Serepto Fields, Humanoid Territory

Rowan sat on a log by the fire with his friend Osiris and—regrettably—several rowdy orcs.

Upon returning to his father with new of the rogue World Gate's validity, the King had simply nodded, instructed his ward to call a meeting with the Circle of Pentory, and dismissed him.

He always keeps his plans secret, but I thought—maybe because I was involved this time—he might actually trust me with some tiny piece of information. But no. His father's plans remained unknown, even his thoughts on what this meant for the world, why such a Gate existed.

Rowan should have expected as much. Like he'd expected it when his brother walked by to attend the meeting, while he was cast aside.

Even a 'thank you, son' would have been nice. For all the enthusiasm his father had shown in convincing Rowan to go, there was no gratitude or interested in how it went. Am I a man in his eyes now or not?

He didn’t even see his father again before leaving for the Academy.

And then he had the gall to send a messenger to his room 'suggesting' that it would be wise of him to befriend the son and heir of Orc Warlord Bloodfist at the Academy. And by that, of course, he actually meant it would be beneficial to his brother's future reign if Rowan had important companions.

Maybe that was the real reason Auren was stuck with him instead of off doing something more exciting with Uthen. He wasn't important enough to be friends with the future king. It was totally something his father would do.

Rowan gripped the pendant hanging from his neck his mother had given him before he left. A good luck gift. "From both of us," she’d said.

He stabbed a long stick into the embers of the fire, kicking up sparks.

"Why do we have to be here with them, again?" Osiris whispered.

Rowan grunted and glanced over at the orc prince and his cohort huddled around the other side of the fire pit as they compared the size of their biceps. This, after they'd already competed for the fiercest scowl, sharpest fingernails, and loudest belch.

What they'd failed to notice during all this was the quartet of Monsters that had run, fluttered, and bounced their way to the trees within rock-throwing distance of their camp. Rowan had seen them heading this way from nearly halfway across the field carrying a sack dripping with mud.

As if I could miss that green blob of a slime bouncing above the bushes every few seconds? The Monster reflected moonlight like a still pond.

He almost wanted them to attack. I really want to punch something, he thought. And I can't exactly start a fight with my current companions. Unfortunately, one of the professors—a giant bear of a dwarf dressed in ridiculous pirate gear—had discovered them and was now leading them away.

Osiris nudged his elbow from his seat on the log. "Look at those fools." He pointed at the Monsters sulking back to their side of the field. "I bet they're in so much trouble."

"They didn't technically do anything," Rowan said, still butchering the fire with his stick. It was beginning to die down.

"They were planning to though. They wouldn't be over here otherwise."

A large log fell onto the fire, snapping Rowan's stick and kicking smoke into his face. A broad-shouldered orc with a face locked in a permanent state of disgust snorted at him.

Yes, I bet you won the scowling contest, buddy.

He turned and followed Osiris' pointed finger. "Hey Garo. Ain't those the silly lil' fodders we saw on the road?" he asked the orc prince.

The other orcs looked to the trees.

"Oh yeah," one of them said. "I remember the slime with those skeletons and zombies. Odd grouping."

"Let’s charge them right now!" another said.

"No, Leeroy…" several moaned.

"Remember you knocked that old skeleton right off his feet, Garo?"

Garo'tan Bloodfist rose slowly. He was a half-head taller than any of his friends, dressed in full battle armor—spiked shoulder pauldrons and all—clearly as a means of intimidation. Not that he needed any added intimidation... He was terrifying enough unarmored, with gold rings drilled through the two tusks jutting out of his lower jaw, a small bone pierced through the bridge of his nose, and the red fist tattoo covering the entire left side of his face. Not to mention the bulging muscles visible in his arms and legs.

Rowan felt a twang of pity for the skeleton this behemoth had apparently attacked on the road, similar to the guilt of seeing Monsters confined to cages down south. He buried the feeling, unwilling to let that weakness contaminate his thoughts.

"They came here for revenge," Garo'tan said, his voice like gravel. "But they are only gnats. I ignore gnats."

"They'll try again," Osiris said, standing, and looking like a toddler before the hulking green beast. "We should strike first."

Creator curse you, Osiris... Can't you just keep your mouth shut this one time?

Rowan sighed and stood to support his friend. Osiris was over-eager, as always. As the son of the castle cook, he wouldn't normally be granted entrance into the Academy. But when your best friend is royalty, well... you tend to gain a few perks by association.

"Tiny humans," Garo'tan said, holding his thumb and index finger an inch apart. "You question me?"

Rowan's fingers instinctively wrapped around his sword hilt. He hadn't meant to do it, but after that attack in the Monster village, his reactions were still heightened.

Ah, gnoll shit... I really hate you, Osiris.

Garo'tan raised an eyebrow as his hand went to his giant axe.

Can't take it back now. Not without coming across like a sniveling coward. You never wanted to appear weak to an orc, especially one with royal blood.

Sensing the rising tension, the six boar-riding warriors who'd accompanied the orc heir stalked closer to the fire. Their presence here was another show of power.

Rowan had his guards too, but they were much more subtle. He spied Auren and Killian tucked in the shadows of the carriage, observing the scene.

Such was the way of orcs—they focused so heavily on the appearance of power rather than truly possessing it. Now that he thought of it, Rowan wasn't sure he'd ever actually seen an orc fight in person. Only bully.

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Please don't let that change tonight...

Garo'tan stalked around the fire toward Osiris, a vein in his forehead pulsing. Rowan stepped between the two.

"The surplus prince," Garo'tan said. "No one would notice if I ended you now." His grip on the war axe tightened.

"Take his legs off, Garo!" one of the other orcs shouted. "He doesn't need 'em."

Garo'tan grinned, revealing sharp, yellowing teeth.

So much for making friends. Father will be so pleased.

"You'd regret that," Osiris said. "Prince Rowan is one of the best swordsmen in the entire kingdom."

"Osiris..." Rowan grumbled through clenched teeth. Now is really not the time for exaggeration. Or speaking. At all.

He always had a way of making Rowan feel important, confident. Even when they played their games as young children in the castle halls, he always allowed Rowan to lead and make decisions, even though his ideas were consistently better. They'd spent hours running around the castle in New Valour, climbing the battlements, acting out legendary quests from the Gate Worlds.

Rowan loved Osiris like a brother, replacing the one he already had who spent all his time being groomed for leadership.

But I don't love you right now, Osiris.

The cook's son had few interactions with orcs. His wild exaggeration of Rowan's skills wouldn't be seen as a deterrent, but a challenge.

"You always let your betters fight your battles for you, little servant?" Garo'tan goaded.

Osiris stepped forward, ears steaming red, but Rowan held him back with a raised hand.

I'm not spending the evening peeling two halves of a dead Osiris off the field tonight...

Garo'tan laughed. "You need to teach your servants some manners, surplus prince."

The orc warriors had positioned themselves behind Osiris and Rowan now, but rather than diffusing the situation, they'd pulled out a cask of mead and were exchanging bets.

Bloody wonderful.

Auren gave a hand signal from his hiding spot, asking for instruction. Killian had disappeared from sight, likely positioned with an arrow notched and aimed at the orc heir's head.

Rowan shook his head and tucked his pendant under his shirt. Stand down. I can handle this. What else is a surplus prince for?

"I could use a warmup for the exam," Garo'tan said, rolling his shoulders. He pulled his axe out of its holder. "What say you, human? First to bleed?"

Rowan unsheathed his sword and stuck it into the ground. "We'll use practice swords."

No sense dying over this. Though Rowan had no doubt a smack in the right spot from any weapon the orc held could end his life.

One of the other orcs handed Garo'tan a wooden practice sword. He examined it for a moment, then snapped it in half with his bare hands. "I don't play with sticks."

The orc charged, his axe already overhead to strike.

Rowan rolled to the side just as Garo'tan's axe came crashing down. It embedded itself in the ground all the way to the handle where he'd been standing. Osiris stumbled backward, distancing himself from the action.

"First blood?" Rowan questioned, giving his opponent a skeptical glare.

"First blood. First limb. No difference." Garo'tan roared gleefully as he came in for another forceful strike.

Rowan pulled his blade from the dirt and dodged again.

The orc prince was strong—stronger than him by far, but he forecasted his attacks with an excessive wind up, making them easy to avoid. At least as easy as a whirling axe could be to avoid.

There was little more that brute force to his strategy. And he became increasingly aggravated as Rowan continued to deflect or duck around his strikes. Not exactly the entertainment I'd been hoping for, Rowan thought. But seeing this brute huffing from exhaustion as he wasted energy with overzealous swings did brighten his mood.

Unfortunately, Garo'tan's annoyance quickly shifted to anger. And with anger came unpredictability. Typical orc. I need to end this now, before it gets any more out of hand.

Rowan parried an overhead strike into the ground, then spun inside the orc prince's guard and brought the sword to his throat.

They stood face-to-face, the sharp of his blade a hair's width from his neck. He'd been a little clumsy. This was almost too close for comfort. I can just picture it now... standing up at the gallows with my fellow prisoners. 'How did I get here? Well, funny story. I accidentally slit the throat of the future orc warlord. So worth it though.'

Rowan smirked, and Garo'tan gave a slight nod of approval. Perfect. And no blood even nee—

The orc exhaled sharply, releasing a foul odor directly into Rowan's open mouth. He gagged. Then a green forehead cracked against his face.

He stumbled backward and fell onto his ass, dropping his sword. He tasted the tang of iron as his nose drained blood over his lips and onto his brand new white uniform.

Garo'tan laughed. "First blood!"

Osiris was at Rowan's side, about to pick up the fallen sword to continue the fight on his behalf. Rowan gripped his friend's shoulder, calming the tension. There's more than one way to gain an ally. Let it be.

"Well fought, Garo'tan Bloodfist," Rowan said, still on the ground. "You bested me. Truly a fierce warrior."

The orc reached out a hand and hauled him to his feet. "Yes. But you fight well. You will teach me, yes? To move as the wind like this?"

Rowan pulled a kerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose as he examined the brute. There was nothing wind-like about him, but this was an opportunity.

He nodded, though the idea of spending more time than necessary with the thick-skulled orc and his friends made him cringe inwardly. "Of course, Prince Garo'tan."

"Call me Garo," he replied.

It had cost a possibly broken nose, but despite Rowan's best efforts, it seemed he'd made a favorable impression with the orc heir after all.

My father would be thrilled...

Garo sat beside him on the log, allowing his companions to return to their games without him. His weight cracked the log, but it held as he warmed his hands over the fire.

"So you want to squish the little bugs," he said. "I will do this for you."

"The Monsters?" Rowan asked. Squish wasn't quite the term I had in mind.

Osiris perked up after his initial annoyance at the orc's presence on their side of the fire.

"But you won the fight," Osiris said. "Technically... You said you wanted to ignore them."

Garo shifted in closer so he could avoid the others hearing his words. "We both know you bested me, Rowan Regicast." An unexpected admission... He leaned back and stretched his arms, raising his voice for his friends to hear. "Besides, you didn't give me enough of a workout. I need something else to crush."

All about the appearances. Still, Rowan hadn't expected even that small level of humility from the orc, even if he wasn't willing to show it publicly. I understand the need to keep up appearance too, Garo. More than you know.

Even as the 'surplus prince,' he had a role to fill, a family legacy to maintain. Clearly, what he'd done with the Monster Relocation Squad hadn't been enough to impress his father. He wanted a son who was more fierce, more strong-willed, not broken and sentimental—no matter how skilled with a sword. I'll never live up to those expectations, especially with Uthen setting the precedent as first son and heir. But he was still expected to try.

Uthen was a skilled warrior and already a quest giver beyond the Gates at age eighteen—an impressive accomplishment, even for someone granted the luxuries he was. He'd earned the Legendary two-handed sword Resplendent, not only by inheritance, but as a gift from the renowned blacks of Steelmount Forge. The old blade had been reforged and imbued with Heroic Energy for the first time in its history, giving it incredible bonuses and a flame-like red aura.

Uthen was the perfect heir and namesake to their father.

Meanwhile, Rowan sniveled in a corner because a bunny got hurt and had to suppress guilt as the fodder down south were caged and relocated. Utterly pathetic.

"We'll put those Monsters in their place," Rowan finally said.

"What is your plan?" Garo asked.

Rowan looked to Osiris, knowing he already had a scheme working through his cunning brain.

The cook's son simply nodded and remained silent, allowing Rowan to feign leadership in the presence of the warlord's heir.

Always keeping up appearances. Thank you, Osiris.

"I'm still forging the details," Rowan said as he placed a hand on the orc's shoulder. "But rest assured, Garo. I'll give you something to crush."

Garo grinned and stood. "I think I will enjoy being classmates with the surplus prince after all. My fists will be ready." He rejoined his friends and their meaningless competitions.

"What are you thinking?" Rowan asked Osiris once he was confident the others were too consumed in their games to hear.

Osiris rubbed his chin, like he always did when he was pretending he didn't already have an idea brewing. "We need something that will make them think twice about ever trying something again. Not just a prank. True fear."

"I know you've got a plan. Let's hear it."

"Where's the excitement in that?" Osiris winked.

Rowan cast him an annoyed glare. This was no time for games. If they were actually going to do this, they needed to let them know this class of Humanoids wasn't going to put with any mischief from the Monsters. That's what his brother would do.

They needed to set expectations early and strong. And before I lose my confidence in this decision altogether.

"Okay, okay. Calm your royal panties," Osiris said. He placed a hand on Rowan's shoulder and pulled him in close. "What I have planned, they'll never see coming. They might even run back to whatever holes they live in and cry to their mommies for days." He paused. "They... do have mothers, right?"

Rowan tensed. The echoes of the Monsters crying for help and mercy around him as soldiers shoved them into cages clawed through his mind. Mothers and fathers. Children.

He forced a smile.

"I like the sound of that."