Courtiers
Ognara leaned across a round wooden table in the middle of her family’s common room. Behind her, a hearth fire crackled under an iron cooking pot. A hearty stew boiled within it, and smells of salt, pepper, carrots, potatoes, and fatty beef filled the air. “My dear son,” she began. “Have I ever told you about Lanthrak Tal Orka Gol’oth?”
“Only every night!” giggled Ortog. “He was my…” Briefly, he gazed up at the ceiling. “My quan-dupple-great grandfather!”
“That’s right.” Ognara smiled lovingly. “Your quadruple-great grandfather.”
“I like ‘thrice-great-great-grandfather’, personally,” Orgroth chuckled.
“But quan-dupple is better,” Ortog insisted.
“Why is that?”
“Papa.” Ortog stood up on his chair, arms akimbo, with a smirk and his head tilted to one side. “Because it sounds better. Mom thinks so, too. Right, Mom?”
“So much better,” she teased.
“Outvoted again,” Orgroth snorted. “Sit down and eat your stew, young man.”
Ortog nodded and sat back down.
Orgroth perked up. Dogs barked furiously from the south. “Do you hear that?”
“Bandits, I bet.” Ognara moved to the door, opened the vision panel, and peered outside. “Stupid ones too, by the look of it. Lamps and torches make for easy targets, guys. I’ll have a word with Laidir when this is over. He never sounded the alarm.”
“Get your crossbow and take position on the roof.” Orgroth grabbed his axes and looked at his son. “Hide under your bed.”
“Blend in, and don’t come out until you guys get me out!” Ortog hopped down from his chair. “I remember about bandits.” He dashed into his room and vanished under his mattress.
“That’s my boy!” As Ognara pulled the crossbow down from its perch over the hearth, Orgroth shed his shirt, and his skin shifted to camouflage him. He crouched near the door with his axes in hand. He looked puzzled. “No cries of alarm. Not from anyone in town. What is going on?”
“I’m heading up top,” she replied. She stripped down to her underwear, and her skin shifted in tone and apparent texture to match her surroundings. She grabbed a box of crossbow bolts from a wooden chest near the door.
The knock that rang out surprised them both.
A trumpet blared. “Good evening, Orgroth and Ognara Ra’gosh! By order of the earl, we are to escort both of you and your son to Castle Braewood. Please prepare for an extended stay.”
Orgroth and Ognara quickly dressed themselves. Their skin returned to the usual shades of green, and Orgroth pulled open the door. Before them stood dozens of Arangyle’s royal guards, a mix of footmen and horsemen, wearing the greens, whites, and reds of the earl’s coat of arms. “Tell the earl we have a smithy to run,” Orgroth barked.
“Bring your blacksmith’s tools,” the guardsman said. He passed the orc a sealed scroll. “Open it, if you wish. It’s an official decree welcoming all three of you to Braewood at all hours of the day. It also details where in the keep you’ll be staying.”
“What if we refuse?”
The guardsman looked confused. “Why would you?”
“We like our home.” He peered beyond the guardsman. All the other villagers remained behind closed windows and locked doors. Orgroth looked at Ognara; she nodded resolutely. “Please thank the earl for his offer of hospitality, but we know where we’re really welcome.” He pushed the door closed, but the guardsman wedged the butt of his spear in the gap.
“It’s not really an offer.”
Orgroth bared his teeth.
Jyo stepped into view with Ellanie at his side. “Allow me to explain.”
Orgroth regarded him suspiciously. “High Soothsayer.”
“Good sir orc.”
Orgroth and Ognara stepped back and allowed them into their home.
Ortog crawled out from under his bed and beamed.
Jyo explained everything that had happened in Arangyle’s feast hall, while the children played with Ortog’s toy soldiers and his pull-along wooden dragon.
♦ ♦ ♦
Orgroth hitched the mare to their loaded cart. Ortog curled up in his mother’s lap and fell asleep. Jyo and Ellanie sat next to Orgroth on the driver’s bench, and they joined the procession of soldiers heading back south to the city. From the soldiers’ torches and lamps, firelight guttered and snapped. The hooves of the soldiers’ horses kicked up dirt, and the wagon wheels’ axels quietly creaked with every rotation.
No one said a word.
The guards at the north wall cranked open the gate, and the soldiers led the cart through the city, beyond the castle walls, into the courtyard. Arangyle strode into view with a broad grin, with the countess at his side. “We cleared out one of the west-facing stables and moved in some basic furniture. If you need a hearth fire, follow the east passage to the kitchen, and there’s a waste pit you can share with the staff. It might take a few days for the smell to clear out, but I imagine it’s still a step up from the slums you lot are accustomed to.”
Ognara seethed. “A step up?”
Orgroth squeezed her hand and muttered, “Please stay calm.” He met her gaze. “For Ortog’s sake.”
She sighed. “Right.” Ognara looked at Arangyle. “You honor us with your generosity. May your gesture inspire others to be as welcoming.”
Arangyle scoffed. “In that case, as far as everyone else is concerned, you lot are my prisoners.” He looked at Ortog. “Besides, it’s really your boy that we need to keep safe. Everyone knows that trying to teach an orc to read is like trying to teach a dog to knit, but the countess wants to try, anyway. I’m sure he’ll make a fine soldier, at the very least.”
“I already know how to read,” Ortog protested.
“Sure, you do,” jeered Arangyle.
“You can collect our boy for his studies and return him by nightfall,” Orgroth argued. “Why move us here?”
Arangyle shook his head. “I won’t endanger the life of a woman by asking her to rear a feral orc pup. You two will raise him, and the best place to keep all of you safe while you do that is here.”
“So, we are your prisoners.”
Arangyle smiled, and he waved his guard captain over. “Captain Sorley, show them to their room.” He faced Orgroth. “Get settled in. Weapon training starts tomorrow, but it’ll be a couple of weeks before the rest of his tutors arrive.”