The exchange was a common one. Farming was difficult in the Dustwallow Marshes where humans had settled on Kalimdor, but there was plenty of fishing. Razor Hill, meanwhile, was too far inland for fishing to be practical—so humans often traded their surplus catches for the orcs' surplus crops.
"I will not trade you my finest salmon for this refuse!"
Muzzlecrank sighed. Obviously today trade was not going to go well.
Klatt stomped his foot. "Refuse? You lyin' little twerp—these are our best crops!"
"A sad commentary on your farming," the human said dryly. "That fruit looks as though it was stepped on by an ogre—smells like it, too."
"I ain't gonna stand here and be insulted by a human!"
The human drew himself up to full height, which made him come up to the orc's shoulders. "You're not the one being insulted here. I've brought you my finest catch, and you offer me the bottom of the barrel in exchange."
"Your salmon ain't fit for mulch!"
Too late, Muzzlecrank noticed that the human was armed with what looked like a longsword—while Klatt was weaponless. Assuming the human was skilled in the blade's use, it negated whatever advantage Klatt's size gave him in a fight.
"And your fruit isn't fit for dogs!"
"Coward!"
Muzzlecrank winced at Klatt's words. «Coward» was the biggest insult any orc could deliver.
"Filthy greenskin! I've half a mind to—"
Whatever the human had half a mind to do was lost as Klatt charged him. The human was unable to unsheathe his longsword in time, and the two of them rolled across the dock, Klatt pummeling the human.
Wondering how, precisely, he was supposed to break this up, he was relieved of immediate action by the human's escort. Three guards wearing the plate armor that signified they were part of Lady Proudmoore's forces leapt out of the Passion's Reward and pried Klatt off the captain.
However, Klatt would not be dissuaded by a mere three humans. He punched one in the stomach, grabbed the second, and threw him into the third.
Now the orcs were starting to move off the Raknor to join in the fray. Muzzlecrank realized he had to do something before this got out of hand.
Hefting his net—gun and hoping with all his heart and soul that he wouldn't be called upon to use it, he bellowed, "All right, that's it! Cut it out, and I mean now, or all'a ya are in deep, unnerstan'?"
Klatt, who was about to jump on the human captain, stopped in his tracks. His target, blood gushing from his nose and mouth, cried, "He attacked me!" The human's voice had an odd twang to it that was probably the result of damage to his nose.
"Yeah, well, you deserved it, goin' back on your word like that," Klatt said with a sneer.
"That's no reason to kill a man!"
"I said, cut it out!" Muzzlecrank spoke before Klatt could respond. "Both'a ya are under arrest. You either come peaceable—like or in pieces, makes me no never mind." He looked at both the orc warriors and the human soldiers. "This here's goblin country, an' that means I give the orders here, got it? So that gives ya two choices—help me put these two in the hoosegow till an arbiter can take the case, or get your keisters outta Ratchet. Your choice."
Technically, Muzzlecrank's words were true. He had deliberately deepened his voice in the hope that it would give his words an air of authority. But he also knew that he had no way of stopping any of these people if they decided to ignore him and continue fighting. If he shot the net—gun, he'd just get one of the tether posts covered in a net or something.
To his relief, one of the humans said, "We will do as you wish."
Apparently, the orcs weren't about to be seen to be violating the goblins' sovereignty on Ratchet when the humans were, and so one of the orcs quickly said, "So will we."
As he led Klatt and the bleeding human back to the mainland, Muzzlecrank tried to get his breathing under control before he hyperventilated. He wasn't meant for this kind of stress. He wondered what other job he'd be good at. Being a bruiser had definitely lost its appeal.
Major Davin was so angry, he started pulling at his beard, and had to consciously force himself to stop. The last time he got that angry, he ripped tufts out, which not only was painful, but violated the dress code.
The focus of his ire was the substance of Corporal Rych's report, given after his hasty return to Northwatch from Ratchet. "They actually arrested Captain Joq?"
"Well, to be fair, sir," Rych said, "they done arrested that orc, there, too, sir. Soon as the argument het up, one of the goblin's bruisers done stepped in."
"And you let them arrest Joq?"
Rych blinked. "I didn't have no choice, sir. Goblins've got jurisdiction in Ratchet. We ain't got no—"
Davin shook his head. "No authority, I know, I know." He got up from his chair and started pacing the office, walking toward the door at first. "It's ridiculous. We shouldn't be subject to this kind of idiocy."
"Sir, I don't see what they'll be—"
"The orcs have a nerve, trying to cheat us like that." He turned and paced toward the window.
Nodding his head quickly, Rych said, "That's certainly true, sir. The fruits they done offered us, why, they was just vile, sir. An insult, it was. And then the orc, he done attacked the cap'n. For no reason, neither."
The major stopped pacing when he reached the window. He stared out at the view of the Great Sea. Small waves lapped gently against the sandy beach. It painted a peaceful picture, one that Davin knew was deceptive. "This is out of control. If the orcs keep on like this, it's only a matter of time before we are at war once again."
"I don't think that'll be happenin', sir." Rych sounded skeptical, but Davin knew better.
"Oh, it will, Corporal, of that you can be absolutely sure. And with the tauren and the trolls on their side, they will overwhelm us—unless we are prepared." He turned to the door. "Private!"
Private Oreil came in. As always when he saw his aide, Davin sighed. No matter how many times the young private was fitted, his armor was always too big on him. "Yes, sir?"
"Send a message to Theramore right away. We need reinforcements as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir, right away, sir." Oreil saluted and left the watch office to go find the scrying stone that Lady Proudmoore had provided to facilitate communication between Northwatch and Theramore. Detailed conversations couldn't be held through it, but messages could be sent.
Rych scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "Uh, sir, with all due respect, and all—is this bein' such a good idea, sir?"
"Very much so." Davin sat back down at his desk, no longer feeling the need to rip out his beard hairs now that he was taking action. "I'm not letting those greenskinned bastards catch us off guard."
Twelve
Aegwynn really wished the annoying young woman would just go away.
That wasn't going to happen, of course. Aegwynn was too much of a realist to think otherwise. But it didn't stop her from wishing it with all her heart. She had been alone for two decades and had come to appreciate being by herself. Indeed, she'd been happier these past twenty years than the hundreds of years prior to her exile to Kalimdor.
She had truly hoped that these highlands, surrounded as they were by impassable mountains, were remote enough, and that the wards were low—level enough, that no one would find her. In retrospect, that was a forlorn hope.
"I can't believe you're still alive."
This Proudmoore woman sounded like a teenager. Aegwynn knew it wasn't her standard mode only because she had modulated into it upon learning who Aegwynn was.