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smiled. “I was thinking about our future,” he said. “What it might hold for us, and whether we might create a family one day.”
    “You mean children?” Dimwater said with a snigger. She shook her head and dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think that would be a wise idea,” she said with a wide smile. “What kind of offspring would we create? You half dragon, and me half demon, that doesn’t sound like a smart mix.”
    Lepkin offered a sheepish smile and looked down to his soup. He took another spoonful of soup and then moved on to cut a piece of venison.
    “I have offended you, haven’t I?” Dimwater asked. Lepkin shook his head, but kept focusing on the food he was slicing. “That was not my intent. It is only that we are both a bit beyond our prime, in terms of appropriate ages for starting a family. I will agree that I thought of it many times, but I don’t know that that is in the cards for us now.”
    “What if it was?” Lepkin asked, pressing the issue.
    Dimwater shrugged. “It will be hard enough to fight the battles we have as it is. I see no wisdom in fighting while pregnant.”
    Lepkin took a bite. As he chewed, he thought perhaps he should tell her what Marlin said. After all, not telling her didn’t change the fact, and should she ever find out that he knew before her and held it from her, perhaps that would be worse than not letting her discover it on her own. He swallowed the bite, hardly tasting it, and was about to explain everything Marlin had said when the door flew open. Lepkin instinctively gripped his knife in a way that would allow him to throw it at the intruder. Dimwater similarly prepared to weave a spell, but there was no need.
    A man stood in the doorway, sweat across his brow and panting for breath. “Millwort is dead,” he said between gasps. “Mercer has requested you meet him in the courtyard.”
    Lepkin nodded and the man turned to run on down the hall.
    “Kranson Millwort was the commander of the scouts right?” Dimwater asked.
    Lepkin sighed. “He is also the one who identified Eddin Finorel’s handwriting and seal upon treasonous missives directed to the enemy,” Lepkin replied.
    Lepkin dropped the knife and made for the door with Dimwater only half a step behind. They jogged through the halls, down the many stairs, and out into the courtyard. A host of men stood gathered together so that Lepkin couldn’t see. He pushed his way through and found a horrid scene in the center of the crowd.
    Millwort’s head, along with the heads of seven of his scouts, dangled from a rope tied around a horse’s neck. Each head was fastened to the rope with its own hair. Pinned to the saddle was a letter, written upon a bit of stretched human skin.
    “The orcs have sent us a warning,” Mercer growled.
    Lepkin nodded and stepped forward to inspect the letter. “It’s written in common tongue,” he said. “Usually they use only symbols.”
    “Obviously the sender wants us to understand he is intelligent.”
    Lepkin arched a brow. “Most orcs are,” he said. “But that does not explain how or why this particular orc would learn Common Tongue. I did meet one on the battlefield who also spoke in Common Tongue. That would suggest there is something more to it than just one or two orcs that chose to dabble in languages. They have their own language, books, and laws. To learn Common Tongue suggests that they had been preparing this for quite some time.”
    “Or, at the very least, that they have studied our culture,” Mercer added. “Over the years I have found references to orc battle commanders and officers who are all taught Common Tongue.”
    “Where would he get such documents to learn from?” Lepkin asked.
    Mercer lifted his right index finger and motioned for Lepkin to follow him. “The rest of you get a pit dug and bury the heads along with the horse.”
    “The horse too?” Dimwater asked.
    Mercer nodded. “An orc would never offer a