Those Who Stand at the Edge (4)
The drizzle turned into a downpour almost at once. No one had noticed the storm clouds gathering, and already the rain was hammering down without mercy.
Shhhaaaa. Rain drummed against the orc settlement. Small sounds were swallowed whole, and the atmosphere grew heavier still.
"Human."
Karakh did not look at Ushun, who stood blocking his path.
It was a rather strange thing to do. Ushun was built like a bear, far too imposing a presence to simply look away from.
Yet Karakh glared past the massive warrior in front of him, at the one standing behind her — at a mere boy.
The boy had not risen from his seat. Which meant he was in no position to defend against an attack.
He looked so helpless that Karakh could have torn him apart with his bare teeth, no blade required.
No.
Karakh denied what his eyes told him. He trusted his instincts more than his sight.
Every orc was a hunter. And so the king of the orcs was a hunter as well. Karakh was an objectively superb hunter, and therefore he could feel it.
The keenness in the boy. The viciously sharp edge of killing intent he carried.
Ah. Yes. Now I can see his hands.
Even seated, his hands were taut, as if already facing a battle. If the hands were ready, the blade could be drawn at any moment.
If I lunge at him, he'll cut me down. Is that it?
There would be no hesitation. And no mistake. That resolve was plain in those hands. The back of the boy's hands, brimming with certainty, struck Karakh as deeply unpleasant.
Could he truly manage it?
Was the boy the warrior he'd heard him to be? But where in that small body was such strength supposed to reside?
Karakh even felt the urge to test it himself.
What did you see in that brat, Narinhoon?
Vesta, visible between Ushun's legs, remained motionless still.
Rain poured down in the silence.
"The weather is being mischievous."
Vesta brought up the weather as if nothing had happened.
"Mountain rain is especially cold, and it soaks right into the bone, as I'm sure you know. I'm afraid the welcoming ceremony will have to end here."
It did not sound like a request. It sounded like a declaration. Ushun and the Keshik honored its meaning.
"So it seems."
Karakh did not stop him either. Deciding when to take one's leave was a guest's right, not a host's.
This is no place to fight.
Karakh was an orc well versed in discernment. He did not live at the mercy of his impulses. Ask him what he lived by, and the answer was faith and judgment.
Attacking Vesta would be a violation of the customs of hospitality — for protecting one's guest was itself part of that hospitality. To strike at one who had been received as a guest was to betray one's duty.
If an orc betrayed his duty, the elves would gain their justification.
And if the hilt of that justification — a blade named justification — fell into the hand of the Khan of the Wilderness, Karakh would have to go to war.
So he had never intended to attack Vesta in the first place. No — that wasn't quite true. He had thought of it. He simply had no means of doing so.
"I chose a poor day for this. My apologies."
Karakh returned to his seat. Ushun did not sit, and so the Keshik and the orcs remained standing as well.
Only Karakh and Vesta spoke, both of them seated.
"Did my behavior give rise to any unpleasant misunderstanding?"
Vesta answered that it had not. He had been watching Karakh's eyes for some time now.
The orc had felt violent emotion, certainly — but it had never seemed poised to spill over onto Vesta himself.
"Then I am glad."
Karakh gestured toward the orc warrior standing at attention.
"Bring out the gifts."
The warrior bowed his head and returned with objects wrapped in silk.
"Gifts for the Khan of the Wilderness. For your king."
The Keshik accepted the parcels. Whatever they contained, they would be subjected to a thorough inspection before anyone worried over them.
"And I'll send a gift of my own to your husband."
"Thank you."
"I've kept my guests standing far too long. Shall we bring this gathering to a close?"
"Let's do that."
Karakh nodded.
"Travel safely."
Vesta rose from his seat. Then he turned his back. Ushun and the Keshik did not turn with him; they held their ground and watched the orcs for a long while.
"You cannot be my king. That's what you said, isn't it?"
Karakh stopped Vesta in his tracks.
"......"
You cannot be my king. Looked at one way, those words might have sounded like loyalty to a Khan. And in truth, Vesta served only one king. Ashtien, and no one else.
Scrutinized closely, it had been an answer that did not answer the question at all.
A wrong answer. Which meant there was no grounds to fault him for it.
Even if the true meaning buried in those words was a denial of Karakh's very kingship.
"It seems we define kingship in different ways. The king you define is not the king I pursue."
The wolf that leads the pack is not the strongest wolf. It is the wolf that makes the right judgments. At least, that was what Karakh believed.
"Naturally. My opinion is idle nonsense that concerns no one."
"Go on in."
"Yes. Good day."
The Keshik closed ranks around Vesta as he drew near. Ushun kept facing the orcs, unblinking. The Keshik moved around her, leaving her at the rear.
"We ate well."
Ushun offered her thanks in a voice like ice, then turned and walked away.
She put her back to dozens of orcs. There was no haste in her steps, and no fear. She was utterly unashamed.
"Think nothing of it."
Karakh gave that answer, and then sank into silence.
The rain kept falling. It intruded even upon the king's seat. Karakh did not care that he was being soaked through. That was simply what a king of the orcs was. Nothing more, nothing less.
A beast of prey does not ask for anything...
Those words, he suspected, would stay with him for a very long time.
"You're soaked to the bone."
"Hehe."
"What are you grinning about? Do you think this is our own tribe's territory? As if the bitter cold weren't enough, you had to go and get caught in the rain. If you catch a chill..."
Ashtien fussed over him in a voice full of tenderness. She toweled Vesta's hair dry with a cloth.
She had stoked the fire for him and prepared warm tea.
"At least only my outer clothes got wet."
It was fortunate his underlayers had stayed dry. Had they soaked through, his body heat would have plummeted.
Vesta drank the tea Ashtien had brewed and nodded with a satisfied expression.
"That's the stuff."
"All that fuss over a single cup of tea."
It was only a cup of tea — but it was a cup of tea Ashtien had brewed with her own hands, and so it carried its own meaning and worth.
"So, how was the welcoming ceremony the orcs prepared?"
"A fascinating experience."
Satisfaction aside, where else in the world would he ever have lived through something like that?
"Then I'm glad."
The conversation flowed on.
In due course, the talk turned to Karakh. He was the very one who had sent the invitation, and a man who styled himself king of the orcs besides — his name could hardly be left out.
Vesta recounted their exchange exactly as it had happened.
"Haha! You must have been taken aback."
Ashtien laughed loud enough to embarrass him.
"Did I overstep?"
Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut.
Thinking it over now, he felt he'd been too cheeky. He could only pray it wouldn't turn into a political problem.
"No, you didn't."
Ashtien answered with a generous smile.
"Be bold, wherever you are and whoever stands before you. You are the first person who need never ask my permission."
Ashtien brushed the wet hair back from Vesta's brow.
Vesta, feeling gratuitously flustered, slipped his head out from under her hand. Ashtien only chuckled.
"By the way — why did you think that?"
"What do you mean?"
"You said he didn't feel like a king to you."
A king may double as a warrior, Ashtien said, but he should never have to live as one.
"Much less a mere beast of prey, and not even a warrior at that. A king must know how to endure — how could one pursue the life of an animal?"
Her tone was not one of rebuke. If anything, she seemed genuinely curious to hear his reasoning.
"Because he's the king of the orcs. If he's the king of beasts of prey, shouldn't the king himself be a beast of prey?"
The king of predators could not be a man. Predators cannot be tamed. To control them, one had to become their leader — to reign as the fiercest beast among beasts.
The closer he came to being human, the further Karakh drifted from being their king. That was what Vesta believed.
"An interesting view. It departs from my own path of kingship."
But contradicting her royal path did not make his answer a wrong one — so Ashtien conceded.
"Mm. Now that I think of it, it truly is a marvel. Who would have imagined the day would come when you and I would speak of kingship?"
She's right about that. What am I doing, discussing kingship with a genuine ruler?
A needless wave of embarrassment washed over him — as though he'd been prattling on about matters he knew nothing of, in front of an expert.
Of course, Ashtien was thoroughly enjoying the conversation, and thought all the better of Vesta for it.
She drew a little closer.
"And what about me? In your eyes, am I suited to be a king?"
"Of course."
He answered without a moment's hesitation. It was the truth, after all.
"And what kind of person befits a king?"
The second question gave him slightly more pause.
"Someone special."
Ashtien's eyes widened a fraction. Then, before long, they softened into a gentle curve — the look she wore when some other thought was stirring behind them.
"Am I special to you, then?"
Vesta's words caught in his throat. When he failed to answer straight away, Ashtien closed the distance between them. She jabbed him in the ribs.
"Ngh."
"Well?"
"Th-that's..."
Vesta began inching his body away. Not that it would do him any good. His opponent was the finest hunter on the steppe.
"Tell me, Vesta."