The village appears shortly before sunset.
I see the smoke first. Then the tops of the palisade stakes rising above the jungle canopy. Then the scent of cooking fires carried on the wind.
Gold.The thought tightens every muscle in my body. Every step brings me closer to the place where the little cup was found. A tribe that uses gold so casually that it can be lost outside its walls. A tribe that might finally have enough.
I lengthen my stride.
The Plood hurry after me in a loose swarm, crashing through undergrowth with all the grace of falling rocks. They have many talents, but stealth is not among them. That suits me perfectly.
As the palisade comes into view, I slow and study it from the cover of the trees.
Something is wrong. I expected noise. Any tribe worth robbing should be loud. There should be shouting, clangs from a forge, arguments, laughter, and the constant movement of lesser species attempting to justify their existence. There should be thin columns of smoke.
Instead the village feels strangely empty. No guards patrol the walls. No hunters come and go. No warriors watch the jungle from the tower they’ve built.
For several moments I simply stare. Has the tribe abandoned the place?
No - there’s one gray pillar of smoke, and I do detect the smell of fire. There are still people here, just not many.
I frown. Could it be a trap? That would be irritating. I have been caught before, and the result was months in a cage. But that was very different from this.
I turn toward the Plood and two hundred black eyes stare back at me.
"Make yourselves useful."
They continue staring.
I suppress the urge to incinerate something. "Milling around aimlessly would be a good start." That, at least, seems within their capabilities. I point toward the village.
The nearest Plood immediately waddles forward. The others follow without hesitation, flowing out of the jungle and toward the palisade like a tide of oversized insects.
They clumsily climb the gates and drop down on the other side. Excellent. If there are warriors hiding nearby, they will soon reveal themselves.
I remain among the trees and watch. For a while nothing happens. Then a shout rings out from inside the village. Another follows.
More attention focused on the useless little servants. Perfect.
I back away several paces, judge the distance to the wall, and leap. For a glorious instant I am airborne. Then I land atop the palisade with enough force to shake the timbers beneath my feet.
A handful of figures emerge from the small huts, staring at the mass of Plood with expressions ranging from confusion to alarm.
One throws a spear, and the weapon strikes a Plood squarely in the chest. The creature examines the spear protruding from its body, then falls over backwards and stays there.
The tribesman flees from the approaching flood of aliens.
I nod approvingly. Finally, somebody here is behaving sensibly.
I drop down from the palisade to the ground, not far from the campfire.
Several tribesmen look up and their faces lose all color.
I smile. “Now, we can discuss gold.”
They escape, running wildly, some of them out the gate and into the jungle.
Looking at the huts, I find them all remarkably tiny and weird-looking. Nothing at all like the huts I built for Morgan.
“Formyself,” I correct myself. “For me and my servant.”
