Chapter 10

I sat there, watching as the orc idiot's entourage turned on him. Both men and women drew their weapons, while the one who confronted him approached with an axe in hand.

"You dare?" The overboss's voice was… surprisingly calm, considering his future was now measured in minutes at most. He looked like he believed he was still in control. "Don'tcha understand dat it'z our only path to greatness?"

"Tha only fing dat path leads to iz our graves!" In contrast, his opponent was positively furious, baring his teeth and aiming his tusks at the leader's throat.

"We'z need a dragon." The soon-to-be-ex chieftain seems to have completely ignored the other orc's words. "Or are ya content fo' ya children to walk tha empty steppes foreva', where almost nothin' can grow, fightin' tha same monsters just to survive? Gated by da humanz and tha red dragon from da fertile plains dey so jealously guard?"

"Fightin' iz why our'z grandfatha'z joined yourz, back wen he first thought out hiz 'orc horde'!" The other orc snarled. "He woz stupid, but darin', leadin' hiz clan where no overboss dared to go befo'! Az did you'z fatha'! A'z did you'z." He sighed. "Brought trophies, richez, and pride to tha' clan. Brought down dragonz, put dem in tha same shackles dey envizioned us in! But we'z never thought it was becouse you'z were still livin' dat idiotic dream; but becouse you'z saw wot our clan truly woz! Clan Kalingar, not just dragonslayerz, but dragon tamerz! But dat woz not why you pushed fo' deir capture, iz it? Why you'z were so upset wen dey died. You'z wanted dem to one day be leadaz!"

"And I'z found tha propa one, who can finally make us more than just a clan!" The chieftain finally snapped at the orc. "But it lookz like you'z content with foreva livin' in mediocrity, ain't ya, Wedresh? And are tha rest of you'z of tha same mind?" He motioned to the rest of his gathering.

"Ural, wen I'z married ya, I knew I wuz marryin' an idiot." His wife replied. "A darin', brave one, but an idiot still. But now you'z turned to be both too darin' and too stupid. Dis ends 'ere."

"You'z right, it doez." The orc nodded, then turned to me with a smug expression. "Boss, dey'z made up deir mindz. Do whot you hafta."

Maybe because I was just tired of this stupid little show, maybe becouse I was infuriated to the point where my nostrills flared and I bared all my teeth without thinking about it; either way, my body acted before my mind, and where a moment ago stood two and a half meters of orc chieftain, now remained only around one meter thirty, the rest splattered over the stone wall. At the end of my tail, a mage blade flickered out.

"Is this… thing, whatever it was, finally done?" I schooled my expression, kept my tone even. There was only a little bit of foam gathering at the corner of my mouth.

The orc, Wedresh, kneeled. "Please, forgive us-"

"No." My voice, against my best efforts, had a slightest tremble to it. "You brought war to my doorstep, and death to my people. I don't care if the moron I just killed was ultimately responsible for what happened; You still had gone along with him. I was not the first 'candidate' he or his ancestors chose. But since he was winning, you let it happen, because his idiotic dream was profitable to you." I remembered the faces of the pencil pushers at the Imperial Logistic Office, filled with useless sympathy that lasted until I closed the door, when they started debating how invaluable Schugel's research was.

"All these deaths, the sheer waste of resources, sacrificed not even in the name of survival or other necessity; but because of a stupid little dream of a stupid little man, who others still followed becouse they thought 'surely he wouldn't go that far'." The radio chatter of panicking scientists, who moments before helped a madman strap a magic nuke to my neck, reverberated in my head.

"We'z-"

"I am not done, you miscreant!" I roared. "And only when it turned out that no, he would in fact go that far, and you would have to suffer the consequences, did you finally find the clarity of mind to stop him! What a convenient scapegoat he made! You even put a little show for me, dragging out his execution until I was there to witness it! 'Oh no, our leader turned out to have shit for brains, how could we have predicted he would do something like this? Here, have his head; we were victims just as much as you were'!"

I stared at the orc, scared out of his mind. I surveyed the rest, deers in a headlight. I glanced over my entourage, frozen solid.

The orc finally spoke, sounding just as tired as I suddenly felt. "Very well den. Do whot you must."

I contemplated his words for a moment. "Do what? Kill you? So that your fellows may swear revenge, costing me more lives in the future?"

"Ummm, Lady Tanya?" Vaira shyly raised her head. "Why not just kill them all then?"

I sighed weakly. "They are unlikely to go quietly - a wyvern might slip from my grasp. From there, just one rider reaching another clan could lead to a far bigger army at our door. Besides," I continued, "I doubt the attack on us was agreed on through a plebiscite; we shouldn't force the many to suffer from the incompetence of the few. A soldier has no choice but to follow orders; lest be subjected to martial law. Thus, the consequences of those orders should fall on those who actually have the freedom to give them."

"So what do we do with them? Set them free?" Distaste and venom dripped from my attache's words.

I paused to give the matter some thought. I needed to contain the clan, or they would just return to being pilfering nomads, who could gather allies and try again. "On the contrary, we imprison them. At least those right here." I motioned for the remaining orc leaders. "As for the rest, it is clear their leaders failed them. And since I can't just release them, a change in management might be necessary."

"Uhhh, Boss," Hik gestured to me, "can I have your ear for a moment? In private."

I nodded, moving away with him from the crowd. "What is it, Hik?"

The kobold took a deep breath. "All right. The orcs joining? That's a monumentally bad idea."

I half sighed, half growled in exasperation. "I know. But what would you have me do, send the merry band of vagabonds back into the wild? I need to ensure this doesn't end up leading to more conflict in the future."

"I don't know, but definitely not add more fuel to an already boiling cauldron!" He threw his hands in the air. "Boss, I shouldn't give a fuck, but since you do, and I grew to kinda like you, I'm gonna speak up. As your herald who has to meet a lot of your subjects, let me tell you this: kobolds and goblins don't mix well. Adding to that guys over twice our size, who just murdered a lot of our fellows… Well, even I can see where this ends."

He had a point. But it was just so... attractive, for the lack of a better word, to collect neat piles of different creatures, find out what each one is best at, and then arrange, delegate and manage - the core appeals of strategy games. But this was not a game, and my decisions would impact actual lives. I couldn't afford such instincts to control me.

So I should take it from the top, with a clear and focused mind. Starting with a short summary.

Problem: Exterminating the orcs was undesirable; integrating, near-unachievable. And releasing them unpacified, likely holding a grudge was a great way to wake up with an army at our doorstep in the future, with allies at their side. Why? Because said allies won't know it's a bad idea, wanting to get rid of a neighbor that can threaten their way of life.

Solution: Find and convince them it is in fact, a bad idea, while shedding light on the monumental stupidity that led the Kalingar tribe to their defeat.

===

I returned to the orcs, giving them my best business smile. "Ladies, gentlemen, I believe that at some point there was a mention of yearly clan gathering?"

===

In the evening, once I squeezed all needed information out of the orcs, the funeral for the fallen defenders of Earthmounds took place, on a small clearing right between the villages, one of the ones I made while looking for a location for the school.

It was a quiet affair, the only disruptions to the silence being the sounds of kobold and goblin shamans performing their faiths' last rites, along with an occasional sob of a loved one.

I made no grand speeches that glorified the act of violence they died in. There was no need for it. Just an acknowledgement of their sacrifice, and a wish for it to never be needed again. It was almost formulaic. Its words felt hollow. But it was needed.

Then, one by one, the crowd started to disperse. No matter how many died, life needed to move on, and tomorrow there were things to be done. Because it always did, and there always were.

I knew it better than most.

===

"That should be everything." I told Igwe, dismissing my illusion. A set of instructions for Vaira, Obok, Hik and Borwit, regarding projects that will have to be supervised in my absence.

The spriggan nodded, going through the dream weavers. "Instructions on raising wyverns and their eggs, the school's 'half-year curriculum', how to handle muskoxen, tool blueprints for the smiths, and an intermediate magic course for Lady Vaira. Yes, that should be everything."

Someone more poetically inclined may have found karmic justice in it all. Weapons given up by the orcs, smelted down and reforged into tools of progress. Eggs of the same wyverns that they used to terrorize the skies, raised by kobolds and goblins to put the very clouds within their reach. Oxen whose meat once fueled an army, made to plow the fields of peace.

I thought it the bare minimum, considering the loss of life.

"Well, we should get moving then. Do you have anything to take, Igwe?"

"No. I've already drawn enough from the leylines to last me for the time being. Question though, my Lady?" The spriggan scratched their woody chin. "What is the reason behind me coming along with you?"

"The fight against the wyvern riders has shown me the limits of my magical arsenal. Traveling with the orcs would be an ideal time to remedy that, with your consultation." And I don't trust you yet to leave you unsupervised, I added in my mind.

The fey said nothing, merely nodding. I exited the expanded cave that was remade into a kind of primitive magic workshop. Vaira was waiting for me outside, along with Hik and the wife of the clan Kalingar's dead overboss, Hetre Kalingar. I didn't forget what she and the rest of the clan leaders were responsible for, nor did I forgive it - but I could wait.

I gave the spell matrixes to my herald, while simultaneously talking to my attache. "On the dream weavers I recorded everything that needs to be done, as well as some helpful tips, for you and everybody else. Are you sure there isn't anything more you require? I can postpone the departure, record anything you might need clarified or elaborated on."

Vaira smiled with confidence. "Don't worry Lady Tanya, assuming you recorded what I asked for before, that should be everything. You can count on me!"

I tilted my head. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes! You don't need to worry. Only the orcs do." She gave the green woman side eyes.

The orc pretended to not hear the remark. "Shall we get goin' den? Tha gatherin' is quite som' way from here."

"Yes, we shall." I coolly replied to her. In the beginning she offered for wyvern riders to guide me there, while the rest of the clan waited. I dismissed it, for obvious reasons. Traveling with the whole clan, with a spriggan who didn't need to sleep, let me keep them all in check.

With that, I was off to join the orcs, to meet the rest of their clans at the gathering.

===

Vaira watched her overlord depart, before turning to Tanya's herald. "Mister Hik, you told me there is a lot of trouble in the villages with the minions. Do you think I will be able to keep them in line?"

"Yes," the kobold nodded, "I'm sure you will, Lady Vaira."

"And how are you so sure?"

"Because they will do most of your work themselves. Boss will return. And after the last… everything, they really don't want to have to play a game of 'whodunit' with her when she does."

"Oh."

===

Mirsa was slouching over one of her spell diagrams, committing its calculations to memory, when her study session was interrupted by a shoe flying through her window and smashing down her clay mug… still filled with beer. She looked down at the parchment soaking in her favorite dwarven import.

She was going to kill someone.

"Who, in the name of the ninth prophet, was the son of an ass throwing his stinking shoes through my window?!" She directed her furious tone at a group of people in the middle of a heated argument.

"It was Avdur, esteemed Magus!" A dwarf pointed at a man frozen mid-pulling at his beard. "Saw it with my own eyes!"

"Okan, your foot is still bare, you lying asswipe!" The presumably Avdur pointed at the dwarf's indeed lacking footwear.

"You see this, Lady?! Not just a vandal and a cheat, but also a thief, eh?! Oooh, I will remember you." Okan replied, shaking his fist at the man.

Mirsa crossed her arms, forming her lips into a thin line. Dwarven mercenaries and unsanctified 'adventurers'. Her favorite.

"This flying shoe," she started, presenting it with a shake, "just deprived me of parchment, hours of work, and most importantly, my beer; none of which I have in abundance. So fess up, before my waning patience and mercy joins this list."

"Excuse me, Magus," one of the dwarves asked meekly, "may I ask what kind of beer it was?"

"Barrel said it was 'Torrund's Fungal Special'." She replied. "All that was left after the council and clergy plundered the caravan from the south for their stashes. And I had to elbow my fellow practitioner in the face for even this little."

"No wonder it was left," the dwarf huffed, "Torrund wouldn't know how to ferment a shroom if his life depended on it. He adds wheat and hops to his beer. Wheat and hops! No, Lady, if you want to taste a real dwarven beverage, come with us and we'll treat you to a round of Winkled's dark double-brewed. Brought two barrels with us, to celebrate all the profitable monster slaying we'll be doing."

As far as bribes went, this didn't sound too bad. Mirsa turned to Avdur to hear their counter-offer.

"We, uuuuh, we can pay for the damages?" The leader of the plain-faced lot guessed, fishing out a small pouch.

"I won't be able to buy back what I lost with it; not this far north." That she even had to say that showed just how unprepared these people were. "Everything is handed out by the council and clergy to all of Ravuya. Raw resources I can contribute for favors during the next distribution, sure; but the best I can do with coins is make a jingling toy for my nephew."

"Holy hell, you northerners really are backwards." Some girl who must have missed a line when gods gave out chins said.

"Find us a way to trade that doesn't lead to nine out of ten of our caravans being eaten by monsters, and we'll talk, child." She replied venomously. "You would know that if you had even a single Trail Spirit's tattoo on your face, you faithless amateur."

"I didn't know a Magus to be a bead clutcher." She tried to raise her chin provocatively at her, instead exposing far too much of her throat.

"I'm not." Mirsa measured her with a cold stare. "But if any of you survive to return back south, you'll understand that Madram is not just a collection of empty maxims. We'll finish this later;" She turned back to the dwarven mercs. "For now, let us go, Mister Okan. There is a mug of beer with my name on it."

"Uhm, okay. But first… can I have my shoe back?"

===

You could trust a dwarf to make good beer. Be it gnomes, dorvs, davi, or even the enigmatic duergar that supposedly lived beyond the steppes in the Flat Teeth mountains, they all shared a common enemy: sobriety. Their war against it was hard fought, and the weapons used in it crafted with the signature dwarven excellence.

An example of this mastery was currently gracing Mirsa's mug: bitter, with deep, rich taste, beautiful dark amber color, and as dense as a stew. She nursed her drink, taking in the ambience of the town hall-turned-tavern while relishing every sip of the beverage.

Her fellow patrons were mostly a standard fare: dwarven and human mercenaries from the south, paid for in cave city's spider silk they'll hope to turn into dwarven gold once back home; spare troops from Ravuya's allies and fellow northern city states, Giatra and Itzin; and finally, hedge magi, errant warrior priests, vagabonds, exiles, criminals, fools believing in the invincibility of youth, and hopeless romantics; gathered from all over the Tchenmi lands, lumped together and referred to as 'adventurers'.

Far less common was the sight of three orc bounty hunters, likely members of the few clans civil enough to be considered more than just a threat. The towering green figures kept to themselves - this far north, their kind was viewed with suspicion and fear, and they knew it.

The final unusual sight was currently occupying the tavern's improvised stage, treating its patrons to a spectacle of music and magic - Burning God's Company, an order of war magi of fortune. Mirsa couldn't stop herself from staring jealously at their purple fabrics and armors of polished bronze. They probably never had to elbow someone in the face for beer. Ha! She wouldn't be surprised if clergy and rulers alike opened their stashes to them.

"Those have it good, eh?" Her dwarven sponsor caught her eyeing the magi. "Ever wanted to become one of them?"

"When I was younger and stupider." Mirsa sighed. "Then my brother returned from his 'adventure' a leg and half his face lighter, permanently scaring me from ever walking the Trail." She finished taking a big gulp from her mug. "Another beer, please."

The merc obliged, filling it with the liquid paradise. "Reckon we'll see more of those soon, sadly. There are some good hands gathered here, don't get me wrong; Just too few of them to keep all those with too much bravado and imagination from rushing off and doing something stupid. The youngsters I argued with earlier? They believe the monsters are running away from an ogre lich awakening in one of their ancient ruins! A lich!"

Mirsa creased her brow. Lich, lich, lich… she heard that word before, but couldn't remember it now. Fuck this beer was good. "Whatsa lish?"

The dwarf waved her off. "A corpse of an oni, their sorcerer; possessed anew by the demon they pacted with for power. Heard of it back when I was hiking with a few ogres in search of a vault of theirs. They told horror stories of the various nightmares supposedly haunting the remains of their old empire."

"I mean, Ravuya was ogr- oirg- o-ri-gi-na-lly built around an ogre ruin." Mirsa said, stuttering as she tried to focus through the pleasant buzz. "So they were building fings around here. Maybe a ruin really is somewhere near?" She looked at her empty mug. Only two beers, and she was already getting dizzy. "Unrelated, how much alcohol is in thish beer?"

"Around third of it?" The dwarf made a so-so gesture. "It's rather light as far as beer goes."

"Light… for a dwarf." Mirsa focused, slowly trying to build a spell matrix in her imagination. She spent some time catching a sinus, the slippery little bastard, but finally her mind regained some of its clarity as magic poured on it like a bucket of cold water. "I shouldn't drink more."

"Impressive trick." The dwarf nodded. "Mighty helpful for hangovers, eh?"

"Not at all." She shook her head. "The alcohol is still there. I just temporarily offloaded part of the thinking to magic. Was the lich why you got into the argument with plainfaces?"

"In a way." He nodded. "Now that the village is secured, they wanted to convince me and the boys to assist them in looking for the ruin; their leader is a son of a merchant I sometimes escorted with the crew. But that's not why I threw the shoe; they tried to bribe me with dwarven coins… lacking any of the signs of proper minting. Likely an imitation made by a human."

"A counterfeit?"

"Worse; a blasphemous forgery of an oath." The merc gritted his teeth. "A coin is a promise from a dwarven king to his people: that if need be, his court will guarantee that it will get them exactly what they paid for. A gesture of trust, made real and immutable by words etched into metal - that is its real worth: not the gold, but the word it carries. To have a blatant mockery of it presented to me and my crew… oooh, it makes my blood boil."

"Yet you lied about throwing your shoe." Mirsa raised her brow.

"Eeeh, word of mouth is different." The dwarf made a dismissive gesture. "Cheaper than air it hangs in, and more fleeting than the wind carrying it. The language of commerce, for it is nothing without deceit. But writing is forever - so its words must be just as immutable."

Mirsa decided not to mention she saw dwarven coin smelted once to the merc; she didn't want to worsen his already rainy mood. "I understand. You think they went without you?"

"Good riddance to them if they did." He chuckled darkly. "May whatever haunts the forest eat them."

===

Hik enjoyed hunting. Sure, you might end up becoming a meal instead of finding one; but if you knew what you were doing and properly hid yourself, the chances of it were small.

He was, however, not one of the morons who enjoyed the 'thrill of the hunt'. No, he simply wanted to see something bigger than him dead, then eat it while drifting off to the land of impossible colors thanks to a few funny mushrooms.

He had at least that much in common with Bastard - the killing part, not the fondness for fungus. The animal was a seething, spiteful ball of hate that accepted no opposition. Both him and a few orcs experienced it firsthand.

This common ground was how he learned to hunt with him, a week after he got the idea from watching Boss's instructions on raising wyverns. In short, let them do whatever until they are tired enough for you to step in.

So, he first annoyed him enough to lead the predator out of his kitchen and into the forest. Then he climbed onto a tree, hiding between the branches and chilling there for around half an hour. Usually after this time, he simply followed the sounds of pain and panic, finding Bastard napping surrounded by pieces of the victim of his frustration, which Hik was then free to collect.

Curiously, it was never a kobold, goblin or tame eohip - the silver dragon's property. Those he only hissed and scratched at. Usually, he added, hearing a decidedly non-animal scream; there was a first for everything.

He ran, cursing under his breath as he did so. Shit! Fuck! If Bastard kills anyone, Boss is gonna have a fit! She'll kill first the raptor… and then Hik. Or worse; She could get sarcastic towards him.

He slowed down when he heard the first words. "Aaaagh, my face! Avdur please, it's eating my face!" They were not Kodur or Gobri. What the hell was that language?!

As he got closer more of the panicked screams could be heard.

-"What is this thing?! A tiny razormaw?!"

-"A spawn of hell, more likely! Where are we?!"

-"I don't know, we lost the way over four days ago!"

Nope, he couldn't make sense of a word.