The platform was shockingly stable for a contraption of wood and rope. Creaks and swaying aside Nickolas never felt as if he was in danger, though he still took the opportunity to squeeze himself against Necun's side. His seduction efforts were rewarded with a pleased humming from his wife, which he took as a victory.
Otherwise the trip up was perfectly pleasant, and granted the Mage a lovely view of the city at night. The major roads lit by mage lights and lanterns appeared as bright arteries pumping within the bones of the absurdly sized skeleton. From there the light cascaded out into the tamed lands, which from this height were nothing but a blur of brown and green along barely visible rows.
Beneath them the platform shuddered, and around them the small crowd immediately started shuffling towards the building they had docked with. Where below there were at least burning fires to light the way here Nickolas relied on his wife for guidance in the near perfect dark. The surety of his wife's steps left him no room for concern as they followed the tail end of the group onto a finely polished walkway.
The boards below Nickolas's feet felt strange, slippery to the point he had to be careful with his balance. Yet he also felt the occasional pattern as his sandals bumped into raised wood. A waft of wind carried with it the scent of strange spices, or perhaps even incense. The Mage wrinkled his nose as it started to burn with the unfamiliar sensation, glad for the darkness covering his face which allowed him to express his displeasure in peace.
They entered through an archway only distinguished as such from the shape of it's shadow. Unlike the outside, which had the gloom Nickolas had come to expect from the Green at night, the artificial darkness of the building bordered on oppressive. Just as the golden haired Mage was wondering if he would need to ask Necun to slow her steps so he could ensure he wouldn't trip they passed through a set of heavy curtains into a room of searing light.
Nickolas averted his gaze as he blinked back tears, but he had been expecting something unexpected which allowed him to keep pace with his wife as they continued to the council room.
Now that he could actually see his surroundings, after removing his tears with a lighting fast use of a water manipulation spell, he found the hall they walked impressively carved. There was not a single hand's breath of wood that did not contain a pattern or symbol. Many patterns wove into each other, twisting up walls and intertwining on the ceiling before spiraling out again. Others seemed completely disjointed, or even encroached sharply on it's neighbors, fighting for space. The symbols themselves had no sense to them that Nickolas could spot, certainly they weren't words in the orcish style. Some sections were simple sets of shapes, others bizarre squiggles, yet more had lines within lines in perfectly symmetrical rows that broke into maddening chaos when it reached a corner.
All told it made for an awkward surface to walk upon. Nickolas quietly hoped the next part of the building was their destination, or failing that, a normal hall.
His wish was partially answered in the form of two robe clad guards barring a thick doorway with axes set at a low guard. Mage lights set in the walls lit the room brighter than the hallway previous, revealing the sparkling bands of silver that decorated the orcs' bodies. Bands clipped to the women's wrists were connected with thin chains to bands on their forearms, which in turn were connected to the bands on their biceps. So it was all across their bodies, causing the guards to glitter in the light.
Necun gave the women a nod as she approached, and the guards pulled back their axes, letting the pair through without question.
At this point Nickolas was bracing himself for what the next room would hold. The strangeness of the orcish clan gathering was starting to set his nerves on edge. He took comfort in the sidelong glance the silver bound orc to his right paid to his outfit. At least he could dazzle back amongst all this strangeness.
What he found was unexpected in it's mundanity.
A room that would have fit in any human dining hall.
An enormous table was set on thick legs in the middle of the room. The wood was aged, and so scarred the Mage was sure any plate would have to be set at an angle. Interestingly it was formed in a wide U shape, allowing for a large amount of seats without the need for a separate table. Chairs which seemed far younger for virtue of being in better condition were haphazardly strewn around the table's outer edge.
Bowls of various foods, mostly berries and nuts, were set at random points, just within arms reach of the two dozen or so orcs seated at equally random places at the table. Conversations died out as they entered, eyes drawn to the pair as the soft glow of more mage lights, set dimly, fell on their colourful outfits. Nickolas set his face into a carefully crafted mask. Cold wouldn't work here, though it was his most familiar mask. The orcs that Nickolas had tried it on had reacted with concern, or even distaste. Necun had even grown bitter when he had slipped into it earlier.
His new mask was an experiment, an attempt at a look that would cover his true reactions without causing offense. Unlike the heartlands nobles he developed his methods against his new surroundings required a more passionate cover.
A warm smile split his face. His eyes roamed eagerly around the room, checking each face as they approached one end of the table. He recognized Necun's, and he supposed now his, Chief sitting with her arms stretched back. It was strange to see her in clear air with the pipe absent. Though the stench of smoke still clung to the older woman like a lover.
To her sides were two women Nickolas took to be advisors, or perhaps simple hangers on as they lacked the warrior's build he had come to associate with Hunters. Behind them all, staring into his eyes with a burning intensity, was a woman who could only be Necun's mother.
A touch of anger flashed in Nickolas's chest. It never reached his eyes as he tilted his head and returned his mother in law's stare.
The Mage's arm never released Necun, and when his wife attempted to pull away, he tugged to keep her in place.
Better to face this together.
The woman was so obviously Necun's mother, from build to hair colour, that Nickolas was struck with a series of strange emotions when she twisted up her face in dismay.
“Worry over your spawn after we're done here.” the Chief warned before Necun's mother could speak. “We don't need clan issues splayed out for everyone to see.”
Without the wisps of smoke clouding her throat the Chief's voice sounded more pleasant to Nickolas's ears. Despite the slightest trace of pain he heard below the surface.
The Chief sized the Mage up with narrowed eyes.
“I see you've met Melat.” she raspsed bluntly. “The feathers are a nice touch. You'll draw some eyes tonight.”
“Thank you Chief.” Nickolas responded, turning his grin as fierce as he dared. “That was the intent.”
Letting out an amused grunt Malla nodded her head at another cluster of chatting attendees.
“Go introduce yourself.” she said. “We've got a bit while LongNeck gets the food ready. Might as well use the time to pique some interest in why the Warden sent her son to the Green.”
Satisfaction curled around Nickolas's heart. It seemed the Chief was partial to letting him pursue the political relationships he needed.
He gave a small bow, and slipped away from Necun's side. Two steps away he realized his mistake, and wheeled around to pull his surprised wife into a warm kiss before he rushed off to talk to the leadership of the other clans.
The first group he approached was a pair of old women who had deliberately avoided looking at him from the moment he entered the room. Some would think they were simply too involved in their own conversation to notice his entrance, but he had seen the flash of interest before they realized he had noticed them. It had been fast, but he had been sharpened on the whetstone of the heartland courts. He was confident the lessons would hold here just as well.
The pair of women were comparing notes, discussing some entries on a handwritten record.
“You expect them to wake at dawn?” one of the woman tutted, pulling her plush red robe tighter. “Bold. I can hardly get mine up before midday. I would need to double the handlers, or perhaps use a few buckets of water to ensure the whole pod is up by first light.”
“I find simulating night attacks are the best for that.” the second woman said, her eyes lidded as if she was on the verge of a nap. “You would think it would make them oversleep, but the extra tension has a way of making them quick to wake. If you can find a particularly nasty breed of bug those work best.”
“Seems cruel.” the red robed one replied with a quirk of the lips.
“They need to learn anyway.” the sleepy one admonished. “Can't rely on the campgrounds for everything.”
“What do you think young man?” the red woman asked, suddenly whirling to meet his eye. “Should we try to wake young warriors at dawn or a reasonable time?”
“I find women more agreeable after a long rest and a good meal.” Nickolas said without skipping a beat. “I also hear a good massage may help, but then that may defeat the point depending on the exercise.”
There was a slight twinge Nickolas felt in his chest. Years of instinct pushed down as his grin grew wider. At the same time there was a warmth. The old women knew precisely what they were doing, suddenly flipping the conversation onto him midway through. No doubt they had experience with more polite human men.
“Yes.” the tired elder chuckled. “Massages from a beautiful man might provide a distraction. We would hate to have to repeat a lesson or twelve because our charges weren't paying attention.”
“Maybe a reward.” the other disagreed. “We've been meaning to include proper courting lessons for cycles. The right interaction may prove educational.”
“I think we're straying from the present topic.” the red clad woman said, not disagreeing.
She turned back to Nickolas.
“I am Marnok RedHand.” she said, tone suddenly formal. “You may have met some of my former students.”
“You may call me Caretaker Zel, everyone else does.” the tired woman added. “And you certainly met at least one of my Hunters.”
The Caretaker punctuated her point with an obvious glance at Necun, who was now sitting by her Chief in intense discussion.
“You'll hear about it when she tells her story tonight.” Nickolas half confirmed. “I'm sure we'll all enjoy it. I'm certainly curious to hear her side of certain parts. As for the Hunters of RedHand, I'm afraid I didn't spend enough time socializing to learn the intricacies of clan heraldry. Still. All the women I saw in action on the way here showed bravery. Though the more time I spend among the warriors the more I suspect what I saw was average for a hunt.”
“Hmmmmm.” Zel hummed. “Perhaps, I suppose you'll learn in time Warden's son. Assuming you're here to settle down.”
“Warden's son?” Marnok asked, blinking up at Nickolas. “RazorRiver is favored so? To send a Prince to bond with their darling Necun?”
“No offense to the daughters of RedHand, but Necun was....special.” Nickolas answered, remembering how Necun leapt over the bed at him. “Besides, I had business with your people. Bonding was a natural choice.”
With a foot he carefully hooked a chair and slid it into position. Sitting with grace was an art he practiced with his father for far too long in his childhood, and he sent up a silent thanks for all the evenings spent on perfecting it. Folding himself into the strange chair with his hands gently placed on his thighs, he did his best impression of gathering his courage.
Inside he was giddy.
“Forgive my ignorance, but it appears to me even the limited trade between our people has been wildly profitable for both sides.” the Warden's son began. “While I'm eager to see how the caravan impacts the markets of your city, I can tell you it's a storm when it hits ours.”
The weight of their attention was on them now. He hadn't bothered with the light topics they might have expected. Or so he assumed.
Don't underestimate them. Nickolas chided himself. It's just the first steps of the dance, don't stumble here.
“So.” he said with a sweet smile. “Why do you send them so infrequently?”
Zel cackled.
“Such a question from a boy who couldn't have traveled with the caravan for more than a day.” she squealed out. “A caravan trip isn't a stroll through whatever flower fields you're used to boy. It isn't even a hunt. Much more tedious, finding Hunters to even participate if a pain, and you want us to bear that burden several more times each cycle?”
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“There are challenges.” Nickolas allowed, keeping his voice steady. “Nothing that can't be smoothed over with proper planning and resources.”
Who are you to know what a flower field is? the Mage's mind raced. That might be a deflection, something she heard of as a rumor that she's throwing in my face. But matched with the claim that they'll have a hard time finding women to accompany the caravan?
Nickolas knew that even without the chance at a tithe man the city would have no shortage of adventurous women willing to venture to the human lands. More trips, even ones on a lesser scale, would make them wealthy enough to draw Hunters from every clan.
The old woman was toying with him, and from her counterpart's small smirk he was left to fend for himself here.
“Resources?” the woman continued. “We already load the carts full to bursting when they leave. Now you're suggesting we use up valuable cargo space further? No different than suggesting we just send more carts per caravan. This is the suggestion of a human Prince? The masters of roads and supply? Who's warriors march to battle with a dozen servants? I'm disappointed.”
“More like one servant each but I take your meaning.” Nickolas replied, a small shake in has voice and leaning in to focus on his opponent's expression.
This was a test. And he was going to pass it.
“Pithy. Any actual solutions?” the old woman hissed with what Nickolas was sure was mock condescension. “Or are you just another young braggart that assumes all your leaders have missed the obvious solutions because you're oh so special?”
Nickolas tilted his head, and widened his eyes. The shift from confident to pitiful was instant.
He even got some tears to well up.
“I'm sorry I've upset you.” the Mage said, pushing to keep his voice right on the edge of breaking. “I didn't realize this was such a sensitive subject.”
The other conversations stilled, the rest of the council dropping the pretense that they weren't listening. Nickolas knew they had been, for a people so focused on silent hunts any idea of private conversation in such close quarters was a polite fiction.
He hadn't wanted to put Zel on the spot like this, but the old woman's performance forced him to escalate.
The heartlands would eat you alive. Nickolas thought as pride entwined with sympathy. Trying to get me to brag about my bargaining position? Come now, you can do better than that I think.
In truth Nickolas was helped along by not knowing what his position precisely was. Assuming all the iron made it intact, and ideally the bow was undamaged, he could offer quite the prize. Without them he had nothing but air and promises at hand. So he wouldn't bother with bribes, He needed to build his position first.
And sometimes to be strong you had to act weak.
Caretaker Zel's eyes had gone wide, or at least as wide as they could manage. Nickolas could practically smell the hasty regret. The old woman hesitated, whatever script she had prepared in tatters. The golden haired son of a Warden took the opportunity to stand, offering her a bow.
“I apologize for interrupting your conversation elder.” he said, calming his voice for all but the last word. “I will endeavor to be less foolish in future.”
It was a dramatic response, and a bit of a gamble. Nickolas knew that he had to rely on the reputation of human men to carry him here. To keep his performance just this side of believable. He didn't need everyone's sympathy, just enough that no one would casually call the performance into question.
As he returned the chair Nickolas shifted his posture. Looking beaten, weak, was an art all of it's own. An actor might slum their shoulders, hunch in on themselves to look small. The audience could understand such body language easily. People were more complicated outside a stage.
Nickolas's current character was of a proud Warden's son who is in too deep. A boy more than a little intimidated by this gathering of warriors. Someone who would try to engage them, to make contacts with the leadership of the tribes, and put on a brave face to hide his fears. Yet inside is quivering with anxiety.
Thus he set his shoulders straight, and slid into false bravado to hide his false fear. A fragile strength was still fragility. And women did foolish things for fragile men.
As he slid the chair back into place, Nickolas took a deep breath. Then he raised his head, smile returned, and searched the room for his next target.
The trio in the shadowed corner looked promising.
As Nickolas was determining a good path around the other groups a side door swung open. The Mage's nose was assaulted with the delicious sent of sizzling fat and fire touched vegetables.
A heavy set woman covered in thick leathers strode into the room with a steaming tray of meat.
“Friends, comrades, delightful allies.” the woman announced in a thundering voice. “The feast is-”
The assassin creeping behind the cook rammed her blade through the leather clad woman's heart. A spray of crimson red painted the floor, and two heartbeats later the meat tray fell, spilling it's contents over the running stream of blood. The killer flared their aura, sickly greens and yellows flaking off the woman like dead skin, and pushed her blade down a hand's width before ripping it out.
The cook collapsed, dead before she touched the ground, her aura never even flickering. The murder, from first strike to corpse on the bloodstained floor, took less than eight heartbeats.
Everyone was standing, most staring down the assassin with stony silence. A few had the sense to cover the other entrance, wary of a flanking strike.
The assassin just stood in the doorway over her victim, as if she was waiting for a reaction. She was not dressed for battle, or even bloodshed. A loose fitting dark shirt hung on her frame, already caked with filth, and now sporting fresh lines of blood. A mask covered her face, seemingly comprised of several wrappings pinned together to conceal everything but her eyes.
Each hand held a blade, a short one gleaming in the artificial mage lights, the other, longer piece of steel, was dripping heartblood in rivulets. Another weapon hung on her belt, though it might have been a climbing tool given the grime coating the hook.
Combined with her aura the woman's appearance was nothing short of feral. She crouched in the doorway like a beast cornered in it's lair, or perhaps a larger predator protecting it's kill from scavengers.
One by one, Nickolas watched the council members aura's flash to life. Under the strain of the enraged aura's power, the mage lights flickered and died. The room fell into harsh shadow, but as each aura was lit, it grew that much brighter.
The assassin shuffled nervously, weight shifting as she stood before dozens of trained warriors out for her blood.
The sight finally caused something to click in Nickolas's mind. Spells came to life above his hands, more instinct than planned defense.
“Right then.” Chief RazorRiver growled, her aura a sharp green and flaring so tall it nearly touched the ceiling. “If you set your blades down, right now, you'll survive to see rot season. That's the best offer you're getting, murderer.”
A few of the other council members seemed uncomfortable with RazorRiver negotiating on their behalf, but no one corrected the rasping Chief.
Nickolas suspected that was only because no one seriously expected the assassin to take the offer. The gathered orcs were a riot of colours, reds, and blues, and greens, and yellows all different shades and shapes. Here and there the male council goers fingered their charms, tense and ready.
The initial shock had worn off, leaving Nickolas wondering what, precisely, the murderer's plan was.
A loud series of cracks echoed through the air, splinters flew. A handful splashed against Nickolas's chest. He looked down at the source.
Another black clad killer stared back from the new gap in the floorboards.
He unleashed his spell in the same heartbeat the assassin swung her blade.
--------------------------------------------
Necun was awash in a sea of rage. The presence of so many powerful auras nipping at the air drowned out her reason. Lucky her own aura understood the danger Nickolas was in on it's own, and in the first heartbeats of combat it drove her to seek out her bond.
Around her the mage lights had withered and died, the weight of the gathered auras too much for the delicate enchantment to maintain itself.
The darkness was no obstacle. Any Hunter could have navigated the space by the light of their aura alone. Yet her bond was halfway across the room, which meant there was a dozen brawling women leaping towards the rotspawn as they leapt from holes in the floor or walls.
Ducking under an errant blade, the Hunter grabbed a chair and threw it in a single smooth motion. It crashed into a black clad woman dropping from the ceiling, hitting her nose first, and sent her flopping to the ground in a tangle.
These black clad killers had the intent, they were lacking in the execution. As Necun vaulted over the peace table, already splashed with blood, her eyes locked to Nickolas's silhouette.
He was casting. At his feet an assassin writhed in a pile of broken floorboards.
Then the world went white.
Necun landed on her feet, spreading her stance to maintain balance. Her eyes were useless, and the Hunter took a long few moments to process what she had seen. The shock was enough that her mind reasserted over the instincts she had fallen into.
Nickolas had cast a spell.
She could now only see darkness.
Ah. she realized. He did mention this before didn't he? About blinding his opponents.
It seemed to Necun that she would need to discuss proper battlefield uses for such powerful spells later. After she was done saving him.
With her sight useless the background noises she had been filtering out came to the fore. All around her the sounds of fighters grappling rang. She could almost pick out each individual council goer from the surety of their steps alone. The assassins were stumbling around blindly, many had fallen over chairs, tables, or each other. Others, further away from her bond, scrambled far less, but still reeled from the blows raining down on them.
Going by what she heard the battle progressing well.
She took another few steps towards her bond.
Air whistled, and her aura flared on her side. A bolt bounced off the weaker section of armor. She kept moving as a flung axe took the crossbow wielder in the chest. Nickolas's stumbled back, hitting the edge of the table and pushing away a chair. He was retreating from something, another killer rising from the floor over her companions twitching body.
Necun leapt with a growl, not bothering to draw a weapon.
She impacted the assassin at the black clad woman's lower back, feet crushing into her spine. The resulting scream sent Necun's aura shivering in satisfaction. As her opponent tried to scrabble out from under her the enraged Hunter kicked forward, her boots crunching into the side of the assassin's head.
She went limp, and Necun wasted no time rushing for Nickolas.
As she moved her vision started to return, at the edges at first, but by the time she was pulling her bond into her arms she could make out dim shapes.
“Let me go!” her love gasped in her ear. “Can't cast properly.”
Growling, Necun complied, pulling an axe into each hand, but no one was approaching them. In fact what few assassins were still standing were hard pressed in every sense. Anywhere they fought alone they were quickly cornered and put down. Bodies were already bleeding into the floorboards, lives extinguished. Others, like the woman Necun landed on, were wounded badly enough to be considered out of the fight, their auras flickering weakly.
It had been a messy ambush, and it showed.
Necun hefted an axe, then threw. It missed her intended target's back, hitting the thigh of the assassin instead. The assassin stumbled, her sickly aura wavering, and a heartbeat later lost her head to a snarling LongNeck Hunter.
The outcome was decided. Only those fools who believed their lives were worth less than a wound or two on their targets stayed, spending their last moments fruitlessly. Others sought to escape through the many holes in the walls and floor, slipping out. No doubt they would head for the traitor's path, scampering down the darkened side of the Giant to perceived safety.
It wouldn't last, Necun knew. They would find the city a far less hospitable place come the dawn. The clans would hunt them down, happily paying the blood price to drag every single assassin to the grave.
As the immediate danger fled Necun took stock of the room.
The interior of the council room was in ruins. The ambush plan, foolish and ineffective as it was, seemed to consist of bursting from the floor and walls of the council room during the meeting. Why anyone believed this would give the assassins, who Necun now doubted had fought a serious battle in their lives, advantage enough to kill them all she didn't grasp. What the attack had accomplished is ruin the room utterly. Gaping holes were left all across the aged wood from floor to ceiling.
What remained of the aged wood was stained with blood.
Necun's own fight was remarkably swift and clean compared to the struggles of her peers. Most of the fallen lay with heavy wounds, having fought until their bodies failed. Fighting blind had made things worse. Clean killing blows turned into ugly jagged wounds.
Only three of their number had fallen, a sign both of the gathered warriors' prowess, and the extent of the assassins' incompetence. The first, Sellita LongNeck, had sadly been killed in that first sudden attack, cut down while wielding a tray of meat instead of a weapon. The second was a woman who couldn't have been older than Necun herself, she didn't recognize her, save for that she was of clan RedHand, and had nervously hung around her older clan fellows.
Now she stared out with lifeless eyes, slumped against the wall, two dead assassins at her feet. Another member of RedHand stared at the young warrior with a grief that went beyond duty. Necun's heart, still strumming with the terror of battle sank at the sight.
The third had not passed fully, but the horrid wounds on her chest assured the woman wouldn't survive the night. Still the warrior had enough strength to collapse into a chair. Unlike the younger woman this was a Hunter of BlackVine, one of the two which attended council with their Chief. The old warrior was a grayhair, and though Necun couldn't recall the woman's name she remembered her limping stride. Her friend was at her side, her Chief at the other. Both murmured softly, so soft perhaps only the woman herself could hear. There was a blood flecked smile on the elder's lips.
At her side Nickolas took heaving breaths.
“Was that...unusual for councils?” the Mage asked, voice soaked in shocked horror.
“Heads will be claimed for this.” Necun growled back in response, more exhausted than genuinely enraged now that the danger had passed.
As much as her heart bled for the other clan's losses, RazorRiver would emerge hurt, but nothing permanent. Even Caretaker Zel, and her counterpart, had managed to retreat away from the worst fighting and kill one of the assassins. Though it appeared Zel herself had broken an arm in the process.
“Well. I think you found your murderers.” Nickolas muttered darkly, staring down at the slightly smoking half of the woman he had dealt with before Necun had reached him. “Hopefully. If there are more than one murderous groups operating this might get dicey.”
Necun blinked.
Then his words clicked.
While she wasn't certain why Nickolas was so sure of his conclusion, this group did indeed fit with what she had seen of the killings in the city. The assassins showed themselves to be sloppy and untrained, yet unflinching in their pursuit of violence. She could easily see them ambushing farmers in the early morning light. Their motivation was in question, though the same could be true of this current attack.
Thirty women willing to throw their lives away for no tangible benefit Necun could glimpse. Her mind followed the tangle of logic for a few steps before it fell apart.
She was too tired for this.
Nickolas tugged on her arm, threading his into the gap.
He hadn't dropped the spell in his other hand.
“Someone go check the kitchens.” the Chief of BlackVine announced. “We should see if the staff are unharmed. I'll check the traitor's road, they must have killed the poor woman we had on guard duty.”
Another pointless death on the pile. Necun thought grimly.
The others started to move, some slipping out to find cloth to wrap the dead. Other's took it upon themselves to check with the door guards, who still hadn't appeared despite the noise of the fighting.
Shockingly they appeared unharmed a short time later, looking at first confused, then shamed by the debris of the battle.
“Why didn't we hear anything?” one of the guards whispered within Necun's earshot.
That sent the Hunter's aura on edge once more.
Nickolas squeezed her arm, and she looked down at her bond's wide eyes.
“Someone's maintaining a spell.” he whispered, face now slipping into neutrality. “An illusion.”
Necun set her teeth, clutching her axe tighter.
There was work to be done.