“Master Dodge,” said the King of the Arborland, “Remind me to be so cordial when the Mountain army makes ‘adjustments’ to the Waterside border.  In the meantime, I see an opportunity for profit.  If the ancient law is to be ignored, let us re-form our Joint Repository as a hall of games.  Vellum will deal cards from the bottom, and the house will win every hand.”

He raised an eyebrow toward the Prince, but failed to win a hint of amusement.

“No one but yourself is making light of the law,” said the Mountainland King.  “We of the Mountains have honored the Documents faithfully.  In truth, we have been the most faithful of the kingdoms, in light of our disadvantages.

“For all their wisdom, the Dividers misjudged the soil of the Tympanic Range.  They gave the Mountainlands an impressive footprint, but our land cannot be made to grow food.  Our toil is greater than yours, and our harvest is miniscule.  Hunger is a way of life for the children.

“So many times I have sought relief through diplomacy, and so many times you have rebuffed me.  Since hardness is your one language of fluency, I have have called you to the table in your mother tongue.”

“Your Highness,” said the Arbor King, “If I had your soil, my wealth would be double, and the children of the Arborland would be twice as fat.”

Even Dodge raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, but the goose will not cry at the fox’s tale,” he continued, “The Mountain Kingdom has 400,000 men, and you keep a standing army of 200,000.  You conscript the farmers from their fields, and the corn goes to seed.  Your masons are busy making towers of defense, but your silos leak, and the grain rots in them.  Half a million stags are grazing the Tympanic foothills, and the would-be hunters are in my Orchard, guarding your illegal conquest.

“During the famines, your father managed to feed his people.  Your Grandfather yielded a surplus every year, and his traders made a fortune selling produce.  If your people have no food, the fault is in their capitol, not in their soil.

The King of the Mountainland, at ease until now, was suddenly burning.  “Your Highness is again mistaken.  I have 300,000 men in my standing army, and you shall feel them all breathing on your neck.  I’ve come to you as a beggar, and you have filled my basket with insults.”

“You have come to me as a thief, and I shall see the spoils returned.”

The King of the Mountainlands rose to his feet.  “I will not stay to hear such…”

“Your Majesty of the Arborland.”

Both kings were caught short by the manly voice, too insistent to be Vellum’s, too young for Dodge.  The Mountainland Prince rose, claiming the voice as his own.

“Your Majesty of the Arborland,” he repeated, “If the Army of the Mountains were to make a full retreat, could you then be moved to aid us?”

“Your Majesty of the High Peaks,” said the Arbor King, his first use of the Prince’s honorific.  “If the Army of the Mountains were to make a full retreat, the Kingdom of the Arborland would be busy rebuilding homes, and comforting the widows of our border guards.  For your hungry people, my advice is to plough your fields, sow seed, and tend your crop all the way through to harvest.”

The King of the Mountainlands interjected, smiling again.  “I beg you, Your Majesty, no lectures for my son.  Once he sees our new Orchard, he’ll forget his fear of want.  Reserve your speeches for your boys-at-arms.  An army shall visit them tomorrow.