Merdon gawked at the orcs' stronghold as they passed through the town, almost as much as the orcs stared at him. He was more able to ignore their gaze this time thanks to all of the things he had to take in. Their buildings were all made from stone here, with shingled roofs that reminded him of the architecture in Ardmach. Unlike the capital of Avant, he didn't feel so oppressed here. Perhaps it was the lack of towering walls or how the city was placed at a normal altitude keeping it nice and warm on the spring day. Or perhaps it had to do with the fact no one was glaring at him, only watching with perplexed interest. The orcs were curious about the human, not angry, and they didn't care about the two kobolds they saw riding along with them. In fact, not a single orc gave any special attention to Sarel or Shade, which gave the blue kobold a small grin as they went.

The town was very structured, very orderly, which the knight didn't associate with orcs at all. Given their penchant for war though, he felt he should have expected it. They were warriors so it only made sense their city would be at least somewhat militaristic. Orcs wandered about their day with weapons belted to their sides or backs, moving as naturally armed as humans did without weapons. That and their various colors and size were the only things that really made the town stand out. Otherwise, it looked much like any city in Avant would, which only raised more issues for the human. Everything he learned about the “bloodthirsty killer orcs” he'd been told about made him question his kingdom more and more.

Sarel, meanwhile, was rather ecstatic about their arrival. She looked at everything with a smile on her face. Not just because Merdon had recovered, but because she noticed all the little details, all the signs of kobolds being around. Many of them weren't armed, despite the orcs, but they didn't need to be. The orcs respected their non-competitive culture, and the kobolds returned the favor with their craftsmanship. Details were etched and carved on things like axes and doors that couldn't have been done with the orcs bulkier hands. Several orcs were adorned with small jewelry that was unlikely to have been made by orc hands. This was a city, much like Grot's village, where her kind lived free and openly. In it, Sarel saw the future of kobolds and it only excited her to see it done so well already.

Grot pointed the way to the main stronghold, a castle in the middle of everything, and hurried them along. He wasn't too concerned with Merdon being attacked, but he was bothered by the idea of the other orcs being bothered. The less rumors got spread around before the knight's speech the better they would be. Avoiding all of the citizens watching them would have been preferable, but there was no avoiding it. Unmounted, someone might have decided to pull Merdon to the side and beat him before they even got halfway into the city. The chief wouldn't have that happen under his watch. That would have been a failure for him as a leader, but also he was starting to think more about the knight. Beyond his race, past him being a human. Orcs respected warriors and their strength, but they respected many kinds of strength aside from purely physical. The knight's decision to turn on his country for the sake of justice was a merit worth holding high and proud, yet the human didn't brag. He sought to do what was right for that simple reason of it being right. Grot had met more self-involved humans before; ones that would have polished their own egos for helping someone stand up let alone trying to end the enslavement of a race.

Shade had agreed with him, though they'd not spoken on it yet. Grot could feel her agreement in the way she interacted with the pair. Her kind words to the human during the storm and how she befriended the blue-scaled kobold told the orc everything he needed to know. She liked them, either because she agreed with what he saw in them or just because the knight promised a rebellion, Grot didn't know. What was important was that she cared, and if his mate cared, he cared, and there wasn't an orc eyeing the human he wouldn't knock down a couple of pegs in broad daylight if he had to. Until they reached the castle that was.

The guards were a little more concerned about Merdon than the citizens on the streets, for good reason. Despite being surrounded by other orcs and escorted by a chief, the human was armed. Grot argued with them. Being a warrior meant carrying a weapon. He challenged how they would feel being led into enemy territory unarmed, but the guards didn't budge. Their insistence that the human be disarmed was bringing the chieftain to an absolute boil. Right as Merdon threw his sword onto the ground between the two guards, causing them to look at him sharply.

His arms crossed, the knight only said, “This argument is pointless. With or without a sword you could kill me. If it speeds things up, take the damned thing.”

Grot, however, picked the sword up before the guards could and told them, “He's in my care, I'll be taking his weapon.” As much as they were willing to fight over it being in the hands of the human, they seemed less interested in trying to take it from a chief. The doors to the castle wall were opened and the group rode inside.

They were greeted by a pleasant little courtyard, with a stable for the horses and young orcs that would care for them. The party dismounted and Merdon looked around more. He could hear the sounds of training coming from somewhere, the distinct clash of swords in a practiced manner along with the thunk of wood and steel. Either training dummies or the orcs had bows now. Both were as likely as each other. He also noted the walls, a secondary set of walls to make the castle itself hard to get to, similar to how Ardmach rested on a mountain as its first metaphorical wall. It was a theme he was noticing in siege design; the more you put between the enemy and yourself, the harder it appeared to be to get in. Being there hadn't been a siege in several hundred years, however, he didn't know how practical all the defenses were.

As he poked around with his eyes, Grot passed the knight his weapon back. “I'm not carrying this thing around,” he told the human.

“But the guards...”

Grot snorted and shoved the sheathed weapon into Merdon's hands. “I'm telling you to carry it for me,” he said. “If they've got a problem with me telling you what to do, that's my business.” The knight smirked, getting the idea, and put the sword back at his side. “Besides,” the orc added, “Things should be more relaxed inside the castle.”

True to his words, the guards at the castle door didn't mention the armed human, they were more concerned with saluting Grot as he entered. Merdon focused on the inside of the castle before things got hectic, as he expected them to. It was furnished, well kept, which surprised the knight, and adorned still with things taken from hunts. What had been hunted, however, was different. Ancient Avantian armor and weapons hung on the walls. Some of them were dented, chipped, but they were polished, kept intact. A warning to all the humans that came into the stronghold of what the orcs were capable of. His comments back in Grot's village about relations being rocky between the nations stood out in his mind at the sight. The orc chief put a hand on Merdon's shoulder and pulled him away from the entrance. He didn't need the human getting cold feet one minute after walking in.

The orc guided him down the corridors covered in thick furs, the kobolds following behind them, to an ornate looking room with a pair of massive double doors. Grot, as gently as he could, pushed Merdon towards a chair before taking a seat of his own. The human looked a little confused as he sat down, Sarel hopping up next to him, before Grot softly explained they were expected. They were sitting outside the room where the chiefs met with their race's leader. A shaking breath pushed its way out of the knight's body as he nodded, knowing what was expected of him next.

“Relax,” Grot commanded him. “Just say what needs to be said and let me convince them afterward. I can't be in there when you're talking, they want to make sure you're not being coerced, but I'll be in right after to make sure they take the idea seriously.”

Merdon nodded and sighed. All of the pressure that had dissipated during the storm and amid the wonder of seeing the orcs' capital, returned in a massive rush. Like a volcanic force building up inside of him, pushing everything out of its way. To most, he looked calm, but Sarel and Grot could see the worry. It was the mile-long stare at the floor that gave it away. Where one could assume he was thinking, going over his speech perhaps, those nearby knew better. The knight was zoning out, trying to ignore the stress he was feeling. Not even Sarel's claw on his back was noticed in his duress.

The human jumped when the double doors opened slowly, banging as they reached the limit, and a pair of orcs stepped out looking right at him. “The council of chiefs will see you,” the said, walking over and practically pulling him out of his chair. He swallowed and went along with them, the two guards shutting the door behind him, cutting him off from what little support he had in the world.

His eyes wandered around the room to try and distract himself from what was expected of him. The room was circular, save for the two doors, and there were no windows to see out of. A long bench sat near the outside edge of the room with several orcs on the other side of it. They were the chiefs, at least half of the bench was full, with the biggest and toughest looking sitting at the front facing Merdon. That orc gestured to the middle of the room where a small podium stood on a raised dais. Nervousness filled the knight once more as he stepped up and looked around at the faces surrounding him. None of them were happy, but none of them were armed either. Not that he felt his sword could save him against the half dozen orcs that were scrutinizing him.

“Let the record show the hume is armed,” one of the smaller orcs commented venomously. “While we sit here without means of defense, he stands prepared to kill.”

One of the orcs across from him scoffed. “Are you afraid of a hume with a sword?” she asked in a gravelly voice. “Perhaps you should be the one outside.”

Merdon groaned and quickly unbelted his sword, tossing it behind him towards the guards. “It wasn't my choice to carry a weapon,” he said, just in case. “Chief Grot insisted I carry it for him.”

The female orc smirked and looked at her colleague across the way. “Would you like to discuss with Grot his use of a hume pack mule?” Scowling, the smaller orc leaned back in his seat and avoided another statement. “As I thought,” the female chief said before addressing Merdon. “Grot has told us a little about what you propose. An assault on Avant, on your own kind.”

“Yes,” Merdon replied, his mouth feeling as dry as a desert already. “I've discovered that the king does far more than oppress kobolds. I think with the right persuasion many of Avant's own people could be turned against it.”

A deep red orc leaned forward with a frown. “You realize you're giving up your nation to an enemy?” he growled. No one liked a traitor. One betrayal could lead to another. Merdon was suspect.

“No,” he argued. “I don't intend to put an orc on the throne.” The ones gathered made noises of discontent and several moved to stand up. “I'm putting a kobold on one.”

The chiefs stopped and stared. He'd gotten their attention, cut the ground from under them, and now was the time to talk. With a deep breath, the knight pressed on.

“The humans of Avant have taken to calling me the kobold whisperer, a name that I've gladly embraced after seeing what they do to them behind closed doors. In Ardmach I slew over a dozen slavers and escaped with my life and my kobold friends. We evaded the knights of Avant, the Eyes of Ethral, and even made peace with the witch of the white tower, convincing her to free her own kobold slaves. Avant is not some invincible entity because it won a single war. There are hundreds of people that disagree with many things in the nation, even if some of them are selfish reasons.”

Merdon paused and looked at the faces of his audience. The orcs were seated again and listening intently. He had their attention but not their support. He had to press on them harder.

“I can understand your worries about the treaty between your nations. Things haven't changed so much since the last war. In fact, Avant has only grown larger and more dominant over their allies. But that doesn't mean ...” Merdon stopped and grabbed the podium in front of him. He was shaking. His next words were to tell them that Avant was perfectly assailable, ripe for destruction, but he couldn't. The knight breathed in and shook his head. He couldn't start this with a lie. The human looked up and focused on the orcs' leader, the one right in front of him.

“Avant is strong,” he said earnestly. “You can't just march on their borders and smash them into submission. You'd have the elves and the humans of Rastar running up to join the battle. Humans aren't deer or boar, you can't just kill them and except to walk away. You have to lay traps and out plan them.”

One of the chiefs stood up and roared, “Cowardice!”

Merdon looked at them and slammed his own fist onto the podium beneath him. “Then die with pride and watch as the monsters of Avant wipe you from history!” The orcs muttered between themselves at that outburst, but the human continued. “I understand it goes against your culture, but you're facing a coalition of nations that have more warriors and more advances in weapons than you do. You cannot win a straight forward war, and if you wait until you think you can, they'll come for you like they've done the kobolds. Avantians go to bed at night afraid of the orcs and it's only a matter of time before some king turns that fear into fuel for a war on their own terms.”

The female chief leaned back and crossed her arms. “The hume makes a point,” she admitted with a scowl. “We harbor kobolds here, they are welcome and none of us would change that, so it's just a question of when the humes come for our heads.”

“But then we would have the advantage of our own lands,” the orc she'd argued with a moment ago shouted. “They would be forced to meet us on our terms.”

“No,” the head of the orcs rumbled, his voice getting the full attention of the room. “The humans are duplicitous. They wouldn't march on us openly until they were certain of victory. We have trade agreements with them that they control, they watch our borders, restrict our travel through their lands. Their king would start by choking us of resources and information, and then he would send assassins to kill us, throwing the lands into confusion and chaos before swooping in to fix the mess he created.”

Merdon looked surprised to hear that. “You sound as if you've met him personally, your … highness.” The human didn't know what the proper term was for the chief of chiefs, but it got him a chuckle.

“I have. In conference halls to discuss treaties and trade, and the previous one, and the ones before him,” the leader of the orcs told the knight. “I was there when the orcs fought against the elves and Avant the second time.” Merdon's mouth hung open. This orc had seen the great war Avantians only heard legends of. Their longevity alone was something to be impressed by.

The orc chief of chiefs rose and gestured to the door. “We shall discuss what you've said with Grot. In the meantime, the guards will show you to a room.”

Not arguing in the slightest, Merdon stepped down and went to the door. Grot brushed his shoulder as he left, with a guard on his other side, and the dark-skinned chief didn't look happy. He'd heard what the human had told them and knew how it deviated from the script. His job convincing the orcs was harder now, but Merdon couldn't lie to them, not looking them in the eyes. His nerves had vanished when he spoke his mind instead of lies he didn't believe in. They had been holding him back and now he was free. A sort of liberation coursed through him as he picked up his sword and allowed the orc guards to take him to a room when the doors shut behind them, Sarel following closely at her mate's side.

Through many hallways and beyond more decorations than Merdon could hope to remember, an unintentional labyrinth to his mind, the guard took him to a room. Once inside, he listened closely for footsteps moving away from the door. There wasn't a sound. They were being monitored. Not that he blamed the orcs for that, he knew what he would do in their shoes and it wasn't so different. In truth, the room he would have been able to offer them would have been significantly less impressive than the one he stood in. The orcs knew hospitality at the very least, as both rooms he'd been given in his stay were above the ones he found at inns in Bereth.

A certain homesickness came over him, topping itself with feelings of guilt over how he'd changed things for Grot. What had started as a feeling of relief turned into one of betrayal and doubt. He had endangered their plans with his impromptu script changes. It had been half a day since breakfast and the knots in his stomach were keeping the hunger at bay perfectly, while he heard Sarel's stomach growl from across the room. The sound made him chuckle in an uncontrollable sort of way. Such a primal noise to be made in the middle of his internal angst there was no way a smile wouldn't have formed on his face at it. Sarel felt differently, turning red in the face and crossing her arms angrily.

“We have not eaten since breakfast,” she said loudly. “I can't help it if I'm hungry.”

Merdon stopped chuckling and looked at her intently. “What was that?” he asked her directly.

“What?” she replied, confused. “I'm hungry. Is that weird? It has been hours since we ate.”

“You said I, Sarel.”

The blue kobold looked away. “Your point, verakt?”

“Why?” he questioned her. “We talked about this.”

She nodded. “Yes, we did, and you said to do it only if I felt it was right. I think it is,” the kobold said firmly. “The world of kobolds is changing. Sa-” Sarel frowned and pursed her lip at the slip-up. “I think this is what the kobolds living here sound like, and for good reason. They aren't like the ones in Avant.”

“Slaves,” Merdon guessed. “You think that maybe because they live independent lives they talk differently?” She nodded at his assessment. It made some sense, but not totally. He wanted to question why they would change their method of speaking just because they lived outside of Avant, but if she was convinced, that was ultimately all he needed to hear.

After suggesting she talk to the guard outside, the chances of him listening to her being much higher than the odds for a human, Merdon settled down in a chair and sighed. There was nothing more he could do, not for Grot, not for Sarel, no one. It was a matter of time and waiting. While Sarel got the guard to run errands like a squire for her appetite, the human relaxed and closed his eyes, yet he couldn't relax. He was no longer living from job to job, risking his life for a few silvers and the gratitude of someone he would never meet again. Over the last few weeks his life had been, all things considered, rather cushy. Sleeping on good beds with his mate, no one judging him for having a relationship with a kobold, eating food he neither had to pay for nor cook, and yet those days had been the most stressful in his life.

It was an odd sensation to feel so pampered and yet so tense. Merdon wondered if that just came with the territory or if he was unique, a creature outside of his comfort zone with these amenities and relaxed ways of life. There was a twisted comedy about a man that needed to be in danger constantly to feel calm, and the idea worried him about the future. How could he ever go to a normal life with his mate if the only thing that put him at ease was putting on a full suit of armor and gallivanting around the countryside looking to fight goblins and other ne'er-do-wells that lurked along the highways? It was a problem up there with his new knowledge of Sarel's longevity. Not to mention the side fact about how long orcs lived. Humans, it seemed, were destined to get the short end of the stick in almost every way.

Amid his mental wandering, the door to the room opened, causing Merdon to open his eyes and lean forward as if he could do anything unarmored against an orc. It was Grot, which set the knight at ease, but the look on his face said he should have been anything but comfortable. The orc chief strode over to the human and looked down at him the way a parent did when they found their child misbehaving behind their back. And from what Merdon knew of orc ages, Grot could very well have been much older than he was. Perhaps that was why it felt that way every time he was glared at.

“What did you say to them exactly?” he grumbled, the closest thing the chief got to whisper.

Merdon cleared his throat before responding. “I told them a head-on assault of Avant wasn't possible,” he answered, not beating around the bush in the slightest. “I told them the truth. That we need to make plans and force the war our way.”

Grot scowled and back away, walking over to a jug in the corner and opening it. He poured himself a glass of the water inside and downed it before continuing, “Whatever you said, the chief of chiefs liked it. Some of the others though … things are going to take a while.”

Sarel frowned. “How long is a while?”

“We have to wait for the rest of the chiefs to arrive now,” he said honestly. “I was hoping we could get this majority and force our way through the mildly democratic process we've had going over the years, but we're torn in there. We have to wait for the other chiefs to arrive and pitch the whole mess to them.”

“But we have the leader's attention,” Merdon noted. “Can't he override them or something?”

Grot laughed. “Sure, if he wants the bare minimum expected of them. Maybe half the warriors we could possibly field using whatever branches they can find to fight with along the way.” It wasn't a good idea to make an orc do anything they didn't want to was what Merdon was learning.

“So we wait,” he confirmed. The knight sighed and leaned back in the chair again. Waiting was the hardest part.

Over the next several days, Merdon found himself getting more and more privileges in the orcs' capital. For one, a guard stopped being posted outside his door at every hour, and he was invited to dine with the other orcs in a large hall. Unlike his time with Grot, the human respected what he learned to be orc culture and waited for the chief of chiefs and the other leaders to finish before digging in for himself. It was an awkward adjustment period but nothing he hadn't dealt with back in Grot's village. By the end of a week, the orcs were pretty much used to his presence among them. The sneers and gazes faded away as they simply accepted the human was part of the day for the time being. Whatever feelings caused those looks hadn't vanished but it became tiring to act on them all the time. The orcs had better things to do than be passive-aggressive with someone they couldn't challenge to a fight without upsetting a chief.

Unlike the orcs, Merdon had an inside man with the chiefs too. Every day Grot came by to talk about whatever had happened in the meeting with the chiefs and to try and plan more strategies for convincing the ones that were already there before the others shown up. Each report was virtually the same, with the same few orcs holding to their decisions and not budging an inch on it. Still, the dark-skinned orc found it important to push on them, to exhaust every idea, because a new batch of orcs would be coming in, and they could refine those ideas before they arrived. He was using the current chiefs as target practice to work on his skills, and the knight was instrumental to that. Merdon was coming up with ideas as much as Grot was, and he was putting distinctly human spins on them to boot. Grot found some of them displeasing but they were the best he had. Others he liked a lot and spent hours with the human working on them to present the best possible scenario to the other chiefs.

In that same time, Shade was spending more time with Sarel, teaching her about the ways of an assassin and the ways of the orcs. They ventured out into the city, where Merdon wasn't allowed to go yet, and snooped around. Sarel saw kobolds living in proper houses that had been bought with their own funds and not ones built from stolen supplies and mud. She also got to see some of their workshops where they trained apprentices, mostly former slaves, how to work a trade. The places were clean, efficient, proper work environments rather than the hellholes Avant forced upon them, if they were allowed to work at all. It brought a smile to the blue-scaled kobold's face being able to walk around in daylight and not be accosted by anyone. For once in her life, Sarel felt normal.

Of course, the pair found time for each other too. As much time as they spent with the other odd couple, they made at least as much for themselves. With no need for watch or changing shifts, their nighttime activities became nightly, and most of their mornings were filled with idle talk about the future. Not the long term future, their immediate plans for the day, and some time beyond. Sarel noticed that Merdon was very concerned about the coming rebellion and she tried her best to reassure him about the plans they had made together. He would talk about whatever Grot had mentioned, and she would debate him logically on it. She insisted that the orcs would see reason sooner or later, and every time he was forced to agree. It became so casual that Merdon stopped arguing about it almost altogether. Almost. Nothing could erase all his doubts, but that didn't stop the kobold from trying. She was intent on beating the optimism back into her mate.

With all the time they spent together in those days, it was easy for Merdon to notice that Sarel was missing one morning. Curious, the knight got dressed, including the sword Grot has insisted he keep on him, and started wandering the stronghold. It was earlier than any time he'd woken up before, the sun had yet to rise and all of the light was still by candle or torch. He judged it an hour before sunrise, at the most, but that didn't answer where his mate had gone. She wasn't in the kitchen, the food wasn't ready besides, and he didn't find her loitering in the courtyard. As he approached the two huge doors to the chief's meeting room Merdon finally noticed something was off. Where were the guards? A tingle went down his spine as he felt all of his warning senses coming back to life in the blink of an eye. His downtime had softened him, but not removed his training. Something was wrong.

Knowing there shouldn't have been anyone in the hall at that hour, Merdon approached the doors and heaved them open with great effort. The scent hit him first. That unmistakable smell of blood and death. Spurred on, the knight pushed the door open fully and gasped. Almost every orc chief was dead in the room. Some were slumped over the table, others were on the floor with multiple wounds in the chest, but the worst was the chief of chiefs, the one that had liked his plan the most. His throat was cleanly slit, his face displaying pure shock and surprise at whatever happened. Their looks told a story, and it started with him. The others reacted, too slow. One by one they were slain in their safest sanctuary.