Once the monster had left the room, the council members stood in heavy silence, breathing in and out, exchanging uneasy glances.

  K’Hudan, Khan of the East, also known as the Khan of the Lowlands, finally exhaled a long, slow breath.

  “I can finally breathe. Per Kargath, what a presence she has!”

  “I couldn’t read her, my identification spell doesn't work on her” muttered Gorgor the Hammer, shaking his head with visible unease. “Every time I tried, all I felt was dread.”

  He stood, casting a glance around at the other six council members. “What is she?” he growled.

  Gorgor was the largest orc among them, his bulk rivaled that of an ogre. Gorgor the Hammer, general of the Fifth Army, Marquis of the South. He leaned heavily against the war table.

  “And this…” he began, then stopped himself. His voice lowered. “Do we accept her as our queen? Just like that? Without a fight?”

  He let the question hang before offering a grim suggestion.

  “We could fall back to the garrison, fortify, call for reinforcements…”

  “That’s the stupidest idea you’ve had in years,” Warhawk the Warlock - Khan of the West - dismissed the suggestion with a tired sigh.

  He was a head shorter than Gorgor and barely half as thick, but his eyes burned with the unmistakable fire of a high-level warlock.

  “She already asked if anyone wanted to be king,” he said, his voice dry. “And what did you say to that?”

  Gorgor rubbed the back of his neck with one massive hand and shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.

  “But what do we tell the troops? Who is she? Where does she come from? How can our soldiers swear allegiance to someone like that? She walks in, takes the crown, and we’re just supposed to roll over and accept it?”

  K’Hudan, a tall, elderly sorcerer nearly as thin as Warhawk, shook his wrinkled head.

  “My spies had heard of her. She comes from the East. Drackar’s orcs have a new tribal head. Her name is Lores of Orcmound.”

  “Is she an orc?” Marquis Shui asked, frowning.

  “With those horns? No!” snapped Diverna, the High Priestess. She shook her head firmly. “She’s beastkin. Possibly demon-touched.”

  “Then how can she be the head of a tribe?” Taxom, general of the Ninth Army, growled. “How can she be our queen if she’s not even an orc? Our warriors will never accept this. What the hell was that old fool thinking?”

  Calling K’Hordock an old fool didn’t sit well with everyone. Warhawk turned sharply toward Taxom, huffing in clear annoyance.

  “The ‘old fool’ saved our lives,” he said, voice clipped. “We’d all be dead if he hadn’t proclaimed her queen. That was his decision to make, and his right.”

  “It’s the old prophecy,” Diverna added, shaking her head slowly. “A queen will rise from the orc nation and lead us to unmatched power and greatness. He truly believed she was the one.”

  “He truly believed... There are all kinds of prophecies,” Taxom grumbled. “She’s not even from the orc nation!”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” said K’Hudan calmly. “She’s the head of the Drackonian tribe. Drackar wouldn’t have accepted her unless she had orc blood in her veins.”

  “Is she the head, or is it Drackar?” Gorgor asked, frowning.

  “Drackar takes orders from her,” K’Hudan answered. “She’s the chieftain. No doubt about it.”

  Diverna tilted her head, intrigued.

  “That is interesting. Drackar never accepted Lord K’Hordock’s authority—but he follows her?”

  K’Hudan nodded.

  “Seems the old man was right, wasn’t he?” Diverna murmured.

  “So… the Drackonian tribe is finally coming back into the fold?” Warhawk said, glancing around. “Who would’ve thought they’d return in a position of power?”

  A pause followed, then Gorgor asked, “But what was that about the elf princess?”

  "She's testing us. Playing with us!" Marquis Shui burst out. "Did you see how terrified old Lorach was after she pulled him aside? This chamber is supposed to be warded, so how did she take him away like that? Where did they even go? Who knows what she did to him!”

  “First she says she might not want the crown, then suddenly she does? What kind of madness is this?”

  “And now she wants a one-page summary - a picture - of the main problems and urgent tasks? We could tell her what the problems are, sure, but there are many! And tasks? How small does she expect us to write?!”

  He threw up his hands. “I’m telling you, she’s toying with us!”

  His outburst was followed by a brief silence, before Diverna finally spoke in her rasping voice.

  “If it is a test… do we want to fail her?”

  K’Hudan gave a slow nod.

  “You’re right. Both of you. We can’t afford to fail. She asked for a clear picture of the situation—so let’s give her one. She said that she needs to know exactly what she’s dealing with.”

  “The treasury is empty, and expenses exceed income,” Lord Hjatwick said flatly. “That’s the problem we all know—and the one we were just discussing.”

  Thin and unimposing, he didn’t look like much, but his mastery of numbers had earned him his post as the Kingdom’s Head Accountant, better known to everyone as Lord Moneybag.

  Marquis Shui let out an exasperated huff, shaking his head. Of course Lord Moneybag thought only of coin.

  “Is that all? How do you expect to fit that into a picture?” he snapped. “What about the pirates harassing the merchant ships in the North Sea? That’s why the harbors are at a standstill! That’s why the coffers are dry!”

  Taxom shifted uneasily, his voice rising.

  “You always talk about money! The tribes are restless, and our young warriors sit idle. They want to make a name for themselves, and that hunger will turn to trouble if we don’t direct it.”

  K’Hudan lifted a long, bony hand.

  “There is also the monster plague around the Great City of Decyant. The city is cut off and the province cries for help!”

  “The monster plague can wait,” Taxom shot back with a sharp shake of his head. “It’s their yearly migration. It will pass on its own.”

  “You would leave the city shuttered for months? Perhaps the whole year? And lose every harvest?” K’Hudan countered.

  “Why not deal with it yourself? You have troops, don’t you?” Taxom retorted.

  Diverna, the old priestess, croaked above their bickering.

  “The central plains are worse. Drought has withered the crops, the cattle are sick and dying! This reeks of elven druidcraft, it must be their spellwork! That is where we should send our young warriors, our armies.”

  “In those marshes?” someone muttered incredulously.

  “The bridge over the Bekaa River has collapsed. Our country is practically cut in two,” Warhawk said darkly. “There are voices claiming Guaravian agents sabotaged the support runes.”

  “Some are enjoying it,” another muttered, “making money off the poor folk with their overpriced pontoons.”

  “There are also rumors,” Lord Hjatwick countered, “that the governor used cheap ingredients for the rune maintenance and pocketed the difference.”

  “Careful what you say. That governor is a friend of Lord K’hordock.”

  “Who no longer rules us,” Hjatwick replied sharply. “Maybe it’s time we cleaned out the corruption.”

  “The salt mines need more slaves,” another voice added. “An epidemic wiped out half the workforce.”

  “Because you treat your slaves like dirt!”

  “No—another cursed pestilence from the elf druids, mark my words!”

  “Fine!” Taxom snapped with a dry chuckle. “Put all this chaos onto a nice painting on a piece of paper.”

  The cacophony died down for a moment. Then, in her cracked voice, the priestess spoke again:

  “The Young Marquis was right. This is a test. But if we write all this down plainly, we’ll fail. She wants to see whether we think like orcs… or like bookkeepers. And this, to me, proves she is one of us. An orc in spirit.”

  She looked around the room.

  “And we, are we still worthy?”

  There was a pause. Then someone asked, “But how? Symbolical?”

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Yes,” she said. “How else can someone understand everything at a glance? All this noise must become a single message. That’s what she asked for: a picture that tells the truth—clearly.”

  *

  “If I may ask, Your Highness… what are you planning to do?”

  The divinarch’s question caught me off guard. I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes. I had just been toying with the idea of dropping everything and heading west to find Ju.

  “Why are you asking, Sir Lorach?” I replied, raising a brow.

  “Because I would advise against going alone, Your Highness.” His voice was timid, but steady. “Guarava’s military formations are designed specifically to counter high-level individuals. That’s how they defeated the elves. Their battle formations can be scaled and enhanced—made strong enough to overwhelm even the most powerful mages. If you intend to rescue the elf lady, Your Highness, you should march with our army. Our infantry can disrupt and dismantle those formations, giving you the opening you need.”

  I tilted my head, studying him. He had read the situation quickly—impressively so. But could those formations truly pose a danger to me?

  “Uldaman, their capital, is protected by fortified mage towers and enchanted walls—defenses said to repel even dragons,” he continued. “If I may hazard a guess, that is where the lady Your Highness wishes to free is being held.”

  Talking with the old orc, I made my way back toward the meeting room. I was still undecided about what to do next - part of me thought it would be best to go alone - but the divinarch had made some valid points. He had even offered to perform a different kind of divination, one that could evaluate potential outcomes across various courses of action. I’d always thought that kind of magic was mostly gibberish and trickery—but he seemed genuinely convinced it had value.

  Could there really be a way to glimpse the future? I wondered.

  As we stepped back into the room, the council members sat silently around the table, their eyes snapping toward us the moment we entered. The sudden hush was strange—almost theatrical.

  I walked toward the center of the room, frowning. On the table lay a single sheet of paper.

  They all watched me like schoolchildren caught misbehaving, tracking my every step as I approached. The silence stretched.

  When I got closer, I saw what had been placed there, and my confusion only deepened:

  A small, bloodied axe. A silver coin with a clear bite mark—someone had sunk sharp teeth into it, leaving it misshapen and scarred.

  I blinked, baffled, pointing at the paper.

  “What’s this?” I asked. “Did someone get hurt?”

  My eyes went to the hulking orc on the left. He had a small bandage wrapped around one meaty hand. Had there been a fight? Why were they leaving weapons on the table?

  “That’s the report we prepared for you, Your Highness,” the old witch croaked.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. Since when were orcs such a bunch of symbologists, communicating in riddles and symbols?

  What were they trying to say? That I’d bloodied the kingdom? Were they expecting war? Or an assassination attempt?

  Maybe it was best just to ask.

  “Can someone put that into words for me, please?” I asked, blinking.

  “She really cares about him,” Lili’s voice suddenly echoed in my mind. “They want to retire to a small, isolated castle in the mountains—if you’ll allow it. A servant will come soon to request an audience with you, and she’ll ask for this.”

  For a moment, I was completely thrown. I must’ve lost track of her when she’d moved too far away, and now, as she came closer, her thoughts had synced back into mine.

  Lili was thinking about K’hordock and his fake Julietta. So... the elf actually cared for him?

  “Your Highness?” the general asked. I must’ve missed something he’d said.

  “Yes?” I turned back to him. “Please repeat that.”

  “Should I explain all the points, or just the general idea?” he asked.

  “Start with the general idea,” I replied. “Then we’ll get to the details.”

  “The provinces are restless, and the treasury is empty,” he began. “We don’t have enough money to pay the army. There’s famine, corruption, pirates and bandits, drought, misery, looming hunger, monsters, and foreign sabotage. That’s the general idea. Should I go into the points by order of importance?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he launched into an itemized explanation.

  I took a deep breath and listened. It took several rounds of clarification before I truly grasped the full picture. Orc society, it turned out, was built heavily around its military structure. Roughly a third of all males, and even a portion of females, were active soldiers. There were many factions, and some of them acted almost like independent armies. Many of the so-called pirates and bandits were, in fact, military units from dissatisfied minor factions operating outside central control.

  “All this trouble, did it just happen now?” I asked. “What were you planning to do if I hadn’t shown up?”

  The general of the Ninth Army, who I’d learned was named Taxom, replied:

  “We were considering war with Guarava. It’s justified: they’ve occupied our former territories and continue to treat orcs dishonorably. The council was in the middle of debating when and how to proceed.”

  I had always thought those territories belonged to the elves, but it seemed the orcs considered them their own.

  I took a deep breath. War—such a convenient solution to all problems.

  Before I could ask anything, Taxom continued.

  “The pretext would’ve been to bring Drackar’s tribe into the fold. During the campaign, we’d occupy the province, take many slaves, and refill the treasury.”

  Heh. Not only had they come up with a justification, he laid it out bluntly.

  The old witch cackled.

  “They’re already scheming to pit us against the elves. Teaching them a lesson might not be such a bad thing.”

  “They’re nothing but conniving tricksters,” said Shui, the young marquis. “They never fight honorably—always ganging up on us.”

  “Let them gang up,” Gorgor rumbled. “We’ll just take more slaves!”

  “Slaves?” I asked, my voice colder than I intended.

  “What else should we do with prisoners of war?” he replied with a shrug. “Kill them all? That would be a bloody mess. Making them slaves is cleaner. The salt mines need labor, so do the roads, and the fields even more. The rest can be sold to support the treasury and the army.”

  The warlock leaned forward slightly.

  “So,” he said, “we return to the question: Should we call for the great mobilization?”

  And then, all eyes turned to me.