Orc Lord

Vyra threw a bowl full of thick stew—nothing but gravy from meat drippings and flour. Her skill was considerable, so the bowl spun in a controlled manner, and only a few drops spilled onto the stones.

“Aren’t you fortunate? You get to eat before the Lord herself does.”

Myrtis glared at the soup and then gave an even nastier look to the person who’d provided it. The look Vyra returned didn’t lose out to that in the slightest.

“What Lord do you worship?” the Queen Orc asked.

“Nemeses, the Lord of Pride,” Myrtis answered with a puffed up chest. “We Onis are superior to ordinary monsters in strength, intelligence, culture, and everything in between. We pay him tribute, and he acknowledges us.”

“Truly, spoken like a follower of Nemeses,” Vyra murmured in response. “Tell me honestly, how many of your people feel the same way about me and my rule as you do?”

Myrtis clicked her tongue and turned her head to the side. “I want to say all of them, but it is probably only eighty percent. Perhaps only sixty percent are as adamant as I.”

“And the reason for your ire, is it just because my policies are interfering with your ability to perform rituals? If that issue were cleared, would you all still feel the same way as you do now?”

The Oni woman shrugged. “If we could perform our sacrifices as we pleased, and if you continued to stay out of our way, we might be willing to leave you alone in your corner of these woods.”

“That’s not what I want to hear, you know?” The Orc Lord sighed and strolled closer to the iron bars of Myrtis’ cell, gripping one with her fist and leaning in, continuing in a low, dangerous voice. “Were your spirits dampened after getting tossed in this cell? You were speaking much more pleasant things earlier.”

Myrtis sensed something dangerous and started backing toward the wall on her knees.

“There’s nobody here but us, ritual maiden. The guards have all been sent away. Now, I really want you to speak without holding back. Tell me that, no matter what, your people will insist on fighting me. I want you to show me that I’ve exhausted all possible avenues for peace; that I have no choice but to fight you; that I don't have to hold back.”

The ritual maiden's lips parted slightly, “E-even so, something can probably be arranged, as long as we have a steady flow of sacrifices.”

Vyra stood up straight and let go of the bars. She shook her head and smiled slightly, “You should have said so from the start and saved us both some trouble.” The queen of the castle turned and started back up the stairs. "You'll sleep here tonight. Endure it."

The door sealed and the dungeon was plunged into darkness. Myrtis pulled her chains close to her body for comfort and curled against the stone wall.

***

Dinner had passed. The warm food and good company had done well at recharging Vyra's mind and body. Now she had the willpower to go over all of the reports that were delivered to the palace at that time of day. While the Queen Orc sat at her desk, steadily working through a stack of stone tablets, a guard came to the door and knocked. The War Orc whispered a report to Nerun, who promptly delivered it to Vyra.

“My Lord, the Dwarf Balig has come requesting an audience. He says you’re expecting him.”

Vyra set down her stylus and stood up with a smile. “Yes, I am. Sorry for not telling you about it, Nerun, but” she chuckled, “Well, there’s something I want to keep private for a little longer.”

The Orc Lord left for her throne room and the guards soon ushered Balig in to meet her. It had been a while since they had seen each other. The room was massive, but no one else was inside it with them. They wordlessly decided to catch up a little to loosen the atmosphere.

“You still don’t look very Dwarf-like,” Vyra chuckled.

“That beard thing?” Balig rolled his eyes. “I started growing one, but it was dangerous to have near the forge embers, so I shaved it. I have no idea how Bazarath manages like that.”

The Lord-Chief laughed, imagining a naked Bazarath like a sheared sheep.

“Ah, about the commission, I should tell you the details now before we get too derailed. We’re both busy people after all.”

“That’s right. I was surprised you wanted me to make something. You’ve made everything with magic until now. Could it be a gift for somebody important?”

“That’s not quite it.”

“It isn’t?” Balig tilted his head. He’d come the whole way here with that expectation, and now he was left without any ideas.

“It’s a little embarrassing, but I wanted you to make something for me. I won’t be using it for a while, but I want to have it ready in the wings—actually, that’s a little embarrassing too.”

“Even if it’s embarrassing, you have to say it if you want to commission me. Is it a wedding ring or something?”

“Spirits, no! I,” she looked at her folded hands and blushed. “I’d like you to make a crown for me.”

He tilted his head. “A crown? You're making a crown for yourself in secret?”

“It’s similar to counting chickens before they hatch, or showing my hubris. This city doesn’t even contain ten thousand people yet, and it's still only one city, but I’m already planning on crowning myself queen someday. Isn’t that a childish level of expectation? But still, if I ever do get to wear a crown, I want it to be special, so it has to be handmade by an artisan.”

Balig nodded. “Yeah, I can do that. Care to tell me more about the design, the material, and so on?”

“Yes. The material should be gold or some similarly colored metal that won’t ever rust or tarnish. I’m not sure if there are others like that in this world, but gold will do if there aren’t. There need to be three setting slots for jewels. I have them ready, but they're quite valuable, so I’ll provide identical glass copies for you to compare with during the designing.”

“That's fine. Do you have an opinion on the design?”

“As long as I can potentially wear it in combat without it falling off or getting in the way, and as long as it doesn’t catch on my hair or be otherwise uncomfortable, I’ll leave that up to you. Please present the frame to me so I can approve it before I give you the gems to set.”

“Alright, I can do that. That just leaves the matter of payment.”

“Correct. Usually, it’s appropriate to pay half up front, correct? Of course, if you fail to produce anything, you’ll be responsible to pay it back. Our currency is still a little deflated, so ten thousand sealights total should be a fair price, I think.”

“Ten thousand?!" The Dwarf's six-fingered hands clenched in shock. "It’s a lot, but, I suppose since it’s a royal crown that much is acceptable.”

Vyra smiled warmly. Once the jewels have been enchanted and set and everything else is complete, I think it would be worth a hundred times that. I really hope I get to wear it someday. "Is it your first time working on a commission like this, Balig?"

"Yes, since I was still learning my trade back home, I didn't own my own shop yet or anything. Hm, but making crowns for Monster royalty," he chuckled, "I wonder if that's high-class or low-class work?"

"You should probably keep comments like those to yourself," Vyra smiled, reaching into her space pouch and pulling out another one. She tossed it to the Dwarf and he peeked inside, confirming it contained one hundred hexagonal sealights. "There isn't much of a rush to get this done, but I would like an estimate so I can check that you're actually working on it."

"In that case, I can have the first model ready in two weeks. Will that be fine?"

"Yes. I'll let Nerun know to leave an opening in my schedule. Now, it's getting late. You go home and get some rest, Balig. We'll see each other again in two weeks."

"Yes, my Lord," he gave a small bow and walked to the front of the room.

Before the Dwarf could open the doors to leave, Vyra couldn't help but ask, "By the way, how is Bazarath doing?"

Balig shrugged and grinned, then spoke facing the door. "He's a grumpy goat, but he's a natural weaponsmith. I ran out of things to teach him days ago and he's still improving." I'd be worried about him with that sulky attitude of his, but since he's making friends and the business is doing well, I guess it's fine. "Then, excuse me, my Lord."