A three hundred mile line stretched to the Aerish Highlands from the city of White Plain. The land was mostly flat around the city, but slowly climbed an incline toward the mountain chain that held the Highlands. Between the two places rested villages, farms, forests, and natural obstructions to travel like rivers that would make a lone traveler turn and go around instead of trying to go through the barrier.
A lone traveler forged a path along that line without consideration for what might be in his way. He had traveled on his own for long periods of time in the past. This was just one more bout of walking he had to do before he found a horse he could use.
As long as he had the sun rising in front of him, and the stars floating above, he felt he would have no problem reaching his home. The only problem was the distance.
He briefly wondered about the city he had left behind. Should he have done more? He considered it. He decided that with most of the demons cleared out, and the death of Neil Skaren, the city's defenders could get things together and rebuild as much as they wanted.
He didn't want to hang around, and he didn't want anyone realizing he was still alive. He could do without more people thinking they could use him to solve their problems and kill their enemies on command.
One Montague was enough.
People thought they could bribe him into doing what they wanted. Convincing them that he had other plans took too long and made him wish he could kill them outright for being stupid.
If he did that, he would be killing one out of every five people he met for the rest of his life. He had better things to do than that.
He walked from grassy land into a forest that dimmed the light from above. He thought he heard some barking but ignored it. It had been a long time since he had been afraid of wild animals.
Most put up with his presence, but sensed that he was a threat to them if he became angry. That made even predators keep their distance. Normal animals wouldn't risk injury chasing something that sent out a signal of Fear Me to anything near by.
Only monsters ignored that signal. They were at the top of the food chain. What did they have to fear from a man in a coat?
Everything depended on if he became serious and decided to deal with them in a way they weren't used to having happen. Then they learned fear in the few seconds it took for him to land a punch.
But if they broke off to chase easier prey, Pitt wasn't going to chase them down. He had better things to do with his time.
And he was tired of killing everything that might give him trouble. He had been around a long time. He preferred to live and let live when possible.
Pitt found a sign pointing to some place called Apple Grove. It stood on a post on the side of the road he was crossing. He looked up at the sky, and then down the road toward where the sign pointed.
He could use a break from the walking. He decided that stopping in town wouldn't hold him for long. And it might be nice to sleep on a bed, instead of under a tree in the middle of nowhere.
The lack of supplies is what decided him that he should try to find an inn and get something to eat.
He didn't want to hunt berries and chase rabbits and squirrels for his dinner when there was someone already doing that for him.
And apple pie sounded good on top of everything else floating through his mind.
Pitt took a bearing from the sign. When he was done with his dinner, and maybe nap, he planned to walk back to the sign and follow his navigational line through the night. He could stop in the next village he came across if he wanted to stay longer than a few hours.
He walked down the road toward town. He could taste the apple pie he wanted to eat as he went.
Pitt spotted a village in the distance. Trees had been cleared away so houses could be built. He spotted a directional sign in the center of the village. It pointed the way for him to go places, but sticking to his line seemed the best thing to do.
He paused when he saw orcs herding the villagers into the square. He supposed they were on a raid. The response would be catastrophic if Imperial forces learned about it. The tribe could be wiped out if they were tracked down by scouts.
Some of the raiders saw him. They pointed at him standing on the road. He decided to meet them. That felt better than letting them chase him. They probably expected him to run from their superior numbers.
He decided it was better to get his retaliation in first.
But before that, he was going to try to avoid killing them if he could. It depended on what the war chief thought about things.
Enslaving Imperial citizens was a big no as far as the authorities were concerned. That would definitely lead to mass death if the government found out. If he could keep things confined to the village, then there was no need to follow the orcs home and kill them all with fire.
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Some would advocate for that anyway. A threat to the people was a threat to the empire. And all threats needed to be stopped.
Pitt didn't quite agree with that reasoning as it was easy to abuse by any politician who hated Orcs. Dealing with threats should probably be left to people who knew what they were doing.
“On your knees, human,” said one of the orcs. He waved a sword in one of his four hands. “You have the glory of serving the Red Shell tribe. Rejoice at your new position in life.”
Pitt paused at the edge of the square. He counted fifteen raiders. They were big and green with four arms, tusks, and rough weapons from something other than a blacksmith. Multiple red eyes looked at him. Most seemed bored.
There wasn't much glory in raiding a village with no men at arms to defend it.
“No,” said Pitt. He put his hands in his pockets. “I think you should retreat and leave the people here.”
“And why should we do that?,” said the spokesorc. He copied the human expression of a smile, but it looked more intended to intimidate than reassure. “This human village is ours now to do with as we will.”
“These people will be missed by other people,” said Pitt. “Word will get out. The Empire will decide that an expedition will be mounted. A bunch of rangers and clerics for Avri Noll will show up to cut your tribe to pieces. There's no telling how many they will kill in retaliation.
“And then there's the fact that I will kill most of you in the next few seconds out of spite,” said Pitt. “I would rather you just walk away with whatever you think will be valuable, but the people stay here.”
“Do you really think you can kill all of us, human?,” asked the spokesorc. His laugh buzzed like a maddened bee.
“I have killed so many of your people. Whole tribes have vanished from the world when I was done,” said Pitt in orcish. “I have killed warriors, shamans, tenders. I have killed the healthy and the sick, the old and the young, the slow and the fast. When I walked among you, I was a blade that grew sharper slicing the wind. Don't doubt my words now that you have seen death, and know blood will follow. Go home and tell your chiefs that the Cutter still walks the land.”
“You lie,” said the orc, speaking in his native tongue. “The Cutter is just a story.”
“Believe when I tell you that if you draw steel on me, you will not go home,” said Pitt. “I will kill any of you that don't flee quick enough.”
The orc had been walking toward Pitt while they were talking. Some of his band joined him, flanking him. They didn't want to spoil his fun in dealing with this human. The rest stood guard in case their captives decided to do something stupid.
The orc went for the two long swords strapped to its back. His four arms would lend strength and speed to the killing stroke. The blades never cleared the leather that housed them. A scarred fist hit his chest. Pressure sprayed him over his comrades before they could blink.
The rest of the orcs looked at the human standing in front of them. He dropped his hand to his side.
“Who wants to die next?,” said Pitt in orcish. “Killing the rest of you would be just as easy.”
The second in command called for his raiders to form up on him. He led the way into the woods bordering the village. The humans breathed a little easier at their absence.
Pitt sighed. He had not wanted to do that, but a display had been necessary. Now he was a hero again. He could have done without showing the villagers what he could do. He would have to give up his bed now.
Why hadn't he just gone around? He could have done without complications. Would the raiders go home? Would he have to stay to make sure they didn't come back?
“Make sure everyone is accounted for before you get too happy,” said Pitt. “They still might have taken some of your friends and family.”
Maybe he could still get something to eat without too much of a fuss. Then he could move on towards home.
The villagers looked for anyone missing. Reports of some of the citizens being killed by the orcs marked some of the missing off the concerned list. Pitt wondered if he was going to have to chase the orcs down and bring back any of the missing people.
He had done his share of trailing enemies, but he had already turned one of them into green water. He didn't want to do more than that.
He wasn't going to be around long enough to solve any other problem the village might have now that some of them were dead in the raid.
If he had to follow the orcs to get some of the missing villagers back, he didn't want to do that but he would.
“Thank you,” said one of the villagers. “It looks like we're all here except for our dead.”
“I saw the sign and wondered if you had an inn I could relax in for a bit, but I think I will be moving on instead,” said Pitt. “I have a long walk ahead of me. I think I should get back to it.”
“Nonsense,” said a man in an apron. “You saved our lives. We would be marching into the Orc Land if you hadn't shown up. We'll get together and throw a feast for everyone to celebrate.”
“I think you should think about putting a watch in place to help prevent things like this from happening again,” said Pitt. “Orcs this deep in Empire territory is nothing but trouble. We might be looking at a small war.”
“We'll do that,” said the man in in the apron. “I'm Paul Yeats. I'm the local baker.”
“William Pitt,” said Pitt. “I have to be going. If you do have a celebration, make sure the guards are out so you can't be caught all sitting down to eat. You might want to think about some kind of bolt hole to outlast any siege.”
“Can't you stay?,” asked a little girl. She had joined the talk while Pitt had been distracted by the discussion with the adults.
“I couldn't stay forever,” said Pitt. “I could maybe stay a week, but I have to get home. I have things to do there.”
“A week?,” said the little girl. “How long is that?”
“It's not long,” said Pitt. “But I have a lot of miles to go before I get home. I was called to do something, and I did. Being sent back home was not the priority for my summoner.”
“We understand,” said Yeats. “Amelia, go find your mother. Tell her we need a room prepared for our guest. Sara, let's see if we can get our people together and plan a fete for us. I'll ask Stanley if he knows people we can put on guard at the edges of the village.”
Pitt walked into the village. He scanned the streets and nodded to himself. It was the same as many other villages he had walked through. It was more intact than most.
At least it wasn't burning down to the ground, with monsters everywhere, and a giant in the background trying to kill any who stood up to it.
He found a place to sit down and watch everything. It felt good to just settle in place without an emergency in sight. He hoped those orcs took the hint and went home without causing any more problems. He didn't need a raid turning into a war for supremacy.
Maybe he should have killed them all. That would have sent a message louder than simple words.
He smiled as the smell of cooking filled the air. This was what he liked. He decided to keep staying out of people's way as they went about their business. They didn't need him to do the simple things they were doing. They only needed him if the orcs came back instead of moving on.
He looked around for some water or ale as his mouth watered. Maybe he could stay longer than a week.
He smiled at his wishy-washiness. He had a weakness for comfort. Staying more than a week would make the villagers think they were invincible. He needed to move on as soon as he was sure they could take care of themselves.
But it would cover him the next time Montague needed him to solve a problem.
Pitt smiled.