An Edged Peace

With the sound of a dying man's final breath, the mud dragged at Sir Kaelan's boots. It served as a perfect soundtrack for the Gray March, this disputed and always wet region that has been thirsty for human and goblin blood for decades. He looked over the remains of yesterday's skirmish, which was just another bloody, clumsy altercation over a few wretched yards of muddy ground; it was never grand enough to be termed a battle anymore. Splintered spears littered the roiling ground like shattered bones. An abandoned goblin shield, made of shabby iron, had the new markings of a human blade on it. His troops gathered the injured and tallied the dead with the silent efficiency of fatigue. This time, there were less of both, a terrible kind of advancement that offered Kaelan no comfort. The fight was just running out of fuel, like a blaze eating its last logs, but it wasn't coming to an end.

The metal echoing hollowly, he pushed his steel-shod toe on a damaged helm. Another ambush of a patrol, another loss of life for...? Keeping a line on a map that changed with the seasons and the occasional goblin raid's intensity. Honored for his bravery at the Battle of Stone Creek a decade prior, Kaelan, Knight of the Realm, felt less like a champion and more like a glorified quartermaster recording defeats. Under the always cloudy sky, the sheen of his metal armor seemed like a mocking. In ballads, honor was a fine thing, but here it felt frail, covered in filth and tinged with the faint smell of swamp water and blood.

"Sir Kaelan?" Jory, a young squire, came up, his face white under a mudsplatter. One of the capital's runners. His Majesty's urgent summons.

Kaelan's stomach clenched. Typically, an urgent summons indicated either a significant goblin onslaught was imminent or a need for additional resources that the border forts lacked. Neither choice was desirable. "I understand, Jory. Take care of the males. I'll go riding right away."

With the leather still wet under the steel, he removed his gauntlets and gave them to the squire. It was a quick ride back to the forward command post, a recently constructed stone stronghold ostentatiously dubbed 'Vigilance'. With its breath plummeting in the cool, moist air, his horse, a robust charger named Steadfast, appeared to share his fatigue. The royal runner waited in the relative warmth of the castle, still panting heavily, holding a scroll bearing King Theodan's crest sealed on it. There was a sense of urgency.

Kaelan wasted no time in removing the worst of his mud-splattered outer clothing. An unknown concern was gnawing at him, but within an hour he was riding hard for the city, leaving behind the Gray March and its usual woes.

Theodan III, the king, appeared older than his fifty years. He appeared to have thicker lines of worry around his mouth and eyes while he was enthroned in Whitespire Castle's somewhat chilly Great Hall. Time and, Kaelan suspected, the prevailing melancholy of the never-ending conflict had muted the vivid threads of the tapestries that showed his forefathers' magnificent victories.

The King said, "Sir Kaelan," in a hoarse voice. He skipped the customary etiquette and pointed to an adjacent chair. "Please sit down. We need to talk about some really important issues.

Kaelan lowered his head and accepted the seat that was provided. Unspoken anxiety hung heavy in the hall air.

"The reports from the Gray March are… grim," Theodan said, clenching his fingers together. "The reports from the Northern Farmlands and the Eastern Mines are also accurate. Kaelan, resources are running low. Our treasury is almost empty, and our granaries are low. According to our scouts, the goblins experience comparable difficulties. The horde of Chief Grok'nar suffers. We are both bleeding white from this war.

Kaelan gave a slow nod. This was only the harsh reality presented; it was not news. "Your Majesty imparts knowledge. However, the goblins are not easily subdued.

Theodan said, "No," as an odd light came into his eyes. "They don't. For this reason, we have to take a hitherto unimaginable route. "A route to tranquility."

Kaelan stood up. After millennia of violence, peace? It was fanciful. "A truce, Your Majesty?"

"More," said the King, bending forward. "An end to hostilities for good. a partnership." He hesitated, allowing the word to sink in. "Sealed by a union."

Kaelan found it difficult to understand the implication. A union? "Your Majesty... I'm not sure I understand.

Theodan said, "A marriage, Sir Kaelan," his eyes meeting Kaelan's. In order to unite our peoples. to impose collaboration when only animosity has thrived.

Kaelan felt a chill of dread creep up his spine, colder than the March wind. A dreadful premonition came to him. "A marriage… between whom?"

"Between the future leaders," stated the King in a resolute tone. "Between my most trusted and honorable knight… and the daughter of the Goblin Chief."

The world swayed. The blood drained from Kaelan's face. Get married to a goblin? His imagination was filled with pictures of their cruelty, their snarling features in combat, and their squalid encampments. They were violent, uncivilized, and everything that mankind had come to despise. Their chief's daughter? Of all of them, she would undoubtedly be the worst.

"Your Majesty," Kaelan said, straining to maintain the poise that was expected of him. "Pardon my directness, but this is insane. They aren't the same. Absolutely. What a union. He was unable to complete the phrase. The disgust was too great.

"Is necessary!" In a rare display of strength, Theodan banged his fist into the armrest. "Yes, it is radical! Never before! It might even be terrifying to think about! But Kaelan, see past your biases. Consider the lives that were spared. The kingdom came back. Imagine putting a stop to this never-ending death!" His enthusiasm waned and was once more replaced by fatigue. Gork'nar has concurred. He has his own motivations, which could be desperation or pragmatism. He perceives the same chasm that we do. Additionally, he has made his daughter Grakka an offer.

Grakka. The name had a guttural, harsh sound. Kaelan could practically visualize her—big, green-skinned, with tusks. He stifled a shiver.

"Why me, Your Majesty?" Kaelan's question was subtle but rife with conflict.

"Because," Theodan remarked, his tone a little softer, "you represent the best in us." Even our adversaries are aware of your honor. In addition to being a warrior, you are also a diplomat. You are the one who can fill this gap, Kaelan. I wouldn't put that burden on anyone else. A sacrifice for the kingdom.

A sacrifice. That seemed terrifyingly true. Deep-seated disgust fought duty. He reflected on the dirt, the meaningless dead, and the emptiness of the protracted conflict. Is this really the end of it? Could there possible be such an unnatural bond? He sensed the desperation beneath the resolve when he glanced at his King. He had little choice because of his pledge, his allegiance, and his deep-rooted obedience.

Kaelan said the words, "If this is the price of peace," and his mouth felt like ash. "And Your Majesty decrees it… I'll cover the cost."

The smell of moist earth, roasted meat, and woodsmoke filled the air miles away in the rocky foothills that marked the start of goblin territory. With rhythmic accuracy, Grakka smacked her whetstone on the cleaver's already razor-sharp edge. Hissing scrape. Hissing scrape. After the morning's patrol check, the peaceful sound helped her focus her thoughts. Carelessness on the part of one of the younger scouts had almost resulted to the death of an entire raiding group. She had completely scolded him out. Here, sentiment had no place; alertness was necessary for existence.

There were no fertile plains or dense trees in her father's domain. There were deep caverns, rocky terrain, and cleverly concealed passageways. Instead of constructing castles, goblins responded by fortifying themselves with the ground. The best qualities were ingenuity, strength, and practicality. The rest was baggage.

"Grakka!" Borg, one of her father's oldest counselors, called out sharply, his scarred face stern. "You are wanted by the Chief. "Now."

Sliding the cleaver back into its sheath on her hip, Grakka scowled. A call for immediate action was not anticipated; a summons was. Ignoring the nods and grunts of thanks, she trailed Borg through the busy tunnel system that was their primary settlement. Grok'nar, her father, sat on a stone throne covered with furs of questionable origin and held court, if such a formal term could be used, in the deepest chamber. The walls were hung with cured hides carved with maps of patrol routes and known human weaknesses.

Grok'nar had the solid muscle and old scars like a beaten boulder, and his tusks were keen but yellowed. He didn't spend any time. He growled, "The war ends," as she stepped inside.

Grakka abruptly halted. "What deception is this? Have the softskins given up?

Grok'nar growled, "No surrender," his eyes staring at her like obsidian pieces. "Calm. A deal.

"Agreement?" The word was spewed by Grakka. "We don't enter into contracts with prey. We only take what we require.

Grok'nar retorted, "Our hunting grounds shrink," pointing to a chart that displayed charcoal-marked places that were depleted. "Southward, the cattle go. With each season, human colonies expand. We are few in number. So do theirs. We both suffer from this battle. Mutual annihilation is not a victory.

Grakka became agitated. It sounded like a sign of weakness. "So we back off? Quietly starve in our caves?"

"We adapt," said her father bluntly. "A deal has been reached with Theodan, the human monarch. a partnership." He watched her response, letting that sink in.

Her response was unmitigated rage. "Company? Alongside them? The armor-plated, oath-breaking, feeble pests? Have you gone insane to rot, father?

Ignoring her tirade, Grok'nar went on, "The alliance requires a bond," "A long-lasting one. to guarantee that neither party readily betrays faith."

Grakka's gaze grew strained. The terrible suspicion that Kaelan had sensed from kilometers away came to life. "What kind of bond?"

"A marriage," Grok'nar murmured, the word settling into the quiet like a stone. "You'll marry their champion of choice. A knight.

After staring, Grakka erupted in sour laughter. "Get married to a human? A pretentious, metal-clad prick who probably requires assistance getting on his own horse? You're kidding!" Her laughter stopped when her father's face didn't shift. "You are serious?" Outrage clashed with disbelief. "You would sell your daughter to those things as breeding stock? When it's convenient for them, they'll violate the truce." The idea of being bound to one of the animals she had spent her entire life battling and compelled to live in their soft, fragrant environment was disgusting.

"He is said to be their best," Grok'nar said. "They call him honorable. Kaelan, sir. Other than the fact that they value him, it signifies nothing. By tying him to us, we gain power. We have time to heal, restore, and discover their inner faults when there is peace. His voice trailed off as he leaned forward. "Daughter, this is not sentiment; this is strategy. You're a fighter. The survival of the tribe is your responsibility. Now, this is your battleground.

Grakka was stuck. Her father was appealing to the ruthless pragmatism he had instilled in her, not to loyalty. Make a case against surviving? In opposition to the plan? He was too familiar with her. The thought of the forced closeness, the fake smiles, and the final betrayal made her stomach turn. Even though it was disgusting, the reasoning was sound. Compared to combat, starvation was a slower, less calculated death, but it was still as certain.

Her knuckles were white as she balled her fists. She bit out the word "fine," which tasted like bile. "The human will be my spouse. However, I would gut him myself if he turns out to be worthless.

A goblin warrior famed for her ferocity and a knight known for his honor pondered their shared, terrifying future, miles apart, under different roofs but under the same stifling sky. The agreement was finalized. The cost was decided. And none could imagine the actual price that was yet to be paid.