“Unreasonable.” Conquer scoffed. “Two months with no war, for sixteen barrels of wheat.”
“My clan will starve!” Trample shouted.
“Then you will have failed as clan leader, and I will come and the Rippers will join the Biters.”
Trample let out a wordless yell and rushed at Conquer. Learn scrabbled backward. He had known this would end with fighting, had assumed it from the beginning. He would stay back and let his father deal with it, as he so often did.
Despite the sudden influence Learn was now wielding, it took several days for the Ruling Council to assemble. Learn traveled back and forth between the camps outside of Shrike and the city proper, managing and delegating tasks. Under his eye, a more cohesive leadership structure was slowly, organically forming in the orcish community. It was unrealistic to think that he could continue to keep their entire population at heel by himself. So while he held his power, he allowed for adjutants to speak for him. He had assumed that Conquer’s unifying of the Red Desert would splinter back into the original clans; he was pleasantly surprised to see that he had been wrong. Tradition, as ever, dictated the orcs, and though they allowed this new leadership to deal with oversight, they all professed, when asked, to being Biters through and through. All of the same family, all following Learn, the smartest and most powerful orc.
He was unused to the honor and praise being heaped upon him, but truth be told, it was not so different from before. He was still an outcast, still seen as something different to his people. Now they spoke of him to his face, but he wasn’t any more one of them than he had been before, where he had been weaker and odd before, now he was strong and clever.
Now he sat at a table in Shrike’s palace, where Jotep Rule lived. The room was cavernous, and yet Learn was still too large for the table, for the seat in which he sat. Around the table were Lysselia, Celeste, Jotep Rule, Dietrich, and the leader of shrike’s mercantile sector, a young human woman named K’fir. Learn looked to Celeste, who appeared just as uncomfortable as he did. She met his eyes, and he gave a weak grin.
“Now,” Jotep Rule began, voice astringent and pitchy. “We’ve gathered to discuss peace with the orcs. Learn here, he-he-,” the man paused and cleared his throat. “He ask- he – he asked for this meeting, and the c-con-contents of s-such a treaty.” Learn nodded, and began to speak. It was clear that the man had no more love for speaking publicly than Learn did, but Learn noted the man’s impediment and wanted to save him the effort.
“Many of you know me. I came before my people, to learn. Under Lysselia, under Dietrich. Not as an informant. I had left the Biters — my clan.” He corrected himself. Not many of them would know who the Biters had been, nor the differences between them and the other clans of the Red Desert. “My father Conquer came after me. He battled other clans, challenged their leaders to the Rite of Strength. Won them all. I beat him in the Rite of Strength. I lead my people.” He stood, both because his seat was uncomfortably tight, and to make a greater impression.
“We want peace. Acceptance. Open trade. I will bring my people back to the Red Desert, far from here. But, I want my people represented. Allow them to become citizens. Have an orc on the Ruling Council, speaking for my people. A new age of peace, possible now.”
There was silence in the room, save for the scratching of quill on parchment by scribes. Finally, K’fir broke the silence.
“The Red Desert declared mass war on us, what, a few weeks ago?” Her voice was clipped, rushed. “The fighting has just abated, but Shrike’s citizens died in the attack. Herald Hawks, innocents caught too far from the walls. You expect us to forget about that? What’s to stop it from happening again?”
“Agreements. Treaties.”
“And what if someone beats you? You say you want peace, but what of the next orc?” K’fir’s points were concise, but her businesslike tone couldn’t hide the undercurrents of fear.
“True of both sides. What if the next Rule doesn’t like the orcs? We need trust.”
“I do,” Celeste piped up. “Trust you, I mean. Look, K’fir, I know my word isn’t worth much to you. I’m not much of a replacement for Miles. But I know Learn. I’ve seen what he’s doing out there. He isn’t just ruling. He’s organizing. Already the orcs are forming up, creating a system that will work for them. And it isn’t just Learn! He’s laid the track, but the orcs are pushing the cart themselves now.”
Learn nodded.
“Don’t want the power.” he said. “I’ll distribute it, slowly. If you work with the leaders of my people, peace is possible.”
“The question is simple.” Dietrich said. The dwarf’s voice was quiet and contemplative as ever. He looked toward Learn and held up one finger. Learn recognized the gesture: one question for one question. He nodded.
“You gained your power through this Rite of Strength. Through a death — albeit one that was meaningful to you,” he added after noticing Learn’s stricken expression at the mention of his father. “Still, violence will only beget violence. So I ask you, Learn of the Red Desert, can the scorpion truly defy its nature? Should we invite you to cross the ocean on our backs, only to suffer poison before we arrive at the shore?”
Learn didn’t know what answer Dietrich was looking for, but he spoke anyway, letting the old dwarf’s Command bring forth the true answer from within him.
“Scorpion is always dangerous. But danger, tempered, is strength. A blade if used carefully, can create beauty — sculpture, carving. Scorpion is still scorpion. But orcs, we’re not scorpions. We are orcs. We can change slowly, but we are only dangerous to others, to not-family.
“Become our family, and get all our loyalty.” Learn said. He decided to give a show of trust, to ask Dietrich his question in return as a simple one. “Think it worthwhile to you? Larger community. Safer.”
“You claim to be able to temper your people’s being, but then play on the same strings of my own? Dwarves are tight-knit, yes, but because we are careful. Who is to say that dwarves are just as malleable, just as temperable? Who is to say that a larger community does not invite more dangers? My people stay safe by staying small. Out of sight, out of mind. Predators overlook us for richer targets. If we were to ‘enlarge our community,’ we would gain all of your enemies. I am terribly sorry, Learn, but I think it not worthwhile.”
“What enemy could be half as threatening as the whole of the Red Desert?” Celeste asked. “Barbur only has it’s navy, they couldn’t establish the supply lines they’d need to attack Shrike — or Unten. And Pashosh hasn’t mounted a military campaign in decades.”
“You are correct. No enemy is as threatening as the Red Desert. But,” Dietrich folded his hands together. “The Red Desert is no longer our enemy. Learn has made strides. I do not deny the prospect of allyship, rather I simply believe it imprudent to tie ourselves together now.”
“Let the events settle first.” Learn said slowly. He understood where the old dwarf was coming from. He wanted to protect his people from threats unknown and known. Orcs were an oddity, an unknown. It didn’t make sense for him to tie their fates together just yet.
Learn would have to make concessions, he had known that coming in. He had Celeste on his side, he knew that for certain, and Lysselia was among the more open-minded citizens of Shrike he had met; the matronly elf would accept overtures of peace. He didn’t know K’fir, but the woman vehemently opposed the addition of the orcs to Shrike. Jotep, the ostensible Ruler of Shrike, looked nervous, as if he didn’t know which side to take. But since the man’s power was mostly ceremonial, Learn didn’t have to put forth that much energy toward convincing him. Still, streaks of anxiety plunged down Learn’s back like icy water. He could tell he was reverting to older speaking patterns, seeking a form of comfort in any way he could.
“Don’t need orcs on Ruling Council. But ambassadors, some trade. Shrike and the Red Desert have resources the other needs. Just makes sense.”
“Quite. It would be unwise to dismiss the potentials of an entire people. I came quite close to it, myself, but Learn has proven himself. The orcs are a resource in and of themselves.” Lysselia said.
Celeste looked around the room before speaking.
“While the Herald Hawks’ forces haven’t been destroyed, we have suffered heavy losses. It will definitely be a good, long while before orcs will be accepted, but I would like to create a squad of orcs; the potential upsides of such a strong unit vastly outweigh any negatives.”
“You would trust the orcs to listen to your command?” K’fir scoffed.
“Keffie, hundreds of orcs backed down on Learn’s command, just days ago. Is your memory that short? There’ll be issues integrating orcs into civilization, but authority is not one of them!”
“It’s a good point.” Dietrich said. “A probationary period? I would accept on behalf of the dwarves in Shrike, but not without an exit strategy. Say, seven years where the treaty can be dissolved with a quorum. By either side. A place to live, ambassadors to speak for you. Some trade?” Celeste nodded.
“One year.” Learn said. Every point, every argument, every minutia pushed his people further and further from acceptance. The longer they were the other, the higher the risk that one side or another loses sight of the objective. Greed could bring these meetings down as quickly as indignation. Treating was… frustrating. Learn would have to find people who were better at it than he was. He would head back to the Red Desert to educate his people, to use his role to better them.
“Five,” Dietrich bartered.
“Three.”
“Three,” Dietrich nodded. “All in favor?” Learn raised an open palm up, mirroring Jotep’s gesture. Lysselia raised her hand, followed by Celeste. K’fir, eyes angry, folded her arms across her chest. They looked to Jotep Rule. The man blinked, wide eyes watery, as if the room was just now coming into focus.
“O-okay. We will – we will write up a t-treaty.”
K’fir let out a frustrated scoff as she stood and stalked out of the room. Learn finally, finally allowed himself to slump back into his seat and relax, blessedly shutting his eyes.
“Hey, big guy.” Celeste placed a hand on Learn’s shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk.”
————
Learn was borrowing two thick woolen cloaks, raided from one of the Herald Hawk’s armories. Twined together, the two hung around his shoulders, coming down halfway along his forearms. It left his hands cold, fingers stiff from the chill. Celeste, to her credit, was wearing only her dress uniform.
“How are you warm?” Learn asked.
“I’m not,” Celeste answered, scanning the area around them. They had walked a short distance, and now stood in an empty clearing, between two larger tenement buildings. The high walls next to them blocked out the sun, making the chill even more intense.
“Don’t look cold.”
“Just because I’m not warm doesn’t mean I’m cold. I’ve been in weather much worse than this, big guy.”
Learn grunted his acknowledgement.
“Besides,” Celeste continued. “It’s going to get much colder over the next few moons. Best get used to it if you’re going to be an ambassador.”
“Not me,” Learn answered. “Someone else. Better at it.”
“You’re pretty damned good at it, Learn. Over the course of what, three days? You’ve managed to not only depose a corrupt tyrant of a leader, you’ve also managed to create new connections between people. Sure, there’s a long way to go, but you’ve made one hell of a start.”
“…Don’t want to.” Learn said.
“Well that’s entirely different, big guy! Whether you want to or not, you’re the face of the Red Desert now. I didn’t want to lead the Hawks, but here I am too. Sometimes you’ve just gotta put what you want aside, for the sake of the larger picture.”
Learn didn’t bother answering. They were both dancing around the conversation that neither of them wanted to have, that both of them knew they needed to have. Learn sighed.
“Did you get rid of it?”
“Yes.” Celeste answered, quickly and confidently. Learn reached out with his sense, with the binding between them. He couldn’t discern anything from her statement, whether she was truthful or not.
“It’s dangerous.” He said, putting as much emphasis behind the word as he could. He wished he could find another way to have taken down his father in a Rite of Strength. But he had worked with what he had available.
Learn wasn’t a particularly strong Tasked, nor particularly skilled in Satisfaction’s school of magic. He could cast spells, and his focus let him cast incantations slightly quicker. Where he excelled was in alchemy, invention.
He had spent his time in Shrike working from one of Lrfshmn’s earlier experiments, manipulating the ingredients in the powder until it was far more volatile than the goblin had thought possible. Where before one would need barrelfuls of the stuff alongside an open flame for anything to happen, Learn had managed to make it so that a small amount would catch after the smallest of sparks.
Stuff that in a metal tube, add a slug in front of it, and a small striking platform of flint on the back, and Learn had created a weapon that could kill across vast distances, striking faster and harder than any crossbow.
He had had Celeste test it, for the first time, on his father. It had worked beyond his wildest expectations, and the result was the mythos now surrounding him. He had seemed to cast a spell with a thought, had summoned an invisible strike of lightning to bore through his father’s skull.
All he had done was arm Celeste, and trust in her. Now, though, he wanted to destroy the thing. He was the only one with knowledge of how it was made, and he had torn up his notes, burnt them after he had made enough for the one shot. The weapon was far too dangerous. The knowledge would die with him.
“I know, Learn. I got rid of it. Destroyed it. It’s gone.”
Learn searched the human’s face, but she let nothing show. Finally, he let out a sigh and nodded. She was telling the truth.
“Good. Thank you.”
“Of course, Learn. Trust, remember?” She reached up and gripped the back of his neck, standing on the tips of her toes. Learn leaned down and brought his forehead to hers. The contact couldn’t quell the silent sound of mistrust hiding in the back of his mind, but he forced it to the side.
