Page 5 of The False Shaman (Claimed by the Red Hand #2)

DROKO

How the chieftain spoke to me—looked me right in the eye—and failed to see I was no shaman, I’ll never know. Maybe claims of his cunning and prowess were exaggerated. Or maybe he’d seen through me already and was simply toying with me.

Or maybe he was a pragmatic orc who knew that appearances were all that mattered, and even a false shaman was better than no shaman at all.

Either way, this was my first test—the crypt must be ready in three days.

The crypt whose location was unknown.

My commander back home would tell me to be like the hunter stalking his prey. Watch and wait, and only strike when the time is right. But at the moment, I felt less like a hunter and more like a wounded buck leaving a blood trail in the undergrowth. One that was sure to be spotted.

There was nowhere to hide now. So I’d better start acting the hunter. “Ul-Rott the Spinecrusher has set us a task,” I announced to the honor guards who’d accompanied me to the square. “We must waste no time in carrying out his orders.”

The men shuffled awkwardly, and I recalled that they were unaccustomed to a shaman who could walk unassisted.

The captain, Kof, had placed himself at the top position, at my empty sword hand—my dominant hand. A true shaman would have no use for a sword. His honor guard would strike down any threat. As for me—I’d rather do the striking myself. The spot on either hip where my blades normally hung felt far too light, and the staff I carried would shatter if I ever used it against steel.

“Assign the marching order,” I told him—but it was Gorgul, his lieutenant, who responded.

“Slaves bring up the rear,” he said…and I was surprised to realize I also felt exposed without the goblin beside me. Even though Crespash had no claws or fangs, he’d gladly shove an attacker’s eye in with the stump of his thumb, given half the chance.

Not that there was anything to fear inside the walls of this village…which was supposedly my village, now.

As we trooped back toward the shamanic cave, Crespash immediately broke rank and scampered up to grab my attention. “Has it not been a great while since you’ve eaten, oh Droko the Sage?” He jerked his head at the communal dining hall. It was laid out differently than the one I’d grown up with, but a mess hall is a mess hall. When I was still a child, I sat at my father’s table. But I still recalled the pride I felt squatting among the men and slurping down my first bowl of gristly stew from the common pot.

Before I could reply, Gorgul answered Crespash with a whack to the thigh with the butt of his spear. Any lower and the goblin would have lost a kneecap. I wasn’t the only one who’d need to play a role here. Goblins don’t understand respect until it’s beaten into them—and even then, they tend to forget. He’d become too familiar with me over the years. This was a good reminder of the order of things.

“The slave will prepare my food,” I said, though Crespash was such a foul cook he’d probably manage to fumigate the caves by the time my dinner was done. “The human slave,” I amended.

Kof, the one-eyed orc, said, “As the head of the honor guard, I am responsible for your life. That duty should fall to me.” I leveled him a look, and he retracted the complaint. “As you wish.”

A captain should not capitulate so quickly—even to his superior. There was something going on within the guard. Had Taruut known, or was it only obvious to a soldier like me?

“In the meantime,” I said, “you will give the human proper clothing—and I will go and, er…prepare to locate the tomb.”

I could hardly get back to my new private chambers—and away from the guardsmen—soon enough. I squatted gingerly, rubbing my aching head, while Crespash flung himself down in the old shaman’s sedan chair. “Well,” he said sarcastically, “that was quite the convincing lie. No one would ever question you were a shaman.”

“What would you have me tell them?”

“Any mumbo jumbo would do. No doubt a real shaman would find the crypt by working his magic. Though, I confess, I’m not exactly clear on how he’d go about the task. Consult the stars? Pray to the ancestors? Sacrifice a chicken?”

“How would I know?” I grumbled. “Our shaman would never speak to anyone but his acolytes, let alone do any rituals where the rest of us could watch.”

“Then definitely see about that chicken.”

“Would you stop thinking about food for once and do something useful? If they find me out, you’re as good as dead yourself.”

“Calm down, Droko the Sage. If your supposed mentor was secretive, it stands to reason that you’d be just as opaque. So stay in your chambers performing your ‘rituals’ while I go figure out where this crypt might be.”

The suggestion sounded suspiciously helpful. But goblins love nothing better than skulking through winding cave passages in the dark—especially if they could find an escape route that let out somewhere beyond the village walls. “If you think I’m stupid enough to just allow you to—”

“What’s the alternative, hm? Going to the chieftain three days from now and telling him you haven’t even found the crypt, let alone made it ready? Look, Third Son, I’ll make you a deal. If I find a way out of this place, then obviously, I’m taking it. But if I find the crypt first, I’ll tell you where it is. One good ‘prophecy’ should set you up for a long time to come.”

Only a fool would trust a goblin’s promise. Though what other choice did I have?

I said, “If anyone asks what you’re doing, be vague. Just say you’re on a mission from the shaman.”

“Why would anyone ask?” He flashed a gummy grin. “They won’t even know I was there.”

Once he did find that crypt, then what? If only I could glean some clue among the old shaman’s belongings—anything to make it seem like I knew what I was doing. I took stock of the chamber. Shelves crowded the room, stuffed full of crystals, strange stones, and bundles of various herbs. Not a single scroll. I picked up a clump of greenery and gave it a sniff. My eyes watered. I had no idea what it was. In fact, the same could be said for everything else. Object after object, I turned things over, racking my brain for some notion of the purpose these things might serve.

I recognized nothing.

I’d worked my way around to a huge collection of stoppered vials. None of them were labeled. I sniffed one, then another. From what I could tell, the tinctures smelled mostly of the alcohol used to distill them. I was just about to admit to myself that I couldn’t name a single thing in that room…when I unstoppered a bottle and finally recognized the scent of pepper.

And then the curtain rustled in my doorway, and a human face poked through the gap. “Dinner’s served.”

The scent had come from the food—not the tincture. I stoppered the vial and motioned him in.

The guards had dressed the human male in a simple linen outfit, the sort that a young recruit, too small for armor, would be given his first night at the longhouse. Though the human was an adult, it was far too big. He held a platter of steaming goat, surrounded by roasted tubers and studded with peppercorns. The platter itself was plain, but the meal looked fit for a chieftain’s table. “You prepared this with your own hands?” I demanded.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” A smile tugged at the corner of the human’s mouth. “I’m told my hands are very talented, indeed.”

He spoke like Crespash. Not with a toothless goblin lisp, obviously—but in a maddening, indirect tone hinting that something crucial was being left unsaid. It was not the orc way.

Then again, he was clearly not an orc. My gaze landed on the delicate hollow at the base of his smooth, pale throat. I lingered there for a moment, then forced myself to look away, swallowing hard.

I shoved some twigs and bundles aside to clear room on a table. “Put it down.”

Archie walked around the table so I was at his back—as if the soft white throat wasn’t vulnerable enough—then placed the tray down with a slight wiggle in his rump. Over his shoulder, he tossed the words, “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Eat.”

He turned and glanced pointedly at my crotch before meeting my eyes. “Pardon me?”

The caves were full of herbs and potions. Poisonous herbs and potions. And the sharp smell of pepper could mask any of them. “You heard me. Eat.”

But if my command surprised the human, he didn’t show it.

He smiled, a secret light in his eyes. He took up a tuber and brought it to his lips, then tenderly bit off a piece like he was eating from my hand. His gaze flicked up to meet mine as he chewed it with his blunt human teeth. I felt the heat of that look throughout my entire body.

His lips shone with grease. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

“Delicious,” he murmured.

The sound of orcish voices carried from elsewhere in the caves, reminding me that any sense of us being alone together was nothing but an illusion. I grabbed my eating knife from my belt, speared a few morsels from various parts of the plate, then aimed the tip at that tender hollow in the human’s throat. “Eat,” I repeated.

With an easy shrug, he took a bit of goat between his fingers, slipped the meat from the knife, and ate it…all the while staring me unflinchingly in the eye. “Anything else you’d like me to do?” he asked lightly as his gaze fell to my lips. “Perhaps I should breathe your air.”

Something inside me shivered and I choked down a fierce knot of need. “Drink,” I growled as I poured a cup from an earthenware jug, then placed it into his hand. The human accepted the cup and tilted it back, savoring every last drop with a contented sigh.

I couldn’t stop myself from admiring the way his throat moved as he swallowed, how his eyes had suddenly mellowed with pleasure, and that faint, knowing smile when he caught me staring.

It was too much. This human unsettled me like no one ever had. His attitude, his scent, the uncanny sense that he knew what I was thinking—it was almost as if I was bewitched.

“That’s all,” I said, as firmly as I could manage, my voice brittle with tension. “Now, leave me.”

Archie paused, treating me to one more lingering look before he finally obeyed.

Alone, I stood in the emptiness of the cluttered room. My breath came in shallow gasps, as though I’d just scaled a precarious bluff in search of stormsilver. But the precipice I now found myself upon was twice as steep…and far more dangerous.