CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

The news reached the human kingdoms before the truth behind it did.

Messengers arrived from frontier settlements carrying contradictory reports, merchants returned from the western trade roads speaking of an impossible conquest, and scouts stationed near the borders sent back fragments of information that became increasingly difficult to believe with every retelling. The Orc tribes of the Shattered Steppes, which had spent generations fighting among themselves, had apparently been united under a single ruler.

No one knew who that ruler was.

That uncertainty was what troubled the human kingdoms most.

Inside the Grand Council Chamber of the United Realms, representatives from the most powerful human kingdoms gathered beneath a vaulted ceiling decorated with banners, ancient war standards, and the crests of noble houses. The chamber had been built to settle disputes between kingdoms, coordinate armies, and respond to threats that no single realm could safely face alone.

Today, every seat was occupied.

The western frontier commanders had demanded the meeting after three separate scouting parties failed to return. Merchants had reported that entire Orc settlements were suddenly flying a new banner, a stark white nine-pointed star set over an obsidian black field, while refugees claimed that the rival tribes were no longer fighting each other.

The most disturbing reports claimed that five Grand Chieftains had fallen.

And something had taken their place.

King Aldric of Valoria sat at the head of the council table, his silver crown resting above a stern, weathered face. To his right sat Queen Meriel of Aranth, surrounded by two military advisers and her royal spymaster. Across from them were the representatives of the northern kingdoms, the merchant princes of the central realms, and several dukes whose territories bordered the western frontier.

At the far end of the table sat a man whose presence commanded considerably more attention than his title alone suggested.

Duke Alban of House Alban had come personally.

The Duchy of Alban belonged to one of the strongest kingdoms in the United Realms, a realm whose armies were considered second only to those of the central imperial crown. Duke Alban himself was a veteran commander who had survived three major wars against Orc hordes, two border rebellions, and the infamous Siege of Red Hollow.

He listened silently while the council argued.

”We are giving this far too much importance,” Lord Harren of the eastern territories said with a dismissive laugh. ”The Orcs have done this before. One chieftain becomes powerful, gathers several tribes beneath his banner, and declares himself ruler of the Steppes. Then his followers begin fighting among themselves and the entire thing collapses.”

Several nobles nodded in agreement.

”The same happened forty years ago,” another lord added. ”And again twenty-seven years before that.”

”Precisely,” Harren said. ”They are Orcs. Their nature has not changed.”

A few members of the council laughed.

Even King Aldric allowed a faint smile.

The western frontier had endured generations of Orc raids, but the Orcs had never managed to maintain a unified kingdom for long. Their clans were too violent, too proud, and too divided by blood feuds.

Eventually, every Orc warlord turned on the others.

The council had seen it happen repeatedly.

A military adviser beside Queen Meriel leaned forward. ”Our scouts estimate that the fighting between the tribes lasted several days. Whatever alliance existed between them was probably forced by a single dominant warlord. Once the immediate threat disappears, the tribes will likely disperse.”

”Precisely,” Lord Harren replied.

A younger noble laughed. ”Perhaps we should send congratulations to this mysterious Orc king and offer him a crown. It might save us the trouble of killing him ourselves.”

The chamber erupted in restrained laughter.

Only Duke Alban did not smile.

He had been studying the parchment placed before him.

The report was short.

Too short.

It contained no confirmed name, no verified description, no known lineage, and no information regarding the army’s exact composition. The only consistent detail was that the Orc tribes had stopped fighting each other and now marched beneath an obsidian black flag displaying a single white nine-pointed star.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Duke Alban finally raised his eyes. ”How many tribes?”

The room quieted slightly.

The frontier commander stood from his seat. ”Five major tribes have been confirmed, Your Grace. There may be smaller clans under their control as well.”

”And the Grand Chieftains?”

”Dead.”

”All five?”

”That is what the reports claim.”

Duke Alban leaned back. ”How?”

The commander hesitated. ”We don’t know.”

A murmur passed through the chamber.

Duke Alban’s expression remained unchanged. ”You do not know how five Grand Chieftains died, yet you are certain they are dead?”

”We have verified the deaths of at least three through independent witnesses. The other two are believed to have fallen during the final battle.”

”Against whom?”

Again, silence.

The commander finally answered. ”The ruler behind the nine-pointed star.”

Duke Alban looked toward King Aldric. ”Then perhaps we should stop calling him a simple Orc warlord.”

Lord Harren frowned. ”And what would you call him?”

”Unknown.”

The word carried more weight than its simplicity suggested.

Duke Alban placed the parchment on the table. ”We have no name, no confirmed race, no known origin, no history, and no reliable estimate of his strength. Yet he has apparently destroyed five Grand Chieftains, replaced their clan sigils with a white nine-pointed star over obsidian black, and brought their tribes under one command.” He looked around the chamber. ”And we are laughing because we believe the Orcs will eventually disperse.”

The laughter had disappeared.

Lord Harren shifted in his chair. ”You make it sound as though you believe this ruler is a threat to the United Realms.”

”I believe uncertainty is a threat.” Duke Alban’s voice remained calm. ”If this is nothing more than another Orc warlord, then we lose nothing by investigating. If it is something else, every month we spend dismissing it gives him more time to consolidate the Steppes.”

Queen Meriel nodded slowly. ”How large is his army?”

”Unknown,” the commander replied.

”Another unknown,” Duke Alban murmured. He turned toward the royal spymaster. ”What do we know about the owner of this new banner?”

The spymaster opened a second report. ”Very little. Some witnesses describe a human. Others claim he is an undead sorcerer. There are reports of dark magic, spatial distortion, and violet lightning.”

A few nobles exchanged amused looks.

One of them laughed. ”A human ruling Orcs?”

Another shook his head. ”Then the witnesses were drunk.”

The spymaster continued despite the interruptions. ”There are also reports that the new ruler possesses five personal warlords. All five are said to have been former Grand Chieftains.”

The laughter stopped.

The king leaned forward. ”Former?”

”Yes, Your Majesty.”

”What does that mean?”

”We believe they were killed.”

”And yet they serve him?”

The spymaster lowered his report. ”That is what the witnesses claim. They say those five warlords stand behind him blindfolded, obeying every silent command beneath the obsidian banner of the white nine-pointed star.”

The chamber became silent.

Duke Alban’s eyes narrowed. ”Necromancy.”

”That is one possibility.”

”Or something worse.”

King Aldric looked toward him. ”You have fought Orcs longer than most men in this chamber. What do you think?”

Duke Alban considered the question. ”The Orcs have always been dangerous because they are divided.” He looked toward the western map hanging behind the king. ”The Shattered Steppes are enormous. Their tribes have fought one another for generations, which has prevented any single warlord from gathering enough strength to threaten the human kingdoms.”

His finger moved toward the western frontier. ”If someone has truly united them, then the situation has changed.”

Lord Harren scoffed. ”For how long?”

Duke Alban looked at him. ”That is the question we should be asking.” He pointed toward the map. ”Not whether they will eventually fall apart. Every empire eventually falls apart. The question is what they can accomplish before they do.”

No one laughed this time.

The military commanders began exchanging quiet glances.

King Aldric slowly stood. ”Then we will send scouts.”

Duke Alban shook his head. ”Not scouts.”

The king looked at him. ”Then what?”

”Observers.” Duke Alban’s expression hardened. ”Scouts approach territory to gather tactical information. Observers remain hidden and watch for patterns. I want to know how the Orcs are behaving now beneath that white nine-pointed star. Are they still fighting among themselves? Are they moving supplies? Are they building fortifications? Are they recruiting? Are they marching?” He paused. ”And most importantly, I want to know whether this new ruler is actually an Orc.”

The statement drew several uneasy looks.

Queen Meriel folded her hands over the table. ”You believe the reports about a human?”

”I believe nothing yet.” Duke Alban glanced toward the parchment again. ”But five Grand Chieftains are dead. Five tribes are united. Their armies are obeying someone. Until we know who is giving those orders, we should assume the most dangerous possibility.”

King Aldric nodded. ”Agreed.” He turned toward the commander. ”Prepare an expedition. Quietly. No banners, no royal insignia, and no engagement unless absolutely necessary.”

The commander bowed. ”Yes, Your Majesty.”

”We will not declare war over rumors,” the king added, looking around the council chamber. ”But neither will we ignore them.”

The meeting began to dissolve into smaller discussions as advisers gathered around maps and commanders reviewed the western routes. Some nobles continued insisting that the Orc alliance would collapse within months, while others argued that the human kingdoms should reinforce their frontier settlements immediately.

Duke Alban remained seated.

His gaze stayed fixed on the map of the Shattered Steppes.

Something about the reports bothered him.

Not the Orcs.

The silence surrounding their new ruler.

Five Grand Chieftains had disappeared, five armies had changed allegiance, and yet no one could provide a name to match the obsidian banner of the white nine-pointed star.

Duke Alban slowly folded the intelligence report and placed it inside his coat. ”Who are you?” he murmured.

Far beyond the western frontier, where the red earth stretched beneath an endless sky, a new power was already taking shape beneath an obsidian black flag marked with a white nine-pointed star.

The human kingdoms did not know his name. They did not know his face, his history, or that the ruler they dismissed as another temporary Orc warlord was not an Orc at all.

And they certainly did not know that the man ruling the Shattered Steppes had no intention of allowing his new kingdom to collapse.

For now, the United Realms watched the Steppes from afar.

Caius watched them in return.