Harb finally left his tent and headed towards the noise and lights at the north end of the camp. A large area had been dedicated to the festivities, and the smell of roasting meat was heavy in the air as he approached. It appeared that the entire camp was out, either reveling or working during the feast, and almost everyone had a drink in hand. Harb grabbed a mug for himself and tasted the pungent concoction. It was strong and sweet and reminded him of drinking fortified beer. The alcohol added to this beer was of pretty low quality, but the flavor was strong, and he drank deeply.

Harb mingled with the other Orcs as he ate and drank. Many sought him out to congratulate or thank him for being the one to defeat the Sorcerer and his guards. The ones who gave thanks were the ones who had been there to see how formidable the caster had been. He mostly just nodded, but he also spoke with a few to learn what he could about their raids.

“Do the raids always go like that?” Harb asked a soldier who no longer wore armor.

“No, we normally avoid the Dwarves,” replied the Orc. “They fight all organized. I like fighting Gnolls best; they dumb.” He laughed, tipping his mug to finish his drink. When he finished, he continued, “That Human with the spells was tough. Good thing we had you along, though.” He clapped Harb on the back and went to refill his cup.

“Everyone’s talking about you,” said a voice from behind him.

Harb turned to see Narg standing behind him, still wearing his leather armor and bandoliers. “You’re a sneaky bastard,” Harb said, chuckling. “Do you have some sort of ability that allows you to avoid detection?”

“I have stealth and move silently,” Narg replied.

“The skills?” Harb asked. When Narg nodded, he continued, “Don’t all of the scouts have those?”

“Not all. Some have none, and only a few have both.”

Harb raised his mug in appreciation. “I should make you wear a bell in camp so I can hear you coming,” he said.

“I thought for sure that when you were hit with that spell, you were done for,” Narg said. “You recovered quicker than the others.”

“The spell that he cast had a stun effect,” Harb said, “and I have something that helps me resist stuns.”

“Well, lucky thing that. I thought that we were losing until then.”

“About that,” Harb said flatly. “We ran for hours and didn’t rest before a large encounter. What the hell is up with the leadership in this clan?”

“Mostly the chief’s doing,” Narg replied. “She made her challenge not long ago and decided to lead the raiding party herself. I think she wants to get all of us here on her side before going back to the rest of the clan. She wants us strong. She wants victories.”

“She’s wasting good resources in search of those victories,” Harb said.

Someone called for quiet, and the camp quickly became silent.

The clan chief, Dura, walked into the middle of the throng, Orcs parting as she approached them. She held up her staff and cried, “To a great victory!” This was followed by exuberant cheers. When the cheers had died down, she continued, “As promised, tonight we feast. Soon we will bring our spoils back to the clan.” More cheers erupted. “The gods look favorably upon us by delivering to us an Orc strong enough to defeat the Human mage.” She stopped and pointed in Harb’s direction. “Harbinger will now be recognized as a full member of clan Red Ear.”

Harb held up a hand as the camp cheered and all eyes fell on him. “I gratefully accept your invitation to be a member of clan Red Ear,” he said. He then turned and called out to the rest of the crowd, “Orcs, you have fought like Giants and been led by idiots.”

This was met with a smattering of cheers and confused murmuring.

“What treachery is this?” Dura asked.

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“Many Orcs died; far more than had to,” Harb continued, talking over the chief. “An hours-long forced run before battle left many Orcs too tired to fight, and they died as a result.”

“They were weak!” Dura screamed. “The clan is better for it!”

“Better for it?” Harb asked scornfully. “Numbers are an advantage in any fight, but you have wasted good men, and for what? Your pride?”

“You will not speak to your clan chief in this way,” Dura said icily.

“Then I challenge you,” Harb proclaimed. “I will be chief.”

“How dare you!” Dura said as she began an incantation.

“Be careful,” Narg whispered as Harb began to walk towards the Shaman.

Harb had his greataxe strapped to his back, but he made no attempt to wield it. He didn’t want her dead; that would be a waste of the best Shaman in the clan. The clan watched on as he walked slowly and deliberately towards Dura. Vines sprung up around him but could not grasp him. He moved through the spell as if it were an illusion that he alone saw through—his nullification field had rendered it ineffectual.

“What sorcery is this?” Dura cried.

“You’re the one casting, lady,” Harb replied.

Dura began another spell as Harb sauntered towards her. A cloud of green gas was expelled from her outstretched hand. As the cloud came into contact with his protective barrier, it dissipated, leaving a Harbinger-sized gap in the gas cloud as it went around him.

Dura was now definitely concerned and was looking for a way to escape. Steeling herself, she gripped her staff in both hands to use as a weapon. When Harb came into range of the staff, she swung it in an arc before her. The move was a defensive measure to try to keep him out of her close combat range. Instead of dodging back out of the path of the staff, Harb held an arm out to block the strike from hitting his body. The staff bounced off his arm as it was repelled by the nullification field.

Harb laughed at the fact that his spell could also prevent magical weapons from hitting him. His amusement had a profound effect on Dura, who looked at him in shock but swung the weapon at him again. This time, he didn’t even try to stop it. He lowered his arm, and the staff bounced off his head when it came into contact with his barrier. He smiled and hit her with his new special move, force punch, causing her to fly back five feet through the air before landing and sliding to a stop.

She was struggling to get up when he picked her up by the neck and held her out before him, her feet hanging just above the ground. She pounded on his arm with minimal effect, but he was too strong for her to seriously damage without a weapon. “Yield,” he said.

“Never!” she croaked. “This is a fight to the death.”

“It’s over. You lost. If I wasted a Shaman as talented as you, then I’d be a hypocrite. I can’t lose the moral high ground.” She only stared daggers at him. She was clutching his forearm with both hands in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure from his hand around her neck.

He called out to the camp. “I have defeated your clan chief. I won’t destroy an asset as valuable as a Shaman. Do you accept me as your new clan chief?”

Most of the clan stared at the spectacle in open shock at the unprecedented event occurring before their eyes. They had never seen a soldier ever challenge a chief, let alone win. After a pause, there was a call of “Aye” from behind him in a voice that he recognized as Narg. This was followed by a chorus of similar calls from nearly all of the camp.

Harb turned his attention back to Dura. “You heard it. I’m now the chief. Do you yield?”

She looked at him with furious eyes but said, “Yes,” in a raspy voice.

“Good,” he said before setting her down.

Dura rubbed her neck and went to retrieve her staff. “Ah, ah, ah,” Harb said, “Shendis will take that from you for now.” He nodded at the other Shaman, and Shendis retrieved the staff. “I will be taking your tent, and you can have accommodations befitting the camp’s second ranking Shaman.”

Realization dawned on Dura’s face. “Second?” she asked, coughing. “She is a healer with no true Shaman spells.”

Harb nodded. “I value healing.” He noticed a brief smile from Shendis before continuing. “Now, can you promise to be good, or do I need to post a guard for the night to let you cool off?” She reluctantly nodded. Harb thought it unlikely that she meant it but decided to risk it anyway. He needed her as an ally, or at least a useful member of the clan, and he couldn’t do that with her under guard all the time. He thought about his spell force of will and then accessed his inventory. “Does anyone have an empty potion bottle or its equivalent?”

Shendis pulled out a stoppered vial and handed it to Harb. “I used a mana potion last night,” she said in explanation.

“You had mana potions and still let people die?” He asked angrily. “Why didn’t you just use more?”

“I only have a few of them—we have no alchemist or herbalist,” Shendis said. “The mana potions are less potent when consumed right after another mana potion, so using another would have just been a waste. Our priority has been to extract any essences we can prior to using mana for healing, but new chief, new rules.”

New rules indeed. Harb accessed his inventory, took out his metal finger talon, and placed it on his finger. He grabbed Dura by the wrist and made a small incision on her forearm using the talon. He unstoppered the small bottle and collected some of the blood that flowed out of the wound. With Dura’s blood, his force of will spell would have a good chance to work on her if the need arose. The spell was not a replacement for her loyalty or obedience, but it would be a good ace in the hole if the woman tried anything.

Putting the talon and the vial of blood into his inventory, he called to the crowd, “Party on!”