“Do you all know what this is?” The gate guard held up a horn for the gate drivers to see. The group stared blankly at it with slack jaws and glazed eyes.

“No answers? Did anyone come here today with their thinker? I’ll tell you what it is. This horn here is what I blow when someone needs to come through that gate there.” He pointed at the massive stone doors, currently shut, with teams of prisoners rigged to each by long harnesses. “Would you like me to show you what it sounds like? Do you think you remember?”

One of the drivers picked his nose, clenching the handle of his whip. The gate guard pointed at him. “Hey! None of that!” he shouted, “Unless you brought enough for everybody!” The miscreant trying to hide the crime, the hand moved swiftly behind his back. The gate guard straightened before resuming his speech.

“I’m gonna go through this again. This is what the horn sounds like.” He held the mouthpiece to his lips, screwed up his face, and blew. As it had last time, the horn bellowed in a rich, deep tone, starting out low and stepping up an octave. The sound charged the sky, those closest wincing with its passage. Traffic stopped in the street with rubberneck curiosity. And all at once, the note ended.

After a brief gasp, he panted at the half dozen drivers. “There pant pant now. pant pant What does pant pant that mean?”

There was silence save for the gate guard’s huffs and puffs, which were gradually getting further apart.

“…Well?”

A half-dozen-dozen eyes stared blankly at him.

“Hey! Open the gates!” came a cry from the other side of the wall. “Where you at!”

Curses, which won’t be translated here, spewed forth from the gate guard as he turned and ran to the stairs. He called to his driving team, “Stand ready, you wall-eyed mongrels!”

Some time after the cry, the gate guard reached the top. Looking down, he saw the source of the call to action. It was a Marrowcrack and what looked like a young Skullcrusher. They each seemed to be carrying something slung over their shoulders. “Who that be?” he called down.

“It’s me you idiot, you maggoty boil-ridden slime! Open the gate!”

The guard grumbled and reached for the horn. He missed. Absent-mindedly, he missed again. Where was the horn? It wasn’t on its ceremonial stand.

“Uhhh…”

He realized he’d left it downstairs. He called down to the pair, “Hold on!” and made for the stairs again.

Curses came up from the Marrowcrack, but the Skullcrusher remained silent.

“Does that mean we need to open the gates, sire?” one of the drivers asked as the gate guard jumped off the last step and searched for the horn.

“No! Listen for the horn! They don’t tell you to open the gates, I do!” He had to stay consistent with them or else it would all fall apart.

Just then, the horn sounded. The gate guard hadn’t found it, but it was sounding nonetheless. He looked around. It was almost impossible to triangulate. The sound filled all available space. Then he spotted it.

One of the drivers, the nose-picker, had it and was blowing into it. The gate guard ran and snatched it from him. Sparing no time for curses or punishment, he rushed the stairs again. Halfway up, the walls rumbled.

“No! Not yet! Only go when I blow the horn! Me!” he cried. But it was too late. They had heard the horn, and they had heard him telling them to listen for the horn, so they were already moving their teams and opening the doors before he could get back up to the top and do it properly.

****

Penelope and the Marrowcrack had been running all morning, through midday, and now had reached the walls by evening. She had Salander slung on her back and the Marrowcrack had Chicken, and they were almost out of the supply of water they had scavenged from the kobold camp. After the force of his hurled curses opened the gates, the Marrowcrack wasted no time in entering the city. Penelope drudged after him, her stores of energy finally flagging.

“I don’t want to waste a single moment with that useless, incompetent Bloodboil in charge,” he was muttering half to himself, “but I’ll be blasted by Ogg if that moron got the praise from Lord Kairon for capturing a magical whatsit.”

Penelope fell behind, staggered by the size of the walls, the immensity of the doors, and the magnitude of the living quarters in the city. Behind her, the gate guard was hurling obscenities at the drivers and preparing for another on-the-job training session.

Salander, who was unconscious for the journey, now reacted to her slowed pace, groaning. His arms were tied together and looped over her head. She was wearing him like a cloak, and had been since morning. He wasn’t able to take in the sights at the moment, and Penelope thought, Chicken was even worse off. She picked up the pace to follow the Marrowcrack.

Chicken, she said silently, I may be getting us in over our heads.

****

The heads of state of the city of Hurraggh were meeting, as they have been increasingly doing, over an expanse of food. Laid out on a long table in the center of the room was an array of trussed bird, roasted pigbeast, select cuts of herdbeast flank, crispy lizard skewers, jellied eyes, minced gizzards, chitlins, candied locust… It was enough to distract even the most starry-eyed and dedicated greenhorn officiate from legal matters in favor of having someone pass them some mustard and that bowl of interesting-looking finger sausages. That is to say, the chiefs of Hurraggh had nary a chance of holding out, and all were eagerly tucking in, setting aside things like integrating formerly hostile peoples comfortably under a single governing body. Kairon sat at the helm of the table, no food in front of him, patiently waiting for the hungry storm to pass so he may pick through the tatters and steer their precious vessel into the harbor of peaceful productivity.

Chief Marrowcrack elbowed Chief Boldbreak beside him.

“Look at him,” he said in a gruff whisper, “You ever seen a dark lord sit in a throne?”

Boldbreak grunted. “Never seen any other dark lord but myself.”

Marrowcrack rolled his eyes. “Have you ever sat in a throne like that before, then?”

“Yeah. I had a nice big throne. Ivory and leather. Your great great grandparents helped make it, I think.”

“No no-…” Merrowcrack began. The comment about his grandparents knocked him off guard. “No Marrowcrack would’ve helped you make your throne. What are you getting on about?”

“They were an important part. You could say my ancestors leaned heavily on them through the generations.” He smirked and sucked meat juice off his thumb.

Marrowcrack studied him in silence for a minute, his brow furrowed, anger welling slowly.

“Their skulls made good arm rests,” Boldbreak clarified.

“What I meant to say,” Marrowcrack growled with exorbitant patience, “was that he’s only sitting. He’s not lounging. He’s not brooding. You ever just sat on your-“ He cut himself off before he mentioned the accursed Boldbreak throne. “You ever just sat when you were presiding over your underlings?”

And Boldbreak, now pulled from the topic of his throne, considered their lord seriously. Lord Kairon was, in fact, a humble leader. As regal as a medical exam office. As lordly as a library.

Boldbreak screwed his face up in consideration. “So, what does that mean for us?”

An attendant approached the throne, sending an instinctive hush down the table. She carried a simple bowl, and when she reached the throne Kairon looked at her as though snapping from a daydream.

“Whassat?” Boldbreak whispered to Marrowcrack.

In answer, Marrowcrack stood up. To Lord Kairon he boomed, “My Lord, as per your request, we have procured the fruits of the oasis.” He stressed the unfamiliar word – fruits – testing it out. “The alternative food source to the flesh of beasts. These figs and dates we present to you.”

Kairon plucked one courteously from the bowl, the kindness of the gesture making the attendant flinch. He studied it against the light, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Wonderful, Chief Marrowcrack. Our diet consists too heavily of meat and fats,” he made a sweeping gesture with his other hand indicating the food which populated the table. He replaced the fig in the bowl. “We can begin growing our food from the ground for increased sustainability and a more robust foundation. I would like to incorporate these fruits in our farming strategy.”

To one of the other chieftains he said, “Chief Sharpteeth, are you prepared to report on the farming initiative?”

She coughed and spluttered into her wine, having just at that moment decided to take a sip. Beating on her chest to clear her throat, she said, “Plots have been dispersed among the commoners. There is little land here in the wastes which suit your requirements, however. The land around the oases grows sparse as the water disappears.”

He considered her words while sitting utterly still. He made no contemplative gesture, and gave the impression that the words had been thrown down a well. The table waited for the splash.

“If it would please you, Lord,” Marrowcrack said, “try one of the fruits?”

He looked to the speaker, again as though coming out of sleep. “Hmm? Oh, no. No, no thank you.” He politely waved off the attendant. As she passed by Marrowcrack, he made a curt gesture. She would dispose of the fruits in the pile just out of sight of town hall reserved for the things Lord Kairon rejected.

Slowly Kairon said, “I have been working on a solution.” He looked at Sharpteeth. "It may only be temporary, as it is dangerous to employ, but it has become increasingly necessary for our goals.”

With a meaningful look, he summoned an attendant who brought forth a small clay jar. It was handmade, though eerily precise in its craftorcship, and looked no larger than a fist. Kairon took it in hand and displayed it for all to see.

“I will not explain it, but I can demonstrate it for you. Empty your cups and pass them to me.” In a matter of moments, a battalion of goblets sat near to him on the table. Carefully, he filled one cup from the container. It brimmed with clear water, and Kairon passed it back.

He then did this with another cup. And another. And another.

The chieftains watched on as many times the amount of what the container could hold was poured into their glasses and the glasses returned to them.

Marrowcrack looked into his. It didn’t look like proper water. It was lacking the silt and tiny worms. He watched Boldbreak stick a tongue into the liquid.

“It don’t taste like anything,” he reported. “But there’s a lot of it to go around. And it all fits in that tiny jug?”

Kairon held up his invention now that every cup was full. He looked at another attendant, who ushered a team of goblins carrying a much larger pot, which they set on the ground next to him. It came up to his shoulder. He tipped the pot over and held it as water rushed forth endlessly into the tall basin.

“The water in this container is limitless, pure, and portable. With this invention, I believe we can overcome the issues we face on the farming front.” This he spoke over the sound of the water being perpetually emptied into the much larger container. The orcs seated at the table watched on.

Marrowcrack was the first to speak up, “Lord, if I may-“ but he was cut off by Sharpteeth. “There is but one of these devices! How can you say this will benefit all of Hurraggh?”

“It’s infinite water!” Boldbreak argued. “We can have as much as we need!”

“Infinite maybe. But look how slowly it comes out. The tall jug has barely filled at all. And how do we get these to the plots quickly enough to wet the ground?” She hurled a bowl at him along with her rebuttal.

Candied locusts and shards of pottery exploded off his face, and he picked up the femur he had been chewing on. He brandished it like a club, and his

“They’ll get my water when I’m good and ready to give it to them.” He said it slowly, emphasizing the words.

Marrowcrack shoved Boldbreak on the shoulder. “Your water? Your water?”

They both stood up quickly, their chairs shrieking as they slid over the floor, and they stood chest to chest.

“Yeah, my water,” he huffed.

Marrowcrack was about to accuse the Boldbreak of the slaying of his ancestors when a pounding came from the head of the table.

“I demand order,” Kairon said loudly but gently. “Stand down this instant.”

A conflicting look overcame Boldbreak, and the two broke eye contact at the same time. Boldbreak dropped his bone club on the table and righted his chair. Marrowcrack did the same with his chair, and they both sat down again.

They looked to their leader for further instructions, but a guard had entered and was whispering in his ear.

To the table, Kairon said, “I will leave you to your meal. Please excuse me.” He followed the guard out of the dining hall, bringing the magical water container with him.

In the antechamber, a Merrowcrack and a Skullcrush awaited an audience. Kairon bade the two to enter.

The Marrowcrack had told Penelope to put the kobolds on their feet, then gruffly tried to revive them with some refreshments brought by one of the servants. Chicken and Salander groggily tried to work feeling back into their arms. Penelope had tried to argue for more stops along the way to the city, but the Marrowcrack had just told her to give the two some water while they ran. Stopping wasn’t an option.

“Ah, Rigorous, I see you’ve returned. I hope you had a fruitful excursion.” Kairon said mirthfully. “I don’t recognize these faces. Please, tell me your news.”

“My Lord,” the Marrowcrack said, saluting. Kairon sighed audibly, but made no comment.

“While I and Wildmere the Bloodboil were on patrol, sire, we came across two individuals of the lesser races.”

Kairon glanced at the downtrodden kobolds, to which Rigorous said, “Not these two, sire. The other two were killed for sport.”

Penelope withheld her surprise. Chicken was too tired to register the comment, but Salander suddenly looked sicker.

“Before we slaughtered them, sire, they told us of an orc, which I and the Bloodboil have since learned was taking the rite of the nameless god.”

Here Kairon tutted, “Heathen ritual. I thought we sorted all of that out by now.”

Penelope spoke up, saying, “Sire, I have been away many months performing the rite. I was hitherto unaware of the change of command. I am a Skullcrusher, sire.”

“Well, young lady, I think I can forgive this only once,” he said sternly, “We only follow the two true gods, Neos and Deos. With your tribe now a part of this city, I expect you to conform to civilized society. I hope you will familiarize yourself with our priests in your own time.”

Penelope didn’t know what that meant but figured a “yes, sire” was in order.

“Please, continue Rigorous. I feel you have more to tell me.”

Rigorous also enacted a “yes, sire” and continued, “The two killed for sport had indicated an area not far from our patrol where the wayward orc resided, sire. When we went to inspect, we came upon a tribe of lesser races like the ones which came to us, as well as this Skullcrusher here, sire.”

“And what did you do with them, pray?”

“Sire, we took the leader,” indicating Salander, “and while subjugating the tribe we encountered a….magical individual.” He tugged on Chicken’s leash, bringing him forward.

“Another one? It’s only been a week since Justafar brought me the previous one. Kudos, Rigorous, and well done.” His tone implied a golf clap, which was offputting for the Marrowcrack. On one hand he recognized the praise, but on the other it didn’t feel like enough. He ripped off another “yes, sire.”

“Tell me, Rigorous, though I think I know the answer. What do you and Wildmere plan to do from here? I assume he is with the…tribe of lesser races? No, actually, please tell me about these creatures first.”

Rigorous only looked puzzled, so Penelope took the initiative, saying, “These are kobolds, sire.”

“Kobolds?” he said, trying out the word. “The magical being brought to me by Justafar had been mistaken for a goblin, but was in fact a gnome. We seem to not make the distinction between these lesser races.” He noted the puzzlement which Rigorous had just wiped off his face. “I have never before heard of kobolds. You, Skullcrusher. You seem to be knowledgeable in the area. When this meeting is over, please stay, as I would like you to instruct me to the best of your ability. Do you have more for me, Rigorous?”

“No, sire,” said the Marrowcrack, perturbed by the special treatment given to this upstart. “Just, if I may sire,” he said, remembering himself, “I would like to take more orcs with me on the return trip.”

Kairon signaled and two attendants detached themselves from the wall. “Please take it up with Spinewrack and Krarl out in the antechamber. Thank you, Rigorous.”

Kairon had kept Penelope in his gaze for the entirety of his last comment.