Chapter 162:

Anton, Verona, Kal and Cetina stepped through the portal to South Eastern Qaiviel. A blast of fresh air welcomed them on the other side. The brightness of Qaiviel was a welcome change to the dim light of The Shadow Isles. They stood in the middle of the White Dog Company, stationed to the side of the well-worn dirt road and away from the constant stream of traffic.

“Well, here it is. The Red Spines.”

Immediately Anton understood why it was called so. A line of near blood red, almost vertical spikes soared high to cut through the few clouds hanging in the sky. Between each tall spike was a smaller, squatter spike. At the most southern end were two grey mountains, slightly shorter than the spokes but nevertheless extremely tall.

“No wonder...” Anton mused. “So where are these Orcs?”

Conrad shrugged. “Not quite sure. But the town at the base of the mountain would be the best place to find out.”

At the base of the mountain lay a small wooden walled town, a strangely flat walled forest beyond that. Though the town wasn’t that small there was simply far too much traffic for a town of that size.

“Do they trade with the Orcs?” Anton asked. “There’s far too many people on the road otherwise.”

“Not just the Orcs.” Conrad smiled. “But the Wood Elves too. Have you seen them? They’re absolutely beautiful.”

He smiled at the three girls. “Not that you aren’t pretty but they’re in a whole different league. Even the men…” Conrad laughed. “If I was drunk I might just want to take them home.”

“Are you serious?” Verona raised a brow.

Conrad looked at the other mercenaries. A few nodded very seriously.

“Anton!” A Dwarf approached from the edge of the convoy. He and another nine Dwarves sent to protect the stones had finished speaking with a small caravan leaving the Red Spines, a small wooden barrel underneath their arms. “Are we free to go back home?”

“What have you got there?”

“This?” The Dwarf sloshed one of the barrels. “Some Wood Elven wine. We’ll keep a barrel for you, promise we won’t drink this.”

“Dwarves like wine?”

“Dwarves like all types of drink.” He and the others laughed. “Except something that’s been watered down to be piss weak. The Wood Elves make the best wine…They don’t, but don’t tell them that.”

“And what money did you use to pay for it?” Verona asked. She gripped onto the hilt of her small sword. “You didn’t happen to take it from us, did you?”

The Dwarf laughed, completely unconcerned with Verona’s potential threat. “No. We didn’t make this journey without carrying some coin.”

“And humans pay quite well for our hands.” Another Dwarf smiled. “Better than we are back home at any rate.”

Anton gently nodded. As he pointed to the small town Conrad coughed loudly.

“Unfortunately, Lord Anton, this is as far as we were paid to escort you. So we shall be returning to Alfred, rather I should say, Duchess Belinda’s service. Oh, bring their horses forward.”

Their horses were glad to see them and nuzzled at their necks for a pat and scratch.

“We’ll be fine from here.” Anton held out his hand. “It’s been an interesting time travelling with you and your company. One I won’t forget anytime soon.”

Conrad shook his hand. “Us neither. It’s not every day that we fight for the control of an entire Kingdom. We’ll be kept busy hunting down anyone from the Church of the Holy Father that’s still a threat. Then it’s back to good old Bandit suppression. Nothing fancy but it pays well.”

The Dwarves stepped through the portal, happy to have their fresh alcohol, and Kal retrieved the stones. With a final wave the White Dog’s left them, re-joining the road with some very nervous looking merchants and traders.

“Back on the road again.” Anton chuckled. “It’s been a while since it’s been like this.”

“Yeah…” Verona’s glum face instantly brightened. “It has, hasn’t it? I did like living off the land, eating fresh meat each night. Not so much draining the blood…But that’s why we have Kal.”

Kal sighed through her mask. “I’m worth more than that.”

Anton held her hand. “Sleeping underneath the stars is nice too. Nothing but the sounds of night.”

Verona flashed him a devilish look.

“Come on.” Anton mounted his horse. “I want to see if Lazgar made it.”

They joined the stream of people travelling towards the city. The guards allowed them to pass with barely a second glance. Once inside it was like any of Qaiviel’s cities, what surprised him most was the lack of Orcs. He couldn’t find a single of the giant green-skinned people.

“Any sight of them, Kal?”

Kal shook her mask. “I can’t smell them. But there are a lot of people here.”

“Speaking of.” Verona pointed along the main street, leading straight through the city and out the other side.

Near the far wall, Anton spotted them. Four tall, long blonde haired people stood near the gate while a pair of Qaiviel merchants grovelled at their feet. Though it was a long distance away he could see their long ears, identical to the Dark Elves save for their much lighter skin, poking through their bright blonde hair. They wore immaculate green cloaks, everything was hidden beneath apart from a set of brown leather gloves. Anton couldn’t find their bows or blades, but their cloaks were quite bulky.

“Wood Elves.” Anton murmured. “They look as stuck up as Nithroel.”

The four barely paid the grovelling pair any time or attention. Over and over again the two bowed and appeared to be offering anything and everything for their patronage.

“I want to get a bit closer.” Anton waved to the teeming masses around him. “I can’t hear with this much stuff going on.”

“Pull your cloak up.” Verona reached behind Anton’s back. “They might know what we look like.”

Slowly they moved through the cities inhabitants, they parted for their horses but not by much, until they were close enough to hear without magic. Anton smiled as they had stopped in front of some sort of tavern, the perfect place to stop and gather information.

“Verona?” Anton dismounted, landing heavily on the ground. “Could you take my horse for a moment?”

“I’ll do it.” Cetina took the reins.

Anton moved so he would appear to be searching through his packs and enchanted his ears.

“Please forgive my impudent wife.” The male Qaiviel merchant forced the woman’s head low. “She did not mean to offend your eminence.”

A male Wood Elf scoffed, his pointed nose flicked to the sky. “You are lucky that you have not offended my lord any further. Your breath is enough offence to halt our trade.”

The male merchant covered his mouth. “Forgive me.”

“Much better.” The Wood Elf smiled, though it was drenched in arrogance. “Now, my lord’s previous offer still stands. Are you willing to agree to the trade? Fifty barrels of Wood Elven wine for twenty carts of iron ore?”

Is that a good trade? Doesn’t sound like it, if the Dwarves were able to get six for some change?

“Yes.” The merchant nodded. “The Ertorian brand?”

The Wood Elf snorted in disgust. “Do not even dare try to claim that we are anywhere near as lowly as them.”

He slapped the merchant, hard enough to almost draw blood but neither human moved.

“Forgive me for my impudence.” The merchant desperately resisted the urge to hold his cheek.

“You shall be.” A female Wood Elf said, her tone just as dismissive as her counterpart. “Do we have a deal? Fifty barrels of our wine, not the pig-piss Ertorian.”

“Fifty Celisona barrels will be more than sufficient.” The female merchant bowed. “We will prepare the carts immediately.”

“Good. Leave them at the border, we will exchange the goods there.” The female Wood Elf raised her finger. “Remember not to cross the stone markers. Even if you are killed I will hold your family responsible to fulfil the agreement.”

“Of course.”

The Wood Elves turned without a further word and left. The southern road, leading straight to the forest, was more of a rough depression through the grass rather than the well-worn dirt roads of Qaiviel. Anton removed his enchantment and moved to the end of the horse. The wooden walls had obscured two large stone markers sitting either side of the faint road. Something white glinted in the sunlight. Corpses, riddled with hundreds of arrows. Each lay just beyond the stone markers, none before.

“They really don’t want anyone to pass.” Anton shook his head. “Even if it means insulting a rival kingdom.”

“I don’t think they care,” Verona said dismissively. “They basically beat up that poor man.”

The two Qaiviel merchants watched the Wood Elves leave in complete silence, he didn’t even touch his bruised skin. He leant forward before cracking a smile.

“Yes!” He held the woman’s hands tight. “Those dumb-ass fuckers are actually going to give us Celisona wine!”

“So much money!” She squealed in delight, despite looking in her thirties. “How’s your face?”

“This? It’s fine.” He laughed, checking the Wood Elves were definitely gone. “Let’s get that iron. Those idiots don’t check, just give them the crap stuff. We’ll keep the ore we bought from the Orcs.”

The two disappeared into an alleyway.

“That’s one way to make money.” Anton mused, turning to the girls. “The less we have to do with the Wood Elves the better.”

“I’ll wait here with the horses.” Cetina drew her sword. “You should never leave something as important as a horse alone. Especially here.”

“I think it’s pretty safe.” Anton looked around. “Especially if there could be Wood Elf visitors. Just make sure that no one gets close. Not that there’s many that could take you in a fight.”

Cetina smiled as she fastened the reins to the posts. Anton stepped into the tavern, Verona and Kal close behind. For being early in the morning it was surprisingly busy. Nearly every table was filled, though mainly with frothing beer rather than food. A sharp smell told Anton that some had tried to keep down their food and failed miserably.

“I don’t want to be here.” Kal murmured. “Too many people. Too many drunk people.”

“Wait with Cetina,” Anton said. “We won’t be long.”

Kal nodded. She gave their hands a quick squeeze and hurriedly exited the tavern. Verona shouted as Anton turned back; a drunk man had his hand on Verona’s breast, a deranged smile on his face.

“Fucking hell these are soft-”

Anton smacked his hand away and punched him hard in the side of the head. The drunk man stumbled away, landing on a table before tumbling on the floor. Anton flexed his hand, his knuckles throbbed in pain. Those in the tavern looked at Anton. Verona buried her face into Anton’s chest, he could tell she was putting it on a bit, while giving the man a glance.

“Bastard,” Verona whispered.

“Throw him out.” Someone yelled. “Bastards too drunk to be trying to cop a feel.”

A large man, wearing a stained singlet, picked the fallen drunk man, still dazed from the fall, up by his sweat-stained clothes and dragged him out the tavern. Some laughed but everything quickly returned to normal.

“Sorry about that.” A large man called from behind the counter. Anton approached, Verona tucked safely underneath his arm. “Should have thrown him out yesterday.”

“His money is good?” Anton asked. Verona had to take a stool to properly see over. “Doesn’t look like the sort of person that you’d open a tab for.”

“No. He’s got money.” The barman smiled at Verona. “Don’t worry about him. He’s basically harmless.”

“Only one man gets to touch them.” Verona huffed, folded her arms and rested her elbows on the bar.

“So what can I get for you two?”

“Just water,” Verona said softly.

“A beer for me. Any good?”

“Orc or local?”

“What’s the difference?”

“If you want to get paralytic, like him, then pick the Orc beer.”

“Local then.”

Anton scanned the room as he waited. There were all sorts of low to middle-class people present, a few were drunks like the previous but most were just normal workers preparing themselves for another day. Annoyingly he couldn’t find any Orcs.

“If we were going to find the Orcs of the Red Spines.” Anton began, waiting until the barman showed he was listening. “How would we do that?”

“Your best bet would be to go with one of the mountain traders.” The barman placed two small wooden mugs on the bar. “Those guys over there are about to head up.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

He pointed to a nearby group, drinking heavily.

“Any reason why they’re drinking so much?” Verona sipped at the water. “Looks like they’re preparing for war…Or death.”

“It can be a bit treacherous heading up there.” The barman shrugged. “The past little while they’ve turned even more defensive than usual. Nothing too bad but a few people have been killed.”

“I don’t see anyone talking about the civil war.” Anton mused. “No one really seems to care that the Qaiviel Kingdom has been torn in two.”

The barman shrugged. “Doesn’t really affect us. The war wasn’t going to come here for a long time…And they wouldn’t dare attack the Wood Elves.”

“You didn’t see the things we did.” Anton downed the drink. “Some of the things in Clausonne…So travel is restricted to the Red Spines?”

The barman nodded, glad to shift back to the original topic. “Talk to them, see what they have to say. They might let you travel with them.” He looked them over. “You look like you can handle yourselves. Just be careful that you don’t piss them off.”

“The Orcs?” Verona asked.

“You’ve never had to fight a giant slab of green meat before.”

“Not green.” Verona chuckled. “More purple…”

---[]---

Slowly they trundled up the winding mountain path. Every few steps their horses found another loose stone, sending it tumbling down the mountain. Thankfully the path was relatively flat as it led them between the two grey mountains.

“I’m surprised they haven’t fixed this,” Anton said to the caravan leader. “If it’s so important.”

“The Orcs don’t want to do it. And they don’t want human settlements anywhere near the mountain, even if that means a work camp.” The merchant leader pointed to the burnt remains of a small camp off the main road. “That’s what happens to squatters.”

“This part of the border seems very hostile,” Verona said. “Dangerous to live in.”

The leader shrugged. “They’re both fine. Just don’t break their rules and you’ll barely know they’re there. It’s just these fools that never learn. Well, they do learn…”

Everyone in the caravan shared the same sentiments. Anton looked from their elevated position over the grasslands below; there was more than enough room for the humans this far south. Small villages and hamlets dotted the landscape with room to expand. The burnt camp was more likely a bunch of bandits seeking to rob travellers, though they might have genuinely been innocent people.

The caravan only accepted Anton’s after proposal after paying them a considerable sum. Even so, they were very nervous, given the ease of how easy it was apparently to upset the Orcs, and determined to keep them under control and a very tight leash.

“So where do they live?” Verona asked loudly. “Do they live in the mountains themselves or nestled in a valley somewhere?”

“Can they dig tunnels like the Dwarves?” Kal asked.

“The Orcs have a lot of small outposts and hamlets throughout the Red Spines. We’re heading to the closest, Ozredkig. We can’t go any further. What…What are you looking for there? It would be easier to buy the metal ore back in town. Not to mention you need to bring it back down this path…”

An Ix drawn cart began to shift. The driver whipped the beast to accelerate and pulled it free from the slipping stones.

“Just like that.” The merchant leader breathed a sigh of relief. “And that’s not even full.”

“I hope you get paid a lot.” Verona chuckled.

The merchant laughed, but not as heartily as Anton hoped.

As they reached the top of the ridge the landscape changed. Nestled safely in the shadows of the three mountains lay a veritable oasis, strange but nevertheless enticing. Small trees and shrubs, reminiscent of those on The Shadow Isles yet morphed with something from a swamp, grew around small bubbling ponds, birds and insects fluttered about as they passed through.

“No wonder they don’t want anyone coming through here.” Verona chuckled. “Does everyone else know it’s like this up here?”

“They know something’s going on.” The merchant leader pointed to a large patch of grass above the small ponds. “But they know we’re here too. Just don’t touch anything and you’ll be fine.”

Anton witnessed an eel-like creature move through the water, carrying a rotten piece of meat.

“We didn’t see any corpses in the little camp,” Anton said softly.

“No. And it’s best not to think about it too much.”

Over the next half hour they passed through the strange ponds, the ground and stone changed from grey to red. Everything smelled of rust and iron but there was something else in the red rocks. A different metal that numbed his nose. Every so often he would catch movement in the long grasses. The grasses were more than large enough to hide Orcs, and they were being watched very, very closely. Anton smiled as he realised how they were communicating; faint whistles that mimicked the birds but were slightly different.

“Okay, everyone.” The merchant leader waved his hand high in the air. “Keep your weapons sheathed and your hands where the Orcs can see them. That goes double for you four. I don’t want to get hit with a barbed arrow today.”

Everyone grew more tense as they followed the stone pathway along the south of the first Red Spine. A fissure emerged running down the southeastern side of the Red Spine, carving away almost a third of the giant stone tower. A city lay at the base, nestled safely in the tower. It didn’t resemble any human or Dark Elf city, it looked similar to the Kobold encampment; an outer perimeter of large rough wooden logs hammered into the stone, red rocks added for extra strength, inside lay large circular huts, multiple layers of buildings rose along the red stone wall for over a hundred meters. Green blobs moved throughout the city, Orcs, thousands of Orcs. Anton enhanced his eyes for a moment; they wore a mixture of rough brown cloth and leather hides. The leather looked more like Verona’s armour and appeared to restrict their movements somewhat. Still, even those deep in the city were prepared for battle.

“Everyone just remain calm and take things slow. We’ll be fine.”

How are they going to react when I ask about Lazgar? Well, I do have one person with me that they might mistake for a Clansmen.

“Verona? Make sure your hair is covered. It might make them agitated.”

“Right.” Verona pulled her hood down tight, even her eyebrows were shielded from sight.

Thirty Orcs emerged from the long grasses either side of the gate. Upon closer inspection, the grasses had been planted there for this exact reason. All were males and wore a mixture of leather and cloth armour along with pieces of grass to help them blend in. Though they looked a little silly out in the open Anton wasn’t about to deny he had no idea of their presence.

“Who is this?” An Orc asked, a spectacular specimen of their race. He pointed a wooden spear, tipped with a barbed blade at Anton. “They are different.”

“Yes…” The merchant leader turned to Anton. “They said they had some business with one of you.”

The Orc stepped well around the convoy, the others kept their bows, gnarled and dangerous arrows, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

“Human’s don’t usually come here.” The Orc stopped before Anton’s horse, levelling the spear at his stomach. “What do you want, human?”

“We met an Orc travelling through the Accursed Forest heading towards the Red Spines. Several hundred Orcs travelled with him. I wanted to know if he made it.”

The Orc scoffed. “Don’t know anything about that.”

He turned to leave, signalling something to the others.

“I know he’ll remember me,” Anton said, the Orc stopped dead. “I healed his brother’s wounds, wounds that could have killed him.”

“Do you think you have a name?”

Here it goes…

“Lazgar.”

The Orc’s hands tightened. Those in the caravan grew incredibly nervous, most broke into a nervous sweat and readied themselves for some sort of fight.

Anton smiled. “I’m sure he’ll recognise me.”

The Orc glanced at the others. They appeared to have no thoughts on the matter.

“Move to the side.” He grumbled. “Let the other humans in. Don’t think they’re a part of this.”

“They’re certainly not.” Anton gently whipped the reins. “We just needed safe passage, so we didn’t trespass.”

They were directed to an area to the side of the pathway as the caravan was allowed inside.

“So are we about to be killed?” Verona asked, still keeping her hood low. “Seems a shame after coming all this way, after doing everything we’ve done.”

“I don’t think so,” Kal said quietly. “If I could show them my face…”

“Better not obscure myself from view.” Anton walked his horse back two paces before the Orcs descended upon him. Not violently but they didn’t want him taking another step. He smiled and waved them down. “Don’t worry. I’m just making sure Lazgar gets a good look at me.”

“You don’t even know he’s in there.” An Orc, not the leader, said gruffly.

“If you had no idea who he was you wouldn’t be doing this.” Anton smiled. “Nor would you have just said that.”

The Orc pursed his lips.

“Actually I didn’t know.” Anton chuckled. “But that reaction just confirmed it.”

Verona rolled her eyes and they waited in silence. The Orcs within the city began to gather towards the front of the city, pointing towards them. Anton smiled and waved, the Orcs grew irritated but he received several waves from the Orc children.

After what felt like an age the gates opened. Another Orc stepped through, far thinner than the others. Anton’s mind clicked; it was an Orc Thrall, the result of the first offspring of a female Orc that was essentially a naturally born eunuch. After the Thrall had been born every child was normal, more like the warrior Orcs.

“Let them in.” The Orc Thrall said. “It…It all works out.”

“You treat the Thralls well?” Anton asked the Orcs softly.

“Why shouldn’t we?” The lead orc sniffed. “They’re flesh and blood, even if they’re not as strong.”

“Better than using them as slaves.”

The Orcs grew silent and angry at his words, not at them, thankfully. Inside Anton saw the caravan, the Orcs loading the carts high with chunks of iron ore. Anton smiled and waved down their worried looks, he hoped that they would still be allowed up here after travelling with them.

Ozredkig was quite the bustling city; hunted animals, slightly smaller than the massive Orcs, were hung from wooden racks to drain their blood, Thralls moved around and delicately skinned the beasts. A normal Orc tried and failed spectacularly, requiring a Thrall to take over and finish the job.

They work together? Thralls are for far more delicate work and would likely stay at home while the other go out and fight and hunt. Makes some sense…But only if it was planned. I don’t see natural evolution doing something like that on its own. Then again there is magic in this world…

Beyond them, the Orcs readied weapons and crafted wood for their city. A small gang of red dust covered Orcs emerged carrying mighty pickaxes, a group of Thralls behind pulling a small cart of Iron ore. The female Orcs, only slightly smaller than the men, weaved baskets and cared for the curious throngs of children. Almost all of their time was spent herding the children.

Slowly the streets began to empty, the Orcs moved away from a group of warriors marching up the street. These were different from the stalkers outside; thick leather armour and menacing spears, clubs and bows. Their escort stopped them as Anton saw a head bob from behind the warriors.

“That’s him.” A male Orc waved from behind the warriors. “There’s no way I’m going to forget that face.”

“That’s a little harsh.” Anton smiled, dismounting his horse alongside the girls. “We only met once.”

Lazgar patted the shoulders of the Orcs. They moved aside but kept their heavy yet crude weapons ready. Lazgar looked far better than he did in the forest; better built, his hair was well groomed and his skin shined with a healthy glow.

“I honestly didn’t think I’d see you again” Lazgar offered his massive green hand.

“I’ve been meaning to visit.” Anton shook his hand, thankfully Lazgar didn’t try and crush his in return. “But a lot of things have happened.”

“Where’s the…” Lazgar looked over them. “The half-breed girl? Did something happen to her?”

Kal waved. “Most humans aren’t ready to see a Beast-kin living amongst them.”

“I’m sure Orcs would be welcome in Atros now,” Anton said, Verona nodded seriously. “Not so sure at the beginning but now…It might have actually helped with the Beast-kin.”

“We still had to come here.” Lazgar smiled. “We belong amongst our own kind. Not that I’m doubting your intentions..."

“It’s fine. Do you have somewhere safe to talk? I want to know what happened to you.”

“This way.” Lazgar waved them deeper into the city. He stopped and tapped the shoulder of an Orc warrior. “Is that alright? I’m sure they’re fine.”

“If they try anything they’ll get a taste of our axes.” The Orc swung his giant axe. “Don’t think they’re strong enough to stop us.”

Lazgar led them through the small winding alleyways up the layers of Ozredkig. Orc children ran over the wooden floors, tired mothers chasing just behind. The children stopped and pointed at Anton, quizzically chatting about his light skin and hair, before their attention moved to the girls behind. The women stopped, their hands flexed in fear and dragged their children away. Lazgar smiled and apologised as he led them up into the buildings above the main city. Wooden beams, supporting the entire structure, were threaded into holes carved into the red stone. A red paste was rammed into the gaps to secure the wood and prevent slippage.

“Here’s home,” Lazgar said, pointing to a building near the top of the Orc city. “It’s a long way down but it’s a lot better than living in the forests.”

“It’s not that bad.” Kal chuckled. “Once you’ve got a safe camp and a water supply it’s pretty easy.”

“Just for one person.” Lazgar smiled. “Not when you’re leading a few hundred people.”

“Are they here too?” Anton asked.

Lazgar pointed to a layer below them. Several Orcs waved back, Anton recognised some of their faces, even the brother that he healed.

“Lazgar?” A female Orc poked her head over a small wooden railing. “What’s happening?”

“Uro, do you remember the humans we met in the forest?”

“Yes…Oh. You made it.” Uro smiled. “Did the wolves attack you?”

“That was something I wanted to ask.” Anton looked at Lazgar. “We did fight them, actually. Darn annoying…Kal had a tooth rip through her foot but she was too tough to tell me right away.”

“I was worried you’d freak out when you saw it.” Kal removed her mask and unruffled her hair. “But I don’t have that problem anymore. Maybe some girl that wasn’t there for your transformation would feel that way.”

Verona shrugged. “Or Rasha. She knows.”

“You remember Batul?” Uro waved her shy daughter forward. “She’s already grown so much.”

It’s been a few months at the most.

Batul had grown, considerably, perhaps half a foot and some decent muscle mass. However, she was still shy and hid behind her mother’s legs.

“How long are they staying?”

“I’m not sure.” Lazgar looked them over. “But I think they can have a drink for now.”

“I’ll get them.” Uro entered their house, Batul close behind. Anton glanced inside and saw their home was carved into the wall for space. “We only have water, is that alright?”

“That’s fine.”

Lazgar brought out enough chairs for everyone and sat down.

“So tell us what happened to you,” Anton said. “You’ve been on the back of my mind for a while now. I wanted to know if you made it alright.”

“There’s not much to say.” Lazgar took his wife’s small earthen cup with grace. “After parting a pack of wolves descended upon us. We fought them off, no one died thankfully, and we made it here. At first, they didn’t want us but we managed to get in.”

“Nothing too much in compensation I hope.” Anton took his cup with a smile. “It wouldn’t be too difficult to take advantage of someone in a difficult situation.”

Lazgar smiled. “Nothing like that. Just that we work with everyone else. They don’t really care that we’re not from the same clan, we are all Orcs after all. Not you…”

“I heard there was something terrible happening in Qaiviel.” Uro passed out the last cup. “Is it over? It’s not coming here, is it?”

“No” Anton scratched his beard. “Well, for now it isn’t. It’s all a bit of a mess.”

“Sounds like you had some critical role in that.” Lazgar chuckled. “You had some fancy magic when we met but that’s not enough to overthrow a Kingdom.”

“He’s a lot stronger than that now.” Kal smiled proudly. “Especially in the last little while. Those books were a great boon for us…Though we’ll now actually have time to study them now.”

“Everything’s done.” Verona drank the water. “That’s not bad…But now we have some time. Time to relax over the winter.”

“Not really.” Anton winced. “We still have Seocuria, the Graterian Royal Academy, the Dwarven Isles, the Mycean City states, the Frindal Emirate, the Holy Kingsland, the Centaur Invasion of Qaiviel-”

Verona raised her hand. “Stop…Can’t we just have a few days to ourselves? I want to spend some time, in our home, with my husband…Not to mention Luna and the Chirok’s.”

“Well, apart from that,” Anton coughed. “I wanted to know what you wanted to do. If you wanted to retake your home, your clan.” Anton smiled. “Maybe by next winter, or the next, we’ll have enough powerful weapons to overcome any threat.”

“Right…” Verona gently nodded.

“I…” Lazgar took a deep breath. “I don’t know. At the time I was furious at what happened to my father. However the journey…Calmed me? I don’t know how to describe it. I still hate them for what they did but I don’t want to threaten what remains of my people. Or my daughter. She’s finally safe…And we have another well on the way.”

Verona chuckled. “Same. I hope it has Anton’s hair rather than my own.” Verona pulled at a few loose silver strands. “This keeps getting me into trouble.”

“If you change your mind let us know,” Anton said. “We can help, but I don’t want to try and force you to do anything. I was also wondering if it’s possible to set up a portal somewhere here. I’d like to trade with the Orcs. Looks like they have a lot of iron ore, ore that we’re going to need in truly great volumes. If the Wood Elves want it then it must be of a good quality.”

“Is that their forest?” Kal pointed to the south.

“Not exactly.” Lazgar stood up, raised a hand to his prominent brow. “You can’t see it but there are a line of these huge stones in the forest. Everything to the north of that is ours, we just don’t go beyond those.”

“Unless you want to be peppered with arrows,” Anton said.

Lazgar nodded. “Yes. Haven’t seen it happen but I believe the stories. Whatever this portal is I don’t think it’s a problem. Is it dangerous?”

“No. It’ll allow us to come and go very quickly, across a seemingly limitless distance.”

“That sounds utterly fanciful.” Uro smiled. “But I suppose it’s possible. You healed Lazgar’s brother without a word.”

“I’ve gotten better since then.” Anton smiled back. “I’d like to buy some Iron Ore before we go…I think it’ll be best if we just go through the portal and bring the horses. Our next destination is probably the Graterious Royal Academy.”

“That’s…” Lazgar stroked his black beard. “I don’t think you’re lying.”

Everyone stopped and looked out over the forest.

“It would be nice to stop and relax for a moment.” Anton held Verona and Kal’s hands. “If only things would calm down for a little while.”

“They won’t.” Verona laughed. “You know they won’t.”

Anton looked over the forest, Nithroel’s forest, and wondered what the Goddess had in store for them next. She had escaped retribution for her actions this time, but Anton was in no position to attack her yet. But that was the most important word; yet. If they could properly replicate and improve the Earth weapons, mass produced with the skill of the Dwarves, no army could stand against them. But those days were still far off, so Anton focused himself on the present. At what the future would hold. No matter what was thrown at them, by Nithroel or anything else this world or any other could possibly muster, he would face it with everyone by his side. Of that he was certain.