Sylla Quickwhisper's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Sylla Quickwhisper had three days to reach the orc warchief's camp, and no gift worth her own throat. The elven council had voted at dawn. If the clans kept killing each other through another winter, both would starve before spring. Sylla had argued for talks. The council had answered by naming her envoy and shutting the doors of the carved hall behind her. She stood now under a broad, dark-leaved oak at the edge of the elven quarter, counting what she had. A short knife. A satchel of dried pears. Wit, which had kept her alive in six border towns but had never stopped an axe. Orc scouts killed elven messengers on sight. She needed something the warchief could not refuse to look at. She knew where such a thing hung. The great hall stood behind her, its pale wood arches lit from inside by lanternlight. Above the hearth, on two iron pegs, rested the old king's sword. Gemstones down the grip. Elven script running the blade. Every child in the quarter had been taught it was untouchable. The council would call its theft treason. The warchief would call it tribute. Sylla waited until the moon slid behind the oak. Then she went in through the side door she had used as a child, when she stole honey cakes and blamed the cats. The hearth was banked low. Two guards stood at the front doors, facing out. She crossed the floor in her stockings, lifted the sword from its pegs, and wrapped it in her cloak. It was heavier than she expected. That was the only surprise. She was back under the oak before the guards turned. She walked north until dawn. By second morning she smelled woodsmoke and pit fires. By third, two orc outriders rode her down in a dry creek bed and put spear points at her ribs. She did not run. She knelt, laid the bundle on the stones, and folded back the cloak. The taller outrider went still. He said something short in his own tongue to the other, who wheeled his mount and rode. The remaining orc did not lower his spear. He also did not push it in. "For your warchief," Sylla said. "From the hand that took it. I'll speak the rest to him." They walked her into the camp at midday. Cook smoke, dogs, the ring of a hammer. Warriors stopped to watch the elf pass with a sword she was not carrying at her hip. At the largest tent, the outrider took the bundle from her arms and went inside. He came back out and held the flap open. Sylla stepped through. Behind her, she heard a runner sent south at a hard sprint, and she understood before she reached the fire pit that the elven council already knew what was missing from above their hearth.