Page 45 of Shackled to the Orc

“How?” he gasps.

“Bring him to me,” I say to Robert, who looks at me, then Shug, and grabs him, hauling him out of bed. He looks ridiculous in his briefs, old and afraid, his belly flopping out obscenely.

“How many guards do you have?” I bark it out to Shug, who stammers, unable to answer.

“He just fired all the new ones. Sent them packing earlier,” answers Robert. “They were there in case you tried something. We thought you were…”

“Robert. You’re going to unlock the armory. Then you’re going to going to go to the gladiators’ quarters, and you’re going to let them out. No one will get hurt if you don’t resist. We outnumber you.”

“Aye.”

“You do as he says and–” I slap Shug before he can finish his sentence. One of his teeth flies out, clattering against the floor.

I can see from Robert’s eyes he won’t try anything. He knows, as well as I do, that Shug isn’t going to survive the night. “None of you will have a job after tonight. No one hires a guard who couldn’t protect his master,” I rasp out. “But you’ll each get a share from his estate. His wealth is your future.”

“Thank you, Khan.”

“That name is dead. I am Montarok, Chieftain of the black-adder tribe.”

28

MAYA

Ikeep my ear against the door, but there is no sound, until the heavy, uneven footsteps that I know are his. I throw the door open.

Montarok. He’s clad in thick leather armor, and he hands me the leather satchel, filled with my herbs and medical supplies.

“Is it over?”

“It’s over. But we need to move, fast. The dawn is in four hours, and I plan to be as far away from here as possible.”

“And Shug?”

There’s a cold expression in his eyes. “He was dragged into the training grounds. All the gladiators who felt he wronged them decided his fate.” I swallow, hard, knowing that he never left those grounds.

He extends his huge, green hand to me, and I take it, walking by his side, past the dead guard whose blood is dripping on the floor, up the stairs and into the estate, where gladiators with swords are grabbing everything that isn’t bolted down, one with a huge sack full of silverware. Peter is grinning as he bites a gold bar, leaving teeth marks in it. I even recognize the red-bearded guard, who to my shock, instead of being bound as a prisoner, has a sword at his belt and a sack filled with his own loot. He nods in respect to Montarok as he passes.

“He works…he worked for Shug.”

“They could see how the chips were going to fall. I let them each have a small share, in return for giving up without a fight. No one wants to go up against a horde of gladiators.”

“Come with me, Maya,” he says, and we walk together out of the estate, where gladiators are loading up the wagons with supplies.

“What happens now?”

He smiles, and for the first time in too long, I see the flickers of hope.

“You told me my tribe needed me. It’s time I take my rightful place.”

29

MAYA

THREE YEARS LATER

As I gently trace the coiled black snake tattoo on Montarok's muscular arm, lilac flowers burst into bloom around us, filling the secluded valley with a sweet aroma. It's hard to believe it's been three years since we first arrived at his ancestral mountain home. Back then, the tribe's sixty or so orcs were gaunt and malnourished, their food supplies dwindling. Montarok was overjoyed to find that Brond had survived in the blizzard, stumbling back wounded to the mountain home, and within a few years, had risen to a position of power, but he had never gone into the cave of adders to formally become chieftain. He told Montarok that he had a vision of his return, and while the tribe’s numbers grew smaller each year, they clung with a tenacious grasp to their mountain home. Brond welcomed Montarok as leader, and now works as a seer, using his visions to guide our tribe.

The sun casts its golden warmth over the thriving landscape, and my medicinal herbs flourish in their dedicated cave.

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