Hordedoom

Thirteen years after the end of the war:

A low rumble swept across the desert, growing louder with each passing second. The dunes rippled as hills zigzagged across the surface. Suddenly, a river of sand shot up, burying the surrounding area in a haze of dust. From this strange storm front, a black, twisted leg emerged, clawing its way to freedom. More followed, and more, each so large that it dwarfed the houses.

The shapes disappeared in the sandstorm's shroud. Two gigantic segmented bodies, each at least a hundred meters long, shot into the sky. Their feet drummed against each other's shells, and the yellow rivers turned into a relentless downpour. The sand reapers intertwined in their incredible mating dance, turning day into night as the shifting masses of sand flew in all directions.

A force field shield enveloped Just Peachy, sending the first incoming wave over it. Traders, returning mercenaries, and farmers rushed to the entrance, equally wary of being lost or drowned in this unexpected wrath of nature and wary of the dangers that might arise from it. Soldiers stepped forward, ready to provide aid to those in need. Sirens wailed, both warning of danger and serving as a beacon for the lost.

Sand reapers never hunted humans unless their acute senses caught a whiff of sugar. Small pests were unworthy of serving as adequate nourishment for the titans to waste calories on catching them. But the clatter of their giant bladed limbs served as a signal to the creatures that had adapted to exploit the actions of the apex predators. Dark dots scurried across the desert, popping out from under boulders, digging themselves out of the ground, or emerging from an unnoticed cave.

A living carpet of insectoid drones tumbled down on the farm owner, who was desperately urging his cusacks to haul carts full of mushroom bread towards the gate. Soon realizing they would never make it, he shouted at his children to drop everything and run for their lives and began firing a shotgun into the approaching carnivorous swarm.

Nearby miners stopped their truck. The drivers bravely opened their windows, ignoring the torrent of sand that drenched them up to their ankles, and supported the farmer with bursts of machine gun fire while the rest of the crew donned power suits and activated impressive drills, jackhammers, and wrist-mounted welders. With a loud clang, they stomped out the opening ramp, and their foreman barked at the children not to run towards the city but to take refuge in the truck.

The people barely waved at a drone flying overhead, not bothering to call for backup. Instead, the other travelers deftly mounted the smallest caravan members onto their steeds and readied their weapons. Cooperation and mutual aid were the keys to survival in the harsh realities of the Wastes, and the locals were not weak-willed cowards who would tuck their tails between their legs at the first sign of trouble.

Insectoids wanted to eat them? They would turn them into mush. The observer knew how dangerous such a delusion was, and yet she felt proud of her people.

Shots thinned the front lines of the advancing horror, tearing fat bodies to shreds, but from behind more flexible figures jumped out, standing on four thin legs supporting elongated torsos to which sharp blade-like limbs were pressed. With economical swings of their paws, the Insectoid warriors justified their title as the terror of the wastelands. Their blades deflected both bullets and slugs, and their mobile legs carried them to the front. Although their black eyes were indistinguishable from the drones' clusters, these creatures cared about their survival and possessed the rudiments of intelligence, directing the swarm along the path of least resistance, while the drones obediently concentrated on the tasks set before them by higher-ranking life forms.

The warriors charged ahead of their meat shields, expertly hiding from targeted fire in the thickest layers of sand clouds, drawing attention to themselves and ignoring the lumbering, heavily armored miners.

They targeted something that was bound to cause panic among the defenders. The youth. The observer snorted in disdain, her fingers curling around the corner of the table, white with tension, and she ignored the question, focusing all her attention on the screens.

Now. Rock formations pierced the desert surface, separating the people and terrified animals from the approaching critters in a jagged line full of holes. Clever contrivance or the random movement of the sand reapers did not create this barrier. It was conjured by a breathless fourteen-year-old girl, clad in power armor too large for her, and flanked by white and black figures. The girl's arms were raised above her head as she reached the first travelers, and the cannon mounted on her shoulder aimed itself at the nearest passage.

The insectoids did not stop, weren't surprised, but climbed the rocks, ignoring the obvious traps. The girl's cannon and lightning bolts escaping from another trainee's palm caught the first drones when they jumped.

This made its own sense, the observer understood. The defenders were waiting for them on the ground, but the insectoid warriors used their troops as steppingstones, jumping from one to another and dodging the trainees' attacks. The losses of drones was insignificant for the cold-blooded intellect, which had already calculated that it would be in the plus if the humans fell. Ten warriors landed, preparing to rush the trainees, and the wave of leaderless drones almost caught up with the farmer and his animals.

The observer's heart stabbed and beat faster when the bluish beast landed in front of the insectoids, blocking the path to the children. Naked, sexless, the jaws of its elongated skull grabbed its first victim, snapping the thing in two before it could sink blades into its eyes. An unusual beard of moving tendrils wrapped around the next warrior, jerking him up.

A swift slash from another warrior saved its captive comrade, slicing off the shrinking portion of the beard. The creature's paw slammed into the chest of a falling insectoid, bringing it down like a comet, and crushed it with its palm as the creature's body twisted. The creature's legs kicked away the blades aimed at tendons, and a furious fight raged around the trainee leader as he lured the deadly creatures away from his subordinates.

His mirror image leapt out of the wall of flying sand, meeting the drones approaching the farmer. The tentacles of his beard lashed out, crushing chitinous shells, his legs crushing thin legs, and his paws tearing off heads. But where the first creature had been four meters long, his offspring was barely two meters tall and moved with less sureness and grace.

Stay safe, baby. The observer pulled her hand off the table and clutched it to her chest. Four insectoid warriors slid out from behind the drones and raced toward the trainees while eight of their brethren fought the larger foe. The smaller creature looked up from its killing, turned its back on the drones, and grabbed the terrified farmer by the ankle.

The girl's cannon opened fire, gouging craters in the sand as the creatures leaped across the distance, skirting her and the others to the left. Unexpectedly, the cannon stopped, it's targeting system catching the miners in the line of fire. Speeding up to twice its speed, the first of the insectoids ignored the screaming farmer as he flew over its head and plopped in the sand. The insect's blades closed in on the girl's neck and wrist while her escorts did nothing.

The trainee made the mistake of forgetting how sensitive the insectoids were to the slightest vibrations and how adept they were at discerning the slightest differences in tremors. In a panic, she summoned a stone pillar in front of her, and the smaller creature slammed its pelvis into its top as the insectoid simply stopped, dodging the impalement.

Immediately after the farmer's unorthodox evacuation, the creature had leaped, closing the distance to its teammate faster than the insectoid, preparing to smash his head in. The observer grimaced as her little boy grabbed the pillar with a trembling hand, letting out a soft squeal. Transformed or not, the encounter had not been painless.

Stubbornly, the transformed boy tried to climb down as the insectoid warrior cut the pillar down with one blow, and it fell to the left. The next slash left a long gash in the suit's neck, and again the scythed limb rose, intending to chop off the trainee's head.

The bullets tore through the sand clouds, flying past farmers and miners, ricocheting off the trainees' armor, and leaving round holes in the beast's head. It staggered, white liquid spilling out of the wounds, the thin legs buckled, and the next shot pierced the thing's skull, spilling the equivalent of its brain into the raging storm.

Sniper teams from the Regional Defense Force took up positions on the crest of a dune near the city, tapping into the hovering drones' cameras and the trainees' systems, and opened supporting fire, compensating for the poor accuracy with the number of shots from their long-range rifles. A sword appeared in the paw of the knight responsible for the shocked girl, and the Wolfkin in black armor unceremoniously sealed the cut with sealant, making sure that sand did not get inside the trainee's armor.

The smaller creature finally straightened up, ignoring the pain and racing after the retreating insectoids. They dodged the bolts of lightning fired by the third trainee, watching his fingers carefully, already guessing the limits of his impressive strength. The fourth boy had not yet used his power, a cool mist swirling around his fists, his cannon belching a stream of projectiles, but he himself stood still. Their transformed comrade reached the creatures and swung.

The insectoid warrior met him. Its blade-arm flew under the blue limb the entire length, stopping near the elbow, and the observer bit her nail, guessing that the hunter had measured the length of her boy's arm. The warrior jumped back, retreating into one of the narrow passages in the rock formation, finding himself out of range of the snipers. Two other warriors jumped onto the rock walls to the left and right of the boy, preparing to attack him from three sides.

The observer had no doubt that the creatures had already exchanged information and were preparing to cancel the training. She stopped as the fog enveloped the insectoids' feet on the rocks, covering them with an icy crust and pinning them in place. They were taken aback. They knew heat, acid, pain, and many other things, but cold was an unfamiliar sensation for them, and a moment's hesitation ended with a lightning strike on one of them. The dying parasite's body was still twitching, emitting smoke, as the second immediately cut off its own frozen legs along the edge of the ice.

It didn't save him, and the boy's fist smashed the hunter against the wall. The last warrior began to retreat again, summoning dozens of drones to him. The rocks closed around the boy, taking the shape of intertwined fingers created by the girl who had come to her senses. She arched the clasped fists and brought them down at the gathered drones, crushing them, and her comrade jumped out of the hole above the sculpture, falling on the warrior.

Their fight lasted barely more than a couple of seconds. The boy's weight broke his opponent's legs, but he paid for it with deep, bleeding lacerations on his arm, raised for defense of his face. The limb hung limply, pieces of blue hide hanging from it, and the boy's tentacles closed around his victim, grinding it. His father stopped, turning to his son and letting out a guttural growl full of approval and encouragement.

William answered in a thin, uncertain tone. There were no animalistic rage in his eyes, but human fear mixed with the irritated gaze of a predator. The smaller creature rose unsteadily, and bubbles covered the ragged edges of his rips, where severed tendons and muscles reached out to each other. His father had already regenerated the lost tendrils.

Kit stopped chewing her nail, watching as the girl on the display shouted an apology to William for creating a pillar, while the other cheering trainees were exchanging high fives. The Wolfkin accompanying them gave all three a slap and advised them to concentrate on saving the animals from the drones. At their backs, the miner foreman grumbled, advising the woman to take it easy.

He still isn't working in unison with his power. Kit noted to herself. Of course, it was stupid to worry. Šime Štefančić's training group had met the living tide, supported by RSO and provincial guard units. Wolfkins of the Fatima Pack and a platoon of Wintersong Knights stood ready. There was no threat to the young New Breeds. The mixed training would end satisfactorily, and the veterans of the Provincial Guard would gain the desired experience of combat in the desert regions, and the Insectoids would not dare to hunt here anytime soon.

But her son and husband were there, and she couldn't help herself. Her rounded belly tingled, and Kit thought she heard a soft hiss. A cocktail of foreign emotions reached her head, crudely conveying the words: Coward. Maim. Kill. Fight! Well, someone is reading my emotions. Kit sighed, calming herself. Please don't rip my belly apart, okay? Your brother or sister inside you might not like it. And William isn't a coward. He's just having a hard time. Her love for Šime had never faded, even if he occasionally took on that hideous form and continued to break their bed with his extra weight during the peak of said love. But carrying the offspring of the New Breed took its toll on a Normal's body. Ugly scars covered her lower body, all the way down to her feet, but she never blamed William for it.

Just a new normalcy that they had to accept. No biggie. She and Šime planned to visit a cosmetic clinic and get rid of them in a year or so. Maybe it would take the guilt off William and give him the confidence he needed. The boy had talent. But he was too afraid of his power. Or maybe he was remorseful. They should never have told him about the circumstances of his birth and damn the policy of 'pure honesty and no judgment' in the family. If the scars' removal didn't help, she intended to support William's decision, even though she thought it was incredibly retarded.

Who in their right mind would refuse superpowers?

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The mayor of Just Peachy, or Ecological Habitat 647, as their lord Ivar demanded it to be called, sighed, turning away from a display to a hulking mass of bone ridges holding a finger over a remote. She took in a Malformed as her secretary to combat the prejudice, but the man had proven himself surprisingly attentive and perceptive of details, often acting without her input.

"Not giving birth yet, Mold." Kit slapped her hand reaching for a cig. Not during a pregnancy, idiot! "Call her in."

"By your will, mistress." Mold gurgled, a mismatched acidic sack in his throat mangling his speech. He rolled up the contract signed by Jack, a joyous union representative who had visited them this morning and was currently partying at the local tavern, ignoring the horror outside.

"It's Kit," she asked. "Not a noble."

"His Excellency Devourer had…"

"Please. Not nobility." The urge for a cigarette returned. She had enough problems trying to placate Ivar that she wasn't going to sell Just Peachy to the Second. Any mention of her place in the House of Hare made her stomach churn. Why did life have to be so difficult? All she wanted was for the settlement to prosper and for her family to be happy.

Political intrigue was so distracting from keeping everyone safe.

On the topic of survival. Kit had made the lass wait on the observation platform, watching the sand reapers, not out of pettiness for the core landers, as her husband had assumed. Why would she dislike them? Her children would one day move to the Core Lands and be safe. The reason lay in providing an illustration.

It wasn't her task to interview every new citizen of Just Peachy, but upon hearing the news, she had insisted on talking to this specific fool. The girl walked in, the cowl of her anti-heat suit on her backpack. She was fair-skinned, her hair pulled back into a ponytail that rested on her shoulder. Unlike many core landers, this one boasted impressive muscles, visible even through the fabric of her costume. Tall, beautiful, and not with a weird look in her eyes.

"Halina, right? Hello. Saw, what happened outside?" Kit asked, waving a finger at the shut window. "That's a common occurrence here."

"I am aware." The insufferable girl nodded, not frightened in the least. "Good day to you, Lady Mayor. Sand reapers' mating season occurs roughly every six months near Ecological Habitat 647…"

"Just Peachy," Kit interrupted.

"Excuse me?" Halina blinked.

"Call it Just Peachy. If Captain Ivar is around, call it Ecological Habitat 647." She waved a finger in a circle. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Don't play coy with me, Halina," Kit asked. "I read your file. Fourth student in your group, earned a silver medal for the first responder duty. Congratulations, by the way."

"Thank you, Lady Mayor."

"Call me Kit. That husband of yours…"

"We are not married."

"Then you will be, just a matter of time." Kit waved her hand. "Jay is an expert combat engineer; I bet that the PG, the PA, and even the Second are eager to snatch him. To my knowledge, neither he nor you have been in trouble with the law." She spread her arms. "So what the Abyss, Halina? You can see what is happening outside. One move, a single motion, and there will be irreparable damage done to my home. Humans exist in the Outer Lands because the monsters allow it. There is a cushy job waiting for you in the Core Lands. Why did you choose Just Peachy for medical practice? Explain to me why a prized student of the UNU would risk her neck to voluntarily come here when we usually get flunked-out dregs?"

"You are not wholly truthful, Kit," Halina noted. A raised eyebrow invited her to continue. "Sand reapers have never damaged Just Peachy. Captain Ivar positioned the place carefully. Saint Ravager also anointed the area by releasing a captured larva of those enormous creatures here."

"So you did your homework." Kit clapped, taking a deep breath as the baby raked the uterus, responding to a hint of her irritation. We are not in danger, sweetie. Don't get angry. The uncomfortable feeling disappeared. It sure was easier to game her babies on the second pregnancy.

"Are you…"

"Fine, superb, none of your business. You didn't answer the question."

"No contribution is unimportant," Halina said. She paused. "No. It isn't true. I've made mistakes. Serious mistakes in the past that endangered others. Maybe even cost them their lives; I am not sure. That's why I chose to become a surgeon."

"We are not accessories to your quest for redemption, Halina," Kit said evenly.

"Of course you aren't! I made a promise to save whoever I could to repay the bravery of others. I intend to honor it. There is a shortage of qualified medical personnel in the Outer Lands. I can help, and so I am here, both to heal and to learn." She shrugged.

"How selfless of you," Kit said. "There is a saying. Physician, heal thyself. Whom are you planning to heal? Yourself or the patients?"

"Also, both."

"Cute," Kit said dryly. "Halina, I'll be blunt. Here is not like in your peaceful home. I know that you have an experience with the tragedies." She raised a hand, stopping the arguments. "But I need you to understand that you will be yanked out of her bed at midnight not once, but on a constant basis."

"That is why we rented an apartment near the hospital." The girl smiled.

"Torn open wounds are not the worst of what you will see here," Kit warned her. "Imagine operating on irradiated victims, whose skins are melting away. A single mistake, and the filth that fills their veins can seep into a cut on your hand. I've seen the results of it. Not pretty. Some had saved their limbs, but the majority needed prosthetics. Then you have to understand that you will be studying inside Just Peachy's walls only for a year. After that, you will be eligible to be sent to all corners of our region. Now, it isn't a foul place. Captain Ivar has hanged... many to teach proper manners, and we have Anissa's group to the west and Ygrite's to the east, keeping the worst at bay.

"We have matriarchies, we have patriarchies, so don't be confused by differences in faiths, local customs, and variations of Common." And don't snitch on anyone who worships the Dynasts, she wanted to add, but kept that part unspoken. "It is by no means safe outside the gates, even if the folks are nice. Quicksand pits, those sand reapers rearranging the roads, the Guild hunting slavers, the Wolfkins facing the Iternian infiltrators, malnutrition, sicknesses, inbreeding, and worse. Have you ever operated to remove a parasite nest from a human? They scatter at the first incision, trying to bite a path under your skin and form a new colony inside your guts."

"Never." Halina paled a little and shook her head. "I have never treated anything of the sort. It is why I plan to listen and adhere to every safety instruction to the letter."

"You say that, but do you mean that?" Kit asked, reaching across the table and placing a hand on the girl's wrist, feeling her pulse through the glove, and looking into her eyes. A bead of sweat moistened her temple. "Can I count on you not to fly into a hysterical fit?"

"You can." Kit believed Halina's stern voice. She meant it. Or she was a good liar. "I'll never endanger others ever again."

"I suppose it is as good as I'm going to get." Kit leaned back on her armchair. "Welcome to Just Peachy and the Southern Wastes, Halina. Give that Jay of yours my best wishes. If anyone dares to try and blackmail you or coerce you in any way, you come straight to me or the investigators. Don't worry about a thing; they could be the Sunblades for all I care. Captain Ivar keeps the place clean of scum, and he has the Commander's ear. And I stand by my people to the end. I'll summon a guide to give you an orientation course around the town, unless the medics suddenly require your immediate assistance. Ignore the sand reapers; they'll go on for the rest of the day."

"A moment. Your breathing and that sweating…"

"I am in labor, thanks for noticing."

"You need to rest, Kit," Halina said. "I can escort you home if you want."

"Are you going to pester me like my husband, too?" Kit rolled her eyes. "Sorry. Not to be a harpy, girl, but I've been hearing that dotting for the past month, and it irritates me. Don't think me ungrateful for the care; it's a good thing you do. But I've carried children before and, if the Spirits are willing, will do so again. Most of what I do these days is sit in a room with air conditioning, eating and drinking." She pointed around her office. "Not many have the same privilege around here. You focus on your own man, Halina. I can attest that our maternity ward is qualified for any situation."

The girl blushed, apologizing for her suggestion all of a sudden. Grinning, Kit questioned her a bit about the Core Lands while they waited for a guide, a slender girl with a round nose, an employee of Mold. Eagerly taking Halina by the hand, she brazenly dragged the future surgeon to the doors, chatting non-stop. To her credit, the kid had stopped and waited for Halina to pull on her cowl before the two stormed outside.

Kit turned on the cameras to spy on the newcomer. An occasional word often helped to form an idea about a character far better than a private conversation. Halina and the girl stopped by the statue of Mirko Jović, and the guide proudly began telling the tale of how the old man had rescued her, while Halina looked strangely at the brilliantly smiling statue.

It stood on the same platform as the onyx statues of Warlords Janine, Eled, and Predaig, and an image of Sword Saint Camelia, carved from the whitest marble, completed the picture. The warlords were clad in old-fashioned power armor; gems studded the folds of the sword saint's flowing robe. Amber, rubies, and diamonds glittered in the figures' eyes, with hidden illumination ensuring a constant, encouraging atmosphere. Drones buzzed around them, keeping the idols free of dirt. It was an expensive display of unity, paid for entirely by Commander Devourer's coffers. A single Wolfkin of the Fatima pack stood guard near the sculpture, looking a little embarrassed about missing the action outside.

His sight saddened Kit. Da's had told her how the two groups, white and black, fiercely fought side by side, one relentlessly biting at the flanks and another shearing their patch into the soft underbelly of the foes. She didn't see these blessed times. Ice Fangs and Wolfkins stationed their troops separately. Aside from Just Peachy, the knights' presence in the Wastes was diminishing. Their banners had been rolled, the keeps had been transferred to the regulars, and a village elder had told her that he had seen a weeping knight captain cursing the Summersprings and the Mountaintops.

Ravager rarely appeared in the news, replaced by Grand Captain Wyrm Lord. Meanwhile, the Sword Saints began to appear frequently in Devourer's presence, maintaining the steely expressions. Even in Just Peachy, the locals felt the growing rift between the two groups, as Fatima's wolf hag had proudly refused to even listen to a Wintersongs knight captain when the man tried to bring an apology for a recent scandal where reporters had mistakenly attributed the joint victory solely to the Order. Captains Ivar and Scorpio redoubled their efforts, drilling the Normies of the Third into an impressive fighting force and devising tactics to deal with hostile New Breeds.

Something was brewing, and Kit wasn't sure she liked any of that. Please, don't let there be any infighting, Blessed Mother. She prayed to a small idol on her table representing Ravager's mercy.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mold." She tore her glance away from the bloodied Wolfkin shielding the humans in her embrace.

"It doesn't bother me, Mistress," cheerfully gurgled the mountain of muscle.

He does it on purpose. Kit decided. Just you wait, you ass. When I get the chance, I'll make you a noble! Then we'll see how you like it, you jerk.

"What is next on the schedule, or have you solved everything behind my back as usual?" She smiled.

"I would never dare." Mold returned the grin, then the folds of his lips tightened. "There are two things. One is a nothing burger, so I'll start with an important matter. Judge Blackie has passed a case to you. Hazm and Judur are at it again."

"Is anyone hurt?" Kit asked immediately.

The two assholes were the farm owners, constantly trying to one-up one another with their stock of cusacks, whose flesh they claimed to be as soft as that of a regular cow. It was bullshit, as Kit had learned at an official reception, but few here had tasted a real steak, and the meat was softer than normal.

Judur came to their society from an underground tribe. Her body was stunted; each bone could dislodge with ease, her fingers ended in thick nails capable of splitting stones, and she was a hard opponent of wearing no clothes except a work bag slung over her shoulder, trusting her brown fur to cover her completely. Judur was nearly blind, but her acute senses helped the woman orient herself around just fine.

"No, they didn't even throw hands this time," Mold said. "Ever since they worked together during the plague, they seemed to have grown to tolerate each other's right to exist. No, the problem is of a mundane sort. Judur's cusack stumbled upon Hazm's field and ate the pile meant for an entire herd. It had happened at night, but Judur swore that she had checked her plot and all was fine. I believe her. It had been ten years since she had lost a cusack to insectoids."

"So how?"

"Well, Black Tide Rising has a construction crew in these lands, building that road of theirs. You probably heard them explode their way through the mountain, so I think the vibrations caused a collapse under the fence. You can check the mercenary's report; he told the judge the same. Anyway, the thing got out, and Hazm is asking for that cusack as compensation. Politely, so far. Judur wants her cattle back."

"Hm…" Kit drummed her fingers on the table, trying to maintain her composure.

A pile was the nickname for the assortment of animal carcasses, rotting food, and other biological matter suitable for quick fattening of the cusacks. They were usually stored just outside the main fence, since cusacks had a nasty habit of breaking into barns, attracted by the smell of decay.

So a beast had escaped its master and helped itself, no doubt bloating itself to the point of immobility. While the piles were cheap, there were various costs associated with transportation... But nothing close to the price of a prized animal.

It was a trivial, insignificant matter, one that would never have been brought to their attention had Hazm not been a veteran of Ivar's unit, while Scorpio had negotiated the integration of the subterranean New Breeds into the state. No wonder Blackie folded; side with one, and another might go for your jugular. What were her options? Pissing off Ivar was dangerous, and Scorpio wasn't the kind of person to resort to physical violence for crossing him. He was the kind of person who created a scenario to socially ruin his opponent to the point where they wished they were dead.

So what to do… She would rather not involve Just Peachy in the wyrms' business. Wait a second. Black Tide Rising. Kit took a terminal, checking their owner and the terms of the signed contract.

"Judur will have to suck it up," she said at last. "By her fault or not, her cusack has damaged Hazm's property. The cusack goes to him. But! Black Tide Rising promised us that there wouldn't be any trouble for my constituents. I say a broken fence counts as a trouble, don't you think?"

"The insectoids could've swarmed in." Mold nodded. "A bump doesn't cover it. Dangerous."

"Indeed. Since Hazm and Judur live in that area, I say their families should participate in an inspection that would determine if the company adheres to accepted standards. In the meantime, the CEO is to compensate the poor herder for the lost profit and moral damages." Kit glanced at him. "I hope Captain Scorpio won't try to scam one of his own out of the compensation."

"I share your belief, Mistress." Mold's smile widened.

"But just in case, have Blackie help Judur fill out the paperwork. If he gets a case of yellow belly, tell him I will take responsibility. And there were those thieves in prison. Give them an offer: either they help fix the fence and get lost, or they can sit and rot till the end of their sentences." Kit stretched, gasped, and took herself by the belly. One month. One more month, sweeties.

Yeah, it was the best solution she could think of. Hazm will be satisfied, Judur will grumble but won't feel herself deprived through no fault of her own, and the click on the black wyrm's nose will hopefully be soothed by a gesture of goodwill in the form of helping his ally.

"What's the last bother?"

"Just Peachy has to prepare a feast worthy of a capital city to properly receive a special guest." He handed her the printed order, stamped with a blue scale. "Warlord Anji had her first litter; four of nine children survived. In accordance with the traditions established by the wyrms, she will travel through our region, bringing joy and unity to the populace by gracing them with the presence of her kids."

"People will enjoy the freebies, I suppose." Kit sighed wearily, reading the paper. She whistled. "Right down to the quality of the apples. Hm... Anji was one of those who helped rescue Just Peachy. We owe her eternal gratitude. The least we can do is throw her a proper welcome party. But we don't have anything like that here. It'll put a dent in our budget."

"It won't," Mold assured. "The state pays for this worldly journey. It's why I deemed it as nothing important. All you have to do is sign it and place the orders for delivery, Mistress. With your permission, I shall handle the arrangements."

"Well, what do you know? These cultural innovations aren't as dumb as I feared!" Kit beamed, her baby throbbing in her womb.