Bracken only finger waves at him, as if it’s all a joke.
The orcs gesture for us to move, circling us, and they all stay as close to me as possible once Nero lowers me. We walk slowly through the mountain pass, my eyes trailing over the stone walls around us. There’s only one way in, which means if they betray us, we’ll have to go out the same way we came in or through. I don’t think we’ll be able to scale these cliffs.
When the walls begin to trail away and then open up completely, I stare down in surprise at the city that appears in the valley of the mountains. I expected something rough and orc-like. Instead, the city looks to be in better shape than the Shadow Lands.
“The orcs are great builders,” Zetros offers at my amazement. “They produce fast and take care of their own. Most monsters prefer solitude. Orcs form groups, and it appears they have been thriving.”
In the center of the city is a large castle, where sharp spires curve up and around like the teeth the orcs have. It’s dark and dangerous-looking, and yet somehow also inviting in a strange way. That is where the orcs lead us. People along the streets pause to watch our movements, their eyes lingering on my monsters but widening when they see me in their midst. Here, it isn’t the monsters who are odd, it’s me.
Once inside the castle, we’re brought toward a large room, and my eyes go to the male who straightens on his throne. He’s broad, and his shoulders are so wide, I doubt I could hold onto the muscle there. He wears no shirt, all his musculature on display. He’s wearing a collar of some sort, decorated with bones and jewels, and there is a similar belt around his waist sitting above his pants. The teeth that poke from his lip are larger than most of the others, curling up and away. His skin is an olive green, beautiful even if it’s riddled with pink scars. One of those scars cuts down over his eye and across his cheek. It’s a wonder he didn’t lose the eye.
“Why have you brought these beasts here?” the orc demands, standing up. He’s tall, but Zetros is still taller.
I slip forward, drawing his eyes, and his gaze widens. “They have brought us at my request. We’d like an audience with you.”
“A human,” he rumbles. “I’d hoped you were all extinguished in the Dead Lands.”
“I’m the hunt,” I say instead, because that seems to make a difference. “We require passage through the mountains.”
His eyes narrow and focus on the monsters around me. “A trick.”
“No trick,” I retort. “We’ll leave in peace if you let us pass.”
He straightens. “No human ever comes or leaves in peace.” The words ring with the truth of this land, and I don’t have words to argue, because I don’t know what would make a difference.
“I give you my word,” I vow.
“Your word means nothing,” he spits out, but his eyes linger on my hips, on my breasts, and on the way Nero’s clothing fits me. “And look at these fools helping you.” His eyes linger on Grimus, as if he’s confused why he’s there. “The only proper fate for the group of you is death.”
Panic fills me. “Wait—”
“Throw them in the dungeons! We’ll make a show of it tomorrow!” he shouts, and the other orcs roar their approval.
“Grimus,” I rasp out, looking toward him.
“It’ll be okay, little human,” he assures me, but I see the panic in his eyes. The orc numbers are too great for us to take on. There’s no way.
Nero hisses at the orcs who step forward, and they take a step back, uncertain. They give a wide berth to Zetros, none of them daring to raise a weapon when he simply stares at them with black eyes.
“We’ll go willingly,” I say, “with the promise that you’ll think of our offer.”
The orc king watches me in contemplation, his fingers on his chin. “What have you to offer?”
“Can’t you feel her magic?” Bracken asks, shaking his head. “If you can’t, perhaps these years inside the mountains have made you blind to the obvious.”
At Bracken’s words, the orc king tilts his head and studies me closer. Whatever he sees must make him pause, because he freezes and glances at one of the other orcs. “I’ll think on your offer,” he says finally, and then waves his hand to dismiss us.
This time, we don’t fight the orcs who lead us toward our cells, much to Grimus’ annoyance.
“I don’t like going into a prison without a fight,” he grumbles.
“It’s only temporary,” I promise, hoping that I’m right.
“Until he kills us,” Zetros grumbles. “Well, tries to.”
“You’ll split up,” one of the orcs orders when we reach the prison cells. He holds a weapon out. I don’t tell him that weapon wouldn’t do any good against any of my monsters.
Zetros crosses his arms. “I will not be split from the hunt.”
