Stratholme.
"Still no word from Uther, Teacher?" Tirion Fordring, unable to remain calm any longer, came to ask his teacher.
Archbishop Alonsus Faol silently shook his head.
"Let me take some men and test them again. You can arrange for others to rescue Uther amid the chaos." Tirion looked at his teacher and made the offer himself.
Five or six days had passed since that battle ended, and they had been locked in a standoff with the Orcs. No one knew what the other side was planning. They had not even built siege weapons on the spot, instead remaining camped where they were as though the humans did not exist, staring at them from afar.
Aside from Uther's encounter, there had been no further clashes between the two sides. It was as if both carefully maintained this tacit understanding.
Yet both the humans and the Orcs knew perfectly well that war between them was inevitable. As for when it would begin, it was only a matter of time!
The reason the humans had yet to launch an offensive was that they were not fully prepared and knew too little about the Orcs. As for why the Orcs were going along with them, Archbishop Alonsus could not say. Still, a shadow had continually hung over his mind, leaving him uneasy.
He had sent many scouts into the Orc Camp, but that cursed place was like a Demonic Lair from which none returned. Not a single Scout he dispatched had come back, nor had any managed to relay the intelligence they discovered within the camp by any means.
They served the Lordaeon Royal Family, were superbly equipped, and possessed all manner of stealth-oriented Magic Equipment. Court Mages had even provided them with Spell Scrolls. Even in the cities of the elves, these