After much negotiation Nickolas left with Necun.

Both were in full battle garb, Nickolas fixed up his old robe as best his could and disguised the damaged sections with colourful sashes. Necun donned her armor, freshly cleaned, over a dark shirt and pants. Her weapons were on full display, and she touched a hilt every few heartbeats as she scanned their surroundings.

Nickolas was less concerned, with his wife at his side he was confident any assassin would be spotted easily. Though he considered what would happen after with far more apprehension. He had a number of spells he was considering, going through their structures with his mind. Most were nonlethal, a choice he didn't enjoy making, as it left him feeling even weaker holding back to spare his foes. Yet he accepted the reality that he might hesitate with a deadlier spell, at least until he was over his feelings.

Together they strode into a surprisingly barren street. Clumps of people were still moving, not leaving the roads completely abandoned, but they were few and far between. Neither were they pausing long, most bustling to their destinations in eerie silence.

“The hunt is still ongoing.” Necun grunted as they walked. “It wouldn't be this tense otherwise.”

“How can they tell?” Nickolas asked. “Did we miss an announcement?”

“Their auras will resonate with the Chief's while the hunt is on.” the Hunter answered. “It won't be precise, but they will know something is wrong, and when the hunt ends they'll feel the relief. Doesn't your mother do the same?”

Nickolas considered that for a moment.

“Not directly.” he finally replied with narrowed eyes. “We always rang the bell for attacks and battles, but...”

The Mage considered further.

“The women around us always perked up before we heard it.” he finally said. “Less than a heartbeat, but it was noticeable. I just never considered the source. How do you know it's the Chief's aura that does it?”

“Because I can feel her.” Necun answered. “It's similar to an aura beacon.”

The orc raised an arm to point lower into the city.

“She's there. Organizing if I could guess.” she continued. “It helps in the Green, even a pod leader can do it. Though that feels different, lesser. It's one of the ways we used to navigate before we came to the city. Since then it's stronger, according to the elders it's stronger than when they were whelps. It's why I can tell she's organizing something instead of fighting.”

“So why don't the assassins run?” the Mage asked. “If they can feel her coming?”

“Ah, but they can't feel the Chief.” Necun said, face splitting into a grin. “At an instinctual level the Chief, and all the other Chiefs, are cutting off the traitors from the whole. No one knows how it works, but the moment they're aware of the treachery all the women who betrayed their honor can't 'feel' the Chief or powerful Hunters anymore. It's caught more than a few fools by surprise.”

“Unfortunately there are false positives, otherwise treachery would be pointless.” Necun continued, cutting off a follow up question by Nickolas. “The Questers don't feel it to begin with, same with the clanless. And quite a few women who have 'conspired' to catch a nap while on duty recently will be cut off briefly as well. Not something you want to rely on, but useful when hunting someone who has actually betrayed you.”

“What about other clans?” Nickolas asked. “Can you feel their Chief? Can you tell the difference between them and yours?”

“Never considered it honestly.” Necun muttered. “Most of this, it's all just...normal. I wouldn't have to explain it to someone who felt the pull.”

The tall orc shook her head.

“But no.” she replied. “I don't feel the other clans at all, only RazorRiver, and, well, a few others. Old Yutta for example, she's considered one of the greatest Hunters in the city, but she's also clanless and I feel her aura just fine when she's leading a hunt.”

The pair stepped to the side to allow a young woman dragging a hand cart with a broken wheel to pass. The woman grunted in thanks, sweat pouring down her brow and her aura churning in strong blue lines on her skin. The cart smelled horrible, and Nickolas wrinkled his nose even as he dipped his head to look under the heavy cloth that covered the contents.

Cheese. An overwhelming amount of cheese.

Nickolas looked up at Necun to see if she knew why the woman was urgently delivering cheese, but the orc merely shrugged, just as confused.

They opted to resume their journey.

“I've been meaning to ask about the clanless.” Nickolas mentioned. “The concept is slippery to me. I don't think the term has the meaning I assumed when I first heard it.”

“I understand that they aren't in any of the clans, but is that a choice?” he added. “Have they committed some crime? Trying to earn their way in through some great deed?”

Necun squinted down at him.

“You sound like you've put a lot of thought into this.” she said.

“It's the topic of some debate back home.” he admitted. “Some thought the clanless were dishonored in some way, or had broken auras. You're comments have already killed those proposals. My best guess at this point is they're families that are trying to earn their way in.”

“It's because we need borders with the other clans.” Necun finally answered, a look of mild amusement on her face. “There's nothing more. They're not lesser somehow, we just need families who aren't in the clans to facilitate trade and messages when the clans are fighting. And calm things down. And smuggle things when one clan doesn't want to sell. And...well you get it.”

Nickolas considered that as they continued to walk down the well paved road.

“That's it?” the Mage asked, dumbfounded. “You just...need people in the cracks between the clan territories? And the clanless just accept that?”

Three workers were putting up a balcony, one woman was hanging upside down, her aura blazing as she hammered nailed into a joint. She had fallen into a rhythm, Nickolas watched as he passed, the worker's hands moving so fast he could barely follow. Main joint, connecting joint, supports. She would hold a piece in place with the same hand she lined up the nail with, impossible precision without an aura to guide the movements. All this was accomplished while the worker barely seemed to be paying attention, eyes half lidded while a sheen of sweat coated her face.

“I wouldn't try to speak for them.” Necun replied. “But my understanding is that there are certain advantages, freedoms too. They're not outcasts by any means, I've hunted with several clanless, and I know a fair few flow in and out of the city during different seasons. Some just stay with us during the Rot season and leave once the chill sweeps in.”

“Others...don't want to form a traditional household.” she continued with a whisper. “I've heard, rumors about some things that happen in their part of the city. I wouldn't recommend visiting.”

“Oh? Well come on don't be mysterious.” Nickolas said while slipping his arm into Necun's. “What are the rumors? I'll keep it quiet.”

Nickolas watched with mild amusement as his wife glanced around dramatically to ensure no one was within listening range.

“Temporary bonds.” she whispered to him conspiratorially. “Ones that last only a single night, or maybe a few days. Others who bond just to break it, exclusively to feel the sensation. Some say they're addicted to the effect. I can't even imagine the pain, how broken the women must be to crave that.”

The shudder that went up the tall orc's body was genuine from what Nickolas could tell. He patted her arm to comfort her as they rounded a corner. In the distance a cluster of men were being escorted home by a group of armed women. Both were laden with bags from the market.

“Strange customs indeed.” Nickolas said, rubbing Necun's arm in small circles. “Are all the orcs who live outside the city so strange?”

“Nah, most of the wanderers are normal.” Necun reassured. “Would be harder to trade with them if they were too strange. We just attract the weirdos with the promise of safety when times are tough. And better food. And more opportunities to find a bond in the first place. Point is that the wandering clans are a lot more normal because they have to be. Maybe more normal than us if that makes sense, I've certainly never heard of two equal clans wondering around the Green together, let alone four.”

“So how did you end up with four clans in the city?” Nickolas asked, intrigued.

Nothing in his people's history with the orcs ever touched on this. He always assumed the orcs always had several clans in the city.

But that's like assuming there were always the current distribution of human groups. he realized. Or that my people were always the same as they are now. A silly notion, now that I consider it.

Necun shifted at his side, he sensed discomfort.

“Well. As the stories go the changes started when we failed to conquer our way into your lands.” the Hunter eventually admitted. “We lost some Chiefs, and back in those days that meant duels to determine the next Chief. Even when the attacks just failed there was enough blame going around and enough weakness in the air that the duels broke out constantly.”

Glancing up Nickolas caught Necun's look, she was studying him.

“We have plenty of records of the wars.” Nickolas said, squeezing his wife's hand. “We're not bitter about it. Oh the people who set the records to paper were. There's enough venom to kill a rook dripping off some of the pages, especially both times Blightstone was put to the torch. But that was a long time ago. The trade has held, the tithes, while not exactly welcome to the men who are chosen, isn't even the worst tribute we've had to pay over our history. If anything the heartlands extracted more from us for their assistance during the wars than any price your people have claimed.”

“Don't ever tell my mother that by the way.” he added. “Or Molly. Or any Knight now that I think about it, though Molly would be the most likely. They have a certain pride about the past that doesn't mesh well with admitting that we don't hold onto grudges forever.”

The tall orc puffed out a breath and chuckled.

“I'll keep it in mind when your Knight stumbles out of the Green.” she promised. “But I suspect she'll be enraged for other reasons. Us living together for example.”

“But I was explaining the history of the clans.” the Hunter said. “The point I was making is that every time we smashed ourselves against your fortresses and armies there was a measure of instability. It didn't help that our population was rising. Fast.”

“Life in the Green is hard, don't believe otherwise for a moment, but the city?” Necun said as she waved a hand in the air, gesturing to the steady rise of the road and the compact buildings to either side. “It's the safest place we have ever found besides your mountains. We have built something here, can focus on building here. Families feel comfortable having children every season, and raising those children right. We can store food, a luxury I took for granted until I spoke with some traveling clanswomen who were shocked at the size of our warehouses. They tend to gorge themselves when we offer feasts.”

Nickolas could see the sparkle in his wife's eyes as she described the difference. The Mage himself had only experienced a short, violent few days in the wilderness of the Green. That was enough to understand the hardship a large group would have without a safe haven.

Another cart rattled up the road, this one in better condition, but no better smelling. A dirty woman pulled it, headed for a back ally, her cart already loaded with trash in buckets. She was whistling a tuneless song as she hauled the cart next to a door and started loading up the daily refuse. Her aura flashed pink briefly with each heavy load.

“So we had more people.” Necun explained. “And while some were crafters, laborers and the like we still had warriors by the thousands. Even a bloody battle wouldn't change that. And each time we lost there was instability, violence. People at every level were being pulled in. Farmers and gardener's knifing each other in the back to support their chosen Chief. Some of the more brutal successions had purges after to try to secure a power base. It started to be expected, planned for.”

“That's why the wars had such long gaps between.” Nickolas realized, stilling briefly as his mind flew. “You always had a crisis and had to build your numbers and supplies back up.”

“In the Deep Green this isn't a problem a clan has to deal with.” the Hunter said, giving a gesture Nickolas didn't recognize. “If a clan loses a war that badly they get absorbed by another clan. Meanwhile any clan that grew too large would split. With us, the city dwellers, there was nothing to relieve the pressure. Beyond a few exiles we all wanted the city, every faction and would be Chief wanted to rule over the whole lot, not start something new. By that point most households couldn't even function while migrating, it would be a disaster.”

“I'm seeing why having multiple clans is preferable.” Nickolas noted. “But I wonder at what point you gave up on conquest. Or for that matter why those early Chiefs kept trying.”

Necun hummed.

“With flaming rage they rose, climbing towards the sky, and when fuel ran low, burned twice as bright for fear of the spark.” the Hunter quoted, before flicking her eyes back to Nickolas. “Thirteenth line of the poem of the last clan.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I'm...we are a violent people Nickolas.” Necun continued with a heavy tone. “But in those days we became a monstrous thing. We had the resources, the safety, to keep fighting, maybe forever. It created fierce warriors, and bloodthirsy leaders. They kept coming to the same conclusion, that more territory would stabilize things. The poems don't even bother with a grand reason for the conquests, because they never had any, they just needed to keep burning, keep expanding, because it was the only way to keep the women under them satisfied. Without expansion they would be challenged regardless.”

“And yet.” Nickolas cut in. “Things have changed. You haven't gone to war for, well, long enough that it's more like a legend to my people. And you seem to think my people caused it.”

“The last war was a bad one.” the Hunter said dramatically. “Our armies were butchered at the foot of your fortresses walls. Chief Islan knew she would fall to duels, her house destroyed if she went back with half her army, so she decided, it is said, to not go back with an army at all.”

“Catherine Stonewall. The Iron Warden.” the Mage whispered, recalling the story of the last great battle recorded between their people. “It is said she held the wall for three days at a time without sleep. She lost an arm, and four daughters in less than ten days. The dead were piled so high she had most of her Mages focused on keeping them set ablaze so they couldn't be used as ramps. I've seen the mural, it's honestly sickening.”

Necun hummed as she led them to the top of a massive wooden staircase spiraling downwards. It was large enough for them both to walk down with room for two others to pass. Nickolas grew careful of his footing, as the steps had been sprinkled by a light rain, enough to make them slick. He wondered why the road had been so dry.

“Maybe we should share more of our history.” Necun said. “I'm sure the elders and poets would enjoy hearing your telling of events. I've certainly never heard of this Warden. It would make an interesting addition, and I'm sure the young poets would be overjoyed to add a few hundred lines.”

“But I drift again.” she said, bracing as the pair stepped on a wobbling stair. “Islan, in her cowardice, determined that if she forced her remaining warriors into a final charge, then fell back with her own most loyal she could ravage her army so badly that they couldn't challenge her on the way back to the city. Then she could hold the battered remains of the army hostage until she had sorted them into loyalists and challengers. When the dust settled and the various pod leaders realized what she was doing, they reacted...poorly to say the least. The utter breach of trust and honor was horrific to the warriors, who just spent their blood trying to conquer in her name. Some fought, others fled, hoping to make it to the city to warn the various households. Islan was forced to kill the vast majority of women she hoped to take as hostages.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Nickolas found the view remarkable. The walkways and bones of the upper floor cast a shadow as harsh as dusk. Where light shone through it was in jagged beams, similar to the spears cast from the canopy above, yet more jagged and oddly angled. In places small lamps or candles burned to help light a workstation. The noise of craftspeople at work echoed everywhere, and wares were stuck outside of houses, prices posted beside them. Nickolas made a note to return when things had calmed, and also to ask his wife for a bit of money for shopping to tide himself over before the caravan's arrival.

“Only one warrior made it back to the city.” Necun continued. “Hunted even as she rushed towards her mother's house. The pursuers tried to spin a tale of betrayal, that the warrior, who's name has been lost to time, fled her duties and stabbed her pod leader to escape rather than climb the stone walls. They failed to convince many, though it is not recorded what evidence the warrior had brought with her, only that it convinced most of the respected elders of the city.”

“Thus, preparations were made. Islan declared unfit as Chief, women rose, and prepared the dueling grounds for her return.” Necun said, a tinge of sadness entering her tone. “We were stuck in the mindset, trying to soften the wheel crushing us, instead of looking for any way to circumvent it. In some ways we're fortunate for Islan's foolish cowardice. Her dishonor may have saved both our people.”

Necun's gaze lingered on the craftspeople who decided to work outside that day, chatting to each other as they carved and polished, cut and fastened. There was a softness to her eyes that warmed Nickolas's chest. He pulled himself that much closer to her side, resting his head against her arm for a moment.

“Anyone who wasn't a warrior bolted themselves into their homes, some duels grew heated, and no one wanted to discover that the new Chief was a madwoman while in axe range.” the Hunter continued. “And it is well they did.”

“With blood did Islan come, wielding fire low and hidden, gnashing teeth as a shining smile, and claiming strength of a hidden knife.” Necun began to quote again. “Blinded by the wheel, the proud answered with circle of stone, their axes shining, their hair unbound. Blood splashed stone, soaked cloth, blades scraped bone, axes found shields. An age, murdered at it's own alter.”

Nickolas realized that his wife tended to time her breaths in a certain way when quoting the poem. An emphasis of it's own. He wondered how long ago that habit had been trained.

“Whatever warriors stood against Islan found themselves fighting an army.” Necun resumed. “They outnumbered her remaining loyalists, but these were the women who were looked over for the army's selection. The young, the old, the crippled, or wounded or just unreliable. The veterans of the war against the fortresses had been changed under Islan, on the trip back to the city she had broken them. The one truth she spoke, was that the madness must end. We needed stable leadership that couldn't be undone by a single axe strike.”

“Naturally she would be this glorious new leader.” Nickolas suggested with acid in his voice. “To bring a glorious new age to everyone who would follow orders without question, and build her kingdom on the bones of any fool who resisted.”

Necun hummed.

“It would seem the poems are correct.” she said. “That Islan learned the shape of her tyranny from the human lands.”

The statement hit like a rock to the gut, and Nickolas had to pull away from his wife's arm as he burst out laughing. Necun had to pause, and more than a few people stopped to stare at the bent over man cackling.

“That was a joke!” he said with tears in his eyes. “Oh please tell me she actually said it like that! That's glorious. She's like a villain in a bad play. Some scheming aunt who wishes to usurp the throne.”

“Her exact words were 'tremble and flee you weak minded bugs, for a new age is upon us' I believe.” Necun said, her own face breaking into a smile. “Is that close to what you were thinking of?”

Nickolas's laughter turned into a choking sound before resuming even harder.

“A direct quote!” he managed to get out. “She started quoting Vera plays? What? Did she see some hack show on the side of the road before marching on the fortresses? I can think of three different scheming traitor characters who whip out that line before plunging a knife into someone's back! Did she wear black armor? No of course she did, you all do. Did she wear a beast pelt for a helmet? Or use one of those stupid double bladed daggers?”

“It's not recorded, but I'm certain she took some creative direction if she was pulling so heavily from your plays as you suggest.” Necun said with a thoughtful look. “Though I do like that idea of using a pelt as a helmet. It would be a burden during a hunt, but for show it might be amusing. Maybe as part of a cloak.”

“Oh please let us match.” Nickolas pleaded, recovering enough to take Necun's arm in his own again. “Some nice fur would look wonderful if we matched.”

“I'm sure father would be delighted.” Necun allowed. “We'll talk to him tonight about it. As long as it doesn't look...silly I would be happy to have a few more outfits made for us. If nothing else it will send a strong message about our new household. Something like a uniform.”

“Not much of a uniform if it's just the two of us.” Nickolas replied, wiping away the last of the tears.

There was a pause, even as the pair continued their walk.

“But then it won't just be us for long will it?” the Mage sighed. “With you being connected to the Chief, and me...being me, we'll have others looking to join our new house soon won't we?”

This time Necun patted his arm.

“We will have time to work it out.” she reassured. “If it doesn't feel right we can delay for as long as we need, you won't even have to worry about it. When we decide to expand the household it will be our decision.”

A bored looking young man was offering bowls of stew to any passers by. Nickolas's stomach panged as the smell hit him, and he remembered that he failed to grab breakfast in the morning's excitement. Before he could even ask Necun was veering towards the small stand. A short exchange of words followed, and the young orc bowed slightly as he offered the pair a steaming bowl each along with a finely carved wooden spoon.

Nickolas took the proffered meal, slightly confused by the lack of payment, and they continued down the road.

The stew was hot and heavy on his tongue, yet also sweet in it's aftertaste.

“What's in this?” he asked between small bites.

“Fruit, nuts, and whatever meat was available at market today.” Necun supplied. “Usually whatever is cheapest, you can hide a lot of things in stew.”

While the idea would normally sour his appetite Nickolas's body was just delighted to have something that wasn't unseasoned roasted meat and berries. Before he realized it he was scraping the last bite with his spoon. The warmth of the meal settled into his stomach. It was calming, grounding to his frazzled mind.

“So, Islan?” the Mage prompted when he finished.

“Islan, right. She hit the city hard, a few changed sides, falling for her promises of plunder.” Necun resumed. “They either didn't realize that all the plunder would come from looting their own people or didn't care. I can only assume they were honorless rotspawn unfit to hold a blade. Yet it seemed like they would get their way. There weren't any great leaders in the city who could rally the scattered pods into a useful whole, they were all too busy trying to defend their own households, perhaps a few neighbors. Whenever a leader did emerge Islan would bury them with overwhelming numbers. Only suffering a few raids by the other resistance groups.”

They passed near a table cluttered with used bowls and loose spoons. Necun deposited hers without slowing, and Nickolas rushed to do the same.

“It was chaos.” Necun said. “All semblance of order started to break down.”

The orc hummed.

“Actually one of my favorite plays, Rise of Night, does something interesting at this part.” the Hunter digressed. “The instruments start clashing, like their fighting for their own voice over all others instead of harmonizing. Terrible to listen to, yet beautiful in intent. I was certainly excited when I saw it happen for the first time, talked about it for days. Hmm. I'll take you to the next show, it really has to be seen, explaining the effect doesn't come close.”

The tall orc shook her head, as if shaking off the memory.

“In any case Islan was set to take the city apart just so she and her honorless band of looters could pillage the remains.” she said. “It took nearly twenty days but the full realization finally set in. And yes, that seems like a long time, but the entire social order was being upturned, so you can forgive our ancestors a degree of shock. What finally broke the trance was a terrible crime. A large group of men had tried to escape the violence, hiding in a block of homes. One of Islan's pods, a thoroughly despicable set of rotlovers who wished to do...terrible things resorted to setting fire to the building to force them out. The men chose to die in the flames, rather than face the horrific intentions of Islan's butchers. Their screams carried all over the city. Everyone heard it. Word spread faster than the fire. And the rage, oh the rage of the city woke like nothing before, and nothing since.”

“The fire roared, a hateful sound, a dire sound, it roared to drown out the screams at the heart of it.” Necun quoted. “Iron grip snuffing sparks, fanning a flame to scorch the Green.”

“One day I'll make you do this whole poem for me.” Nickolas teased.

“I can only remember the good parts.” the orc admitted with a blush. “Only did the full thing once as a stuttering whelp, and I'm not even sure I got it right back then.”

“Is this the sort of thing I should be learning to impress the clan?” the Mage asked, only semi serious.

“A few of the elders might warm to you.” Necun confirmed. “But I suspect my father has already connected, at least I think so with how eager he was to craft you an outfit. My mother won't care. Well she will, but only that you're a man who I bonded with. I'm afraid it will be a long time before she treats you as anything besides 'Necun's bond'. So we'll try to avoid long moments alone with her until she gets it through her head that you're a person she needs to take seriously. She struggles with that.”

Even with his mask thoroughly down Nickolas managed to keep his reaction blank. Melat had been both reasonable and kind once the initial shock of bringing a tithe human home had worn off. It had allayed his worst fears, but he had known Necun's mother would be worse. Or at least he kept being warned as such by those close to her.

Still, for all the warnings, Nickolas would make his own judgment of the woman.

Weighted though it was by the woman causing a 'panic attack' in his wife before he even met her. He would admit to his biases in his head at least, it was only fair.

Perhaps the last attempt at fairness he would ever give his mother in law.

The Mage was shaken from his darker thoughts by Necun clearing her throat, looking embarrassed again.

“Where was I?” she asked. “With the Islan story I mean.”

“The whole city had woken up with rage now that Islan's cruelty had killed a large enough group of innocent men.” Nickolas summarized.

“Ah, yes.” Necun said, running her tongue over her lips before resuming. “While the rage was there, stoking itself to greater heights with every passing moment, it was still stifled by fear. Islan's betrayal broke everything. Even when the tyrant was killed her cruelty and dishonorable conduct could be repeated, and if just a few unscrupulous women took hostages while the bulk of the remaining warriors fought they would have a decisive advantage. Luckily, or perhaps inevitably, the circles stepped forward. They approached the scattered warriors who opposed the iron fisted Chief. Their offer was simple, they would hide their children, their bonds, under an unbreakable illusion. So deep would it be that they wouldn't even be able to find their own bonds. The idea was equal parts terrifying and tempting, none of the warriors had any idea the magic of the circles was so sophisticated in those days. To tip the deal in their favor the circles offered three dozen of their own, masters of their craft, to march alongside the warriors.”

“It was unheard of in those days, men going to battle, or even a hunt.” she said dramatically. “Different now, the home guard can hardly operate without magic these days, but back then the very idea was scandalous. Magic was thought of as something to shield the front door of a house, in fact most men's magic was literally tied to their home. A powerful ability, but limited. These new men were unbound by such constraints, they could weave their maddening craft anywhere. The warriors aligned against Islan saw the utility immediately.”

The pair had stepped out of the alley of craft workers and into a closed down market street. Only a few stalls providing the basic necessities were left open, the rest shuttered and locked.

“Only one issue remained, who would lead the charge against the tyrant Chief?” Necun continued. “A few suggested duels between each other to settle the matter, but even the most foolish of traditionalists realized they would be bleeding strength just before the most important battle of an age. So instead, begrudgingly, the followed the example of Islan the honorless, and formed their factions with dealmaking, promises, and not a small amount of bragging.”

“And that's where you got the four clans we have today.” Nickolas guessed.

“That's where we got the first thirty clans.” Necun corrected with a smile. “Only one of which survives to this day. LongNeck by the way. Though even that history is murky at certain points. But that's a different set of tales. Back to the thirty, you must understand that it was our first time doing this and there was almost no trust in the air. It's surprising they got it down to thirty, though I imagine it was easier with fewer people to argue. Every warrior wanted a leader who would give them exactly what they wanted, represent their perfect ideal. No doubt there were dozens more who tried and failed to gain a following before reluctantly joining up with another for a sense of safety during the battle. It was the start of politicking, at least the kind where you couldn't just settle the matter with a quick duel. The result was rough, but enough to face Islan.”

“The battle was glorious.” the Hunter said, tone turning reverent and battle hungry all at once. “Though divided the new clans showed far more backbone than the vast majority of Islan's killers. Against the roving pods of the new clans they broke and failed at every turn. With their bonds and children tucked away safely the battle lines distorted then broke, an all out brawl raging through the entire city. Several sections burned but the clans didn't stop. Islan pulled into a defensive position but the clans wouldn't let her retreat without bloodying her backline. Warriors who had sworn to the tyrant tried surrender, both real and feigned, but found themselves blind as the greatest mages of the circles set curses on them. There was no chance to betray their word or flee before the battle was over. In the end what remained of the tyrant's 'clan' if that word still applied to the gaggle of murderers in her thrall, escaped into the Green. Three clans followed, LongNeck among them, and they were hunted till the last of her guard fell. Only Islan escaped the blades of her now rival Chiefs, the one regret of that battle. Instead they found what remained of her foot after a long hunt. She had camped in the wrong place, and without a partner to keep watch at night she fell as prey to a rather ambitious beast. A fitting end.”

“I can tell this is your favorite part.” Nickolas said, eliciting another blush from his wife before the last one had even faded.

“It's the last good part before the poems and plays delve into a long retelling of ancient clan politics and lineages.” Necun explained. “I don't think anyone finds those interesting, not even the poor sods who have to memorize it all.”

The road they were traveling was deserted, Nickolas noted how colder the buildings seemed. No longer did he hear the crackling of cookfires, or the quiet scrape of tools. The air felt heavy on his shoulders.

“I admit to being a tiny bit curious how you went from thirty clans to four.” Nickolas said.

“A lot of incompetence and good offers.” Necun replied. “As well as a fair few duels, we even still do them today, though they're a lot less deadly, and hardly a way to rise up to leadership. It's mostly for younger women to blow off steam, or when a grudge gets too hot for mediation.”

They walked up a particularly steep curve, and the top of a blocky building came into view.

It practically radiated with the promise of violence, which wasn't something Nickolas thought buildings could do. As they grew closer he could hear the murmur of women discussing serious topics in whispers that didn't care who heard them. Growing closer he noticed the lines of women laying on the floor, their arms and legs bound, their eyes blindfolded. They were all trying to stay still, probably to avoid attracting the attention of their captors.

Nickolas took a deep breath. The mask went on.

“Let's go talk to mother.” Necun grunted, not sounding any happier than he was.