Arlen asked Voz, "What would you have me do, since we're not at war now?"

The high chief was more comfortable when faced with that question. "The main problems right now are the Mire's aggression and the defense of Newshore. It seem that we should also start spreading knowledge and education. Send word to every island that they're invited to have people visit and train in metalworking, and you personally can offer training and material wherever you go. I want you to equip Newshore and make sure anyone who wants to come and go, does so. What else?"

Arlen nodded. "It would also be a good idea to teach writing to anyone who'll learn."

"That's shaman work, though. Why bother?"

"The population will learn so much, that it doesn't fit in any one man's head. In the short term, it means being more able to send messages. Not every shaman is completely cooperative yet, right? Better to have more people who can help you."

Voz's disputes with Thoko had been partly over the old chief's forward-looking desire for technology. Getting Voz to accept the same basic program with less cruelty might be a long-term problem. Still, the ruler nodded and accepted Arlen's idea, for now.

Arlen sat on one of the platforms while Voz opened his "royal" court to visitors. The atmosphere was awkward and muted but the islanders came before him with petty disputes, just as they'd done when Voz was sitting on a lower-tier bench.

There were three bloody duels that day, disputes held over from the war, and Voz let them happen by the traditional rules. Arlen still felt he was the outsider trying to lecture the islanders. He sighed; he could guide them but could and should do only so much.

#

He sailed to Catacomb with several trusted men. A messenger had already gone out to announce Thoko's death and the new leadership. Still, Arlen was wary.

He arrived to find a sullen truce and several new graves. The female chieftain met Arlen with a quiet nod, saying, "They took our people hostage right here. The three men most responsible, are here now." She rapped her staff on a low mound of earth. "The rest refuse to leave. What are you waiting for, war-chief?"

Arlen got shown to a camp of around twenty men who'd been sent to occupy the island. They'd done it with their capture of local children, giving them much more influence than sheer numbers would've had. Now, the rest of them were stationed in a damp, boulder-strewn patch of ground on the edge of what'd been golem territory.

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Arlen pretended to be calm about approaching the soldiers. They'd kept their weapons. "I am now war-chief of all the isles. You will return to Decim. I'm told the problems have been dealt with."

The warriors glared at him, and one said, "Do you think everything will go on on as normal, after killing our high chief?"

"No. Much will change. For now, you can go home today and be a part of it. Maybe come back with an invitation."

"We serve the real high chief!" said one angry young man.

"He's dead. Make your decision. Your boats are prepared and the locals will be happy to give you food for the trip back."

"You can't make us!" said another man.

Arlen looked at him and spoke calmly. His fists began glowing. "I can. The spirits trusted me to handle the situation, with their power. Now get on the boats. Or run at me right now, which will solve the problem another way."

The troops were all quiet for a long moment. Then they got on the boats and left.

Arlen had the freedom now to help the islanders. The chief wasn't happy that Arlen hadn't immediately rushed to their aid, but was mature enough to understand once she heard all that had happened. She spoke in his defense, asking everyone to cooperate with him. So, he built homes, drew a sturdy road through town, and created iron tools along with ingots and rods to practice with.

He asked, "What's going on with the golems?"

"They're asleep, or dead. Whatever force animated them isn't working anymore. You may have taken it all for yourself. And the power of the Roaring Storm, from what we've heard!" She poked him with her staff. "We expect it to be used well."

"That's the plan. I expect you'll expand your fields into the formerly off-limits areas, finally making full use of your island?"

She looked unnerved by that, for all her acceptance of instantly created buildings and hatchets and roadways.

#

From there he visited Newshore again. He went out to provoke and cull the ghosts but found few to destroy on this trip; there'd been a recent attack the islanders fended off well. He got them to better explain their enchanted barrier wall. Now that they were free, the ones remaining here were present willingly and stubbornly determined to claim the place. The magic theory of the wall was still beyond him for the most part but he helped them push it forward a bit, moving and rebuilding segments of mystically etched wood and stone. An uneasy truce had developed between former guards and prisoners who'd been brothers in arms. There were women too, exiled for various reasons and maintaining homes here with the quiet pride of being frontier settlers. They deserved respect for being there to heal the wounded and keep everyone fed and comfortable. A few even fought directly.

One thing he did for the island was to try creating iron boats. The concept was laughable to the islanders, but he proved that such a thing could float. He made several more and said, "They might rust away in a month since I haven't done this before. So inspect them often. Should be good for a few trips at least."

He left them with better housing, more iron gear, and an expanded set of forward-base bunkers. He'd be back later.

The next stop was the Mire, the least stable situation in the isles right now. For this job he took along Meadow, because she insisted out of curiosity; and six iron-equipped soldiers from Opaline and Catacomb.

The guards asked him, "Are we really enough?"

Arlen said, "If there's any solid land, or I have time to make some, we should be."