Page 23 of The False Shaman (Claimed by the Red Hand #2)
DROKO
I’m told I had a vision.
To me, it felt more like a dream—like the chaotic nightmares that had plagued me since I first allowed myself to sleep in the geyser caves. But this time, I hadn’t exactly been sleeping. And I’d spoken aloud of what I saw. So if that’s what prognostication truly was, well then….
Vision was as good a word as any.
I just hoped it didn’t happen again anytime soon.
I’d made an impression, that was for sure. My honor guard had been respectful before, but only as far as duty dictated. Now? They were terrified.
The only one who could even bring himself to look at me was Kof. Maybe, to his single eye, I was only half as frightening. And while he stank of fear as much as all the rest of them, at least he forced himself to do his job.
He genuflected low and said, “The chieftain has been summoned and the slaves are secure.”
Neither Crespash nor Archie would be happy about their confinement, but the guardsmen were all jumpy, and I couldn’t risk either of my slaves ending up on the wrong side of a blade. “Get up,” I told Kof. I needed another set of eyes—or at least a single intelligent one—to puzzle through what the dwarves had hidden all those years ago.
The amber walls glowed with eldritch light that shifted and danced. Something aboveground dappled the daylight streaming in through the small shafts—a cloud, perhaps, or maybe a branch. I kept my eyes firmly on the floor, worried that the dancing light would provoke another “vision.” A queer tingle in the back of my neck that preceded the prior episode was absent. But I didn’t want to take any chances.
The chamber was natural. The center had been a tree, once. A massive tree as wide as a hut. At some point deep in the past, its own sap had overtaken it and the core had rotted away, leaving this hollow. Maybe it then sunk into the cliffside, or maybe the rock had formed around it. Either way, it had been eons in the making—and then worked with dwarvish craftsmanship to house the bones of the shamans.
The work of dwarves is so cunning that the ignorant take it for sorcery. But the fact that I knew it for what it was—staggeringly complex and unerringly precise mechanics—didn’t tarnish my opinion of the crypt in the least.
The far side of the chamber had slid open to reveal the final resting place of the Red Hand Clan’s shamans—a single galley. Kof and I moved into the dark hall, him raising a lantern to try and see what we’d discovered.
A dozen biers flanked the long, narrow space, half of them empty, the other half home to dead shamans. The mummified remains had been undisturbed inside either of our lifetimes, and their elaborate ceremonial garb had fallen to rot.
Kof made a fist and blew into it like he was staving off cold—a ward against evil I recognized from my father’s superstitious kobold chambermaid—but he stuck by my side, which was what mattered most.
It wasn’t the bodies that held my attention…but the writing on the wall.
I’d always been criticized for my interest in words and letters. But the figures here were archaic and difficult to ken, even for me–at least until I got my bearings and was able to discern one word, then another…and their meaning unfolded.
A faithful server shall accompany the shaman into the afterlife,
Steadfast until the end,
May they be at peace in the halls of the ancestors,
And together shall they remain.
It was then I saw that the biers weren’t solid stone. Each platform was more like a table, with a narrow vault hollowed out beneath—just the right size for a second body.
Slotted in below every interred shaman was the corpse of a slave. Bound. Festooned with nonsense mystical charms. Likely buried alive.
With mounting panic, I realized that Taruut kept no slaves, save one.
Archie.
Approaching footsteps echoed through the caves. Not the slap of the sandals worn by my honor guard, but the stomp of hobnailed boots. Above that, Ul-Rott’s annoyed tones carried across loud and clear. “If this turns out to be another false alarm, I’ll have you all castrated!”
“Shutter the lantern,” I whispered, and Kof hurried to comply.
“Shaman!” the chieftain called out. “What’s all this I hear about…?” His voice trailed off as I stepped out of the true crypt. Ul-Rott stood in the newly exposed amber room, mouth agape. A huge sword protruded from the floor and Gorgul’s corpse was sprawled at his feet, but he took no notice, looking from one wall to the other as glowing figures danced across the surface. The overhead light was fading now, and the sparkling letters were dim and erratic. But even faded, they painted a dramatic scene.
Ul-Rott planted his hands on his hips and said, “What is this curse’d place?”
“It’s the tomb of the shamans, great Spinecrusher.” I would have added a respectful thump, but the red ochre handprint on my chest burned like a brand.
Ul-Rott grunted, then narrowed his eyes. “If that’s so, then why did we park Taruut’s body somewhere else?”
I knew chieftains. I knew how they thought, but most importantly, I knew how they felt: always bristling for a challenge. Appeasing the ego of a chieftain was a balancing act. And if I answered wrong, Ul-Rott would not be impressed by our find, but rather take offense at the lie we’d told to get here.
It was a lose-lose proposition. Either he’d think me an idiot for not finding the original tomb sooner, or deem me untrustworthy for creating a fake. But I had to give him some explanation. I hesitated…then saw him surreptitiously blow into his fist.
“It was foretold,” I said simply.
Ul-Rott narrowed his eyes. He glanced down at Gorgul’s corpse. “And this one?”
“Driven mad by the death of his leader. As you saw when he struck the grub from your hand.”
Ul-Rott squinted at the golden letters flowing across the walls. I’d read prophecy in those words of light, but now I saw nothing but sparkles. What did Ul-Rott see there—a pronouncement that would lead Archie to his death? I was glad for the copper smell of blood in the air. Its tang would cover up my sour nerves. But the longer Ul-Rott paused, the more likely it was he’d see through my confident act and we’d all be lost….
Until finally he flexed his fingers as if he wished to blow into them again and shuddered. “Foretold? Hmph. As you say, Droko. Do you need me to speak more words, or can you handle the final interment yourself?”
He’d used my name. I was stunned. I gathered my wits and said, “I have everything under control.”
The chieftain’s gaze returned to what remained of Gorgul. “And what of this one? Will you send him to the pyre or leave him for the wolves? Your man, your choice.”
“Actually….” the notion took hold before I had time to think it through, but I let the momentum carry me. “He was Taruut’s man. And his madness was a testament to how bonded they were. He will rest in the tomb with his shaman, and make up for his insults by serving Taruut in the afterlife.”
“If you put stock in that sort of thing,” Ul-Rott muttered, then considered the body. “Taken down by a mere goblin, the men tell me. Better to weed him out now before he fails you in battle.”
I looked up sharply. “Battle?”
“Of course. What good is a shaman built like an iron forge if I can’t parade him around in front of my enemies? You can carry that blade over there. No one else is willing to touch the thing, but it would be a shame for such a stout weapon to go to waste. You’ll need to learn to ride a horse, though.” He adjusted his breeches and added, “I hope your choad is up to it.”
“And what of my slave?” My thoughts were of Crespash, of course, who’d been hauled off by the honor guard after saving my life.
But Ul-Rott had a different slave in mind. “What you do with the human is your concern. Considering the big show the two of you put on here, spending your seed on him obviously hasn’t done your sorcery any harm.”
Once Ul-Rott was gone, I ordered my men to bundle Gorgul into the vault, then fetch Taruut’s body. I couldn’t say for sure which guards had been poisoned by Gorgul’s words and which had always been loyal to me. But giving the lieutenant the dignity of burial with his master was bound to win back a few hearts.
Plus, now that my guardsmen had seen me spew some “prophecy,” they wouldn’t dare stand against me.
Kof was the only one who’d willingly come within arm’s length—and that was something of a relief. Until he surprised me by saying, “It shouldn’t be Gorgul in that crypt.”
“Hold your tongue,” I snapped.
But I’d told the captain to be blunt with me, and he was determined to speak his mind. “Gorgul may have served as Taruut’s guard, but he never truly belonged to the shaman.”
“Kof….” If I had to make an example of him, I would. Anything it took to protect Archie.
“You saw the writing on the wall,” Kof said. “You read it to me yourself. A faithful companion. Does that sound like Gorgul to you?”
“Regardless of what we thought of Gorgul, he served Taruut much longer than Archie.”
Kof’s scarred brow furrowed. “The slave? I would never suggest the human deserved the honor.”
Then what on earth was he going on about?
He added, “If anyone here should accompany the shaman, it’s me.”
After the grub debacle, back when I’d told the chieftain that the honor guard was mourning their fallen shaman, I’d simply been uttering the sort of meaningless words men bandy about when they need to save face. It hadn’t occurred to me that some of the guards might actually be grieving.
Kof said, “I’ve been here ever since I can remember. Before this happened,” he gestured to his massive scar, “there’s nothing. Like I didn’t exist. I was young, but not that young. They say a wild animal….” He shuddered and stared off into the distance of his own murky past. "But Taruut…him, I remember, clear and true. He didn't just heal me. Once my wounds scarred over, he kept me close. Taught me things. Promoted me to his honor guard, even though the others said I was nowhere near bloodthirsty enough to protect him.”
He fell into another of his strange silences. But when I stopped myself from interrupting it, I was rewarded with more.
“I never left these caves after that. I didn't need to. Taruut said everything was exactly as it should be. Made me his captain, even though nobody understood why. But Taruut...he always saw what others couldn't."
So it seemed. I wished I’d had the chance to meet the old man—although he probably would have seen right through my lies. “Taruut was a powerful shaman. He doesn’t need your help to navigate the afterlife. Continue to serve him by serving me.”
“You are the shaman,” Kof said automatically. But when he took a moment to consider my words, maybe he truly was convinced. “I suppose I can’t deny Taruut the chance to knock Gorgul down a peg.”