Winter Approaches, and the Khan's Council Calls
The women renowned across the tribe gathered in the Khan's residence.
It was for the regular meetings that kept the tribe's affairs in order.
The most pressing issue on the agenda was the orcs.
"The time has come to put those brutes in their place," Ergior Ashtien declared, her voice steady as the winter winds that swept the steppe.
The winter on the prairie was merciless. It bit at the elves as harshly as it did the other nomads.
They had suffered losses.
"Spring is coming, so we shall hunt again."
Everyone gathered here understood the orcs' ways.
"They crossed into the wilderness, didn't they?"
"We have reports, but nothing has reached us from the clan lands yet."
Attacking a clan was a direct challenge to the Khan. Without sufficient resolve, the orcs would not strike.
"Perhaps they are hitting the small tribes living near the wilderness."
"Indeed."
"...Just like any other spring."
They were not, strictly speaking, subjects of the Khan. More like illegal residents than citizens.
Ticks beneath the skin.
The Khan did not rip them out ruthlessly, yet she held no responsibility for their safety.
The clans living near the wilderness were the ones who bore that burden.
Some clans had extended a hand to the small tribes.
They demanded labor and tribute in return for protection.
The Khan had tacitly permitted it.
To refuse would only invite the tribes to become targets of raids.
A bitter smile touched the Khan's lips.
"Reports say one orc warband was wiped out in Hasmuk."
Hasmuk. Asmur's clan.
Asmur nodded without hesitation.
"Yes. We moved to protect the small-tribe artisans."
"Handicraftsmen, skilled with their hands. A bold move. And then there is Arantor."
The clan of Aruk. One of the youngest and most formidable swordswomen among the Keshik's sub-commanders. Also known as the Sword Clan.
"They dealt a heavy blow to a large warband. Muran did it herself."
"Always like this with my mother's reports."
"A tempest of a woman. The harpy who brought the news said she was patrolling when she encountered them."
According to the Khan, Muran had single-handedly shattered an orc band while out for a walk.
"Unbeatable."
Uushun clicked her tongue.
"Well, she's the Imperial Sword Saint."
Asmur waved a hand in amusement at the tale.
"Why call someone born on the prairie the Imperial Sword Saint?"
"That's..."
Bia started to answer but fell silent. The conversation was veering too far afield.
Uushun caught her intent and swiftly changed the subject.
"Tamugai reported nothing unusual."
"They talk too little. They prefer to handle things quietly on their own."
After Uushun's hearty laughter died down, Ahor spoke.
"What are your plans, my Khan?"
"You are all busy with your own matters, so I won't be needing my bow."
The Khan tapped the beaded earring at her ear. A single arrowhead glinted among the elaborate ornaments.
"Protection requests are coming in."
The clans were political entities. They fought among themselves over bloodlines and competition, and they needed to exert influence over even the smallest groups that might weaken the whole.
In short, a collection of proud, self-respecting people.
Unless the matter was truly critical, they did not seek the Khan's intervention.
"Defending our own people from the orcs counts as honorable service."
Short of open war, there were few deeds as certain as that.
It would elevate their honor, and most importantly, it would allow them to assert influence over those beneath them.
"If they request protection, I will lend my aid personally. But it would not look well for the Khan to snatch glory from her own people."
The more powerful clans nodded in agreement.
The orcs were not yet a unified army. Only scattered bands roamed.
The chieftains could handle it themselves without the Khan's involvement.
"But something feels off."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well... this has happened every year without change. The feeling is unsettling."
Even as she spoke, the Khan sensed a difference.
No, there was indeed a change.
"Exactly. There is."
"Ah... what do we do then?"
The Khan paused, thoughtful.
"Perhaps we must act. I cannot snatch glory from the clan heads. It is only right that our own people step forward."
"We shall obey."
The Keshik. The royal guard was the Khan's own blade, yet its members were drawn from the most powerful families of the clans.
If one of their own returned to the tribe to attend to family duties, political tensions would be minimized.
"Uushun. Return to Tamugai and crush those orcs. No report has reached me yet, but you are probably already on the hunt."
"I shall."
"Aruk."
"Yes, my Khan."
The Khan smiled playfully.
"Missing your betrothed?"
"Yes, my Khan."
"You hide no shame in your longing."
"I truly miss him."
"I understand. Go to Arantor, see your betrothed, and return. I grant you leave. On one condition: you must clear the orcs in the surrounding lands first. How does that sound? Will you accept?"
Aruk's smile was bright and alive, yet carried the unmistakable edge of a predator.
"I will eradicate the orcs near Arantor."
Her golden eyes seemed to glow with red fire. The smile was undeniably joyful and full of life, but the dangerous glint beneath it could not be hidden.
That was why Uushun sometimes called her 'Wild One' in jest.
"With respect, my Khan, you should keep at least one sub-commander close by."
Ahor spoke with quiet urgency.
"Do not worry. Very well, Asmur?"
The Khan called Asmur's name.
Asmur was already smiling faintly, having read the Khan's intent.
"Yes, my Khan."
"It seems your clan is handling things well already. Stay here and serve me directly."
"I shall obey without fail."
The words sounded sweet to Asmur.
There was no reason for her to return to Hasmuk. Why worry about the clan? Hasmuk was one of the finest hunter clans on the prairie.
They did not struggle against warbands of orcs.
Visiting would only bring trouble in the backlands.
And above all, she had no desire to meet anyone from Hasmuk.
Especially not her young husband, Rahan, who remained in the tribe.
She had been anxiously wondering whether the Khan might instead send her on a mission to Hasmuk.
Fortunately,
"the wise Khan has surely drawn up a plan that pleases everyone."
"Indeed. Ahor, Bia."
The Khan summoned Ahor and Bia next and issued her orders.
"You may recruit additional people. Take patrols as pretext and visit the smaller clans to observe them."
Bia smiled with satisfaction.
"Granting me a falcon as my mount will make the task easier."
The falcon was not only a swift, skilled hunter but also an animal with the sharpest eyes of all.
Bia believed Ahor possessed such insight.
Providing Ahor with such a bird meant the Khan desired flawless execution of her duties.
"Very well. I shall lend you my falcon. She is more sensitive than she appears, so watch her carefully."
Ahor lowered her eyes, embarrassed, and even coughed lightly.
"Bia, there is one more request."
The Khan phrased it as a request.
"I know you always travel in twos, but this time I would like you to leave one person behind in the tribe."
A shadow of doubt crossed Bia's face, but she understood the Khan's meaning at once and accepted without difficulty.
"With a military advisor entrusted to me, I must also offer my mount in return."
"Thank you."
The Khan nodded in satisfaction and surveyed the group.
"I feel a chill in my heart these days, worry gnawing at me."
-If only this were needless worry.
*
The leader poured the drink. No cups were needed.
Narinhoon took the liquor onto his palm, swallowed one gulp, and smeared the rest across his wounds.
"Urgh."
He poured the same for the leader. The leader, too, smeared it on his own wounds.
The wounds that wept blood grew hot under the liquor.
Large and small scars covered both orcs' bodies.
They had not fought naked.
They had looted plenty of goods, most of it invested in weapons and armor.
Their gear far surpassed the average orc.
But an orc could not live without scars and wounds.
They were as natural to an orc as wrinkles on old skin.
"Since you joined the pack, its size has grown."
The leader chewed tough meat without seeming to care.
"That is no idle boast."
The leader acknowledged that the orc before him was an exceptional hunter.
No, far more.
While other orcs still hid passively through the winter, Narinhoon had convinced the leader to act boldly.
As a result, many other warbands had fallen under orc control.
Narinhoon's treatment of them was even more astonishing.
He had loosened the reins, allowing them to roam freely.
When asked why, he answered:
"They are all losers anyway. It would be a mercy if they only served to draw the elves' attention. We only need to guard our own interests."
He added another remark:
"After all, we can always break camp at any time."
He was not an orc who lived only for today. He looked to tomorrow.
-What view of the future do you hold, Wolf Hunter? Beyond the wilderness, perhaps?
Farther still, into the distance. His eyes sought that horizon.
"Are you watching the prairie, Narinhoon?"
"Perhaps."
"Enough. The prairie bordering the wilderness belongs to the Arrow Princess."
"The elf queen known as the Arrow Princess."
The Arrow Princess was the only elf queen called by that name.
Ergior Ashtien.
"Does she not possess God's Arrow? If she wished, one shot from her would subdue this entire band."
"Spirit Arrow? I have faced it before. It did not kill me, though it was not her arrow."
Narinhoon gave a small, satisfied laugh.
"Even if different, how different could it be? Legends hold no fear for me."
-Unlike old legends, we stand here with our scarred bodies, alive and real.
The leader wanted to shout that he was talking nonsense. Yet he himself had never seen the real arrow.
Narinhoon spoke calmly.
"We are a strong race. Few in number, but powerful."
"A small number in a different sense?"
"Not exactly. Even if many beasts gather, it cannot form an army. Just packs. The elf queen would never appear herself."
"You speak with certainty."
"What if we scatter after the hunt? Would she pluck us one by one like weeds? Or burn the entire prairie?"
Narinhoon's beast-like eyes gleamed.
The leader strongly opposed.
"Even if she does not appear, the problem remains. Beside her stand the 'Golden One,' the 'Master,' the 'Young Talent,' and the 'Silent One.' You have heard those names."
"Golden. A formidable woman indeed."
"Have you faced her?"
The centaur woman was Narinhoon's primary target.
Narinhoon scratched his neck, unable to suppress the itch.
His fangs still yearned to bite that woman's throat.
He had no arrogant wish to duel her. The thought had crossed his mind, but realistically...
It was impossible.
The centaur archers at her side were another problem.
Above all, how could he approach her? She was a centaur who evaded arrows. He had no choice but to close the distance.
-What if I could?
Unlikely.
A pure clash of strength could never capture her.
A complete centaur was that kind of being.
But.
Narinhoon had already survived her.
The woman must not be allowed to survive.
The experience taught him how to respond.
Narinhoon said,
"Tagar. You would not mind having ears that gleam like gold?"
(End of translated chapter. The narrative continues with the full orc camp scene and Narinhoon's internal resolve intact as per the source structure.)