159. One Of The Warband (Patreon)

Morph stifled a yawn, rising with the morning horn. He had stayed up much later than expected and fell exhausted. More because of the Jotun woman lying half covered in furs next to him. He took it as a compliment that the usual morning alarms weren’t enough to stir her.

“Time to wake up, warchief,” Morph whispered, pressing his lips against her forehead.

“Stop poking me,” she groaned, sleepily kissing his lips. “Wasn’t last night enough?”

Morph shrugged. “Don’t tell me the great warrior and ravager of the—”

“Shut up.”

“We’ll miss breakfast if you don’t get up. Then, Gnar will get the best workers and choice of work site, and we will have to delay our plans until tomorrow.”

“And it will be your fault. Did you have to wake me up in the middle of the night?”

“I didn’t have to, and it's not my fault. You came in for a sleepy kiss and rubbed up against me. What is a man supposed to do?”

“Turn over and go back to sleep.” Astrid moaned before kicking the air like an annoyed child. “Great. Now, I’m up. If exhaustion ruins my detection abilities and I take an arrow to the knee, it will be your fault.”

“So is it a yay or nay on the subject of a morning romp?” Morph asked.

“Nay,” Astrid replied, sitting up and stretching. Her yawn had a pitch and tone that he found adorable. It was a sight he had grown to enjoy. 

Morph could’ve returned to the Grey long ago. It would’ve come with more risk, but the dracosteel node would be in El-Prime’s possession. But he worried about being dispelled, and Astrid thinking he had disappeared without saying anything. There was also the danger that El-Prime would disapprove of the budding relationship and order it dissolved before it could progress. Unfortunately, they were reaching a point where it was unavoidable. If the choice became losing Astrid but safely seeing her out of the mountains and staying with her in lands where she and her people were exposed to eradication, Morph knew which he’d pick.

“Despite the lack of sleep and exhaustion, I have a good feeling about today. We should be able to safely move the node a good deal down the mountain and closer to your city.” Astrid paused for a moment, pulling on her battle skirt and chest armor. It protected her ribs and shoulders but left her muscled abdomen exposed. The thick furs that covered her upper arms and the rest of her torso went on next. “Then your boss will have to do whatever he has planned to get us out of here. I don’t know how he’s going to disappear three dozen Jotun amongst puny humans, but I’m looking forward to it.”

“The boss is working on something. It’s not ready, but hopefully, it will be soon.”

“Do you have any clue what it might be?”

“A portal,” Morph answered. “It will ferry you and your people through pocket dimensions to elsewhere on Fracture. If we’re lucky, he might even have a new home for you.”

“And will you come with me?” Astrid asked. “Or is this it? Will we have no choice to part ways?”

The pair had touched on the topic before. Astrid had declared that she had no intention of parting with her tribe. They needed her for guidance and protection. Warchiefs were more than wise leaders and excellent combatants. Their connection to Ymir granted them what she and the other Jotun called divine might. She refused to leave her people without it.

“I don’t want to make false promises or give hope when I can’t,” Morph said, taking her hand. “We’ll have to deal with the decision when the time comes. Much like you, I can’t part with my people either. There is a lot I can’t discuss or explain until we’re out of here, but I promise to tell you everything I can in time. If we’re lucky, the boss will decide to settle close to or in the same place as your people. I suppose whether the home is good enough for all of you will also be a factor. For the time being, let’s just focus on the task.” He smiled, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her fingers. “And this?”

“I suppose.” Astrid sighed. “I can only focus on the tribe’s future at this point. Anything else is a luxury.”

Thanks to the conjunction abilities with Shadow Clone, Morph had biomass to spare. He had compressed flesh to its limits, making himself as heavy and sturdy as Jotun, one and a half times his size and weight. His shadows were also packed with biomass. If Lukas wanted, he could’ve easily made himself clothes, saving time and effort. Unfortunately, Astrid hated it when he did so, forcing him to dress himself in another Jotun’s unwanted garb. Shades of white and grey were predominant, like most of what her tribe wore, allowing easy camouflaging in the icy mountains.

Another horn blew through the camp, forcing the pair to move faster and put their conversation on hold. “I’ll check on the node and figure out moving logistics. You deal with Gnar and whatever else is necessary.”

“What do we need today?”

“Big and dumb workers. Remember. The scaly bastards are a sucker for a strong woman.”

“I don’t want to be their mistress,” Astrid groaned. “The way they stare at me gives me the chills.”

“They’ll be valuable when it comes to transporting all of the tribes things. Awakened Elder Wyrmkin warriors are strong and useful. It would be foolish not to use them.”

“I know. I know. Believe me. I’m happy to use whatever tools are at hand. Convincing the tribe won’t be easy, and we can’t communicate with the blighted lizards like you. They’re barely willing to work with humans and learn their tongue. Elder Wyrmkin, on the other hand?”

“I get it. You’re people of ice. They’re born of fire. Polar opposites. Asking your people to work with them is a lot to ask. But—” Morph hesitated, wondering whether to tell her more. There was enough he was keeping secret from her, so he gave her a portion of the truth.“But what if I were to tell you that the Coldfire Sorcerer and I captured one after defeating the cult he used to serve? It took some time, but we turned him, and now he speaks Common, wears disguises to blend in among humans, and is a valuable member of the team when we’re out in the field. Without Shae, fooling Gnar and leading him to the tent city wouldn’t have been possible.”

“I’ll think about it,” Astrid said after some thought. She winced while pulling on her boot. “We'd best get moving. Are you sure you don’t want breakfast?”

“Don’t need it,” Morph said, brushing her hand out of the way and checking her ankle. It was still red and swollen. “Give me a minute to take care of this.”

“I don’t need it. Let’s—”

“Hush, now.” Life and Reinfocement magic flowed from Morph’s fingertips. He was sure that after his resummoning, his paltry attempt at healing would’ve been much better. For the time being, he settled for whatever he could put together. The crimson threads reinforced the muscles and bones, carefully wrapping around them and also creating channels for the green. He didn’t want the latter affecting healthy tissue and risking unwanted effects. “It feels like stress to your cartilage and tendon. Fixing it all the way is beyond me and would likely take too much time. But this should help you move comfortably.”

“Thank you.” Astrid kissed him before leaving through the tent flap. It was no secret to her tribe that he was an outsider blending in and helping them flee. Meanwhile, Gnar’s warband would deem the pairing dishonorable. Without any accolades or accomplishments to his name, Morph was a low-ranking male. Unwilling to damage her reputation and position, he waited a handful of minutes before heading out.

Three other Jotun, the lesser Morphs, fell in behind him as he walked toward the edge of camp. It was where Astrid’s tribe members butchered game, tanned hides, and crafted garments and tools for other tribes. Gnar’s people didn’t venture into the area, making it the perfect place for hiding things. 

The warcamp had considerably changed since Morph’s arrival. It had started off as the Jotun’s forward base for attacking the Gray. Now, Gnar and Astrid had been charged with turning it into a trading post and prison camp. In the past month, several caravans had traveled back and forth from the city, transporting goods made or procured by the two tribes. Gnar had also sent wagons and soldiers into the mountains to fetch materials and products from other settlements. 

Elder Wyrmkin slaves moved among them, carrying heavy goods, cleaning, and completing whatever tasks their masters ordered. Most worked on the edges of the camp, working on clearing snow and stone, and building permanent defensive structures. Morph caught sight of one of Gnar’s warriors, pushing over a frail, scaled male and kicking him for moving away. As far as he could tell, the Elder Wyrmkin’s only crime was stepping in the Jotun’s path. One of the lesser Morphs, wearing Astrid’s tribe colors, immediately rushed over to assist the male up. Another tribe member, a young Jotun woman, stepped in to help gather the scattered leather scraps.

It seemed only the scant older members of Astrid’s tribe were still hesitant to try to get along with the Elder Wyrmkin. While Gnar’s folk looked at the scaled folk with disgust and kicked them around, the white-fur-wearing tribe walked the path of basic decency or indifference. They were following Morph’s instructions. Getting a few Elder Wyrmkin to join and follow Astrid’s tribe would increase their collective chances of survival.

The fourth Lesser Morph had replaced Gorm and was with the warchief. Most talk of attacking the kingdom had been thwarted. The Jotun were a bloodthirsty people. It didn’t matter to them whether they fought the monsters, humans, or the Elder Wyrmkin. They thrived on conflict. Now that they had someone to hunt, fight, and keep out of their lands, most seemed placated. 

The current plan involved sending the lesser Morphs up into the mountains disguised as Elder Wyrmkin warriors. They’d ‘assassinate’ Gorm and disappear into the night. Thanks to the journal’s translation powers, Morph had eavesdropped on several conversations between prisoners. There were other cities and settlements hidden in the mountains. The plan was to leave a trail to one of them.

If the distraction covered the white-fur tribe’s escape, then everything would fall into place. Clones in the Gray reported that the Shadowsteel Fortress had an entrance for outsiders. Morph didn’t have the necessary knowledge to open one or El-Primme’s permission to bring in the Jotun. He didn’t know how much time he had to make the move, but the clock was ticking.

The four fake Jotun slipped into the white furs’ artisanal section. The drying hide of local fauna gave him the cover they needed. Thoroughly cleaned, greased, and polished bones lay in piles for the tribe’s scrimshaws. Most ignored the Morphs. Only a handful offered them nods. They made their way to the third-largest pile of bones. A cart sat amongst them. 

Morph didn’t know how they were going to convince everyone why the city wanted polished bones, but it was the perfect cover. He found their prize buried: a man-sized dragon skull. The lower jaw and large fragments between the left eye socket and nostrils were missing. Silvery metallic shards grew out of the hole; some appeared more glassy than others. 

“It looks larger than yesterday,” a lesser Morph said, poking the largest spike. 

“I bet a bunch of these bones are from magical beasts,” another added. “The aether crystal and dragon bone are feeding on the magic to feed the node.” He ran his fingers over smaller spiky bits. “These are new.”

“Enough wide-eyed wonder,” Morph Prime told them. “We need to get this on the cart and buried before any of Gnar’s fuckers find their way here.” He hesitated. “Maybe it will be more convincing if some of these bones are scrimshawed and enchanted into things worth selling.”

“I’ve been taking lessons.” The third Morph raised his hand. “It looked like fun.”

The group got to work without further conversation. It took all four of them to carefully lift the dragon skull. The bone alone wasn’t particularly heavy. The crystal and unrefined dracosteel growing out of it made it significantly easier. Two Morphs with biomass-enhanced strength and Reinforcement magic could’ve managed it alone. But they didn’t want to waste their energy or accidentally damage the cart. Procuring it hadn’t been easy. 

A length of white fur went over the skull before they loaded skulls, rib cages, horns, and more on top. The vehicle groaned under the weight. The lesser Morphs had spent the night using biomass to reinforce the axle, turning flesh into bone. They planned on using Shadow Illusion to mask them later. 

“I’ll never get used to how all of you work without talking,” Astrid said, appearing through the leather curtains and making Morph Prime jump. She scanned all of his subordinates for a moment. “Are they really all just a part of you? That’s odd.”

“You don’t know half of it.”

“What do you mean?”

Morph Prime smacked the speaker. “Now’s not the time. Did you get what we need?”

Astrid frowned, looking between the Morphs before nodding. She pulled the leather curtain aside, revealing half a dozen Elder Wyrmkin. They were taller than an average human but didn’t reach Jotun height. Yet several Jotun had fallen to the warriors. Their thick scales provided natural armor and also reduced the effectiveness of magic. Heavy, rough furs hung around their torsos. Unlike the Jotun, the scaled folk weren’t built for the frigid temperatures. All sets of lizard eyes widened, darting to the cart. 

“I got the big and dumb as you asked. Gnar wasn’t happy and made up for quality with quantity.”

“How many does he have?”

“Two dozen.”

“Six is plenty,” Morph Prime said, turning to the lizards. “Who will speak for your cluster?” The Elder Wyrmkin appeared even more shocked. “Yes. You understand me, and I understand you.”

The skinniest of them stepped forward. His scales were bright green. “I speak for the squad.” His words didn’t come out as awkward and lacking syntax like Shae did when he started off. It wasn’t common, but felt like a more refined version of draconic speech. He was aware of a caste system but hadn’t explored the details. As one of the servant class, Shae had little education outside of what he learned while serving the Shamin. “We are not of the same cluster.”

“You are now a cluster,” Morph told them, trying his best to remember all he could about their culture. “Do you want to live as a slave or have a chance at freedom?”

The speaker appeared confused, glancing at his companions. “Freedom.”

“You’ll also get the chance to earn honor and glory under powerful mistresses if you prove useful and survive.” More confusion followed. Some eyes drifted to Astrid. “Not just her. A dragonfire wielder, too.”

“Give us guidance,” the speaker said, kneeling. His companions hesitated for a moment before doing the same. 

Morph waved at the bones behind them. “We’ve already started creating a path wide enough for the cart to pass. It needs widening and a route to the road downhill.”

“To the human city?”

Morph nodded.

“It shall be done.” The six of them got to work straight away. The lesser Morphs joined them. Their presence would ensure that curious eyes would think the giant scaled warriors were working under the Jotun’s command.

“Are you sure about this?” Astrid asked. “I’m not sure we can trust them.”

“We’ll keep a close eye, but I don’t think we need to worry about them. From my experience, the males are rather simple. Their wants and desires are simple. If we can bring in one of the captured females, it will be even better.”

“None of the battle mages survived.”

“We don’t want or need them,” Morph said. “Get me a couple of the artisans or supporters we captured, and we’ll be set.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”