Hilde caught Shin by the arm as he stepped out of the pavilion, her voice kept diplomatically low but her tone serious all the same. “What’s the big plan here, Furball?” the hobgoblin asked, her eyes warily keeping watch over the Wild Children and the prisoners. “Because if we’re about to execute all of these elves, I don’t think I get the twist.”
“Of course you don’t.” Higen strolled out behind Shin, his hands folded behind his back as he raised an eyebrow at Hilde. “You might be with us, but you aren’t one of us. You’ll never truly understand us.”
“Okay first off?”–The hobgoblin took a quick, scathing inventory of Higen–”You look like you’ve got a shed full of chopped-off feet somewhere. So maybe take a step back from the whole ‘Look at How Spooky I Am’ aesthetic you’re hammering away at. You’ve blown straight past ‘Scary Predator’. You’re at ‘Forest Weirdo’ now. Alright?”
By way of a response, Higen spat.
“Gross.”
Shin motioned for Hilde to walk with him, the woman shooting Higen a final dirty look before following along. “I get it, Hilde. Really. You joined your Tribe to ours with a knife practically pressed to your throat. There wasn’t much of a chance to become familiar with our less…decorous side.”
“Yes, Shin; I think nighttime forest murder definitely counts as non-decorous. Er, un-decorous?”
“Indecorous.”
Hilde snapped her fingers. “Right, that.”
“The point is, I’d totally understand If after this is finished, you wanted to leave and–”
“No no no, Shin. No.” Hilde waved him off. “It’s not like that. Becoming part of this family saved us. Honestly if something you were doing was that much of a dealbreaker, I’d be much more likely to try and run you out than to leave myself.”
Shin grinned. “I’d turn every corner expecting you to jump out at me with a rock in hand, no question.”
“It’s just that this ‘bursting out of the woods and burning everything down’ business is some real hobgoblin-type shit. You know?” Hilde scowled, fussing with the sash that held up her sword. “I want something different for my guys. We could have done that stuff back where we came from.”
“Then let’s figure out exactly what we are going to do, together.” Shin extended a hand. “Alright?”
Hilde peered down at the offered shake for a moment, then playfully bumped her shoulder into Shin’s. “Geez, this got so serious.” She stuck out her tongue. “Just keep in mind that if you’ve got more ransacking on the docket, I’m well acquainted with all the best places to bite you.”
That was a good point. Maybe this whole plan needed a bit of a rework. “I call a time-out.”
“Oh no, Shin.” She grinned impishly. “As has been heavily established, time-outs will not be honored.”
With that she broke off to join the others, a bit of a sashay in her stride. Good, this pushback was good. As his plans had grown bigger and began to invite more conflict, he’d worried that the kobolds he’d already led to the grandest victories of their lives would be inclined to simply go along with whatever strategy he suggested. Having Hilde and the hobgoblins around to potentially call out whenever his worst impulses flared up would be a relief.
It was also a relief that Hilde either hadn’t pieced together, or was choosing to ignore, a vital truth that Shin had sussed out almost immediately. Namely, why did Higen and the Wild Children wipe out the fortress, then leave it wrecked and easy to retake? The answer was simple: so they could come back and kill whichever group claimed it next. Shin very much hoped Hilde never realized exactly to what extent joining the Alliance really did save all of the hobgoblins’ lives.
“Well the hobgoblins are better than the human, at least.” Higen sounded unconvinced in spite of his faint praise. “Doubt one’ll ever have the makings of one of the Wild Children, though.”
“Yeah and I’m sure they are heartbroken.”
Higen spat again. “So anyways. You’re going to let the elves live, are you?”
Shin shrugged. “If at all possible.”
“Hm.” Higen scratched at his blood-caked beard. “The Children won’t take that well. Not that you can’t be a convincing little shit, at times.”
“I’m a convincing Big shit, at all times. And your attack dogs aren’t going to be an issue.”
“Oh really?” Higen tilted his head, a bit of a sneer seeping into his voice. “You did okay facing down one challenger, but do you really think the whole pack will–”
“Momo.”
Higen fell silent as the little priestess broke off from the group, her eyebrows questioningly raised. “Yes, Shin?”
The Schemer glanced towards the clump of Wild Sons and Daughters, confirming for himself what he’d already suspected. “Our newfound brothers and sisters have been without the Great Mothers’ ritual and service for too long. Would you be willing to tend to them?”
Momo’s eyebrow just barely arched, solely for Shin’s benefit. But she clearly understood the ploy, and played her own part to perfection. “It would be my honor and pleasure.” She turned towards the raiders, the normally ferocious kobolds as rapt and disarming as newborn pups. “You have been alone for so long in the wilds, Children. Let me share the grace and comfort of our Great Mother with you.”
The Wild Children followed without a growl of dissent as she began to lead them back to the fortress, just as Shin suspected they would. Even if their name wasn’t a dead giveaway, it seemed clear that Higen’s formative thrashing by Momo had emerged as a wholehearted devotion to the clergy in his inheritors.
Shin considered offering Higen a smug look. See? That’s how you deal with a pack of unruly dogs. But the wild kobold had followed Momo as well, so the option wasn’t even on the table. Hrmph. Taking the high road was not as rewarding without a low road to gawk at.
Oh, almost forgot. Shin gave a loud snap of his fingers, the Wild Son he’d bullied into the dirt jerking upright from the spot he’d been placed in. “You can go, too.”
The kobold immediately bolted off after his pack, but not before offering Shin a look that was perhaps fifteen percent resentment, eighty-five percent appreciation. Not bad. It’d be a long term project, but at least Shin knew that house-training them was possible.
He had other concerns at the moment, however. Removing the Wild Children from the picture was the first step, but peace was in no way a sure thing. There could still be many more deaths today. And it would all depend on the choice of a single elf.
———————————————————————————————————
As Wren stirred back to consciousness, his first thought was that he was probably dead. He wasn’t in pain anymore, after all. Though a lack of pain in the afterlife would tend to suggest he’d been granted entrance to one of the Divine Boughs, and Wren had never been a particularly devout man. Too many Gods. Too confusing to remember who did what. Couldn’t keep the prayers straight.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
In point of fact, when compelled to offer homage to the seemingly endless Oaken Elf Pantheon, Wren would invariably fall back to the only invocation he knew wouldn’t bring down the wrath of any of them: ‘Fuck Tilthu Che, the God of Swears!’. The vast majority of the godhead didn’t care, Tilth Himself found it grudgingly appropriate and Ooloo, the Goddess of Wordplay, apparently thought it was hilarious.
Shit. Wren hoped he was not in Wordplay Heaven. Wren would not have a good time in Wordplay Heaven.
It was with momentary relief, followed immediately by cold understanding, that he realized he wasn’t in any sort of Heaven at all. He was stripped of his armor and placed in a row with all of his soldiers, arranged at the pleasure of the kobolds and hobgoblins who imperiously stared down at them. An execution line, then.
Wren groggily cast an eye to his either side. So few left. So few.
The elf turned his head back as a familiar voice spoke, his vision still a bit blurry. Oh, it was the kid. So they were involved with all of this. Oh well. It would be some other brand new, already world-weary general’s problem in a few moments.,
“--listening? General. Wren.”
Wren straightened up with a start, having not realized he’d zoned out. Gods but he was tired. “I’m listening.”
Shin leaned forward, his expression severe. “I want you to pick one of your soldiers. Whomever you trust the most.”
Really? Wren hadn’t thought the kid was the type for these sorts of cruel games. So what, would the chosen elf be tortured? Or have to swing the blade? Either way, Wren knew the only choice was to just get this over as quickly as possible for all of his soldiers. That didn’t mean he had to play exactly by the rules as set, though.
“The soldier I trust the most is myself,” he croaked out. “I pick me.”
The kobold straightened, inscrutable. “General Wren has picked himself.” He cast his eyes out across the other soldiers. “Does anyone volunteer to take the general’s place?”
Every single hand shot into the air, Wren silently cursing the loyalty of his troops as Shin picked one out at random. The chosen elf was young, so young, yet held herself so strong and proud as she rose from the line and stood at attention. Trees be damned. Good for you.
Shin beckoned the soldier forward, the elf immediately marching into the wolves’ den without a second’s hesitation. Wren couldn’t look away, dreading the inevitable turn but unwilling to dishonor his soldier’s sacrifice by not witnessing it personally. But then, the kobold produced a scroll. “This was written by Lady Bittercup,” he said, placing the parchment into the hand of the deeply surprised elf. “Take it to Quercus and put it directly in the hands of the highest ranking person you can find.”
The soldier gripped the letter tightly, her eyes widening. “I…you mean, I can go?”
Shin nodded, but the elf hesitated. She glanced over her shoulder at the general, relief and shame and uncertainty warring for control of her face. She was clearly waiting for Wren to say something, so he cleared his throat. “It’s okay. You should go.” Still she delayed, and so Wren raised his voice. “GO!”
Wren watched the soldier bolt off into the night, anticipating some ambush or arrow to take her from behind as she ran further and further from the light of the smoldering camp. But none came. Then this…wasn’t some game?
Wait. Lady Bittercup. Wren turned back towards his captors, realizing that the noblewoman was standing on their side of the divide. He considered then immediately discarded the possibility that she had been in league with the kobolds, an ember beginning to burn in his gut as he raised his increasingly clear voice. “What’s going on here?”
Shin stared back, his face still the picture of seriousness. “Everybody getting to live, I hope.”
Wren’s pulse raced in his ears, his mouth working by itself. “I must inform you that my code of honor doesn’t allow me to cooperate with a wartime enemy of the Oaken Elf people. If you try to take me as a prisoner, I am duty bound to fight back.”
“Oh?” Shin tilted his head. “What about your soldiers?”
The general raced to get his words out as quickly as possible. “They are under no such obligation and so they should and do surrender immediately.” The Oaken Elf troops immediately began to protest, only to quiet when Wren raised his voice. “SHUT UP!” He swiped his furious eyes across the faces of his sullen soldiers until he was convinced they would keep quiet. Then, he turned back towards Shin, an enormous weight lifting from his shoulders. “My troops surrender, son.”
“But not you?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I do not.”
Shin shrugged. “If you really want to fight…” He indicated with his thumb, and one of the hobgoblins tossed a sword to the ground in front of Wren. “There you go.”
Wren stared at the weapon, scarcely believing this turn of events. “I…” He scrunched his face, willing the tears of relief that threatened to burst forth back inside. “You’re letting me die with sword in hand? In a final duel?”
“A duel?” Shin made a face. “Don’t be stupid. You can die with a sword in hand, but the second you pick up that sword you’re going to be shot with around a dozen arrows. A duel, he says.” The kobold huffed. “I had no idea you were such a romantic, general.”
That…fine. That was better than nothing. Wren inched forward, beginning to reach for the sword, only to stop when he realized Bittercup had stepped to the front. “General. Wren.”
Wren looked up, noting the tears streaming from the noble’s rosy eyes. “Lady Bittercup?”
“Look at your soldiers, general.” She swept out an arm, indicating the elves to Wren’s either side. “They’ve been through so much today. They have lost so much. Are you really going to make them watch you die, too?
“I…” Wren balked, his fingers curling away from the sword. “I, my duty though, we’re at war–”
“Well technically, no.”
“What?” Wren blinked, staring incredulously up at Shin’s satisfied expression. “What do you mean we’re not at war?! We just had a damned battle!”
“Was that a battle?” Shin scratched thoughtfully at his chin, glancing back at Mimasu. “Mimi, did we have a battle today?”
“Ah, no~!” The scribe flipped through his notes. “We had a ‘diplomatic incident’ today. I am very sure of that. I took a lot of notes.”
“A diplo…what?!” Wren was lost and confused, and very close to just snatching up the sword so he wouldn’t have to listen to this anymore. "That makes no sense!"
Gero shrugged. “Makes sense to me. We never declared war. Don’t imagine you guys ever declared war either.”
“And even if you did, you don’t know the name of our Side anyway.” Hilde winked. “So unless you guys are amazing guessers, it wouldn’t count anyways.”
Oaken Elves were not amazing guessers. Still, though. “But that’s just wordplay,” Wren insisted, “It doesn’t mean anything. Even if you can twist phrases around to claim we aren’t at war, you are absolutely in conflict with my people.”
“It doesn’t mean anything?!” Bittercup glared at Wren. “It means we all get to live. It means you get to live.”
Shin raised his voice. “General Wren, put everything else aside for a second. Trust between us is strained, I know. But be honest: do you truly believe it’s my desire to destroy your people?”
“...No. But honor–”
“Right, but your honor demands we don’t cooperate anyway.” Shin shrugged. “So if we have to fight because of a stupid reason, why can’t we not fight for a reason that’s just as stupid?”
Wren mulled that over, the sword glinting insistently in the corner of his eye. In the very short time he’d been alive, his every move had been in accordance with his duty to honor and his duty to his people. Until this moment, both paths had been the same. But if they had to diverge? Wren knew the path he would take.
‘
Wordplay, huh? “...Alright, son. Alright.” But before Shin could respond, he drew in a breath and threw back his head. “FUCK TILTHU CHE THE GOD OF SWEARS!”
A roar of exuberant approval broke out among the soldiers, every elf immediately taking up the general’s oath. “FUCK TILTHU CHE THE GOD OF SWEARS~! FUCK TILTHU CHE THE GOD OF SWEARS~! FUCK TILTHU CHE THE–”
Hilde leaned in to Shin, her tone baffled as she stared at the wildly chanting elves. “Elves surrender really weirdly.”
Shin thought it was sort of great, himself. He only hoped he’d have further opportunities to witness the display in the days to come.