A great hearth burned at the room’s center. Inside, braziers cracked along the engraved walls. The chieftain’s longhouse stood before me, gates wide open.
Dismounting graciously from a sidesaddle was tricky, however. The heraldry blew away like mist when I snapped my fingers, intending to use the staff for support.
A quiet werewolf stepped out of the dark. Not the chieftain—this one beelined toward the long table beside the fire.
He offered me his clawed hand. “Allow me.”
I forced down my eyebrows as they tried to arch in surprise.
“If you’d be so kind…” I took his hand. He lowered his gaze as I slid down the saddle.
Predslava blurted, “I like this—”
“Shhh. I know.” I blushed.
The werewolf walked to stand behind his chieftain as I took my seat at the opposite end of the table.
A lieutenant.
Another stood beside him. This one glared at me openly, quite churlishly.
I ignored him and asked the chieftain, “Does one have a name?”
Something I’d never had to do back in Vesmeria, but courtly etiquette around here still seemed to be crawling, despite their material advancements.
“They call me Great Rurik, sole chieftain of the Grayfang tribe.” He grinned. “But you can call me Rurik.”
“I see.”
Predslava stopped beside the table. “Katarina von Falkenhorst, the Witch of Winter. You may call her…”
She glanced at me.
I shook my head.
“You don’t have to call her Winter.” She sat her bear butt down, concluding the introductions.
There was no ‘von Falkenhorst’ family I descended from, but we needed full legal names in Vesmeria to sign contracts, own property, etc.
“I’m surprised, I must say.” Rurik leaned back on his chair. “A sorcerer working with Snoutling tribes.”
“And what surprises you in that?”
“Oh, please…” His eyes narrowed. “What does the Witch of Winter seek among these pathetic creatures?”
“My reasons are my own. But I assure you they don’t involve hostilities against your people.” I rested the staff against the table, then crossed my hands on my lap. “Unless you force my hand.”
His eyes flickered to the staff. I saw greed in them. He leaned forward. “And I guarantee that whatever your goal may be, those snow-crawlers will serve you for nothing. They’re dead weight.”
Oh…
It seemed he was going to give me the second clue for free.
“I’ll ignore the insults,” I said plainly. It was best not to interrupt the enemy when they’re making a mistake.
He clicked his tongue, then stretched his claws over the table. “Leave those Snoutlings and join me.”
His lieutenants frowned, seemingly caught off guard as much as I was.
I didn’t twitch. “I see. And why would I do that?”
Rurik stood up and lifted his arms. “You’ll have a high seat by my side when I unify the North under the Grayfang tribe!”
The North…?
My eyebrow arched. I couldn’t help it this time.
I had to measure my next question if I wanted to extract anything else from him. The mistake had run too far, and it was time Rurik realized it.
Ego. Fear. Ambition. Only one string could be pulled, but one never knew the exact song that would come out.
I gambled.
“And how do we intend to achieve that?”
Rurik sat down and chuckled. “If you join me, I’ll tell you.”
It failed.
“I see.”
“What say you, Katarina von Falkenhorst?” he asked.
I lowered my gaze, pretending to consider it. Embers cracked nearby, then cracked again.
“I must decline, I’m afraid. But I wish you good luck.” New chapters come out on g.com first.
His grin dropped. Rurik slumped back against the chair. “Then what can you possibly give me, pray tell, when you deny me exactly what I want?”
“My days of service are over, it’s true. Yours was not the first offer I rejected. But I speak for the creatures you belittle, and they can give you what you wanted before you set your gaze on me.”
“You claim to be their chieftain? All of them?”
“I am. You’ll not find a single headdress among thousands, and those in the plains who have yet to bow, I extend my protection over them as well.”
His eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”
“Predslava.”
“Okay!” She ran out of the building.
Little did they know that Predslava was my only meaningful way of self-defense right now.
I touched my staff and glanced over my shoulder. “I hope your longhouse can accommodate a hundred.”
Rurik did not reply. The room remained deafeningly quiet for a while; then werewolves barred the Snoutlings at the entrance.
“You asked for proof,” I said. “Here it is.”
He stared at me apprehensively for a second, then nodded to the guards.
The Snoutling chieftains poured inside and stopped behind me. Grommo came last, carrying a tied bundle of headdresses, then threw it to the ground beside the table.
Rurik inclined for a peek.
“The barren plains of the North, the frozen river until the mountains—the sky above them,” I said. “I lay claim to them as my demesne.”
He growled. “That makes you my enemy.”
“I see. In that case, I offer you peace terms. Would you care to hear them?”
He sat speechless, glanced at the silent Snoutlings behind me, then boomed out with uncontrollable laughter. Werewolf laughter sounded like a herd of moose dying together. Not the most pleasant of sounds.
His lieutenants exchanged glances.
I smiled. “I’m glad I amuse you.”
“No.” Rurik wiped away a tear. “I’m at a loss. But deeply intrigued. Please, continue.”
I lowered my gaze and did some math, not so quickly this time since I lacked much of the data I needed.
Roughly four thousand Snoutlings, one sixth of them trappers…
Thankfully, one of my lieutenants knew more about the subject than I did.
“Grommo, how many pelts did you use to catch a year, big or small?”
“All days…?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Hm…” He scratched his nose, thinking hard, then came out empty. “Fingers not enough. That was bad.”
“It’s okay. Let’s try this.” I put my palms together and slowly spread them apart, simulating a bundle of pelts. “Tell me when to stop.”
“Stop!” he said as they stood significantly apart. “That.”
“Thank you.”
Around one hundred. That’s more than I expected. Therefore…
I grimaced.
Sixty-six thousand pelts? Something like that.
Two open scrolls and a pen crystallized above the table as I snapped my fingers. “Slava.”
“On it.” She shifted into her ball form and jumped beside them, grabbing the pen.
I turned to Rurik. “I offer you eight thousand pelts a year in exchange for lasting peace between us. You won’t need to waste a single fighter to get them.”
“Oh, no. You can do better. We’ve been watching these ravines for a long time. I know how many reindeer cross into your side.”
I suspected he was hoping I'd increase the bid voluntarily.
I think not.
“I see. And how much do you suggest?”
He grinned. “Thirty thousand pelts.”
I shook my head. “This leaves nothing to the hunters themselves. Ten thousand.”
“Pay them yourself. Twenty-five thousand.” The source of this chapter is g.com.
“I will. Twelve.”
He tapped his claws against the table. “Twenty. I’m not going lower than this.”
“How many werewolves are five thousand pelts worth? Fifteen, and that’s my last offer.”
Rurik growled. “Deal.”
Predslava whispered, “How do I spell tribute in Ulvic?”
“Just fill the draft in Vesmerian; I’ll translate it later.”
“Okay…”
I began, “Great, then—”
“But not the whole deal,” the chieftain cut me short.
I frowned. “What?”
He picked at his teeth. “Your idea of tribute pleases me, but it doesn’t satiate our hunger.”
“I can throw in some meat, if you want.”
“Funny, but no. I still find it hard to accept your ‘domain’.”
“How so?”
“I told you… The North belongs to the Grayfang tribe.”
I glanced at the gates and the werewolf-packed streets beyond. The Snoutlings stood straight behind me, but I could see the fear in their eyes. I was sure Rurik could smell it too.
No amount of posturing and sweet words could nullify the archenemy of diplomacy:
Balance of power.
But I could not falter myself.
“Not yet,” I said, remembering the first clue. “You still have rival werewolf tribes to defeat. Can you afford another foe?”
He opened his arms. “We’ll die trying, for that is our fate.”
I glanced at the lieutenants. They seemed to have no qualms.
Sweat ran down my neck.
This is bad… they have nothing to lose, or that’s how they feel.
Such was the depth of their goal, and one couldn’t fill the abyss with rocks.
My mind raced but returned with nothing.
I was out of ammunition that didn’t involve throwing the Snoutlings to the wolves in one way or another. My new domain was an egg, and if it cracked, the Grayfangs could reach inside and keep bullying them like before. Tribute was my way of externalizing the damage, but if it was not enough…
I lifted my head as Rurik spoke up again.
“You’ll fight for me when I call,” he said. “You and your… soldiers. That’s a compromise I can accept.”
What…?
I cleared my dry throat. “What you’re proposing borders on vassalage.”
“And you think we’re incapable of fancy arrangements like the humans in the south.”
“No, you do you. But vassalage is a double-edged sword. You should be capable of defending us, too, and willing to do so. Are you?”
He called for his lieutenants. They began to whisper.
Predslava glanced at me.
I shrugged.
Rurik slammed the table as the two stepped back. “I concur!”
Fighting for the werewolves was a worrisome idea, but between the alternatives, it seemed the most survivable.
I nodded. “Then I agree as well.”
“And…” Predslava yanked the pen up. “Done!”
I translated the text and nicked my thumb with a small ice crystal—blue, mana-rich blood dripped from the cut. I left my thumbprint under my name.
“My Lord, if you will.” I pushed the signed contracts to him.
His fangs glowed red as he bit his thumb excessively.
“Phew…” Rurik shook his head and stamped the contract with a bloody grin. “What a woman!”