Ilya crept back into Blake’s secret hideaway in the morning.

"Some of the rebel chiefs have agreed to meet with you. But..." she twisted her hands nervously. "They may want a display of your magic. To prove you are not of the towers, or a spy for Lord Gromsh."

"Capital." Blake yawned and stretched, smiling when he saw his mana was completely full. "Do we have any time?"

"Some. They meet at the hour of the Rod." Ilya sat and Blake met her eyes, certainly no idea what that meant.

"Good. Tell me everything about these towers. And about these chiefs I'm to meet. Tell me everything you know, about its history, about the clans. I want to know what your people fear, what they believe, what they admire. Everything."

Ilya blinked and shrugged helplessly. "Do the mountain orcs know nothing of the towers? I find that hard to believe...and if so, why did they send you to our aid so quickly, and..."

"Did I say I know nothing, Ilya?" Blake snapped, knowing attack was usually the best way to handle suspicion. "I told you to tell me everything you know. Now hurry, we don't have all day."

The disturbingly attractive green woman nodded like he'd said something profoundly wise, and did as he asked. He listened intently, stopping to ask a few questions about the names and personalities of the chiefs. He had an idea for a story already, but details helped considerably. When she'd stopped talking and seemed unsure what else to tell him, he patted her knee.

"Very good. Take me to these chiefs now. I'll do the rest."

The orc looked rather nervous, and he supposed she was staking her reputation and probably her life on him. Desperation wasn't necessarily ideal in one's business partners, but then, beggars couldn't be choosers.

"It'll be alright." Blake let her see his complete confidence. "I'm ready when you are."

She seemed to take some comfort in his manner, and nodded with more resolve. "This way, Thrall. Some of the king's men are still in the streets. They won't recognize you, will they?"

Blake honestly had no idea. But he doubted it, and shook his head. Ilya sagged with relief, and led him out.

They walked on through the dark cave then back into Ilya’s house. She stopped in one of the larger rooms that seemed like a kitchen, shivering and clenching a fist as she looked at some sculpted busts along the walls.

"I hate it here," she whispered. "I have only memories of dead family." She turned to Blake. "We have to stop this tyrant. This betrayer and usurper. Promise me we can do it."

Blake smiled bravely for her. The only way he was getting out of here alive was if this orc king died. And since he was him, surely the result was inevitable.

"I promise you, Ilya, we can do it."

She took a blade from the counter and hid it under a kind of hide legging, then took his hand and led him into the street. Things were rather more quiet than the day before. What had been lively and bustling trade and social life was now near empty, silenced streets. Orcs who were no doubt too poor to own homes were crammed and quiet in alleys or dark corners, usually sitting with heads down and cloaked.

Ilya led Blake along a wall, her head down, her pace even. A few warriors walked the streets in silence, growling at anyone who came too close, but otherwise not bothering the few travelers.

Blake and his guide walked passed a few without being stopped, then turned into another building dug into the wall. An orc carving bowls out of wood watched them enter, but said nothing as they descended crude stairs to a lower level. Blake heard voices below.

It seemed Ilya was about to stop him and give some kind of pep talk or instructions, but Blake was tired of waiting and didn't need them. He strolled into an open space much like an ancient dive bar, finding several male orcs around tables arguing in hushed tones.

They all stopped and stared, and Blake activated Mental Influence just to be ready.

"I've seen more cheer in a graveyard," he quoted with a grin. "Are these the mighty chiefs of the Stoneblood clan?"

Ilya moved to his side and bowed slightly to the orcs. "This is Thrall, great chiefs. The mountain wizard I've spoken of, who..."

"The wizard can speak for himself, woman,” growled an older orc at the back of the room. “You do not speak to a gathering of chiefs. Mind your place, or I will beat you in honor of your esteemed dead kin.” His eyes roamed Blake from head to toe, and he briefly wondered what these creatures actually saw. "Well he's too skinny to be a warrior."

"But not a spy," growled another, to a chorus of grunts.

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Blake smiled and activated Telekinesis. As usual the world lit up with options, but he chose his accuser. He raised his hand for dramatic effect, and the creature sputtered and cried out as he lifted from his chair to dangle helplessly in the air.

"I have no need for an axe, my friends. I am here to help the towers stop a false prophet who betrays your people with blood magic."

The orcs all gasped accordingly, and Blake smiled.

"Lord Gromsh has made a deal with the devil. A demon reborn in an orcskin mask."

They all stared but he could see they already began to believe. Ilya had told him that long ago a demon controlled these towers with what they called ‘blood magic’. With the help of the gods and their shamans, they finally managed to trap it in the central hall, which was really more like a dungeon, until a great orc hero destroyed it. It was one of their ‘founding myths’, and they feared all ‘demons’ and magic to this day.

But how else could the orc gain so much power so quickly? It made perfect sense to them. Though Blake wondered very much himself if it was true—because he'd like to do the same.

"But who are you? And why are you here?" said one of the chiefs.

Blake set the orc down to save his mana. "I'm a spy," he said and grinned, watching the orc's stare with squinted eyes. "But I don't belong to this king. In fact, he knows I’ve come, and he's trying to find and kill me. I assume you've all noticed no one can leave the dungeon? That's why. He's trying to trap and destroy me."

"Why?" said a dark green chief named Terzog. Blake smiled.

"Because he's afraid. And that should be very re-assuring."

The orc chiefs looked at each other and leaned in to mutter quietly amongst themselves. Blake used his Mental Influence to listen, but wasn't surprised to hear them basically agree they had no choice but to work with him.

"What is your plan?" asked Terzog, clearly the leader, so Blake gave him in particular a shot of trust and courage.

"It's very simple. We're going to quietly turn every orc in this tower against our enemy. And then we're going to kill him."

Terzog frowned. "He has the strength of ten orcs. And he but whispers a command and the lower order orcs leap to obey him. Only those of noble blood seem able to resist."

Blake nodded. Ilya had told as much, and he wasn’t sure if he could solve it or not. But he didn’t have any choice except to try.

"Then it is the lower order orcs I will turn against him one by one, until it's too late to see the betrayal."

"But how?" The orcs all stared with utter fascination, and Blake knew he had them.

"With magic."

* * *

It didn't take long for the orcs to agree. The king had apparently taken many of the clan warriors as personal guard, but most remained under the control of the chiefs.

"But they cannot be trusted," Terzog explained to Blake after the others had left. "They are not to blame, they are faithful warriors, but they cannot resist the power of Gromsh's presence and orders. He warps their mind with his foul…blood magic."

Blake nodded. "Leave that to me. Bring me your warriors one by one, and I will fortify them against such magic. I can do..." he shrugged, "maybe twenty five a day."

Terzog nodded, finally smiling. "There is no greater blasphemy to our kind than possessing with mind magic. I cannot thank you enough, Thrall. We can bring at least 200 warriors if there is time. Is it like a shaman’s magic? You can protect their minds?"

"Yes," the lie was so very easy, and Blake was very thankful for his ‘Orc Whisperer’ title which would improve his power, and hopefully shield him from their understanding. "I will protect their minds from Gromsh," he agreed. Then thought: but who will protect your minds from me?

"We will bring them here," said Terzog. "Stay with Ilya. Best none of us know where, in case we are taken and tortured."

"Agreed." Blake winced at the thought. He was occasionally reminded he wasn't playing office politics here, but involved in a very real and very terrifying game with murderous monsters produced by a robotic God. On the other hand, it was kind of exciting.

"Tonight then, if you are able?" Terzog stood and held out his hand.

Blake winced, not entirely sure what would happen to his deception magic if he took it. But he suspected he would learn sooner or later, and it seemed better to find out now when he only had to control one mind to escape. He grasped the extended hand as he'd seen other orcs do.

"Tonight."

The chief squeezed his forearm with something approaching surprise. Blake felt relieved, however, because it looked more like 'I can't believe how skinny this little orc wizard is', and not 'oh it's a human I'm about to kill'. He waited for the chief to leave before turning to Ilya, waiting patiently at the table behind.

"Well, that went rather..."

She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his chest, shaking with what might have been a sob.

"There there..." he patted her back and choked out the words. She was bloody strong.

Finally she released him and wiped tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Thrall. It's just...for the first time since Gromsh killed my father and uncles, I feel like...like I might get justice for my family."

Hmm, Blake thought. Thrall, Bringer of Justice. No. Thrall The Punisher. No, those didn’t really fit. Blake The Psionic Protector? The Psionic Punisher. The Master of...

"Are you alright?" Ilya was watching his eyes as if he’d made some kind of social fopah, and Blake blinked.

"Sorry. I was just thinking about how terrible it must be for you. I'm so sorry, my dear." Blake took her hand and kissed it out of habit or instinct, and Ilya blushed a rather pleasant shade of…greenish yellow?

"I...thank you..." she said, not removing her hand, and Blake sensed an opportunity he was rather terrified to seize. Instead he smiled and pat her hand as he let go.

"Best we go and hide for a little while. I've got a lot of work ahead of me, and I start tonight."

"Of course, wizard. Thrall." Ilya snapped into action. "I found this cloak for you. Best to cover if you'll be on the street every day, I think."

"Very good thinking, Ilya, thank you."

Blake followed the somewhat flustered orc girl back to the street, then to her house, and the comfortable little nook by his stream. With his strategy in place, and only the work remaining, he lay down for a pleasant nap.

Then he grinned, thinking about Mason back in Nassau trying to rule a settlement. He'd visit his dreams soon enough, he supposed, but he was very curious. As had occurred to him since the ‘robo-pocalypse’, when he and Mason were separated more and more, he also realized they’d never been apart so much or so long. The feeling was…unpleasant.

“I think I’ll call you Mason,” he said to a nearby rock with spotting vaguely in the shape of a face. “Yes, things are going swimmingly, Mason, thank you for asking," he said to the rock. "But I wish I knew how you were doing."