Page 44 of Bound By Blood
A cipher.Of course. Mother always loved puzzles, claiming they sharpened diagnostic thinking by forcing consideration of hidden patterns and unexpected connections.
I copy the darker letters onto a fresh sheet, arranging them in the order they appear:
T-H-R-E-E-S-T-O-N-E-S-N-O-R-T-H-O-F-S-P-R-I-N-G-W-H-E-R-E-A-N-C-E-S-T-O-R-S-S-L-E-E-P
Three stones north of spring where ancestors sleep.
My hands shake as I decode the rest, letter by careful letter:
Crown of the First Chief lies beneath the watching eagle. Bring flame and iron. Trust the mountain's heart.
Crown of the First Chief.The founding artifact of the Stoneborn Clan, lost during the great retreat seventy years ago when human forces pushed deep into Orc territory. Legend claims it holds the power to unite all highland clans under a single banner.
The power to end this war. Either through conquest or through negotiated peace backed by undisputed authority.
How did Mother learn this location? When did she encode it, and why leave such dangerous knowledge with me? Questions multiply like ripples in still water, each one leading to deeper mysteries.
I study the decoded message again, memorizing every word before rolling both scrolls carefully and hiding them beneath my sleeping furs. This information is valuable enough to reshape the entire conflict, dangerous enough to get me killed by either side if mishandled.
I need to tell Drokhan.
The thought emerges without conscious consideration, immediate and certain as breathing. Not because duty demands it, not because political necessity requires honesty between allies. I trust him with secrets that could destroy his people or elevate them beyond their wildest ambitions.
Because I love him.The admission still feels new, like standing at the edge of a cliff and choosing to leap rather than retreat to safer ground.
The evening meal arrives as promised, roasted venison with root vegetables, fresh bread, and spring water flavored with mint. I eat mechanically, my mind occupied with plans and possibilities, with the knowledge and its implications.
Tomorrow's council meeting will change everything.But first, I need to share this burden with the one person whose judgment I trust completely.
Darkness settles over the fortress as I descend the spiral stairs, making my way through familiar corridors toward Drokhan's private chambers. Guards nod respectfully as I pass, their acceptance of my presence still surprising after weeks of careful negotiation.
I find him at his desk, studying reports by lamplight, his topknot freed to let dark hair fall loose around his shoulders. Without the formal armor and ceremonial torque, he looks younger, more approachable—though no less formidable.
"Eirian." He looks up as I enter, genuine pleasure warming his expression. "Restless already? The tent not to your liking?"
"The tent is perfect." I settle on the bench beside his desk, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his massive frame. "But I need to show you something. Something that could change the war's entire trajectory."
His attention sharpens immediately, amber eyes focusing with predatory intensity.Not alarmed, but alert to danger and opportunity in equal measure.
"Show me."
I produce the scrolls, explaining the cipher and its decoded message while his expression grows increasingly grave. He asks few questions, absorbing information with the same systematic thoroughness he brings to military planning.
"Crown of the First Chief," he murmurs when I finish. "My grandfather spoke of it sometimes, usually when deep in his cups. Called it the weight that broke lesser shoulders."
"You believe it exists?"
"Something exists. Whether it's a physical crown or something else entirely..." He shrugs, the gesture sending muscles rippling beneath his shirt. "Power takes many forms. Unity of purpose can be more valuable than gold or steel."
Practical wisdom.He's right, of course. The crown's symbolic value might outweigh any magical properties attributed to it by legend and hope.
"Your mother encoded this information. Hidden it carefully and entrusted it to you." His gaze holds mine steadily. "The question becomes: what did she expect you to do with it?"
End the war.The answer arrives fully formed, accompanied by memories of Mother's quiet sadness whenever reports of border raids reached our household. Her careful neutrality during political discussions, her insistence on treating all wounded regardless of their allegiances.
"She wanted peace," I say slowly. "Real peace, not just the absence of active warfare. She saw the cost in human termswith wounded soldiers, grieving families, children growing up knowing only conflict and hatred."
"And she believed this artifact could provide that peace?"
