“When did they get here?” Tom asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he gazed down at the army that had appeared overnight.

“The Kinzena clan has been porting soldiers and supplies for the last eight hours,” Gunn said, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“You didn’t wake me up?”

“They’re going to be sorting themselves out for a while yet.”

“That’s a lot of people,” Tom said, scanning the army they were suddenly on the receiving end of. “Why are you smiling then?”

“They’re too afraid to do the job themselves. There have been no more surprise attacks. Your Keth’zar saw to that. Look at the banners.”

He pointed out at the mass of humanity assembling beneath them.

“Kulesh the scarred, Honnuken the immortal, Fegan aflame, Bukar the bloodied,” He said as he pointed to each of the ostentatious flags.

“They might as well be telling us exactly what they plan on doing and how. Kinzena has press-ganged it’s subordinate families into war, and we know exactly where their healers are.”

“Assuming the flags aren’t a mislead,” Tom said with a shrug.

“They’ve got too much pride in their vaunted families of Alia.” Gunn responded. “There’s no central leadership, and none of these families would sully their reputation by using their flag as a decoy. Well, except the Cursemongers.”

“So there are just…valuable healers right there and everyone knows it?” Tom asked incredulously, pointing at the tapestry of blue waters falling off a crescent moon.

“Yup.”

“Well, I guess there’s not much we can do about it without artillery or cannons. People stopped waving flags around pretty quick after the big guns came out.”

“I don’t know what those are, but we don’t need them. We’re gonna kidnap the Honnukens.”

“Oh?”

“Like I said earlier, a Honnuken is worth a lot to the right people. Perhaps even enough to cede this castle and allow us to push further into the Dinamore stretch.”

“How do you make sure the Kinzena don’t ‘port in behind you and take the castle back as soon as you leave? How do you keep your supply lines from being annihilated?”

Tom turned back to face the inside of the castle, where some five thousand Vith went through their morning routine.

“It’s not gonna be long before we run low on food.”

Gunn chewed on his shrooms in thought for a moment before he responded. “We’re going to have to leave a trail of Keth’zar behind us as we go.”

Kethzar cost about one dead person per unit at his current rate of exchange, assuming you hired them in bulk.

The sheer number of square miles involved made that solution impractical to say the least.

Tom did some simple math.

“We would have to kill thirty thousand people in order to make the trail between the castle and the desert secure. That’s just the trail, none of the forest to the left or right. That would be about eighty million people.

“I don’t see eighty million people here, do you?” Tom asked.

“Hmm…” Gunn glanced over at the Keth’zar staring motionlessly down at the army below them.

“I suppose we’ll just have the supply trains carry them along,” Tom said. it would certainly make it less risky to travel. Although it would eat up huge amount of the space such a supply train might otherwise have.

Not an ideal solution, but-

“They have supplies, don’t they?” Gunn said, pointing at the army slowly organizing itself beneath them.

Even from here, Tom could make out rows of huge barrels that seemed to be filled with grains, pickled foods or salted fish.

“Let’s just take their food and their healers. Problem solved. The more people they send to fight us the easier a time we’ll have.”

Tom frowned, glancing at Gunn. “Didn’t you lose the last war?”

“Against an army of demons with no beginning or end, that crashed against us like a tide, with no regard for their own life. Yes.”

Gun chuckled, waving his hand.

“These are just people.”

Gunn leaned over the side of the wall, toward the staircase where two Vith warriors were chatting while smoking a bit of the local weeds. Literally. It wasn’t marijuana, that was for sure.

“Hey Gus,” he called grabbing the attention of the nearer warrior. “How many spare hands do we have for converting privileged noblewomen with our noble savage ways?”

“Despite having fifteen tribes, we’ve been pretty damned busy recently. I’d say no more than five.” The warrior responded.

“Five it is,” Gunn said, nodding before turning back to Tom and lowering his voice to a whisper. “We’ll grab fifteen and let them deal with it. They’ll find room.”

Tom shook his head, chuckling.

“Tom!” Nema’s voice came up from the bottom of the stairs.

“Eh?”

“The shamans are having a ‘meeting’, and your presence is required!”

Tom didn’t know the Vith word but he assumed it was ‘meeting’ form context.

“Alright, show me the way,” Tom said, trotting down the stairs after Nema. ‘Gus’ gave him a strange, envious look as he followed Nema’s swaying back down the stairs. Makes sense to me.

Nema guided him to a rather large underground room kept cool despite the summer sun outside. The walls were stone, but the floor was boarded and covered with pelts to make it comfortable.

Inside, there were fourteen other men and women of various ages, ranging from Tom’s late teen, to a man in his mid-fifties with salt and pepper hair.

Tom was mildly surprised to note that three of the shamans, including Tom, were obviously foreigners. One of them looked something like a Chinese woman of indeterminate age, while another man seemed Indian.

Of course, Tom understood that they weren’t Chinese or Indian since this was a completely different planet, but that’s what they vaguely reminded him of.

The rest, well, they were a smorgasboard. Some looked dignified and respectable, while another looke…not entirely present.

“Greetings, Newbie!” The salt and pepper haired Shaman said, motioning for Tom to join the circle of shamans. “Welcome to the first ‘meeting’ of the fifteen tribe’s shamans in the last six years!”

“Yeah!” The other fourteen shamans raised their fists and cheered.

“Glad to be here,” Tom said. “So what’s the first order of business?” Tom assumed they were going to discuss logistics and morale, and ways to ease tensions between tribes that might not see eye to eye. You know, Shaman stuff.

“First, Introductions!” Salt and pepper said. “Your name, a short introduction and your ability.” He pointed to his left at the Shaman on his left, who was sniffing something he’d picked from his feet.

“I’m Farrah,” he said, “Thirty four, I like wood grains. I require that everyone allow me to bless their wood grains in my hut for a night before defiling them with the knife and saw. My oils make them strong.”

Ewww….I’m not sure I wanna know.

“I’m Bac’dan. Twenty eight,” The Indian-looking fellow said. “I fell overboard of a passenger ship, and was rescued by the Vith when I was twelve. I can summon fire.” He made a flame appear on top of his finger. “I’m excited to attend my first ‘meeting’.

They really do like to make their weirdos the shaman, Tom thought as introductions went around and each of them revealed themselves to be eccentric at least.

Tom started out of his own head as the circle came around to him, and it was his turn.

“Tom Graves, Nineteen, Umm…I can divine the past and hire demons for logistics, manual labor and information.”

Brows went up.

“Damn. I suppose you’re the one to thank for those creepy statues that keep us safe from the Kinzena.” Salt and Pepper said, taking the metaphorical mic. “I’m Frazir, fifty four years old, I can sense water underground, and move it to a small extent. Currently hosting the ‘meeting’ for the first time as the most senior Shaman.”

“Who here has been to a ‘meeting’ before?” he asked.

“Here!” five of the assembled shamans raised their hands and cheered.

“A lot of newbies this time around,” Frazir said, nodding. “As I thought. Luckily for you, I went above and beyond to arrange a ‘meeting’ that will obliterate the six year dry spell, and cement what a real meeting is supposed to be.”

“Whooo!” the assembled shamans cheered, leaving Tom glancing around back and forth in confusion.

I’m starting to wonder whether that word means ‘meeting’.

“Excuse me,” Tom said.

“Yes?” Frazir asked, turning to

“What do we do at a ‘meeting’?” Tom asked.

“Oh, we discuss current events, hash out simple agreements between tribes, low-level property disputes, inter-tribe marriages, that sort of thing. Anything short of war or Chief business.”

“Oh,” Tom said, relieved, “Oka-“

“Then we do drugs, get smashed and PARTY!” Frazir shouted, while the other shamans cheered. “Korloth, you bastard, I haven’t seen you in six years! We could all die tomorrow! You think we’re gonna talk about boring shit the first day back!? We’re skipping straight to the fun part! I swore I would outdo Gol’s ‘meeting’ if it was the last thing I did, Dorun rest his soul. I hope he’s watching!”

Frazir reached behind himself and brought out an ornate box that contained what appeared to be several bottles of the former commander’s private reserve…and a bell.

Frazir held it in front of him with a brilliant grin, giving it a solid ring.

RING!

A moment later, mostly naked dancers flooded out of the doorways and started gyrating in the center of the shaman’s circle while Frazir reached into a panel in the floor and started distributing various drugs along with the hard alcohol.

Oh, my God, this took a turn, Tom thought, wide-eyed. Jacob and Reese would have loved this.

What do the lady shamans think about this blatant – oh, nevermind – The Chinese looking woman was running her hands down the muscular thighs of a dancer with his barely restrained junk inches away from her chin.

“Whatever.” Tom said, rolling his eyes and reaching for the nearest bag of drugs. When in Rome.

“No, not that one,” Nema said, dancing over to him. “That’s a nasty one for newbies. You want something that’ll relax you and even out those neurotic nerves of yours. Try this instead.” She placed a pipe with a bowl of smouldering something in his hands.

“Should I ask why you’re here?” Tom asked before taking a hit and coughing his lungs out.

“Because it sounded like fun?” She said, wiggling a bit in front of him, her outfit covering more with the shadows it created than the actual fabric.

Tom grabbed a bottle neck that seemed to hover near his face, took a swig of pure fire, then passed it to another hand that seemed to be floating to his left.

He didn’t remember much after that.

***The next morning***

“Oh, my god,” Tom groaned pushing his face out of the pelts that composed his bed. Every inch of his body ached like he’d lifted a ton, but he was surprisingly sans-hangover.

What day is it? Tom thought as he owlishly peered at the light streaming into the castle barracks. Judging by the angle, it was morning, and Tom doubted they’d partied so hard they’d gone back in time.

Which meant they’d partied…all day? How in the – Oh crap, I missed the night time operation! Tom thought, lunging out of bed, mindful not to step on or elbow anyone.

Tom slapped on some pants and hustled out the door. he needed to check on his Soul Engine, see if anyone died last night, and make sure that all their warriors were still alive. Heal any wounds they might have with the Healing Crypt, and basically take care of Shaman business.

“Morning Tom!” Gunn said, waving to him from the parapet as Tom hustled up the stairs.

Frazir and a couple of the other shamans were there too, smoking as they leaned against the wall, inspecting the regimented army that had seemingly organized itself overnight. Where before they were an undisciplined amoeba of humanity, now there were formations with crisp edges, tightly regimented.

“What caused this?” Tom asked.

“We walked in and kidnapped half their healers last night.” Gunn said, spitting over the edge of the wall. “They decided to take us more seriously.”

He glanced over at Tom. “I hear you had fun at the ‘meeting’ last night.”

“It feels like I did.” Tom said, rolling his aching shoulders.

“Tom’s a great Shaman once he gets a few drinks in him,” Frazir said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “He even taught us a new dance,”

Oh, no.

“Calls it ‘twerking’.”

Tom didn’t think his face could get any hotter.

“And then he got jealous that Nema was dancing so he sat her down and gave her what he called a ‘lap dance’ instead. Which is a fantastic concept. ‘Lap’…‘dance’.”

I was wrong.

“How about we talk about the war instead?” Tom interjected. “I would so much rather be talking about dead people or imminent demise right now. Did Brama die in the raid? Are we gonna starve to death? Please let it be one of those things.”

Frazir cackled and slapped Tom on the back. “You’re almost as funny sober. Good on ya. I’ll see you at the next ‘meeting’ tonight.”

Tom’s stomach sank. “Are we gonna just be partying again?”

“No, no, we shamans actually have to do our work. We’ll probably address how not to starve to death in the next couple days or have our women and children killed by foreign Alia. Avoiding a potential genocide, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, thank g-“

“THEN we party!” Frazir called over his shoulder as he left.