Chapter 7: Chapter 6 – Orcish Hospitality

"In truth, had the first people who met orcs in the past been merchants bearing gifts instead of some tired, pioneering explorers with more brawn than brains, the world would have had another enlightened race added to the roster centuries sooner." -Radoth of clan Bloodfang, on a lecture of orcish history.

The Bronzemanes proved to be good hosts to Cal.

 

Once the sun started to set beyond the horizons, the caravan stopped and formed a circle with their wagons on an open field a short distance away from the road, the pack animals untethered from their wagons and left on their own as they roamed and grazed contentedly, while the orcs themselves immediately started a large bonfire in the middle of the circle, and cooked massive amounts of food for the whole caravan.

 

Cal spent the meal as she sat next to the Bronzemane matriarch, who insisted that she be seated next to her. Copious amounts of food were served, Helga's special stew included, which she saw the old matriarch hunched over as she worked on it personally.

 

It went above her expectations, and then some. Cal never even knew bear meat could melt in your mouth, as it was usually associated with slightly tough meat of gamey nature instead, but whatever Helga did, left the meat ridiculously tender, and spiced with orcish spices that left a pleasant spiciness that tingled on her taste buds. And that was before Helga plopped the bear's paw into her bowl. A special treat for the guest, in her words.

 

If the meat was amazing, the paw was divine.

 

After she washed it all down with a couple mugs of light ale made from some fruit she's unfamiliar with, Cal patted her stomach with a contented sigh.

 

As the night wore on, she walked around the camp, observed the orcs as some danced a tribal dance while they chanted what probably passed for their version of a folk song around the bonfire, while the others watched and clapped in rhythm to the beat of the drum another older orc played.

 

A group of younger orcs - young adults, some likely fresh off puberty from their looks - tentatively approached her, asked if it was true that she hailed from the archipelago, that the war there was over.

 

When she replied in the affirmative, they asked her for stories, so she grinned and regaled them with stories of the war, to which the young orcs listened enthralled. At times she pointed to a scar here and there - even though all her scars were recent and would have faded entirely within a few weeks anyway - for some added spice to the tales she told, as she claimed it came from a battle long past. Which to be fair, might have left scars in that general area back then, she couldn't remember all that well.

 

Everyone was in good humor, and it was not until she finished her current tale that the tallest of the youngsters got up and fetched two wooden mugs full of what smelled like a strong alcoholic drink, and placed one in front of her.

 

He was a peculiar figure among the bunch, partly because of his obvious therian ancestry. While the orcs of the clan does tend to sport hair the color of bronze more often than not, he had a literal mane of that shade, and his facial features strongly resembled that of a green-skinned, furless lion, though with pronounced orcish tusks that sprouted from his lips.

 

"Guest strong warrior. Gort will be strong warrior. Gort salutes you." The young therian-orc said to her. "Arrack, drink of warriors." He added as he raised his mug in a toast.

 

Cal smiled, raised her own mug in reply, and drained it in one go, to the cheer and approval of the youngsters that watched. The murky liquor was strong and burned its way to her stomach, but decidedly quite a pleasant one, tasted a bit like extra-rich milk?

 

"Apology." Gort said as he coughed several times after he tried to replicate her feat, to the laughter of his peers. "Gort not speak common well. Language boring to learn."

 

"Action speaks louder than words." She replied with a smile, then accepted another mug from one of the other youngsters, while she could see another couple of them worked as they brought the whole barrel of liquor over. "To clan Bronzemane, may it prosper forevermore." She said as she raised her new mug in toast.

 

By the time Cal went to bed for the night she left that group of youngsters scattered all over the place, some so dead drunk they just flopped and fell asleep on the spot, while the older adults that watched just gave them a resigned smile.

-------------------------------------------

The rest of the journey to Hoststadt was uneventful, as Cal slowed her pace to match the caravan. They reached the town's walls a couple hours after they departed at dawn, where she bid a fond farewell to the caravan and headed to the gatehouse, passed her identification tags to the therian guard that looked sleepy, one that appeared like a long-haired dog breed.

 

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"Miss Ambervale, from the archipelago?" Asked the guard, now identified by her voice as a female, before she even introduced herself.

 

"That would be me, yes. What might be the matter?"

 

"Please kindly wait here for a moment, miss, someone from the governor's office had informed us to be on the lookout for your likeness. I shall fetch him on the double."

 

"Very well." Replied Cal with a quirked eyebrow.

 

When the guard returned not five minutes later she was followed by an old human gentleman, dressed in tastefully tailored expensive silks, with a bald head that gleamed and a long, well-groomed white beard. A look that would not look out of place on a kindly grandfather adorned his face.

 

"Milady Celeysria Ambervale, I presume?" Asked the old gentlemen.

 

"That would be me, yes."

 

"Horatius Goldenbough, steward to my ladyship the governor, at your service." Introduced the old man as he gave her a formal bow. "The ladyship bid me pass these to your esteemed self." He added while proffering three closed envelopes.

 

He bowed again and bid her a polite farewell after she accepted the envelopes, and the guard processed her entry into the city briskly.

 

Cal opened one of the envelopes, and within she found a letter of marque from the local governor, which quite literally stated that whoever held the letter was given the right to invoke judgement "as they deemed fitting" through the duration of their visit and are thus not to be troubled by the guard should they do so.

 

The second letter was short and seemed to be personally penned by the local governor, mostly polite words that wished for continued good relations between the city-states and the archipelago, as well as invited her to a dinner in the governor's manse tomorrow evening, and a very politely worded request where the governess asked her to please at least leave any idiot stupid enough to have pissed her off in one piece.

 

The third one explained why this governor seemed forewarned that she would have arrived here today.

 

To the esteemed Dame Celeysria Ambervale, Honorary Grand Marshall of the Al-Shan Empire,

 

It is with the sincerest of regrets that I pen this letter, having learned of the enormous folly committed by a member of my very own extended family. Please rest assured that the miscreant responsible as well as those related to him has been punished accordingly and will never be in a position to trouble your esteemed self ever again. I have also taken the liberty to book the best inn in Hoststadt for your free perusal, for as long as you wish, as a token of my apology for the unpleasantness incurred.

 

Sincerely,

Stanslov D'ssard, Lord Governor and Protector of Serda.

 

Apparently the little brat Xain - emperor or not, he's always a little brat to her - tacked on another fancy title to her name without her knowledge and made sure anyone in political relation to the empire knew it. Probably had Silas carry a letter for him for all she knew, and as the closest port that relied on trade with the archipelago for its prosperity, the governor of Port Serda would be one of the first to be informed, while Serda and Hoststadt would have close relations because one served as the hub to the sea, while the other served as the hub to the land, with Serda located at the end of the peninsula and Hoststadt at its base. The poor governor probably feared a diplomatic incident would result from his over-indulged relatives' actions and sent the letter by messenger birds the same day she left town, and warned his counterpart in Hoststadt of her arrival.

 

She wasn't a fan of the fancy title tacked onto her name without her knowledge, but at least the governor had his apology done properly.

 

After she had lived in the woods or in deserted islands which she waged what was essentially a guerilla campaign for decades, the last thing Cal would reject was an offer of a soft bed and free food to go with it.

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