Page 50 of Orc's Desire

“We, uh, yeah, I, I mean, we…” I trail off.

Embarrassment is burning my cheeks. How do I explain the broad spectrum of love amongst humans? We all do what we do, but that’s no answer at all.

“I, well myself, I am monogamous,” I say. “Some of my people do it different.”

“I see,” she says. “And do you deny your feelings for Dilacs?”

“I—”

I what? I don’t feel what I damn well know I do?

“You were talking about the Shaman,” I say, diverting the topic back to the thing that made me angry. Which she blew apart with her questions on love.

“I was,” she says.

“How can he think it is right? He’s literally killing Urr’ki all in an attempt to what, end the world?”

“Yes.”

“But… that’s… wrong. It’s evil.”

“To you and I, yes. Kire was not always this way though. Once he was a good man, before he became what you know today.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Most of his life,” she says.

“What happ?—”

I’m cut off by the scraping sound of the door opening. As the footsteps stomp down the corridor fear climbs from my guts and clenches my throat tight. It’s too soon for food. I can’t imagine why else they are coming now except one thing.

They’re going to hurt me. Dilacs, hurry. Please.

29

DILACS

The tunnels are rough-hewn and smelly. The odor is so bad we’ve all wrapped clothes around our noses, but it’s barely a token, doing almost nothing to hold out the stench. All the sewage of the city dumps into these tunnels.

Cuha chitter at our disturbing of their space as we march through. Dirty water and other debris clutter the center, forcing us to stay close to the sides. Muda leads us, carrying a flickering torch that is our only source of light. He seems to know his way well enough, walking with confidence and choosing each turn with certainty.

“How much further?” I ask.

“Almost there,” Muda says, “one more turn.”

I growl but there is nothing else I can do. I am struggling to keep my thoughts focused and in the moment. Every time they begin to drift, all I can think about is Gweneth being tortured and that does nothing but fill me with rage. Rage that has no target is worthless. A distraction.

“Here,” Muda says.

He is pointing at the ceiling. When he lifts the torch, it illuminates a grate over our heads. Khiara and I look at each other and then at Muda.

“You could have mentioned we’d need a ladder,” I say.

“Oh,” Muda says, his face falling. “Yes. I didn’t think of it. You have rope?”

“What difference does rope make?” Khiara asks.

“Lift me up. I’ll tie it off, you two can climb through.”