"We can march side by side, fight shoulder to shoulder as comrades-in-arms. But that is all we'll be."
Day by day, as summer aged to autumn and the highland woods were tinged with red and yellow and orange, they pressed on. The lands of greater Dalekeva ended not far into the hills, and there were miles and miles of unsettled hinterlands. They made good time, even though they slid through the forest parallel to the road, never traveling on it. Out in the open, eating well, drinking pure springwater, tramping steadily and sleeping deeply, Sunbright found his strength of limb and leg returning, though an ache deep inside lingered. At the end of a day's march he swore if he thumped his chest it would ring hollowly, like a cracked bell. But the lack inside would heal, the cleric had promised, so he waited patiently.
With Greenwillow he talked once again, but only of incidentals. Which trail to follow, whether they might flush quail from a thicket, whether footprints they came across were those of men or orcs, or both. But they said nothing of the heart and shared no stories. Their evening camps were quiet enough that they could hear squirrels scrambling amidst their acorn harvests, and owls on tufted wings beating the night air to seek scurrying mice.
Eventually they passed into the realm of Tinnainen, though the city was still miles off. First was an isolated cabin, empty, with the door ajar. Then a stronghold cabin, two stories of logs with arrow slits on the second floor, not burned, but abandoned. Then late one afternoon they topped a rise and saw, curving below, a long, narrow valley. There were farms at the bottom, the fields harvested, the granaries full, the livestock corralled for the night, the chickens and geese penned. The road to Tinnainen cut straight across, due east.
"Looks quiet enough, for an occupied territory," hissed Greenwillow. Neither had spoken loudly since leaving the river.
"Even conquerors must eat," the barbarian whispered back. "You can't feed an army on rape and loot. Better to threaten the peasants into farming their hardest and leave them to it."
Greenwillow scooted forward and peered north and south. Both could see the valley ran for miles. "It's either walk miles out of our way to keep to the woods or wait until night." To never cross open land by day was an ingrained rule of the wilderness.
Without speaking, they decided to wait. They found a hollow spot, propped their baggage as pillows, and napped. Cool night air filling the hollow woke them, and they strapped on their packs and weapons in the dark.
Down the slope, slipping from tree trunk to tree trunk, they made their way. They paused a long time at the edge of the woods, tiptoed out to peer at the road, and listened. Finally they set out, hands free, wary. Sunbright hissed at the first field, for his heavy feet crunched grain stubble. Greenwillow moved with no more noise than fog.
They passed downwind of a large farm, but something roused the dogs, and they set up a ferocious barking.
Hard after came a long, low whistle from the woods ahead.
Sunbright locked his feet even as Greenwillow grabbed his arm. "Look!"
The elf's eyes had picked out what roused the dog. Straining, Sunbright saw it too.
A patrol of soldiers: hunched, knotty-armed, bow-legged. The two turned to discover another patrol coming up behind them. They were caught.
In the past, Sunbright Steelshanks would have put down his head and outrun them. But his old strength was gone, and he'd marched the entire day. Quietly he shed his baggage and drew Harvester, the leather-steel heft a comfort in his hands.
"Run. I'll hold them."
But Greenwillow, too, dropped her burdens and drew her slim ornate sword with a silvery shiver. "Comrades we are and shall remain."
Back to back, the two leveled their weapons and awaited the oncoming enemy.
Chapter 9
Many strange things had happened to Sunbright since he first fled his tribe, but what happened next was the strangest of all.
Taking a fresh grip on Harvester, he was judging in which direction to swing first when a growly orcish voice sounded in the still night. "Good evening. Would you care to break bread?"
"What?" the barbarian gasped aloud. Break heads, he must have said. Behind him, Greenwillow squeaked.
The patrol fanned out as if to attack, but halted a dozen feet away. The barbarian saw now that there were men scattered amidst the orcs, confirming the rumors they'd heard in the marketplace. These were the same sort of orcs that had attacked him a year ago in the Barren Mountains: Thousand Fist orcs with neat gray tunics embellished with a red splayed hand. There were six of them, with obsidian-studded clubs or short swords, and three humans. The men wore the same uniforms, and all three had shaved their heads, probably because the tunics came infested with lice and fleas. Sunbright would expect to find only the lowest sort of lazy scoundrels mingling with orcs, but these seemed average sorts, if quiet. Lack of bathing had turned their skin grayish in the manner of orcs, however. Their eyes roved over the half-elf.
Over his shoulder, Sunbright hissed, "What have you?"
Her rump bumping his, Greenwillow reported three orcs and two men. She added, "Do we cut and run?"
"Come, come." The orcish commander was framed in darkness. "There is no need to fight. We shall make our small fire here and invite you to join us."
Safe in their own territory, the war party tramped to the road and dropped their packs and satchels. One soldier dumped wood while another sparked a fire. A third toted a blackened kettle toward the farm for well water, sending the dogs into a frenzy of barking.
The orcish commander waved a gray hand at the tiny camp. "Come. We'll have tea. You'll learn much besides." Then he walked toward his men.
"Learn much?" Sunbright asked the night air. "I've already seen wonders no storyteller could concoct."
Greenwillow nodded numbly. Far behind them, the owner of the farm-a human-opened a thick door and whistled in her dogs, then shut it with a thump. "That humans could live peaceably so close by…" The elf shivered.
"And an orc offer a tea party like some merchant luring customers into his shop…" added Sunbright.
"We've no choice. Should they will it, they can slay us on the spot." But Greenwillow trembled uncontrollably, and Sunbright remembered that, of all the speaking races, elves hated orcs the most. Perhaps because, ran the rumors, elves and orcs were two sides of the same coin, opposites, and so were linked in some light-against-dark fashion. Still, it was the elf who picked up her bundles and edged toward the fire first.
"Glad to have you with us. Sit, please," growled the commander. Sunbright and Greenwillow squatted on their heels in the road and studied their erstwhile foes, who steadfastly ignored them. Some, seasoned veterans, pillowed their heads on bundles and dozed in the lull. Some gnawed dark jerked meat while waiting for the herb tea to boil. One honed a bronze sword until the commander ordered him to sheathe it.
The commander intrigued Sunbright. He had a gray pallor, a pug nose, pointed teeth, and bushy eyebrows as thick as caterpillars. But he was tall and held his head up, without the characteristic hunch of Thousand Fist orcs. With a shock, Sunbright realized he was only half-orc and the rest man. A product of rape, no doubt, yet with an oddly noble quality. Certainly he seemed suited to command, as much as one could command slovenly orcs.
The commander unwrapped an oilskin pouch and withdrew jerky, grinning wolfishly when Sunbright and Greenwillow refused. They had no idea what-or who-the meat had been originally. For something to do, they dug out their own jerky and chewed.
"The One King means to harm no one," said the commander abruptly. "He merely wishes to bring order to the chaos raging across our lands."