“Good—” Predslava zoomed past my bedroom. Then zoomed again. “Morning!”
I finished tidying up my clothes in the mirror with a chuckle. “Morning.”
The window near my bed was already open, as the sun wasn’t so annoying today. It even helped me wake up, if I was being honest. I had a lot to do, as I did most of these days.
Clothes were okay.
Nod.
The mirror melted with a snap. I walked out of the room.
Something fluffy hopped on my shoulder from behind.
“Census, census!” she said, holding a piece of parchment.
“Shoot.”
“6840 Snoutlings, 228 families, being 2280 of them snot-nosed brats.”
“Well, damn. Has someone been telling the tribes about us?” I asked.
“I don’t blame them.” She threw the parchment away. “Kind of hard to ignore the massive blue castle in the middle of nowhere.”
“Fair enough. It’s been a year since the last census anyway.”
Grommo joined us as I climbed downstairs and began, “O most resplendent Chieftain, thy wisdom and beauty know no bounds. Thine eyes—nay, I dare not call them mere eyes—”
I shoved his face away and shook my head. This had been my morning routine for nearly six months, and I was starting to regret teaching him Nordic. I used poetry and music, thinking it would be more fun for them… woe is me, I guess.
“How are our little peddlers doing?” I asked. “Are they ready?”
“Yes, ma’am!” He scurried back to my side as I walked. “Excited and ready to go.”
That brought me a smile.
“I see.”
We hadn’t sent anyone to Bjornhavn yet, since I had to see how many pelts there would be left after the Grayfang tribute, which was scheduled for today.
“I miss the class,” I said.
They learned Nordic pretty fast, so I put them to work teaching the household staff. Hopefully, they would then go and teach their families, and the new language would spread like wildfire. Or at least that was my idea.
“If you’re feeling nostalgic, I can recite one of my poems—”
“Please don’t,” I said.
“Aw…”
“I hate poems!” Predslava blurted out.
Grommo glared at her. “What?!”
He pointed a finger at her face. “You listen here—”
Nhack!
She bit the tip.
He yanked his hand back. “Ouch!”
I swiped Predslava off my shoulder in a hurry, leaving them to brawl in the great hall behind me.
Our city came into view. Most of the Snoutling families were already housed, but construction never stopped in Nordrstjarna—I said I'd extend my protection to all tribes, and they just kept trickling in from all over the place as if they'd heard it somehow. I had no qualms with it.
The North, especially our white plains, was very large but sparsely populated, with families often living a day or more apart. Who knew how many Snoutlings were still out there?
Farmers waved as I passed, some proudly showing me their turnips. I nodded with a smile.
Turnip baskets lay outside the warehouses, many already packed. Our bellies were finally full, but the diet in Nordrstjarna was still quite basic—fish, some game meat, a bit of reindeer milk, and of course, lots of turnips.
Maybe after selling the pelts we could acquire grain for bread or even beer. I thought these guys would appreciate beer for some reason.
Overall, I had high expectations for this trade—timber, cloth, salt, lots of possibilities.
My two lieutenants finally caught up with me as I arrived at the trappers’ warehouses at the end of the city.
I stared at them wordlessly.
“Sorry,” they said in unison.
I shook my head and called for the trappers responsible for the building.
The Snoutlings approached slowly, avoiding my eyes.
Worried, I frowned slightly. “Did something happen?”
“Witch… errr…” The trapper shook his head and opened the door. “Better see. That was bad…”
I entered the dimly lit warehouse.
It was packed. Each warehouse could fit around three thousand mixed pelts.
“Okay…? What's the problem?” I asked.
He showed me another. Then three more. All of them were full.
“I'm sorry.” I chuckled. “But I fail to see the—”
The sixth warehouse was nearly empty, and so were the rest.
My heart sank.
“That's fifteen thousand… It's the whole tribute and nothing more.”
Grommo wiped his forehead beside me. “I saw the warehouses getting filled… so I assumed everything was in order. I’m sorry, Chieftain.”
“No, it’s not your fault.” I turned to the trapper. “What… happened?”
The Snoutling fidgeted with his hands. “Most animals gone... Bigga’ Nordrstjarna tribe is scary for reindeer. Much noise and many hunters.”
In other words…
I covered my mouth. “We did this.”
“Ye’...” He nodded. “That was bad.”
But it was not simply overhunting. Nordrstjarna itself, just by existing at scale, changed the local ecology enough to push the herds elsewhere.
I shook my head. “I should have predicted this. You guys were just doing your job.”
Someone poked my back. “Witch.”
I turned. “Yes—”
A group of trappers held up bundles of pelts to me, with more coming out of the packed warehouses.
“Tribute,” they said.
“But that’s… everything you have.”
Trappers also produced meat, naturally, and since the animals around Nordrstjarna had dwindled, I was certain that had taken a blow too.
“Lose work to wolfs is bad...” They exchanged glances, then lifted the pelts again. “But we give to Witch.”
Another trapper nodded. “With Witch we win.”
I sighed.
Needless to say, I wanted to tell them to keep the pelts, but my contract with the Grayfangs left me no choice.
“Thank you…” I took the bundle. “I’ll deal with this; I promise.”
They nodded and went back to work.
Haulers came to warehouses and emptied them. By the morning’s end, a long caravan was ready outside the city, escorted by spearmen and led by one of my household staff.
“With your permission, my chieftain,” he said.
I smiled. “Good luck.”
My lieutenants and I returned to the palace as the caravan disappeared toward Werewolf Country. The household gathered in the great hall.
“I’d like—no, I have to—establish an emergency tax on turnips, to be redistributed to the trappers in order to supplement their diet. This is my second decree.”
I waved my hand over the table, bringing the regional map back to the surface.
Plenty of suitable spots for hunting villages lay across the Snoutling plains, at least at first glance. We’d need to scout for proof.
“Get me some volunteers among the trappers, please. It’s time to look beyond our city.”