Page 108 of Storm of Shadows
“I’ve heard enough lies for one night.” He scans across us, lingering on Taria in particular. “Spies, the lot of you. Sent by Selynis to gauge our weaknesses. You can scurry back home and tell your masters orcish cities are built without weaknesses.”
I dig the heels of my boots into the ground, refusing to retreat.
“Go!” he roars, his voice echoing like thunder. “Or I will send you back to your masters in pieces!”
“You don’t understand what doom awaits you,” I continue. “We can leave, but the fate awaiting your city won’t change. When the end comes crashing down on you all and your king looks for one to blame, it will be your head he claims. All your men gathered here are witnessing your refusal to heed my warning. Your failure to serve your king.”
The orc grips the edge of the wall, the veins in his temples throbbing. Rage blazes across his expression, and for a moment, my stomach knots with fear. Have I pushed the orc too far? Will he order his archers to release their arrows on us?
“I should order my archers to strike you where you stand, human,” the orc snarls. “Do not dare threaten me again.”
Once more, I raise my hands in surrender. “I am not threatening you. I am only warning you of the events which will follow if you turn us away. Allow us to at least speak with your king. Let him decide the truth in my words. At the very least, if a disaster is to follow then you will not be blamed for it.”
The orc pauses. I squeeze my fists together, praying with all my heart we won’t be refused entry. If the orcs won’t let us through the gates, how can I defeat Arluin? How can I avenge Nolderan and free Father?
“Very well,” the orc grinds out through his teeth, as if uttering those two words causes him physical pain. “You may enter, but you will do so blindfolded and without weapons. You will be surrounded by guards at all times. One wrong move, and you die. Do we have an agreement?”
My heart skips a beat, barely believing his words to be true. That he is really granting us entry; that everything won’t be in vain.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, we have an agreement.” As long as we speak to the Orc King, it doesn’t matter how we enter the city. Natharius won’t be thrilled by the prospect of being blindfolded, but I don’t care for the demon’s thoughts on the matter. The Void Prince’s injured pride is the least of my concerns.
The sound of metal grinding against metal rings out as the heavy iron doors open.
“Good speech,” Natharius murmurs, his words barely audible over the gates.
I turn and blink, my brows furrowing as I try to read his face. I’m certain such words can only be sarcasm when coming from his mouth, yet he wears no smirk.
“Orcs were bred for destruction and understand only two things: strength and fear. Any reasoning with them must involve both.”
His tone sounds serious. Does that mean the Void Prince is actually complimenting me? And if he is, should I thank him for it?
I instead settle on: “I see.” It’s probably the safest option.
I stride through the gates and into Gerazad, the others close behind.
On the other side, the orcs waste no time in blindfolding us. All I catch is a glimpse of stone buildings before my vision is cast in darkness. They tie the rag tightly around my head, and the coarse fabric scratches the skin around my eyes. Fortunately, Natharius doesn’t protest about this arrangement, though I doubt he looks particularly pleased.
“What should we do with this creature?” one orc asks. Though I can’t see, I suppose he must mean Zephyr.
“Put him in a sack,” the captain replies.
The squeak which comes from Zephyr confirms they’re definitely talking about him.
“Zephyr,” I say, “do as they say. It won’t be for long.”
He must obey me since he doesn’t let out any more squeals of protest and the orcs say nothing more of the matter.
“This way,” the commanding orc’s gruff voice comes from ahead. A firm hand on my shoulder shoves me forward. I almost stumble over the stones, my feet struggling to find grip.
The orcs march us through the city. As we pass through the streets, chatter drifts around us in a guttural language my ears can’t decipher. But I don’t need to understand orcish to know the surrounding civilians will be chattering about the outsiders their guards are escorting through the streets.
More than once, I find myself wishing I could see the city. With the blindfold secured around my eyes, I’m left to imagine what the streets might look like. Perhaps the orcish houses will be built out of the same crude yet robust stone as the city’s gates. I wonder whether they have many taverns here and how they compare to Nolderan’s. Most likely, they will be closest to the taverns sitting on Nolderan’s docks, frequently filled with drunken sailors. I imagine the orcs probably use as colorful curses in their own language and have as few manners.
It might be minutes or hours later that we reach stairs. The orcs don’t bother warning me, and I trip over the steps. The only reason I don’t fall flat on my face is because the guards are keeping a close hold on me. I also don’t want to know how many blades are pointing at me right now.
I’m more than glad when we reach the top of the steps, and our path remains flat for the rest of the journey, and we soon come to a stop. I open my eyes as best I can with the blindfold, and amber rays filter through the coarse fabric.
“You stand before King Agzol, Son of Udrod, Son of Bashag.”