Chapter 23 #2
But before Osmeg could strike again, a blur of movement caught my eye. Eli, still on his knees, had managed to grab Pilgrim’s eating knife with his good hand. He glanced briefly at Pilgrim’s exposed flank. Then, with a keen look of determination, he flung the blade at Osmeg.
The knife clipped Osmeg’s ear, sending him stumbling back with a yelp of pain.
But he held the sword fast, knuckles white with effort, and pointed it at me.
“You might think you’re the smart one—and you might have that human wrapped around your little finger, but I’m the second in command around here.
Not you. And you’ll have this sword over my—dead—body—”
He’d been shaking the pommel for emphasis with every word…
but then his hand cramped, and the heavy sword fell from his grasp.
It turned mid-air and buried itself tip-down in the lid of the larkwood chest. The brittle wood split in two, and one of the sides fell away.
I nearly expected to see my younger self cowering there.
But inside was nothing but an old blanket and a few splinters.
Osmeg stared at his own hand in dismay. His arm was trembling like a tree branch in a storm.
Like Ulka’s had, once the Wrack took hold.
Taking advantage of his distraction, I feinted toward the dropped sword, my muscles tensing as if to lunge for it. Osmeg scrambled for the pommel. But instead of going for the blade, I snatched up a large chunk of the splintered chest lid.
I spun around and hurled the wood at Pilgrim’s head with all my might.
Pilgrim dodged, mostly, taking the brunt of the blow to one shoulder.
That was fine—I hadn’t actually thought I would do much damage.
I’d just wanted a distraction. As soon as the projectile left my hands, I jabbed my spear past Osmeg and used the point to flick the fallen eating knife across the floor.
The blade spun, glinting in the dim light as it skidded toward Eli. Eli’s good hand shot out, snatching the knife mid-spin. In one fluid motion, he grabbed up the knife and pressed the blade against Pilgrim’s crotch.
Pilgrim froze, his face contorting in a mix of shock and fury. “You little—”
“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” Eli growled through clenched teeth. “Given that the veins on the inner thigh are in the same spot in orcs as in humans—and you’d bleed out just as fast.”
Pilgrim’s eyes narrowed. He put on a brave face, but the subtle tang of orcish fear on the air made it plain that he knew Eli would gladly gut him.
It never ceased to amaze me how resourceful humans could be, and how tenacious.
They were small and disarmingly fragile.
And yet their wills were as steely as that of any orc twice their size.
While Eli relieved Pilgrim of his weapons and kicked them aside, I prodded Osmeg to go join his master. He did so, staring at his trembling arm in dawning horror. The room went silent, save for our ragged breathing, and the scrape of the sword point on floorboards as I took up the ornate weapon.
Eli scrambled to his feet and backed toward me, still clutching the eating knife with his one working hand.
Together, we edged toward the door, weapons raised.
Pilgrim let out a harsh, ragged laugh. “You think you’ve won?
” he said, low and mean. “The Lost Clan has this place surrounded. There’s no way out for you. ”
Eli’s grip tightened on the knife. “I’d rather die by Kof’s side than live one more moment as your…thing.”
He meant it. He was ready to fight. To die. For me.
I shifted my grip on the sword, testing its weight as I noted the feel of the worn leather against my palm. It was no spear—but I’d trained all my life to defend Taruut by whatever means necessary.
But Taruut was dead now, and Eli needed my protection. To him, I said, “You wish to leave? Then we fight.”
Not a question—a promise.
I shouldered through the door with Eli right beside me, and we slipped out into the night.
The air was heavy with tension, and my heart sank as I took in the scene before me.
Men surrounded us, weapons raised, and for a moment, I thought it was indeed our time to die.
But then I turned my sighted side to the crowd to see the familiar faces of my honor guard, and I realized I hadn’t been left to fend for myself.
My men looked strong and fierce, and full of purpose.
The Lost Clan fighters, on the other hand, were demoralized, with their crude weapons laid down at their feet.
It looked like they hadn’t put up much of a struggle.
My guardsmen were well-trained, while the Lost Clan were little more than rabble, armed with broken spears and rusted knives.
Among the crowd, I quickly spotted Droko—who clearly needed no protecting. He strode toward me, strong and proud, reveling in the moment. “Don’t look so surprised to see me, Kof. Archie’s fond of you. If I hadn’t followed you out here, he would never let me hear the end of it.”
I felt a surge of pride and belonging as I took in Droko, and all the men who’d come to my aid. I realized, in that moment, that I wasn’t an outsider after all. I fit in the caves, in this group, just as Archie and Droko did.
“Shaman,” I said, moving to take a knee. But with a spear in one hand, a sword in the other, and a crowd around us, I could hardly do so without accidentally jabbing someone. I settled for a respectful nod. “Eli is hurt. I know the infirmary is for orcs, but—”
Droko strode over to Eli, casually grabbed his injured arm, and yanked.
It happened so quickly, I had no chance to stop it.
Eli cried out in pain and his knees sagged…
but the shaman quickly righted him. “There you go.” Droko gave a curt nod.
Eli swayed. “My younger brother was always wrenching his shoulder from its socket. Go have Archie tie that arm down—it’ll take a few days to heal.
Or maybe more. Or less. I never know with you humans.
Now, see to the prisoners, Kof, and make sure all their weapons are accounted for. ”