"Hello, Steel Exiles. I am Estel. It is my job to make sure you idiots can hold a line of the Wound well enough for Kellids to take responsibility for their own border back from the witch you all hate. It is a job I am doing because the Herder wants me to, and I don't like the Ugly Grandmother much more than you." And also that the Herder is adorable and Estel would follow her into the Abyss itself.

"If any of you had been south into the places which know how to forge steel, which, you know perfectly well, you haven't, you would have heard of a 'drill sergeant'. His job is to take a bunch of farm boys, hand them pikes, and teach them to fight a war."

"My job is easier than his in one respect. You know how to fight. It is much harder in the same respect, because you think you know how to fight a war."

There is, as expected, some grumbling from the large mass of large shaggy men. They have 'warred' with tribes other than their birth tribe for years, in a few cases decades. In fact, two of them have personally crossed blades several times when their birth tribes fought, and obvious wary respect between them has been visible since the moment they realized they both chose to take the deal Herder Ata was offering.

Two things preempt this grumbling from turning to outrage:

One: An even larger man, actually half-giant, with bluish skin and hair like a frozen waterfall, is standing behind the crowd and slightly off to the side. Corl's unofficial job title is 'enforcer' or 'the slab of meat so meaty that all meatheads will defer to him'. (He, also, would follow Ata into the Abyss itself.)

He thumps the haft of his (huge) mace into the ground, as a reminder that no one in this mob is the scariest warrior.

Two: Corl predicted how that pair of rivals would react, and Ata suggested a way to turn it against the mob.

"Let's have an example. Girm, Watten: Step forward."

Surprised, they do.

"You have fought each other more than once, as did your tribes. You might call that 'war'. In a war, one's side has a goal. Either of you, what was that goal?" 

"Vengeance!," says Watten, "for-"

Girm cuts him off, "Lies! It was we who took venge-"

"Silence!", booms Estel (technically her illusion, but still counts). When this doesn't immediately stop them, she flicks an acid splash at the less calm of the two.

"I do not care which of your tribes was in the right and which was wronged. You are Steel Exiles until you run away or earn your steel. And in any case you did not answer my question. Vengeance is not a goal, it is a reason. What did you seek to do, to the other tribe? Kill their herder? Take his wife? Ruin their best source of water? Burn down their tents?"

The one who didn't get splashed, Girm, answers, warily but with the air of stating the obvious, "To take from their herds, to wound their warriors or kill them."

"That, yes, that is an answer to what I asked. Watten, yours?"

"To protect our herds and warriors... And to wound theirs or kill them."

"And the purpose? No, let me guess. The herds you take, or guard, because you live off your herd. The hunt does not always go well. Yes?"

There are nods, and not just from the two she cornered.

"Would any of you care to explain what purpose wounding their warriors serves, or do I have to guess, again? It is not just to make it easier to leave with more of the herd, it is a goal of its own."

There is a pause, and another man moves to speak, but Watten lifts his hand to stop him.

"Because we want that they regret attacking us. And that they not attack us again."

She gives him a dirty look, and starts the hand motion for acid splash again.

"...And when we struck them in the past," he continues, grudgingly, "or if they have struck back since I departed, the same purpose. That they regret attacking us or giving us offense. An attack without reprisal shows weakness."

Girm nods with satisfaction at this answer, and receives a dirty look from Watten. He notices and looks a little chagrined, and then speaks up. "I would say the same of us. And... if we attacked a weaker tribe, we might also seek to take slaves. For the same reasons, and because the offense of a weaker, smaller tribe attacking a stronger is greater and demands we cause more regret."

Watten nods, satisfied, and they exchance a look more friendly than any they'd yet shared.

Estel doesn't have a clue what that was, except 'politics, probably'.

Fortunately, she has a telepathic bond!

Corl, what did I just miss?

Watten admitted his tribe's side of the feud was of the same merit as Girm's. Girm, in return, admitted that Watten's tribe are equals, not inferiors - else they would have sought slaves.

And now they are treating each other with the respect of a rival within a tribe. If they both live to return with their steel, this may even end the feud.

Ah. Good, feuds are the most pointless thing your people do.

"Right. About what I expected. To summarize it: raids are for survival, and to inflict fear. And you all know how to raid, and defend against raids. Maybe better than I.

But that is not the point of war. And it is not the point of fighting the Worldwound."

"Settled people do not fight for survival. And the cost of fighting to cause fear, when each army is the size of a dozen whole tribes or more, is too high."

"What they do fight for is land. To take it, and to hold it. A herd can be moved; take it from another tribe, and fend them off while you return to yours, and now your herd is larger. Land does not move."

Are they following me, Corl?

Some of them have even guessed where you're going, he confirms.

"Remember this: Against demons, if we lose land, the barrier gets weaker, and that means it is a harder fight for everyone else who fights them. And for us. If we take land, push the Wardstone in further, we make the demons weaker, and one step closer to a day where Sarkoris is livable again."

A few weapons and shields shake approvingly - of Sarkoris's survivors, those that fled to True Kellis are the most loyal - in their own eyes, at least.

"And also this: You cannot make a demon fear. They have no loyalty to others you can threaten. The masters of the Abyss are far more fearsome than you, any of you, or than me, or the Tower, or Herder Dances-Through-Arrows. We will never scare them more than what's behind them."

"Any of you bright boys want to tell me what I'm going to say next?"

"Raiding demons is pointless," says one of the shield-shakers.

"Clever boy! Yes," Corl, name? "Herth. That is your first lesson. We are not raiders. We cannot be raiders. And that means that you will need to learn to fight a different way."

You've got them, loves. Better than we hoped.

"That is why I am here. I will teach you to fight for land. And that starts with how to hold land."

"Herder Ata knows this thing. She fought with me, and my brothers, the Hellknights. We are soldiers, and we hunted monsters, but mostly we fought for land."

"I will not teach you to be soldiers. Ata is not a soldier. She is a berserk, though a calmer one than most. But I can teach you things soldiers know. And I will, because if you do not learn them, the first time a wave of demons hits our line -"

"- You. Will. Die."

I don't think they believe you. Go with the challenge.

"Now, I don't expect you to believe me. You are all stubborn and strong and won't break under pressure, you think. If you insist on fighting them like chaotic berserks - well, I asked the Herder, and she says we won't stop you."

"What I will do, is bring everyone else to watch. Because when they see you die, accomplishing nothing, earning no glory or honor, not even securing steel for your family's tribe-"

"Then, I think, then they will believe me."

There is muttering, but it's mostly subdued.

"Which teacher will you choose? Me, or the demons? We'll sacrifice up to eight, so if you're all picking them, you'll have to settle who gets the chance among yourselves."

Leave it there, you think?

For now. Let them stew, I'll watch them.

"Now that you're all thinking - possibly an unfamiliar feeling - I am done for the morning. I'll be back at noon, when hopefully you will tell me that none of you choose to become examples to the others."

And then she's out.

"You did good, 'Stel."

"It was not fun. Farmers are much more willing to listen."

"They'll be with you soon. Corl says three are refusing to take your word, and they might still back down."

"Good. We're going to make your plan work. Actually do it." She ruffles Ata's hair.

"Couldn't do it without you. ...Ma'am"

"You're in command here, not me."

"Maybe I like calling you 'ma'am'. Are you going to order me not to?", she says, a little impishly.

"Not-", and she stops, waits. "I would strongly advise against it. I don't know what parts of discipline are really indispensable, but not having normal relationships with your officers is - one of them. Pretty sure."

"Why? What will go wrong?"

"We are going to order men to die, who could live, because if we don't, more men will die, different ones. They need to trust that we do that fairly, Lawfully, that we aren't going to send ten to die to save one we like personally. If we - carry on - they will wonder who else we're favoring."

"No Stel, they won't. The herder favors who they favor, and if they're strong, they have the right. And - we need you. And me. And Corl. If this lasts thirty years, it might have the strength to outlive us, but favoring you is fair. Strategic."

"Even if you're right about that... The chain of command is definitely indispensable. It has to be clear who can order who. If I say go left, and you say go right, they have to know whose order wins. So still, no calling me 'ma'am'."

"Well, I don't have to do it in public."

"You are a bad influence."

"I think I'm a Good influence. And you're the one who followed me home."

"I suppose I did. Well, help me get this armor off."

They do, after all, have to eat, before she goes back out. Does she need help? Absolutely not. Is she asking for it for practical reasons? Absolutely not. Will she admit this to herself? Absolutely not... yet.

It's good to take off the figurative mask for a bit, not just the literal one. But she does need to get back out there. So after lunch, she armors up, doesn't kiss her girlfriend/commanding officer, and goes back to the drilling field.

They're grouped in various clumps, not all the same ones they were in when she left. Particularly, three are sitting some distance away from the rest, with Corl resting fairly near the midpoint from them to the nearest other cluster.

"Now that you've all had time to think, are you ready to take direction?"

"Most of them are. These three, however, don't believe you. They think they can defend Kellis in traditional style."

"Well, then we will let you try. A small wave of dretches, probably. With the barrier weakening them, I'm sure any of you could beat three or four in succession. So we'll see how you three fare against a dozen or more arriving together."

"But since we can't call one up on demand, we can't do that now. So you three idiots can go - whatever. You're dead men. I'd rather you watch us train, but you're not going to achieve anything more except to be an example to the others, so it's not my business."

"The rest of you, though - listen up! I'm not going to repeat this. Our goal here is for you to move as one. React as one. Fight, not just with your own instincts, but with those of your entire squad. When someone calls for shields up, your shields will go up and you will not have to think about that, because thinking is too slow. War is more things happening faster than you've ever seen in a raid. Half the time, half of you will be berserk. If it takes thought to react right, you will not."

"Which is why we are going to drill. And drill. And drill. We will keep doing it, until you respond half-asleep, completely blind, your ears ringing from a lightning bolt, and you still respond like we drilled."

"And then, only then, will you be supporting your squad well enough that I send you to the line and trust you to face demons."