Chapter 2 - Part 4

Delegado stopped long enough topside to retrieve his hawk, then found two orcs that had no particular duty but possessed heavy clubs and sharp knives. Another bunch of coins got them to follow him, and he quizzed them about Jorg. Jorg claimed to have come from the Shadow Marches, but never announced which clan he was from. Jorg was equally uninterested in either druid festivals or unholy days of the Dragon Below, which were really the only two orc religions. And Jorg had come to the Great Crag from the south, supposedly after landing via ship – while orcs by the hundreds freely crossed back and forth between the unguarded border of Droaam and the Shadow Marches every day. A few questions about a dangerous knife that Jorg carried, one that always dripped poison, was the final confirmation.

“What’s it all about, jhorgun'ta?” asked one of the orcs excitedly, eager to spend the night telling tales of how he aided the great House Tharashk. ‘Jhorgun'ta’ was the singular form of ‘jhorgun'taal,’ orc for ‘children of two bloods.’ In some mouths it was a derogatory term, but never when used about a member of the United House.

“I’ll tell you after I nab him,” Delagado promised. The orcs chortled with delight.

Shortly they came to a tunnel that led to the mess hall Fidget had spoken of. It was perhaps forty feet in length, and in full use, rumors of ancient ghosts and traps notwithstanding. Different races ate at different tables, refusing to mix socially. Gnolls on one, shifters on another, kobolds on another, and a few hulking ogres at yet another. A few braziers hung from the dirt ceiling, giving light for the benefit of the shifters who could not see without it. Goblin servitors brought in beer and stew from the kitchen. A wide doorway to the right led to a tunnel and the storage area that Fidget had described. Delegado’s practiced eye noticed few tracks in that tunnel, but the ones there were of a medium-sized humanoid that walked with a careful, practiced step.

The bounty hunter walked over to the few on-duty gnolls who were watching the crowd for trouble. He exchanged pleasantries and some coin with the captain, who had already heard about the half-orc. The exits were quickly blocked by the compliant gnolls, and the folk in the mess hall looked up, tensing. The gnoll captain sent one gnoll with one of Delegado’s hired orcs to check out the kitchens, and another gnoll with Delegado’s other orc to check out the storage chamber (which took some convincing). Delegado had studied his quarry well, and didn’t think the one he was looking for would be in either place. He was merely being careful. So careful that he paused to quaff some antitoxin.

“Your attention!” Delegado yelled in orc, and then in common. The gnoll captain translated his words into Giant, Draconic, and Gnoll. “Who here has seen Jorg the orc enter this room for lunch?” Everyone looked around and shrugged. A few murmurs said that no one had seen Jorg in the past hour. Delegado smiled, and waited. A shifter tried to get up to leave and a gnoll shoved him back in his place. Grumbles could be heard.

Soon Delegado’s helpers were back. No sign of Jorg in either place, or in the garbage area, or in any of his usual haunts. The last sighting of the solitary orc had been on his way to the mess hall from the latrines.

Delegado smiled, and addressed the crowd again, and again the gnoll captain translated.

“Jorg the orc, who is no orc, is hiding here. Jorg thinks he can hide from the House of Finding,” Delegado told the crowd imperiously. There were some nervous chuckles as the words were translated, but Delegado was watching the still faces. “No one can,” the half-orc finished. He then focused his mind, and felt the mark on his skin tingle as it heated up. Delegado was one of the few dragonmarked individuals who did not cut his clothes away to show off his mark. This was partly because he thought such vanity ridiculous, and partly because his dragonmark covered his lower back and buttocks. He smiled as he swept the room, and he felt the power of the mark lock onto a shifter seated at the end of the shifter table. A shifter who had on tight boots that would not easily accommodate shifting, and a belt pouch holding a small book that Delegado knew contained illusion spells.

Delegado whipped out his sword and pointed it at the ‘shifter.’ “Marcuiss of Darguun, renegade wizard and traitor to Haruuc, who has been pretending to be an orc named Jorg. I am Delegado d’Tharashk and by the authority of the Writ of Darguun, the Writ of Sora Katra, and the House of Tharashk, I am placing you under arrest!”

The crowd gasped, and the shifter stared angrily at Delegado. Slowly the shifter stood, seemingly ignoring the scramble of the gnolls for javelins and crossbows, and glared at the half-orc. A glow surrounded the ‘shifter’ for a moment, and then faded to reveal a hobgoblin in the same clothes.

“You are clever,” Marcuiss hissed, slowly standing up. “And stupid. Do you expect me to go quietly? I have a spell that would detonate a burst of fire in this confined place and destroy everyone!” The assembled workers began to get up and back away from the confrontation.

“No,” Delegado said. “You don’t. You’re bluffing, and it’s a good bluff, but you don’t have any spell like that in your spellbook, and you don’t have the power to cast one anyway. I’ve already spoken with the relatives of the gnome that you murdered and robbed for the spellbook. I know what you can cast and what you can’t.”

They locked eyes for a long time, and Delegado saw the hobgoblin’s fingers twitching.

Delegado moved first. Ducking into a roll, his hawk simultaneously flying to the side, he easily avoided the thrown, poison-laden knife of Darguun manufacture that Marcuiss threw through the air. A gurgle and a gasp told Delegado that the curious gnoll behind him hadn’t been as fast and hadn’t drank any antitoxin. Delegado jumped upwards over the table and swung quickly, cutting off the wizard’s right hand. The hobgoblin screamed as blood flew from the stump, and then gurgled and fell silent and the hilt of the sword hit his mouth.

Delegado sheathed his sword and drew a potion, keeping an eye on the unconscious hobgoblin in case he was faking. He wasn’t. A quick application of the potion to the stump and the hobgoblin stopped bleeding. Delegado grabbed the severed hand and tossed it into an evidence bag, then began the tricky procedure of placing manacles on the wrists and ankles of a person who was missing a hand. He was sure to put a gag in the wizard’s mouth, too.

“Hey, um, you want this?” the gnoll captain asked, pointing to the Darguun dagger protruding from the dead gnoll’s chest. The dead gnoll’s face was swollen and black from the virulent poison.

“My bounty is on the wizard, not his toys,” Delegado said, hefting the unconscious, manacled, one-handed hobgoblin over one shoulder. “Why don’t you give that very expensive dagger to this poor sod’s next of kin?” Delegado grinned as he said it, because he knew that the gnoll captain would keep the dagger for himself, and give a favorable accounting of Delegado’s actions. The gnoll captain grinned, suddenly thinking the same thing.

Feather settled onto Delegado’s other shoulder and screamed triumphantly.