Three days ago her city was infested with murder's and dissent. Two days ago the traitors grew a spine. Yesterday she had given her answer, and the city had burned.
Metaphorically. The Chief of RazorRiver had been very careful with her deployments to prevent an actual fire. Fortunately the traitors hadn't been devious enough to plant the barrels of pitch ahead of their doomed assassination plans. Senta had been assigned to inspect key points of the city just in case, but there was no sign of any more treacherous activity.
And so Malla returned home, settling into her ash covered sitting room.
She hated the smell of old smoke, it was hypocritical of her, she knew that, yet there was something awful about smoke more than a day old.
The room had been cleaned slightly, an order from her bond. The floors swept and the walls wiped. It didn't remove everything. Malla suspected it would take a massive feat of magic to completely clear the room of the infused smoke. The thoughtfulness of the act was still appreciated.
Dropping onto the couch still sent up a puff of ash, but the lit pipe in her hand quickly drowned out the smell.
It was nice to be home.
Silence reigned in the room, only the distant sounds of the house's other occupants echoed down to her chamber. The children were off on some task or another, learning to fight or identify plants, she could never keep track. Any men of her house were busy as well, catching up on the activities they fell behind with during the chaos of the last few days.
The advisors had nothing for her either. Each was off dealing with their own sphere of influence. The Chief would be useful again when they needed something critical decided, or required a stern face at council. A draft flowed under the newly cleaned door, a breeze carried across the bare halls of the Chief's house. It had a bite that struck at the aging Chief's bones.
A long drag dampened the chill.
Idly the Chief ran down the list of issues she would need to address, as well as the clan members she worried most over. Such things were easier after a crisis, her aura was freshly sated, fat with the blood of her foes. It always made complex planning easier when she wasn't itching for a fight.
As time passed, and Malla switched between different flavors to stuff her pipe with, her thoughts came to the strange human her house-daughter had dragged home. Her first assumptions had been dashed, at least in part. The boy was foolish enough to throw himself into their politics, but reserved enough not to make a complete fool of himself. Much more important was his willingness to throw himself into harms way for her house-daughter.
Malla couldn't remember the last time they had a Mage willing to charge into hostile territory so quickly. The War Mage was attached to Necun, even if he didn't fully grasp the depth of what a bond was. It was enough for the Chief to cancel any plans to test the boy. His capture of the Mage circle that was blinding her warriors to the traitors main operation was proof enough.
Switching instead to how to use the surprising new asset that had dropped into the clan's hands, Malla considered the abilities the Mage had displayed.
War Mage was no idle boast. What little the Chief had already seen of Necun's bond made it clear his magic was useful for combat. Valan had spoken wonderously of the bright bolts of lightning. A near mythical sight coming to the call of a tiny human man. Malla hadn't seen the attack herself, just the flashing light he had used to blind so many during the attack on the council. Even that much had impressed her, more for the speed under stress rather than the effect on the battle.
Those runes were strange to her. Human magic had always been spoken of as different from their own, but to see it used in person was disturbing. Malla hoped it was just a sign of age, that she was too set in her ways. She still wanted to ensure a proper Mage circle took a long look at the magic before the golden haired Mage began spreading the knowledge. Unfortunately the matter was out of her hands. Unless it represented a direct threat to the clan she had no place deciding magical matters. It wouldn't stop her from asking for a favor or two from a good RazorRiver aligned circle, but she wouldn't press just yet.
The boy could still be useful on his own. Malla could think of more than a few troublesome beasts that could be handily erased with enough lightning, and so long as he was transported with a pod of proper Hunters it would be safe enough work. Convincing Necun to risk her bond might be a difficult task, but if Malla had the boy's measure he would happily offer his services.
She still needed to talk to Melat, preferably when Senta was away, to ensure that the young couple was settling in. They were living with the man, and he would likely have the best measure of the Warden's son so far. Particularly how he handled himself behind closed doors.
The Chief pulled in another long breath of smoke. It numbed her flesh as she relaxed into her chair.
I'm too concerned with him. she decided. I wouldn't be this critical if Necun had settled in with a nice clan boy. I don't like the lack of control that's all. Punishing him because he took her away from us before we could prepare.
There was no doubt that the clan, and the Chief's household in particular, would adjust to the strange human given time. The gifts and trade arrangements the Warden's son would no doubt offer would only help the inevitable transition.
He had bled for them. Fought for them. Bonded to Necun. That made him RazorRiver, regardless of whatever else may come.
The Chief's thoughts shifted again, focusing back on the captured Mages. They had broken almost immediately upon being handed over to the more trusted circles. As the interrogators told it, each traitor was tripping over himself to throw their comrades to the wind in order to save themselves. The lack of trust and loyalty was disgusting, but it served the clans interest so Malla let the emotional aspect slide away.
There wasn't even a real plan to punish the fools. They had been too helpful in the investigation to kill or exile. No one in the clan wanted to take the circle in either, as was the usual practice for surrendering Mages. Their magic was apparently too strange, bordering on forbidden, and no circle wanted to take the risk of stepping over the lines the traitors were toeing.
As it was Malla was considering assigning them a minder, then just forcing the traitors to do menial labor until she found a better place to stick them. Releasing them with a less impactful punishment was out of the question, even if they were coerced into doing the traitors bidding as they claimed their magic nearly got Senta and Necun killed. Such brazen rebellion demanded public retribution. Yet she couldn't grow too harsh, or else risk the next circle of Mages pulled into a plot deciding to fight that much harder instead of a quick surrender.
Necun and Nickolas had done well there at least. The whole circle was taken intact, if slightly worse for wear.
Now she just needed to find the leader of the whole coup.
For it was a coup, the remaining prisoners had revealed that easily enough. The entire plot had been a mad plan to change how the clans operated at a basic level. The descriptions from women who had once been laborers in the heart of the city was a thing of nightmares. A horrid mash up of old legends told mostly to children, and a brutal eradication of basic safety measures.
The rot brained women had snarled the plans for their proposed new city with a fervor in their eyes that could light kindling. Their auras, of workers stock without a speck of a warrior's spirit, had burned bright as they spoke of a city where every woman was a Hunter.
What confused Malla the most was the obvious options the women had to achieve just that. More than a few Quester groups had left the city to form new clans in the wild Green. Some had even survived. There was nothing stopping the women from forming a new roving clan.
The answer was a hissing rambling speech about how they had built this city, and were owed all it's fruits for their sacrifice. Malla had tuned out by the end, seeing no benefit to arguing with a group that thought killing unarmed farmers to sharpen their auras into something deadly was a viable strategy.
Even with their foes being obvious fools deceived by some charismatic rotspawn the underlying hatred the captives had displayed disturbed Malla.
Her Hunters, the clan itself, existed to protect these women. To keep those who couldn't brave the dangers of the Green safe. What made the city so wondrous, what allowed them to reach such lofty heights, was that so few women needed to be Hunters in the first place.
With the roaming clans nearly every grown woman spent every waking moment on the hunt, or protecting the camp, or honing her skills and aura. There was precious little time for crafting, or farming, or a hundred other activities that are endlessly useful for survival. The wandering clans had no time, focusing entirely on surviving to see the next dawn. It was no way to live, at least by Malla's estimation.
Far better to have a base of workers, smiths, and other such safe positions supporting a steel clad core of Hunters and Scavengers. It was efficient, and allowed women of all temperaments to further the goals of the clan. Not to mention it had allowed for a shocking growth in population over time. A woman could grow old in the city living a good life, and never knowing the terror of the Green firsthand.
Seeing so many of the same women that built the city, women doing work that kept the clan alive, pushing to be Hunters instead baffled Malla. They all had their chance, each girl regardless of household could step forward to be inducted into a training pod. Even the clanless could offer themselves, and many did! More than their fair share even passed muster, and were inducted as full Night Hunters.
These women who were willing to set their own home ablaze just to get the dubious privilege of running off into the Green had failed out of any training pod they had joined. Simple as that. The Chief felt generous assuming even that much, many, she reasoned, likely didn't even apply to be a Hunter at all.
Now their auras were settled, and there was no reason to risk perfectly good workers in the depths of the Green. Putting down the coup was as much a favor to it's participants as the innocents of the city. Better a clean death at a warrior's hand than throwing themselves unprepared at the first beast they saw.
It was all a mess, made all the more baffling by the popularity. Malla still wasn't sure how to process so many of her clan being such titanic fools. It remained the largest blindspot in her own leadership, that she so frequently failed to account for the most foolish of her own people. She simply hadn't trained herself for it, unlike her practice spotting the smiling knives of the other clans.
BlackVine was the worst in that regard, as usual. The serpents they had sent with the pods of 'helpers' had wasted no time digging their fangs into as many RazorRiver secrets as they could manage. Malla had known it was coming, it meant they would have to rearranged their internal defenses on top of every other task during the dry season.
It was still a fair price, even if the spies had run off with something more substantial. The extra women had saved lives, and ensured the violence was contained as much as possible. A few secrets or extra contacts within her clan wouldn't make nearly as much of a difference compared the safety the warriors had provided.
Malla wasn't sure that BlackVine would do anything with the gains they made in any case. The longer she dealt with the elusive clan the more convinced she became that they hoarded conspiracies on pure instinct, not based on malice or any grand plan. Concerns she had in her youth, of the BlackVine rising with an army of hidden agents to eliminate the other three clans, seemed more outlandish each cycle that passed in peace.
That didn't mean that the Chief would be slacking in her security. Searching for BlackVine infiltration pods added some spice to patrol duty, and made for excellent practice besides.
The other clans represented far less of a problem. Mostly because their ambitions were so transparent that Malla felt silly sending out her own infiltration pods to confirm their intent.
Both would try to pounce on RazorRiver's current weakness, trying to snap up some secondary scavenging territory they had been eyeing. Long term they wouldn't be able to keep it, but they might be able to hold on until rot season.
Malla was tempted to let them, trading the territory away for a few ingots of iron. Putting her own city territory back together and calming her jumpier clan members would already take too much manpower. Stripping a few non critical territories would free up what she needed. After rot season she could come out swinging and reestablish RazorRiver's position stronger than ever.
If the next rot season was as light as the previous two she might even be able to range deeper into the twisting swamp. Along with whatever iron the caravan was bringing she could outfit more Hunters. Their food supplies could handle a hundred more warriors at least, they just needed the steel.
In her head the Chief of RazorRiver began to plot out a map. Using her current Hunters as a baseline she dreamed up plans of conquest and expansion, always pushing further into the ever changing Green. The cold room fell away as her mind churned on each issue and roadblock, ever pressing to drag her clan to new heights.
By the time a servant came, fully masked, to deliver her lunch, the Chief had a wide smile on her ashen lips.