Page 38 of Halfling
Sorcha made anotherhmphand did something strange with her eyes, rolling them as she popped another berry in her mouth. “Exactly,” she said.
The answer answered nothing, but Orek didn’t know what else to say other than her father seemed foolish, but even he knew that wasn’t something to be said.
Her silence stretched, as if his question or her answer bothered her in some way. But after a time, she began speaking again, this time telling him about the berry bushes that grew in great thickets around the lake near her home. She regaled him with tales of summer days spent berry-picking and summer nights spent outside being pitilessly scrubbed down by her grumbling mother.
“I once stained my face purple for over a fortnight,” she laughed, and from the twinkle in her eye, she seemed proud of it.
He allowed a small smile of relief to see her good humor return and followed along amiably as they finally left the berries behind.
Darrah made a large, smacking yawn right in his ear, and he spread the baby around the back of his neck like a scarf. The kit squeaked happily, sniffed his hair, and promptly fell asleep with a belly full of berries.
They forewent a midday meal after the blackberries, instead choosing to put more distance between them, the human village, and any others who might be following from the mountains. Orek had no doubt that Silas and maybe more would be on their trail—all he could do was keep distance between them and the tracker.
They’d pass the boundary of everything Orek knew tomorrow.
He’d be more nervous about it if Sorcha hadn’t procured a map. At least they had a heading. And he didn’t worry about himself overmuch; humans may be surprised by him, but they weren’t likely to attack him. At least, not the smart ones.
Yet, a sense of foreboding grew in his belly as they worked further north. Sorcha must have sensed it too, or at least sensed his, for she eventually fell quiet. The silence wasn’t the comfortable one they’d built between them over the days. Instead, it had the small hairs on his arms prickling.
He flared his nostrils, taking in all the scents he could—fresh badger scat, several rabbit warrens nearby, the first falling leaves decaying on the forest floor. Nothing…threatening. But they were upwind, a bad place to be to spot predators.
The trees here curved back towards the earth, trunks bowed and branches hanging like melted wax over the scrubby forest floor. Shadows pooled in dark patches, and the ground became cooler as they approached a tall, craggy outcropping. A gnarled oak hung on for its life at the top, half its roots exposed by erosion.
He didn’t want to go around that outcropping.
He didn’t want to pass through this grove at all.
Orek stopped, drawing Sorcha to a stop, too. She looked up at him with large, worried eyes, but she was smart enough to stay quiet.
He flared his nostrils again, trying to findsomething.
Nothing but his instincts told him they were being watched.
Orek reached behind him and slid a grumbling Darrah back into his hood. His heart picked up pace as he drew a dagger from his belt and palmed his hatchet in the other. When he looked over at Sorcha again, she’d drawn the dagger he’d given her.
He tipped his head back, motioning her to return the way they’d come. The birds had gone quiet, and all the prey animals had gone to ground. The air hung heavy with anticipation, and his ears rang with the silence.
Orek widened his stance and held up his arm, drawing Sorcha back and behind him.
The whizz of an arrow tore a yelp from Sorcha, and she jumped to avoid the arrow. It lodged in the dirt next to where she’d stood.
Orek growled at the arrow and then at the tree from whence it came, spotting a shadow moving about the large branches. His grip tightened on the hatchet handle, fangs bared in a snarl as he considered throwing it at the archer.
“I wouldn’t do that, orc.”
From around the outcropping stepped a hooded human man, tall and broad for one of his kind. He pulled back his hood to reveal a head with closely shorn dark hair and a scar running down the left side of his skull. With a flick of his hand, four more human men sprang from the trees, surrounding them.
The men were all different heights and colors, but they all bore a similar jagged tattoo on their necks, three lines bisected by aV.
“Slavers,” Sorcha hissed.
The man who’d spoken held up his hands. “Traders,” he said, “of…acquired goods.”
“Of humans,” she sneered back.
“Everything’s got a price.”
The man’s oily gaze slid over Sorcha, and Orekhated it.He growled again, the beast inside making his blood heat and body swell.
