Chapter 17
The suns were at their highest point, casting short, dark shadows. Alistair stood at the edge of the clearing, the exact midpoint between his walls and the Graxian tree line. Thora stood a pace behind him, her presence a silent statement of support. She had insisted on coming.
From the opposite side of the clearing, three figures emerged. Borak led them. Behind him walked a Graxian who could only be Grok. He was massive, broader and taller than any Alistair had seen, with a crown of large, curved tusks strapped to his head. His hide was a tapestry of scars, and he moved with the heavy grace of a predator. A younger warrior, armed with a heavy stone axe, followed a step behind him.
The two groups stopped, facing each other across twenty feet of open ground.
Grok's eyes, dark and intelligent, scanned Alistair from head to toe, dismissing him just as quickly. He focused on the settlement behind him, his gaze lingering on the watchtower. He grunted, a sound of appraisal.
Borak spoke first, his voice a low rumble. "Earth-Shaker. This is Grok, leader of the Stonetusk Clan."
Alistair met Grok's stare. "I am Alistair."
Grok took a step forward. The air seemed to grow heavier. He pointed a thick finger at the ground between them. "Borak says you make the earth obey. Show me."
It was not a request. It was a challenge. A test of the power Borak had described.
Alistair felt the eyes of both his people and the Graxians upon him. He could not refuse. He had to show strength, but not aggression. Control, not destruction.
He nodded slowly. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the connection to the planetary core, the ley-lines running beneath his feet. He focused his will not on a grand display, but on something simple. Something life-giving.
He knelt, placing his palm flat on the soil. He pushed a small amount of power, just five points, into the earth, directing it with a clear intent.
Where his hand touched, the ground softened. A single, green shoot pushed up through the soil. It grew with visible speed, stretching upward, thickening. A bud formed, swelled, and then unfurled into a perfect, six-petaled flower, its color a vibrant, impossible gold. It was a Sun-Singer, the first flower he had scanned upon arriving, now coaxed to full bloom in seconds.
He plucked the flower and stood, offering it to Grok.
The Graxian leader stared at the bloom, his expression unreadable. He looked from the flower to the ground where it had sprung from nothing, then back to Alistair. The brute force that had created a sinkhole was one thing. This precise, creative power was another. It was a demonstration of a deep, fundamental control over the land itself.
Grok reached out and took the flower. He crushed it in his fist, the petals turning to pulp. It was not an act of disrespect, but of finality. A decision made.
"Your magic is real," Grok said, his voice like grinding stones. "Borak spoke truth."
He dropped the crushed flower. "Our land dies. The deep water is gone. The stone gives no life. Can your earth-shaking find water in dry stone?"
Alistair met his gaze. "I can try."
Grok studied him for a long, silent moment, weighing his soul. "Then we have a bargain. You find water in our mountains. We share this river. We hunt together. No war."
He took a step back, his business seemingly concluded.
"But know this, Earth-Shaker," he added, his voice dropping to a low growl. "If your magic is a trick. If our people still thirst... the blood we spill will not just be yours. It will be everyone's."
The threat was clear. If he failed, the retaliation would be absolute.
Grok turned and walked away without another word, his guard following. Borak gave Alistair one last, unreadable look before turning to follow his chief.
Alistair watched them go, the crushed golden petals at his feet. The peace was secured, for now. But it was a fragile peace, built on a promise he wasn't sure he could keep. He had to find water in a barren land, or the war he had just avoided would return, fiercer than before.