Smart

"Luther Stoneheart!  It is dishonourable for me to have to face such a failed general on the field of battle!  I am Agamemnon!  I am better than this!"  Agamemnon stepped up beside Mortimer, banging his sword on his shield.
The grave knight general turned slowly to face the cleric.  His eyes were at once empty and focused, his posture at once slack and powerful, as he focused his attention on his taunter.
Mortimer grunted and raised an eyebrow, then shook his head.  "And you smell!" he bellowed.  "You suck!"
Luther moved with incredible speed.  Agamemnon readied his shield.  "Darach," he whispered, "if you can bring yourself to do a favour for an orc, grant this one thing: please, please do not let Mort drop his scythe."
The next thing he knew Luther was driving with great force into his shield.  He saw Mortimer take a step and bring up his scythe to strike.  "Over to you, brother," he grunted and then it was blackness.

~~~~~~~~~~

"You're walking into a trap!"
"No.  We running into a trap."
Agamemnon swore in Elvish.  He knew Toldezkh hated when he did that, but he didn't care.  The orc chieftain was sitting on his stone throne, pillaged from a mostly-abandoned dwarven hold years ago, before Agamemnon had arrived in Red Hand territory fleeing the home in which he no longer belonged.
Toldezhk grunted.  "Your mother.  Fuck.  Ugly boar."  Toldezhk had made an effort to learn a few words in Elvish, since his advisor spoke the language.  Only those words, though, and he only used them when Agamemnon dropped back into that hated language in his presence.
Agamemnon glared at his chieftain, who held up a hand, extending two fingers.  "Twice."
Toldezhk had learned a new word.  Agamemnon tried not to grin.  He didn't apologise - orcs don't apologise - but he nodded in acknowledgement.
He tried again.  "The guard are waiting at the palisade for a reason.  They know the Red Hand will come at it straight, and they will be able to pick you off with arrows, reducing your strength before you reach them."
"I know."
"If you come around from the sides -" he pointed to the diagram he had illustrated on a scroll, "you will have some cover from these trees here, and here, and will reduce the open ground by half."
"Grazh, I know."
"You will be much stronger.  They won't expect it."
Toldezhk rubbed his scarred forehead tiredly.  "You explain this many times. You think I not understand you?"
"If you understand me why in the hells are you still charging directly into their trap?"
Toldezhk stood up.  He was impressive: seven foot tall, powerfully built, with black iron pauldrons fastening a blood red cape to his heavily muscled shoulders.  He sighed and adjusted his posture from one of strength to one of readiness.
"Okay.  You attack me."
Agamemnon looked at him.  "Uh ... no?"
"Why not?"
"You're my chieftain."
Toldezhk squinted at him.  "Maybe that stop you, but not only reason.  Why else?"
"You would literally murder me."
"This also true.  You pathetic and small.  You speak elf.  But say you have to attack.  How you do it?"
"I ..." Agamemnon thought about it.  "I would come at you from behind."
"You think that make difference?"
"Realistically, no.  You still know I'm coming, you're still far stronger than I am.  But the guard, it's completely different.  They -"
Toldezhk held up a hand to silence him.  "Don't think so much.  Listen.  I teach you this time so you understand.  Learn, yes?"
Agamemnon nodded.  "Okay.  If I had to fight you right now, I would surrender."
"Orcs don't surrender."
"I know.  But you don't think of me as an arc."
"No.  This good strategy.  Then?"
"Then, when you think I am no longer a threat, I wait for a moment to jump you and slit your throat."
"This not how orc fight."
"I know, but, as we have already established, I am barely an orc.  I would have the element of surprise."
"Good.  You win.  You kill Toldezhk.  Hundreds cry in pain as greatest orc chieftain who ever lived lie dead at your feet.  You chieftain now, by our custom.  Congratulations.  How long you live you think?"
"About an hour before Jizrak finds out what has happened and challenges me for leadership."
"Okay.  But you kill Jizrak, yes?"
"No, probably not."
"You insult me Grazh.  You defeat great Toldezhk, but you think Jizrak best you?  You think Jizrak better than Toldezhk?"
Agamemnon held up his hands placatingly.  "No no, not at all.  But I can't surrender to Jizrak.  I could catch you off guard because you think - you know - I am weaker than you.  But if I defeat you, Jizrak will be cautious.  He won't trust me.  He will not underestimate me.  I won't be able to trick him."
Toldezhk nodded.  "You learn."
Agamemnon shook his head.  "I don't understand what this has to do with raiding an army supply dump."
Toldezhk sat down again, his enormous club fists resting on his knees.  He gestured for Agamemnon to sit; the half-orc perched on the log beside the chieftain's throne, where he sat during tribal meets and analysed the men who came to speak with his chieftain.
"I smartest orc here, yes?"
Agamemnon paused, then nodded.  "Assuming I'm not counted as an orc then -"
"You not.  I smartest orc here.  You -" he jabbed a broad finger into Agamemnon's arm, causing his improvised stool to wobble, "you smarter than me, yes?"
Agamemnon nodded.
"But me much stronger than you.  If I fight you, use my strength.  If you fight me, you use your strength, up here."  Toldezhk pointed to his head.   "Toldezhk not smart as elf, but clever, yes?  I old - more than thirty.  I see much battle, many fights, see off many challengers.  I learn to think ahead - not just to fight, not just to spoils, but to future.  What you think happen if we be clever tomorrow?"
"More of the Red Hand will survive."
"Yes.  Your plan, more of Red Hand survive.  I agree.  May even change outcome of battle."
"Then why -"
"Grazh, you listen.  All become clear.  Next time Red Hand fight, humans expect Red Hand be canny.  We fight clever.  They take us more serious threat.  They have more men, they be more cautious.  So we have to be more clever.  Then third fight.  They now see us as smart.  They be very clever to fight us, we smart enemy, they need to be clever.  So we have to keep being more clever.
"Tell me, Grazh.  Orc can only be so clever.  Human, only be so clever.  There limits to clever.  Who you think more clever?  Who you think reach limit first?  Orc or human?  You tell me, Grazh."
Agamemnon thought about it.  "Humans, on average, are not that much more intelligent than orcs - they think they are, but they're not.  But their leaders can be very intelligent."
Toldezhk nodded.  "And human army follow leader's orders in battle.  Orc army?  We force of nature!  We smash, we destroy, we rage, we over-run!  We terrifying!  But not so good at following battle plan.  Not our way.  Not our strength."
Agamemnon nodded.  "So what you're saying is that although you could apply my tactics to this fight, and lose less men tomorrow, ultimately it would be bad for the Red Hand?"
Toldezhk clapped him on the shoulder.  "Exactly.  World in delicate balance.  Balance right now favour Red Hand - we eat well, we have many men, we have many babies, we stay in one place, not have to wander.  We have good life.  When we charge palisade some die.  This okay.  Those that are strong - and lucky - live.  Maybe the great Toldezhk not live.  This okay.  Toldezhk leave Red Hand in good shape.  Strong home, strong men - good advisor, too, Grazh.  But there reason advisor not chieftain.  You have many ideas, many good ideas, some not so good, but all worthy, all listened to.  But chieftain have to take those ideas and plan for future of whole tribe.  The smartest man never lead Red Hand.  That be disaster in the future.  The smartest man valuable, very valuable, help tribe greatly, but not lead.  Leader does not need to be smart.  Leader need to be orc.
"Understand now?"
Agamemnon nodded.  "Thank you, Toldezhk.  I've learned something from you.  Again."  He looked up at the great chieftain of the Red Hand.  "You are smarter than you think."
"Don't make me kill you, elf."

~~~~~~~~~~

Agamemnon opened his eyes.  Shades was leaning over him, the fragments of a disintegrated scroll powdering into the wind.  He blinked and sat up.  Mortimer clapped him on the back.  "That wasn't very smart," he said.  He sounded pleased.
Agamemnon winced as he got to his feet.  He turned to look at Mort.  It was impossible to tell that the orc was close to death himself mere moments ago.
"I couldn't afford to be smart.  I was planning for the future."
Mortimer looked quizzically at him, then clapped him on the back again and walked off to where Tabitha was beckoning him.