Chapter 26: The Council of Stone and Root
Borak's broken arm was set and splinted with practiced efficiency by the Graxians, using hardened leather and straps of sinew. The gratitude in the quarry was palpable, a stark contrast to the tension of just hours before. But Alistair knew the peace was temporary. Varg's faction had been humiliated, not destroyed. They were a cancer within the clan, and cancers had a tendency to grow back.
Grok approached him as the last of the rescued miners were carried away. The massive chieftain's expression was unreadable, a mask of stone, but his voice was a low, grudging rumble. "You have my thanks, Earth-Shaker. And my debt." He glanced toward the direction Varg had fled, his eyes narrowing. "The rot in my clan has been shown to all. It will be… dealt with."
"Dealing with it may require more than a strong arm," Alistair said, seizing the moment. "Varg's anger comes from a place of fear. Fear that your people are losing their strength, their identity."
Grok grunted, a sound of acknowledgment. "What would you suggest? We cannot un-make the alliance. The water you found is life."
"No," Alistair agreed. "But you can redefine it." He gestured for Grok and Borak, who was leaning heavily on a younger clansman, to follow him a short distance from the crowd. Thora moved to his side, a silent pillar of support.
"We face a common problem, but we have been seeing only our own piece of it," Alistair began. "You have your internal strife. I have my settlement to protect and grow. But there is a larger threat, one that endangers us both."
He told them. He spoke of the northern crags, not just as a place of monsters, but as a sickness in the world itself. He described the phasing creatures of crystal and shadow, the wrongness in the air, the way his own power faltered there. He did not reveal the full, terrifying scope of the creeping corruption, but he gave them enough to understand it was a threat beyond any single clan.
Grok listened, his stony face betraying no emotion, but Borak's eyes widened in dawning horror. The superstitious dread his people held for the crags was being given a terrifyingly concrete explanation.
"This… corruption," Grok said, the word unfamiliar on his tongue. "You say it spreads?"
"Slowly. But yes," Alistair confirmed. "It is a blight. And a blight does not care about clan boundaries."
He let the implication hang in the air between them. The quarrels of Stonetusk and Vance Haven were meaningless if the land itself died beneath them.
"So," Borak said, his voice weak but his mind sharp. "You propose we do what? Fight a sickness of the earth?"
"I propose we form a council," Alistair said. "Not just an alliance for hunting and water. A council of war against this corruption. You, Grok, represent the strength of stone, the forges, the warriors. I represent the power of the root, the land itself, and the knowledge of my system. Thora represents the hunters, the eyes and ears of the jungle."
He looked from Grok's impassive face to Borak's thoughtful one. "We share what we know. Your warriors' sightings, my sensing of the ley-lines, Thora's tracking of the blight's effect on the beasts. We meet regularly. We plan together. We face this not as two clans using each other, but as one people defending our home."
It was a radical idea. A sharing of power, of intelligence, of sovereignty. For a proud chieftain like Grok, it would be a hard pill to swallow.
Grok was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the collapsed quarry, a testament to the fragility of his rule. He then looked at Alistair, a new, measuring respect in his eyes.
"The Earth-Shaker does not think in seasons," he rumbled. "He thinks in ages." He gave a slow, decisive nod. "This council. We will try it. Stone and Root."
The words were simple, but their meaning was profound. The alliance had been forged in shared need. The Council of Stone and Root was being born from shared survival.
As they parted ways, Alistair felt a flicker of cautious optimism. He had averted a civil war, solidified his ally, and taken the first step toward uniting their strengths against the true enemy.
But as he walked back to Vance Haven with Thora under the light of the twin moons, he knew the hardest work was ahead. Uniting two ancient cultures was one thing. Finding a way to fight a disease of the planet was another. The Council was formed. Now, it had to find a cure.
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