He checked in on the guards he'd brought, and on Meadow. They were still being treated as guests; it helped that Arlen had given them housing. None of them were eager to go even deeper into Mire territory. He was dealing with a possible mutiny. Instead of ordering them along as war-chief, he said, "Then some of you can go. Send word to Voz and the rest that we're fixing things here. Leave me a boat."

"What are you going to do?" asked the guard who'd helped him kill the beast in the old factory. "It sounds like there's a whole tribe that's angry."

Arlen cracked his knuckles. "I'm going to have a word with them."

#

He headed toward Drinker territory. He carved a narrow path through a bubbling bog, keeping a constant eye out for danger. Anyone else would've waded and slogged miserably, so his progress was fast. Except for having to go by landmarks again: the bone pile, the mossy boulder, each time turning. Overhead the sky grew dimmer and made the sun hard to track. Then the rain began.

His growing road wasn't hindered, but fog closed in and he feared horrible things sneaking up. He felt weighed down. Not just from the rain, either. This island was the worst he'd seen and all his repair work wouldn't cure everybody right away. In modern terms he'd probably prevent a lot of birth defects and childhood development problems, ie. crazed feral tribesmen. In twenty years the Mire would be a nicer place. Right now, there was a good chance he'd end up killing people.

In the distance a pale light stood out. "Will-o-wisp," he said, but he headed toward it out of curiosity. Forgetting that he could simply make a roof if he wanted one. It proved to be a hut of woven branches and thatch and mud, clinging to a tree like an oversized wasp nest with stairs. A green lamp shined at the door of leather flaps, and thin smoke coiled above.

Arlen called out, and a voice said, "Come."

Arlen pushed aside the heavy leather. The owner was a grizzled man with a missing ear and a cane, showing a bit of the fanged and hairy look of the raiders. "I don't recogninze you by clan."

Arlen bowed slightly. "I'm Arlen, war chief under the new high chief, Voz."

The man laughed. "Voz! That little squeaker claims to be the one who slew Thoko?"

"I was the one who killed him."

"Then why are you under anyone at all?"

"I want to do things differently. Right now, I want to speak with the Drinkers."

"Sit, then. You look miserable."

The hut held two log chairs. Arlen sat and began using magic to dry off. The firepit helped too. He said, "Thank you."

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"So you want to meet the Drinkers, and think you can persuade them. To do what?"

Arlen raised an eyebrow. "Are you their chief, sir?"

"Used to be, years ago."

"I'm seeking peace with your people. Someday soon, outsiders will come to the isles. If we're still fighting among ourselves, we'll all be conquered. I've begun to purge the poison here, so that there's no longer a need for fighting and raiding."

"A need? We don't do it only for wealth. We prove ourselves in battle. We honor the spirits by endurance and strength."

"The spirits told me to purge this island of its poison. Have you heard that?"

"I've been told, yes. Did they also tell you to stop the raids?"

Arlen fumed. Did everything need to be about what these mysterious voices in a cave or a crater wanted? He said, "They wanted me to unify the islands under a high chief who would respect them. That's Voz."

The ex-chief grunted. "We took orders from Thoko until recently. Never liked him. Who are these outsiders you're so worried about? They're your people, aren't they?"

"No. Really I know very little about them, but Thoko had collected pieces of their ships that tell me they have more powerful tools than the isles do. From my own land's history I say, their motives will be mixed. You risk being told that all the Echoing Isles now belong to some foreign chief you've never heard of, and that you will renounce the island spirits or die. You do not want to be seen as weak."

"We are rarely accused of that."

"There are other kinds of strength than the ability to send a bunch of screaming fighters to kill people, aren't there? I'm not the most muscular or the best spearman, yet I beat Thoko and all his men. If you want to preserve what you value most, you'll need to throw away what you don't. So do you value the ability to harass and fight and rob from other islands, more than anything else?"

"You don't know us," snapped the old man.

"That's fair. So, what do you want to do whenever the outsiders come? I want to make sure nobody gets conquered."

Arlen's host stared into the fire. Arlen was willing to fight the tribe's leaders if that was what it took to stop the internal threat.

The old man said, "Why do you care about the isles, outsider? Why don't you prepare to board some passing ship from afar, and go with it to a better place? No doubt you've muttered about how savage we are and how you wish you could change many things about us."

Arlen fumed, but it was a good question. He answered, "I've met many of the islanders and enjoyed my time with them. I want to see them happy and prosperous. I've never forced them to accept some new way of doing things and the closest I've come is overthrowing Thoko, someone who had been doing that, and with the support of people who already wanted him stopped. The isles are worth protecting. I want to reach a point where you all have knowledge of other ways, and the choice of how to proceed."

"And if we Mirefolk choose not to change?"

"Then I'll help your enemies who're sick of the raids. In the end many of your people will die in their attacks, and your power will be broken. Or we can skip that unhappy step."

The man thought for a while. "Well now. There's a use to having a bunch of dangerous men in the isles, isn't there? If these outsiders are that much of a threat, isn't it best to have violent men at hand, waiting, ready to give them trouble? That's a reason to keep peace with us for now."

Arlen blinked. "Are you suggesting I sic the raiders on the outsiders?"

"If need be. If a fight happens, and our warriors fall to strange weapons, your problem is solved. If no fight happens, we can talk about what's next."

"A pause on raiding, and the possibility of calling on Mirefolk for battle?" Arlen chose to interpret the proposal that way. "It's a wise solution, sir. If the clan will accept it."

"Mm. It's not my place to decide these things anymore. But take the idea to the leaders, and see if they listen."