“Leadership is not a license to do less—it is the responsibility to do more.”

  — Simon Sinek

  Having connected the worm’s lair to the relics, it seemed fortunate that dreaming wasn’t a part of the user experience in The Book of Dungeons. Nevertheless, being up so late threw off my schedule, and I slept until late morning.

  I vaguely remember waking from Beaker’s town’s alarm before falling back into a troubled sleep.

  My Familiar hunched over on the sunny windowsill while I slept, roosting after a self-served breakfast from Otter Lake. I knew this from the smelly fishtails littering my bedroom floor.

  When the smell registered, I buried my face in the pillow. “Beaker, that’s disgusting.” I rolled out of bed, picked up the remains between my thumb and index finger, and chucked them out the window. My griffon recoiled as I tossed them over his head, opening his beak at the invasion of his personal space.

  Washing up hadn’t renewed me from an awful mood. How could it? Confirming dangers in the orrery wasn’t the restful night I’d envisioned during my trip from Fort Krek. I remained sore from our journey, and untold administrative headaches awaited.

  A gnawing hunger topped off my morning. Today’s horoscope included scrounging up a late breakfast plate while the town pestered me about problems—a fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Building queues, task assignments, and settling disputes would have to wait until I got some food.

  After donning my gear, I descended the manor’s stairs to the ground floor.

  Greenie’s drafting table stood empty, which meant he’d gone to sleep. He often napped after breakfast, but with Charitybelle gone, I wasn’t sure about his schedule.

  Ida wasn’t so absent.

  “Hey, Ida. When Greenie gets back, can you tell him I’m looking for him? I’ve important security issues to discuss with him.”

  Ida answered by extending a stack of parchment. “I would like to thank you for helping me clear my desk of unaddressed petitions. On top of it, I listed current problems and the current shopping list. It’s so great to have you back, governor.”

  Only Ida could make gratitude sound accusatory, and she turned away before I could reply. “You know, you can just put them on my desk if you need to make space.”

  “That would make me a liar to everyone that I promised to place their business into your hands. I prefer an honest reputation if it’s all the same to you.”

  As I placed the pile on my desk, my moan segued to a growl. The noise came as close as I dared to an argument. Too busy to waste time nitpicking courtesies, I pawed through the questions and complaints.

  A note on my desk detailed a complaint that charcoal deliveries didn’t meet blacksmithing needs. Fin complained that hauling charcoal wasted his time. The smithies weren’t experts at tacking the torodons to the mining carts.

  Many petitions required only basic coordination, which I hoped would self-correct if I stepped away from the process. Why did I have to be part of the little details? Perhaps the need to referee daily life would go away after we opened our economy. Wasn’t the free market supposed to solve everything?

  Ida picked up another piece of parchment. “Can you triage the town’s most pressing needs, or are you in the mood to give everyone the runaround?”

  “Ida, I will be right back. I’m tired and hungry, and I can’t think. Can it please wait until I get some food?”

  “I suppose it will have to.” She cast the parchment to her desk as if discarding it.

  I exited without another word.

  Beaker’s shadow drifted to the flagpole where he landed. It wobbled as his back claws grasped the bottom of the wooden ring while his front gripped the top. The griffon squawked to announce that the governor had emerged from the manor, an auspicious bulletin, but precisely the opposite of how I wanted to cross through the settlement.

  “You’re getting too big for Chloe’s roost. Come on, let’s get some grub.”

  Releasing the pole, Beaker glided to the ground and landed. We walked together to the town hall.

  Rocky, the settlement chef, acknowledged my entrance. I filled a bowl with breakfast leftovers—rice and spiced worm meat. Eating it in the manor would mean a cold meal, and I’d have to worry about returning dirty bowls.

  “We’ve bangers for brekkie with our new meat grinder. But I’m hoping for a new griddle for hot cakes. The steel sheet I have is too thin, and it takes too long to cook vittles. With so many people, we need to prepare food faster.”

  “I’m way ahead of you, Rock.” I produced the skillet we found in the foggy gravity dungeon.

  “Whoa! Thar’s a griddle for ya! Good’n stout. I can control the temperature with one like this.”

  “If you need anything else, I’m reviewing the smithing queue this afternoon. Ida gave me a list of things to weed through, but I can’t make promises. The list is long.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Rocky admired the griddle. “This will help. Staggering breakfast at the Otter Loch will help, too.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Rockthane pointed to the inn across the river. “Otter Loch Inn. ‘Tis the name Freya and Gunny stuck when we finished it. They’re petitioning Ida to be innkeepers. Ally likes the name.”

  Having citizens sleep across the river felt strange, but it gave the dwarves the privacy they wanted. “If Gunny’s doing the inn, what happens to charcoal production? Isn’t he the head collier?”

  The chef shrugged. “Gunny’s getting on. He suspects Arch or Baird can raise the handle in his stead.”

  Sitting down with my meal, I half-grumbled to myself. “As long as Fin gets his charcoal, it doesn’t matter to me who’s in charge.”

  While I ate, Mrs. Berling doted on my pet, presenting Beaker with a plate of mixed edibles.

  Having sated himself from his fishing, Beaker only picked through it with disinterest. Instead, he softly clucked and cooed to himself, content to watch the activity around him—the chief of which involved me shoveling food into my mouth. When I finished, my Familiar pumped his wings until he landed on the town hall’s rafters.

  “You’ve been waiting to go up there for a while, haven’t you?”

  Beaker answered with a very loud squawk as if to challenge the room. He perched higher than anyone in the town hall. There, he felt important and preened his feathers.

  “Guv!” Rocky made a pained expression, gesturing to the dust and feathers falling from above and onto the food prep area.

  I grunted and waved. “Sorry, Rock. I’ll get him down.” After dismissing my pet in a puff of green vapor, I added another unfun task to my to-do list—training the town griffon to stay off the rafters.

  My pet and I weren’t Rocky’s only patrons. The Fort Krek soldiers occupied two of the tables. Luckily, they didn’t notice my entrance, giving me the opportunity to eat in peace.

  The soldiers’ expressions over my griffon made me regretful at having to dismiss him. They really seemed to enjoy their new mascot.

  I’d do anything to impress them, and having a griffon at my beck radiated a confident vibe.

  The Fort Krek caucus drank tea and chatted, and it made me happy to see Commander Thaxter among them. Perhaps finding a place for our new citizens ought to be my priority. Swearing them in now wouldn’t be very hospitable. I should have given them a public welcome last night, but my strange, antisocial mood and troubling thoughts about the relics preoccupied me. Organizing a celebration wouldn’t be necessary, but a few words after dinner should be enough.

  “Hey, Rock. It’s been months since we finished the brewery. What’s the word on our ale supplies? Has it made anything yet?”

  “The bakers were pokey on the yeast, so it took near a month a‘fore Angus made a drinkable batch.” Rocky wiggled his fingers when he said “drinkable” to show he didn’t endorse the resulting brew. “Batch number three is tolerable, but ye’d have to roust Angus. He’s nigh taken over the brewery—he had Fin fashion a lock so nobody could monkey up his tanks.”

  I nodded toward to the soldiers. “Can we get someone to serve our best tonight? I want to welcome our new citizens to town.”

  Rockthane smiled. “Ye got it, chief. I’ll see to it meself.”

  After finishing my meal, I joined the soldiers to see how their first night in the barracks went.

  Captain Jourdain caught my eye with a bothered look. “We’ve been talking about Hawkhurst’s security chief. With so many humans in your guard, are you sure you want to keep an orc in charge?”

  I prepared myself for this debate by remembering how Charitybelle rested my qualms about our first wilderness ally. Iris’s guards deferred to Yula’s leadership in crisis, so the newcomers had to follow suit. They just needed to learn that an orc and goblin served in high stations at Hawkhurst. “Yula has been here from the start. She’s not like the orcs fighting Krek.”

  Captain Jourdain didn’t look convinced. “That’s what we hear. Iris, Sami, Val, and Jahid all vouched for her integrity.”

  “Then what’s the question? Don’t the orcs form good and bad groups, like humans?”

  The captain crossed his arms. “I couldn’t say, but I do know why the orcs call their chief the emperor. It’s because he’s conquered more settlements than any other ruler on Miros. Keeping his siege engines far from Krek keeps him bottled up in the Arweald, fighting the elves. Who can say he won’t turn his attention to softer targets across the river?”

  “Hawkhurst’s next buildings will be defensive, and we’ve got a settlement bonus for strong structures.” I thumped a chimney holding up the town hall’s roof for emphasis. The dwarven construction had to have made an impression.

  “It seems so. But a stout wall is no defense against subterfuge. How can you be sure your orc isn’t a spy?”

  “Yula has fought for us several times to establish this settlement. She’s a co-founder and pledged a bonded promise when we amounted to little more than a camp. She’s a sworn enemy of the emperor with no split loyalties. If you have a problem with pledging loyalty and obedience to an orc, you’ll be of little use to the town guard.”

  Only a few soldiers nodded, while most stared at the floor. It seemed like we would lose more than a few guards today. Talking to these guys seemed suddenly foolish. None had seen me fight, and I wasn’t military, so why would they trust me? In their eyes, I represented the worst kind of civilian—a politician. They showed enough tact to patronize me, but I wouldn’t convince them of anything they didn’t already believe.

  Corporal Lazaar set her jaw and shook her head. “I’m sorry, governor. I appreciate what you’ve done for us, but I’ve got folks in Westlake. You wouldn’t hold it against me if I linked up with another town, would you?”

  Though it prolonged a losing battle, I persisted in my pitch for Hawkhurst. “No. You can leave with the caravan or stay awhile. If you want to drop your arms and set up a homestead here, you’re welcome—as long as you acknowledge Yula’s authority as militia commander.”

  While I spoke, the corporal shook her head as if an orc’s authority was a prerequisite too contrary to her nature.

  I turned to Captain Jourdain. “I’m afraid that applies to everyone. You may keep your rank if you join, but Yula runs the show.”

  Jourdain took no offense. “We’ve been jawing about that all morning. It seems Lazaar and I are of the same mind. But everyone here has to make their own choice.”

  Eyes fell on Thaxter.

  The commander’s age lines weren’t as deep as when he’d been under the relic’s influence, but he looked tired. “I don’t have a family, but starting a simple trade suits me. I’ll stay if you’ll have me.”

  The soldiers sat still, but their eyes watched me for a reaction. Thaxter’s words still carried weight.

  “If you’re finished with government work, we can offer commercial opportunities. There’s a new inn, and I’m sure Lloyd, our harbormaster, could use help. If you’re good with your hands, we could open a slot for you on our construction crew. When we finish building the market, we’ll open our economy to private enterprise. And farmland is free for anyone who wants to work it. We’ll house and feed you in the town hall if you want to grow for Hawkhurst, or you could hawk your crops at the market’s price. I prefer independent citizens.”

  The commander’s resolve faltered when I relayed our options for civilian life.

  The soldiers’ eyes glazed over, too, as if all our opportunities amounted to a lifestyle too boring for them.

  I’d caught myself giving a sales pitch instead of painting a complete picture. People didn’t trust politicians because of this tactic. I changed my tone and laid out the problems we faced. “There are risks to settling in the wilderness. I will admit, it’s safer west. If you’re available for strategic or tactical counsel, it would help us out. I might as well be honest with you. Hawkhurst isn’t entirely safe. I stayed up all night working on—oh, never mind. Let’s just say I have reason to suspect we might have trouble from the goblins soon. Yula and I could use a wartime advisor.”

  At once, every soldier lost their hangdog expressions—even Lazaar straightened. I hadn’t seen such anticipation since the dwarves first heard we’d brought ale from Grayton.

  Jourdain leaned forward, grinning. “What do you mean when you say you’re having trouble with the goblins?”