The storm had blown itself out by the early morning, but Merdon held off on leaving until the sun was up. It was better they had a good understanding of where the cliffs were after the new-fallen snow covered them. He walked out front with Sarel, Red and Skyeyes in the back, and Shade forming a sort of buffer between the two groups. Merdon was withdrawn, though focused on where he was walking, while Sarel was half tempted to jump back and fight Red right then and there. Shade was a necessary barrier between the two for the moment. They had a shorter walk back to a place where the tokens would work, only just beyond the village they had spotted before, yet some of them felt the trip was even longer this time around.

When the crunching of the newly fallen snow beneath their feet had aggravated her enough, Sarel grumbled to Merdon, “Why did you defend her?” While her voice was soft, her eyes darted back to the red-scaled mage several feet behind them.

“Because she didn't mean it,” he regurgitated, the same as he said the day before.

“She meant to hit you regardless,” Sarel hissed. “What of that is forgivable?”

The knight sighed and rubbed his forehead. “What's forgivable about it is the same thing that keeps me from shoving Verist out of her own tower after what she did to you,” he replied with a scowl, surprising Sarel. “We're going to war, we need allies, not enemies. Now is not the time to brandish our weapons against those that would otherwise stand with us.”

The thief bit her tongue for a bit as they walked, but soon enough responded, “Simple pragmatism?”

“If that's how you want to see it,” he shrugged. “Red is a capable mage and the only I've heard of besides. She also saved the village on the beach and got the trust of their elder. Turning her away for a lapse in judgment, a nonfatal one at that, would be too detrimental.”

The blue kobold frowned and went completely silent after that. She hated when Merdon made sense. Doubly so when his logic was ignoring his own ills. Of course Red was valuable to what they were doing, but she felt the mage was getting off without punishment at all, and no amount of her moping around behind them was changing her mind on that front. Anyone could fake sadness. Sarel's glances back were always watched by Shade, who seemed to agree with Merdon's assessment of Red's attack. She made sure neither of them fought the night before, nor as they traveled. It annoyed the blue-scaled thief to no end. The kobold she was learning from was siding against her. Yet, no one seemed to be siding with Red either. Sarel remained deep in her thoughts as they walked along the snow-capped ridges and pathways along the mountain.

Long before they reached the village, a tower of smoke rising in the distance caught their attention. Merdon looked back at Shade, wordlessly questioning if Grot could have struck already. She nodded. The knight frowned and started moving at a faster pace, as fast as the slippery and rugged terrain would allow. They walked for another hour at the very least before seeing the village in the valley. Sarel stared at it with shock, while Merdon and Shade were calmer, almost passive in their surveyance of the scene. Red and Skyeyes were closer to Sarel's expression, though the priest recovered faster than all of them and started down the cliff using his natural agility to avoid slipping or falling.

“I don't think I can do that,” Merdon commented as Red followed her mate down the mountain.

“I wouldn't want you to try,” Shade said with a chuckle. “You can probably head back to the tower from here. Grot likely used the witch to sneak something across the border. Like a warband or two.”

Sarel's eyes were still glued to the village. It was burning, the source of the smoke the fires that raged through the two dozen or so buildings below. There were carts in the middle of the town that were on fire as well, their contents contributing to the thick column of gray byproduct rising into the sky. From their view above and with her exceptional eyes, Sarel could make out bodies in the street. Not all of them were armored. Had the orcs slain civilians or were they simply unarmored soldiers caught off guard? She couldn't help but wonder if they deserved such a thorough defeat. In truth, the thief wasn't even sure the orcs had left any survivors at all. They had no reason to. It was war. Any human left alive from such a raid would spoil their plans, become a soldier down the line. She pushed the notion from her mind anyway because it was easier to ignore it while she could.

“Let's go, Quickclaw,” Merdon said, passing her a token.

The thief came back to the present and nodded, squeezing the coin firmly in her palm. A burning village was firmly etched in her mind as she teleported away. This was the first casualty of war.

Grot was standing in the village square, his troops finishing their investigation of the village. The fire had started in the town hall and had spread to the adjacent military buildings. None of his orcs had been in the building when it went up, leading him to suspect they were hiding something or a simple accident had occurred. He sighed. There was always an accident like that when it came to invading towns and cities. Some hapless citizen caught off guard drops a candle, leaves the fire blazing, some entirely preventable scenario spreads more chaos and destruction to be blamed on the invaders. Although, he admitted if they hadn't come along whoever had accidentally started the fire would have put it out before it became an issue. It was their fault, to a point. The rumors would spread that they spitefully lit the village on fire though. Without context, anything could be blamed on them.

His contemplation was broken by Shade sprinting into town from the cliffside and darting around. Rapid reconnaissance she called it, the way she ran, hopped, climbed, and examined the area as quickly as she could. By the time she flipped herself onto his shoulder, Grot was certain the assassin could have given him a body count accurate within a handful and a decent damage report on the fire. Which she did.

“I don't see any remaining forces, and the fire is going to consume the north end of the village by sunset.”

Grot nodded. “That's about what I was thinking. Unless we put the flames out, of course.”

“No need,” she told him. “Not like anyone lives here anymore.” A grim statement.

As she said that, Skyeyes and Red came sliding down the mountain, the priest rolling as he reached the bottom and lost his footing. He jumped up and ran into the center of town towards Grot, panting, “Are there any injured?”

“A few,” the dark-skinned chief admitted. “Not on me though.”

Hesitation in his voice, the white kobold asked, “Are there any human survivors?”

Grot shook his head. Skyeyes' face fell, but he said nothing more. He walked on to find those injured orcs and patch them up while Red slowly looked over the village. She was in a state of shock worse than Sarel as she stood amid the carnage.

Orcs were busy clearing things out but they had yet to take care of all the bodies. As sure as there were humans in armor brandishing weapons in their hands there were also unarmed civilians. She covered her mouth as she turned and saw one woman in particular, a spear through her chest and into the ground, half propping her up off the snowy ground. The woman's face was one of shock and fear, mouth agape and eyes wide. Red could hear the scream that passed through her lips before she died.

“What happened?” the mage managed at barely a mutter.

The chief-of-chiefs looked at the woman and grunted. “Crossbow,” he said, walking over and picking up a rather small crossbow. He recounted with detail how she had shouted for them to spare her, giving him an ounce of pause. She turned and pulled the weapon from a bundle the orc had thought to be a child in her arms. It was luck one of their spear-men was watching his back. “Damn good shot too,” he commented before pulling the weapon out of her.

Red retched and turned away. Bandits were one thing, slavers too. “Did they have slaves?” she asked, looking around. That would make her feel better. If she knew these were evil humans; if she hadn't slapped Merdon...

“Not that we saw,” Grot told her. “No basements either.”

Shade frowned and strummed her fingers on Grot's armored shoulder. “Where are the children?” she asked her mate.

Mouth agape, Red turned and stared at Grot. “No,” she whispered. They hadn't killed children too.

Grot's face fell in a very slow way as he recounted their assault of the village. “There weren't any?” He started so sure of himself but quickly lost confidence in his knowledge. How was that possible?

Shade jumped off his back and ran off towards the burning town hall, shouting for the orc troops to help her put out the flames. Red followed her, knowing a few spells related to water, she might have had a chance to help with whatever the assassin had figured out. While they dealt with that, Merdon and Sarel appeared near the village's gate, their footsteps loud in the snow. The thief was just as appalled by what she saw as the others seemed to be.

“Good fight?” Merdon asked as he walked up and looked around.

Grot grunted in acknowledgment. “Not really. They weren't ready for an orcish warband to come through just yet. We can thank Verist for that.”

Merdon chuckled grimly. “Surprised she let you borrow her for something so mundane.”

“She was pretty keen about it, actually,” Grot corrected him. “It meant she got to stand around in the orc stronghold.”

“I'm sure you made certain your guards won't get the wrong idea,” the knight guessed.

“Certainly not,” the orc assured him. “As long as she doesn't wander too far.”

Sarel felt numb, but not from the cold. “How can you be so casual about this?” she asked the two, her tone between horror and anger.

“This is war, little one,” Grot replied. “This isn't even half of war, actually. We haven't gotten to the crop burning and poisoned water supplies yet.”

The thief scowled. “Why?” she demanded of them, her claws balled into fists.

“Disrupt supplies, lower morale, keep the peasants from joining the fight as soldiers later, put additional strain on Ardmach dealing with refugees,” Merdon said in a detached way.

“Someone's been studying,” Grot approved.

“My father was a knight, a proper knight of the king,” he explained.

“Hmm, so you've got more first-hand knowledge,” the orc gathered. “Taught you how to ride a horse, burn a crop, but not how to haggle?” Sarel had shared their tale of buying horses long ago.

Merdon shrugged. “He wanted to leave something for the instructors in the military to teach me. I just never joined up.”

Again, Sarel interrupted their unceremonious chat with a burst of outrage. “This is only the beginning?”

“Unfortunately,” Merdon agreed, his gaze passing over the buildings. “This is the cost of freedom.”

With a short laugh, Sarel asked, half-serious, “Can I get a better price?”

“Nope,” Grot said calmly. “This is what it takes. We might find some defectors here and there, maybe a campaign of information could sway a few outliers away from Avant, but overall this is what we'll have to do. All the way to the capital.”

Refocused, Merdon questioned, “Do we have any way to help the kobolds inside Ardmach? Once the word gets around this is about kobolds they're going to have a lot harder life in there.”

Grot hummed in thought. “We'll have to ask the kobold chiefs.” He had no ideas, himself.

“So we burn and kill and pillage,” Sarel said bluntly to the two of them. “We act like the monsters they say we are until they have no choice but to free us? Does that not seem counterproductive?”

“Any man would act like a caged animal if you treat him the way kobolds do,” Grot told her. “Whoever thinks we're acting out of line for this would have to be the most privileged ass in the nation.”

Merdon nodded. “This isn't just because of some small sleights, Quickclaw.” Avant's slavery was lighter than the elves or Rastar, but that didn't make it right. The Avantians had to be made to listen.

Before she could respond to that, Shade came running up with a handful of papers, and Red right behind her.

“What's that?” Grot asked incredulously. “Did you really put out that fire to find some papers?”

“Orders,” she said, tossing a couple at Grot, who barely caught them thanks to his large hands. “From the king of Avant to prepare a retaliation against orcish invaders.”

“But we just got here,” Grot joked. However, his eyes saw the truth, she was right.

“Duh, verakt,” Shade said, impatiently. “Avant is going to sacrifice a village to start the war. Or they were going to before we did this.”

The dark-skinned orc frowned. “We played right into their hands,” he growled.

“There is good news,” Red spoke, stepping up beside the assassin. “None of the humans here were civilians.”

Merdon's eyes went wide. “How is that possible?”

Shade scoffed, “Spies, Merdon. This village is an outpost that watches the orc border. That's why they got word to prepare for retaliation for an attack that hadn't happened yet. These were Eyes in training.”

Sarel blinked and looked around once again. The village looked so typical, the villagers didn't stand out at all. “How did you figure this out?” she asked, hoping to learn.

Shade smiled and boasted, “Where are the children? How do you have a village that's been around for decades with dozens of men and women, but no kids? Not even saints could stay that clean.”

Grot's mouth hung as he caught up with Shade's logic. “Damn, that's so obvious it's like a rock on the plains,” he chastised himself. “We need to regroup,” the orc said to the others. “I don't like being tricked and the king just played us like a hand-carved flute.”

The others agreed, on various levels, and made to find Skyeyes before getting the whole warband out of there. Verist would need to be talked to. There was a chance they had another stop to make before talking to the kobold leaders.

Across the land, sitting on his throne, the king of Avant was idly reading a letter of little consequence from the queen of the elves when Rebeun walked in and knelt. He found the throne room to be very dire. Although it was decorated in the Avantian golds and blacks, something about it always felt wrong. Rebeun believed it to be more the king's domain, the plane of His Majesty Aschrel, rather than the seat of power for the kingdom. Of course, that might have been the guards stationed at every door and every eight feet apart, for a total of fourteen guards, in a single room. The ones standing next to the throne were fellow Eyes, but not subordinates of his. It made him feel weaker than he was. None of them possessed his ability, his talent, his drive.

“Speak, Rebeun,” the king commanded, not looking away from his letter. “There's no special reward for doing as you should.”

“Of course, your majesty,” the Eyes assassin replied, suppressing a frown. “Our village in the mountains was burned down this morning, partially. There are no survivors. Our trainee assassins are no more.”

Aschrel looked up, at last, with a smile. “I see. So the orcs caught wind of our preparations and struck first, ironically giving us what we wanted to begin with.” The king crumpled the letter in his hand and tossed it to the ground. “We'll have to speed things up elsewhere. Has the new elven ambassador arrived yet?”

“No, sire,” Rebeun replied. “She should be en route already, but we've heard nothing from the border.”

“I want your finest man on it as soon as she's here,” the king told him. “Make sure she's delivered safely.”

Safely into the ground. Rebeun knew the plan already. It wasn't some anonymous best man that would be doing it. He would take her personally. He was the only one that could use a weapon similar to Merdon's long sword to make the whole story believable.

“What of the village we expected to be attacked?” Rebeun asked in thinly veiled terms.

“I suppose we should recall our troops from there,” the king admitted. “If they've struck elsewhere we'll need more soldiers to cover that front instead.” There was no need to sacrifice another village if the orcs were doing it for them. “Hopefully the ambassador can supply us with additional reinforcements in this trying time.”

Rebeun nodded and stood. “I've gotten your majesty's correspondence back at base,” he told the king. “I'll make sure everything goes as planned.”

“Do so,” Aschrel said with a steady voice. “And, Rebeun? The next time you have the 'kobold whisperer' at the end of your dagger, be sure to deal with him properly.” The king mocked the nickname with his tone, but that moment of levity vanished as he added, “I'm sick of your excessive power fantasies. Do not taunt the criminal and his conspirators. Simply deal with them.”

Rebeun bowed deeply. “Yes, your majesty.” He agreed because he had no choice. Silently, the assassin fumed as he left the throne room. Aschrel was needlessly concerned with the kobold loving adventurer and his pathetic band of miscreants. He had no special powers, not even a magic artifact any more the last he checked. Merdon was a waste of their time. Rebeun felt his dagger hand twitch as he thought about how much more concerned with the kobold whisperer the king was than with the assassin his own group had trained. As if he wasn't worth considering a threat. That would be a mistake.