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."
"Chaos?" Greenwillow was shocked into speech. "People farm the land and trade! Rarely do they fight, and there are no plagues that I've heard of!"
"The chaos of the heart and mind, then," continued the commander. Most of his soldiers didn't listen. Obviously they'd heard this speech before, many times. But a couple of the men followed the arguments as if memorizing them. "And the chaos wrought by the Neth."
"The Neth? You'd challenge the Neth?" asked Greenwillow. Sunbright elbowed her sharply, a signal not to antagonize their host.
"Aye, we would. The day has come for a new order, a new way of doing things-especially about the Netherese. But this new order can be achieved only through the imposition of a strong authority, a wise but absolute ruler. A broad broom cleanses the land. See what the One King has wrought already: orcs and men and even elves sitting and discoursing peaceably by a fire."
The last was pure moose dung, thought the barbarian. If he and the elf had their way, they'd have topped three hills by now. Only the threat of superior numbers kept them still. And any argument founded on a lie, he knew, would just form a bigger heap of lies.
But to keep the man-orc talking, Greenwillow asked, "Please, tell us more about this One King."
As if she'd plucked her finger from a dam, a torrent of words spilled forth from the zealous commander. The One King was all-wise, for he could see into the past and future, and into other parts of the world. He knew the minds of men and orcs and elves and Netherese. He'd lived a long time, studying in his youth, suffering to seek knowledge in the far reaches of the world, meditating on high, rocky crags until the snow came to his chin, questioning the wisest of the wise. And, learning at last all there was to learn, he'd come to understand the world and how its ills might be corrected… once he gained the cooperation of every living thing.
Cooperation! The barbarian wanted to spit. More, he wanted to leap up and smite off this smug bastard's head. How could anyone be so dense as to surrender himself to a tyrant who'd either have your "cooperation" or else boil you alive? It was madness! But a frightening madness, if this king's rantings could inspire such fervent loyalty in a pack of hideous orcs that they bypassed fat human farms and camped by night in the open road lest their campfire ignite the fields. This One King must be as persuasive as Selune, She Who Guides. Or more so.
Seething, disputing everything in his head, though wisely not aloud, Sunbright bore the twisted arguments like someone staked on an anthill. And eventually the orcish commander ran out of steam, yawned, and excused himself. Unrolling his blanket, he insisted Greenwillow and Sunbright pass the night here, "safe," for he would post a guard. Quietly, the two agreed and unfurled their blankets.
But in the bustle, Sunbright hissed, "How could you stand to debate that lunkhead? He's as loony as a moon maid!"
"Hush!" snapped Greenwillow. "Any fact about the One King is another arrow in my quiver. You can never know too much about an enemy. I'll take first watch."
"Agreed." The camp would have two posted guards and one unposted one, for the barbarian and half-elf would keep surreptitious watch themselves. As he settled down, Sunbright eased Harvester into his blanket alongside him. He did that every night anyway, but this night, he drew the naked blade and slept against that.
And dreamed of orcs and elves and humans dancing around a maypole. They were singing gaily, naked except for garlands of flowers around their necks and brows. Impaled atop the pole was Sunbright's head, eyes staring in disbelief.
Candlemas scratched the back of his left hand, which had finally healed, although it itched as if fiends cavorted under the skin. He then scratched his neck, which was confined in a high stock of red leather that gouged the underside of his chin. He hated fine clothes and parties, for both were invariably uncomfortable. And the room was hot from hundreds of bodies and a thousand candles.
The whole mansion, in fact, was lit with candles from one end to another, and the mage reckoned only powerful shield spells kept the place from igniting. There was not a spot anywhere that wasn't decorated with triple-thick gilt or bright paint or some mural of great deeds and fantastic beasts and sorrowful romances. There were layers of curtains, tapestries, and paintings, as well as crystal and silver chandeliers, stuffed beasts and monsters, and items and oddities from the world over. And this fantastic palace, he reminded himself, was only one of several owned by his host, Tyralhorn the Archmage, who was in turn only one of several in this city of Anauria, a High City second only to Most-High Karsus. Lady Polaris herself owned two palaces here and others elsewhere, as well as her "country cottage," what she sometimes called the vast floating castle of Delia, where Candlemas was steward. The highest archmages of Netheril pursued mainly magics and excitement, but somehow wealth and property seemed to stick to their fingers in their search.
And the entirety of this mansion-every candlestick and bauble and self-emptying golden chamber pot-existed to impress other archmages, in a vast unending quest of competition to be the largest, richest, and gaudiest.