Arlen left again when the rain lessened. He kept going by the landmarks the old chief recommended. As for the fact that Arlen was building the fanciest road in all the islands, the man took a look at it but never said a word.

Arlen's path was easy from there. He found some kind of nasty slime beast that began lurching toward him, but he managed to encase it in stone. He thought of it as a pollution elemental. From there he found something else he took for magic at first: a continual flame rising from a mass of muck and roots. The land sloped slightly upward so that it emerged a foot or two above water.

It was the outskirts of a village of ironworkers. Several of the methane-stinking eternal flames rippled in this part of the bog. Drinker clan members in sight were using them for smelting, which probably didn't work well, and cooking, which had to violate all kinds of restaurant health codes.

He got spotted; he wasn't being subtle. A mutant with a lot of knives waded toward him and only the intervention of a more level-headed man at the smithy probably prevented a fight. Still, both demanded to know who he was.

"Arlen, war-chief of the isles, killer of Thoko and the beast of Gull Crater, comes to make peace."

"Alone!" said the smith.

The mutant growled, "Brave."

Arlen got escorted deeper into the village, but here too they made him stop building and step onto the boggy earth. He tried not to make a face as it squished underfoot. The town had a haphazard approach to construction, mostly crude houses of unworked logs and vines, insulated with moss and mud. Insects buzzed everywhere.

A crowd of unfriendly townsfolk had gathered at a wide platform with long benches. While the escorts made Arlen wait, a whole tribal court convened. In the center sat an alchemist wearing clay jars of various scents, a tough guy that Arlen recognized from Thoko's smithing group, and a feral hunter with many scars and with a busty gal hanging on his shoulder.

Arlen made his case as he'd done with the former chieftain. He added, "Besides fixing the poison of this land so that your people won't be harmed so much, I can help you directly with my powers."

Argument began among the leaders. What stood out in the confusion was the sharp-eyed man with the jars saying, "Who do you think you are, making demands of us? Nobody's seen these monstrous folk from beyond the storm, but for the bones old Thoko collected."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The hunter spoke through a mouthful of fangs. "The changes you speak of are a blessing. Our source of power." Most people as hairy and hunched as him didn't talk much.

Arlen first conjured a fine little stone jar. "I can give you tools for your craft, and hints of lost alchemical knowledge that can make you more powerful. Do you know for instance of a yellow stone that smells foul?"

The man with the bottles frowned, then spoke a word that translated as "Sulfur".

"Yes, I definitely know a recipe you'll be interested in." He smiled. He was thinking about gunpowder -- but that could wait until there was some more trust. "Besides that you will have fine mixing bowls and sturdy furnaces."

Then Arlen drew his sword and showed it off. "I share weapons and armor with my friends as well."

The woman on the warrior's shoulder was the first to get the implication. "We've given no iron to you!"

"Why no. I have no need of Mirefolk iron. So you'll need to rethink what you offer and threaten other islands with." He casually transformed a bit of the platform into pure metal and held it up, then dropped it again.

"Impossible," the alchemist muttered.

"All I ask is that you cease raiding your neighbors. If you recognize Voz as the new high chief, good; we can trade. If you're willing to fight a possible battle in the near future, we'd appreciate you standing ready for it. You can be richer than ever before, and you will be healthier." Arlen shrugged. "And if you don't cooperate, we'll leave you alone. Unless you attack, of course."

The scarred fighting man stood up. "You say you have the favor of the spirits. I say you're a fool. You couldn't beat even one man."

Arlen sighed. "Is that how you decide everything? I'm tired of killing people who threaten me."

A woman who'd been hanging back, spoke up. "I saw him on Opaline. He's a tricky one, so that pounding him with an axe won't help you. Outsider, fight me instead."

She was taller and tougher-looking than some of the men, with a hint of the savage look of the tribe's berserkers. She wore leather wraps and had scars suggesting claws and bites. A hunter, maybe.

Arlen asked, "For what? My offer stands."

The warrior grunted. "Let's see if you can back it up."

Arlen wasn't eager, but this was how they did things. "All right. Where should we fight?"

There was a low area, flooded with three feet of murky water. Lovely. Arlen reached into it and began making a sturdy platform.

"Hey, what is that?" said one of the onlookers.

"I'm your guest. You've chosen the location. I'll choose the arena." Without waiting for a ruling, he rapidly raised the ground and made it rumble. A square around sixty feet wide emerged over several minutes.

The huntress stared at this preparation, one hand on a knife hilt. "Weapons..."

"You can back down if you like." Maybe she hadn't grasped how dangerous Arlen was in the presence of rocks. He was mostly worried about how to avoid killing her.

"I have magic of my own. Put that sword down. Knives only. To surrender."

Arlen thought that traditionally the weapons would be his choice, but he'd already pushed his authority. He theatrically made his sword sink halfway into a boulder, then made himself a knife with a crosspiece, similar to her Bowie-style weapon. He kept his iron breastplate.

He bowed. She didn't seem to recognize the gesture but did a similar salute. She took a fighting stance and said, "You face Agni the Huntress. Begin."