Bors Alone

A Story by Onyx Tao © 2014 Onyx Tao

Bors Alone by Onyx Tao is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at onyx-tao.sofurry.com.

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This is a standalone sequel to Bors: A Warmaster Jack Novella, and those unfamiliar with Bors may wish to peruse that story. Otherwise, please enjoy first the Quick Recap and then the story itself!

Quick Recap: For those just joining the Story, Bors was the son and heir-apparent of the Bloody Slash orc tribe chieftain, Griter ('_Paw' to Bors). In a border confrontation with the much larger and stronger Foe Spitter tribe, Bors is taken hostage by Foe Spitter Warmaster, Jack. Bors learns a number of the Foe Spitter secrets, among them the organization of the Foe Spitters into smaller sub-tribes that make the huge Foe Spitter tribe easier for Jack to govern, and how that organization was imposed along religious and cultural grounds. Warmaster Jack, recognizing in Bors an orc of potential, gives him some peculiar training and insights into warfare and leadership - and calls upon his ally, the gnoll mage-priestess Darz to change Bors from an orc-boar into an orc-sow. Jack brutally drives home Bors' new gender, while hinting that he and Darz have some overarching motive in doing so. Darz herself promises to initiate Bors into the secrets of magic, and leaves Bors with a strange tattoo of a serpent on her back. At that point, Bloody Slash Chieftain Griter comes to the Foe Spitters with his new heir, Bors' younger brother Kett, partly to negotiate their so-called alliance, and partially to demand the return of Bors. Jack offers them his hospitality while they wait for him - and gives them Bors, hooded and restrained, as part of that hospitality. Failing to recognize Bors, both Griter and Kett use her, and when they present their demand for Bors' repatriation, Jack agrees, and tells them they can take -_ _ her _.

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Nobody said anything until Jack had left the the tent; and even then, I stayed silent. Just because I watched Jack get up and walk out the door didn't mean he wasn't still here - it would be like him to stay to see what happened. It might be doomed, but I was determined not to give him any more satisfaction than I had to.

Paw was still laughing, at the table, pouring himself another tankard of wine, and as he set it down to replace it with a chunk of roast goat, he looked over at Kett. My brother was looking ... stunned.

I understood that. I was surprised that Paw hadn't been.

"Kett, if you're gonna be chieftain, I'm gonna have to make some changes," Paw said after a moment. "If you were chieftain - right now, right this minute, what would you do?"

"But ..." Kett started, and then licked his lips. "Right." He looked over at me, and then back to Paw. "Have some wine and ask me hard questions?"

Paw snorted. "Aside from that, boy. You just might be chief in a year or ten. What's the smart thing to do?"

Kett looked around. "Uh, see if the Warmaster will ..."

"No," interrupted Paw, just when I thought he would. "And it doesn't matter what you wanted from that bastard. Try again," he said, taking a deep gulp of wine.

"Uh ..." said Kett, and then he trailed off. I felt a little sorry for him; Kett had always been a follower, of me and then Paw, I guess. He shrugged. "I don't know, Paw. I really don't."

"Wrong again," Paw said. "Worse 'an last time, too."

If you're going to be chief, you always need to be in control. And that means you never say '_I don't know'._

"Kett," Paw continued, "you can't ever say that. All the warriors look up to the Chief because the Chief always has an answer. Always. Saying I don't know is helping them put the knife in your back. Even a bad answer - like running back to the Spit's Warmaster - is better than none at all. Hear?"

"Yes, Paw," Kett said, automatically, and then, a moment later, he nodded. "Yes. Going back to Jack would show weakness, wouldn't it?"

"It would." Paw sounded serious.

Kett looked at me for a moment. "That would be a fucking bad idea, then."

"Yup," Paw said.

"Then we should take Bors and get the fuck out of here," Kett said.

"Pretty fucking much," said Paw.

"But ..." said Kett slowly. "What do we do with Bors?"

"I've got a couple of ideas," said Paw. "We'll just see how they work out."

"You do?"

"No," Paw admitted. "That's just the right answer to the question."

"Untie me?" I suggested from the breeding stand where I was still positioned.

"Shut up, Bors," Paw snapped.

That answered one question for me; the whole getting-fucked-as-a-sow was going to be ignored, at least for the moment. Good.

"Do we have to leave right away?" asked Kett, and then my younger brother shook his head. "Of course we do. But ... we can't let the others know this is Bors, not if there's any chance Yellem can ... do something."

Paw made a strange grunting sound, which meant he hadn't thought of that, but agreed with Kett. "He'd lose his balls," Paw finally agreed, meaning that any of our tribe who knew what had happened wouldn't respect me. Although I suppose I already had ... just not in front of the warbands. "And if ... yeah, that'd be bad."

"So we need to treat -" and there was just the faintest pause "- Bors just like any other sow. On the way back, I mean."

"Huh," said Paw, thinking.

"Wait," I started, because I figured I could disguise the fact I was a sow, but Paw reached down, and put his hand over my nose. Shit. I opened my mouth just a little bit to breathe - I knew what Paw was going to do - but it didn't do any good. He slipped a gag in like he'd done it a thousand times before, and he probably had.

"There," grunted Paw, and he scratched his face. "So, right now, we've got a sow here, a gift from the Spits to the Slash, and nobody knows different." A hand grabbed my hair. "Understand? Nobody better figure out different, either!"

As I nodded my understanding, Kett, whiny little snot that he was, said "I don't want to share Bors with the others." He didn't want to share? What the fuck did he think he was going to ... oh. If they were going to pass me off as just another sow then ... yeah. I didn't want him to share either. Like it's up to him? Except, of course, it was ... up to him and Paw, anyway. Not me. Not now. That made me angry, but there wasn't much I could do about it. Not yet. Fuck.

"Yeah, well, I'd like to keep this -" I couldn't believe Paw actually slapped my ass "- just for you and me, too, but that would ... not go so well. So we compromise," Paw said and I could almost hear the leer.

Kett snickered. Bastard. I was starting to feel a little animosity towards my little brother.

"Trust me," Paw said with a short laugh. "It'll be fine."

Bastard.

Paw wasn't joking. He released me from the breeding stand - but he didn't untie me, or remove the gag. I suppose it hid my face a little, and boars don't generally spend a lot of time looking at sow's faces, anyway. The war party asked about me, and Paw just said that the Warmaster and him had reached an understanding, and right now, it was between Jack and him. They didn't look too happy, but then, it's not like they had much choice.

I don't know how I felt about Paw's telling them that my first litter was going to be his, so I was off-limits. I mean, I was happy enough to be off-limits, but I didn't like the implication of first litter, either. Just thinking about it made my guts churn. I was a warrior, not a ... a ... breeding sow.

Except at the moment, I was.

If Yellem could reverse this, I swore to myself, I'd forgive the old fraud everything.

We made good time getting back to our territory, although we didn't get all the way. Paw stopped us just a few minutes after dawn - the sun wasn't fully up, but the light was starting to get painful when Kett led us into a small dugout. Or at least, the entrance was small; the dugout itself was larger than I thought, and well-made, with rough timber frames supporting the roof. It was still just a dugout; roots protruded through the ceiling and it was all hard-packed dirt, but it had a few improvements. A chimney, for example, although the smoke could give us away. A couple of cots - taken by Kett and Paw, of course.

I wasn't happy when I recognized the Panther Lodge design on the wall; the Panthers were Jack's scouts and outriders. They didn't take well to others appropriating their shelters. But if Paw had come at Jack's invitation - and I was sure he had - then maybe he'd arranged it. Jack always made it easy to do what he wanted; I think that was one of his secrets. It was always easier to do what he wanted than resist him, always. And trespassing on a Panther hide wasn't my problem anyway, or anyhow - Paw hadn't bothered to ungag me; I couldn't tell if that was because he didn't trust me, or if he would just have kept a sow gagged.

Maybe both. _ Bastard _.

They got the fire going and stew going, and then they came back to me. I turned my head away, and refused to service the first few orcs that wanted to use me.

"She's shy," Paw said with a laugh, "but I know what to do!" That didn't sound good ...

General laughter followed this, as Paw walked up to me - he didn't, as I'd expected, remove the gag, but instead walked around me.

Behind me, and then there was some laughter. What was Paw ...

That's when I felt his hand between my legs, seeking out ... oh, why did this have to feel so damn good? Even that small bit of contact was enough ... I could feel the lips of my ... my ... I could feel myself getting slipperier as Paw continued to touch my ... to touch me, and ... my legs shifted to give him better access.

I hadn't meant to. It just ...

Maybe I had meant to. Damn it. It just felt so good ...

It's not like I didn't know what he was doing. It's really, really easy to make a reluctant sow a lot less reluctant by teasing her with your fingers. I'd watched Paw do it more times than I could count. I'd done it myself. Stroke your fingers up and down the cunt, flick the nub - gahhhh, I thought to myself, how was I supposed to know it felt like that - and wait until the sow got ...

I wasn't really dripping onto the floor. I hoped. Could I be? But it felt like it ... and then I felt someone - no, who was I fooling? - _ Paw _ slide into me, a hard length hot between my ... hot and filling me. It felt ...

Who was I fooling? Not Paw, certainly, and not Kett, who was standing in front of me, and as Paw started moving inside me, I couldn't help it. It felt so ... why did it have to feel so damn good? I couldn't stop myself from moaning, or pushing back against him, trying to force him deeper into me. Somewhere there was a sniggering laugh, but I ignored it, concentrating on the not-quite-burning in my ...

Cunt. My cunt. Sows have cunts, and - at the moment - I was a sow.

Finally something whispered in my head, and I dismissed it as an echo of Jack's contempt - or whatever it had been to him, even if lacked the Warmaster's biting tone.

My attention was entirely elsewhere, on the sensations flooding me. The relief of scratching an itch without the itch, a sheer hot wet warm feeling that intensified with every soft squish of Paw against me ... and then there was a salty taste at my mouth, and Kett's hardness slipped into my mouth. I didn't fight it; I couldn't fight it. At that moment, all I wanted was ...

More.

And over the next hour or so, that's what I got. More. I serviced all the warriors as Paw fucked me, and Kett used my mouth and ass. I wasn't sure what to think of that afterward; that Paw reserved my cunt for himself. I certainly wasn't thinking of it while it happened. Only after, with the sweet metallic taste of seed in my throat, seed coating my face, running down my legs, did I even realize he'd done that. It wasn't the same feeling as release, but the taste and smell ... why, why did it have to feel so good?

And that's where I ended up the next morning, too - between Kett and Paw, wondering why it had to feel so ... good. It was ... what sort of warrior was I, to just ... just ... take this?

Mistress?

I twitched - I was too tired to do anything else - and looked up for the speaker. We'd come a lot further the last night than I'd expected, almost as if Paw had been trying to reach home that night - but morning still caught us a few hours out. Paw hadn't even bothered fucking me tonight; we just pulled into a cave, drew a screen, and hoped that kept the light out. "Who ..."

Only you can hear me, Mistress.

"Why is that?"

I ... I am here to assist you, Mistress. The shadow-priestess, she offered you magics. Promised them.

"I remember," I said. "I thought she'd lied."

Then you do her a disservice, Mistress. But the ... conditions ... allowing me to speak to you were not fulfilled until six hours ago, and ... forgive me if I was in error, Mistress, but that seemed a poor time for me to make myself known to you.

Six hours? We'd have been ... somewhere on the road. I'd been tied on a fucking leash, led by Kett. Yeah, that might not have been such a great time, after all. Wait.

Conditions? "What conditions?"

He - the Warmaster - would not permit you access to magics or counsel until you had passed firmly out of his control. There was something like a cold laugh. He was not ... afraid ... of you, but he gave you ... wary respect.

"He did?"

Yes. I have been watching for some time, Mistress.

"He turned me into a ... fucking sow!" I hissed. "That's respect?"

He didn't kill you. And that is the least of what he has done, Mistress.

What? I stopped. What did that mean? What did ..."What ..."

I hear you, Mistress, the voice said. I don't know, entirely. And there are things ... I may not tell you.

"Like what?"

What I recieved for serving as your familiar; what Power I - and therefore you - serve. What I know of its motivations, and of Darz's. I am no weak thing, Mistress, and I have been bound to your service and interests.

"What are you?"

A ... spirit. A weaker thing than I was, once. Neither demon nor angel, but a tiny power nonetheless. Nowhere near the stature of your patron, and even mortal Darz could overwhelm me, had she wished it ... but she did not. She had something I wanted, and in return for that, I will be your familiar for as long as you will have me. I cannot break the terms of the agreement, but, Mistress, yours is my first loyalty, even as that unnamed Power is my second.

Yeah. I'd believe that.

It is true, the voice said, although I understand - and am pleased - you are wary in your trust. Still, Mistress -"

" Don't call me that," I whispered. "My name is Bors."

I am to call you Bors. Yes, Bors.

"So what should I call you?"

That is your decision, Bors. You must name me for yourself.

"What were you called before?"

I ... I do not know. Part of being a familiar is to be submissive, Bors, and granting you my naming is part of that. I may have had a name, and perhaps after, I shall have a different one. But while we are together, my identity is what you choose to give me.

"Why would Darz give me ... a familiar?"

Because she promised you power. Because she has her own plans, and you figure in them. Because you were a gift to her from the Warmaster, and she wants to see ... what will happen.

"So what use is a familiar?"

What good am I, you mean, and the voice sounded amused. I am an advisor, and I know a great deal of lore, both magical and natural. I help you weave spells together - I hold the patterns for you. Thus, I can answer questions, suggest courses of action, and provide you with magics. You've seen the Warmaster use a minor magic to clean with, I know. Small magics like that.

"I can do that with water and a rag," I said.

Yes, if you had water. And a rag. He used to use it on you while you asleep, you know.

"What." Not even a question.

Oh, yes. He would watch you while you slept.

I shuddered. What else ... "What else did he do?"

While you were sleeping? Nothing ... notable. Cleaned you, as I said. Read. Stretched. He didn't fondle himself, or you, if that's what you meant.

"Ehh," I said. The thought of Jack watching me while I was unaware ... just kept getting more disturbing the more I thought about it. And ... "You're that snake tattoo, right?"

An abashed Yes, Bors. Although I am not confined to a tattoo form; I can become a real viper, as well.

Huh. Maybe ... "Can you make magic swords? Blades? Axes?"

Ah ... I can teach you that, the voice replied. Eventually. I cannot do it myself, no. There's a lot of work. Not easy.

Oh. Less interesting then, but ... "We'll see," I said. "What other ..." and then I paused, just as I was about to say magic. Because we didn't use magic. The shamans did, sometimes, if they didn't do it too obviously in front of the rest of us. Or if they had enough magic to use in combat. But not me, right? I'd never use magic.

Except.

I'd told Darz I would. And Darz had arranged for ... this. And ... "He used magic?"

I presume you mean the Warmaster. Yes. Subtly. And ... less subtly, when he thought no one would notice. Or care.

"How much? What ... what kind?"

I ... only saw him when he was with you, Bors. But he used his powers to fuddle minds, to draw agreement from others, to compel obedience. Less often to heal. And once, only once, to cloak himself to be unseen. I suspect that these only touch on his magics; he seemed ... uneager to use them. The book he was reading, it talked of things, imbued with magic. Boots, cloaks, amulets ... devices of all types. I know he had a number of such things, but I never saw him use them, so I do not know what virtue they might have.

"Like that gauntlet?"

The gauntlet ... no, not like that, Bors. That was an old and powerful thing, slowly waking up. I would not ... I do not trust a thing like that, and either the Warmaster knows far more of that thing than I do, or the Warmaster is being uncharacteristically foolish.

"Jack's no fool."

No, Bors. He is not. But that gauntlet is no trifling thing. And it has claimed the Warmaster.

"How ..."

For no other reason would it constantly return to his hand. Think of it as a dragon, sleeping uneasily. Turning, to find its ... gold, hoard, treasure, not where it expected. And then ... returning to the Warmaster.

"So it's not awake yet?"

I ... I do not think so, Bors. But I do not know.

"Does Darz? Or Jack?"

I simply do not know, Bors. I am glad to be away from it, though. It frightens me as few things do.

I nodded. "I'm glad to be away from Jack, even if ... well, maybe Yellem can do something useful, after all. Or, you have magic, do you know a magic that would change me back?"

No, Bors.

I thought not, but ... had to ask. "What can you do, then?"

I, nothing. I can do nothing, but advise you. Perhaps run an errand when I am a viper. I can show you how to build simple magics - and more complex ones, once you master the simple ones. Spells of healing, terror, understanding, protections ... there's a spell that will wake you sated, a working to draw forth a shard of deadly ice, summon a servant to do small tasks, conjure mists, freeze your foes with a touch ... but you must choose which one or two to ready. Carrying them all is ... like juggling fire-torches. You can hold one. Two. Maybe three. But beyond that ...

"I see," I said, although I didn't, not really.

And the secrets of brewing, how to infuse and concentrate magic and non-magic into potions, simple medicines, and greater ... those are yours, too. All you need is a stillroom and a cauldron. Perhaps a few ingredients.

"Well, what sort of magic would be useful, then?"

A magic to call water? And the spell to summon a minor servitor? The minor healing?

I thought about it for a moment. _ Yes _. "Cleaning and healing, both."

Yes, Bors. The spell for water is the simplest, so let's start there ...

* * *

It might have been the simplest, but that didn't make it simple. My head ached by the time evening came around, and I'd only barely put the magic together - it felt like holding a ... a ... an armful of frogs, all trying to escape, and somehow keeping them together.

You are doing surprisingly well, the voice coached. This is very hard, what you do. You will get better at it.

Right. At least it would give me something to do while I was tied down.

* * *

Yellem, strangely enough, wasn't huddled up in Paw's tent, but had to be fetched; I was deposited - and apparently forgotten - by Paw's chair, while Kett paced behind me. "Go ask the Shaman to join us," Paw said. "Now."

Bartt nodded, and set off, leaving the three of - finally - alone. Kett stopped pacing, and looked up at Paw. "You know ..."

"I don't know nothing," Paw said, sounding tired. "Fucking with Jack is ... I told the damn boy not to fuck with him. Plain out told him."

"Might not mattered," Kett said.

"Yeah," said Paw. "Bastard. Could just as easily be Jack fucking with us."

I could have told Paw that when Jack fucks with you - there's no uncertainty about it. He wouldn't leave wondering ... no, you'd know. Beyond any question, beyond any ...

What was that horrible smell? I couldn't imagine anything nasty enough; rotting carrion, fresh human-shit, and a sour tang like eggs gone bad ...

"What?" came an all-too-familiar mumble. "What can I do, what have I done, ready and always ..."

Yellem. He smelled worse than ever.

"This is ... business, Yellem," Paw said, as respectful as he ever got. "Serious." I rolled over to look at the old fraud ...

... and he looked totally different to me. Hairless. Hunched over. Skin tight against bones, not wrinkled and flabby. His hands were ... no, they didn't look like claws, they were claws. What the hell was he? Not ... not an orc, obviously.

He is a revenant of some kind, my spirit-guide said. One that sustains itself on flesh. The lesser are ghouls, the greater are ghasts.

But why does he look ... like this? I asked.

You see with my vision, Bors. Regardless of how you feel about her, Darz gave you many gifts, as much and as many as she dared. Your chief and Kett see ... only what they have always seen. What you once saw.

Oh.

"Jack ... did something, to Bors here ..." Paw said, not quite saying what it was that Jack did. Yellem's face twitched, and then a crabbed hand snapped out to pull me closer. I almost fought it; but I let him touch me. It was ... disgusting, like I would get that rotting smell on me, all over me, and then he pulled my head up, stared into my eyes, before he dropped me back to the floor.

"Heh," Yellem said, with a wheeze something between a laugh and an accusation. "Yes," he said. "We see, yes."

"Can you ... fix it?" Paw asked, sounding ... well, without the confidence he usually had, that's for sure.

"Don't know ..." Yellem said, already scrabbling at his belt, pulling out a twisted coin and some yellow dust. "Depends on just what ..." he muttered, "what, what, what, what, what ..."

Dust showered over me, along with a wave of magic that I felt, a filthy, clinging, noisome stuff, like rotting sap or jellied spiderweb. I shuddered; it was beyond disgusting. And it left me cold, the skin numb ...

"Did that ..." said Kett after a moment.

"No," snapped Yellem, sounding peeved. "No, no no no no ... Bors is stuck ... why are you stuck, why?" and he pulled those repulsive bones out his shawl.

Fingerbones. Orc fingerbones, I saw, gnawed orc fingerbones. He tossed them on the carpet.

Read the signs. Old fraud.

"Bors ..." he mumbled, and then looked up at Paw. "Prophecy. Remember what I said?"

"What you said? When?

"Many sons," hissed Yellem, sounding ... angry. I don't why he'd be angry about it; I think I was the one who should be angry. Oh shit ... suddenly, I remembered what he'd said, so long ago, too.

"Bors will present you with ... many sons," Yellem ground out furiously. He'd laughed when he'd predicted it, so I don't know why Yellem looked so pissed now, and Kett - my brother looked more than a little pale, even red. I don't know what his problem was, either. If I wasn't - well, male, then the only serious contender for clan-chief was Kett. This practically locked him in.

"Keep trying," was all he said, but Paw looked ... thoughtful, which is not a common look for Paw. "That so," he said, after a moment. "Well." He turned a look at Kett, and just shook his head. "Well," he said again, "if that's the way it is ... that's the way it is. Take our new sow over to the sowery. Need a new name, for now ... Rass, I think."

I guess I was in so much shock I just let Kett lead me to the sowery. I didn't say anything, Kett didn't say anything. I let him walk in front of me, so I could talk to Yrflyth. Paw seemed ... upset.

Yes, I noticed that too. I think he's having trouble with the concept of his son Bors being a sow.

"He's having ..."

Yes. Not that you aren't, of course, but you've had some more time to get used to it.

"I'm not a ..."

You aren't? You whelped a litter for the Warmaster, and you're carrying another one. In what way, Bors, are you not a sow?

"I'm a boar, damn you!" I said softly.

You were a boar, the voice said. Now, you are not.

And ... "What do mean I'm carrying ..."

I mean the obvious, Bors. You are carrying four boars, three of Gritr's, and one of Kett's.

"I was? How ... I mean, I didn't even feel ... how did ..."

Your carrying another litter was one of the conditions I mentioned earlier. And I am ... very aware of your physical state. That's one of the things a familiar does. If you don't want them, it's easy enough to lose them. So early, you might notice a little heavier bleeding - and you might not.

But ... how do you know they're boars? I asked silently as I caught up with Kett who had slowed down to wait for me.

Because the only daughters you will have, you have already had.

You know about ...

Yes.

What did Jack do? I had to know! Why?

I don't know that. I know you had three sons, and three daughters, all healthy, sired by the Warmaster. He took them, far away. Where he took them, I do not know, and why he took them, I do not know. I know that he named three of them after the names of virtues he respects, in their Taldan form, but not more than that. Darz and he were careful to keep such knowing from me.

Which virtues? What did he name them?

It was something I overheard. He said he'd run out of acceptable virtues after three, that was all. I'm sorry, Bors.

The only daughters?

Yes. It was a ... I don't know if it was a compromise, or a desired outcome, but you will bear no daughters - only sons.

"A compromise?" I said out loud.

Your transformation was a magic beyond the normal transformations, more severe and focused and ... for a purpose. I know there were many conditions set and accepted. I do not know if that purpose was served with the Warmaster's children, or what that purpose was, but Darz bargained as closely over this change as she did binding me to your service. N_o simple magic will undo this change, either. You have been changed deeply, in many ways, as much to make you apt to magic as the more obvious physical changes._

Oh. I ... I guess I'd realized that, on some level.

I do not think you will ever be male again, the spirit added.

"I get it," I said. "Jack really fucked me over, didn't he."

Yes, the spirit acknowledged. I really had to find a name for it ...

Paw's sow's quarters weren't quite the sowery that Jack had, but everybody knew they were off-limits to everyone except Paw. And his sows, of course. Which now included - me. The tent wasn't that nice from the outside, but the inside was better - cleaner - than I'd expected, when Kett watched me walk in. Paw had four sows - five, now, and all of them were busy inside the tent. One of them was working a handloom, two were grinding seeds into a flour, and the fourth was working a huge slab of leather, either softening it, or treating it, with some pale creamy stuff.

They looked almost as happy to see me as I was to see them, especially after Kett introduced me as "This is Rass. Jima, Ulan, and, uh, her." He pointed to the one with the handloom, who stomach showed she was heavy with a litter. "Test."

"_ Tess _," came a low, muttered correction.

"So," Kett continued, ignoring her, "I'll, uh, see you. Later. Buh - bye," Kett said, catching himself. "Bye, Rass," and then he was outside the tent.

* * *

The last sow had been out getting water - Hesi, and she, as it turned out, was the first sow, in command of the rest of us, and she didn't think much of me. Usually, Paw - and Kett, and yes, me - had preferred younger sows. I was a little old to be joining Paw's harem. Probably older that Hesi, now that I thought about it. She'd just come in a couple of winters back. Dammit. She'd been a good fuck ...

And apparently I didn't impress her. I couldn't spin, weave, fold, or do anything more complicated than grind flour. The leatherwork I could do didn't really impress her, either, as she dismissed that as men's work.

Well, surprise surprise.

She'd gotten about half-way through her rant when I remembered that Paw wasn't there, and this wasn't one of Jack's sows. About a half-second after that, I had her pinned to the floor, both arms behind her back. "Stop. Talking." I said.

She did. Well, now what? If I were still a boar ... I'd fuck her. But ... well, that wasn't an option.

Let her go, my snake suggested.

What? I asked silently. I just ..

It is probably enough, the snake said. Hurt her too much, and she will hate you.

I haven't hurt her ...

Not a physical hurt. A hurt to her self, the snake said patiently. You have shown her she is no longer in control. You are. She can either accept that ... or you can repeat the lesson, but the less hurt you must do to teach it, the easier it will be for you. And her.

What the fuck. I let her up a moment later, and she sprung away from me, glaring. "Chief Gritr put me in charge!"

She couldn't know I knew that was a lie, and I started to say so - and I could feel the snake's ... well, I'd say gritted teeth; it felt like that, even if she didn't have the right kind of teeth to grit, but I thought better about it anyway. "Then he better not find out different," I said.

It took about four days before she'd speak to me again, but she wasn't yelling at me. We'd worked out - silently - a compromise. She wouldn't tell me what to do, and I wouldn't interfere with her running the tent. Which was fine with me; I can run a warband. I've got no idea how to run a tent. She had some torn clothing to repair, and I said I'd do it.

Yrflyth (That's what I finally named my snake familiar) had been coaching me through some simple - or what it termed simple - magics. The repair magic will suffice for these. If you can hold it ...

That was the trick, wasn't it? _ If I could hold it._ But I'd been practicing, and I thought I could.

"I thought you said you couldn't sew?"

I shrugged. "I can't. But I can mend."

"Fine," she said, giving me the basket. "Mend, then." She paused. "The needle's there, with the thread."

I picked up the basket, took out the first thing - a ripped scarf. Balanced the magic in my head, hands ... pulled the scarf through my hands.

Yes. Balanced. Hold it. Don't let the pattern go. You can hold it. The larger ones, you won't be able to. Part of the power is in their dissolution, but for these small ones ...

I held up the scarf, trying to spot where the tear had been. Yeah. This ... might not be so bad, after all. It took me less than five minutes to fix everything there. Perfectly. Magically. Nice.

So, what magic did Jack use to clean me?

Mistress?

That seems like it would be useful, I said.

I do not know that one, Bors, the snake said apologetically. Forgive me. I mentioned it ... only because it was the most obvious of the magics he used.

"Never mind, then," I said.

I would like you to try the greater patterns, Yrflyth said. There are a number of them.

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, Paw and Yellem tried three more times to break whatever Darz did to me. That kind of surprised me, but from his remarks, Paw didn't think much of Kett's propects as a replacement for me, as far as warchief went. I had to agree that Kett was a good warrior, and maybe even a good warlord - but he didn't really have the smarts to be a good warchief. Huh. Good to know he liked something about me.

It failed. But it seemed to tell Yrflyth quite a bit about Yellem, who she called a theurge, a sort of sorcerer-priest in addition to being walking dead. The shaman had tried magics divine and arcane and even combined them, to try to reverse the ... spell, ritual, magic, hex, charm, transformation, condition, curse ... whatever it was. Yellem looked ... furious, more and more, each time his magic failed.

Paw just looked grimmer and grimmer every time I saw him and Kett. From what Paw said, he wasn't happy with Kett as his second-in-command. That pretty much Kett was either not going to be the next ch

He's surprisingly accomplished, Yrflyth said after Yellem's third failure. Although he doesn't compare to Darz.

By that time, the other sows noticed that Kett and Paw were treating me a little differently. Paw wouldn't fuck me, only Kett - I'd got so as I didn't really mind it. It felt good, at least, if not as good as ...

... _ damn I had to stop thinking about Jack! _ I just needed let myself relax into the fucking, stop worrying about the tribe and Paw and the next chief, and let Kett do what Kett did best. Except ... that wasn't the best recommendation for a chief.

It was several nights later - and in the middle of the day when Yrflyth woke me up. _ BORS _! Do not move! Wake, quickly! Mistress!

Yrflyth?

Bors ... you must continue to seem to be sleeping.

Why?

Because ... and here everything changed. My eyes were still closed, I was still facing the heavy leather of the tent that kept the light out, but I could see. I was looking up from the floor, a strange angle, as if I were lying on the floor, watching the emaciated corpse-thing that was Yellem fiddling with a bag ... he pulled out a ... a ... I didn't know just what it was. A skull, orcish, looking like it was embedded in a chunk of ice. No, not ice. Glass. With dark purple-black streaks. "Shas," he muttered, and a cold blue flame flickered in the thing. "Rosk. Linsk. Morrix. Bahst." With each word, light caught a strange sort fire, cold green, then violet, then a pale, pale blue, and then a dark black. The wierd illumination darkened the interior of the tent with a strange, shadowy not-light.

What is that?

I ... some ... kind of darkskull, Bors. Yrflyth said. A tool of power.

I don't ...

It has some dark magic tied to it; a greater spell of darkness, I think, even as a wave of darkness swept over us. True darkness, the rare true darkness that even orcs cannot see through. We could attempt to break it, but Yellem would know.

I want to know what he's doing.

I ... I don't think you do, my familiar said.

You know?

No ... but I think it is something ... unwholesome. But since you wish ... I could see again; sort of. It wasn't the normal black-and-white sense of lines and surfaces that made up my normal sight in the dark. It was like full-on candlelight or starlight - bright, and the colors stood out sharply.

But the colors were all wrong. Mixed-up, and ... even changing, as I watched. Yellem was bright crimson red against the pale twilight blue of the tent, and shifted to a fungal yellow even as the tent went to leaf-green. I wanted to crush my eyes closed against the vision - and then I realized my eyes were clenched shut.

You are seeing through my eyes, and Yrflyth stopped talking. We both watched Yellem. He'd shed his cloak, and to Yrflyth's sight, he was hideous, a gaunt naked horrible purple-skinned corpse - I wasn't even sure if he'd started out orc, or something else. Male, but his parts were shriveled and tight up against him, and now he was back to that surface-blooded crimson. No wonder I'd always hated him. Kett had hated him. Really, it was only Paw who liked ...

Is there magic that can make someone like you?

Yes, Bors. Several different magics can have that effect, and there are elixirs that can even inspire love. Lust, really, but ... the two are easily confused.

Could Yellem have bespelled Paw?

I ... do not know. There are magics that enable one to see magic, that is a pattern we've practiced. I can give it to you.

The next time Paw comes in, I want to use that, Yrflyth. I wonder if that ... freak has Paw ensorcelled.

Yes, Bors.

And Yellem was walking around the bed - we all slept together, in the tent, me and Hesi and Ulan and Remi and Tess ... Tess, who was close to whelping. He pulled something out of his pocket - I didn't see what - and spead a twinkling dusty cloud of fire-orange sparkles over ... Tess! Yellem grabbed and pulled to the edge like she weighed nothing. Muttering, muttering, always muttering, at least his mouth was moving and that's when I realized I couldn't hear anything. Everything had gone dead, the wind, insects, birds ... everything, silent like the sun-blasted day never was. More magic?

More magic. A spell of silence. Maybe ... no, it's in addition to the skull, Yrflyth said thoughtfully. Something in his pocket. It wouldn't work, hidden, but once it's out ... that rock he's holding.

Was that was that bright coppery-red thing was? A rock?

I think so. Polished. I don't think it's magic, too, just an anchor for the spell to batten on.

What was he doing? Spreading her out, no, just her legs ... was he going to take her from the front? I knew humans did it that way but ... no. He was kneeling down, between her legs. Licking her. I suppressed a shudder; the thought of that dead thing touching me anywhere, much less there, revolted me. And while she was sleeping ...

No. That wasn't what he was doing.

His tongue was ... going ... into her.

Unwholesome, Yrflyth had said, and suddenly I was sickly certain the snake was right. I would have told Yrlyth to stop looking except that ... well, it was still going to happen, and I'd rather know than not. Yes, it was moving into her - how long was that ... that ... whatever it was that looked like a tongue? A foot? Two?

Was Tess' belly ... shuddering? I started to get up.

Bors, Yrflyth said worriedly, he is too dangerous. If he knows you have discovered his secret ... please, Bors, we cannot win this fight, not yet. He is too strong for us now. Please, we must wait!

The snake was right. I had been about to jump up, attack the vile thing that had passed itself off as our shaman for ... as long as I could remember. As long as Paw could remember. And who knew how long before that? And ... I didn't have an axe with me. Sows don't use axes. Well ... fuck that. I decided then and there I was going to get my axe back. Somehow.

What was he doing? I kept watching, and now that horrible tongue was ... pulling back out. But ... like it was ... was ...

... pulling something ...

No. No. Nononononononononono ...

It took every bit of concentration not to leap up and go after Yellem with my bare hands as the tiny body came out with a horribly soft, wet noise. I couldn't even tell if was a boar or a sow. An orclet ... what was Yellem going to do with ... I watched - it was all I could do - as Yellem held it for a moment in his hand before ...

Swallowing it. It took him exactly one gulp.

I wanted to be sick.

I wanted to rip Yellem apart with my bare. fucking. hands.

No, Bors, Yrflyth begged. Please. Not now. Not yet! He would ... kill you. Or control you. Please! And it wouldn't change anything, not yet, not now ...

Truth. Unfortunately. We will kill him, though.

Yes, Bors ... of course. I will ... let me think. Perhaps ... I ...

While my familar was talking, Yellem reached down, and shoved Tess back down into the bed. More slient mutters. Magic.

Healing, Bors, said a subdued Yrflyth. A spell of healing. He must have ... hurt her. Inside.

Will she know? What happened?

I don't know, my familiar said uncertainly. I think ... not. A bad dream. A sense of hurt, I think.

The thing that was Yellem wrapped itself back up into the heavy cloak, and it looked ... orcish again. The skull vanished into a bag or a pocket or under the cloak - I couldn't quite see what - and my vision flickered all-white and then back to normal muted colors and thick grays.

The unnatural quiet faded a few moments after Yellem dragged itself back out of the tent.

That was ... I stopped. I wasn't sure what that was at all. I got up, went over to check Tess. Alive. Breathing. Bleeding from between her legs, but only a little. Still. I wasn't sure why I did it, but I set one of the patterns - spells, I suppose - up, with a word and a touch, and let it unravel into her.

The bleeding stopped. Huh. It works, I said to Yrflyth.

Yes, Bors. What would be the point of magic that didn't work?

It's just ... I never thought of myself as a shaman. But ... what magic would hurt Yellem? What else do you have?

Most of what I have is, forgive me, Bors, beyond your skills. It was entrusted to me for - in the hope - that you might master it eventually. What you might master today ... a spell to create a helpful poltergeist, but that would not hurt him. Spells to chill flesh - useless against the dead. One to strike terror - similarly ineffective. To understand symbols, written or spoken. A spell to nourish you in your sleep. The small healing you used but now - that would pain him, but ... not much. A spell to create a patch of heavy fog. A spell to deflect stones and arrows. One to better understand the properties of an enmagiced device. A spell of seeming, small and unchanging. A spell to call forth a hand-knife of ice. But dead flesh is not harmed by cold.

"It still cuts, doesn't it?" I asked.

Yes. But your axe would be better for that. Of all of them, perhaps the healing is the most useful, since it would heal you and harm Yellem. But ... it is a small spell. It is not a serious wound. And ... Yrflyth fell silent.

"And?" I prompted.

And this thing has some powerful magic itself.

"You don't know what?"

No, Mistress. I would need more details. And from what you've said, he lives alone, drags himself out to see to the rituals of your clan, and nothing more.

"He does more than that," I said, thinking about what I'd just seen.

Yes.

The next evening, Tess woke up, and seemed unusually subdued. A few words, and it seemed her heaviness was ... particularly hard on her. She hadn't slept well. She claimed not to remember any dreams, and she didn't flinch when I brought it up, so ... I suppose ...

I tried to remember if our sows had small litters in general, if Yellem had been ... stealing babes from the wombs of our sows for a long time - I pretty much thought he had. But it wasn't something a warchief really knew about it. More words, talking - sows talk a lot, and I was getting used to it - and the others thought the litters were generally three or four orclets. But ... Jack's sows presented him with four, five, six ... or maybe they just wouldn't have mentioned a small litter? For the very first time I wished I could talk to Baxs.

Or even Darz. Darz could fry that stinking filthy worm-eaten shaman so easily ...

I needed my axe.

It took two more nights before I had the opportunity to retrieve my axe from Paw's tent. I smuggled it out wrapped in dirty blankets, and hid it under my bed. It needed sharpening, but I'd have to do that later. Somehow. The time also gave me a chance to see if Paw was ensorcelled. As it turns out, he was. And he was wearing more magic than I'd expected - a protective amulet and ring, and his axe was magic, too. As was his armor. And boots.

Yellem - I got nothing from Yellem, but that just means he was masking himself. I mean, if Paw had that much magic - Yellem would have to have more. And, as Yrflyth pointed out, as good or better than anything he'd let pass on to Paw. Yrflyth told me that she was masked ... unless Yellem tried testing for magic in those few moments I was actually using it, he'd see nothing unusual. We figured Yellem didn't know anything, and we wanted to keep it that way while I figured out what to do.

I didn't have a lot of options, aside from hitting him with an axe, and that would ... cause trouble with Paw and Kett and pretty much everyone. Paw would defend Yellem, I was pretty sure, and the rest would see a sow with an axe, and I'd lose the axe pretty fast. I might survive what followed, too, but I might not, and I wanted to avoid that in any case. Clearly, Yellem had some magic - an amulet, Yrflyth thought - that concealed his true nature and made him look like an orc. A living orc, anyway. After staring at him for so long we thought he'd started out as an orc.

I had to kill him.

Over the next month, I set Yrflyth to spy on other tents. It wasn't just ours ... Yellem was going after any sow that was heavy. We caught him again, in another sowery - and this time he ate two orclets. I nearly picked up my axe and went over there, but again, Yrflyth convinced me it would be a losing battle.

What Yrflyth never said - what she didn't have to say - was that we figured Yellem was going after every heavy sow. Gorging himself on our children. Planning to gorge on mine ...

I knew he was watching me. I could feel it, even if Yrflyth hadn't been watching him watch me.

I had Yrflyth sneak through his tent. What we found confirmed our guess; he had magic there. Scrolls - written spells. Potions. A ring. A magiced longspear. Several books of spells. A long tattered robe, fizzing with power. I briefly considered stealing them, but that would have alerted him.

The other thing I did was ... coach Kett. Paw was riding him hard - and inevitably, I'd get called to his tent. After he fucked me, he'd tell me what was happening ... and I'd give him a cautious suggestion or two.

That stopped when Paw found out. After that, I spent late nights on the breeding stand in Paw's tent, and after the first night, I learned to stay quiet. Paw would just gag me otherwise, while he and Kett and his other warcaptains talked. Yellem was there about half the time; I tried to ignore him. At least Paw didn't let any of the others fuck me, although he'd do it whenever he felt like it. I think it was because I was starting to show heavy ... damn it felt good, though.

I guess Paw thought if I was a sow, I should ... act like a sow. I'm glad I hadn't asked him for the axe. Although the conversation had occasional moments of interest. Yellem even volunteered things the Foe Spitters - Jack's huge warclan - were doing, every now and then - they had, apparently, contacted one of the underearth clans, the Drowning Cords, and were allying with them. Which was odd; Jack didn't usually ally with anybody unless there was some special reason. He didn't have too - the Foe Spitters were so powerful now that the last clan he'd approached, the High Mountain Avalanche, had just surrendered.

I'll bet that irritated him.

Most of their conversation revolved around Warmaster Jack of the Foe Spitters, for the simple reason that Warmaster Jack now had several thousand warriors sworn to him. Personally sworn to him, and somehow, he was keeping them together. He'd approached our clan - the Warmaster could have brought a hundred warriors for every one of ours, but instead he'd made an agreement. The only reason Jack had allied with us rather than just closing his fist around us was ... human politics. The Foe Spitters numbered in the thousands, and Jack thought that if the Foe Spitters were right on human borders, it would alarm them.

So instead of crushing our tiny little clan, he let us be. We kept the border with the humans quiet, and he'd let us be. All the war captains agreed it was a pretty humiliating demand, but ... I didn't hear anyone complaining. Getting spitted and roasted was probably the best thing that could happen from a boar who found himself at Jack's hands. No, Jack could get horribly creative ...

I should know.

But this night was the night I caught Yellem looking at me and licking his lips.

No. Just ... _ no _.

I stopped caring what Yrflyth told me. As I got heavier, it would be harder and harder to defend myself. I had to kill him - destroy him, whatever one did to carrion-obsessed undead things to make it so they stopped moving and functioning. To make him truly dead..

Yrflyth, I thought, will that thing _ burn? _

Yes, Bors. You'd need a lot of fire, though, Yrflyth thought dubiously. I don't think you'll be ready for that kind of magic for a while.

Leave that to me.

I told Hesi what I wanted her to do, and she said no. I pointed out that it was something that only the Chief's First Sow could really do, and asked her - nicely, I thought - to reconsider, and she said no again, only she took a lot longer to do it. So then I explained that it was going to get done, the First Sow was going to do it, and that Jima - who was generally considered second sow would probably be pretty happy to get it done, especially since that meant she wouldn't have to be in a tent all night with a sow with a broken arm, and two broken legs. The first sow could probably explain why she was in a tizzy to get this done because she'd broken her arm tripping over a log, if Hesi thought that would help.

She didn't say no again, but she did glare at me, and by this point, I was more than a little tired of that. So I showed her just how easily I could snap her arm, and asked again if she wouldn't do this little thing for me, and this time, I convinced her. So I told her how soon it had to be done - by dawn - and that I'd come out in an hour or so to check and make sure she was well and hadn't accidentally broken her legs, and that just in case, I'd be switching her sleeping roll over to the alcove I was using. She started to get mad until I told she could have it back - probably in a couple of nights. It was temporary.

I'm not sure she believed me, but ... it was enough to shut her up and get started on her part of this. Maybe not as enthusiastically as I wanted, but ... she was doing it, and it looked like enough.

I don't understand how cleaning all the trash in camp is going to help, Yrflyth said.

It will keep the other sows busy and out of my way, I answered her. Which was, after all, entirely true. I had other things to get ready for the coming morning; a long list of them. And a couple of magics did come in useful - the minor repair magic, and the helpful poltergeist spell, first to clear off the area right in front of Hesi's - now my - sleeping fur, and then, later, to cover it back up. And then, once I had everything prepared, I went out to help Hesi and the other sows, just to make sure our little camp cleanup worked the right way.

I just wished Yrflyth wasn't sulking.

That night, when I saw Yellem in Paw's tent, I deliberately waddled. My belly was big at this point - not so big that I could barely move (I still had that to look forward to ... not!) but ... I thought Yellem wouldn't - couldn't - know that I wasn't quite that far along yet. I would be, in another week or three, and then, it would be too late. That's something I might have done before I met Jack ... that's what I did do with Jack. I waited, and waited, and waited, and things got worse, and worse and worse ... not again. Never again.

I made sure I half-facing Yellem when I mounted the breeding stand that night, made sure that Yellem saw me grab my belly with both hands as I slipped out of the shawl and drape I was wearing. I made the stand slip a little - just a little, so Paw wouldn't move it back - but I wanted to be in profile for Yellem. I wanted him to see what he wanted - my orclets. I don't know if it was my imagination or not, but I thought I saw one of his clawed hands tremble, just a bit, as I made a show of lifting myself onto the support.

Spread my legs, folded them onto the wider supports. I didn't wiggle my parts at him, or at anyone. Some sows did, but I never had, and I didn't want them to see anything they hadn't seen before. Except Yellem, of course.

Yrflyth? What's he doing?

Playing with those filthy fingerbones, Bors, my familiar said disapprovingly. This is a mistake, Bors. You're not ready to take him.

We are, I snapped back. I'm not letting him ... Was there even a word for what he was doing? Stealing the unborn from their mother's belly, and swallowing them?

Not in orcish, Yrflyth said, almost primly, making me wonder for a second what language would have a word like that. Human, probably, I thought, but Yrflyth was silent, and I didn't ask. I had to put on a show tonight.

Paw was first, tonight, and I made sure my belly swung back and forth, up and down, with each thrust. Oh, he's watching, Yrflyth said. This is going to be bad.

It's too late now, I pointed out. Either help, or shut the fuck up.

Silence, up to the point where I was licking Paw clean. He's ... staring at you again. At ... I'm not sure, Bors. But he's watching.

But not touching, I thought back. Yellem had never - never - touched a sow in my father's tent. I thought he'd just ignored them, when me or Kett or Paw had taken ourself over to use one.

I imagine that will come later.

No, I thought back, squirming a little against Kett as he thrust into me. No, he won't. I smiled to myself, and just let myself enjoy the fucking. When you're heavy ... I don't really know how to describe it, but ... getting fucked just feels better, somehow. Maybe it's the breeding stand; it takes a lot of weight off your legs and arms, and being heavy, especially for the last month or so, is pretty hard. The last two weeks are just awful ... But I wasn't there yet, so I might as well enjoy it. If things went wrong, it would almost certainly be my last fuck ever.

The sun had been up for nearly an hour when Paw let me down from the stand, and I wrapped the shawl over my head as I ran from Paw's tent back to the sowery tent, and there were some groans as I slipped in through the opening - there really was no way to keep the harsh light out of the tent, despite the shades.

"Hesi, Rass ... are you both ready?"

"Yeah," said Rass.

"You're going to be sorry," said Hesi. "This is a stupid prank."

"They'll blame me. I'll get in trouble for it." I smiled sweetly at Hesi. "Won't you like that?"

"Yes," said Hesi bluntly. "Chief will fucking tan you for this, and I can't wait."

"Huh," said Rass. "If you're gonna ..."

"I'll worry about it. You just do your part. It will be funny, trust me."

Funny? _ Doomed _ , I'd say.

I thought you were free if I died?

Bors, I'm here to help you. How can you say that? What ... what have I done to suggest that I seek escape?

It was a joke.

There was a deep silence from Yrflyth, and then, Forgive me, Bors, but I did not find it amusing.

"Fine," I said. "But this is going to work."

Yrflyth didn't say anything, but strong disapproval simmered through our connection regardless for the next few - long - hours. She didn't like my plan, she didn't approve of my plan, and she was upset that, at this point, I was committed to it. Either that, or let Yellem ... well. I wasn't going to let Yellem do ... do ... that to me. Ever.

Getting fucked? Well ... I hadn't had much choice about that, and ... really, I'd gotten used to it.

Fine. I liked it. A lot. Sex was great when I was fucking; sex is, if anything, even better when I'm getting fucked. I mean ... well, it is. Maybe it was even good when I was a boar.

Fine. It was good when I was a boar, too. But that didn't mean I was just going to roll over and let somebody ... except that's what I was doing now. Paw didn't even have to force me up on to the stand. Fine. I was a sow now. A heavy sow. And I'd sooner go back and beg Jack for help than let Yellem steal my sons.

Really?

I paused. Yes, really. Why? Can you ...

An ashamed, No, Bors. We're on our own. I'm sorry. It's just ... a change that surprised me.

Fine. Fine! I've changed.

I know. It's just ... I don't know that our magic can help.

You can let me see in that darkness of his, yes?

Yes.

That will be all I need.

Good, Yrflyth said. Because ... he's coming.

He is? Where's the sun?

About three hours from setting, Bors, Yrflyth reported_. It will be bright outside._

Painful. But ... I'd dealt with that before. I shifted a bit on the fur where I was laying, on my side. I brought one leg up to expose my cunt for him ... I didn't know that Yellem could see through the darkness, but I assumed he could, and I wanted to fix his attention on me. I didn't want him looking at ...

The colors went strange again. I had my eyes shut, but through Yrflyth's eyes, I saw Yellem slip into the tent, just like he had last time, wrapped in that filthy cloak. He was muttering, which I thought was strange, until I realized he wasn't just muttering - he was calling magic.

A spell of sleep, Yrflyth reported. Not meant for you. But that means he ...

A wave of magic washed over me, too, and I felt ... drowsy, and I could feel myself falling asleep in the stronger magic that he'd worked on me ... until Yrflyth bit me. Mistress! Wake! Mistress! she yelled at me, the words pounding in my mind. I may have jerked a little in surprise, but ... I settled back down, and ... the silence happened again, just like last time. Only this time, I saw it - Yellem had placed the magic on of those disgusting fingerbones, and he looked at me - straight at me.

And walked right up to me. That is, he started to walk right up to me. He had to; the way the furs were arranged, there was really only one way to Hesi's - now my - sleeping fur. Right over what I'd spent the early hours of darkness working on. Repairing tents, for example. Boars and sows both repair tents, but in camp - sows do it. A few hides, some rope, some branches ... of course, one can make other things than tents out of rope and hide.

Nets, for example. Big, big nets that are laid out, with the edges tied to heavy sacks of rock that are held up with a just a thin little twist of cloth that's easy to cut ... and then, the sacks fall down. The sacks pull the ropes up around the tent supports. And that pulls the net up, around anyone who happens to be standing in the midde of where the net was laid out to begin with.

Yellem was yelling something, I think, but the magic he'd conjured for silence was cutting it off. I could see he'd dropped the fingerbone, which had slipped out of the coarse weave of the net. I'd intended it to catch an undead monster, not a fingerbone. I smiled at the thought of using Yellem's own magic against him as I sprung up and took the fingerbone. Yrflyth had explained to me that a lot magic couldn't be completed properly without the right words or gestures - and Yellem would find it impossible to say the words in his magical quiet, and - I hoped - hard to make the right gestures tangled in the net. I coiled more rope around the net, as fast as I could and staying out of the reach of his claws, pulling the rope tight around him until ...

Bors! He has a knife! He's sawing through the net, Yrflyth warned me.

Well, it would take him a minute or two to do that. I hadn't gotten him as tied up as I'd hoped, but ... knife. I used my axe to chop through the rope holding the net up, and it fell to the floor with Yellem still tangled in it. Perfect. I had to drop my axe to grab the rope, so that I could drag the still-tangled Yellem out into the light of the day.

I guess I'd expected the light to burn my eyes - daylight is horrible - but the darkness oozing off the crystal-coated skull didn't dissipate the way I'd expected. The harsh sunlight burned it away, of course, but enough remained to keep the light tolerable - I squinted against it, but it didn't hurt, and it certainly didn't blind me the way I'd expected. I did lose Yrflyth's odd vision with its confused colors, though.

Probably that was a good thing, because I was running - almost running, as close to it as I could while dragging the net and Yellem. I'm sure he was screaming, but the magical quiet was ... perfect. It let him sneak into the sowery, with not a sound to alert anyone. And it let me drag him out to the huge pile of garbage I'd had Hesi collect under the guise of cleaning up the camp with the same complete lack of noise. Drag him and the net up into the pile.

Grab the torch I'd soaked in oil, and hidden earlier.

Here's an interesting fact: the minor magic that lights a candle doesn't require a single word - just a quick, sharp gesture, and Yellem stiffened when he saw me light the torch that way. It's fast, too. No flint and steel, no kindling, no need for wood shavings or fibers to catch the spark - just phoomph! and I had a nice flaming torch to set fire to the garbage - the old dry branches, the scraps, the old bits and oddments and trash that had littered our camp. It was almost as if someone had arranged them as a bonfire.

Me, actually. I'd arranged them as a bonfire, and my impromptu bonfire went up in a quick flash of fire. That might have had something to do with the oil I'd soaked some of the dry brush in, underneath. And I still had a jug of oil - rendered bear fat, actually - to throw directly on Yellem. I hit him as hard as I could with the torch until the fire drove me away - not long, because the oil quickly caught all the trash on fire.

The silence broke a moment later, and the sound of the fire roared back, all crackling flame and I could hear Yellem screaming and cursing me. I threw a rock at him, and yelled, "Just because I might present the Chief with many sons doesn't mean you get any, you filthy worm!" I'm not sure what he was doing at that point - trying to cast a spell, trying to cut through the ropes, trying to burn the ropes away, but he burned a lot better and faster than the rope did.

He finally stopped screaming and moving and just burned; the dry flesh burned, the bones cracked and split in the heat. I'd expected he'd burn away quickly, but ... it took nearly ten minutes for him to stop moving, as he curled himself around the crystal skull as if it could protect him. If it did, it wasn't enough. Not against a bonfire.

After an hour or two, I used a pole to crack the skull out of the char that surrounded it. Even now, after the fire, it still breathed darkness out, and that would be ... valuable. At Yrflyth's urging, I rescued a few other trinkets that the fire hadn't - couldn't - touch. The knife Yellem had used to try to cut the rope. A ring, set with a fire opal. A necklace of tiny bones, still pristine white even after the soot of the fire. Orclet bones, I thought.

Yes, Bors.

What is this horrible thing?

Magic, Bors. I'm not sure what. There's a pattern we can use to determine what these are ...

Later, I said. I don't have time right now.

There's one more thing here, Bors. Something magic ... there_. We shouldn't leave it._

I looked. What? I don't see anything ... I used the pole to scrape at the ashes until I'd gotten a thin, almost invisible silver circlet set with a single tiny clear stone. Like the other things I'd retrieved, it was untouched by the fire.

We should get back to the tent.

"Only temporarily," I said, trudging back to the tent. "I want my axe back."

But ... then where are you going?

I picked up the axe, and headed back out, over to the cliff, and walked into what had been Yellem's tent. I looked over the things - a much nicer sleeping cot, an actual chest. From Yrflyth's previous scouting, I felt like I already knew the tent. Yellem's apprentices had a tendency to die a year or two into their apprenticeship, and he didn't have one currently. He'd gone through four or five that I remembered.

Still. I looked around, seeing it for the first time with my own eyes rather than Yrflyth's, and it looked different. Yrflyth didn't see what I saw, I realized. She was looking up, from where she was, making everything look ... tall. My memories of the tent, Yrflyth's memories, were of looming furniture and walls reaching to a high, high peak.

But it was just a tent, albeit one that had stood for years. It showed the patches and repairs that any tent might. The walls didn't reach up thirty feet; it wasn't the huge, empty space I'd expected at all. It was just a tent, about the size of Paw's tent. There was even a breeding stand, over in the corner, piled with ... stuff. Yellem hadn't kept any sows of his own. There were hides, covered with ... some kind of writing. It didn't look like anything I knew.

These are ... spells, Yrflyth said after a moment. Scribed in unwholesome languages. These will not answer to your hand, Bors.

"Then what should I do with them?"

Gift them to Darz.

I laughed, until I realized Yrflyth was serious. "Really?"

They may be of use to her; they are none for you.

"But ..." For some reason I felt reluctant to just ... give them away.

There is quite a collection of them here, Bors. Some may be of use to us. The others we can give to Darz ... and expect that she will give us something we can use.

Oh. I nodded. "That makes sense."

Bors, where will we keep them? What are ...

"We're staying here," I said. I hefted the bone necklace, and I could feel Yrflyth shudder. I understood her feelings, but I didn't kill the orclets. I felt no compunctions about donning it, grisly trophy or not, and I could feel the magic settling around me as I did it.

Protection, said Yrflyth, but I'd guessed that myself.

I examined the fire opal and the ring - but there were no marks, nothing on it. The fire-opal ring - I put it on, and it twisted itself around my finger, loosening until it was just comfortable. I could feel the potential of it, but ... Yrflyth?

I can't tell, the snake admitted. It may take some time.

The knife ... the knife just didn't feel right at all, and I put it away in the trunk where Yellem had stored the magic cloak Yrflyth had found, all raven feathers sewn with impossibly tiny stitches into a thin leather backing. The cloak ... felt right. Good. I wasn't sure what it was, but ... I decided I'd keep it on. The circlet vanished into my hair, and ... yes. I'd keep that, too. A book of magic that I couldn't use. Potions. Wands, most of which I could master. I spent the time until sunset rummaging through the collection of magic and treasures and trash that Yellem had collected, taking some of it, using some of it, setting things I couldn't use aside. Just because I couldn't use them didn't mean I wouldn't find some other use.

Yrflyth grew more and more agitated as I patiently sorted through the remains. She could tell that I knew what I was going to do. I'm not sure why I didn't just tell her, any more than why she didn't just ask. Maybe she guessed. Maybe because I knew what I was going to do. It would be hard, but ...

As the mountains finally swallowed the sun and the light receded, I dressed myself from the stores Yellem had. A fine cotton blouse and jacket. Leather trousers that laced to fit. Boots - and I was surprised when I felt yet another tingle of magic from them. The raven cloak. A heavy iron rod topped with a wrought brass twist, one of the wands I'd puzzled out that spewed a sticky cloud of spider-webbing. And most importantly, my axe.

Timing is everything. "Yrflyth, tell me when Paw - my father - Chief Griter - comes out of his tent."

Yes, Bors.

I didn't have long to wait. He's out. He's ... somebody must have told him about the bonfire.

Hardly surprising, I said.

He's heading toward Yellem's tent, so ... but all that's left of Yellem is ashes?

Paw wants to know what it means, I said. Who else does he have to ask? Is he close?

Yes!

I slapped the entrance aside with my axe, and stepped out. Whatever the gathered clan had expected - it wasn't me; not an obviously heavy sow wearing things only a shaman would dare.

"What ..." Paw started, but I cut him off.

"Chief Griter," I said. "I am now Shaman of the Bleeding Slash." I ignored the quiver of shock that went through the others.

"You're - you're ..." he stopped. "Where the fuck is Yellem?"

I pointed - with my axe - towards the bonfire. "Yellem challenged me." I glance around to see the other clan members, and caught Kett staring at me with wide eyes. "He lost," I added.

"Are ... are you challenging me now?" Paw said, his eyes hard and his hand on his axe, but his voice still a little uncertain. That was interesting; Paw wasn't sure if he could take me - even now, heavy as I was.

I lifted my own axe. "You don't want to be shaman. Do you?"

"No," Paw said, starting to recover. "But I don't think you're ..."

I cut him off with a sweep of the heavy iron wand that sprayed webbing across the crowd nearest me, tangling them harmlessly as a demonstration that I had power - and could have done much more. "Chief Griter," I said, giving him the undisputed title of _ Chief _, neither one of us can lose a battle to the other." I held up a handful of Yellem's knucklebones. "So say the bones."

From the look on his face, I could tell he didn't like it, but ... he knew what I meant. He couldn't afford to lose to a pregnant sow, or even have difficulty beating her - and I sure couldn't hold the tribe as Chief, no matter how easily I beat him.

"Can't hardly argue with the bones," he said after a long moment. "Come into my tent, and we'll discuss it, Shaman."

"That's _ Shaman Bors _," I told him.