Page 35 of The Savage Vow
Nargol felt it the moment she and Makhel turned their mounts down the narrow lane that cut between leaning stone structures and drooping awnings. This was not part of the village where trade flowed openly or laughter spilled from the taverns. The air here carried the sour smell of old smoke and damp rot.
Orcs lingered in doorways and shadows, watching them as they ventured down the lane.
Some wore hoods despite the humidity after the storm. Their faces were half hidden, their tusks glinting faintly whenthey turned their heads. Others made no effort to conceal themselves. Nargol knew warriors. These were scarred veterans with mismatched armor, their hands never straying far from the hilts of their blades. She forced her muscles not to tense. She needed to remain relaxed, even though she and Makhel had enough weapons between the two of them to slay a small army.
These old warriors openly watched them. A few leaned against crumbling walls as if bored, but Nargol knew better. Bored orcs did not watch so closely. She was a fine warrior and recognized that they were trying to get a read on her and Makhel.
Makhel shifted beside her on her shukan. Her posture was loose, but those eyes of hers remained sharp. She was playing her part well. A woman with no home and with nothing to lose.
But Nargol knew her only too well. There was a tension to her that hummed through her like a drawn bowstring ready for the snap.
She felt the same way.
This place was a trap. A test before the test.
They dismounted near a half-collapsed storehouse at the edge of the quarter. It’s roof sagged inward like a broken spine. The windows were boarded, but thin slits allowed firelight to bleed out, flickering against the mud-packed ground.
Low voices came from inside the structure.
Nargol rested a hand near her weapon upon their approach. Every instinct honed from solars of training whispered caution. This was not neutral ground. They were in the enemy’s den. This was where their loyalty was going to be tested.
Hagu was waiting for them on the inside.
He stood near the center of the dilapidated building. There was a crude table littered with maps, wax-sealed scrolls, and half-empty cups. His weathered skin drew down into a frown. He glanced over at them with a sharp gaze. Around him was a half dozen orcs who stared at them as they got closer.
“Shel.” Hagu inclined his head to Makhel. “And Bula.”
Nargol nodded. This was all the introduction she was sure they would get from the orcs in the room. She stood to her full height and met each of their eyes with a hard glare of her own. These orcs would not accept weakness—which they would never find from her.
“You’re early. I like that,” he said. He barked a deep chuckle. “That tells me something of your character.”
“I said we are committed,” Makhel said.
“Sounds desperate,” one of the orcs muttered from the shadows.
“For all we know, they could be a bunch of savages,” another growled.
Nargol’s lips twitched up before she could stop herself, but she held her tongue. She was quick to anger in certain situations, but for now, she would restrain herself. If this was any other moment, she’d show them how much of a savage she could be.
“I appreciate timeliness. That shows that they won’t waste mine.” Hagu held up a hand and silenced the rumbles from the others. He glanced around the room, turning back to them. “Commitment is not enough. Many claim to hate the Nidani clan and Tulak Cydassi. Few are willing to bleed for it. Grat wants men and women who are loyal to our cause.”
He shifted his gaze to Nargol. It lingered. She met it head-on without flinching. The room had grown silent as the tension rose.
“The Nidani have lost their way,” he continued. “That chieftain has grown soft. Words are easy for anyone to give. Proving that you are against him is not.”
“What will you have us do?” Makhel folded her arms. The orc scowled but held her composure.
Hagu nodded.
“I’m glad you asked.” A slow smile tugged at his mouth.
He reached down and unrolled a map on the table, its edges frayed with age. He tapped a clawed finger against a mark far from Soza. It was deep in the mountains where the land was wild, and Nargol was sure it was unforgiving. She recognized the area and kept her expression blank to keep it a secret.
“There are ruins,” he said. “Older than the Nidanis’ claim.”
Nargol’s chest tightened.
Ancient places were never empty. Even when abandoned, they remembered who walked their halls. The ancestors’ souls visited often. Nargol had always been taught to respect history.
