The Frontier

Alalla almost doesn't hear Morrugh because she is looking at Halla in shock. She begins to move towards her, but then locks her knees and does nothing. She builds up her internal wall of stone.

"I'm grateful you did," Alalla replies, looking around at the slain. Each dead orc and civilian adds to the wall. "You would be in need of a new chief, if you hadn't."

One of Belhifet's lieutenants is dead, and nearly a fifth of the giants as well. Some civilians were saved. It was worth the price. The lump in her throat threatens to knock itself loose. She thumps her glaive. It was worth the price.

"Thanks to you and the others, we have been victorious. We have weakened the devil that wants to subjugate us. But he is still strong. There will be more fighting yet." She looks over the blood-soaked orc, noting his grin. "How goes the fight against Gruumsh? How is the tribe?" A pause. "I will want the names of all the fallen."

Al shakes her head. "Wait, no, tell me on the way. We must march. Tell your most trustworthy to help these civilians pull their carts from the mud and escort them as far as they can to Bryn Shander without risking their own safety at the hands of the militia there. If someone from the city does give them a hard time, they can say 'tell Lord Ulbrec the Lady Paladin Cagebreaker sends us.'"

Ilmadia blinks at the sludge in the snow. She shakes her head in wonder, then checks on her son.

"Are you well, Zenithral?" she asks quietly. She looks to Halla. "Ah."

She kneels beside the moaning woman and takes her head in her hands. Ilmadia's touch is firm and business-like, but still gentle as she turns Halla's head back and forth and looks into her eyes.

"A Feeblemind spell," she concludes, sitting back. "Her body is fine, but her mind is gone. She will still recognize you, but speech or any sort of communication is beyond her. She's only a portion more clever than her creatures now." Ilmadia puts a hand on her son's arm. "She could heal with time, though it may be some months. Powerful healing magic could restore her as well, but the only one I can think of to do it is the smaller druid. I imagine he is in Kuldahar?"

Zenithral falls down to kneel by Halla and takes her hands, looking her in the eyes, dumbfounded.

"Yes..." he finally answers to Ilmadia. "Rastix."

Zenithral summons Fluphy and tells him of the situation. Help her feel...that I love her, that I am grateful for her help and that she is safe. He helps her to her feet and keeps his arms around her.

He then turns to Alalla. "Alalla. May I have your permission to escort my wife back to Kuldahar?"

Alalla's eyebrows fly up. She turns from Morrugh, incredulous. "Kuldahar! The trip would take a week without Halla's magic. Remember what happened last time we did the journey on foot? And when Halla did before that? And we weren't at outright war then." She looks Zenithral up and down. He's serious. She pulls herself up to imitate Lord Ulbrec as best she can. Calm. Commanding. "No. You're needed here. Halla will have to wait."

Ilmadia appraises the paladin. "And some call me heartless..." Alalla's eyes flick to Ilmadia and back to Zenithral, but her gaze betrays no emotion.

Zenithral nods, hesitantly. "Understood."

I wonder if she still knows how to shape into beasts. Perhaps you can portray the idea for her to fly back to Kuldahar? But if she's attacked...she'd be practically helpless.

Alalla blinks in surprise, then relaxes. She grips Zenithral's arm. "We'll get her help. After we know she'll live long enough to matter. After doing so won't endanger others." Al looks at Halla. "Should we bring her back with us and leave her with Saki, or do you want to send her to Bryn Shander? I'm sending some orcs to escort the surviving civilians."

"I---think I'd prefer her stay with us." He manages a chuckle. "Getting to know my grandmother-in-law wouldn't hurt either. Though we don't know if she got her messages to Kuldahar...We need to contact them somehow. I might be able to send Fluphy, or perhaps a faster familiar..."

Ilmadia runs a hand through her silver-white hair and turns to her son. "That should have been so much worse. Nurval's spell on you should have frozen you to the mud. It should have made you watch while the Paladin cut me and her own army down. After you had a decent memory scrub, it should have put Blacksheaf in Halla's state and dragged the lot of us back to Belhifet. It nearly did." She shudders.

"That is how Nurval operates. How they all operate. Even if your wife never gets better, this is the best outcome you could have hoped for!" She shakes her head and looks at Zenithral searchingly. "How can you stay?"

Zenithral turns to his mother. "Over the last many months, I've nearly died more times than I care to count. I've fought giants, orcs, yuan-ti, demons, devils, dragons, assassins, undead horrors, drow wizards, and my own frail insecurities. Alalla's been to two different hells and back. Yet, somehow we're still here. I've learned to trust my companions--Alalla especially--and I've learned that the gods are with us. I've been blessed with the faith that things will somehow work out in the end, one way or another." He looks her in the eyes and smiles. "They always do."

"Stars above, Zenithral," Al mutters in Elvish. "Dont make me cry in front of my orcs. I've got an image to maintain." Her tone is dry and sarcastic, but Zenithral can see that there are tears in her eyes. She blinks them away as best she can, and gently thumps his arm. "You know I'm only still here because you keep saying things like that?"

"Well that makes two of us," Zenithral says. "Or...except the other way around? You know what I mean."

He takes Halla arm in arm, trying to keep a steady and calm look, but clearly straining inside. "Steady onward, Chieftess Blacksheaf."

Ilmadia just looks at Zenithral as he speaks. From the look in her eyes, he can tell that she doesn't understand. That sort of faith-building experience that everything will work out is something her life has not taught her. No, she doesn't understand him, but he thinks that, maybe, she might want to.

She crosses her arms as she looks between Zenithral and his incapacitated wife, and then between him and his loyal friend. "Alright." Her voice is quiet, thoughtful. "Alright, I will stop begging you to leave. And looking for a way out myself." She jerks a slender thumb at Al. "But she is not the boss of me."

Ilmadia throws Alalla's orcish bow back, dusting her hands afterwards as though the distasteful weapon might have stained her black gloves. "Well. You take care of whatever it is you need to and I will go see if I can't find anything interesting left behind before we get going."

As she goes to inspect the bodies she gives Halla one more passing inspection, then gives Zenithral a sympathetic look. The pain of an injured spouse, of an absent one, as Halla is in some ways, is something she does understand. She looks as though she wants to hug him, or touch his face, or something, but after a hesitation, does not.

"You chose well," Ilmadia tells her son. "She and I might even get along one day, if I can get over my choice." She thumbs the hilt of her sword, then laughs dryly and continues walking. "And, you know, if we live at all."

Al watches her go. "She's an interesting woman. I have a feeling that our mothers would have gotten along well. I also have a feeling that wouldn't have worked out very well for any bystanders."

She gives Zenithral half a smile. "Steady onwards, Master Melerelel." Muttered under her breath she adds, "the look gets easier with time, but none of the rest of it does." With the feeling of a knife in her side, she leaves her two hurting friends to attend to the orcs and civilians.

Halla stares blankly past Zenithral, eyelids drooping and mouth slack. Within her stare is a sorrowful vacancy, as though she cannot even muster the presence of mind to express confusion. Her only response to his touch is a wordless moan, but she follows him wherever he goes, apparently content to remain near his side.

Morrugh nods and barks some commands to the nearest handful of orcs, who sheathe their weapons and move to help the villagers. The frightened men and women of the caravan watch these newcomers with apprehension, only to gasp in surprise when the burly orcs easily lift the wagons free from the muddy ruts of the road and place them on a clear patch of ground. The villagers can only exchange looks of amazement at the help from these normally violent creatures.

As the rest of the orcs return and form marching ranks, Morrugh again approaches Alalla. "Thur’Kafaz. We have tried to live by the things you taught. It has been... difficult in many ways. There are some among us who have killed out of anger. We will accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate."

Alalla waves at the villagers, then turns to Morrugh. "I see. Under what circumstances were these killings done? Who was killed?" She crosses her arms, mind scrambling. She should have been planning for this, but she had been occupied. "To not act on anger during battle already raging will be a long path. It was for me, and still is, often. But to begin a battle out of anger is far worse."

Morrugh grunts, but stands with his back straight. "A handful of men in the wilderness outside the walls of Bryn Shander. Two of our own were caught in steel traps. Neither survived. The men said it was an accident, that the traps had been set for yetis. But they assumed I did not understand Common so well as I do. I heard them bragging about the ones who had been caught and killed." The orc’s face is as expressionless as boulder. "I slew one in anger, as did several of the orcs with me."

He claps a fist over his breast and echoes his earlier words. "I accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate."

Alalla nods wearily. "I had to endure similar bragging about my mother's death. It's hard to take. Our people were wronged, but your wrong did not right it." She looks at Morrugh, standing ready for her verdict. "But you know that."

She thinks for a moment before she speaks, and when she does she tries to sound confident and sure. "The humans of Icewind Dale are mine in spirit, but not in authority, so I cannot sentence you for the death of a Towner. You and the others responsible will be presented to the leadership of Bryn Shander to be tried and sentenced. I will accompany you and advocate for you and our people, but you will be at their mercy. The typical punishment for murder is hanging." Al leaves that in the air for a moment, mulling her options.

"However, these are strange times for the North. The orcs and humans have never tried to work together before. There aren't rules in place for this, but we don't have time to make them, or for trials, and I need you and the others as part of this army. We need every soul if we are to ensure there is a North left at all. So."

Alalla thumps her glaive in the mud and looks Morrugh in the eye. "We are at war. As soon as relinquishing you does not endanger the North, you will have your trial in Bryn Shander. Until that is possible, you fight with me for the freedom and safety of the North, including the Towns. Perhaps this will earn you forgiveness. Perhaps not.

Until your trial, you will not be able to lead. You and the others involved will be watched, and will not be allowed to speak with the other races. A second offence will earn your death immediately. Do you understand?"

Morrugh frowns around his tusks. "Your book encourages us to follow the laws of the land, so long as they are just. I expect to be executed for my sin. But even if that happens later instead of now... The other Cagebreakers know what happened. You may be setting a dangerous precedent."

His strikingly pale eyes are those of a man who does not wish to die, but is willing to do so.