guards had paused to shift their grip on a huge jug of oil. I quickly ducked back into my crevice. Once Kof’s footfalls receded, Gargle said to his parting steps, “No…I’m definitely done making you look good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the other orc wondered.

“The shaman is getting rid of Kof. I made sure of it.”

“Oh?” Gargle’s crony sounded amused. “And how did you manage that?”

My nemesis pitched his voice low and nasty, and said, “What’s the worst thing I could hold over the pup’s head—something that would get him marched straight to the chopping block?”

Hold on. Gorgul wasn’t on Droko’s side?

“Is the new shaman a traitor?” the other guardsman guessed. “Ooh, I’ll bet he is.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s using his dark magic to sabotage Ul-Rott. Why, I’ll wager those festering crotch-boils everyone’s whispering about were the lad’s way of getting revenge for stealing him away from his own clan—”

“Don’t be stupid. That’s impossible.”

The crony warmed to his own idea. “Never smart to get on the bad side of a shaman. You remember the poor sod who insulted Taruut, ended up trampled by an elk? Took a hoof straight through the kidney and died by morning. If that’s not bad enough, they say his corpse was pissing blood.”

“No one has magical dick boils,” Gorgul said, “and no one’s getting trampled. Even if Droko wanted to curse someone… he can’t. The pup’s not even a shaman.”

No. No way. Gorgul was full of shit. He had to be. Because of course Droko was a shaman. Why else would he be here?

Droko…who never once gave me some cryptic shamanic answer…who didn’t seem to know a mossberry from a mouse turd…who never so much as shook a bone in my direction.

Unless you counted the one between his legs.

And his assertion that he’d never taken an oath of celibacy.

A claim that suddenly made a lot more sense….

“Hold on.” Gorgul made that distinctive whuffing noise an orc does when he’s bathing his palate in scent. “I thought I smelled the shaman.”

Belatedly, I realized I’d been clutching Droko’s cloak around me so tightly my knuckles were white. I held my breath, worried they’d manage to scent my exhalation, and struggled against the cold sweat already prickling between my shoulder blades.

And then the other one whuffed. “Can’t smell nothing but this reeking oil. Far as I’m concerned, we can’t put this whole funeral business behind us soon enough. And if what you say is true—well, you’d better remember who your friends are when you’re looking for your next lieutenant!”

I held my breath until my lungs clutched at my ribcage and an image of the starry night sky painted itself against my closed eyelids. Lightheadedness tickled at my consciousness—I’d only recently recovered from my own malady, after all—but as I felt my knees threaten to buckle, the orcs hefted their burden and trudged off to the fake tomb.

I eased my way out of my hiding place and saw I was only a short jog away from the crescent-shaped gap. So close to freedom I could taste it. And yet…I couldn’t just leave Droko to the jackals.

Hugging his cloak around me, I threw self-interest to the wind, kept my ears pricked for orcish footsteps, clung to the shadows…and made my way back to Droko.

He was still exactly where I’d left him, squatting in the meditation chamber, staring resolutely at the wall. “Forget breakfast—I’m not hungry.”

Only after he got the words out did his nose register that breakfast had already been forgotten.

He turned to me and his nostrils flared. I didn’t need to tell him I was totally unnerved, he could smell it. “What’s wrong?” he asked cautiously as he got to his feet.

I understand men. The surest way to wound them isn’t to kick them in the nuts, but to take a stab at their ego. But there was simply no time to do some delicate song and dance to coax a confession out of Droko, and pretend shock over learning he’d been living a lie. “I know,” I said simply. “I know everything.”

His expression went even grimmer than usual. “Then I suppose you have demands as well.”

The accusation hit me like a slap. And still worse—I deserved it. Because I’d spent my whole life looking out only for myself. It was my nature—survival. But if taking off and leaving this man alone to fend off these vipers didn’t qualify as betrayal, then I must’ve skipped that lesson somewhere along the way.

At least Droko didn’t know I’d been planning to take his stormsilver and leave. If he ever found out, I’d surely die of shame. And I’ve always prided myself in being utterly shameless.

With confidence I didn’t entirely feel, I said, “My only demand is that you get rid of Gorgul. Fire him, banish him. Whatever it takes.”

Droko gave a heavy sigh. “He would talk.”

“Then run him through with his own damn spear—”

“Archie,” he said quietly…and the sound of my name in his deep orcish voice made me sway on my feet. “I don’t claim to know how it is in human towns. But here, in the Red Hand Clan, if I slew him—there’d be consequences.”

“But you can get away with anything! You’re the shaman.” At least as far as anyone knew.

“I’m a newcomer; Gorgul has been a respected member of this clan his whole life. Ul-Rott would have to investigate. All my secrets would be laid bare.”

“You cured the chieftain’s crotch! Surely, he’ll look the other way.”

Droko shook his head sadly. “To excuse the murder of a clan mate would undermine his authority. He’d have to make an example of me.”

Was it too late to flee the caves with the rare dwarvish blade, whose sale would set me up for life with the best of everything money could buy? Maybe not. The only problem was, no matter how fine the house, the bed, the wine—how could I possibly enjoy any of it without Droko?

If I said what I was about to say, there’d be no going back…but it had to be done. Before I could second-guess myself, I blurted out, “Come away with me, Droko.”

He looked up sharply, confused. Impulsively, I dashed up to him and grabbed him by the hand. Obviously, I expected it to be bigger than mine. But it wasn’t until I was actually clutching it that I appreciated how massive he was. A pair of his fingers were as big as my wrist, and his skin felt like hardened leather—but I didn’t care that we were nothing alike. Because this was Droko. My Droko. Somehow, somewhere, we had to be able to carve out a life together.

And then, before I knew it, I was grappling him around the neck—by the stars, it was like climbing a tree!—and hauling myself up against him to press my mouth to his. Surprise was the only reason he moved at all, bowing his head so our lips could meet. All of the other orcs had tusks that could easily put out an eye, but not Droko. His curved ever so slightly outward. And when I went in for the kiss, they cupped my face like a lover’s hand.

Droko’s lips parted. Not in passion, but in wonder. In my long and sordid history, I’d certainly kissed men who didn’t kiss me back. But now, that wasn’t the case. Droko didn’t exactly kiss me…but the thread of exhalation that played across my lower lip as his breath caught was all the encouragement I needed.

I mashed myself into the strong, hard shape of him. Droko was so phenomenally solid, I was sure he’d leave an impression against me like a boot would mark its tread on the soft bank of a river. And me? Well, I might have some grit, but underneath all that, I was pliant.

Our breath mingled, and he made that orcish whuffing noise. Cautious. In the pit of his throat. And then he shuddered like a wagon crossing a rut. Yes, my human senses were dull compared to his, but even I could tell that the places where we came together were utterly sublime. My breath to his. My lips to his. My tongue to—

“Archie,” he said sadly as he took a step back—I got gooseflesh all over from the way he formed the word around his tusks. “It can’t be.”

“But it can.” I steeled myself and plowed ahead. “There’s a way out of these caves—a way none of the guards know about.” And while I’d never be able to cram him through the narrow gap that led to my escape route, Dreadforge would take care of that soon enough. I caught his arm and tried to tug him toward the door. It was like dragging on a mountain. “While everyone’s busy putting together the fake tomb—”

“I’m sorry.” Droko eased my hand from his forearm, holding it as if he was worried he’d squeeze too hard and hear bones crunch. “Maybe, in another life, I could have gone with you. But I have an obligation to my family. And if I did manage to escape, retribution would rain down like—”

As if on cue, a massive peel of thunder boomed through the caverns.

“You see?” Droko gave a joyless laugh as he glanced up at the cave ceiling. “Even the skies are conspiring to keep me on the unlikely path I’ve laid out for myself. I told Ul-Rott rain would come for Taruut’s funeral. And the heavens have made me an honest man.”

The sound of distant plinks and plunks filtered in as the sudden downpour seeped into the caves. Against all odds, they also filled my heart with hope. “Droko…what are the chances it just so happened to rain exactly when you said it would?”

“Unlikely or not, it’s a coincidence. Nothing more.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I’m as much a shaman as you are an orc. So, if you’ve found a way out, you should take it. In fact, I command you to go. While everyone is distracted with the funeral—”

“And leave you here alone? Unthinkable.”

“Well. I suppose I’ll always have Crespash.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell Droko that if I went, his goblin was sure to follow. I didn’t need to. It was written all over my face…or whatever the scent equivalent might be. He smiled joylessly and said, “There’s no sense in sending three soldiers into a losing battle when one will do. Crespash is a pain in the arse anyway, and I’ll be fine without my food taster—Gorgul won’t let anyone poison me. He’s got too much to lose.”

Gorgul. The mere sound of his name made my fingers itch to aim Dreadforge at something other than a cave wall. I might not be strong enough to swing it as high as his heart…but I could at least lop off a leg. “How did that wretched orc figure out you couldn’t shaman? Is Crespash so bitter he would sell you out even if it meant he’d go down right along with you?”

Droko gave his head a single, ponderous shake. “The goblin’s hatred runs deep. But he would never risk his own skin for the sake of revenge. He’s a survivor.”

Just like me. “Then how did Gorgul find out?”

“Does it matter? The ivories are cast.” Up close like this, Droko felt so impossibly huge. A great hulk of an orc who could stand up to anything. And yet, his expression was so resigned, so profoundly sad, that it pained me to even look at him.

I’ve heard talk of heartache before. Nothing sadder than a bedboy who actually believed it when a paying man called him special. Always figured I was too much of a realist to fall in love—that maybe I was just born without the sort of feelings that left those sorry boys pining away at the window for someone who never intended to come back for them.

Maybe I’d even prided myself in keeping my heart so untouchable.

And maybe that really had been the smart thing to do. Because here, now, faced with the thought of never seeing Droko again…it felt like the beating muscle had been ripped right out of my chest.

“Please.” I knuckled the sting from my eyes, stretched up on tiptoe, and cupped his strong orcish face in my hands. “Don’t send me away.”

Droko stiffened, and I wondered if maybe I’d only succeeded in firming up his resolve….

Until he hitched me up by the armpits, swung me around, and pinned me to the wall.