questions. If the orc responded well, he’d live until the sunrise. If not, a quick, merciful death was the best Flinn could offer.
Jo sat warming her hands before the small but hot fire. Dayin had gathered elm, a wood that gave off a strong, steady heat with minimal flame. She, Flinn, and Dayin had just finished their meal. Jo wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep, but she knew she should wait. Flinn was holding a strip of heated dried meat before the orc, trying to tempt him. The monster’s gag had been removed, but not the bindings.
“Do you speak Common?” Flinn asked slowly in a clear voice. He held up the piece of meat again. “I will give you this if you can speak Common.”
The orc looked from Flinn to the meat and back again. His eyes were bright and tiny and almost obliterated by the folds of fat wrinkling his face. His nose was flattened and pushed back, the bridge of it ridged. Two long, lower canines jutted from his bottom jaw and rested against his upper lip. He had pasty white skin, unlike the ruddy orc captives Jo had seen in Specularum. This particular orc wore rough furs and padded leather armor. Flinn had searched him earlier and piled his belongings to the side. The warrior had found three knives, an assortment of crude orc coins, a bag containing bright pebbles, and a chunk of stale bread.
Jo studied the orc’s crafty expression again. She was certain he understood everything Flinn had said. The warrior waved the piece of meat closer to the orc’s face. The orc snapped at it, straining his jaw as far forward as possible. Flinn easily pulled the meat out of reach.
“Answer the question!” Flinn shouted angrily. “Do you speak Common?” The shout made Dayin shudder and he huddled closer to Jo. She put her arm around the boy’s thin shoulders, not wanting to admit that Flinn’s voice scared her, too. Flinn is just trying to browbeat the orc, she told herself.
Slowly, grudgingly, the orc spoke. “I… speak Common, human pig.” His voice was thick with orcish accents.
Flinn proffered a mouth-size piece of meat on the end of his knife and leaned toward the orc. The monster greedily bit at the meat, but Flinn didn’t stop moving his hand. Only after the knife was mostly in the orc’s mouth and the orc’s eyes were wide with terror did Flinn stop. He drawled, “Watch your tongue, orc, and I may let you keep it to taste another piece of meat.” As if to emphasize his point, Flinn pulled out the knife and lightly drew it across the lips of the orc, though he didn’t draw blood.
The warrior rested on his heels before the orc and slowly, teasingly, cut the remaining meat into bite-size pieces.
“Why did the Rooster’s tribe and Greasetongue’s tribe meet at the river ford?” Flinn cocked an eyebrow and held up a tidbit.
The orc’s eyes fixed on the meat and glistened. His mouth drooled. With thick, almost indecipherable, accents he answered, “To join and go south.” His long white tongue licked his lips in anticipation, and he opened his mouth.
“Why?” Flinn flicked the piece of meat. It landed on the orc’s neck, just beneath the chin, and stuck there. Jo watched the orc twist to reach the meat, and she was suddenly sure Flinn had deliberately missed the orc’s mouth. She wondered when he had learned his interrogation skills: as a knight in the Order of the Three Suns or as a mercenary with Braddoc Briarblood?
The orc squealed in disgust. He couldn’t reach the meat, and his bright, tiny eyes glared at Flinn. “Won’t tell. Not allowed tell,” he hissed.
“Tell me,” Flinn rejoined calmly. He flicked another small piece of meat at the orc. This tidbit landed in the creature’s lanky hair by his ear. Jo watched the orc’s snout wrinkle, and the monster suddenly writhed in his bindings.
The orc hissed, and his tiny eyes darted above him. “To attack village-by-the-water.”
“By-the-water?” Jo exclaimed, leaning forward. “Flinn, the orcs are attacking Bywater!”
“Fliiiin?” the orc hissed again, this time with evident terror. “Flinn has caught Kushik! Flinn will kill Kushik!” The orc tried to bite the cords surrounding him, and he twisted and heaved against the ropes. Unexpectedly, a key cord snapped, and the orc reached out with one long arm. Flinn was on him instantly, and man and orc tumbled backward. Before Jo and Dayin could act, Flinn was withdrawing his knife from the crumpled form of the orc.
Flinn looked at Jo, his eyes narrow with anger. “Damn his hide!” he swore. He looked down at the orc and then dropped his knife in disgust. Shaking his head angrily, the warrior took hold of Kushik’s legs and dragged him off into the darkness.
When Flinn returned to the fire, Jo handed him a cup and looked at him. “You did what you had to do, Flinn,” she said calmly. The former knight looked at her and nodded once, curtly. They sat down on spare furs, and Jo shook Dayin’s thin frame. “Dayin,” she called gently, “you’re falling asleep. Why don’t you turn in?” The boy nodded sleepily and crawled into the tent, while Jo picked up her mug of mead and leaned closer to the small fire. Overhead, the blizzard still raged, but only a few snowflakes drifted down into the sheltered ravine.
“The orcs are attacking Bywater, Flinn,” Jo said. “Is there anything we can do?”
Flinn grimly clenched his jaw. “I have failed them twice in as many days.” He turned his gaze toward the dark, stormy sky and slowly shook his head. “There’s no way to help them now. We could never overtake the tribes, and we certainly can’t stop them.” He hung his head, rubbing his temples painfully.
“Flinn, we have to do something! We must warn them. Baildon and the others-they’ve been through too much already,” Jo cried. “First Verdilith and now orcs!”
“Calm down, Jo,” Flinn said gently. He put his arm around her briefly. Jo leaned against him, feeling the warm strength of his large frame. “There is something we can do, but it could be dangerous,” Flinn said.
“The… crystals?” Jo asked in a quieter voice.
Flinn pulled out his little pouch that held the stones. “Yes, the crystals. We can try to contact Baildon through one of the stones and warn him that the orcs are coming.”
“What if they’re already there?” Jo asked. “What if we’re too late?”
“If that’s the case, then,” Flinn said heavily, “we’ll at least know we tried.” He pulled out two stones, one a dark red crystal made with Jo’s blood and the other a light amber crystal of the abelaat’s. “Which should we use?” Flinn stared at the two stones he held up to the light of the fire.
“Yvaughan heard you using the abelaat’s crystal, Flinn, didn’t she?” Jo asked. “I know we have fewer of them, but that’s the one I think we should use.”
Flinn nodded slowly. “I think so, too, but… I mistrust the power inherent in the crystals. I think, somewhere, something knows when we use the stones.” Flinn shook his head. “I wish the orc hadn’t died. I wanted to find out why the tribes are bent on attacking Bywater.” He held out his hand. “Give me your knife, Jo. If I put the stone between two knives, I should be able to hold the stone in the fire long enough to heat it without burning myself.”
Jo handed him her knife. “Isn’t it obvious why the orcs are attacking Bywater? I mean, they must be starving here in the hills. You yourself said it was a bad winter already, and it’s only half over. Aren’t the orcs attacking Bywater for food?” Flinn shook his head and practiced positioning the crystal between the two blades. “Two orc tribes wouldn’t gather together to attack Bywater-maybe each tribe individually, but not the two of them together. No, someone or something is behind this attack, and I wish we had found out before the orc died.” He leaned toward the fire. “Now, let’s both concentrate on Baildon in Bywater.”
Jo leaned next to Flinn, and the two of them watched the amber crystal the warrior was slowly heating. She concentrated on Baildon and wondering what was happening to him now.
The moments crawled by. This stone seemed more resistant to heat than the other two had been. As Jo’s thoughts centered upon Baildon, she counted forty-seven strokes of her heart. Finally the crystal began to glow. Flinn caught his breath, and Jo leaned closer to the fire. A miniature scene began to form inside the amber stone.
It was indeed Bywater, or what was left of Bywater. Several buildings were in flames, and the streets writhed with hordes of orcs. Jo moved closer to the crystal. Literally hundreds of the creatures filled the icy lane, dancing in a ghastly revelry.
“We’re too late,” Jo whispered, her chin quivering. The villagers who had survived Verdilith couldn’t survive two tribes of orcs.
