I awoke to the sound of quiet conversation in the tent. My hand went to a dagger on my pack. Then my eyes adjusted to the early dawn light peeking in from the tent, and I saw a familiar glow.

  “Easy with the blade, kid,” said Robin.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “We were just finishing up anyway,” they said. “And remember you still owe me.”

  “I remember,” I said.

  “Oh,” they added, “and a Zandrite scout company is just down the road. They’re on the trail of an orc raiding party that’s slipped way past where they should.”

  “Thank you, Robin,” Bernadette said.

  “I’m not just a pretty face,” they said with a wink.

  Robin zoomed out of the tent.

  “Get your spells changed out?” I asked.

  “I did,” she said. “He couldn’t get me Healing Phrase, but I have Heal Light Wounds.”

  “You’re pretty mobile,” I said. “So, I’m sure it’ll prove useful.”

  She nodded. I could sense that, for some reason, this conversation made her uncomfortable. Maybe she didn’t like thinking about the idea that we could be hurt.

  Which was silly because we got hurt all the time.

  We got dressed and geared up, though Bernadette had elected to wear her colorful bard clothes, and not her armor. When we exited the tent, Berryhop could be seen sitting on a water barrel in the back of the cart.

  “You’re up early,” Bernadette remarked.

  Berryhop smiled.

  “I’ve never seen hills like these,” she said, wistful.

  The hills we’d camped near were overgrown with lavender, a pungent purple wave that hissed in the wind.

  “Yeah,” I remarked. “Neat.”

  Berryhop laughed.

  “I just mean that, growing up back behind the arboreal curtain, it’s all dark canopies and tall mushrooms. Here there’s so much… sun!”

  The sun crept over the hills, just beginning to spill across the horizon, the few clouds dissipating against the bright gold that chased away the dawn.

  Cal exited his tent, dressed and ready as well.

  “So much to see, and the road beckons. Good morning friends.”

  “Morning,” I said.

  “Someone’s chipper,” Rachel said, a pot of water in hand.

  “I think we’ll have to have Berryhop brew the tea on the road,” Bernadette offered. “There’s a Zandrite scout company we should catch. Could have valuable information. Plus it's a level 3 quest.”

  Rachel’s eyes narrowed.

  “I would murder you all for a single cup of coffee.”

  I laughed.

  “Hell, I’d fight you for one,” I said.

  “What’s coffee?” Cal asked.

  “I’m already starting the heatcube,” Berryhop said. “So you’ll have tea in no time.”

  Rachel gave Berryhop a grateful smile, and passed her the metal teapot.

  Berryhop had brought all kinds of ingenious alchemy supplies. The heatcube was a small handheld cube that got stove hot in under a minute. Useful for moments like this, but also essential if she wanted to make any of her potions while traveling with us.

  We got on the road quickly after that.

  We only stopped once, eating a quick brunch of water, fresh mushrooms, and rabbit jerky. Bernadette complained of a cramp in her calf, so I massaged that while we talked.

  “I vote we don’t present as ourselves,” Bernie said.

  “Prudent,” Cal added.

  “You sure?” Rachel asked. “Could be we get more help if we’re the Prophesied Champions.”

  She’d dressed up her usual outfit with her nicest shirt, a red silk blouse. Cal and I were the only ones dressed for battle.

  “The PCs aren’t really on Caleb’s nice list right now,” Bernie reminded.

  “What, is he Santa Claus?” Rachel asked sarcastically.

  “Sandy Claws is real?” Berryhop asked.

  “Santa,” I corrected.

  She frowned.

  “That’s enough,” Bernie whispered, taking my hand and kissing it. She then stood to walk out the tendon. “We’ve been working on the music troupe bit, so let’s use it. Getting a read on Caleb’s people may be valuable.”

  “Alright,” Rachel relented.

  “Could we sing that song about the tiger?” Berryhop asked.

  We’d been practicing stadium jams recently, since they were so singable, and they fit into Rachel’s register easier. Berryhop liked them too. Any of the pop songs seemed to bum her out. I liked to think that maybe Journey and Queen just spoke to her inner white girl or something.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “I say we sing ‘em all,” I added.

  It wasn’t long on the road until we found evidence of the scouting party. They’d tried to hide their tracks, but with the dozen or so people they were covering for, it didn’t take long for Cal to pick up their trail. They’d taken the company off road down a game trail.

  We sent Bernadette ahead, as she was the most charismatic, and stealthy.

  Soon she was walking back with a smile.

  “They said they’d love the company!”

  Huddled against the cold, were some large number of horses, past that many tents. Fires burned low, glowing just above coals, and everyone sat real close.

  A man greeted us as we approached. At his elbow hovered Braelyn.

  The man introduced himself as Sargent Nedry. He was young, but with a thick beard and barrel chest that filled out his scout leathers well. The crossbow slung across his back looked more sophisticated than the ones I was used to seeing. It seemed to have some kind of magazine attached to the bottom, and while ours were mostly wooden, his had shiny copper on the fittings and mechanisms.

  Braelyn wore a fluffy fur coat and fidgeted. Rachel gave her one look, then walked past.

  We set up our tents, then sang our full complement of songs, some dozen or so, then sang them all again. Alcohol was banned, but that didn’t stop men from passing around flasks.

  Tears were shed and laughs shared, but it was a much more subdued affair than I would have expected of a military camp. Nedry said that they expected combat tomorrow, and a pall of apprehension hung above them.

  We talked to the Sargent a bit, but I quickly lost interest. They were out here to stop some charismatic orc war chief that had gone rogue, but he was pretty tight lipped about anything else, even after we promised to help.

  I left to go see if I couldn’t scrounge up some more intel.

  Of the score or so men here, most were human. One was a halfling, a little studier than their gnome cousins, but of similar stature. Another was an orc. I sat next to him and offered a sip from my flask. We’d picked up some more dwarven hooch at the last town, and I’d been saving it for just such an occasion.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Gl’anch.”

  “Launch?”

  “Gl’anch. Or the lowlanders call me Lunch.”

  “No, I got it. Gl’anch,” I finally said. I imagined it used that peculiar G sound, and by his smile it seemed I was close enough. “I’m Breznik.”

  “A pleasure,” he said, shaking my hand.

  “So,” I continued. “What’s a Mountain Folk warrior doing with Caleb’s people.”

  “Grew up in Swordfall. King says he’s bringing the pain to the folk that done it in, so I signed up.”

  “But they have you tracking other Mountain Folk, yeah?”

  “They do. But these guys have been burning villages all along the Billowing Road. I just lost my home. If I can stop others like me from losing theirs, I’ll have done something with myself. Also, I consider myself a King’s man first, and an orc second.”

  I noticed he called himself an orc, but didn’t draw attention to it.

  “I’ll drink to that,” I said, taking the flask from him.

  He nodded.

  “Sargent Nedry,” I continued, “won’t say much about this war band leader, this Crulga guy. What’s your read on him?”

  His eyes darkened.

  “I’ll need another sip of that,” he said.

  I offered him the flask. He drank deeply.

  “Crulga’s a true believer in the old way, the Way of Small Rivers. The Large River is civilization, with its dams, and its aqueducts. It seeks to funnel life into ways that suit its own ends, ties you down to the floods, and to farms. People must go to the river, and congregate in large numbers. The Way of Small rivers is seeking out the small tributaries, the wild places, living in harmony with the mountain.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said.

  “It’s like this,” he said, “my people, the Mountain People, were largely nomadic. We followed the fish and the elk, and owned nothing more than what we carried on our backs. We had the All-moot to settle disputes, and seek to thwart invaders, but for the most part lived in groups no bigger than a couple families bound by marriage. So, people like Crulga see towns and cities as destructive of families, destructive of the old ways. They want to return to the mountain, to the small rivers.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I think I got it. He’s raiding these towns to push settlers out?”

  “Not just that,” Gl’anch said. “If he’s successful here, it wins him prestige in the All-moot, maybe even a team in the Tournament. If he can win more families to his cause, he can forge an Axe Tribe, or uh, I guess what we’d call an army. Then they’d come down, and push everyone out of the North for good.”

  “So this is just a stunt to increase his political standing?”

  “Sure. And it’s working. Last village he hit, they abandoned their homes before he even got there, piled a bunch of loot as tribute. He rounded them all up, and made them watch as he burned their homes, and their tribute, to the ground. It’s not about wealth. It’s about principle. People are starting to take notice.”

  I took a sip of the hootch. This guy sounded like a lot of villains I’d read about in comic books. He had a sort of an Anarchism vibe. Or maybe a terrorist. Inflicting social change through violence, was sort of the definition of a terrorist, right?

  “So is the plan to kill him, or capture him?”

  “Sarge says the hope is to separate him from his muscle, and capture him. But if that was the case, I’d figure we’d have more men,” he said, dropping his voice low. “I think it’s obvious what they hope to do.”

  “Wouldn’t that make him a martyr?” I asked.

  “Maybe. But then again, there aren’t a whole lot of orcs that make it down past the River Chirona. I’m betting the hope is that the rest think it’s not worth it.”

  “Connect the dots for me, what does this all mean?”

  “I fear that Crulga is just capitalizing on a situation that’s been brewing for a long time. My grandparents taught me about the Way of Small Rivers. It’s an idea orcs hold in reverence, even if few follow it. Getting rid of him could be treating the fever, but not the wound that caused it.”

  “Thanks for talking with me,” I said. “When you ride tomorrow, we ride with you. Whatever the outcome, we face it together.”

  I checked my slate. There indeed was a quest to ‘defeat the Orc Chieftain.’ And the dot was very close. I’d bring it up to the others later, but I don’t see why they’d be too worried. It was only a level 10 quest.

  The night was still young. Men rolled bones, and played cards. Secret drinks were shared. If the Sargent had wanted to stamp that kind of thing out, he was doing a poor job of it. This led me to believe it was carefully maintained benevolent negligence.

  At this point, Berryhop had finally chased off the halfling, convinced him that just because they were of a similar size, didn’t mean that she was into him. At the moment, a charming human woman had pulled her into her lap.

  Good for her.

  Bernadette leaned on the Sargent, speaking in low tones I couldn’t quite hear. He seemed quite taken with her. Good to know her seduction skill still worked.

  I supposed I was supposed to be jealous, but I couldn’t muster much feeling for it either way.

  Cal had managed to find one of the only other women in the camp, an elven woman with sea green hair. She smiled despite herself, and accepted a cigarette from the handsome ranger.

  Braelyn had finally cornered Rachel. I leaned against a tree, and pretended to gaze out into the brush. Poor cover for eavesdropping, but gave me some kind of plausible deniability.

  “If you really meant all this, you would have left with—” Rachel said harshly.

  “I’m here now. I joined up with these scouts just so I’d have a chance to see you again.”

  “That’s nice I guess. But if this was all just to have another chance to change—”

  “Of course I’m trying to change you.”

  “Finally she—”

  “—you have to change to heal.”

  “Oh. Oh sure. I’m just a project to you. I don’t think you’d have even liked me before I was broken. You wouldn’t have given me a second glance.”

  “You have my second glance now. And my third. I can’t stop looking at you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t think of anything else.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’m serious! I’m in important fucking meetings, meetings that mean life or death for hundreds, and all I can think about is what you smell like, what your hands feel like.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe me.”

  Oh no. Was she kissing Rachel? Don’t look. Don’t do it. You shouldn’t butt in on your friend’s important romantic moment.

  I looked.

  Braelyn held both of Rachel’s hands in hers, and her lips kissed her softly.

  I looked away.

  Act natural. Or shit, act something different.

  I walked away, quickly.