Page 55 of Bound By Blood
"No." Her answer comes without hesitation. "But tomorrow will be complicated. Speaking for the clan while remaining true to what I believe."
"What do you believe?"
"That mercy and strength aren't opposites. That peace can be won without destroying those you defeat." She shifts closer, seeking warmth from both fire and companionship. "What do you think they want?"
"Probably to ransom prisoners and negotiate safe passage for their retreat. Standard diplomatic language that lets bothsides claim victory while ending hostilities." I pause, considering possibilities. "Though after what you did today, they might want something else entirely."
"Such as?"
"You. Your knowledge. Proof that the stories about human-Orc cooperation aren't just legends." The implications settle heavily between us. "A human who can channel ancient magic and command Orc loyalty represents either tremendous opportunity or existential threat, depending on perspective."
Dawn arrives with typical efficiency, bringing three riders who approach our perimeter with careful precision. They wear fine clothes beneath practical armor, and their horses show signs of hard travel but excellent care. Nobles, then, or at least noble representatives with resources and authority.
I meet them in the neutral ground between our positions and theirs, accompanied by Eirian and two honor-guards whose presence communicates strength without threat. The lead envoy dismounts with practiced grace, offering the ritual greeting between enemies who seek parley.
"I am Lord Commander Aldric Ravencrest, speaking for His Majesty's interests in these territories." He's younger than expected, perhaps forty, with the controlled bearing of career military elevated to political necessity. "I seek audience with Chief Drokhan and..." his gaze fixes on Eirian with obvious recognition, "Lady Eirian Thorne."
"I am Drokhan of the Stoneborn. This is Stoneblood Healer Eirian, recognized daughter of our clan." I emphasize her new status deliberately, watching how he processes the information.
"I see." Something flickers across his expression, surprise, calculation, perhaps concern. "Your Majesty's court has received disturbing reports about yesterday's engagement. Survivors speak of impossible events. Beast-calming. Ancient magic. We came seeking clarification."
"What kind of clarification?" Eirian steps forward, her healer's training apparently extending to reading diplomatic undercurrents. "Are you here to negotiate peace or investigate threats?"
"Both, if necessary." Ravencrest's honesty surprises me. "The Crown seeks ending to border conflicts that drain resources and destabilize trade. But reports of humans wielding Orc magic raise questions about larger implications."
There it is.The real concern hiding beneath diplomatic language. Fear that cooperation between us might spread, threatening the careful balance of power that keeps human nobles in control and Orc clans contained to marginal territories.
"What do you propose?" I ask.
"Prisoner exchange. Safe passage for withdrawal of forces from disputed territories. Formal recognition of current clan boundaries." He pauses, clearly wrestling with his next words. "And private audience with Lady... with Stoneblood Healer Eirian regarding her recent experiences."
"No." The word leaves my throat with more force than intended. "She speaks for the clan now. Any discussions involve clan leadership."
"Of course. I meant no disrespect." Ravencrest's smile holds diplomatic warmth and underlying steel. "Perhaps we might discuss terms in more comfortable circumstances? I have authority to negotiate comprehensive agreements."
Eirian touches my arm lightly, a signal we developed during our time together. Trust her judgment.
"We'll hear your proposals," she says. "But understand that any agreement must address the treatment of prisoners currently held by both sides. Mercy isn't weakness—it's foundation for lasting peace."
"Agreed. Though I should mention that His Majesty's court has particular interest in reports of artifact usage during yesterday's engagement. Such items represent significant historical value."
And there's the trap.They want the totem, either to study or to destroy. The artifact that allowed Eirian to gentle a war-beast and save dozens of lives represents threat to established order where humans and Orcs maintain careful separation.
"Historical artifacts belong to the people who understand their proper use," Eirian replies with a diplomatic precision that would make any courtier proud. "Mishandling ancient magic has consequences beyond immediate political concerns."
The negotiations stretch through morning and into afternoon, a careful dance of proposal and counter-proposal, threat and reassurance. Ravencrest proves more reasonable than expected, genuinely seeking resolution rather than mere advantage. But underlying every exchange lies the fundamental question: can peace exist between peoples who've been taught to see each other as irredeemable enemies?
By evening, we've established framework for prisoner exchange and territorial recognition. More importantly, we've created precedent for future negotiations, proving that Orc and human can share common ground when survival depends on cooperation.
But as the envoys prepare to return with our preliminary agreement, I realize that today's victory extends beyond battlefield success. We've planted seeds of change that might grow into something larger than any single clan or kingdom.
Watching Eirian bid farewell to Ravencrest with perfect diplomatic courtesy, I understand that she's become something new—not just Stoneborn Healer, but bridge between worlds that desperately need connection.
The war may be ending, but the real work of peace has only just begun.
The envoys' dust hasn't settled before another rider approaches from the south, moving with the desperate urgency of someone carrying news that can't wait for dawn. This one bears no royal seal, no ceremonial weapons—just the weathered look of a man who's ridden hard through hostile territory with something important enough to risk his life.
"Chief Drokhan!" The rider calls out while still fifty paces away, hands raised to show peaceful intent. "I seek parley under guest-right. I am Beric of House Ellionne."
