The aftermath of the fight is much more complicated then the fight itself, it would seem. First, I had to urgently construct a barrack to actually hold all the people that surrendered. Considering the fact most of them were wounded to some degree, leaving them out in the open wasn't exactly an option during winter. Especially when it started snowing. Thankfully, there is no shortage of lumber to be had, both as the construction material and as a fuel. I may have overdone it a little, as usual, the triple-layer walls of the barrack are better then most villagers have. Triple layers being good wood inside, a layer of concrete-clay panels that technically should be called bricks, but I made them as big as they could practically be to cut down on the number of seams, and an external layer of big old logs.

Then I spend even more time on producing more concrete-clay panels and shingles for everyone else, because they're apparently looking really good to people around here and it seemed illogical to me at the moment to provide prisoners with better materials then my actual allies. Which accidentally a clay quarry because when I pulled enough out of that place, I stuck in the scaffolding and ramps because that's what is "supposed" to be in the clay mining spot and I didn't think about it deeply enough to remember I don't actually need all that stuff, given the telekinetic mining.

By the time I'm done, it's late evening. Well, not late-late evening, but well into twilight hours. Taras stopped by to say something about more people coming tomorrow, for reasons I didn't really pay attention to. Something about entertainment? Weird, to be honest, I expected winter months in Kraina to be very much inactive. Hell, it's snowing right now. Rural areas grind to halt in this kind of weather, usually. How in the name of all that is sane Stefan thought his demarche would be anything but disaster... Well, perhaps he was PLANNING on making it a disaster for Kraina. His people would have stripped every village bare for food and left behind a trail of starving people. Shitty, but I can sort of see why he would do this kind of thing "unofficially" and then sweep in to roll over the areas bled dry by this.

I briefly toy with the idea of doing some debriefing for the captives, but... yeah, they're not going anywhere and nothing they can possibly say can not wait until tomorrow. Not to mention that people most likely to say something worthwhile are also the ones who got hit the hardest. Time to retire. For the night, that is.

___

"Ork troubadours?" - I repeat.

"They actually maintain a winter camp nearby. If it were summer, they'd be scattered to all four winds plying their trade, but..." - Taras explains - "They will be asking around, making songs about a battle like this is their bread and butter."

"So... Why is that noteworthy?" - I hum.

Taras hesitates - "Pardon me, pani, but to the best of my understandings, orks are rare visitors in Champagne. I thought it better to mention them before one of them surprises you and all the possible consequences of thereof. They're also being told about your and your companions exactly for the same reason. After all, royalty and elves are equally rare visitors in Kraina."

"Ah. Huh, well, fair enough." - I admit - "I have no problem with orks in general, so unless those particular ones do something foolhardy, I think everything will be good. Have you decided what you want to do with the captives?"

"Well, you have the first refusals on them, of course." - he offers - "Past that, me, Bogdan and Ivan all agree that the seven year penance is the way to go. They can either spend seven years here as laborers or they can buy themselves out if their families send them enough coin. Will probably have to send most of them out to neighboring villages piecemeal, penance or no penance, there is only so much work here that can be handed out to cripples."

"Ah. Well... I'll see what I can do about getting more of them labor-capable in the next few days." - I hedge.

"That would be well appreciated by everyone." - Taras nods - "While things are not so dire that we can not afford to feed them, the more useful they can make themselves, the better are their chances of leaving our lands at some point."

___

That actually sounded urgent enough, so I come back to the barrack and dispense a considerable amount of magic healing people up. Moon Unit is pitching in too, but I'm rather loathe to explain to her just WHAT phosphine actually does to people. Now that I'm not amped up for actual war crimes, it suddenly strikes me that perhaps tender and loving women I happen to call wives might not quite appreciate their presumptive significant other subjecting people to toxic flammables no one had ever heard of before I happened to all those people. So I start by treating those survivors who were gassed in the camp and explain it away to Moon Unit as simply "having a better idea what needs to be fixed". I'm not entirely sure she bought the explanation, but there was no objection, so... Either I got away with it, or Moon Unit is a gloriously forgiving person. At least as far as I'm concerned, anyway.

Taking a good look around, I verify that they're about as healed up as they can be practically be with just magic. The rest will have to be done by food, rest and reasonable amounts of labor. Speaking of which... I clear my throat, standing in front of the door where everyone currently laid out on the cots can hear and see me.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"So..." - I begin and at least half of the people present flinches.

"Me and Krainian people have had decided on your fates." - I tell them straight - "The chief culprits are dead. You lot are the survivors who did not make the big decisions, but nonetheless participated in this undeclared invasion. It would be entirely within our rights to treat you all as brigands."

I pause for a moment to let that sink in, then continue - "If this appeals to any of you, please inform me of that now and I will end your lives in quick and mostly painless manner. For any of you who does not wish to be executed immediately, you are to complete a seven year penance or buy yourself out of captivity, according to Krainian customs. Per my agreement with hetman, I get the first refusals on you lot. If any of you desires to emigate to Champagne, raise your hands now. You will be required to learn Albish, if so. The work will be within my trading company or one of the manufactories, depending on what you are good at. You will be fed and equipped within reason, and if your indentured service passes without incidents, you will be offered to continue the job on a salaried basis. If you elect to go to Champagne and then purposefully fail to show aptitude at anything at all, I will send you to my father's estate in Northern Champagne to shovel manure."

After a bit of a pause, someone in the middle scoffs quietly - "What kind of moron would volunteer to be killed?"

It may have been a rhetoric question, but... "Some of you may be nobles under the oaths that require they lay down their lives in defense of their liege." - I explain patiently - "In that case, volunteering to be executed ensures whoever succeeded Stefan will not oust their families from their domains for oathbreaking and cowardice."

People exchange weirded out glances. The guy in the middle, now sitting up more properly, looks around, sees all the bewildered looks and apparently accepts his accidental role as a spokesperson. "Prince cares not to ask for strange oaths." - he finally manages with a disbelieving shake of his head - "And if such oaths are commonplace in Champagne, then I daresay we're better off with krainians. Better the beast you know..."

I shrug. "They are not." - I retort mildly - "But I wouldn't put any idiocy past a man who thought winter attack was a good idea. I mean, if he thought he could hold the lands in winter, he is a fool and if he thought that winter attack will bleed out any summer resistance, then he is a cruel bastard, and neither would shy away from binding people to himself until death. I assume there are no people interested in quick execution, so I leave you be to think it over. Anyone who fails to inform me that they want to go to Champagne by tomorrow evening will be left here with krainians by default."

As I leave, I overhear the muttered - "Who'd want to go with her?" Welp, their loss, I guess.

___

The evening is... a square dance. Yeah, well, I guess I get it. Victory celebrations and all that. So I grab some spirits and sweets from warehouses to pitch in. The regular food is well in abundance by the village people, I don't need to do anything there. The music, well, that's where orkish troubadours come in. Like... twenty of them or so. I'm honestly kind of impressed, those guys are not the solo performances I expected. Twelve are musicians - and they work together as a band. At a glance, I see two drummers, one with a pair of big old cowskin drums and another with something that looks like a hang drum. Four fiddlers, though the instruments they have are different. Two have something very much like a classic violin, though one is notably bigger then other. Other two have things I hesitate to name. One looks like Japanese analog of fiddle... kokyo, I think. The other is something I don't really have a good reference for. It looks like cello-sized balalaika but with a bow. The rest, hm... There's two guys holding something like lutes? Maybe one of them is a mandolin. Maybe. A sole woman in their midst comes with a Pan flute, and another flutist has something straight and quite longer. I THINK it's also a flute, but I might be mistaken. The last two guys have something I have no idea about. One seems like it would work by clacking them together, I want to say that's castanets, but they're hinged. Other has something like a pair of hefty tongs with a thin strip of metal between. I have no idea what it would sound like, or how do you even play it. Something like musical saw maybe? Metal strip vibration thing? Hell knows. Overall, it looks like the visitors are here for the dance. The eight of them who are not carrying any musical instruments are dressed in clothes that would be considered garishly colorful even by contemporary color sensibilities. Cy approves. Dancers? Those eight also have two women in their midst, so, yeah. Probably dancers and maybe also singers.

"Why are you so interested in musicians?" - Lily-Anne inquires, suddenly popping up next to me - "They're not spies, I hope?"

I shrug - "They appear to be more put together then I expected. When Taras said they're troubadours, I assumed they're all solo performers, but this looks like a well-meshing troupe. I wouldn't be surprised if they can set up a traveling carnival all by themselves."

"They can." - Lily-Anne confirms with a titter - "Or at least I was assured that they can and often do that much during summer."

I shrug again - "So they can. Care for a dance?"

"...I'd love to, but I have never learned any krainian dances." - she admits. I snicker and gesture out where another instance of me is languidly whirling around with pink-faced Bridgit - "I have a distinct notion that krainian dances are more freestyle then you are used to. Go where the music tells you, and if it ever stops being clear enough, grab a glass of vodka to rinse your mind off." I pause as I think about what I just said, and quickly amend - "But about the glass, please not really. You're a teetotaler, a glass of vodka will make you hurl then pass out. Go for the red glasses, they're cut with juice for us discerning womenfolk, as Taras put it."

It goes without saying that by the end of the night, the only one of my wives still stable on her feet is Moon Unit. And that is in no small part because after a second glass, she pivoted from alcohol to very blatant flirting. In fact, Tekeli-Li was just uttered and so she is being swiftly carried off towards the airship among the wolf-whistles and catcalls from the people partying it up. I exchange glances with other three wives, and their respective instances of me grab them up in princess carry and hurry along. The catcalls intensify... and take on somewhat awed "daum you playa" vibe.