"Betzalel kitubim~" Semuel chants in a sing-song voice, waving his hammer in a figure eight motion. I find the melody haunting, yet beautiful.

  As for the Orcs, they kneel. They submit, utterly. Orc women are on their knees, holding their babies up to us in offering. The men, the few who survive, are broken. Whatever fire that was in their eyes before is extinguished, and their body language is tame and docile. Broken spears are piled at Reka's feet.

  Tendrils of green light extend from the Dwarf's hammer. They weave together, forming chains, and descend on each individual Orc.

  Willingly, they're doing this willingly, I think, in pure awe.

  Orcs believe in the principle of "might makes right," or so Reka explained to me. Defeat in battle is like losing an election in a democracy. The losing side just accepts it and assumes the victor was right all along. It's their culture.

  Making an exact count is impossible since a lot of the Orc corpses are dismembered, but we slew hundreds, eighty to ninety percent of the adult male braves. The only males still alive are a few juveniles and old men left behind to guard the women and children. This was no raid, but a migratory horde, a coalition of every tribe in the region under a single warchief. They intended to fall upon Tar Guldrim at harvest time and sack it.

  Being nomadic hunter-gatherers, their population is not very dense. With these subjugated the woods should be clear.

  Tar Guldrim, the Barony we came from, has a fishing village and some not particularly rich farmland, defended by a single boyish lord and some half-trained, ill-equipped soldiers. It would've been a massacre. Looks like we arrived just in time.

  Spectral chains bind every Orc, then fade, leaving no visible marks. Semuel grunts, satisfied. "It is done," he says simply.

  "Very fine work, Master Dwarf," Reka says in appreciation. There's no question who the curse bound the Orcs to. This is my wife's victory, and these people are her spoils. She vaults onto a treestump and I admire how lithe and dangerous she looks: the effortlessness of her movements, the agility, the grace. My wife has an appreciation for the finer things in life, but a shrinking violet she is not.

  At the sight of her bearing down, the Orcs bow lower, cringing into the bloody ground.

  To my surprise, Reka starts speaking in another language, presumably Orcish. After a short speech, she dismisses the Orcs with a wave of her hand and hops back down, looking terribly pleased with herself.

  "Darling, would you mind felling some trees for me?"

  "Sure," I agree easily. "What for?"

  Her face is a rictus of unhinged glee that would terrify anyone who doesn't know her. I know she's just excited about something. "I've set the Orcs to building sleds to drag their fallen back to Tar Guldrim. There, we will burn them and scatter the ashes about the fields. Ah, and this will provide proof to the young Baron that we return victorious."

  "Do you suppose he'll agree to marry me after he sees how many we slew?" Alice asked excitedly. "I want to do...what you and Lord Brad do at night, but with him."

  Reka's unhinged grin melts into something genuinely warm. "We shall see, dear. There are bargains to be struck, relationships to establish, and so forth. But now we must get to work!" She turns to Semuel. "Master Dwarf, kindly curse Brad's axe against living wood, elsewise he'll be at it all day. You may guide the Orcs in contriving the sleds. I presume you can handle any necessary joinery?"

  "The victorious lady presumes correctly." Grim Samuel sounds almost agreeable. Maybe big Orc massacres are pleasing to Dwarf Satan, er, One Other, or whatever he calls it.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  It's a cliche, but after Semuel cursed my axe, cutting trees very much resembled sliding a knife through butter. He guided me in how to split the logs, and with his own tools, he fastened little joints, so it all fit together. With some very motivated Orcs who understood pointing and shouting, we had the dead piled on sleds with only a few hours' work.

  There is still plenty of daylight as we approach Tar Guldrim. Reka suggested we wait a bit to clean off the blood and I saw the wisdom in her idea. Making the Baron think we worked harder than we actually did could only win us points with him.

  When we exit the woodline, a bell starts ringing in the distance, and I see farmers in the fields fleeing in terror. Hey, you've got the wrong idea! Reka, unbothered as always, just instructs the Orcs to set down the sleds in open ground, where everyone can see. She waves in the direction of the tower house on the hill, leaning her head on my shoulder while we wait.

  It takes a while.

  The pungent aroma of hundreds of bloody Orc cadavers wafts on the summer breeze, irritating my sinuses. Funny, in the forest I hardly noticed. "I'll clean you up just as soon as we turn in the quest, my love," Reka promises when she sees my nose wrinkle. She's always so attentive!

  At last, the young lord Taras emerges from his tower, clad in rusty mail too big for him and holding a notched sword that I'm not sure is still sharp. His soldiers, if you can call them that, follow behind, spears shaking in their hands.

  "By the gods!" he exclaims once he's close enough to see the sleds for what they are. "We had no idea there were so many Orcs in the forest! This...this is B-rank, at least. How did you survive?"

  "With my cunning, my lord, and the party's valor. These survivors have agreed to accept my yoke, and I would discuss with you how they are to be disposed."

  "You made the largest Orc war party in a generation bend the knee, you? One woman!"

  "She's not just any woman, she's my wife!" I say, a little miffed at his skeptical tone.

  He flinches back, almost losing his grip on the sword in his hand. Damn, I didn't mean to put so much bass in my voice. Poor kid. Alice kicks me in the shin. I deserved that.

  "Of...of course, my mistake! Perhaps a victory feast to make amends," he suggests.

  "With respect, my lord, you don't look like you have food to spare, which is what we must discuss. If these Orcs are to work, they will have to be fed." Reka indicates the direction of his tower.

  Baron Taras gulps. "Understood. We can discuss matters in my hall."

  ***

  When we're alone again, Reka explains to me that the road from Malmark to the coast is complete, and shipments of corn and salt pork can begin immediately since the first harvest of the year was just brought in. How she knows all this, I have no idea.

  Since the Baron had no hope of paying us for a B-rank mission, he accepted a deal instead. We'd settle the Orcs in his lands, with Alice as overseer, and they would operate logging camps out of Tar Guldrim. From there, hammering out a trade deal was quite easy: food from Malmark and lumber from Tar Guldrim. Being the sly negotiator that she is, Reka never mentioned exactly where the food came from or where the lumber was going.

  Malmark will grow larger!

  My wife is kind, too. She made up some story about Alice being from a knightly house sworn to my (nonexistent) father, so she would be noble enough for Taras to marry. The girl was so excited she positively skittered, if it's possible to skitter with only two legs. We'll be leaving her behind so she can "court" Taras. Ganbare, Alice-chan!

  Once the paperwork got filed with the Adventurer's Guild, the "P" for "provisional" disappeared from our guild medals. We're now official members in good standing!

  Settling down the Orcs in the district had its challenges, what with the language barrier and everything, but Reka smoothed it all out. In fact, I'm not sure why we're still here. In a week's time, the first shipment of food arrived, almost as if the whole thing had been planned in advance, but it beats me how.

  "The bell's ringing again," I say idly on the eighth day of watching Orc lumberjacks at work. The food shipment conveniently included axes and saws of fine quality, and they're learning how to use them!

  "Oi!" an orc juvenile cries out in pain.

  Learning slowly.

  I walk down to town to see what's what. There, I find Reka discussing something with a knight in shining silver armor. That guy couldn't possibly be from around here, I think.

  "Ah, Sir Brad Regis, C-rank adventurer, greetings!" the knight says politely, taking off his helmet when I approach.

  Oh, long thin ears. My first elf!

  "That's me, uh, sir."

  "The lady I serve, Duchess Alexia Starglade, extends an invitation to you and your party to attend her at her estate on Lake Ethilion," the elf knight says officiously.

  I know that tone. "Invitation." Right...

  I'm being voluntold to do something. It's the military all over again. I look at Reka, and she seems completely fine with it, though. Guess that means we're visiting the elves!

  "When can we leave?" I ask.

  Reka victorious over the Orcs