“You seem to have thrown him off kilter,” said Dathor. “As you say, it has been a long time since he saw you. He does not like you. He seemed to wish to be away from you.”
“Yes,” she said. “He did.”
Dathor nodded. “Well, very good, then.”
She let out a breath, quite pleased with herself.
DATHOR WAS SURPRISEDto be summoned to the gateagain, much later that evening, after darkness had fallen. He was even more surprised to see Igbar there, holding up a letter.
He handed it through the bars of the gate, the other orc’s expression grim.
Dathor turned it over. It was addressed to the Envivtain nae Oirnir, a region in the Vale. “What is this?”
“Is it true?” said Igbar. “Are we invading?”
Dathor licked his lips. He nodded. “We are.”
Igbar clutched at the bar of the gate, holding himself up as he bowed his head. His eyes shone with unshed tears. “After all these years. All these years of abuse and the way they shoved us back that pass, after all these years, we finally give them an answer to the way they have treated us.”
“Indeed, we do,” said Dathor. “So, she told you.” He let out a breath. “She used the writing desk. I should have realized. What an idiot I am. She wrote it all down, did she?”
“She did,” said Igbar. “But I volunteered to take the letter to the postmaster to be put on the train, and I shall not deliver it.”
“How long until he expects a reply, do you think?”
“My master should not feel anything has gone wrong, I do not think, for at least a week and a half. At that point, he’ll send another letter, but I’ll take that one as well. When he gets no response on it, he’ll suspect me, and then I will wish to come here.”
“Of course,” said Dathor. “You would be welcome.”
Igbar nodded. “Good. Well, I suppose that is all, then.”
Dathor’s jaw worked. “I am surprised that you would do this. I thought you loved him.”
“It has been six years since I’ve seen you,” said Igbar. “I have had time to think over a number of things.”
“I see,” said Dathor.
“And Nathre?” said Igbar. “Is she safe and sound in Arzakh?”
Dathor’s face fell. He could not look at the other man. “I failed her.”
“No. What happened? Is she…?”
“I failed her. She died. The baby died. I…” He felt tears coming to his eyes about this, and he had not cried over it in so long, but Igbar had been like a brother to Nathre. He had loved her, and to have been the source of the poor girl’s destruction, it—
“Not your fault.” Igbar’s hand came through the bars of the gate to settle against his shoulder. “It’s the elves’s fault.”
Dathor lifted his gaze to the other orc’s face. “Itistheir fault.”
“They have treated us badly for too long,” said Igbar. “Now, may they feel just a fraction of the sorrow they visited upon us. Just afraction.”
“Indeed,” said Dathor.
He and Igbar looked at each other, and a current of understanding passed through them, a current of connection.
It was something to feel, was it not?
Kinship?
