Chapter Text
“A visitor from the east!” a lizard scout reported as she marched into the room, taking a knee before the throne. “A dire wolf who claims to have been named by Lord Gelmud.”
“Lord Gelmud?” Gabiru said. “Does this wolf speak the truth?”
“He is evolved, my prince,” the scout said, keeping her head down. “I believe it to be true.”
“Then we must send him in!” Gabiru declared. “He might bear news from my namer! Right, father?”
His father—the lizard chieftain—frowned on his throne. “It is unlike the dire wolves to send envoys to those they see as beneath them.”
“But if he is named by Lord Gelmud,” Gabiru said, “surely he must be our ally!”
“There is no harm in hearing him out,” the chieftain said. “Send him in.”
The scout bowed once again, before retreating out of the room. When she returned, she was accompanied by a large wolf sprouting what looked to be white glass needles for fur, glimmering in the amber light. A contingent of guards flanked them on all sides. The wolf sat before the throne, not bothering to show deference. A voice entered Gabiru’s mind. I bear worrying news.
“Perhaps you are unaccustomed to the ways of the marsh,” Gabiru said, frowning, “but it is expected for a guest seeking audience to greet the chieftain before aught else.”
I have no time for formalities, the wolf growled, and I am no lizard.
“You might be a champion of Lord Gelmud, friend,” Gabiru said, “but that doesn’t excuse this kind of insolence. Please greet my father properly.”
When the wolf ignored him again, Gabiru strode over, his hand gripping his spear shaft, but his sister stepped in, grabbing his arm and holding him in place. He locked eyes with the wolf, neither flinching. Grudgingly, he let the disrespect slide.
“What is this news you are in such a hurry to convey?” the chieftain asked.
Grave news, the wolf said. Our tribe has been attacked by the orcs.
The room fell silent. The chieftain spoke, “How many?”
Easily over a hundred thousand, the wolf said. They lured us into an ambush and surrounded us, overwhelming us with sheer numbers. My sister and I are likely the only survivors. She has taken off to the west to warn our cousins the Fang.
“How many days did it take you to reach us?” the chieftain asked.
Travelling at full sprint, it took a little under two days.
“That’s far,” the chieftain noted. “Are the orcs marching for us, then?”
I do not know, the dire wolf said. I had only thought it prudent to warn you.
“And what do you expect in return?” the chieftain asked. “Protection?”
Yes, the wolf said. As I understand it, the caverns you call home are near-impregnable. We desire asylum.
“And what can you provide in return?”
Isn’t it obvious? he snickered. Our aid in the battle to come. Two evolved dire wolves with command over our auras, serving loyally under you until the orc threat is destroyed.
The chieftain mused. “Granted,” he said. “However, we expect you to follow our customs for the duration of your stay.”
The dire wolf grimaced. We are not lizards.
“But you are our guests,” the chieftain said. “We can just as easily refuse your stay. Do keep that in mind.” Gabiru smirked and crossed his arms. His father was no pushover.
You would turn down our help over your pride? the wolf growled.
“It is not our pride that hinders this alliance,” the chieftain said, “but yours. I cannot abide by disrespect in my own home. Do you accept our terms?”
The wolf remained silent for a long while, before gritting his teeth and saying, We do, strong one.
“Good,” the chieftain said. “Our guards will escort you to the room you’ll be staying at, unless you’d rather stay outside?”
I prefer the open air, the wolf said. I’ll show myself out.
“Before that!” Gabiru called out. “You mentioned having been named by Lord Gelmud, yes? May I ask what you are now called?”
Raul, the wolf said. My kin and I share this name.
“Then, Raul,” Gabiru scoffed, “what have you to say for yourself? It is not enough that you lost to the orcs despite being named by the great Lord Gelmud; you now have the audacity to enter our home and beg for our protection? And in exchange, we are to be repaid by your combat prowess? To that I ask: what prowess? Count your blessings, wolf, for you only survive because of my father’s generosity. If it were me sitting on the throne, I would have fed you to the orcs myself.”
Beg? the wolf snarled.
“Brother.” His sister’s tone was harsh. “Stand down.”
I’d like to see you stand against an army of a hundred thousand with only forty in your pack! the wolf barked. We were outnumbered. Do not mistake us for weaklings.
“But you are,” Gabiru said, “and it is humiliating. You told us you were lured into an ambush. How did that happen?”
The wolf glared at him. We smelled orcs upwind and thought them easy prey. We came upon a small group and began savaging them, thinking them alone, and didn’t realise their brethren had surrounded us until it was too late.
Gabiru laughed. “Such foolishness! Truly, Lord Gelmud must have a great tolerance for it. You embarrass him, wolf. Do not embarrass us in the same way.”
“Brother,” his sister hissed. “Enough.”
You truly think you are better than me? the wolf said. So deluded you are, that you don’t realise this lord you idolise is using you to fight a losing battle, just as he used us.
Gabiru’s expression darkened. “Watch your tongue when you speak his name, wolf.”
He is every bit a weakling as you are, the wolf snickered. Too afraid to confront the orcs himself, and hiding behind the stronger races of the forest. Did I tell you he almost passed out upon naming us? Had it not been for my lord father, I would have eaten him up right then and there.
“You utter ingrate!” Gabiru barked.
“Brother,” his sister cautioned, “he merely masks his wounded pride with scathing words. Ignore him.” But it fell on deaf ears. Gabiru seethed, his breaths quickening, blood rushing to his head.
Wounded pride? the wolf said. It is the truth! One you will soon learn for yourself, you useless brat! When your beloved namer spurns your hand in the most crucial moment, just as he did us, you will understand that Gelmud is nothing but a cowardly hypocrite!
The dragonewt howled and launched his spear at the wolf, its twin points skewering him in the back leg and nearly tearing it off. His sister attempted to grapple him, but he unfurled his wings and shot up into the air, shaking her off and diving for his spear. The wolf rounded to meet him, his aura taking shape and forming sharp glassy tendrils behind him, but Gabiru managed to impale him through the jaw before he could do any damage, his body falling limp as blood gushed out of his skull. His father and sister stared with wide eyes at the mess. “What have you done!?” his father screamed.
“Disposed of a weakling,” Gabiru said, throwing the corpse against the floor. “He was unlikely to be of use to us anyway.”
“That was not for you to decide!” the chieftain barked. “We had promised him our protection! Lizards honour their word!”
“I will not stomach any insult to Lord Gelmud,” Gabiru said, slamming the butt of his spear against the ground. “Whoever it may come from.”
Father and son locked gazes. It was his sister who stepped in between them. “The wolf is dead,” she declared, “and his only remaining kin is far away in the west. There is nobody left to hold us to our word. Consider yourself fortunate.” She fixed Gabiru with a lethal glower. “Clean up this mess, and see that it doesn’t repeat itself.”
Gabiru scowled back at her, but didn’t protest any further. He grabbed the wolf corpse by the tail and dragged it out of the throne room, trailing blood, the ornate wooden doors slamming behind him.
***
Awkward. This was horribly awkward.
The ogres sat on the left side of the table, and the adventurers on the right. The two groups hadn’t said a word to each other in the past five minutes, while Haruna was trying her hardest to break the tension. The ogres didn’t even seem to acknowledge her, staring at Basson and his party, whose eyes darted to the door at every slight move the ogres made. I had hoped that putting them in the same room with some nice herbal tea would force them to talk things out and resolve their differences, but it would seem that that had been overly optimistic of me.
Haruna sidled up to me and whispered, “How long have they been like this?”
“Ever since we picked them up in the forest,” I whispered back. “If you think this is bad, imagine the ride here.”
Finally, the ogre leader—who I’d since learned was their prince—said to Basson, “Do your friends have nothing to say for themselves?”
A different adventurer—Grasse, the second-in-command—cut in, eyes wide with disbelief. “You expect an apology for attacking us?”
“We’re sorry,” Basson said, scowling at his friend. “Ignore him.”
“As I told you back in the forest,” the ogre prince said, “I have no quarrel with you. Your friends, on the other hand…”
“Then answer me this,” Grasse said, balling his fists to stop them from quaking. “What are ogres doing so far from their territory? I thought we had a silent understanding that you’d stay where you were, if you didn’t want us to bother you.”
“I owe you no explanations,” the ogre prince said. “We—”
“Our village was destroyed,” the pink-haired ogre said from behind the prince, in a voice that teetered on the edge of a murmur. “We were driven out, not wandering.”
Grasse frowned. “Destroyed?”
“Sister,” the prince said, “I think it best that you leave the conversing to me.”
His sister—the princess, I assumed—nodded, folding her hands over her mouth. Her eyes flitted over to me as she did.
“Hang on,” Grasse said. “Who destroyed your village? The bovoids?”
“It’s none of your concern—” the prince began.
“The orcs,” the princess said again. “I imagine humanity is just as concerned of them.”
“Sister, enough!” the prince said, bewildered. “You.” He pointed a finger at Grasse. “You have done nothing but insult us since our first meeting.”
Grasse gave a nervous chuckle. “Can you knock some sense into your brother here?” he said to the princess.
“Grasse,” Basson spoke up. “Shut your trap and just apologise.”
“Why is it such a big deal—!?”
“You attacked us,” the ogre prince hissed.
“You were wandering outside your territory!” Grasse said. “We couldn’t be blamed for thinking it was suspicious!”
“Just apologise!” Basson snarled.
“Fine!” Grasse said, throwing his hands up. “I’m sorry! There, you happy?”
Another uncomfortable silence settled over the room. The ogres only seemed to grow more furious. Haruna rushed to cut in. “Why don’t we take a break? We can continue this some other time, yes?” She shot me a look that implied she wasn’t planning on letting that happen. I was inclined to agree.
“I’d like that,” the princess said, smiling, “and I’d like to see more of your town, if that’s alright with you.”
“I’ll show you around,” I told her.
Her face seemed to light up at that. “Would it be alright for me to bring my clansmen along?”
“Yeah, sure!” I said, not wanting to turn down this prime opportunity to separate them. “Haruna, can you tend to our adventurer guests here?”
“Of course, my lord,” she said, bowing. “I can show them to the town council building. I’m certain they have their fair share of questions about us, after all.”
“Good!” I said. “That’s, uh, that’s good…”
Basson and his compatriots frowned, but went along with Haruna as she led their party to where Rigurde and the other councillors were discussing the pressing matters of the day. The ogres poured out of the cottage and watched their adversaries’ backs disappear into the town centre. The prince maintained his scowl. “I can only stomach so much impudence.”
“They won’t stay long,” I told him. “One day, at most.”
The prince shook his head. “You’d best watch that they don’t shoot you in the back. They don’t seem to hold much regard for any lives besides their own.”
He was probably right—without Basson there to mediate, that entire conversation would have gone very differently. These ogres were prideful, and those adventurers paranoid; bad traits on their own, and worse when put together. “What do you think of our town?” I asked.
The ogre prince hummed. “When you mentioned you had one, I was expecting a cluster of tents packed together. This far exceeds that.” His eyes traced the neat rows of cottages, landing on the wide swathes of farmland that stretched the base of the hill. “My impression of goblins had been that of a people too weak to hold onto an ancestral land.”
“That’s changed,” I said. “We’ve since decided to fortify one.”
The prince nodded. “I approve of your decision wholeheartedly. We are nothing without the land that witnessed our births.” His smile quickly turned into a grimace as he said it.
“Well,” I said, nudging his ankle, “I hope you can feel at home here. I know it’s no replacement, but… y’know.”
“Your kindness is noted,” the prince said.
“I hope so, too,” his sister said, coming up beside her brother. “To be among a community again is a wonderful thing. We will work to earn our welcome.”
The other ogres frowned at her. “We still don’t know if we’ll be staying here,” the prince said.
“A hospitality extended is no small thing,” the princess said, smiling at me. “Especially from a former foe. Even if we don’t stay, it would be good to act our part as proper guests, yes?”
“I suppose…” the prince said, rubbing his neck.
“You’ll have to excuse us,” the princess said, angling her head at me; her compatriots’ frowns only deepened at the deference she was showing. “We have close to no experience being guests. It’s very rare that any of us leave our home, much less a prince’s retinue.”
“It’s alright,” I told her. “We’ve hosted stranger people.”
“That’s enough,” the prince cut in. “You were going to show us around? Then, do so.”
I nodded, and led the way to Weaver’s Street, where Dord worked. The rest of the day was spent showing the ogres around the town and introducing them to its people. They all—save for the princess—seemed disinterested in the whole process. It made for an awkward experience.
***
“News from the east!” a lizard scout rushed into the room, out of breath, taking a knee.
“Again?” the chieftain asked. “What is it this time?”
“The lizard villages at the peripheral marsh have been attacked all at once.”
The chieftain frowned. “What do you mean all at once?”
“It happened sometime last night,” the scout said, “when the moon was at its peak. Every single outlying village sounded their horns and war drums around the same time, and they all went quiet… around the same time.”
“What of the warriors we stationed there?”
“No trace of them, my liege,” the scout said, “nor of the villagers. They have vanished along with the orcs.” She grimaced. “Only one survivor remains.”
“Send them in,” the chieftain said, trying to keep the unease from showing on his face.
The scout retreated from the room, returning with a lone lizard warrior, dried blood dribbling from his arms. At once, it was clear to the chieftain that his wounds were abnormal—bite marks riddled his scales and padded clothing. He took a shaky knee, refusing to meet his eyes. “My liege.”
“How did this happen?” the chieftain asked. “You had scouts and our goblin intelligence network supporting you.”
“Our attackers weren’t numerous,” the warrior said, “and moved under cover of darkness. We were taken completely by surprise.”
“They weren’t numerous,” his daughter said from beside him, “and yet you fell to them? That is their only advantage!”
“No, captain, they…” the warrior hesitated, “they fought with such impossible coordination, and without even a commander to order them, managed to attack all our outposts at once. They had warriors among them capable of harnessing Battlewill, who commanded their auras to eat through us like paper. It was… unlike anything I had ever seen.”
“Impossible!” his daughter barked.
The chieftain raised a hand to silence her. “Can these reports be confirmed?” he asked the scout.
“Er, we have been seeing a general increase in coordination of the orcish troops,” she said. “More and more orcish scouts have been sighted alone, when they used to travel in groups of five or so. I’m not sure about the warriors with Battlewill, but our most recent reports also note that the orcs have become more… agile in navigating the marshes ever since attacking the villages. Not only are they marching in near-perfect rank and file, they’re also no longer stumbling over their own weight in the mud. There’s this concerning report by a scout who managed to get in close, but… I’m not sure how credible it is.”
“What did they say?” the chieftain asked.
“That the orcs have grown scales and webbed feet,” the scout said.
The chieftain froze. “What…?”
“I’m… not entirely sure either, my liege,” the scout said.
The uneasy feeling in his gut boiled over. The orcs defeated lizards, and grew scales and webbed feet… Defeated dire wolves, suddenly grew impossibly coordinated, not to mention the ability to call upon their aura to attack, just as their dire wolf guest did in his fight against his son… The chieftain scowled. “Could they be taking the abilities of those they’ve triumphed over?”
“How… is that possible?” his daughter asked.
“I don’t know…” the chieftain said. “Where are these orcs headed now?”
“They seem to be taking a shortcut through the marsh, marching for a village of bovoids.”
“Send an envoy to warn them,” the chieftain said, “and to forge a potential alliance. My son can lead it.”
“Is that wise, father?” his daughter said, frowning. “I recently interrogated one of the lizards that travelled under him in his mission to recruit the goblin villages, and he claims that Gabiru excommunicated a village of five thousand because they bested him in a fight.”
“What?” the chieftain scowled. “Five thousand? And a goblin bested my son in combat? Are you certain this is reliable information?”
“Several of his cohorts corroborated the story,” his daughter said. “One of them was a former royal guardsman whom I trust greatly.”
“That can’t be right…” the chieftain shook his head. “But it sounds like something he’d do…”
“Should I proceed with sending the envoy?” the scout asked.
“Yes,” the chieftain said, “and as I said, my son will lead it.” He turned to his daughter. “The bovoids listen only to the strong, and see boastfulness as a great virtue. As our tribe’s only dragonewt, he has the best chance of succeeding.”
His daughter sighed. “I suppose so.”
“I shall inform him right away!” the scout said, before racing out of the room, followed shortly by the bleeding warrior. The chieftain slumped back on his bony throne, dismissing the rest of the guards in the room with a wave of his hand, before running a hand through his mane, groaning.
His daughter came up to him and clutched his shoulder. “Father…”
“I am growing too old for this…” he said. “I should like for Gabiru to inherit my place, but it seems that for everything he does right, he makes a horrible mistake to accompany it. It is infuriating.”
“Give him a few more years,” his daughter said. “With some guidance, he might grow out of his listless pride.”
“I have given him too many years already,” the chieftain said, “and look at him: he has only grown worse with time. I am afraid that I might have to…” he hesitated, “pass the title of heir to you.”
His daughter frowned. “It is not that I wouldn’t accept, but he is the eldest, and not to mention a named dragonewt. To deprive him of his birthright is to invite civil war between my followers and his.”
“I know…” the chieftain sighed. “Damn it, I know… but under his leadership, the lizards would surely suffer. He might incite civil war regardless. I just… don’t know.”
“Give it some more thought,” his daughter said. “I must advise against making this decision lightly.”
“Yes…” the chieftain said, “but… should I decide you are right for the throne, would you accept the responsibility?”
After a brief moment of hesitation, his daughter said, “Without question.”
“That’s good…” the chieftain chuckled. “That’s good…”
***
Eventually, it came time for the adventurers to leave. The morning sun peeked out of the horizon, casting a gentle golden halo over the town. The ogres had refused to see the adventurers off, and the better for it, I thought, so it was just me and Haruna, offering them a few parcels of tea before they departed. Basson gratefully accepted, tipping his hat to me. “Sorry for the trouble,” he said, “and thank you again for saving us. I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you with the guildmaster.”
“We appreciate it,” I said. “Is that everything you need?”
“Well,” Basson frowned, “it wouldn’t hurt to have gotten more information out of the ogres. Their village being destroyed by orcs of all things spells trouble for the rest of the forest.”
Tell me about it. “They mentioned being attacked by a contingent of ten thousand armed and armoured orcs, if that’s helpful to you.”
“What?” Basson asked. “Then Kaval’s reports were true?”
“I guess so,” I said. “You know, it might not hurt to keep communications open with us in case of an orc invasion. I reckon your bosses are just as worried as we are.”
“They’re terrified,” Basson said. “It’s part of the reason they ordered this scouting mission. They’re worried you’re in cahoots.”
I nodded. “Then it’s really important that you get them on the same page. We don’t need to be fighting each other on top of the orcs.”
“Trust me, I know,” Basson said. “The guildmaster might send a few more scouting parties in the future, but he mostly trusts my word. As long as you welcome any that come by, he won’t escalate. Probably.”
“And your companions… will they be alright?”
“If you’re asking if they’ll send a conflicting message, I’ll make sure they won’t.”
I smiled to myself. “Then go with our thanks, and come back to visit any time.”
He nodded and removed himself from our side, joining his companions at the lip of the forest. Grasse shot us one final scowl before disappearing from our sight. Haruna and I breathed a joint sigh. “It’s over,” she said. “The ogres should be having breakfast with the artisans, I think.”
“I’ll join them,” I said. “What about you?”
“I have a few things I need to attend to,” she said. “Though if you need me, I can make time for it.”
“I might take you up on that,” I said. “It might be smart to prioritise forging this alliance with them, and I don’t think I’d be able to handle them alone.”
“Understood,” Haruna said. “I shall accompany you.”
When we found them, the ogres were stuffing their faces full of meat and eggs without any hint of shame or decency. Well, I supposed they were ogres, even if they were more human-like than I would have expected. The princess wiped her mouth with her oversized sleeves when she saw me and Haruna approach, smiling. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” she said.
The other ogres ignored us, and continued gobbling up their breakfast. The goblins around them murmured and stared—even they, it seemed, were put off by our guests’ lack of etiquette. “How’s the meal?” I asked.
“It’s hearty,” the princess said. “Thank you once again for your kindness.”
Her brother took a final bite of his quail leg before belching and saying, “More.” One of the goblins sitting beside him smiled and offered him her own slice of quail, which he greedily accepted and began throating at once.
“You sure do like your food,” I said.
“We hold it sacred,” the princess said. “Were it only that you could have seen our feasts. They were the envy of our neighbouring goblin tribes.” Her eyes glazed over with nostalgia. “Ah, but of course, I’m certain your feasts are no less splendid affairs, if the quality of this breakfast is any indication.”
I looked to Haruna, and she nodded, seeming to have the same idea. If these ogres liked their food so much, it might be smart to throw them a banquet to butter them up. “I shall bring it up to the councils,” she whispered. “We should be able to host one within a few days.”
The princess’s lips curved up into an enigmatic smile. “Did you need us for something else?” she asked.
“We wanted to discuss the specifics of our alliance,” I said. “How long you’ll be staying, what you plan on doing here, that kind of thing.”
None of the other ogres looked up from their breakfast. The princess offered me a sympathetic look. “It is bad form to interrupt an ogre during a meal.”
“I can wait, then,” I said.
“I will accompany you,” the princess said. “Would you mind indulging me with another tour of the town? Only the two of us, this time. We never did get to see everything, and I’ve been curious about the great stone building in the centre for a while.”
The prince paused his feast mid-bite to frown at his sister. “Only the two of you? What’re you doin’ that for?”
“To better get my bearings,” the princess said. “It is rather novel for us to stay at a village that isn’t our own, after all.”
“That’sh not really an answer,” the prince said.
“I’ll join you,” said the large purple-haired ogre—their guardmaster—setting her bowl down.
“No,” the princess said, “I’d very much like this to be a quiet tour.”
“I won’t say much,” said the guardmaster, rising from her seat.
“No,” the princess repeated, maintaining her smile. “Sit down and finish your meal.”
The guardmaster wrinkled her brow, but didn’t budge, striding up next to us before standing between me and the princess. The rest of the ogres shared a frown and began whispering amongst themselves between bites of their meals, sneaking uneasy glances at me. I wasn’t sure what to make of any of it.
The princess sighed and ignored them, pushing past the guardmaster and saying, “Shall we?”
“Haruna, can you—?”
“Of course, my lord,” she said, walking up to the ogres and striking up conversation with them. As always, they responded with caution and vague distrust. It was better than nothing.
With that settled, I led the way through the town, headed to the castle now taking shape at the peak of the hill—the rebuilding of the town was more or less complete, so we were dedicating our resources to defensive fortifications. The ogre princess beside me stared up in wide-eyed wonder. “Is this your home, dear host?”
“It’s a place we can all retreat to and defend in the event of an attack,” I said. “It’s big enough to fit all of us and food to last a few years. It’s just stone for now, but we’re planning on reinforcing it with magical barriers once our town gets enough money to hire a mage or two.”
“As it so happens,” the princess said, “I used to be in charge of maintaining a defensive barrier around our village. Well, myself and my disciples.”
“Eh? Seriously?”
“Indeed,” the princess smiled. “It is a small part of how my family stayed in power, but every bit as crucial.”
“I was always afraid of bringing it up with your brother,” I said, eyeing the guardmaster walking behind us, “but what was your home like?”
“It was… home,” she said, her expression carefully placid, “and that in itself meant it was irreplaceable for most ogres, so much so that many would rather die defending it than evacuate.”
“It meant that much to you?”
“My brother will tell you that it is our creed,” she said, shaking her head, “but behind every belief and custom is a sliver of practicality. I won’t bore you with it. It may as well be ashes now.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “It carries forward as long as you’re alive. Plenty of people where I come from move away from their homes and keep their traditions.”
“When many of our customs are so overtly tied to the land we inhabit,” she said, “and when so many of them hold us back, I think it is almost better to let them fade away, and endeavour to build atop them something new—something that better reflects our circumstances.”
“What do you mean?”
She remained silent for a moment. “It means that I know my place.”
The guardmaster scowled at that. I waited for the princess to elaborate, but she didn’t, so I said, “Do you not feel welcome here?”
“I do.” She smiled. “You have been nothing but patient and kind with us since our arrival. I mean what I say: I am grateful for your generous hospitality, but…” she shot me a meaningful look, “the last thing I’d want is to overstay our welcome.”
“You’re welcome for as long as you want to stay,” I said. “Especially if we’re gonna become real allies.”
“Of course…” she said. “That would be the clearest step forward.”
I hesitated. “Is it not appealing to you?”
“What I think of your proposal is besides the fact,” she said. “What my brother and my retinue think are likely to matter more.”
“Then, can you convince them to accept?” I asked, sneaking another glance at the guardmaster.
“I can only do so much,” she said. “What you do to win their favour will be the decisive thing. An ogre’s pride is near-immovable, for better or worse.”
“I appreciate your efforts,” I said, hopping in place. “Honestly, you’re like the only one in your group who seems interested in making this work.”
Her smile turned sad. “May I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“If we do accept your offer of an alliance, will you name us as you have the rest of the town?”
Truthfully, I was already thinking up names for them. The ogres were strong, but not that strong, and there were only six of them. They would be exponentially more helpful if I managed to evolve them like I did the goblins and wolves. Still, I told her, “I know that naming is kind of a big deal to monsters, so I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”
“Then, what made you decide to name all these monsters in the first place?”
“Um…” How was I supposed to answer this? It started because I was having trouble telling them apart, but… “To give them a better chance of defending themselves,” I said. “They have better odds as hobgoblins and tempest wolves than they did before I named them. I can’t be around for every crisis.”
“I suppose it is prudent for a leader to surround themselves with strong subordinates,” the princess said.
“I’m not sure that they’re my subordinates, per se,” I said, “I don’t do much leading. The goblins and wolves mostly lead themselves.”
It was the guardmaster who spoke up. “That sounds like a lie.”
“You said you would be quiet,” the princess said.
“I cannot stand by and let you be deceived,” the guardmaster said. “A monster as strong as him, not leading his own clan?”
“I don’t want to,” I said, “and I’m not entirely sure I can. Leadership is complicated, and there are people who are a whole lot better at it than I am. The most I do is propose stuff to the councils, and protect the town from harm when it comes for us.”
The guardmaster scoffed. “It does not matter how able of a leader you are. All that matters is the strength with which you secure your power. The villagers no doubt understand that they must remain in your good graces, especially as you’ve named them, and they would no doubt bend to your will if you chose to exert it.”
“Is it so hard to believe I don’t want to do that?” I asked. “I know it’s a problem, but it just comes with the territory of apparently being that much stronger than them. We’re working on ways to minimise the impact of this power difference.”
“Like what?” the guardmaster asked.
“By having councils instead of kings,” I said. “By designing systems where we could keep each other in check.”
“When you’re that much more powerful than your peers,” the guardmaster said, “none of that will matter.”
“Maybe that’s true…” I said. “But nonetheless, I don’t want to be a tyrant. I didn’t choose to be gifted with power, so I’ll do what I can to have my power serve others. That’s the best I can do, short of… you know, dying.”
The guardmaster frowned. “You fool no one with this harmless act. Nobody becomes strong without first trouncing those beneath them.”
“I mostly lucked out when I came into this world,” I said. “I won’t force you to believe me.”
The guardmaster scanned me for any sign of deceit—a difficult thing to do with an expressionless slime—before falling deep in thought. The princess stepped between us, smiling. “I think what you’re doing is wonderful.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I hope it works out.”
We reached the outskirts of the town, walking a dirt path flanked with corn stalks close to harvest. The princess ran her hands through them, causing them to rustle. Flocks of geese soared overhead, blotting out the sun as they began their long migration north. It was peaceful.
That didn’t last long, though, as a pair of goblin riders broke through the trees, dragging something behind them with a rope. I tried to make out what it was: large, snowy white, with patches of dark red splattered across its surface. A corpse?
Gobta rode up to me, hopping off his mount and saying, “We found her not far from the mouth of the stream. I think she bled to death.”
The ogres frowned. “Is she one of yours?” the guardmaster asked.
“No,” Gobta said, “I think she’s from a different dire wolf tribe. Her fur’s all sharp and glassy.”
“Dire wolf?” I asked, ambling up to the corpse to inspect it. “She looks… evolved.”
“I know,” Gobta said. “Isn’t it weird?”
“Call Ranga over,” I told him. “Maybe he knows something.”
Ranga arrived flanked by four cubs, who all whined and whimpered upon laying eyes on the dire wolf corpse, scampering behind their patriarch. He leaned forward to sniff the corpse, before rearing up and snarling. I know her, he said. A messenger for the Horn Tribe. She and her brother used to bear us news from the east.
“Any clue as to what happened to her?” I asked Gobta.
“Attacked, obviously,” the goblin said, being about as useful as I expected.
These are bite marks, Ranga said, pawing at a wound. Chunks of flesh were torn off. Fangs, but also molars… It was no wolf who did this. An omnivore.
“I thought we cleared all the surrounding monster dens?” I asked. “Did we miss one?”
Even if we did, Ranga said, it is unlike an evolved dire wolf to fall so easily to them. She was likely overwhelmed.
“But by what?” I asked.
Silence fell over us, before Gobta spoke up, “We have been seeing orcs marching around the edge of the forest. Do you think it was them?”
“That’s worrying,” I said. “Are they showing any signs of marching towards us?”
“They seem to be headed east for the most part,” Gobta said, “though every now and again, we’d run into a lone orc just trudging through the forest, digging up rabbit burrows and munching on berries. They always start tailing us whenever we’re spotted or smelled, without a care for their own life, but they won’t attack—they’d just… stare. We’re able to outrun them, but it’s real creepy.”
Our pack uses similar tactics to scout our prey, Ranga said, although we would avoid being seen. We’re able to telepathically communicate, so we don’t have to return to our pack like you do to report everything.
“But these are orcs,” Gobta said. “Orcs aren’t telepathic… are they?”
I frowned, creeping over the dire wolf and analysing it in my stomach.
[ELECTRICAL RESISTANCE] AND [MYSTIC TENDRILS] ACQUIRED.
“She seems to have different abilities than you, Ranga,” I said. “Why is that?”
Because she evolved under different conditions, the dire wolf said. I’m not entirely certain as to what they are, actually. To my knowledge, no natural dire wolf evolution results in sharp, white fur. Perhaps her pack was named by someone?
“Who, though?” I asked. “And why?”
People usually name monsters to render them subordinate, Ranga said. Perhaps that is what happened here.
“Then where is this master of hers?” the ogre guardmaster asked. “Why is she alone? You said her home was far to the east, too?”
Yes, Ranga said, near the opposite edge of the forest.
“This is weird, right?” I asked. The monsters around me nodded.
“What do we do?” Gobta asked.
“For now,” I said, “we bring it up to the councils. Gobta, you and your riders keep monitoring the orcs. Report back immediately if you notice something out of place.” The goblin nodded. I turned to the ogres, who were throwing nervous glances at me and each other, before frowning to myself. Let’s hope this alliance would bear fruit soon.