The Pulver Chronicles – 21. Es Klingt Nach Freiheit

Hellhounds.

That word had taken its quarters in Jackson’s mind ever since he had first heard it, and showed no intention of leaving. It was what Alizana had introduced herself and her people as. Jackson wanted to ask a million questions about that, but between the late hour and the scenery, he deemed it preferable to hold on to them.

As thanks for their help in eliminating the hunting party, Jackson and Sathariel were allowed to stay with Alizana’s tribe -which was called the Neha tribe, he learned. They were offered a couple of cots under a tent which served for storage; there was not much room, and a strange smell lingered, coming from one of the various objects left there. Still, it was better than sleeping under the stars. Jackson’s night was short, but restful. When he opened his eyes again the next morning, he jumped out of his cot, full of energy. So much so that the Hellhound sent to wake them up was surprised, and seemed a bit disappointed as well.

“Time to eat,” she just said, after giving Sathariel’s cot a little kick.

Most of the tribe -Jackson counted twenty-two people, but was certain there were more- was gathered in a circle in the middle of the tents. Now that Jackson was looking at said tents in the daylight, he realized they were a lot more elaborate than the ones he and the hunting party used; they were made out of thick cloth and had a strong wooden frame. Another thing he quickly noticed was that all of the members of the Neha tribe were women. There was not a single man among them. Curious, Jackson thought. Byron compared them to the legendary Amazons.

Jackson made little effort to keep from staring at each and every one of them as he and his Demon friend were invited to sit near the woman who had woken them up. He had never seen anything quite like these creatures. All of them were well-built and quite tall; even as they were sitting cross-legged, Jackson could tell he and Sathariel were the smallest people present. Under the thick, shaggy fur covering their legs, their arms, and part of their backs, were muscles that would have made many in Jackson’s former unit green with envy. They wore simple, rough clothes made out of leather or fur, and no shoes.

Food began to be passed around. Jackson and Sathariel both looked shocked as they saw what constituted breakfast for the Hellhounds: slabs of raw meat, still covered in blood. The animal was hard to identify, but from the hair on the skin Jackson thought it might have been a boar. A piece of meat the side of his head was pushed into his hands; he nearly dropped it when he felt blood dripping from it between his fingers.

“Raw meat for breakfast,” he said to Sathariel. “Kinda makes you want to try going vegan, huh?”

The Demon’s lips curled downwards, but he shrugged and said: “I ate worse, believe it or not.”

Jackson waited for a moment, wondering if he would be offered some cutlery, or at the very least a plate of some kind. Then, he saw that the Hellhounds were not using anything of the sort. They cut their meat with their claws, and didn’t appear to mind soaking their paws’ fur in blood. Jackson went to his horse Florid -the Hellhounds had been kind enough to bring him to the camp- to get a knife and a bowl. The raw meat proved difficult to cut, and not so easy to chew, but thankfully the taste was not as foul as Jackson dreaded. It was very gamey, and the texture was strangely sticky, but still somewhat good. Judging by the cut, Jackson guessed he had been given a rib. He began to wonder whether there was a medieval equivalent of the grill, and maybe even of barbecue sauce. And if there wasn’t, why not?

The Hellhounds like their meat raw, but also in quantity. While Jackson was already full with a third of his slab, the lupine creatures all finished theirs without trouble. Some even had seconds. There must not be much left of that boar, he thought. Considering what was left of his meat, he wondered whether it would keep until noon without a fridge, especially if the day would be as hot and sunny as the day before. This debate was solved for him when the Hellhound sitting next to him took the piece of meat from his hands without asking, and took a big bite out of it. It was the same Hellhound who came to wake them earlier; Jackson recognized her by her large nose, and the small scar on her chin. He shot her a look of annoyance. She stared back at him as she devoured his piece, with something looking like amusement in her eyes, as if she was silently daring him to do something about it. He just shrugged and turned back to Sathariel. The young Demon couldn’t finish his portion either, but had elected to give it to his own neighbor, who had actually bothered asking first.

All through the meal, the Hellhounds talked between them, mostly in their own language. Jackson saw that Sathariel was following one of their exchanges. Judging from his facial expression, he seemed to understand it.

“You know their language, Seth?” Jackson asked.

Sathariel licked his lips. “It’s… hard to understand with all the growling, but it sounds like Hellian, though a dialect I’ve never heard before.”

“Speaking of which, how come you speak Imperial? I thought they frowned on that in the Hexacracy.”

“I’ve worked with traders on the docks, so I learned a few languages and dialects. I only truly speak Hellian and Imperial, though.”

“What about this dialect? Could you speak that?”

“I… might be able to, just. Don’t hope for a philosophical debate.”

“I never do.”

After breakfast, the tribe got busy with various tasks. Jackson thought to volunteer in the name of earning his keep, but before he could open his mouth, the same Hellhound who woke him and Sathariel up in the morning came to them and said:

“I’m going to get us water from the river,” she said curtly. “Mind helping?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jackson said.

They were both given a couple of buckets as well as a long wooden staff to hold them. The walk to the river took about five minutes; the Hellhound accompanying them stuck close to them the whole time, even though Jackson was sure she could walk much faster. Jackson observed her during the short trek; she had dark red eyes that looked too small for her face, and was far from unpleasant to look at. He distinguished a small, dark birthmark in the rough shape of a C on the her right shoulder.

“Alizana told you to keep an eye on us, didn’t she?” Jackson said.

“I offered to do it,” she replied. Her tone was still curt; Jackson assumed that was simply the way she spoke. She also had something of an accent, slightly turning her o’s into a’s.

“Uh-huh. What’s your name?”

She stared at him for a second. “Grabs-the-Blades.”

“Wait, really?” Jackson smiled. “Grabs-the-Blades?”

Sathariel crouched by the river to fill his buckets. Jackson followed suit. Each bucket looked like it contained around a gallon.

“I’m guessing that’s a nickname, like Shatters-the-Shields. Why do they call you that?”

“Because that’s the name I earned in battle,” she said, a hint of pride in her eyes. She opened her paw, and showed the palm to Jackson. A long, thin scar crossed it, from between the thumb and the index finger to the first phalanx of the little finger.

“Pretty badass,” Jackson said. “And what’s your real name?”

The Hellhound stared some more, smirked again, then began filling her own buckets without answering.

“All right, guess it’s a secret,” Jackson said.

He hoisted the staff over his shoulders and stood up, making sure to lift with his knees. Their buckets full of fresh water, they went back to the camp. While Jackson could handle the weight just fine owing to his training, Sathariel struggled a bit. On the way there, Jackson whispered to Sathariel one of the questions that had been ringing in his mind:

“Are Hellhounds common in the Hexacracy? I didn’t even know they existed until yesterday,”

“Me neither,” the Demon said.

“Seriously?”

“I had never even heard of the word “Hellhound”.”

“That’s weird. Do you think they’re making it up?”

Sathariel shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. The world is vast, I suppose, and filled with mysteries.”

The buckets were placed in front of the storage tent, and covered with wooden lids. Jackson wondered why, until he heard mosquitoes buzzing around. He turned to Grabs-the-Blades, and asked:

“Anything else we-”

The end of the question died on his tongue as the Hellhound handed him and Sathariel four more empty buckets, her lips still twisted in a smirk. Sathariel moaned, rubbing his shoulder.

In total, they had to make seven trips to and from the river, each one more painful than the last. The issue was not just the weight, but also the need to balance both buckets, as neither was attached to the staff. Jesus fucking Christ, Jackson thought, my drill sergeant would have loved this. He tried to convince Sathariel to take a break after the fourth trip, as he was clearly in pain, but the Demon refused. When they were finally done, the storage tent was half filled with buckets of water, and Jackson and Sathariel were so exhausted they could barely even stand. Grabs-the-Blades, however, looked and acted like this had just been a light workout.

Another Hellhound appeared as they were recovering. Peeking inside the tent, she said:

“That’s certainly more than enough.” She gave Jackson and Sathariel a nod of approbation. “A lot more, actually. Thank you for your hard work. We should have enough for the next week or so.”

The two young men glared at Grabs-the-Blades as the other Hellhound walked away. 

“You were hazing us,” Jackson said, his voice hoarse.

“I thought you’d give up after the third trip,” she said, unashamed.

“So what’s next? You’re gonna put bugs in our food? Steal our clothes while we sleep?”

Her smirk turned into a grin. “How sound a sleeper are you?” 

Before Jackson could answer, she turned on her heels and walked away.

“Nice talking to you, Grabby!” Jackson snarkily called out after her.

“Grabby?” Sathariel repeated with a weak chuckle.

“Yeah, we’re basically best buds after this, so I figured I’d give her a nickname too. Plus, I’m too tired to say her whole name.”

The Demon laughed, then took a deep breath. Sweat drenched his clothes, and made his long, messy hair stick to his forehead. He tried to brush it with his hands, but only managed to make a bigger mess, and drench his fingers in sweat.

“Blazes, it’s too hot today for this kind of work.”

“Didn’t they shave your head at your boot camp?” Jackson asked.

“My what?”

“That fort where they trained you,” he corrected.

“Oh. No, we were told not to do that. It makes wearing a helmet uncomfortable.”

Jackson nodded. “So, how are you doing?”

“My shoulders still hurt. My arms too, but only if I raise them too high.”

“I mean, after yesterday.”

“Ah… Well, it was pretty intense. Is this what fighting usually looks like?”

“In my experience, yeah, pretty much,” Jackson said. It was a weird feeling for him to speak about any particular subject from experience. Usually, he was on the receiving end of such talks. “By the way, I haven’t thanked you for the rescue yet. Guess that makes us even.”

“It still surprises me that I managed to do that,” Sathariel said, scratching the back of his neck. “When I followed you into the fray, I was… petrified. I don’t know how to describe it. It was unreal. Like I was watching a play. I couldn’t move, couldn’t shout, couldn’t do anything. Then I saw that man throw you down and raise his sword… I reacted before I could think.”

“Well, I’m damn glad you did,” Jackson said. With a light slap on Sathariel’s shoulder that made the Demon wince, he added: “But are you sure you’re okay?”

“I… I think I am, yes. Mostly, I try not to think too much about it.”

“Good call. Thinking sucks.”

They both laughed.

“Come on,” Jackson said. “Let’s find something to do, to help us not think.”

It wasn’t hard for them to find something to do around the camp, as there were quite a few chores to be done. Before long, it was time for lunch. Said lunch was, once again, meat. This time, however, the meat had been cured for conservation. While it wasn’t really a whole lot tastier, Jackson found it more enjoyable, if only due to the lack of blood leaking everywhere. Still, for the sake of their nutrition and their bowels, he and Sathariel both agreed they would forage for dinner that evening. A little bit of green would certainly come a long way to help their digestion.

And so the day went by fast. So did the ones after that. Before Jackson noticed, he had stayed a little over two weeks among the Neha tribe, having built himself a little routine: waking up in the morning, sharing meals with the Hellhounds, doing chores, hanging out with Sathariel, going to sleep in the evening. Life in the tribe was simple, much like when Jackson lived with the Dorsetts in Wyoming -minus the religious aspect and the forced aspect to the chores. To Jackson, it felt a little like a vacation.

One morning, after breakfast (it consisted once again of meat; even though it had been cooked this time, Jackson chose instead to eat one of his last MREs for the sake of variety), Jackson was tasked with gathering wood. This time, he was partnered not with Sathariel, but with a Hellhound. And not just any: Alizana herself. Jackson knew that the tribe’s chieftain was willing to fight alongside her tribemates, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to him that she also participated in the chores. Certainly it was quite a departure from the bosses and superiors he had known so far, many of whom had preferred to lead from the rear and have others do the real work.

Alizana was no slouch, either. While Jackson was gathering branches, she was picking up actual trees -birch trees, by the looks of their bark. He looked at her as she worked. It was the first time he really saw her since the fight. She was definitely something to look at. Her face, in particular, caught his gaze. He had already noticed her bright orange eyes, but now he also saw that beyond her beastly traits, she was quite womanly, with soft cheekbones and full lips. She was well-built, like the rest of her tribe, with large muscles and even a six-pack, but shhe was also hearty and a little on the large side. Several scars adorned her bulky arms.

“What are you gonna do with these?” Jackson asked, openly impressed at how easy she could lift them. “A bunch of toothpicks for the kernels you must have after all that meat?”

Alizana let out a noise that might have been a snort. “We need more building materials.”

“To build what?”

“New tents. And we’ll need to create a bigger corral for the horses.”

Indeed, the camp included a corral, which Jackson was told about a few days ago as he inquired about what he should do with his horse. Given the average size and weight of the Hellhounds, he expected their horses to be quite tall and sturdy, but they were actually of average height, and only somewhat sturdier than Florid. One of the tribemates had explained to him that these horses were only rarely used for riding, and served mostly for packing.

“New tents. Are you expecting new people?”

“We already have new people don’t we?” She looked into his eyes. “And I’m guessing they’re tired of sleeping amidst our pelts, our loot, and our tools.”

“Oh,” Jackson said. “But, um, you know we may not stay for long.”

“I wanted to talk about that, actually. You helped us against the hunting party, and so we invited you to stay with us for some time. But I would like to know if you wish to remain among our tribe for long.”

“I…” he stuttered. He licked his lips, scratched the back of his hair. “I-I’m not sure, actually. I mean, I was kinda hoping I could.”

“You must understand, it doesn’t just mean you will sleep in our camp and eat our food.”

“Yeah, no, I’ll have to keep doing chores, I get it.”

“It’s not just that. If you choose to stay with us, you will be part of our rebellion. Even if you don’t fight alongside us, which we’ll respect, our enemies will still consider you to be one of us, and treat you accordingly.”

“She’s right,” Byron said, appearing seated on top of a fallen tree. “You’re not going on an adventure or a vacation, here. If you stick with them, you’ll be going to war.”

Jackson pondered that for a moment, then said to Alizana: “I still don’t know much about your rebellion. Or your people, for that matter.”

“We are Hellhounds,” Alizana said.

“Yeah, you said that. But what’s a Hellhound? I never heard of you. Hell, Seth has never heard of you, and he’s from the Hexacracy too.”

“My people are… a closely guarded secret.

She took a deep breath, and tilted her head back to look at the sky through the canopy. Today again, it was blue and without clouds.

“All right,” she said. “What I am about to tell you, you must keep to yourself.”

“Okay,” Jackson said.

“Give me your word.”

How bad is it? “Sure, I give you my word I won’t tell a soul.”

“The truth is, we’re not like the other races out there. We are a creation.”

Jackson blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means that we did not come to this world through natural means. We were created by the Archdemons, probably through some forbidden magic. I don’t know the details, none of us do. What happened was, after the Southern War, one of the Archdemons decided that they needed better warriors than what they had, tougher and faster. Yerleg has his warrior-monks, Elyonn has his Helliann Guard, they too wanted their elite soldiers.

“Eventually, the Archdemon decided that the best warriors were not trained, but made. Once again, I don’t know much of what they did. Did they breed other races until they obtained the mutts they wanted? Did they fashion us out of clay and infuse life into us, like the C’fan Golems? Knowing the Archdemons, it could be something even worse.”

She paused to breathe again, and picked up another fallen birch tree.

“The Elves’ legends say that their race was birthed by the Father of Trees and the Mother of Seeds to care for the land in their stead. The Orcs claim that they were shaped of the finest ore from the core of the tallest mountain, then forged in its lava. The Humans’ cult says they were made manifest by the will of the Divine, to establish Their order over the world.

“Us Hellhounds? We were fabricated in secret by power-hungry lords, as foot soldiers to fill the first lines of their armies, to serve in their wars until we die. Probably not of old age.”

“Which of the Archdemons… created you?” Jackson asked, hesitating to use the word “create”. “Do you know?”

“No. Some of us think it was Rakshasa; I believe it was Namtar. Neither of the two are known as particularly skilled magis, but they could have hired someone. There is no proof, and either way it doesn’t matter: they are all as bad as the next. For all we know, it might be a former Archdemon, long since killed by its successor.”

“I’m starting to get why you rebelled.”

“Yes.” Her face lightened up somewhat. “They believed they could control us. Keep us subservient. We were their attack dogs, they thought. We would do everything they said, and die on command, they thought.”

“I’m guessing things didn’t turn out like that,” Jackson said. “How did it start? The Rebellion, I mean.”

Alizana’s gaze shifted. “We’re not really sure.”

“I thought you were its leader.”

“I am now, but I wasn’t then. In addition, the Rebellion wasn’t really a single event. It happened over the course of a few years. I think it began some time after Elyonn became the leader of the Six.”

“The Six have a leader? I thought they were leading together.”

She let out a derisive growl. “They are, in a way. But Elyonn has the biggest army and a considerable influence, and thus… he leads together the most.

“What happened first, as I remember, was that some of us discovered the truth of our birth. Many of us had always found it strange that our people seemed to have appeared out of nowhere in recent memory, unknown to most and to told to keep it that way by the lords who used us. So we inquired; eventually, the secret behind that mystery was found.

“The word soon spread, and with it, anger. That anger built up, seeking release, but we kept it quiet. It found an opportunity when an insurrection surged in a barony in the Silver Ridge. At first, we thought some lord was attempting to overthrow Namtar and take his place.”

“Is that common in the Hexacracy?” Jackson said.

“I suppose. Elyonn himself got his position by killing the last Archcommander in a duel; from what I heard, it was very quick.

“But that wasn’t what was happening then. Many of our tribes were sent there along with a regular army to put down the insurrection. We had seen action before, against pirates, foreign invaders, and bandits, but it was only a few of us. This was meant as a test of our true abilities: an actual army of Hellhounds in an actual military campaign. Well, we certainly showed them our true worth.” Her lips stretched into something that was not quite a grin. “When we got there, we learned that the insurrection was not a lord trying to quench his ambitions. It was a peasants’ revolt. Apparently, the previous year’s harvest had been terrible, and the following winter had been plagued by famine. For some reason, the local lord had decided that this would be the ideal time to raise more taxes. The peasants responded by storming his fort and hanging him off its walls. Many of the lords’ soldiers, unpaid and hungry, had even joined them. Soon, the whole barony was revolting.

“We were ordered to put down that revolt; to burn the rebels’ fields, to torch their houses, and to slaughter their families. Such was the just repayment for revolting against their lord, we were told. We disagreed -quietly, at first. Why would we kill these people? What had they done? Broke their oath of loyalty? Loyalty to the Archdemons meant little to us. Our own loyalty had been forced upon us. We were created to be servants, made to obey; as to what we  wanted, no one had ever cared. It wasn’t long before we decided that the peasants were not the real enemy.

“I’m not completely sure how the rebellion actually started. All I know is, while we and the regular army were camping near a fort one evening, the general was killed, along with his lieutenant. Talks with a few of our tribe leaders had turned badly, I was told. The alarm rang, and before we knew it, the whole camp was a battlefield. I suppose that’s when the Rebellion truly began. For the first time, we were fighting against the Hexacracy. For the first time, we were fighting for ourselves. The battle raged all night. When the sun rose the next morning, every single Hexacrat soldier that had not managed to flee was dead.

“At first, we celebrated our victory, but soon, we started wondering. What now? We had rebelled against the Hexacracy. Word would soon spread, and the Hexacrats would send a larger army to stop us, no doubt. What would we do then? We hadn’t planned for any of this. It had just happened. We had wished for freedom for so long, and now that we had gotten it overnight, we had no idea how to keep it”

Alizana seemed to remember her task, and resumed gathering wood. Jackson, who had similarly forgotten what he was supposed to be doing, enthralled as he was by the story, did the same. Shortly after that, they decided they had enough, and made their way back.

“So what did you do?” Jackson asked.

“Many of us wanted to fight. We were only against one Archdemon, at the time, and they thought they could actually win. Or, at least, hold off the enemy long enough to force them to negotiate.”

“Seems a little optimistic.”

“That’s what I thought too. I wanted us to leave the Hexacracy’s territory, migrate south and find some unoccupied land to settle. I heard of the Southern Marches, and its vast lands. It seemed to be the only safe way to enjoy our freedom. Sure, back then we were just fighting one Archdemon, but even if we managed to prevail long enough against him -and that would already be very hard, I believed-, the other five would join in. I told the others as much, but few listened. A single one of us was worth eight of them, they said. I said the Archdemons’ armies numbered thirty times more, but they still didn’t listen.

“Soon enough, the enemy reacted, before we had time to gather most of our tribes. They had sent three armies this time, complete with heavy cavalry and even a few magis. Hundreds of us met them in a place called the Dusk Steppe. It went… badly. You see, we had no experience of a real battle then, and without anyone to replace the general we had killed there was no one to lead us. There was little cohesion between the tribes, too. My people fought as well as they could, for as long as they could, and many Hexacrat soldiers fell by their claws, but our enemy simply had more troops, and better tactics. I’ve just about managed to escape with the rest of my tribe.”

She dropped her load in a small area near the corral. Jackson unloaded his wood in the storage tent, then went back to her.

“The worst part was,” she continued, “even after it was clear the battle was lost, many Hellhounds refused to flee, choosing instead to die standing.” She sniffed. “Hundreds of my people died on that day, and I could do nothing but watch.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jackson said.

Alizana nodded, and carried on: “After the battle of the Dusk Steppe, my people began to see that I was right: fighting the Hexacracy head-on was a terrible idea. So began our exodus to the Southern Marches. Our tribes separated to avoid detection, and began their journey. I’ve done my best to hide my people as we headed south. I told the tribes to spread out and take different directions so the Hexacracy couldn’t guess where we were going if one tribe was caught. I sent Natial and her hunters to harass enemy troops north of the barony, to gain time by stalling their forces and sending them in the wrong direction.”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s over now,” Jackson said. “I’ve read some of Azazel’s letters. She knows you guys are hiding in the Southern Marches, and that you’re their leader.”

Alizana’s expression soured. “And the war is coming south.”

“What are you going to do?”

“So far, what I’ve done is gather our tribes, and settle them in Vertrisia. It’s a slow, delicate process. After that, I’m not sure. We can’t keep moving; there’s nowhere else to go. The Empire will see us as Hexacrat soldiers, or as abominations created by the Archdemons; C’fa will not want us; the rest of the world is too far and I don’t know much of it.” She sighed. “The only option left is to wage war. But I don’t know that I can avoid another Dusk Steppe.”

“I mean… Things will be different this time,” Jackson said. “The Hexacracy is not coming to the Southern Marches for you. It’s the Empire they’re going after. Maybe you can use that.”

“To do what?” Alizana asked.

“Well…” Jackson hesitated. He clicked his tongue. “Look, the country I’m from went through something kinda similar. At first, we were just a bunch of people with a handful of militias and some big ideas of independence. We were facing this huge empire with a big army and a massive navy, who didn’t want to let go of the land we were on. It was pretty one-sided in the beginning. Nobody gave us a chance to actually win and form our own country. But we fought anyway. And we won.”

“How?”

Jackson pondered his answer. While he had never truly excelled at history, it was one of the subjects in which he sucked the least back in school. And this particular subject had always fascinated him; not out of patriotic pride, but because the story of a people fighting to gain their freedom tickled a romantic chord in his heart.

“At first, we mostly did a bunch of ambushes and skirmishes. Basically, we attacked where we knew the empire was weak, to gain time until we built our forces. At the same time, there were those other countries who didn’t like the empire either. They entered the war too, and gave us a hand -as well as a bunch of soldiers.

“That turned things around for us. We kept up the fight, scored a few big victories. Eventually, the war went on for too long, and the empire decided the game just wasn’t worth the candle. They surrendered the land, and we became our own country.”

Alizana appeared to mull over these words for a while. A light danced in her eyes as she stared in the distance; Jackson couldn’t decide whether it was hope, worry, or something else entirely. She muttered something he didn’t catch, then said:

“Can you go grab some tools from the storage? A hammer and a saw.”

“Sure thing.”

It took some rummaging for Jackson to find said tools. There were all sorts of objects in the tent, stored in multiple containers of various sizes: tools, weapons, foodstuffs… Most of it was put there without order. At one point, Jackson almost caused a pile to collapse.

“Do you have much experience of war?” Alizana asked when he came back.

“I was in the army, back in my country. I’ve seen some action.”

“But not an actual war?”

“Well, no.”

“How about your friend?”

“Last night was his first fight. I… don’t think he’s gonna develop a taste for it.”

Alizana made a “hmm” sound, and wiped the front of her clothes. “Have you gone to some kind of military school?”

“Nah, basic training, both of us -not the same one, obviously. What about you, by the way? Is there some kind of Hellhound military school out there in the Hexacracy?”

“School?” This time, Jackson was certain she had snorted, although without humor. “The Hexacrats didn’t teach us anything but how to fight -and only in small units. Everything else we know, we had to learn by ourselves. Without my tribe, I wouldn’t even know how to build mine own tent. Some of the Demons that followed us taught us some things, as well; how to fish, how to forage.”

Alizana took the hammer and a few of the trees she picked. “That country of yours… Do you believe they could send us some help?”

“Err, no,” Jackson said, wondering how he was going to explain that. “They’re, uh, they’re too far for that.”

“Maybe just some advisors?”

“I mean, the country I’m from is really, really far away. It’s- You won’t even find it on a map.”

“A shame,” she sighed. “We could use the experience.”

Jackson sighed as well. He followed Alizana as she went to the corral and began sawing some wood to create plots. He helped her by cutting off the branches with his ax. An idea hit him as he stared at the tool. Jackson glanced around to see if Byron was there. He was, this time leaning over the fence and looking at the horses. 

“What about you?” he asked.

“What about me?” Byron said.

“You went to West Point, didn’t you? From what I could tell, you had tons of classes on strategy and campaigns and stuff.”

“From what you could tell,” he repeated.

“Yeah, I got some peeks into your memories, remember? And you, mine. You were obsessed with Scipio and Napoleon back in the academy.”

“I wouldn’t say I was obsessed… And his name is pronounced SKEE-pio.”

“Whatever. You know all about tactics and strategy. Hell, you even read a bunch of books on medieval warfare. Not even for school: for fun.”

“Your point is?” Byron said.

“Ah, come on, you know exactly what I’m getting at,” Jackson said, giving a particularly tough branch a few additional hacks. “When have I ever been one step ahead of you on anything? You can teach them warfare. You can give them the experience they need. Like I said, you know all about that. You can help them win their war.”

“Am I to understand that you really intend to join them?”

“I think I do, yeah. I was already considering it before coming here, but now that I’ve been with them for some time, now that I’ve gotten to know them…”

“Is it really about them? Isn’t it rather about her?”

“Her? Alizana?” Jackson said. He cleared his throat. “I mean, she’s part of them.”

“Nevermind.”

“So will you do it?”

Byron tilted his head back. “I need to think about it.”

“That sounds like a no.”

“It’s not. Look…” He took a deep breath. “Unlike you, I don’t like to jump before I look; in fact, I hate it. I prefer to think my decisions through, especially the big ones. And while you may not have realized it yet, this particular decision may well be one of the most important ones in your- in our lives. In fact, this might be the last important decision we ever make.”

Jackson stopped cutting branches and stood to look Byron in the eyes. “Actually, I do realize that.”

“Do you?” The veteran crossed his arms, his skepticism clear in both his tone and his demeanor.

“Yes, I do,” Jackson insisted. “But here’s the thing. These people want to be free, and they need help. I care about them, I can help them, and I want to help them. So why shouldn’t I?”

“You’ve known them for about two weeks.”

“And? How long do you have to know someone to give a shit about them? To want to help them?”

The two stared at each other in silence.

“I need to think about it,” Byron said again.

“Fine,” Jackson said.

Life went on in the tribe. Over the course of the next week, Jackson and Sathariel were taught how to build their own tent the Hellhound way. Well, not exactly the Hellhound way. Alizana told them that, usually, members of the tribe would collect the materials to build their tent on their own, including the hides for the walls. Neither Sathariel nor Jackson were hunters, however, so they had to accept hand-me-downs from others. 

Unsurprisingly, without the lupine creatures’ strength and know-how, it proved more difficult and more time-consuming for them. Their first attempt ended in failure and collapse. Luckily, they were out of the would-be tent when it went down. Grabs-the-Blades made sure to have a laugh at the whole thing; Jackson made sure to call her Grabby to her face. That did not seem to annoy her nearly as much as he hoped it would.

The second attempt was more successful, in that it actually held up. However, Grabs-the-Blades advised them to take it down and try a third time. Jackson assumed it was another trick to haze them, and told her as much, but she pointed out a few flaws in the construction, and informed them that their second tent would not last long under a strong wind. The two young men thus took down the tent to try again, muttering complaints all the while. Their third attempt at building a tent finally received Grabs-the-Blades’ seal of approval. While Sathariel was a little disappointed that it didn’t look as good as the other tents, Jackson shrugged it off, pointing out that it would withstand the wind while keeping the rain out and the heat in, and that was all that mattered.

During that third week, Jackson decided to try his hand at cooking, having finally had enough of eating herbs, nuts, fruits, and meat -especially raw meat. In his life, he had never really cooked anything. He had had some kitchen experience in the US Army, when his punishments had sent him there, but all he did was clean up the place, or peel potatoes and mince vegetables. Even after he had gotten to this world, he would buy virtually all of his food already made -which, now that he thought of it, might have explained where much of his money had gone.

Still, he wasn’t completely ignorant in this matter. Back when he had lived with the Dorsetts, he had seen his foster mother cook many times, and had picked up a few tricks. Same in the army, although the cooks there had always been too busy to teach him anything. Even his “uncle” Jared had taught him how to use a BBQ grill. As such, he knew some basic techniques, hopefully enough to offer him some variety come lunchtime.

The first problem he encountered was the lack of proper equipment. The tribe had little in the way of cooking utensils, and what they had was mostly meant for cutting or crushing. There was not a single pan or pot, and the pot he had was too small to do but the simplest things. He expressed those concerns to Alizana in her tent. It was the first time he entered it in daylight. The furnishment was minimalistic, with one cot and a small table, plus two lanterns for decoration. There were also quite a few animal pelts ornating the walls and the floor. Alizana was sitting cross-legged, once again nude from the waist up -nudity seemed common for the Hellhounds inside their tents.

“Mmmh. I don’t think the other tribes here would have any either. We only packed what was necessary when we traveled south.”

She uncrossed her legs, and raised a knee at face level.

“Wait, there are other tribes here?” Jackson said.

“Eleven are already settled in Vertrisia, and seven more are currently setting up their camps. Another eight are on their way.”

“Wow. I never saw anyone else when I went foraging.”

“They’re all rather spread apart,” Alizana explained. “There’s a lot of space available in the western part of the forest, we might as well take advantage of it.”

“The western part? What about the eastern part?”

“It is home to the Vertrisian Elves.”

“Ah, right, I forgot about them. So, basically, you keep to your side, and they keep to theirs, right?”

She bit her lip. “I suppose you could say that. We avoid contact, for the most part.”

“For the most part?”

“We’ve had some… issues. Once, some of my people ended up hunting on their side of the forest, and they didn’t appreciate that. It almost came to violence, but thankfully our hunters eventually just walked away.”

“Yeah, not a good first impression,” Jackson said. One of his hands went to rub his chin while the other brushed the floor mat. “I’ve been told the Elves are known to trade with outsiders. D’you think they’d trade with you folks? You keep a whole bunch of weapons in stock. Since you don’t use them, I’m guessing they’re meant for trading?”

“Most of them are. But… You would trade them for pots and pans?” Alizana raised an amused eyebrow.

“Well, that and other stuff, of course. It would give you a foot in the door with these folks, in addition.”

“A what?”

Jackson licked his lips. Me and my fucking idioms.

“I mean, it would be a good way to start fostering a better relationship with them.”

Alizana crossed her clawed fingers behind her head and stretched her back. Jackson made a valiant effort not to notice how it pushed her chest forward, but there wasn’t much else inside the tent to look at. Once more, though, she didn’t seem to notice or mind his peeking.

“I suppose it’s good sense to be friendly with your neighbors,” she said. “All right, let’s give it a try. Do you know how you’re going to do it?”

“Err… Me?” Jackson said, pointing at himself. “You want me to do it?”

“It is your idea.” Alizana frowned. “I assumed you were volunteering.”

“No, I mean… It’s cool, I guess. Also, I’m not actually part of your tribe, so hopefully it won’t backfire on you gals if it goes wrong.”

“About that,” she said. “You still haven’t told me if you want to join us.”

“I’m, err, still thinking.” Jackson exhaled. “Look, I want to say yes, but there are a few, ah, factors I’m not sure about. I’m pretty sure Seth wants to stay, though, but he’s waiting until I’ve made my choice.”

“It’s your decision. Just know that I’m willing to welcome you and Sathariel into my tribe, and not just as guests.”

“You mean…”

“I mean you could be full members.”

“Wow,” Jackson said, straightening his back. Jokingly, he added: “I thought you only accepted women. Glad you don’t discriminate.”

He didn’t expect her face to light up -it seemed like none of his jokes ever made her smile or laugh, but he refused to give up-, but he was surprised to see it darken somewhat.

“I guess it’s only a matter of time before you figure it out anyway,” she said under her breath.

“What? Figure out what?”

“Do you remember what we talked about the other day?”

“About, um… How your people, uh, came to be?”

“Yes. There is a detail I didn’t mention: our race has no males.”

Jackson did a double take. “Wait, what? How is that possible?”

“Our blessed creator made it so, apparently,” Alizana said.

“But how do you… I mean, how do you reproduce?”

“We don’t, that’s the point,” she said, so bitter Jackson could almost taste it. “It was a way for our masters to control our numbers. We could only have children when they would give us males to mate. I suspect they only gave males to those of us they deemed the most worthy of reproducing.”

“You mean, they… bred you? Passed on your best genes, like for cattle?”

She nodded somberly.

“Shit,” Jackson spat out. “What a bunch of assholes. I said it before, but: I get why you fucking rebelled! If I were you, I… Well, I don’t know what I would do, but it’d involve a lot of gun violence.”

Speaking of guns, Jackson remembered the weapons he had left in the House of the Living Flame, and the other ones buried in that hollowed-out stump near the necromant’s castle. Since war was coming, he thought it would certainly be nice to have them on hand. Sure, there weren’t many of them, barely enough to arm a small unit, but it might be enough to make a difference. After all, he thought, there are only six Archdemons.

“So,” Alizana said, “what’s your plan for the Elves?”

“I don’t really have one… Hmm…” His eyes swiveled towards the ceiling. “Well, there are people out there who are already trading with them. I suppose I could approach them, and get them to introduce me or something.”

“That could work. From what I know, these traders usually come from a town on the east coast. Gunully, I believe. Or Gunally. My hunters can tell you how to go there.”

“Okay, that’s where I’ll start, then,” he said.

He left the tent and went to find Sathariel, who was outside the camp, helping another Hellhound tan some leather for the tribe’s clothes and tents. As he approached, a strong scent of urine caught him, coming from a large bucket in which Sathariel dunked the pieces of leather before hanging them on makeshift easels. The Hellhound, as for her, was busy cutting off the fat and the hair, working her claws with great care and precision. Jackson moved closer, pinching his nose, and peered into the bucket.

“Geez, is that actual pee?” he said.

“Aye,” Sathariel said, smiling at his friend’s discomfort. “The best thing for tanning leather.”

“You okay with the smell?”

“Not really, but you get used to it after a while. Did you wish to talk?”

“Oh, yeah. How would you like to meet some Elves, Seth?”

“Last time someone asked me that question,” the Demon said, an eyebrow raised, “I ended up having to work out a large debt to the local brothel.”

“Yeah? Heh. You’ll have to tell me that story some time.”

Jackson explained his idea to Sathariel, and invited him to join in his little expedition. He didn’t seem quite as convinced as Alizana. Apparently, Elves as a general rule didn’t care for people from the Hexacracy (there was some history there), and Vertrisian Elves in particular had had a few skirmishes with the Archdemons’ armies during the last conflict. Jackson insisted it would be fine; Sathariel openly wondered if people truly didn’t nickname him Mad.

“Well, you can, if you want,” Jackson laughed.

“I just might. But fine, I’ll join you. I suppose you’ll need someone to look after you.”

“You don’t know half of it,” Byron said.

They agreed to leave the next morning at dawn. Jackson went to bed early for that, greatly helped by the heavy dinner he had. The weather was mild, almost nippy when they woke up the next morning. They went to fetch their horses. Florid was busy munching on a couple of sunflowers, while Sathariel’s horse -named Redtop for his ginger forelock- was scratching his muzzle against the bark of a tree. Following the guidance of the tribe’s hunters, they headed south until they left the forest, then east towards the rising sun. One day of travel was necessary until they found an old, small hamlet -four small buildings, all apparently long since abandoned-, from which they caught a desire path. Said path turned into an actual dirt road the next day; the land turned from hills to flat, wild prairies. Then, it was only a three day journey on mostly flat land until they reached the coast. The town was in sight in the late morning of the fifth day.

Gunully was about ten times smaller than Atvello, and the majority of its buildings were made out of wood, not stone. The fortifications surrounding it were also mainly made out of wood, about ten feet high and covered with some sort of black pitch; the only exception was a small stone castle north of the town, atop a hill, which looked to be deserted. The wooden walls were punctuated by six or seven towers, several of which were manned. There were two gates, one south and one west. Sathariel and Jackson headed towards the latter. The guards, three men armed with spears, observed them as they passed through, but didn’t say or do anything. Jackson sensed some nervosity in them.

“What are they so worried about?” he said. “A surprise attack from the Hexacrat armies? They’ve gotta be almost a thousand of miles away from the Hexacracy. When the war starts, they’ll have time to see it coming.”

“Maybe there have been some raids in the region,” Sathariel said.

Much like in Atvello, the traders in Gunully congregated in a plaza near the town’s center. There were only a handful of them that day, busy packing their valuables on their horses and mules. The two friends asked around until they were advised to talk to a trader named Jeros. Jeros was a stout, sturdy man, with a bald head and a long, brown beard. While he was evidently Human, the thickness of his skin, the width of his jaw, and his bulky silhouette hinted at an Orcish ancestry. Jackson and Sathariel went to introduce themselves to him.

“We’ve been told you’re one of the only people in town who trades with the Vertrisian Elves,” Jackson said.

“Aye, tis true,” the trader replied. His accent was as thick as Orcish soup, making his “s” sound like “sh” and rolling his “r”. “Been trading with them for years now. What’s it to you?”

“We’re interested in trading with them as well.”

“My caravan’s fully packed, I’ve no more room for any of your goods.”

“Actually, we were more interested in trading with them in person. We were hoping you could give us an in with them.”

Jeros brushed his bald scalp. “Hmm. Not an easy feat. I s’ppose I could convince them to let you make your argument. Can’t guarantee they’ll listen though.”

“That’ll be enough,” Jackson said.

“Course, they’re probably going to use that as an argument during our negotiations,” Jeros continued. “Lower their bid. That’d hurt my margin.”

Sathariel rolled his eyes; Jackson struggled not to do so. They both had seen this coming: Jeros was a trader, so it was predictable that he wouldn’t do this favor for free.

“Then we’ll compensate you,” Jackson said. “Two gold oxen, since you’re introducing the two of us.”

“Not sure that’ll compensate… Those Elves really don’t like surprises.”

“It’s two gold oxen just to put in a good word,” Sathariel intervened. “You don’t even know that you’ll actually have any losses.”

“Not just the talking,” Jeros said. “I’ll be leading you to their lands. Safely so, which is no easy feat either. There’s more than trees and bushes in their part of the woods. D’you think the Elves repel unwanted guests merely with prayers and arrows?”

“Right, but still…” Jackson said.

Despite the two friends’ best attempts, Jeros was determined to haggle up his fee. And he was no amateur at it either, fending off their arguments with ease. It took several minutes for the three men to finally settle on a number: seven gold oxen. Jackson and Sathariel had just enough between the two of them to cover it.

“Guess the good thing about living in the wild is we don’t need much cash anyway,” Jackson said to his Demon friend.

Jeros inspected each coin, then shoved them in his coat’s inside pocket. He then took out a long pipe from the same place and put it between his lips.

“Right then,” he said, lighting it up. “Me and my caravan leave tomorrow at first light, whether everybody’s here or not. We travel all day until sundown. We don’t slow down, we don’t take a break. We don’t turn around if someone forgot something. Alright with you?”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Jackson said.

Gunully didn’t offer much in terms of entertainment, aside from a few taverns and a brothel; Jackson and Sathariel didn’t have the money for anything anyway. They instead killed some time by foraging outside town to resupply. They preferred not to rely on Jeros’ charity to feed them during the journey: no doubt the trader would charge them through the nose for every bite. Then, they went to bed early for the second consecutive night, sleeping in the stables near their horses.

Jeros was a very punctual man, especially for someone who lived in a world without clocks or watches. His caravan departed as soon as the sun shone its first light above the horizon. The six people in his crew passed cups of eyelet milk, as well as dried leaves of some kind. They were almost all Human, except for one Orc woman and one Goblin man. As the caravan passed the walls, Jackson noticed some watchtowers were already manned this early in the morning.

Silent at first, the people in the caravan became more talkative as the day went on. The Orc and one of the Humans even sang a few songs. No one paid much attention to their guests, which was fine with them. The day was spent following a small path, and ended, as Jeros said, as the sun was setting, right as the caravan arrived near the Vertrisian Forest. Just like the hunting party, the caravaneers seemed wary of the forest. Two of them built some sort of makeshift altar and prayed to it. Jeros, however, appeared relaxed, even a little nonchalant, as he smoked his pipe and prepared his tent for the night.

“Done this plenty of times,” he explained to Jackson when prompted. “The Elves know me, and they know I’ll not overstep my boundaries. I’ll meet their envoys at the usual location, sell my goods, buy theirs, and go back as I came.”

“Your employees don’t share your confidence.”

“It’s their first time. I must change people often; not many are willing to brave the woods more than once or twice.”

“Seriously, what do the Elves do that scares people so much?” Jackson asked. “Do they lay some traps? Did they tame a bunch of bears and ride them into battle?”

“Probably some traps in there, but it’s the Elves themselves that are the true threat. Mighty good hunters, they are. Dreadsome with a bow. These woods are their home, have been for centuries. Even their children know them like the backs of their hands.” He drew from his pipe and added: “And they have Leunnya.”

“What’s Leunnya?”

“No one’s sure. Someone who kills trespassers. Deadly and unseen. One of their hunters, I say, but others have it he’s some kind of forest spirit. Don’t know about that -not much of a believer myself. They call him Leunnya because that’s their word for thunder. Apparently, he strikes like lightning, and his preys drop to the floor as if the life had been sapped from them.”

“Well, that’s… dramatic,” Jackson mumbled. “We’re sure it’s not just some stories? ‘Cause it sounds like it.”

Jeros tilted his head. “I know two other people who trade with the Elves. Both have told me a story like this, happening to one of their own. I know them to be honest, grounded people, not the sort to tell tall tales.”

Jackson nodded, then went back to his friend.

“Rethinking your plan?” the latter asked.

“Not yet.”

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