Page 25 of The False Shaman (Claimed by the Red Hand #2)
ARCHIE
I might not have mastered the art of sleeping with one eye open, but my time in the brothels made me a light sleeper, for sure. Bedboys and wenches have nimble hands. And if you ever do manage to set a coin or two aside, they’ll gladly relieve you of your hard-earned pennies while you’re visiting dreamland. So, when I heard the familiar slap of sandal on stone, I flinched awake immediately.
Gorgul was dead. Intellectually, I knew it. I’d seen the top of his head slide off. But sleep-woozy me was positive my nemesis had finally come to put an end to me after all. I jerked up from the cushion, making Droko grunt in his sleep as I cast around for the knife and cursed myself for letting my guard down.
The brazier had burned low and the chamber was filled with shadows. But the hulking figure that had slipped into the room made no move to throttle me. It simply set a tray down among the clutter on the nearest semi-clear surface.
“Kof?”
The huge orc turned to line me up in his good eye. I suddenly felt profoundly naked, but he didn’t act like anything was amiss. Or even particularly remarkable.
Orcish ways were gonna take some getting used to.
Kof knelt under Droko’s sleepy gaze. “I told you Taruut encouraged me to learn cookery. Since the bearer of the prophecy could hardly be expected to do such menial work, I figured I might as well handle it. That way I’ll know for sure nobody’s been poisoned.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Droko rumbled. “Archie’s cooking keeps getting worse. Now he doesn’t even need a toxic herb to poison someone with it.”
“Hey,” I complained automatically…though he wasn’t wrong. Even I could smell that the orc knew what he was doing at the hearth.
“This doesn’t relieve you of your guard duties,” Droko told Kof. “You’re still the captain.”
Kof puffed up, just a little, as he rose to his feet—but it was obvious the order pleased him. “As you wish, Droko the Starry-Eyed.”
The look on Droko’s face was priceless. “I can’t deny those flecks in his irises are enchanting,” I said, “But Droko the Starry-Eyed is quite a mouthful. How about Droko the Mystic?”
“If you must,” Droko said with infinite patience.
Kof nodded, then turned to go, adding, “Oh, and I was sure to heap on plenty of those grubs the human likes.”
Delightful.
“Mystic,” Droko grumbled, once Kof was gone. “I preferred Sage.”
While Droko might not have put much stock in esoteric matters, he hadn’t seen the way the prophecy took him. But he was nothing if not pragmatic, so no doubt he’d come around to the idea eventually.
And speaking of pragmatic…. Good thing I was used to flicking weevils off my bread. I shoved the bugs aside and helped myself to what was underneath. Stewed meat of some kind, with something starchy, and something green. Whatever it was, it was well seasoned, so I figured I should stop trying to figure out what exactly it might be and simply eat my fill.
Droko was happy enough to shovel down all the grubs. I’d have to do my best not to think about it the next time I kissed him. And then my heart got all soppy over the thought of a next time . Because with a paying man, that sort of thing is never a given.
Though I couldn’t help but remark, “Never mind that they’re moving….” I shuddered. “The way they just pop between your teeth.”
“If they’re young enough, you don’t even need teeth. Crespash loves ’em.”
Crespash.
I’d been so wrapped up in Droko that I hadn’t given a thought to the goblin. Not gonna lie, Crespash freaked me out. And when I saw him barrel into the amber room with that sword in his gangly arms, I’d thought for sure Droko was a goner. But instead of taking his revenge on his master…he’d saved Droko’s life.
I thought back to the annoying peddler’s words: I could never be a slave. No matter how finely gilded the cage. Kof hadn’t referred to me as a slave. He’d called me the bearer of the prophecy —which had a pretty good ring to it, if I did say so myself.
Crespash, however, hadn’t fared quite so well after the craziness in the amber room. He’d been hauled off by a pair of burly orcish guards.
“You need to help him,” I said.
Droko’s ponderous brow furrowed. “Crespash? Help him what?”
For someone so smart, he was incredibly dense when he wanted to be. “Help him escape so he can start a new life.”
“Crespash is a slave. And for good reason. He’s been a slave longer than I’ve been alive.”
Droko seemed to consider the matter closed, but it was bugging me. If Crespash had found the sword I had so “cleverly” hidden, then it made sense that he’d found the escape route I’d been carving, too. He’d had an out. And he hadn’t taken it.
Because he cared about Droko.
Droko had stood to eat. I squared myself up in front of him, eye-level with the handprint branded on his chest. Some of the red had settled out, and now it was more of a green-tinged rust. When I fit my hand over it, his breath hissed through his teeth. “Orcs have a highly developed sense of fairness, I’ve observed, and they put a lot of stock in doing what they feel is right. So, consider this. While you were on your knees with stars swirling through your eyes, Crespash could’ve easily lopped off your head right along with Gorgul’s. But he didn’t. He saved you.”
Droko heaved a sigh. “Freeing slaves is not the orcish way.” As he said this, he took in the chamber bedecked in bones and furs, herbs and potions. And he considered me in all my human glory, while the fresh handprint on my cheek tingled as I flushed under his scrutiny. He saw what had become of himself—and he accepted it with a single nod. “But many things have come to pass lately that have never happened before. Besides, I can’t think of anyone who’d dare challenge the word of Droko…the Mystic.”