Page 19 of The Orc Chief’s Baker (Orc Mates Of Faeda #4)

Chapter

Twelve

brOVDIR

“ W e can dig pits and line the bottom with spikes. We’ll dig them all around the whole clan. I think two of your lengths deep will work fine.”

Brovdir’s skin went chill at the elderly orc’s words. Jolin, who’d earned his place as one of the clan’s wisest by outliving most of his generation, appeared passive and easygoing in his loose cotton clothing.

He never thought the harmless elder would want to bring such egregious harm to the warrior orcs who would soon settle in the Rove Woods.

“What do you think, Plog?” Jolin asked the equally serine orc on his left. “Do you think two body lengths would be far enough to skewer them through?”

“I think we’d better go with three, Jolin,” Bolsan, an elderly orc with dark gray hair and a square jaw, interrupted with a voice as low as the goblin mines.

At least it held some hard inflection when he so brutally began to describe their murderous intentions.

“Three would ensure that they couldn’t hoist themselves back up off the things and pounce out. ”

“True. But it will take much longer to dig,” Jolin replied, lacing his long, wrinkled fingers together on the wood tabletop. A light evening breeze fluttered in to rustle the elderly man’s thin greenish-gray hair. “Would be terribly hard work. Much conjuring would be needed.”

“We could get the sons to do it,” Plog said with a firm nod. He was the last of the three elders and his exuberant, boisterous nature would lead one to believe he was significantly younger than he was. “They need practice with their magic, anyway.”

“They could even compete!” Jolin pronounced with a grin. “What fun they would have, seeing whose spear would best skewer through the beast’s hard hide!”

Brovdir’s stomach churned with nausea over the ghastly image these elderly orcs were painting. Were they really going to get the orc children to help murder orc warriors? Males who were coming here by order of the Fades themselves?

“What if we put poison on them, too?” Plog tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “Might help them die quicker.”

Bolsan grumbled. “True, but then we wouldn’t be able to eat them.”

Eat them? His stomach churned threateningly. “ No. ”

All three of the elder orcs turned their full attention to Brovdir and his stomach lurched again at the thought of these males cooking and eating him.

He repeated vehemently. “ No .”

Plog spoke up first. “No? No, what? Speak up warrior—er, I mean, Chief.”

“No pits,” Brovdir grated. He couldn’t even believe he was having to tell them not to dig pit traps for the warriors to be skewered alive in.

There was a terse silence in which the elders narrowed their eyes and straightened their green and brown shirts, and Brovdir imagined them hoisting him up and throwing him into a pit of poisoned spikes.

“I don’t see how else we’re going to keep them out then,” Plog finally said tersely.

“We don’t .” He’d been talking far too much this day, and his throat was blistering. “We let them in .”

Now the elders stared at him aghast, their wrinkled eyes wide, their mouths agape.

Brovdir, desperate for some reprieve to the madness, turned his head up to look at the canopy of the Great Rove Tree.

The balcony they were all seated upon was large and spacious with an incredible view that overlooked the clan.

They were protected from the winter wind by the huge tree’s thick branches, covered in crystalline leaves which did not fall in the autumn.

The glittering foliage above him was so perfect and reflective that he could see the dark blue of the dimming sky through it.

He wished Trinia was here to see it.

He jerked his gaze away from the view and pinched the bridge of his nose tight, but it did nothing to extinguish the sight of her in his mind’s eye. Her easy smile. Her thick body. Her soft lips that tasted so sweet and divine.

Fades, what was wrong with him?

He needed to let her go. There was nothing he could do to win her now. He knew that.

And still the longing for her continued.

“You... want the boar to come in?” Jolin finally broke the silence.

Brovdir finally looked at the elders. “Boar?”

“Yes, the boar. The boar you said you wanted us to come up with a plan for? The thousands of boars that are going to descend upon these woods in the next few seasons.”

Sudden understanding slapped Brovdir right across the face and left him stinging. “Not boar . Warriors .”

The three elderly males blinked. “Oh . . . what?”

“Warriors,” Brovdir insisted again. “The warrior orcs . I told you to come up with a way to take care of the warriors .”

“Oh, goodness gravy.” Plog threw up his wrinkled hands. His two friends looked just as exasperated. “ That’s what you said. By Fades, I didn’t hear you properly. My hearing is not what it used to be, you know. I thought you’d said you wanted us to come up with a way to take care of the boar .”

Brovdir couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle the males or burst into laughter.

What would Trinia think of this? Would she laugh?

His mood lightened as he imagined it. “Yes, the warriors. Not boar.”

“Well...” There was a short pause in which the three of them looked between each other. Plog pinched his lips with his long fingers. Bolsan’s brow wrinkled as he thought. Jolin’s eyes unfocused as he sat back.

“You want us to house the warriors?” Plog asked.

Brovdir nodded.

“And you said there are five thousand .”

“Or more.”

Another long silence.

Bolsan broke it with a bark. “Blast, you’re our leader now. Shouldn’t you be the one coming up with the ideas?”

Brovdir glowered, but the elderly male just shrugged him off.

“I don’t have any idea how to take care of five thousand orc warriors.

” Bolsan waved his hand dismissively and the other two elders appeared just as resigned.

“I don’t even know how they’re all going to fit in these woods.

You’re the chief. Housing them and ensuring their wellbeing is your responsibility. ”

Brovdir heaved a heavy sigh. He knew that. But he had hoped these elderly males, with much more life experience, might help him come up with an idea.

Because, as of right now, they had nothing prepared.

Certainly, there were some warriors, like his own brethren, who were accustomed to camping over the winter, but most of them lived in clans.

Most of them enjoyed thick walls to keep out the chill and warm beds to lie down in and only slept under the stars in the heat of summer.

To say nothing of the ones with human mates and children.

He couldn’t just welcome them to these woods and then foist them out into the wilderness to brave the elements. The hardship they’d suffer was one thing, but without clear rules on when to hunt and forage, the Rove Woods would quickly be picked clean of resources.

He’d talked to every spear-fisherman and gardener orc within the boundary of this clan and not one of them could think of a way to feed and house so many males.

Asking the elders for advice had been a long shot, but Brovdir still felt a bit hollow that his last hope had been so thoroughly dashed.

He wished... he could speak to Trinia about it.

He rubbed his chest as an odd, pulsing sensation plagued him. One that had lingered often of late.

“So, what do we do about the boar, then?”

Brovdir let out a long sigh. “Warriors, no boar.”

“Warriors... know the boar? How do the warriors know the boar?” Plog’s brow screwed up.

Jolin leaned forward in his seat. “Are the warriors bringing the boar? I must say, that’s rather convenient. That many boars will be mighty useful. Think of all the meat and leather!”

“I’ve already made plans on how to use the hide.” Bolsan crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh really?” Plog rose his brows eagerly. “What are you making, then?”

“Ronhold said he could tan the hide and turn them into thicker shoes that wouldn’t slip on the rocks. And his whiny son said he had some glove and belt designs he wanted to try. Said they’d only keep two-thirds of what they made, and I could keep the rest.”

“Two-thirds is robbery,” Jolin said with a snort.

“Perhaps, but what am I to do with dozens of belts and shoes?”

“You could trade them to me. I’ve got some new herbs that might help with your joint pain.”

The conversation continued on and on and on and Brovdir began to question everything about his decision to involve these males. To involve any of the males, honestly.

Karthoc made leadership seem so easy. His brother delegated tasks like he was passing around dried elk meat and the orcs leaped to do his bidding just as fast as they would gobble down the grub.

But every one of Brovdir’s commands had led to nothing. Plans fizzled out before they even got started. Orders were forgotten by clan members within days of giving them. Any attempts to force compliance was treated with contempt and outrage, so Brovdir had no choice but to default to Sythcol.

It was easier that way. Sythcol knew this clan best and Brovdir had been Karthoc’s second his entire life. That was where he was comfortable and where he would remain.

But he couldn’t bring himself to follow all Sythcol’s decisions. Which is what led him here, to this lunacy.

“All right, all right, it’s time for you all to go.”

Brovdir looked up to find Sythcol had come up the spiral staircase that led from the hall and was crossing the balcony to the huge ovular table where they sat.

The four elders did not question or fight Sythcol for even a moment.

They simply rose to their feet and continued to babble about the leather goods they were planning to make as they exited.

Brovdir remained in his seat, too exhausted to rise.

“Chief Sythcol, is that... what they’re fixing in the hall?” Plog said as he eyed the bowl of soup in Sythcol’s hand.

“Yes,” Sythcol muttered darkly. Both their eyes flickered to Brovdir and his back straightened as he prepared for a complaint.