Page 49 of The Orc Chief's Baker
“Closer,” Sythcol corrected quickly. “Notclose. They aren’t in danger.”
“Yet,” Brovdir said quietly and Sythcol glowered at him.
“We aren’t telling them.”
Brovdir leveled the chief with a dark look.
“We arenottelling them,” Sythcol repeated firmly. “You saw how they reacted when we mentioned more warriors were coming to stay. We didn’t even mention howmanyand they still panicked. Just today, Headman Gerald sent a message that three more families were talking of leaving the woods. If they knew that sinkholes of churning, icy water were opening up randomly and swallowing up everything in their wake, the whole villagemight decide to leave. Which would be adeathsentence—for both themandus.”
Brovdir sagged. Sythcol was right. With the prophecy of the Fades looming, they simply couldn’t take the risk.
Because when the reckoning came, everything outside of these woods would be...
He squeezed his eyes shut against the vision he’d seen of Miranda’s world of the desolation and chaos and heat. He tried not to think about it.
“I cannot tell them about the sinkholes until I know how to stop them,” Sythcol said. “And I’ve almost got it. I think I’ve found a pattern, at least.” He rubbed at his blackened hands and his eyes took on a haunting glimmer. “I’mso close.Just a little more, and I’ll...”
Sythcol’s claws extended suddenly, and he gashed the back of his hand. Brovdir straightened in shock as the male cursed and slapped his hand over the wound to stop the bleeding. Then he went to the shelves and plucked up a healing tincture.
“I’m fine,” Sythcol snapped as Brovdir unsuccessfully tried to keep the worry from his expression. “I’m just tired.” The powerful conjurer downed the tincture in a single gulp. “Stop looking at me like that.”
Brovdir averted his eyes.
“Anyway.” Sythcol finished and came back to sit at the desk. “I can’t tell the village yet and cause a panic. You agree, right?”
Brovdir nodded. The villagers would panic. Because what was happening in these woods wasworthpanicking about.
The ground under their feet was being eaten away by a huge underground river. One they’d not even known wasthere.
It shouldn’t be there at all.
“Tell your warriors to keep patrolling regularly and report often,” Sythcol demanded. “Perhaps I should talk some of the Rove males into joining them. Fifteen isn’t enough.”
On that, Brovdir could agree. The fifteen warrior orcs Karthoc had left behind had been worked almost to the bone, searching for cracks in the forest floor. Brovdir had spent much of his time toiling right alongside them. Trinia’s face flashed in his mind as motivation to keep searching. She liked to walk in these woods.
“We have to atleastknow how to stop them before we bring it up to Headman Gerald. Thisandthe prophecy. Otherwise, it could very well be the driving force that would make themleave. And you know what would happen if they left, don’t you? There would be no more conquests. No moresons. This clan would die out in a few generations.”
Brovdir couldn’t argue with that. This clan was so remote, so cut off from the outside world, that it wouldn’t be possible for them to stay here long term if the humans of Oakwall abandoned these woods.
But it was here they had to stay.Allorc kind did. The Fades had willed it. The prophecy had been foretold. Their world would be remade. There was no escaping that fate.
And it was a fate Oakwall was blissfully unaware of. In less than two seasons, thousands of orc warriors would move into these woods. They’d outnumber the small village of humans five to one.
“We need answers first,” Sythcol said firmly. “Once I know more, at least enough to ease their fears,I will go to Headman Gerald myself and tell him everything. I swear it. But right now, we can’t. You know that, don’t you, Brovdir?”
Brovdir sighed and rubbed at his aching throat.
“We arenotgoing to get Oakwall involved, Brovdir.” Sythcol’s firm conviction had him straightening in steady agreement with the clear command.
Brovdir nodded despite the churning in his gut that told him that keeping their human neighbors in the dark was going to backfire—badly.
But Sythcol had lived in these woods all his life. He knew every human in Oakwall Village. He was better suited for the role of chief than Brovdir ever could be.
“Go fetch the soup for me,” Sythcol said quietly, rubbing at his stomach. Brovdir completed the order without complaint or thought and settled the still steaming bowl of pine-needle fish down on the desk next to the conjurer.
The male wrinkled up his nose at the sight, but relented and took a quick bite.
It crunched.
