Page 29 of Bound By Blood (Orc Warrior Romances #1)
"Probably to ransom prisoners and negotiate safe passage for their retreat. Standard diplomatic language that lets both sides claim victory while ending hostilities." I pause, considering possibilities. "Though after what you did today, they might want something else entirely."
"Such as?"
"You. Your knowledge. Proof that the stories about human-Orc cooperation aren't just legends." The implications settle heavily between us. "A human who can channel ancient magic and command Orc loyalty represents either tremendous opportunity or existential threat, depending on perspective."
Dawn arrives with typical efficiency, bringing three riders who approach our perimeter with careful precision. They wear fine clothes beneath practical armor, and their horses show signs of hard travel but excellent care. Nobles, then, or at least noble representatives with resources and authority.
I meet them in the neutral ground between our positions and theirs, accompanied by Eirian and two honor-guards whose presence communicates strength without threat. The lead envoy dismounts with practiced grace, offering the ritual greeting between enemies who seek parley.
"I am Lord Commander Aldric Ravencrest, speaking for His Majesty's interests in these territories.
" He's younger than expected, perhaps forty, with the controlled bearing of career military elevated to political necessity.
"I seek audience with Chief Drokhan and.
.." his gaze fixes on Eirian with obvious recognition, "Lady Eirian Thorne. "
"I am Drokhan of the Stoneborn. This is Stoneblood Healer Eirian, recognized daughter of our clan." I emphasize her new status deliberately, watching how he processes the information.
"I see." Something flickers across his expression, surprise, calculation, perhaps concern. "Your Majesty's court has received disturbing reports about yesterday's engagement. Survivors speak of impossible events. Beast-calming. Ancient magic. We came seeking clarification."
"What kind of clarification?" Eirian steps forward, her healer's training apparently extending to reading diplomatic undercurrents. "Are you here to negotiate peace or investigate threats?"
"Both, if necessary." Ravencrest's honesty surprises me. "The Crown seeks ending to border conflicts that drain resources and destabilize trade. But reports of humans wielding Orc magic raise questions about larger implications."
There it is. The real concern hiding beneath diplomatic language. Fear that cooperation between us might spread, threatening the careful balance of power that keeps human nobles in control and Orc clans contained to marginal territories.
"What do you propose?" I ask.
"Prisoner exchange. Safe passage for withdrawal of forces from disputed territories. Formal recognition of current clan boundaries." He pauses, clearly wrestling with his next words. "And private audience with Lady... with Stoneblood Healer Eirian regarding her recent experiences."
"No." The word leaves my throat with more force than intended. "She speaks for the clan now. Any discussions involve clan leadership."
"Of course. I meant no disrespect." Ravencrest's smile holds diplomatic warmth and underlying steel. "Perhaps we might discuss terms in more comfortable circumstances? I have authority to negotiate comprehensive agreements."
Eirian touches my arm lightly, a signal we developed during our time together. Trust her judgment.
"We'll hear your proposals," she says. "But understand that any agreement must address the treatment of prisoners currently held by both sides. Mercy isn't weakness—it's foundation for lasting peace."
"Agreed. Though I should mention that His Majesty's court has particular interest in reports of artifact usage during yesterday's engagement. Such items represent significant historical value."
And there's the trap. They want the totem, either to study or to destroy. The artifact that allowed Eirian to gentle a war-beast and save dozens of lives represents threat to established order where humans and Orcs maintain careful separation.
"Historical artifacts belong to the people who understand their proper use," Eirian replies with a diplomatic precision that would make any courtier proud. "Mishandling ancient magic has consequences beyond immediate political concerns."
The negotiations stretch through morning and into afternoon, a careful dance of proposal and counter-proposal, threat and reassurance.
Ravencrest proves more reasonable than expected, genuinely seeking resolution rather than mere advantage.
But underlying every exchange lies the fundamental question: can peace exist between peoples who've been taught to see each other as irredeemable enemies?
By evening, we've established framework for prisoner exchange and territorial recognition. More importantly, we've created precedent for future negotiations, proving that Orc and human can share common ground when survival depends on cooperation.
But as the envoys prepare to return with our preliminary agreement, I realize that today's victory extends beyond battlefield success. We've planted seeds of change that might grow into something larger than any single clan or kingdom.
Watching Eirian bid farewell to Ravencrest with perfect diplomatic courtesy, I understand that she's become something new—not just Stoneborn Healer, but bridge between worlds that desperately need connection.
The war may be ending, but the real work of peace has only just begun.
The envoys' dust hasn't settled before another rider approaches from the south, moving with the desperate urgency of someone carrying news that can't wait for dawn.
This one bears no royal seal, no ceremonial weapons—just the weathered look of a man who's ridden hard through hostile territory with something important enough to risk his life.
"Chief Drokhan!" The rider calls out while still fifty paces away, hands raised to show peaceful intent. "I seek parley under guest-right. I am Beric of House Ellionne."
Ellionne. I haven't heard that house spoken aloud in fifteen years, not since the Massacre at Thornbrook where their banner men slaughtered my war-band's wounded under flag of mercy. My hand finds my sword hilt before conscious thought intervenes.
Eirian notices my reaction immediately. "You know that name."
"Old blood. Old betrayal." I force my fingers away from steel, though every instinct screams for violence. "House Ellionne owes the Stoneborn more than words can repay."
But something about this rider's approach gives me pause. No escort. No backup. Just one man on a lathered horse, riding into the heart of enemy territory with nothing but hope and whatever news weighs so heavily on his shoulders.
"Grant him guest-right," Eirian says quietly. "Let him speak before you decide whether to kill him."
Her words carry the authority of someone who's earned the right to counsel war chiefs.
More than that, they carry wisdom learned through watching mercy triumph over vengeance.
I signal for the honor guard to allow his approach, though they remain ready to cut him down at the first sign of treachery.
The man who dismounts before us bears little resemblance to the proud Ellionne nobles I remember.
His clothes, while well-made, show signs of hard travel and harder times.
His face carries the gaunt look of someone who's known hunger recently, and his hands shake slightly as he approaches—not with fear, but with exhaustion.
"Chief Drokhan." He stops ten paces away and does something that freezes my blood.
He kneels. Not the careful genuflection of diplomatic protocol, but the full submission of someone placing their life in another's hands.
"I come before you as Beric of House Ellionne, last son of a fallen name, seeking mercy for crimes committed by those who came before. "
The words hit like physical blows. An Ellionne, kneeling in the dirt before an Orc chief, acknowledging debts most humans would die before admitting. Around us, the camp falls silent as warriors process what they're witnessing.
"Rise," I command, my voice rougher than intended. "Guest-right protects you here. Speak your business without groveling."
He stands slowly, meeting my eyes with the steady gaze of someone who's already lost everything worth losing. "My house is broken, Chief. Our lands seized by the Crown for unpaid debts, our people scattered. I come not as noble representative, but as beggar seeking chance to make amends."
"What amends could possibly balance Thornbrook?" The question tears from my throat like a war cry. "Your father's men butchered wounded warriors who'd surrendered under mercy-flag. They burned our funeral pyres and scattered our dead."
"I know." His voice never wavers. "I was fifteen, hiding in the woods while our banner men disgraced everything my grandfather taught me about honor. I've carried that shame for fifteen years, watching it poison everything my family touched."
Eirian steps forward, her healer's instincts apparently extending to reading emotional wounds as clearly as physical ones. "Why come now? Why risk your life for crimes you didn't commit?"
"Because of what you did yesterday." Beric's attention shifts to her, recognition flickering in his eyes. "Word travels fast when ancient magic wakes and saves lives instead of taking them. When Orc and human fight together instead of against each other."
Ah. Understanding dawns like sunrise over mountains. He's not here seeking forgiveness for past sins. He's here hoping to plant seeds for a different future.
"You saw an opportunity," I say.
"I saw hope." His correction carries weight that simple ambition lacks. "House Ellionne is finished, but the name still carries influence among the minor houses. Families who remember when we stood for honor instead of expedience."
"And what would you do with that influence?"