Chapter Twenty-Two
Audrey sat on her bed with the radio clutched in her hands, her fingers trembling as she adjusted the dial. Static crackled through the speaker. She tried another frequency, then another, moving the dial in slow increments while her heart hammered against her ribs.
“Natalie,” she said into the receiver. “Shauna. Owen. Anyone, please.”
Nothing but static answered her.
She adjusted the antenna, angling it toward the window, then toward the door, then back again. Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the radio twice. She switched frequencies again, listening to the empty hiss of white noise that filled the room.
Half an hour passed this way. She cycled through every frequency she knew, then tried ones she didn’t. Her throat grew tight and her eyes burned.
Finally, she set the radio down.
The light in the room had changed. She glanced through the window and saw the sun setting, orange light fading into deep purple. Dinner would be soon. The horde would gather at the community center, and she’d be expected to sit beside Morgath like she had every evening.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t sit at that table knowing Jorrad the Brutal would be there too, probably laughing and joking with the other warriors, maybe even at her expense. The idea of eating in the same room as him, breathing the same air as him, made her sick.
But it was more than that. Everything about this place suddenly felt wrong.
She had slept with Morgath. She had let him touch her, kiss her, hold her through the night. She had touched him back, wanted him, craved him, let herself forget who he was.
What had she been thinking?
Jorrad was his warrior. Jorrad served under his command, fought in his horde, and followed his orders.
Maybe Morgath hadn’t killed her family with his own hands, but what did that matter?
He could have given the order. He could have told his warriors to tear through her town, to break into houses, and slaughter everyone they found inside.
And even if he hadn’t given that specific order, he’d kept Jorrad afterward. He knew what kind of orc Jorrad was. Everyone called him Jorrad the Brutal. His name said everything.
How could she have forgotten, even for a moment, that Morgath the Skullreaper had killed people during the war?
The war lasted two years before the peace treaty was signed.
Two years of orcs rampaging through human towns and cities, taking whatever they wanted, killing whoever got in their way.
Morgath and his horde had been part of that, had fought, killed and destroyed, and she had no idea how many people had died because of them.
And she had slept with him.
The realization settled over her like a weight pressing down on her chest. She felt devastated, disgusted. The shame of it crawled over her skin and made her want to scrub herself raw until the feeling went away. She felt dirty.
Audrey decided she wouldn’t go to dinner. She’d tell Morgath she wasn’t feeling well. She was still injured, after all. Well, not really. The bandages wrapped around her ribs and arm were useless now, because she’d healed completely, but she wouldn’t remove them if they made her look more credible.
She stood up. Her legs felt unsteady under her.
A commotion erupted outside. Raised voices, the sound of boots on packed earth, orcs calling out to each other. She walked into the living room and looked out the window.
Morgath was rushing down the street toward the community center. He wasn’t coming home. Other orcs were rushing too, dozens of them converging from different directions. She heard them shouting to each other, though she couldn’t make out the words.
A feeling of apprehension assaulted her. Something bad was about to happen. She could feel it in the air.
She made a split decision. If Morgath was in town, then there was no one in the hut. This was her chance. She ran to her bedroom.
Audrey didn’t know why she was doing it, but she pulled on her hunter gear. She strapped two daggers to her thighs, and another one went into her boot, the handle pressing against her calf. She grabbed her gun and tucked it into the waistband of her pants at her lower back.
Bullets didn’t do much when it came to orcs. Their thick skin and dense muscle made them hard to kill with human weapons. But it was better than nothing. At least, she’d feel protected, feel like herself again.
She slipped out the back door and took the long way to the hut, avoiding the main paths and sticking to the shadows.
Night had fallen almost completely. The sky above was deep black, scattered with stars that gave almost no light. Her eyes adjusted, and she could make out the shapes of trees and the outlines of buildings.
She moved fast. She didn’t know how much time she had before Morgath returned, didn’t know how long whatever crisis had pulled him away would keep him occupied.
The hut appeared through the trees, dark and silent. She watched from the shadows for a minute, scanning the windows for any sign of light, or indication that the new apprentice might be inside. There was nothing.
She moved to the door. Morgath trusted his orcs so much that he never locked it. But then, why did he keep the storage room locked? She’d find out soon enough.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The darkness was complete, thick enough that she could barely see her own hands. She fumbled for a candle on the workbench and lit it. The flame flickered to life, casting dancing shadows across the walls.
First, she grabbed the midnight blue vial from the shelf.
It wasn’t exactly poisonous, but it was better than nothing.
A paralyzing potion might help. She tucked it into the pocket of her vest. Then she pulled out the skeleton key and approached her target.
She’d wondered about this room since the first time she’d been here, wondered what Morgath kept hidden behind a lock when everything else was left open and accessible.
She slid the key into the lock and turned it. The mechanism clicked, and the door swung open.
Audrey gasped.
Weapons filled the room, shimmering with magic that made the air itself seem alive.
They were on shelves, hung from the walls, laid out in careful rows.
Daggers of all sizes lined one shelf, some curved and wicked-looking, others straight and simple.
Arrowheads sat in neat rows beside them, their tips gleaming.
Swords hung on the walls, both long and short, their blades catching the candlelight and throwing it back in strange patterns.
The metal gleamed with more than reflected light. There was a magical shimmer that surrounded each sharp blade. She could feel the power radiating from them, a low hum that seemed to vibrate in her bones.
She had found the treasure trove.