He walked a little way up the steps towards the King, who kept his eyes cast down. His voice was gentle and concerned. ‘And the Orthlundyn. Majesty. They’re a remnant race. You know that. A handful of artists and farmers tending their own lands. A gentle people, devoid of ambition. We’re their Protectors. It’s laid down so in the Law. What would it benefit them to make war on us? They’re few and their land is so lush and fertile that much of it lies fallow from year to year. We’re many and our land is harsh and rocky, albeit more than adequate for our needs.’
There was a long silence. The King did not move.
‘Majesty?’ prompted Eldric eventually.
Without lifting his head, the King spoke. ‘When did you last visit Orthlund, Lord Eldric?’ His voice was flat.
Eldric shrugged vaguely. ‘Many
