Page 22 of The Outcast Orc (Claimed by the Red Hand #1)

22

QUINN

Though I did end up recuperating in the shaman’s caves, I didn’t get my nice hot soak in the sulfur spring, thanks to the big slice across my ribs. It wasn’t deep, but Taruut took one whiff of it and declared it would just keep bleeding if he dunked me in the pool. Instead, he parked me on one of his stone slabs and got to work smearing me with his reeking unguents.

Even with nothing more than a hard bed of rock to cushion me, I slept like a baby…thanks to periodic doses of some powerful herbs he’d been cultivating in his garden.

Deep in the humid, sulfurous caves, night and day held no meaning. But it felt as though several days had passed when I woke to the dim light of a nearby brazier, and found Taruut regarding me with his pale, sightless eyes. “You’ve managed to cause quite a stir,” he said with some amusement. “How is it that the ivories did not forewarn me of your coming? Was I too focused on Archibald that my reading was poor? Or is it all interconnected?”

I shrugged, then realized he couldn’t see the gesture. “Look, I don’t know anything about visions and prophecies. We just all muddle through the best we can.”

“Says the man who came through those doors in irons and ended up saving the chieftain’s life.”

Excitement stirred in my belly. “What are you saying—is Ul-Rott going to free me?”

“You?” He chuckled. “You may have been helpful. But a horse is still a horse, and a slave is still a slave.”

I wouldn’t have expected any different from the other humans I’d known, so I supposed it was naive to hope for more from an orc.

According to the shaman, the tribe would be gathering in the village square today for a speech—Ul-Rott was big on speeches. And if I was well enough to attend, Taruut would allow it. I was tempted to stay behind, since it was clear the chieftain’s gratitude wouldn’t grant me my freedom. But given my involvement in stemming off a major attack, I wanted to hear for myself how it all turned out.

My wound was sore and my joints still ached from the wild ride on the biggest horse I’d ever encountered, but I was fine to walk. As I followed Taruut’s litter out of the dark humidity of the sulfur caves and into the bright daylight, I noticed Spear Butt giving me the side-eye. But not once did he take a jab at me.

What I didn’t notice was a certain traitorous orc anywhere in the recovery chambers. “Did Borkul die?” I asked bluntly, as the shaman seemed pretty tolerant of my questions.

Taruut smiled grimly to himself. “I believe his wife insisted on keeping him alive.”

“All things considered, that’s awfully, uh, devoted of her.”

“Devotion has nothing to do with it. His wife should grant him a mercy. But she wants to make sure he suffers with the shame of what he has done for as long as possible.”

The whole orc village had turned out for the chieftain’s speech, and the guard presence was solid. It was unlikely the Two Swords Clan would be able to rally after the crushing defeat they suffered in the chieftain’s hunting grounds, but as I’d learned, orcs take their vengeance very seriously. Best not get too complacent.

Since I was with the shaman’s entourage, I had a prime line of sight. The chieftain’s guards were decked out in their showiest armor and skull helmets. A group of drummers pounded out an unfaltering rhythm that sharpened the focus of the crowd. And the little ones were in their glory, chowing down on fried lizards on sticks—then jabbing each other when the sticks were stripped clean.

Once the crowd was whipped into an expectant frenzy, Ul-Rott swaggered to the dais in the center and held up a massive hand. The crowd fell silent. Even the younglings who were giddy with lizard.

“Let all bear witness to our victory,” the chieftain proclaimed in a booming voice. “Not only has the Two Swords Clan been driven off, fleeing like hunted rabbits, but a turncoat has been routed from our clan. Cast Borkul’s name from your tongue. He exists no more.”

As one, the crowd answered with a mighty, hacking bark—a sound I don’t think I’d even be able to produce, not without a good amount of practice. It was clearly pretty cathartic. Everyone seemed satisfied that excluding Borkul from the clan was the worst punishment he could receive.

“And for exemplary service,” Ul-Rott went on, “A boon has been earned by someone all of you have underestimated…”

My heart thrummed harder than the deep kettle drums as I wondered if maybe Taruut was wrong about my freedom after all.

“…my staunch and determined commander, General Marok.”

Of course, I wanted my freedom. And I might have been the one who’d tamed the untamable warhorse and galloped out to warn everyone…but was I disappointed to see Marok regain the respect he’d lost?

Not even a little.

Marok had always looked big and solid to me. But with the mantle of honor resting on his broad shoulders, he seemed positively massive. It wasn’t pride he radiated, either, but dignity. The knowledge that bravery and integrity would ultimately triumph.

My jaded heart begged to differ…but I couldn’t deny that in his true element, Marok was not just formidable, but magnificent.

He strode to center stage and folded fluidly to one knee. “Praise Ul-Rott.”

The chieftain enjoyed his subjugation for just a moment, then said, “Stand, warrior. And claim your prize.”

Without so much as a moment of hesitation, Marok swung an arm around to point unerringly at me, and said, “I will have the human slave.”

Ul-Rott’s craggy brow furrowed. “But your former heart-brother still lives. He who betrayed you.”

“The human,” Marok repeated.

Ul-Rott glanced at me, absently toying with one of his iron-shod tusks, then turned his attention back to Marok. “You have served me well, there’s no doubt. But my steed needs its trainer. Besides, you have no horse, no stable. Just take the traitor’s head and be pleased with it.”

“I don’t want the human for my stable. I want him for my bed.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd...and not just because orcs didn’t technically have beds, either. But it was nowhere near the uproar this announcement would have garnered in the Fortifications—where, frankly, I couldn’t picture anyone publicly saying such a thing at all.

Even the chieftain seemed surprised, though only mildly so. “Well, then. What do I care where the human sleeps? He must report daily to the stables. But if you want him in your household, this I shall grant.” He stroked his tusk. “Though I, personally, would have preferred the head.”