"The north is no better, Tassia," Rowan stated with sober honesty. He watched the Lamia leader's eyes, noting the deep weariness etched around them.
"I have access to reports from the Ironsong Empire and the smaller kingdoms beyond. The drought is basically continent-wide. Moving north will only bring you into contact with settlements that are already fighting over dwindling resources. You will find borders closed and welcome nonexistent. Going further will not solve your problem…it will only create more."
Tassia's silver-pink scales seemed to dull slightly as the hope in her eyes died. Her powerful tail gave a defeated slither in the dust. The warriors behind her shifted, their hands tightening on their spears.
"Then what hope is there for my people, Blacksun?" she asked, the purr in her voice tightening into a plea. "The great cities will turn us away, and our young need fertile land now. They need water and food."
Rowan paused, looking over his shoulder at his own children, who were standing silently and with attention, watching the unfolding scene with wide eyes. Alexia clutched her sapling pot. Selene stood ready, her demeanor cautious. He looked back at the thousand weary, scaled figures lining the road.
"I cannot offer you the northern plains, Matriarch, but I can offer you this region," Rowan said. "The village just beyond my farm is home to kind people. They have a large common pasture and fields that are currently unused. It is safe, and I can assure you there is enough work and food here to sustain your thousand souls."
He held up a hand before she could speak. "I run this farm, and my crops are abundant. I can provide the emergency food right now. I can offer you work to help me manage my fields and the village lands, and in return, your young will be fed, and your elders will be safe. But I cannot offer you the land myself."
Rowan paused, letting the heavy truth settle. "You must ask the village council for permission to settle on their common land. They are good people, and they will likely agree, especially if I put in a good word. But the choice, and the deal, must be made with them. If they say yes, you can stay. I will feed you, and we will put your people to work."
Tassia was silent for a long minute. The silence of a thousand hungry people waiting on a single decision was immense. She knew of Rowan Blacksun, the 'Demon Splitter'—his reputation was built on brutal, bloody slaughter.
A man like that had no reason to offer hope only to snatch it away. His honesty about the north resonated with the brutal reports from their own scouts. Continuing the journey would condemn the weakest among them.
The barren desert they had fled, where their last oasis had cracked into dust, was a fresh wound. They were exhausted, and the sight of Rowan's impossibly green fields was a desperate hope.
"You have no reason to offer us such an opportunity," Tassia purred slowly. "But your reputation for honesty is known, even in the Southern Peaks. We cannot travel further, not with our young."
She gave a curt, regal nod. "I will accept your offer, Blacksun. We will speak with the village. If they refuse, we only ask for safe passage, a place to rest our young, and enough clean water for the night."
"The farm has clean water." Rowan agreed, giving her a small smile. "I will ride ahead to the village council. You may follow slowly and set up camp on the west edge of the common pasture. No one will bother you there."
He turned to Selene. "Selene, stay here. I'll be back quickly."
Selene didn't hesitate. "Understood, Commander."
Rowan gave Tassia one quick look.
He turned and strode toward the stables, the weight of the new responsibility already settling on his broad shoulders. Tassia watched him go, a glimmer of relief finally easing the tension in her eyes.
She gave a command to her guards, and the Lamia column began to move forward again, slowly toward the promise of rest and the hope of a new beginning.
Rowan got to the stable and tossed a worn, white saddle onto Capper and secured the handle with a heavy grip. He mounted the horse, a massive figure atop the equally sturdy steed, and gave the reins a quick flick. Capper, sensing the urgency in his master, bolted forward from the stable yard and onto the road, his hooves kicking up dust.
For five years, Rowan's interaction with the nearby village had been limited to quick, silent visits to the general store and trading post, often late at night or early in the morning to avoid crowds. The villagers knew the silent, massive farmer, but they hadn't spoken to the legendary 'Demon Splitter' in half a decade.
In the village center, a small crowd had already gathered near the main well, their faces anxious. The massive, slithering column of Lamias was visible in the distance, a mesmerizing, terrifying sight against the orange backdrop of the setting sun.
Their speculation intensified when they saw Rowan, their stoic neighbor, engage in a brief, intense conversation with the Lamia matriarch before joining Capper and galloping toward them.
Capper was a hell of a speedy horse when not pulling a carriage, and Rowan arrived in a matter of minutes. He brought Capper to a sliding halt near the wooden meeting hall, the horse snorting steam in the cool air. Rowan swung down, landing lightly. He took a moment to look around.
The crowd parted silently as he approached the gathering of village elders and council members. They were a group of elderly farmers, a stout blacksmith, and the village's energetic, young mayor, who was nervously twisting his leather cap in his hands.
"Rowan Blacksun," the mayor, a man named Thomas, greeted him, his voice strained. "We…we saw the Lamia caravan. What is happening? Why are they here?"
Thomas was the son of the former mayor. A man who led this village for 30 years before retiring due to age. He let his son, who was only slightly older than Rowan, take over last year. He had unfortunately become mayor at the worst time possible, during a massive drought.
He had been struggling to come up with solutions for that for a while now. Seeing the man whom they all knew as someone who kept to himself made Thomas nervous. Well, they had at least known each other since they were young, so he wasn't too bothered, just worried about the Lamia's presence.
Rowan nodded at Thomas' question, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the people he had purposefully avoided for so long. He knew he had to be direct and honest, just as he had been with Tassia.
"They are refugees, Thomas. They are the Great Sand Lamia. Their land in the Southern Peaks Oasis has succumbed to the drought. They are starving, and they are seeking land to settle and survive."
He paused, letting the word 'starving' sink in.
"Their Matriarch, Tassia, asked for passage north, but the north is no better. I told her the truth…the continent is drying up. They are exhausted and cannot travel further, not with their young."
He stepped closer to the council. "I told her that my farm and your village have enough land and food to sustain them. I gave them permission to rest on the western edge of the common pasture for the night. I told them to wait while I came to speak with you."
Rowan's voice dropped, becoming firm. "They are a thousand strong. They are weary, not hostile. But they are desperate. They need land to farm and survive, and you have unused common lands right here."
He met Thomas's eyes. "I need you, and the council, to let them stay."
The villagers exchanged nervous glances. The mayor, Thomas, wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his youthful confidence wavering under the combined pressure of the Lamia threat and Rowan's sudden involvement.
"Rowan, with all due respect," Thomas began, his voice barely above a murmur, "a thousand of the Serpent People? Right on our doorstep? We are simple farmers, not soldiers. What if they grow hungry? What if they decide our fields or homes are easier targets than waiting for crops to grow?"
An older councilwoman, a woman named Martha who had known Rowan's family for decades, spoke up, her face etched with worry. "We are grateful for the offer, Rowan, truly. But you've been absent for years.
Your reputation is fearsome, but their kind…they are foreign. They have their own ways. They could be trouble. We have our children to think of."
Rowan met their gaze with confidence.
"I understand your fear," Rowan said, his voice low and steady, radiating an unwavering sense of control that instantly calmed the jittery crowd. "Which is why I am making this promise to you, now: I will be their overseer. I know their kind.
They are a race that made their living primarily off the land. They are gifted physical laborers, known for their discipline and hard work.
They are not like some other races gifted with powerful magic; their strength is purely physical, their loyalty to their matriarch is absolute, and their primary focus is survival through farming."
Based on what he had learned from past comrades from their region, the Lamias were truly hard workers who did their best to expand and maintain the small oasis they lived in.
They had strong warriors, but they preferred to keep to themselves and would even offer support and rest to nearby settlements and travelers. Regardless of that, he was here too, the strongest man in the region. Rowan took a step closer, his resolute gaze entirely on the council.
"If there is any trouble, any hostility, I will handle it. Swiftly and completely. I assure you, no Lamia will step foot on this land with hostile intent while I am here."
Rowan then explained the benefits of having these Lamias around.
"This drought will kill your fields this year, regardless of your labor. But if they settle, I will commit my magic to the common land. I will help them prepare the soil, seed the crops, and ensure the fields actually grow. You know what my land yields. I can replicate some of that on your fields."
"The Lamias will do the majority of the hard labor needed to grow the food. For their work, they will receive a portion of the harvest to feed themselves. But the bulk of that harvest will belong to this village. Think of it…all you have to do is permit them to use the land that would otherwise lie barren."
He knew what this meant, and he didn't hide his intentions entirely. "Furthermore, I plan to expand my own wheat production to sell. This Lamia workforce is capable, and I will employ many of them directly on my farm to manage the expansion. That means more gold coming into this region, and a smaller burden on your drying wallets."
Thomas looked at the barren fields surrounding the village, then back at the skilled and powerful man whose farm was full of fertility. The choice was between starving and risking a group of unknowns for the promise of abundance.
"Rowan," Thomas finally managed, his voice still a whisper. "This… this is a big deal. We need a moment to discuss this among the council."
Martha and the other elders immediately nodded in agreement, their eyes wide with the realization of what Rowan was offering.
"Of course," Rowan replied, stepping back slightly to grant them privacy. "But be quick. A thousand starving people do not have time to wait."
The entire council and the group of nearby villagers immediately gathered into a tight huddle near the meeting hall's wooden wall. They spoke in rapid, hushed tones, their arguments flying back and forth.
"It's too dangerous, Thomas! We can't trust a promise from the Blacksun!"
"But he's offering food! Martha, look at the dust on our land! We have nothing to lose except a risk that Rowan Blacksun himself promises to negate!"
"The gold! Imagine the gold if we can sell the surplus yield to the neighboring settlements!"
"A thousand of them… they could overpower us if Rowan leaves."
"He won't leave. He has five children on that farm. And he saved our village once before, ten years ago, from the bandits. He is a man of his word."
"And the magic! His magic! No one around us has that kind of magic."
Thomas listened to the arguments, his gaze flicking repeatedly between the distant, unsettling Lamia caravan and the massive, silent figure of Rowan Blacksun waiting patiently by his horse. The mayor knew the choice was clear and necessary.
He took a deep breath and pushed his way out of the huddle, his decision already made. He looked Rowan directly in the eye, the fear still present, but now tempered by a new hope.
"Rowan, we agree," Thomas announced, his voice firmer now, the last trace of nervousness replaced by a look of grim determination. "You have our permission. The Lamia people may settle on the common lands, and we accept your promise of protection and your commitment to the harvest."
Rowan gave a short nod, acknowledging the council's decision and the heavy weight of trust they had just placed on his shoulders. "Thank you, Thomas. You won't regret this. Tell your people to prepare. This region is about to change, for the better."
He had told them everything clearly and honestly, except for the fact that if they sold any of the crops he and the Lamias helped with, he would take a good cut out of it. Without his magic and protection, they would have nothing. It was only fair he took a cut. He had 5 very expensive kids to raise afterall.
Rowan didn't wait for any further discussion or expressions of gratitude from the villagers. He knew his job wasn't done. He simply pushed off the ground, mounted Capper with smooth movement, and immediately turned the horse around.
With a rapid flick of the reins, he urged Capper back into a swift gallop. They tore down the dirt road, heading straight for the Lamia caravan.
The caravan had already begun setting up camp on the western edge of the common pasture, just as instructed. The Lamia people moved with an eeriness, their slithering bodies weaving between unfolding, collapsible, brightly colored tents made from woven desert fabric. The site was organized and clean, their movements disciplined, confirming Rowan's assessment of their race.
Tassia, the Matriarch, saw Rowan approaching and waited, her body coiled patiently near the biggest tent, her guards still flanking her.
Rowan brought Capper to a halt a few yards away and dismounted, his boots hitting the ground with a solid thud.
He strode toward Tassia and said, "The village council has agreed, matriarch Tassia. You have permission to settle on the common lands. You may remain here."
A wave of relief washed over the Lamia leader. Her eyes widened slightly, and she inclined her head in a gesture of profound respect. "You have helped my people, Blacksun. We will honor the agreement."
"Good," Rowan said, his voice firm and pragmatic. "Now, for the conditions. First, my family and I will provide an emergency food supply for your people immediately. A mix of dried meat, special wheat flour, and preserved fruit. This will last you for the first week while you settle."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the thousand silent, expectant faces of her people.
"Second, your people will begin working the common lands tomorrow at sunrise. The soil is dry, but I will commit my magic to the preparation. The work will be hard, and the harvest will be shared, with the bulk going to the village for distribution and trade. Your payment is survival and a permanent home."
He met Tassia's gaze, his eyes hard. "Third, and this is non-negotiable: There will be absolute peace. No hostility toward the villagers. No trespassing on my farm without invitation. Any breach of this trust will be dealt with by me, personally. Do you understand?"
Tassia nodded without hesitation. "My people are disciplined, Blacksun. We came here to survive. Your word is our law while we are on your land. We accept your terms, and we thank you for your trust."
Rowan felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. The crisis was averted. He turned to leave, but Tassia spoke again.
"Before you go, Blacksun," she said, her eyes fixed on him. "We are in your debt. My people are not without skills beyond labor.
I have warriors, but I also have many who are skilled in the making of remedies, poisons, and the reading of the earth. We do not forget a debt. If you or your family ever need a service that requires a delicate touch or knowledge of the hidden earth, you need only ask."
Rowan paused, considering her words. A Lamia alliance would be incredibly useful, especially with Alistair Bloodsworth now roaming the continent.
"I will remember that," Rowan said. "Now, I must return to my family. I will send the first delivery of food and water before nightfall."
He turned, mounted Capper, and with a final, resolute look at the vast, silent camp, he rode back toward the safety of his farm, the massive weight of a thousand new responsibilities riding with him.