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Continuing, I say, “You need to stop thinking of things as ‘human problems’ or ‘orc problems.’ They are one and the samenow. Our kingdoms are united through ink and blood. What affects one people will now invariably affect the other. I know they left you here mainly to protect the kingdom with your forces, and you are doing the job well, but it is not fair that you keep just leaving everything to me, without so much as giving your input.”
He grunts again and I think that is all the response I am going to get when he surprises me by saying, “I thought you would be more comfortable if I kept my distance. I know humans dislike orcs, as a rule.”
Well,thatwill not do. I open my mouth to tell him I do not want him to keep his distance at all when the Council Chamber doors open. Captain Cole is escorting Bronwyn Cooper, who is flanked by two men in rough-spun clothing. The other delegates, I assume.
“Bronwyn, welcome,” I say, trying to be pleasant, even as the woman stares at me with a frown. “Who are your comrades?”
“This is Quill,” she says, gesturing to the first man. “This is Owen.” She gestures to the second.
“Well, welcome to the both of you as well. Shall we get started?”
Bronwyn’s eyes flick over to Verrick and says, “Does he need to be here? I would prefer we speak alone.”
Ah, to the Nether with it. I just told Verrick our kingdoms need to be united and now this disrespect, weakening my position already.
I say, diplomatically, but perhaps a touch peevishly, “Warchief Verrick is the Orikesh Regent. He needs to be present for whatever you want to tell us.”
“Fine,” she replies mulishly. “But don’t blame me when things get ugly.”
“Whatever can you mean?”
“Someone is burning the towns and fields in the Southlands and we believe it to be the orcs.”
“What?” I am shocked. My eyes flick over to Verrick, whostands stone-faced, with no reaction in any of his body language. “Do you have proof that orcs are setting these fires?”
“Who else would do it?” counters Bronwyn. “But, yes, we have proof.”
One of the men, Owen, pipes up. “We found a piece of an orc warkilt on the ground near one fire and an orc-make knife at another. As far as we can tell, they don’t think Adrik suffered enough in the war and want to finish the job they started.”
“That makes no sense,” I counter. “Orcs are warlike but honorable. They would never slowly starve an enemy that they could face in battle. Is that not so, Warchief Verrick?”
“Orcs do not burn food stores or fields,” confirms Verrick. “We take them or cut off delivery routes so the enemy cannot get to them. Food is precious. Why would we destroy it when we can use it?”
“Of course, you would say that now, while you are being confronted,” scoffs the man called Quill.
“You forget to whom you speak,” I say harshly. Diplomacy be damned. “Warchief Verrick is one of the greatest warriors in Orik, which means he is one of the greatest on the entire continent of Teurilia. Even your whole mob poses no threat to him. If he wanted to kill you for your insolence, he could and there is nothing you nor I could do about it. If his orcs were burning your homes, he would just say so, and what would you do? How could you stop him? He has no reason to lie.”
Silence greets my tirade and I can see the peasants are looking hesitant.
I continue, “With merely a thousand orcs, a tiny fraction of their Horde, they decimated our armies, and destroyed a superior force. Each orc is worth a hundred of our soldiers. With their natural strength and stamina, tough hides, and training, they are a force to be reckoned with. If they wanted to destroy us, they could. But they do not, because of the treaty struck between Queen Adalind and King Rognar. They are obedient to their king. So, no, I do not believe that any orcs are the culprits that are setting fires in the south.”
Finally, the peasant woman speaks again. “But if orcs are not destroying our food and homes, who is?” Bronwyn demands, “What about the orc artifacts we found?”
“That is the question,” I say. “But if it were orcs on a covert mission, they would not be careless enough to leave behind evidence. I would wager that it is someone that wants to sow discord between humans and orcs, and they are succeeding.”
“Whatever reason they are doing it doesn’t matter,” declares Bronwyn. “Winter is a scant three months away, and our stores and crops are being destroyed. If they aren’t stopped, we will all starve.”
“Then we will stop them,” I say evenly.
“How?” scoffs the peasant woman. “By waving your hands and wishing it so? Nobles are as useless as a bucket with a hole when common folk die.”
Verrick steps forward, suddenly looming over the redhead. He looks dangerous and stern. “You go too far, human. Regent Santir has been nothing but cordial and understanding to you and yet you take every opportunity to spit it back in her face. Do you want her help or do you want to be thrown out of the castle with an armed escort so that you cannot cause more trouble?”
Bronwyn steps forward, but the hulking figure that is Verrick dwarfs her. They stare each other down for a moment, then the woman seems to deflate. At least it shows she has some sense to not try to fight an orc.
She says tensely, “I’m sorry, Regent. My anger gets the best of me.”
The diplomat in me wants to soothe ruffled feelings, but as regent, I cannot do that. When Bronwyn disrespects me, she disrespects my position and Queen Adalind, who gave it to me. I tell her, “Tempers run hot when the stakes are so high and so personal. Still, you would do well to work together, rather than against each other. If you want to be enemies, that will not go well for you.”
