The Torrents of War: Part 4 - Power Plays (Patreon)

Galen circled Stromgarde on the map, “We could drive off the trolls and secure the city if we had more cannons, or perhaps if we could marshal a militia faster…”

“If, if, wars are not won by what one wishes they had,” Ariana snapped.

“Mind your tongue, you speak to your liege lord,” Galen snapped.

“If I had known about the trolls, I might not have put you on the throne.”

“If, if,” he answered mockingly.

“Please,” Valorcall intoned, “squabbling aids no one.”

“Then do you have a solution for our woes?” Ariana asked, “For right now our best path is so dangerous I dare not suggest it, and even then we risk becoming little more than a city state.”

Galen looked to his closest ally, fearful of what he saw in the man’s face.

Leaning on the map table, Valorcall traced a finger from the city and cut a sharp path East, muttering, “if I were to take an elite strike force, I might be able to breach the enemy commanders’ defenses.”

“Valorcall,” Galen tried to cut in, but the man pushed on.

“Cutting them down, their forces will be left without skilled leadership, their morale laid low and they will either draw in on themselves or launch a poorly structured counterattack that can be broken rather than merely driven off.”

“And you die in the process,” Galen stressed.

Valorcall’s expression was somber as he nodded, “Most likely, but my riders are the most ideal for this, we are raiders at heart, not fit for defending a city.”

“I do not want this victory to come at the cost of your life,” Galen said, slapping the table.

“War always has a price,” Ariana intoned, “Still, I fear the consequences if this failed, or if there are other able captains among them. A plan that relies so heavily on the enemy acting predictably is not one I like.”

“War requires risks too,” Valorcall countered.

Galen was grasping the tables edge, teeth grinding as he scoured the map, looking to hit upon some solution when the doors flung open.

“My liege, we…” The Defender stalled; thick parchment clutched in his hand.

“Out with it,” Galen said, eyes tracing the scroll for a familiar symbol.

The red armored soldier nodded, a guttural huff escaping his lips before he said, “We have received word from the invaders in the North by messenger falcon.”

All eyes turned to Galen even as the world around him faded and he was locked in a memory. A perfect recreation of his father snatching up a similar letter before it could even be read, barely looking at it before hurling it into the fire and swearing revenge for a fallen rival as Galen sat offside, helpless.

“My liege? What should we do with it?” The Defender asked.

Ariana glared at the map table, “Thoras likely burnt the last missive for a reason.”

“He did not even read it,” Valorcall countered.

Galen’s fingers tightened on the edge of the table, ancient oak squeaking and straining as her nearly crushed it, mind awhirl, going over everything and anything he knew and finding it not enough and yet…

“Thoras is not king, I am, and the son is not the father,” He held out his hand, “Give it to me and I shall see if they’ve anything worth reading.”

Taking the scroll and breaking the seal, Galen steeled himself for the worst.

To you, the steward of Stromgarde,

Frost King Malakk, Conqueror of Storms, Protector of the People and Bringer of Justice sends his regards.

This one must extend gratitude to you, for word has reached my ears of your swift and decisive victory over your predecessor.

I imagine one does not wish to linger on it, but what comes next must be written.

Several years ago, I sent my beloved friend and Speaker to the Alliance Council. He was imprisoned, tortured, and executed, in part thanks to the vote of your predecessor.

It was for this injustice, among others committed by the Bronzebeard that this war is waged. I sent word to Stromgarde after Lordaeron surrendered, explaining the situation, and offering a chance to settle this honorably, between warriors.

Evidently this offer was refused when an army was marched into lands now under my protection; I trust our stern rebuff was communicative.

As of now I find we are at a crossroads of opportunity, for your nation and my empire. I would see this war end without further bloodshed and am willing to offer fair terms if we do meet, to which my other Royal Councilors can attest.

Signed,

Frost King Malakk,

Co-signed, Royal Councilors,

Lianne Menethil, Calia Menethil, Beve Perenolde, Alexi Barov, Illucia Barov & Jandice Barov

Galen scanned the missive again, the thick paper crunching beneath his grasp as he looked over for any signs of rebellion amongst his fellow humans, mind racing to find a way out but seeing nothing, save walls closing in on him.

“My king?” Valorcall whispered.

‘He wants Arathi, he wants me to surrender… Maybe… Maybe I can make this work?’ He thought. Brief compliance, or even merely using the negotiations as a shield against the Witherbark and allowing his forces to secure the countryside?

‘If I am lucky, I may even turn the tables on him,’ Galen thought tapping his family blade.

Pushing away from the table, he said, “Bring me a scribe, I will meet with this barbarian king, provided he forces the Witherbark to stand down, granting us time to regain our footing and turn the tide.”

“A risky plan,” Ariane said, head nodding, “I will marshal your elite guard my king.”

“I will be with you sire,” Valorcall swore, kneeling before him and whispering, “To the end.”

“To the end,” Galen promised, pulling his companion to his feet.

“Now come, we must make ready.”

“Yes, my king.”

_______________________________________________________

Malakk could practically see the snow melting even in the highlands, as he and his procession made their way across the rugged terrain on a roughly maintained stone roadway. The lands of Arathi certainly had a wild beauty to them, reminiscent of the Howling Fjord, he could see why the descendants of Northrend’s humans made their home in such a place.

He had forgone riding his personal war mammoth for Moorabi’s own, Mal’toa was small by their standards and well known for speed. He'd also been ponderous and lonesome since Moorabi’s death, and until a new Prophet was chosen, bereft a partner.

Running a hand through the lumbering beasts’ thick fur, he was drawn from his reverie by a spirited debate among his advisors. Most of whom accompanied him, now that the North had been pacified and their remaining rivals distracted.

“I dislike this, we hold the wall and yet push farther to treat with a family known for slaughtering our kin,” Zol’Maz groused.

Gal’Darah was quick to defend, “We are merely exploring our options, Zol’Maz, the price we pay for complacency is steeper than this trifle.”

Beve’s perpetually playful voice was the next to rise. “My expertise on such politics may pale in comparison to your own, but Alterac agents report the Witherbark were the last tribe to join with Zul’jin’s army.”

Arctikus cut in with a snort, “They speak rightly, the Witherbark are a people I sympathize much with for their lost lands, but they are not well known for their love of their own kind.”

“Is it safe to be meeting with them then?” Illucia intoned, having traded places tending to their daughter with her husband who remained at the palace.

Bith’Sa spoke up at the question, “You have nothing to fear, Royal Councilor. For even if the harsh words are true, violating guest rights is a deep sin among the tribes, they will at least speak with us and let us part safely.”

“Please forgive our ignorance,” Lianne said gently, “It is rather hard, given our known history, to wrap one’s mind around that fact.”

“Generations of war tend to erode one’s sensibilities,” Arctikkus muttered. “But there is no bad blood between the Witherbark and the Drakkari and they would be fools to violate guest rights to such a superior force.”

“Maybe so,” Zol’Maz said, “But that does not tend to the issue at hand.”

“What is the issue at hand?” Malakk intoned gently, cutting through the scattered chatter.

His Warlord drew up, clearly considering his words, fingers coiled tightly on his raptors bridle as he spoke. “I understand the necessity of securing our new borders against dwarven incursion but see no reason not to wait until the battles here are fought.”

“A fair concern,” Malakk conceded, “We may indeed decide not to participate in this dispute when all is said and done. But if mediation is possible, I would seek to halt a massacre before it can begin.” Already he had seen emptied towns and signs of slaughtered travelers, be it by bandits, raiders or beast the sight left his mind stirred and his heart melancholy.

“We cannot take responsibility for the entire world, Frost King Malakk,” Arctukis said.

“Perhaps not, but we are merely feeling the situation out thus far, my friend.” Malakk arched his brow at Zol’Maz and chuckled, “you had other concerns?”

The warlord shrugged, rippling muscles cloaked beneath black armor. “I do not care to consider aligning against our cousins, however unreliable some may see them, to especially not with our enemies.”

“Thoradin is dead, I remind you,” Lianne said gently.

“A Trollbane, is a Trollbane, I doubt their family earned such a title with false pretenses, they are enemies of our kind and should be fought, I am thinking.”

“Is my enemy not vanquished when they become my companion?” Malakk said gamely, sending a wink in Zol’Mas’s direction at the flash of recognition on the other troll’s features.

Arctikus frowned, “Maybe so, but these humans have done nothing to earn your trust as our companions have and the Witherbark are still trolls."

Malakk glanced to Rageclaw who had remained silent and observant thus far, “And Wolvar are Wolvar Great Mother, but we live freely under Frost King Malakk’s rule as though kin.”

“There’s also the ogres to consider,” Kutube'sa added.

“A fair point, we don’t know how they may influence the Witherbark, we may not be speaking with their chieftain at all,” Beve said.

“Well yes,” Kutube'sa said pulling a spy glass from his eye, “But I was also thinking of the ogre I see in the distance.”

Malakk’s focus turned back to the road and he called, “Be wary and ready but make no move lest struck, hear me!”

“We obey, Frost King Malakk!” His Legionaries chanted.

The rest of the march was made in silence, eyes locking onto the armed escort riding out to greet them. A trio of what Malakk knew must be Ogres, pale pink skin looking like rough parchment, with matching belts on rounded bodies, rippling with muscle and adorned with tattoos.

Accompanying them were Witherbark_Shadow_Hunters in leafy robes and Witherbark_Axe_Throwers in form fitting leathers. They were led by a troll on the back of an albino raptor, carrying a hefty spear and adorned in fine ritualistic armor and face paint. All save the Axe Throwers had the deep green hair commonly associated with the tribe, while the axe throwers were dyed a deep crimson red.

Th leader rode forward, accompanied by a stomping Ogre and a Caster, Malakk motioned for his guards to follow and the pair leapt from their mounts to join him as he rode forward.

“Hail, you are the Frost King then!?” Called the mounted rider.

“I am he, and to whom do I have the honor of speaking?” Malakk said, bringing Mal’toa to a stop, patting the beast as it rumbled at the sight of the hissing raptor.

Slapping his armor, the troll cheer, “I am Beastrider_Kama, leading of the joint raiding parties; lieutenant to mistress Ojin'ba and the mighty Kor'gresh_Coldrage who await you!”

“I am honored to be received by souls of such rank,” Malakk answered politely, surprised at the fact he was not being greeted with a Speaker. ‘Maybe they sent theirs to Zul’jin?’ He wondered.

“As are we by you,” the troll grinned. “We had some grand plans with our Boulderfist friends but could not act on them until Lordaeron was thrown into disarray. Now we stand poised to reclaim all of Arathi and then some!”

“I admire your enthusiasm,” Malakk said, “Your leaders, are they the only one’s present?”

The troll nodded, “They are, Kor'gresh is undisputed leader of the Ogres here, while among us our leadership is divided into three. Mai'jin tends to the spiritual needs of our people and resides at the capital while Ojin'ba leads our military and Zalas_Witherbark is the heir to our ancient bloodlines, who casts the deciding vote in all matters, but he is presently in the Hinterlands.”

“A fine and fair system,” Malakk commended, 'They must be conferring with Zul'jin then.'

Kama smiled, nodding, even as he leaned on his mount to eye the slowing approaching convoy. “I see humans among your number, but they seem too well dressed to be gifts.”

His guards scowled, while Malakk’s expression remained placid, “We Drakkari treat no people, regardless of history, as gifts to be given for any reason.”

Kama shrugged, “Twas a joke. Bring your new servants if you wish, a meeting tent has been set up not far from the hill where you can rest and speak, please, follow us!”

Malakk motioned his convoy onwards, the great beasts and carriages rumbling along the path as his soldiers marched in tight lockstep motions across the grassy fields. Meanwhile, the Witherbark raiders raced around in the distance and Ogres stomped across the planes crushing anything in their way.

The trip was not long, and the tent that awaited them was a pleasing sight. A sleek wooden framework held up a thick dark purple material and it was adorned with masks. Compared to the more rounded designs his speaker spoke of among the Amani, it seemed tall almost squared off structures were preferred among the Witherbark.

Malakk flung himself off Mal’toa, ensuring to check in with his advisors as most of them settled in at the heart of the convoy’s carriages with their escorts.

“I will open the discourse and should I have need of you call for you, until then however I feel it best not to risk agitating our hosts,” he said, not having missed the baleful glares from the Witherbark in particular.

They nodded obligingly, and leaving them with his guards, Malakk took Zol’Maz, Arctikus and Gal’Darah with him towards the tent.

Waiting for them at the oval entrance was a tall, lean troll woman with a green mohawk so dark it was nearly black and bright green skin. Her features were smooth and her tusks strong, her form adorned in shadowy robe with runic patterns.

At her side was a massive figure with mottled grey skin and dark brown robes lined with metal. They had two heads with broken horns, one with two eyes and the other with one, all three focused on him. It was rare Malakk met anyone of contemporary height to himself, but the Ogre was a fair match in height, and broader still.

‘How novel,’ he thought, amused at the meeting someone’s eyes so easily.

“Welcome, Frost King Malakk, noble advisor and honored priest,” Ojin’ba said, her sharp eyes not leaving his as she offered a polite bow, which he and his advisors mimicked.

All eyes flickered to the Ogre who merely nodded, one of its faces grinning when rather than press the issue, Malakk spoke, arms held out as if to embrace. “I thank you for agreeing to meet with me, wise Ojin’ba, and mighty Kor’gresh, shall we begin?”

“Of course,” she said with a clap of her hands, and two guards pulled aside the tent flaps, “Let us discuss this away from prying eyes and curious ears.”

After Malakk and Kor’gresh squeezed through, he was greeted by a humble oaken map table, as well as a smattering of scrolls and trinkets hanging from the frameworks, while woven cushions sat around the table awaiting them.

Motioning for them to take a seat, Ojin’ba and Kor’gresh sat on the other side of the table, the latter with a noticeable thump.

Brushing his robes back, Malakk crossed his legs and dropped down into a cross egged sit, Zol’Maz and Gal’Darah following, folding their legs beneath them as they sat at his side, ever so slightly back from him.

“If I may,” Malakk began, only to be cut off.

“Why do you ask us to call off our attacks on the city and why should we?” Kor’gresh rumbled, his voice low and harsh, while Ojin’ba tensed, eyeing his reaction.

“Skipping past the pleasantries then? I can respect that.” Tapping Thoradin’s Wall on the map he said, “You already well know my forces have claimed this place, and of the indignities and horrors suffered by my subjects at the hands of Ironforge and the Alliance High Command.”

“You want the first swing at the Trollbane family?” Ojin’ba said, her tone belying some offence that his crusade was of more importance.

“Quite the opposite in fact,” Malakk murmured, “Thoradin is dead by his own son’s hands, I’ve no investment in any feud here. No, my main concern is stemming Ironforge’s influence and access to this land and her people.” He tapped the Thandol Span, “I wish to see this location secured, and for people to stop fleeing and thus bolstering an enemy nations force.”

Kor’gresh chuckled, “We handling that already, Nimar the Slayer is hunting down people and taking them in the West and my clan raids anyone who tries to go near the bridge.” The Ogre licked his chops at that.

Malakk shrugged, “I’d not wish to disregard your forces skill, but unless I am misinformed, I am somewhat doubtful you can cover such a large land mass, especially when also occupying your homes in the Hinterlands and housing your main army here.” He tapped on Stromgarde again, “It is my hope to find a tidier solution to this situation, one that doesn’t necessitate more bloodshed.”

Ojin’ba’s brow kitted together suspiciously, “You either wish to collaborate with us… Or you want to turn the Stromgardians into vassal as you did the other humans.”

Malakk smiled gently, “Galen seeks to engage with me in diplomacy, I would be a hypocrite if I refused, and such a discourse could well settle this matter I am thinking.”

“Unacceptable,” Ojin’ba said with a slash of her hand, the air pulsing with her power, “They are our enemies, they squat on our land, they all must die.”

Zol’Maz glanced at him and Malakk nodded, letting his Warlord speak, the trolls voice deep and foreboding, “It won’t just be soldiers you’re killing, you think human babes are as guilty as their parents?”

Gal’Darah moved to speak and Malakk allowed him, the Grand Prophet saying, “While scales must be balanced such a slaughter would ultimately exhaust your forces as well leaving you vulnerable to Ironforge, or other rivals.”

“Let us worry about our armies,” Snapped Kor’gresh.

Ojin’ba folded her arms, “The Zandalari always said Drakkari were bold to the point of arrogance, but this is much even for the rumors I have heard. You would side with humans over your own kind just for more power?”

“Hardly,” Malakk said gently, half eyeing Kor’gresh as he spoke. “My hope would be to resolve this long-standing hatred in a manner that sees justice done, balance restored and spares us all bloodshed.”

He held up a hand as the pair made to speak and said, “But I would never cut a deal that harmed your noble selves. I merely wish to answer honor with honor; Galen wished for a meeting, and it is only right I grant it. If he cannot agree to a deal that benefits yourselves, I would simply tell him he must live and die with the consequences of his actions."

Arctikus was quick to join the fray, adding, "We will offer your forces aid in securing the Thandol Span in either case as well.”

Ojin’ba was staring at them thoughtfully, not happily, the tension on her face showed she was biting back a violent scowl, but she was thinking. Kor’gresh meanwhile looked vexed and suitably cocky, not what Malakk had initially planned, but potentially helpful if things became more tense.

Ojin’bas spoke first, her tone sharp but controlled, her motions flowing. “I think this a dangerous endeavor, humans are known for treachery, and they will likely use this dialogue as a chance to move against us. You would be better served by aiding us right away, we would even let you take captured humans back to service your empire.”

“I appreciate the sentiment and swear on my blood if the humans make a move against you, I will join my forces with yours and crush their armies, but not their peasantry. As to your offer,” He gave Ojin’ba a considering glance, “I do not treat people as gifts and the Drakkari are not so weak as to need slaves.”

Kor’gresh scoffed, “I say you lie,” he leaned forward, “I say you want the human’s cos you’re greedy. I say you’re weak.”

Gal’Darah hissed, but Malakk just leaned back as if wary, “What makes you say that?”

Kor’gresh rose to his full impressive height, “You come to us simpering, no harsh words when I don’t bow, no demands, just compliment and begging. You’re weak, you know we won’t obey you like the meek humans would, so you want them on your side, pathetic!”

Malakk gamely rose to his feet, subtly unbuttoning his robe with a swipe of his hand, “I am no such thing, I merely seek to end this without needless violence.”

“Spoken like a true coward, I could break you like a twig!” Kor’gresh snapped.

“Don’t, his empire-”

“Is ailing and stretched thin, led by a coward!”

Malakk smiled, “Care to prove it?”

Kor’gresh’s one-eyed face looked stricken, perhaps realizing the trap, but his dual eyes face turned into a snarl, ignoring its partner who muttered, “Kor!”

Gresh drew his side of the body back and struck a mighty blow!

Malakk felt the Ogre’s fist crash against his palm and enclosed it in his grasp, a sharp hiss keeping his lieutenants back as he met Kor’gresh’s wide eyed stare.

“You have some power there,” Malakk commended.

Fangs flaring, the Ogre tried to yank back his hand but Malakk held firm pressing down and making the bones within creak.

“There is no need for violence!” Ojin’ba said, but her words fell on deaf ears as cold magic whirled in Kor’gresh’s free hand and the Ogre barreled forward.

Malakk dug his feet into the floor, muscles swelling, pressing against his robes as he forced Kor’gresh’s captured arm back and met the freezing blow with sharp downward strike, sending the burst of cold towards him.

Before it could even touch his feet however, he pounced!

Snatching the twin heads in his grasp, Malakk twisted himself around the Ogrem nearly crushing their snarling visages and using them as leverage to swing back. Dual leg strikes landed against the back of Kor’gresh’s and the Ogre let out a muffled yowl as they slammed into the ground.

He yanked the Ogre’s head back painfully far, Kor’gresh’s arms were floundering as they tried to call on magic or even just strike Malakk. But any time they came close, Malakk pulled their heads further back and apart, the bones within screaming in protest.

“Wait, we need him!” Ojin’ba called, the magic on her hands freezing as his own followers leveled spell and steel in her direction.

“This is not a murder, it is a lesson,” Malakk said, his jovial tone undercut with a near snarl.

Kor’gresh growled, trying to speak, ice coiling in their grasp.

As an answer, Malakk leaned forward, stabbing his tusks into the Ogres back, the sharp strike on his spine making the ice flicker and shatter.

Pulling back, Malakk kept his tone ever so level as he squeezed his foes skull. “Such tiny heads, so brittle in my grasp, I could crumble the bone and squish your brain beneath my fingers with a thought.”

He leaned forward, whispering, “I won’t, even though you struck me; because I am kinder than that, wiser than that.”

Another spell flickered even as Ojin’Ba hissed at the Ogre to stop. Malakk just chuckled, driving a knee into the ogres back, forcing the focus from their mind and leaving the mages arms spasming from the blow to the spine.

“You see how easy it is to disrupt your spells and make that strength you’re so proud of come to naught? That is why I do not feel the need to start some stupid little pissing contest and throwing hands with every fool that challenges my pride,” he leaned in and hissed. “Because I know I am better.”

“Wss, jsrt, tst,” Kor’gresh whined through muffled maws.

“Lessons. Not. Over,” Malakk hissed, ice billowing from his maw and sending a chill across the Ogres necks.

“I welcomed your strike against me that you might vindicate mine against you. I broke your guard and went for the most…” He leaned downed, pressing his fangs to the back of the Ogres heart and lungs “Vital points. Because my wars are not against commoners and children, but kings and generals.”

Pushing Kor’gresh’s heads to look at the map he said, “When I go to war, when one coaxes me to strike, I am quick,” He tightened his grip, “I am deadly,” He pushed the Ogre further into the ground, “And I do not waste my time with whomever you may use as a shield, Kor’gresh. Remember that if you think to challenge me again, because I allow mercy but once and never twice.”

He glanced at Ojin’Ba, “If I had wished it, if I had feared them, I could have marched on Lordaeron’s capital in the first week and reduced it to a blasted hearth. I did not though; because I am not so afraid of my foes that I must race to crush them at a moment’s notice. Disavowing all honor and decency that separate me from them, that distinguish the honorable and brave from mere thugs and killers.”

Pressing his tusks into the ogres back he drew his head up leaving shallow, sharp scratches before whispering. “I could have ended this on a whim if I cared not for honor or the lives my cousins and kin. I could have left this madness to play out if I was afraid, but I came to you openly because I at least, am not afraid.”

Seeing the Ogres skin beginning to change color, Malakk released him, Kor’gresh hands slamming into the floor as they spluttered and spat, nearly retching as he strode by them.

“Heal his wounds, all save the scratches on his back,” he threw a glance back at the shaken Ogre, “Let them remember what fear felt like the next time they try and instill it in another.”

Gal’Darah’s hands flickered and Kor’gresh’s eyes widened as the bruised faded and relief flashed across their visage as they rose to their feet, shuffling back a step and glancing to Onij’ba.

Sliding forward and between them, the troll woman said, “My apologies for my companion’s rudeness, he is not familiar with our ways.”

“We all must learn manner some time I suppose,” Malakk said with a chuckle. “I will be meeting with Galen, your forces I hope will turn their attention South or inward for the next twenty for hours that we might talk in peace.”

“Given the disruptions to this meeting I will not contest this,” she bit back a sigh and asked, “Our lands.”

“Will be safe,” Malakk assured, “I swear on my honor your homes will be safe.”

Ojin’ba nodded, whispering fiercely, “Twenty-Four Hours.”

“Indeed,” Malakk pushed aside the tarp and strode into camp with a smile on his lips and a song in his heart.

_______________________________________________________

Ojin’ba watched the Drakkari procession leave, her disappointed soldiers packing up their equipment as they made ready to fall back a ways.

“Not as simple as you thought it would be, was it?” She snapped at Kor’gresh.

The Ogre glowered down at her, briefly patting their shoulders where the scars ended. “Had to see if he had resolve. This is bad for us?”

She shrugged, “It depends how their talks go.” She scowled, “He was right about one thing however, even if we can defeat the humans without interference… The Wildhammer and the Ironforge would overwhelm us.”

“Thinking about that Warlords offer?” Kor’gresh asked.

“Maybe,” she said tightly, memories of the ash and fire, a humiliating retreat filling her mind, “But maybe not. Zul’jin led us astray once, but it is best to keep that door open, should he hold his conquests this time.”

Kor’gresh grunted, “Only said we’d stop hovering round the capital, right?”

“Indeed, other settlements should still be fair game,” she said blandly.

The ogre heads nodded, “Good, we need a meal.”

Ojin’ba repressed a sigh and followed.

_______________________________________________________

Galen wanted to curse; the trolls had moved faster than he’d ever anticipated.

Already his scouts reported the war camp in the hills to be packing up and blue skinned trolls on dragon & bat flittered along the roads, as the procession moved to the Circle of Inner Binding just outside the capital!

‘I’ll never be able to launch a surprise attack at this rate, not without the trolls learning of it and the Circle is too far and too open for snipers or cannon fire.’

The situation was obvious, if he were to try and strike against the Witherbark, the Drakkari would know he had been betrayed the terms of their meeting. If he moved to strike at the troll king his entourage would get word before Galen’s forces could arrive. Then it would turn into a nearly even duel, just long enough for the Witherbark to come roaring back.

‘A duel where they decided the location,’ he thought bitterly.

The Circles may have been a part of Stromgarde’s history, but longstanding superstition and reports of giant attacks kept people away from studying the damned monuments and few saw worth in old stones to begin with.

“My liege?” Valorcall intoned.

Galen bit back a sigh, “Have my sword disguised, should things turn sour I want an ace up my sleeves.”

“We are negotiating then?”

“It would seem so.”