Malla RazorRiver, Chief of clan RazorRiver released another long stream of soothing smoke. Her aura bubbled and spat under her skin, chastising her for resting when there was a predator on the loose amongst her people. She ignored the sensation, taking another drag from her pipe instead.

The door to her room swung open and her advisors filed in, taking their favored seats without a word. Puffs rose from the surfaces as they sat, and the air was filled with twirling shapes in the old smoke. Malla took a moment to appreciate the swirls as her advisors prepared to brief her.

“Are we gonna get on with this or are you going to just sit there filling our lungs with this rotten pipe weed until the council is called?” Senta barked out.

The woman was one of Malla's most trusted. An old Hunter who she could rely on to speak her mind without a hint of tact or buried motives. She had been remarkably subdued since her daughter had left with the caravan to the barren rock the humans called home. Now her usual blustering had returned, albeit with a lighter tone than usual.

She hasn't even threatened to drag my 'rot infested corpse' to the council by my hair. Malla thought fondly as her face twisted into a scowl. Old girl's going soft. Must be her daughter's influence. I hope she noticed that little cuncun settled her aura on the way back. It's always a treat to see the young coming into their own.

Despite her amusement the Chief studiously ignored her old friend in favor of scanning her remaining advisors. Most looked bored, waiting for their turn to give whatever report they thought needed her attention so she wouldn't be blindsided in front of the other clan leaders. Only Vanti, her newest advisor, and replacement to Shensha, looked uncomfortable. The man had taken over managing the clan's communal farmland once his mentor had retired in the last Chill season. He was still adjusting to the authority of his position, along with keeping a calm face while the smoke burned at his lungs.

Malla was confident he would grow into his duties, he was a smart boy.

In the background Senta continued to pester Malla, trying to get the meeting started. One of her oldest advisors, a withered old crone who insisted everyone call her “Caretaker Zel” flicked her eyes at Senta in annoyance. The implication was that Malla should get on with things just to stop the old Hunter from rambling further.

Sighing out another smoke filled breath Malla nodded back to Zel.

“Seal your mouth Senta.” the Chief growled. “I know you're eager to preen about your whelp. I also don't care, you'll hear her talk at council.”

“So she is back early.” Zel creaked. “I had wondered why the children were so excited. I take it that young man she was seen with...?”

Caretaker Zel trailed off as Senta's head whipped around to stare at her elder.

“Young man?” Senta asked in the softest voice Malla had ever heard.

Then the Hunter devolved into a coughing fit because she breathed in slightly too deep.

While her friend coughed into her hand, Malla considered her friend's surprised face with narrowed eyes.

So Necun didn't tell her mother? the Chief considered. She almost fell over herself telling me. Interesting.

Again her aura bubbled. She hated surprises. Even when they were necessary.

At least it will add some spice tonight. she decided. Should tamp down the suspicions. Especially with Senta pushing to drag the boy aside for some answers. Yes, this is a good thing. Let's let it play out.

Malla waited a few heartbeats, watching as her friend gave in to another round of wet coughing. When the Hunter's eyes were watered the Chief released a cloud of smoke she was holding in, and simultaneously flashed a signal to the other advisors.

Silence.

It wasn't a perfect signal, but she didn't dare use anything too complicated. Hopefully the rest of the room knew what she meant. The flicker of concern turning to cold caution in old Zel's eyes certainly showed the old woman got the message.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Speaking of the humans, how are preparations going in the fields?” the Chief asked Vanti right as Senta recovered. “I assume we're ready to try again with the human seeds.”

“Oh? We-” her youngest advisor sat up straight, then coughed briefly himself after taking too deep of a breath again. “Yes. Separate planter boxes have been filled. We're hoping there will be more success if they don't share soil with any roots at all. We're also trying different elevations and moisture saturation. I'm especially hopeful about the-.”

He was cut off again, this time by the woman to his left kicking his chair.

“The Chief doesn't need details.” the woman, who was de facto in charge of RazoRiver's portion of the city's sanitation services, said in a raspy voice. “Just say if things are going well or truly rotted. Then give her a list of what you need, plus what you want. Though to be honest you're better off throwing the second list away.”

Vanti looked chastised, breaking eye contact to stare at an interesting pile of dust on the floor. It was an improvement over his last meeting, where he would apologize to his peers the moment they offered advice.

And to think he was nearly mute his first meeting. Malla thought, a small smirk forming on her face as she watched the learning process. He'll be ready within a cycle or two for proper clan dealing.

The thought brought with it a wave of cool exhaustion.

I really am turning into my mother. she thought whimsically. After this Rot season I really need to take a break and kill something to settle down. Maybe a few things.

Once Vanti had settled enough to finish his report, only requesting a few more woodcutters to replace some moldy wood stocks, which was easily granted, they moved on to readiness to receive the caravan.

“The schedule should still be intact, perhaps a few days behind, but I'm assuming we're ready for that.” the Chief droned. “Necun confirmed that much. She just got separated, and rushed for home rather than track down the old path.”

Senta wiggled slightly at the mention of her daughter but didn't interrupt the meeting again.

The other advisors grumbled about the lack of a solid timetable, but everyone was prepared for the caravan's arrival when it deigned to show itself. The forgekeeper was practically drooling over the ingots of proper human grade iron. They always produced better steel compared to the wetland iron the orc's scavenged when they found a good bog. Cleaner too.

When it was the smith's turn she spent it grumbling over the need for an increased budget due to increasing fuel costs, but admitted it was within bounds of what was already allotted.

Each orc had their own problems they raised with the Chief, most easily fixed, a few that couldn't be fixed at all merely mentioned as something to be weathered. Only a few required actual action from the Chief or her chosen agents. She easily promised to free up some of her people when the murder investigation had wrapped up.

Finally, it was Senta's turn to report.

“We're grasping at wind.” the old Hunter admitted bluntly. “It's not an unhinged madwoman acting on instinct. Too methodical, and we're pretty sure our girls skulking around has slowed things down. So they have some level of preservation instinct left. We've also spread the word around the killer's stomping ground, trying to get anyone at risk to stay in groups for the time being. Even if it's just with work friends.”

The Chief raised an eyebrow, and tilted her head slightly.

“Don't give me that.” Senta snorted. “The axe is out of it's sheath. No point risking our people further. If this hasn't reached LongNeck by now it will in a day or two. Better to put the word out.”

Malla conceded the point with a nod even as her aura flared back to boiling. She wanted to crush this murderous rotspawn with her own hands.

“Anyway, we're still not sure what we're looking at for motivation.” Senta continued, playing with the handle of the blade strapped to her arm. “As far as we can tell no one benefits from this. So if they're not broken in the head the only thing left to consider is a grudge.”

“I thought none of the dead knew each other well.” Malla rasped. “Did you find a connection?”

“More like I reconsidered one.” Senta grunted.

Her friend leaned in forward, face shadowed.

“They're our people.” she said bluntly. “That's the connection. This isn't an attack on farmers. It's an attack on us. The farmers were just the easy target the coward chose.”

All around the room the sound of sharp breaths echoed, followed by low coughs.

“To what end?” Malla growled between clenched teeth, aura shrieking just below her skin.

“That's why this took me so long to come up with.” Senta replied, eyes steady. “My aura tells me there is no end. It's like a wounded beast lashing out at anything that moves. This honorless rotted filth will just keep killing until we catch them, but they'll stop the moment we get close. Just to hurt us that little bit more.”

Silence echoed through the room as the words sunk in.

The Chief shifted her weight, causing the aging couch she rested on to creak. Bringing her well used pipe to her lips for a puff she realized she was low on pipe weed. Her eyes traced over the open box just behind her seat. A pinch of rattleback flower looked good, and she dropped it into the smoldering embers of the darkwood pipe's bowl. Malla released a steady stream of air from her mouth to ensure the dried flowers caught. Then she took a long drag.

It tasted like pain, her aura's bubbling fire died down.

“You already had my full support Senta.” the Chief announced, her voice a growl. “Now it's enthusiastic support. My authority is yours, and any resource you can think of. Find this filthy rotspawn. Bring them to me, alive or dead. This will end.”

“And what do we tell the council?” Senta asked, her gravely voice showing a hint of uncertainty for the first time.

“Most of the truth.” Malla said, tapping her pipe with a finger. “We're under attack. Hunting the maniac responsible. That they should be on the lookout in case it's not just us.”

Her advisors looked relieved at the premise of no longer keeping the killings secret.

“And if the killer is one of theirs?” Senta asked, verbalizing the question no one wanted to ask.

The rattleback flower sparked in her pipe.

“They go home in pieces.” the Chief of clan RazorRiver replied, as calmly as she could manage.