Chicken was bound and trussed. He was also kicked, spat on, and hefted. It made Ashley furious.

　　Insolence! she raged in the quiet darkness of Chicken`s head. She struggled with his body against the bindings, but could get no claw near enough to cut them.

　　They had crossed his arms over his chest to turn his claws inward. His legs they had bound in a lotus pose with his knees propped apart with the shaft of a spear, and had wound his muzzle tightly shut. When the orcs tried to bind his ethereal wings, it was discovered that while they could not be touched by rope, they would vanish when covered by a cloak, so one was draped over his shoulders and secured.

　　He would have felt like a turkey if he had ever seen one before.

　　I will not suffer this treatment! she snarled with all the backing force of a swaddled infant.

　　What flame that could be conjured in his firmly closed mouth trickled out between his teeth, lacking the power of the earlier infernos Ashley had brought forth in the fight. The binding did not catch fire, and the effort gave Chicken a mild headache.

　　Yet again, he had been captured and held prisoner.

　　Pathetic drakeling, Ashley`s voice said coldly within Chicken`s mind, I have the strength of mountains. The power of gales. I would have burst this binding like hatching from an egg.

　　Her judgement oozed with contempt, toxic and scalding.

　　Your kind will not inherit my power. You are not worthy of the greatness of your ancestors.

　　Chicken didn`t know what that meant, but at that he felt her spirit settle. The hatred still glowed like an ember, like the patient seed of a fire. Or perhaps like the cracks of still molten magma under the dark and cooling exterior of a lava flow. He knew she would spring at the first hint of escape.

　　Conversation went on around him as the orcs prepared to move out from the battlefield. They reclaimed their tools and weapons, dropped or scattered about in the skirmish, and as they did, they talked.

　　"Look at this grapple. Melted and useless."

　　"The rope`s still good. Cut it just below the slag."

　　"Yeah. All three feet of it. One of its claws went right through the plaiting. I fell flat on my back."

　　"Is that why you were sleeping during the fight? Pulled too hard and it sent you sprawling?"

　　At that, the other orc held the melted grapple threateningly, saying, "It wasn`t with your mother, so it wasn`t sleeping."

　　"No wonder she`s grumpy all the time. Must be the constant disappointment."

　　"Figured she would expect disappointment, having you for offspring."

　　"What am I talking to? That thing you`re holding, or a deformed, useless tool!"

　　"I can have your eyes checked right now if you want, witless mule!"

　　A superior officer detected the budding brawl and bowled through the crowd, shoulder checking a few in the audience. Silence grew in his wake, seeping into the two orcs` fury and drawing their attention. They eventually stood down and faced the officer, though they were clearly still angry.

　　"Imagine my surprise," he said coldly, "to hear the mating call of the majestic stoneboar this late in the year."

　　The members of the argument shot each other baleful looks as he talked.

　　"I think to myself, I could use a good tanned hide, or to sink my teeth into some pigs." He put his fists on his hips and stamped a foot lightly on the rocks. "I track the sound to here. This very place."

　　Putting up a hand, he gestured to the two expansively.

　　"And there they are, with the rest of my troops watching on in what I can only imagine is disgust," at which the officer glared around to the innocent and not-at-all-excited bystanders before setting again on the two, "just going at it."

　　He clenched his hand into a fist.

　　"But Ogg smash me and break me," he said in mock incredulousness, "they`re kitted with arms from my very own troop. They`re not stoneboar taken by the heat of passion after all. Just two of my own orcs."

　　After a moment staring them down, they broke into what looked to Chicken like shame. Then the officer pointed at one of them.

　　"You," he snapped, "Go get a bucket with water."

　　The chosen orc looked incredulous and started to formulate an excuse, but the officer cut him off.

　　"Then you`ll come back to clean up after I`m done with him." His finger swayed over to the other orc, who startled and squirmed like an insect.

　　"When these rocks sparkle, we head home."

　　****

　　Penelope moved through the exhibits and proofs of concept in the area of the town hall Kairon called his workshop. Wood was not easy to come by, but the ordained indestructible lord of all orcs would not want for rare materials. Frames constructed by trees felled from every oasis for miles made up the skeletons of various contraptions. Though Penelope would not recognize them, there was a thing like a crude windmill with sails of hide, a crude automatic tiller with custom forged blades instead of mere beaten swords, a 5:1 scale model of a combine harvester, an industrial fruit press, a device to extract the fibers from steppeland bramble& Most of these contraptions were represented in the ecstatic presentation Kairon had subjected her to.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

　　These machines, as varied as they were, all featured a common power source. There was an everflowing jug affixed to each machine such that it could be tilted over onto a wheel with slats. The wheel, by the force of the water, would then begin to turn, spinning a central shaft. From there, via toothed wheels of various sizes and long spiraling rods, the motion of the water was again transformed or redirected as was needed by each device in question. As it was right now, none of the jugs were tipped over, and the machines were all quiet and still.

　　This had been described to her by Kairon as well, but now she was seeing them for herself. She reached out to touch one of the jugs, either to feel the machinery or perhaps to watch it activate, though even she didn`t know which-

　　"It`s a real bastard to get them to stop once you turn them on," said a voice behind her. She stopped reaching out and instead turned to confront the visitor. It was not Kairon, but one of the Merrowcrack khan.

　　"Best not to run them indoors, in any case," he added.

　　"Back from the hunt already?" she asked.

　　He chuckled. "I don`t go on hunts myself any more. No need. Plenty of eager young orcs willing to prove themselves, and I`m happy to let them."

　　This was a stark contrast to Penelope`s own memories of Merrocrack behavior. She had observed ceremonial disputes between her people and the Merrowcrack, and there were plenty of old orcs leading the charge. It was a point of honor to go out fighting, But Penelope only nodded politically.

　　"I don`t know how he does it," Merrowcrack said, looking at the machines. "He says the ideas are just out there for the taking. He says it`s like anyone could take magic and water and wood and make it put in a good day`s work."

　　He indicated the waterpower jug on the nearest contraption, the automatic tiller. "These things are a real back saver for sure. And it`s all powered by water. You know he says there`s an unlimited supply of water just out there, waiting for the taking? It`s not somewhere else," he said uncertainly, waving a hand to what would be the horizon if the walls weren`t in the way, "but right here. In this space, on the other side of some -& I forget the word he used. It`s like a direction you can`t walk, and which water can`t flow, unless you know how to do the fiddly magic stuff to break through."

　　Penelope did her best to conceal her confusion, to make it look like she understood what he was saying. There was one point she picked up.

　　"You think we should have machines do our work for us?" she asked pointedly.

　　"And why not? It`d save a lot of effort, you have to admit. It would free up time, provide more consistent results," he said.

　　"We already use prisoners for these same things," she said wryly.

　　"Yes, but we`re dependent. We`re dependent on lesser races," his tone became snappish as he said this. He was fiddling with the point on a tiller blade, speaking almost as if Penelope wasn`t there. "They make our food, they build our homes, they carry our things& And all the time they`re thinking. They`re thinking how orcs have it good and they have it bad. I`ve seen them. Every day they make choices, and maybe one day they&" He trailed off, realizing he was dancing on the edge of what, for orcs, was rational thought. Everyone knew non-orcs didn`t have the capacity for thought. Not real thought.

　　Only, he knows that I don`t believe that, she thought. Is he telling me this because he trusts me? But she said, "Maybe one day they`ll what?"

　　"Maybe one day they`ll choose to make something of it," he finished lamely, the growing frustration now subsided. "And when we can`t use them any more, where does that put us?"

　　He regarded the machines for a moment in silence before saying, "He`s got great ideas. I just wish I could understand them. You know, it`s a pity what they say about him."

　　"And what`s that?" Penelope asked conversationally.

　　He told her.

　　****

　　A new dawn crested cautiously, peeking at first to see if it was safe.

　　The orcs were filing into Hurraggh with Chicken carried between two orcs, hanging from a spit. Secured as he was, he merely stared at the ground and tried to ignore the aching strain in his joints from being forcibly posed throughout the night.

　　There was no fanfare, but the town had turned out in the excitement over the result of the hunt. It wasn`t much, as most able-bodied orcs had left to hunt the beast down in their own groups. Here were all the orcs required by duty or poor health to remain behind.

　　They crowded around the entourage, which was led by Justafar himself. Chicken was paraded through the street of awed and excited orcs as they made their way to Kairon`s town hall. As they gathered before the entrance, Kairon and Penelope appeared and stood on the steps to receive the party.

　　The group settled into the space before the hall like cooling molasses, and Justafar gestured for Chicken to be presented to Kairon. The two orcs upended the spit and planted it in the ground, driving it a foot or two into the red earth and seating Chicken on the ground.

　　"Very well done, Justafar," Kairon said, no trace of patronage in his voice.

　　Justafar only bowed.

　　With a polite smile carved on his face, Kairon approached the pole.

　　"You`ve managed to capture the, admittedly small, terror on our people. Again, very well done." He examined Chicken for a while, hands clasped behind his back.

　　"A formidable foe. In time, I expect it will be a powerful tool for us."

　　Kairon`s face brightened, though his smile remained unmoved. "Ah! Very shrewd, Justafar. We can use it as a beast of burden." He carefully enunciated the last three words.

　　"A useful prisoner, sire," Justafar agreed, either ignoring or impervious to the new term.

　　Kairon continued examining Chicken from about a foot away, his lips pressing into a line.

　　"You may be right. It seems intelligent. Why is it muzzled?"

　　"It is a flamebeast, sire," Justafar said. It wasn`t quite in the tone one would use with a child.

　　"Of course. And the muzzle prevents it from flaming. We learn so much, don`t we?"

　　Justafar`s silence could have been construed as affirmation.

　　"But how do we talk to it?" Kairon asked innocently.

　　"Sire, you can talk to it with it muzzled. It can still hear you."

　　Kairon nodded, "Yes, but what of dialogue, Justafar? It can`t speak with a muzzle on."

　　Years of training in the field was the only thing preventing Justafar from looking aghast.

　　"It doesn`t need to speak to follow orders, sire."

　　"But it looks intelligent, Justafar," Kairon wheedled. "It could have wants and desires. Orcs aren`t the only important thing under the suns."

　　Justafar looked like he had swallowed something sour and bitter. For a moment, he grappled with what his leader had just done. Kairon had just put a member of slave-stock above the status of an orc with a single off-hand comment.

　　It was insulting, Justafar had decided, but insulting to whom? Certainly to himself, but being insulted by a superior was the normal course. He was being demoted, somehow. He, one of Kairon`s direct underlings, was just put below one of slave-stock.

　　More importantly, and more incredulously, Kairon had put himself in a position subservient to one of slave-stock. His direct superior was concerned about the disposition of not even a slave, but something below slave status. Something that, according to Justafar`s world view, could only aspire to be a slave.

　　He felt like he had been struck a blow to the head. He felt off balance and cross-eyed. A susurration spread through the crowd as those closest to hear their lord`s comment telephoned it to the back members. Murmurs bubbled forth.

　　Kairon looked oblivious, now crouching to examine Chicken further.

　　"It looks scared, Justafar. Are you absolutely sure the bindings are required?"

　　Justafar`s brow twitched. How did one punch upwards against established hierarchy? Justafar`s mind blazed with protocol, wanting desperately to turn to violence, despite knowing from experience that it was useless against Kairon.

　　"Sire," he started hesitantly.

　　But another voice spoke over him.

　　"Lord Kairon," the voice rang out, "I challenge you."

　　Kairon took a moment to process the words, standing up and turning his attention away from the prisoner.

　　Penelope stood on the steps, pointing an accusatory finger at him. The crowd, and Justafar`s own turbulent thoughts, stilled and quieted. Puzzlement fell across the lord`s face and he turned to look at her.

　　"I challenge your authority over the nation of orcs, here and now."