“Where are you going?” Jo asked as Flinn moved away.
“I’m going to hide the dead. My guess is that these orcs won’t be missed, but if they are, I don’t want them found. We’ll have to trust the storm to cover our tracks.” Flinn finished, dragging the first dead orc off the hill. He deposited the body in a deep gully and returned for the next ones. Meanwhile, Dayin brought the animals to the hilltop. When Flinn finished hiding the dead, he returned to Jo. She was holding her blade to the orc’s chest, and she had bound and gagged the now-conscious monster.
“Goodjob, Jo.” Flinn nodded. “We’ve got to find shelter quickly, but we also have to put as much distance as possible between us and this place. I don’t know if any more orcs remain in the hills, and I doubt this one would tell us one way or the other—” Flinn glowered at the orc “—so we’ve got to get out of here. We’ll question him later when we’re in a safer place. Jo, lead Ariac. I’ll walk. You and Dayin follow close. Night’s falling, and we could lose each other easily otherwise.”
Flinn pulled the orc to his feet and held onto the length of rope left over from binding the creature’s arms. He pushed the orc toward what he believed to be north and mumbled “Go!” in orcish. After Jo mounted the horse and Dayin the mule, they both followed Flinn as he led the way. A short distance after they set out, Flinn directed them off the hilltop to escape the snow and wind. His arms, which once tingled with the heat of battle, were now cold and numb.
The landscape of snowdrifts and frozen trees seemed something from a dream. In the vale curving between the hills, the wind didn’t whistle so strongly—didn’t wrap them in violent noise and motion. Snow still fell, but less heavily, and the winds bore it in a billowing arc overhead. Flinn felt as though he were leading the party through a dim cave of snow and ice. Light filtered meekly through the storm that raged above the protecting hillsides. Flinn hoped the light would see them to shelter.
As the group wound its way through the gully, the snow grew deeper and footing became treacherous. The blizzard might protect them from the orcs, but it might kill them in the process. Flinn’s lungs began to ache with the cold air, and his eyes grew weary from squinting. They needed shelter to survive. The orc also appeared to sense their danger, for it moved along with little prodding.
Just as night was beginning to fall, Flinn happened upon a deep, narrow ravine. The roaring wind and falling snow relented in this sheltered area. All noise faded away, and the silence left their ears ringing. The cold, too, seemed not quite so biting. Jo and Dayin both sat up; they had been lying on their mounts for additional warmth. Flinn led the group farther into the ravine, seeking a suitable outcropping of rocks for shelter. When he found such a spot, he halted the orc and tied him quickly to a short, stubby tree. Jo and Dayin gratefully slid off their animals and stretched their legs.
Flinn turned to the young woman and the boy. Snow and ice clung to the long strands of his hair, his moustache, and the fur cape he wore. “I think it’s safe enough to have a small fire here,” he said. “We’ve traveled quite a distance away from the orcs—or at least I think we have—and the ravine should hide the flames from view in this storm. We’ll set up the shelter, warm ourselves, and eat a bit of food. Then I want to ask the orc some questions.”
“Like why the orcs are gathering?” Jo asked between teeth that chattered.
“Exactly,” Flinn answered. “Dayin, you gather some firewood. I’m trusting to your woods’ sense not to get lost. Jo, you take care of the animals, and I’ll set up the shelter. Nobody get too close to the orc. I don’t want him to escape.” Jo and Dayin moved away, eager to finish their tasks and warm themselves. Flinn, too, hurried. None of them had eaten that day, and suddenly Flinn was famished.
Flinn poked the orc once with his foot. The orc’s eyes shone at him, but it did not respond. It was gagged and bound tightly to the tree. As Flinn began setting up the tent, he hoped the creature would be able to answer his 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.”