Chyehye sighed as the dejected trio slumped into their ngot after a long day of fruitless travel. “I did not realize hunting dragons would prove so difficult.”

 

Aithne shook her head as she collapsed onto a chair and started to pull off her boots. “They are quite something to fight, but I don’t know what you mean - we haven’t even found one yet.”

 

“This is what I am saying. Hunting and killing are two different things, and of the two, killing is far easier – that is just stabbing something until it dies. Hunting is all the work that leads up to the killing – the planning, the preparation, the tracking. I had expected dragons to be easy to find, however, given their size and their ability to fly.”

 

“I wish I could help with that, but until near the end, I only saw one dragon last time and it was on the other side of Skyrim. And over a year from now. Probably.”

 

Aithne’s head swam as she tried to picture where she had been at this point in her previous journey. It felt like so much had happened since the restart, but it had only been about six weeks. Likely at this point, she had still been in the shallow cave being trained as a slave by Borkul, but it was hard to say. That entire time felt like a blur, a hole in time that had lasted an indiscriminate eternity; one she shied away from with anything more than a mental glance.

 

A commotion outside the ngot brought their combined attention to the door and Chyehye sighed as she began to pull her clothes, which were already in a heap on the floor, back on, but Nyatt shook his head and forestalled her.

 

“No, rest. I will see what is going on.” He strode to the door and walked out but, just as his wives were beginning to relax, the door slammed back open and he re-entered with an agitated air. “Quickly! Get dressed! In your finest!”

 

Chyehye frowned from where she sat on the corner of the bed. “What?”

 

“Get dressed! The Makṭu is here!”

 

“WHAT?!” Chyehye jumped to her feet. “He’s here?!”

 

“Yes!” Nyatt gestured but he needn’t have bothered for Chyehye – she was already clawing through her still-partially-unpacked clothes. He turned, instead, to Aithne, who was watching them both with curiosity as she rubbed her aching feet. “You also! We must hurry!”

 

Aithne shook her head. “I don’t understand. What is a ‘maku’ and why is he important?”

 

“The Makṭu is our people’s greatest hero,” Nyatt explained as he stripped and started digging though his own chest of clothes. “He ranks above all, even the Chieftains, answering only to the Grand Council in Orsinium. It is an honor for him to visit!”

 

“Here.” Cheyhye handed a bundle of material to Aithne. “Wear that. The seamstress finished it for you just yesterday.”

 

Aithne blinked. “I…she did?” She lifted and studied it.

 

It was a dress made of a soft wispy material that glided through her fingers - silk felt coarse by comparison. Meticulous patterns were threaded throughout; it was, by far, the most beautiful thing Aithne had ever seen.

 

On the other hand, it was cut in a way that would make whores blush – it was little more than a sheer low-cut front and an equally sheer back with only thin strings to connect them together. A moderate wind would show everyone all the wearer’s secrets. Aithne frowned at it then looked up, only to find Chyehye had already donned a similar outfit and was busy clasping a gold bracelet onto her wrist. She seemed to notice Aithne looking and grinned.

 

“You humans are so shy about your bodies. Which is funny, since they’re so small.”

 

“I…”  Aithne shook her head and stood, then began to strip. “I was just wishing there was time to take a bath.” At the college, she did not add out loud. “We are covered in dirt and sweat from the road.”

 

Nyatt laughed. “So is he, if that helps.”

 

Aithne tossed out a smile as she slipped into the dress.

 

“Here, there is a belt.” Chyehye fastened a linked silver chain around Aithne’s waist that would, at least, help keep the dress from flapping all the way up in the theoretical wind. “And some jewelry.”

 

This in the form of a solid silver arm band and another around her thigh, which felt like an odd place for it. Aithne wondered how long it would be before the thing slid off her leg.

 

“Are we ready? Let’s go.”

 

Nyatt seemed in high spirits as he led the way out of the ngot and toward the center of the kwåim. As they went, they were joined by others, husbands leading similarly-bedecked wives, and Aithne began to get a flutter in her stomach. This felt less like a meeting with an important person and more like a display of wares. Or an offering.

 

The entire meyge seemed to reach the open area in front of the Immungot, the massive structure that served as the chieftan’s home and the meyge’s seat of governance at the same time. The chieftain stood in front of it, his wives behind him dressed in similar fashion (only with more jewelry) as the other one-hundred-sixty-ish nearly naked women who stood behind their husbands, themselves arranged in a wide semi-circle in order of their standing.

 

 Aithne sidled to her right just enough to peek beyond Nyatt’s giant form and studied the so-called Makṭu, who was chattering idly with the chieftain as if the entire meyge was not standing there waiting for him. He was, she was not surprised to see, huge. Not as tall as Nyatt, but beefier; maybe a little shorter than Borkul and not quite as beefy. His skin was a paler green than any Aithne had yet seen, standing in striking contrast to his thick black hair and braided beard, and he wore a full suit of gold-colored heavy armor of some design she had never seen.

 

Odd as the armor looked, it was not what held her attention. The most striking thing about him was the realization she could not read his mind.

 

It wasn’t like with Sloan – he wasn’t a black hole of silence. He still emitted a fuzzy emotional aura, but even his surface thoughts, the kinds she normally had to fight to fend off, were shrouded behind some sort of thick veil. It was…sort of nice, she decided. Not as abrupt and jarring as Sloan’s total silence, not as intrusive and wearying as…well, everyone else. His mental existence matched his physical form but she didn’t have to work to keep from hearing his thoughts.

 

She had just started to speculate on why that was – did this so called Makṭu have some sort of mental or magical acuity? Or perhaps his exotic armor had some sort of cognitive protection built in – when Dyaj started talking to the meyge.

 

“Kachy pyapub adatt di Makṭu kachy che! Kachy uch adatt di Pubhimej ksak ṭob uch mmedatt o dwad!”

 

Aithne frowned as those around her broke into excited chatter and felt a small but growing sense of alarm as all the women, included Chyehye, started fussing with their outfits, arranging their hair, and otherwise doing what Aithne could only think of as primping.

 

She fought against the persistent urge to open her mind to everyone’s thoughts, though they pressed on her like teenage boys looking for their first lay, and tried to piece together what was going on via her rudimentary understanding of the Orcish language; but, although she had been studying it with all the diligence her new life allowed, she still faltered upon the reef of an unfamiliar term.

 

She leaned over to Chyehye, who was busy pulling her fingers through her hair and snarling at the snarls. “I think I caught most of that – we’re honored to have the Makṭu, we will have…pub-him-ahj, then a feast. What is…pub-him-ahj?”

 

“It is the Rite of Honor.”

 

Aithne waited for more, but more did not seem to be forthcoming, so she allowed herself just a peek in her wife’s mind.

 

Then jumped back out again when all she saw were mental images of Chyehye and the Makṭu having sex in the most inconceivably athletic ways imaginable.

 

“Um…” Aithne hoped her flushed skin wouldn’t give away what she had just done. “Does this…ritual involve having sex with the Makṭu, by any chance?”

 

Chyehye turned her attention back to Aithne. “Oh, of course you wouldn’t know. Yes, that is what happens – the Makṭu chooses from the women of the meyge. It is a great honor! Usually only those from ṭi nyi are chosen, of course, but as we are at the top of ṭi sna, it is possible we might be chosen as well.”

 

“But…what about our…the husbands?”
 

“I…suppose if the Makṭu preferred men, they might choose the husbands. I haven’t heard of that ever…”

 

“No, I mean, wouldn’t the husbands get jealous?”

 

“Why should they? It is just as big an honor for the husband - it shows all that he is doing his duties as a husband well. In some cases, it could even lead to a rise in his placement in his ṭi.”

 

“I…see.” Aithne started to go back to her thoughts – she wasn’t sure how to parse this new information – but was forestalled by Nyatt’s harsh whisper.

 

“Be ready! They are approaching us!”

 

Chyehye’s reaction was immediate – she stopped fussing and stood straight, hands clasped in front of her, and stared directly ahead at Nyatt’s wall of a back. Aithne blinked then shrugged and followed her wife’s lead.

 

Thanks to Nyatt’s bulk, she could only hear Dyaj speak. “Mbuw, Nyatt. Ṭːeṭ ip akwå me tshe ṭːa chtiyo yu. Me mmepå me chi nduh.”

 

Nyatt responded, “I am honored, Iåj. I would ask that we speak in småh – my Nyi-Chtiyo is still learning our language.”

 

A new voice, presumably that of the Makṭu, spoke. “Very well.” Then a laugh. “This is only the second time I have had to look up at someone! I am Jorg gro-Tod-nyi.”

 

“Nyatt gro-Tshak-sna.” Nyatt stepped aside, revealing his wives to the Makṭu (and vice versa). “My wives, Aithne gra-Tshak and Chyehye gras-Tshak.“

 

The Makṭu seemed even larger upon close inspection, helped in no small part by his bulky armor, which seemed to make him as wide as Nyatt and Dyaj combined. His attention first swept over Chyehye, and although Aithne still could not hear his thoughts, the pang of lust he felt was impossible to miss – clearly he found Chyehye as attractive as he seemed to be to her.

 

Aithne bit back the smile that thought produced as Jorg turned to her. Again, she felt a stab of emotion, but this time it was not lust. If she had to describe it, in fact, she would call it sharp surprise and fear.

 

Raw naked fear.

 

To his credit, his outward façade showed not even a hint of his internal panic. “A human as your Nyi-Chtiyo! How unusual.”

 

“Do not let her diminutive form fool you – she is the First of ṭi sna of Meyge Narzulbur.”

 

Jorg’s expression turned calculating as his fear receded a little, replaced by wariness. “Of that, I have little doubt.” He turned away with palpable relief. “Thank you, Nyatt gro-Tshak-nyi.” The entire meyge seemed to freeze as one but Jorg did not seem to notice. “It was an honor to meet your må.”

 

He turned and walked with Dyaj back to the Immungot while Nyatt stood in place, staring at them with his jaw hung open in apparent shock, while the rest of the meyge, in turn, stared at Nyatt. Finally, Chyehye whispered something to Nyatt, who shut his mouth with a click so loud, it echoed around the silent courtyard. It corresponded with the closing of the door to the Immungot and seemed to be the cue all had been waiting for; the entire meyge broke out into chatter and people began to move. Most headed back toward their ngots but quite a few approached Nyatt.

 

Aithne looked around in confusion. The sudden spike in thought had broken through her attempts to block them out, but none of the thoughts helped her make sense of the meyge’s actions. She tapped Chyehye on the shoulder.

 

“What happened? Why is everyone so…animated?”

 

“You did not notice?” Chyehye seemed ready to jump up and down, so strong was her excitement. She grabbed Aithne’s shoulders with the biggest grin Aithne had ever seen. “The Makṭu called Nyatt ‘gro-Tshak-nyi’!”

 

Aithne blinked. “Um…”

 

“Do you not understand? He promoted us to ṭi nyi!”

 

“What?! He can do that?!”

 

“Of course! He is the Makṭu!”

 

Aithne withdrew as others approached, letting Chyehye deal with them since each seemed as excited as Chyehye in their own ways (although Aithne could not help but notice the alarming amount of jealously that was interspersed with nearly every hearty congratulation sent Chyehye’s way).

 

She hadn’t cared about her status before and, for that matter, still did not, but she was happy for her spouses, both of whom had just gained something they had always hoped for. Especially Nyatt, who had been among the lowest ranked in the meyge just a mere month ago.

 

Her only real concern was the cost, because Jorg the Makṭu had not done this out of the kindness of his heroic heart; he wanted something – something related to that spike of fear.

 

Aithne shook her head as Nyatt and Chyehye finished their social chattering and joined them as they headed back to their ngot. It figured - the one time she really needed to read someone’s mind was the time she was unable to. She would just have to find another way to discover what the so-called hero wanted with them.

 

One way or another.

 

 

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