Chapter Fourteen: Of Governors, Goblins and Goddesses
The rain had thankfully decided to wander off during the night, revealing a morning of sunshine and cloud shadow, the clouds scudding overhead as the companions wandered up the road from the Lumberman's Casket. The main street of Nether Wallop seemed to run in a south easterly direction from the dock gates, flanked on either side by large warehouses that incorporated the workshops and offices that would have been separate in a larger town.
"Production hub," Ulrich observed.
"You say what?" Thorian asked.
"Means that this town does a lot of producing, making, building, that sort of thing that is then shipped and sold else where," Ulrich explained, "Means there less social stuff going on, less fripperies in the area. There might be another tavern in this town but I doubt it, or if there is then the Lumberman's Casket is probably the most up market. Probably find that the price of a decent vintage of red wine is double that of what you'd pay in Lotton, unless the governor has a taste for the finer things and the crews sideline a keg or two from the shipment."
"You seem very knowledgeable of how these things are done," Jeremiah observed with a sly smile.
"Let's just say I developed a few bad habits in my younger years," Ulrich replied, "That and you could say that it is in the blood, seeing as my mother's people are always being accused of such behaviors. Probably the worst combination possible, noble and traveler folk."
"Surely the noble blood of your sire would out weigh any bad influence from, ah, less law abiding ancestors?" Jeremiah hypothesized.
"Well to do that the noble blood would have to be something different from any other run of the mill muck," Ulrich grinned, "Growing up among nobles, ha, seems to me that the only differences are that you get to wear fancier clothes, don't have to scrabble around in the muck for your food and you feel you have a god given right to be a jerk to everyone else around you, or at least the ones who don't have as much money as you do."
"That is an enlightening summary of our great and good," Jeremiah replied.
"Says the guy who started out as a foundling on the Abbey steps," Ulrich retorted, "For all we know, you could be a half brother of mine although, knowing you, I doubt it."
"My dear Ulrich, is that a note of upset I hear in your voice?" Jeremiah asked, "Could it be you long to have some family outside of the nobles who scorned you?"
"Nah," Ulrich grinned, "Knowing you, you're more likely to be some changeling a farmer decided he wasn't going to bring up as his own but was too scared to drown in the river, although I imagine that by now your Abbey's order is probably wishing that he had used the bucket of water. What do you reckon?"
"I reckon that Ulrich just got you back for that comment up on the wall last night," Kaelin interrupted, "Now if you'll can the bickering, we're here."
The Governor's Palace was easily the tallest building in the town, taller even than the cathedral sprawl beside it, five stories of dark stone hewed from the local mountains and shipped down river to its current resting place. Its roof of greenish metal plates were sharply angled to shed the loads of winter snow and a deep porch protected the doorway. A doorway in much use as people scurried in and out of it, giving the Governor's palace the impression of a bee hive in full buzz.
As the King's Special approached they soon saw why. A posse of guards clumped out, gear rattling as another squad clumped in, clerks scampered this way and that, a couple of lawyers in their tightly curled wigs strode into the building as if they owned everything in sight (and quite possibly did) and several accountants bustled into the building, clutching abacuses and wads of paper, chattering in almost indecipherable equations and calculus. It seemed that the Governor's Palace was not just his home and seat of governance, it really was the house of governance, with all necessary (and a few possibly unnecessary) departments crammed in under one roof.
"Ah, now this is my area of expertise," Ulrich beamed, "Just stay close, stay quiet and follow my lead. I'll handle this."
"Please do," Jeremiah hung back, waiting for the fun to begin. In that he was disappointed, Ulrich's confident manner and assured expression easing them passed the guards. Inside the lobby was spectacular but lot more occupied than one would usually expect from a noble, people known for keeping such grandeur exclusively for themselves. If anything it was crowded, with various people moving to and fro as they shifted information from department to department. Ulrich raised an eyebrow. This was not what he had been expecting but after a moments hesitation he spotted a curved desk in the middle of the lobby and stepped up to it with an easy smile.
"The King's Special to see the Governor," he said. The lady behind the desk looked up after a moment more of shifting through paperwork and cross referencing the massive time table chart that she was complying six weeks in advance of when it was needed.
"King's Special?" she looked at the four of them and then shuffled in another pile of parchment scrapes.
"Here it is," she muttered after a moment and looked up at them again, "One toff, one... lady." Kaelin looked around her as if expecting someone else to pop out of the wood work, "One orc crossbreed and one... do ball?"
Jeremiah drew in a long slow breath and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
"Guess this means you need to stop going through the pie cellar," Thorian slapped him on the shoulder.
"Indeed," Jeremiah noted, through gritted teeth.
"He's expecting you," the woman gestured to the stairs, "Top floor, first door on the left, you can't miss it. Knock before you go in."
"Thank you very much for your time," Ulrich smiled warmly at her and after a moment she started to blush. Turning to the stairs, Ulrich lead them up... and up... and up. He stopped on the second landing to catch his own breath and glanced at his companions. Kaelin was trying to hide the fact that she had cramp in at least one calve muscle and Jeremiah was in obvious distress. Only Thorian seemed unaffected by the many, many steps they had already come up,smiling quite contently around at the wood paneled walls. With a sigh, Ulrich straightened his shoulders and began on the next flight of steps.
By the time they reached the top landing Ulrich was really, really wishing that they had the usual selfish sort of Governor on their hands, the sort that had an absolutely massive office that were a pain in the butt for the staff to clean, on the bottom floor and made the servants sleep in the roof. He was seriously going to pay for this tomorrow and Kaelin was not in much better shape. Jeremiah was a wreck, bright red and skin glistening with sweat, puffing and gasping like a blacksmith's bellows as he leaned against the wall, mopping his face with a handkerchief. Thorian on the other hand, Thorian still beaming away with his amiable smile as if all was right with the world.
"That was a nice little walk after brekka," he observed and in that moment Ulrich could have killed him, if he had enough breath to do so. Instead, he straightened, ignoring the stitch in his side and rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles.
"Come in," called a distracted voice.
With a slight frown, Ulrich seized the doorknob, turned it and stepped into the room beyond.
It was not just the Governor's office but likely seemed to be his living space as well. Before the fire place a free standing corner sofa gave the impression of a cozy nook, a dining table and chairs stood beyond it so that the windows gave light to the eating space from two sides. In front of a wall of books, pierced only by a couple of doorways the Governor sat at a desk mounded high with stacks of parchment, all of which seemed to be balancing precariously, his long white hair falling about his face as ink stained fingers pushed a quill back and forth across a letter.
"Your most loyal subject, Governor Risgath Zaphruan of Nether Wallop," he muttered and scribbled a quick signature underneath what he had just written. With a sigh, he cast down the quill and sat back in the chair, his long, thin, grey face peering at them with eyes so dark they were almost black.
"Ah, the King's Special," he pushed back from his desk and gestured for them to enter, "I must say that it is a pleasure to meet the current holders of that title."
"Oh," Ulrich managed to smile as they shook hands, "Did you know someone who was a King's Special before us?" The Governor smiled, an expression that seemed to be foreign to his face, lined as it was with care and stress and strain.
"It is very polite of you to hide your shock that one such as I could be a Governor in this land but you don't have to," he said, "The Kings of Portasia have always found a use for the more problematic of their citizens and I was and am, grateful that they allowed me the chance to earn that citizenship. Though I have to admit there are days when I reconsider that when faced with all those stairs. Please sit down, I will order some refreshment."
Jeremiah sank onto the sofa with a groan, wedging himself into a corner with the air of defying anyone to make him move out of it. Kaelin was quieter of her appreciation, her eyes never leaving the Governor as he crossed the room and spoke into a tube for a brief moment, listening to a reply from somewhere else inside the building before finishing the conversation and coming back to them.
"The bishop will be joining us soon, as will the refreshments," Governor Risgath reassured them, "In the mean time, would you please tell me how you managed to come across the lake? We have been cut off for months. I did send messengers by the over land route but as none returned I feared that the reports were not getting through."
"That is the case," Ulrich admitted, "We were actually sent to discover why the taxes have not been received. The King seemed a little... put out by the whole thing."
"As well he might be," Risgath observed, "But you have opened the lake for us? We can send the ships again?"
"It will have to be the ship that was already here," Kaelin informed him, "The Armored Dragon took damage below the water line when the Kraken tried to bite through the bottom of her. The Captain said that he wanted to dry dock her to make repairs. Seeing as there isn't exactly docks here, my guess would mean he'll have to beach her to get the job done."
"In which case he'll have to wait until we can bring a resolution to our issues here in Nether Wallop," Risgath said grimly, "Unless he wants his ship burnt out from underneath him. I am afraid to say that events here in Nether Wallop have been worse than merely the shutting of the lake trade routes to us. Now that you have opened those routes to us again, we will send the tax at once but it is going to be a lot less than would have been expected. I had to close the last of the logging outposts two weeks ago and we withdraw the last pioneer settlement, what was left of it, back inside the walls a week before that. The attacks have been constant and escalating."
"Escu-what?" Thorian asked.
"Getting worse the longer they go on," Ulrich translated, "What exactly has been attacking the outlying settlements?"
"Oh I think our Governor here is more than familiar with what has been attacking the settlements," Jeremiah smiled, a predatory light in his eyes, "Seeing as he has some of their weapons hung over his mantelpiece."
"What?" Thorian asked, looking round for a few moments before working out that the others were looking at the wall above the fire place. A long, black scabbarded copy of the swords Ulrich now carried hung at a angle across the plaster and beside it hung a strangely modified crossbow. It was smaller than the crossbows usually used by guards and soldiers but it had a strange box contraption joined over the flight groove and a curious lever that seemed to run the length of the rail. Peering at it Kaelin thought that looked as if it was made so that at the drawing back of the lever the bow would be cocked and drop a bolt into the flight groove automatically.
"Nice," she said, considering just how much pain it would cause a charging werewolf to realize that it was up against a weapon that could override its dense muscle structure and fire at a rate closer to a long bow.
"I take it those are yours?" Jeremiah asked, his smile still predatory.
"Answer me a question first," Governor Risgath replied, one hand tucking its fingers up the sleeve of the other arm, "Was the Kraken you faced... white?"
"Aye yep," Thorian grinned, "Ea-lie-sha said something about it coming from the Underworld." The Governor closed his eyes a moment, a pained spasm crossing his features.
"Yes, they are mine," Governor Risgath answered Jeremiah's question, "And before you say it, it has crossed my mind that this might be a longed delayed act of revenge for my leaving the clan, though I..."
"Well in that case," Jeremiah's smile began to bare his teeth as he sat forward.
"He is not carrying those weapons," a voice barked, making the company jump, "I specified that the ones who carried those weapons are your prey, not anyone else. And if you are hoping that Governor Risgath takes up the blade again then you'd better start praying that hope does not come true. If the Governor has to take up the blade again then the midden heap has well and truly met the windmill and you will have much more pressing things to worry about than whether you can get away with another spot of murder."
A figure turned in the window behind the table, light glancing of the white metal of its form.
"Why, my dear Hartseer," Jeremiah's smile turned sour as he grated the words out, "We were fortunate that we didn't see you there. It was doing us so much good to not have to consider you."
"Undoubtedly," Hartseer's tone was flat, "For myself, I would prefer to turn a Lich such as you into nothing more than a cautionary tale for other magic users but the King's orders are counter to that."
"And of course, we must obey the King's orders," Jeremiah's smile returned to something more satisfied, unable to not needle the King's Blade, "It seems we must both chaff against the leashes round our necks. Tell me, does the King keep his hunting dogs in better conditions than this?"
"Woof," Hartseer dripped sarcasm.
"As I was going to say, before we were distracted," Governor Risgath interposed carefully, half stepping between Hartseer and Jeremiah, "I doubt that this is a revenge raid for my defection all those decades ago."
"Why do you consider that to be an unlikely motivation for these attacks?" Ulrich asked, leaning forward. Governor Risgath hesitated a moment and then turned towards the wall of books and the doors that pierced that sheer face of paper and leather.
"Step this way," he said, leading them towards the right hand door, "With what little spare time I am granted I have pursued a study of natural sciences as I find the ecology of the surface world quite fascinating."
"Indeed," Jeremiah smirked, "And what delightful tit bit have you discovered in the insides of some animal you have dissected."
"None that concern you today," there was an irritated edge in Governor Risgath's voice as he opened the door and revealed a room lined in with shadow boards of surgical tools and jars of specimens floating in a yellowish liquid. "This is your more pressing issue and one that my skills as an observer of natural science and anatomy will help you unravel."
Laid out on the table in the middle of the room, covered to the neck in a white sheet, was very dead ash skinned elf.
"Oh and how came you by this unfortunate?" Jeremiah asked with a knowing smirk.
"Hartseer brought him to me last night, with a general report of what he discovered at the settlement to the West of here. As it was beyond the tributary river, it did not come under my authority but it was doing the best of all settlement attempts made in that wild land. It was doing the best," Risgath stepped round the table, slipping on a heavy leather apron and a thick pair of gloves, "That is obviously now not the case. As for this one, he gives us some valuable clues as to the state of the Underworld. Cause of death," he flicked back the sheet, "Pitch fork to the lower chest cavity. Said pitch fork held in an non level plane to the ground and at an angle lower than ninety degrees to the chest wall. The result being the tins jarring off of the tenth rib on the right side of the deceased and the sixth rib on the left, piercing both liver and heart simultaneously. Death would have been quick but painful, especially as it appears to have come at the hands of an unskilled fighter, meaning that to his culture he died disgraced and weak."
"Not sure I understood all of that," Thorian muttered, "Exact the last part, that bit I think I get."
"Indeed Sir," Risgath inclined his head, drawing the sheet back into place, "It is up here however, that we find our more concerning clues." He picked up an instrument and lifted the corpse's top lip, revealing teeth that been filed to points. "That, that alone tells you that this one was born in the rat clan. All rat clan members have their teeth filed like that as their rite of passage to adulthood. Those that have been bartered to the clan are denied that rite to mark them as disgraced, valueless to the clan of their birth and barely tolerated in the rat clan. But this," he tapped the spider web scarification tattoo that stretched the whole of the right hand side of the corpse's face, "This marks him as belonging to the spider clan." He paused, obviously waiting for a reaction... that didn't manifest.
"I forget," he sighed, "Surface people are not as familiar with the intricacies of my old society as I am. The rat clan and the spider clan hate each other, with a deep and abiding hatred that has lasted so long they don't remember where it started. They would not under any circumstance trade a member with each other and certainly not mark that member with the full membership marks of both clans, not in the status quo that has lasted the last... ten millennium."
"So something has changed," Ulrich observed.
"Changed drastically," Risgath agreed, setting aside his tools and stripping off the gloves, "I've also detected signs of malnutrition and hard labor, again neither things that should be touching the clans."
"So who does their heavy lifting?" Kaelin asked, folding her arms.
"Captives," Risgath replied, "If the clans are running low on captives it would explain the surge in surface raids, particularly as some of the raids have happened in daylight."
"I take it that your people are usually nocturnal," Ulrich said.
"Upon the surface," Risgath scrubbed his hands to a fair-thee-well, "It took me decades for my eyes to be comfortable in daylight. The sun dazzles us and burns our eyes. Indeed I still prefer to shade my eyes if I am stepping outside during the full sun hours. There is a quality to direct sunlight that the light through glass lacks."
"So sudden bright lights would be an effective weapons?" Jeremiah asked, his expression thoughtful.
"Extremely," Risgath agreed, drying his hands and leading the way back to his sitting area, "Particularly in short bursts so they can't acclimatize."
A knock at the door interrupted them.
"Come in," the Governor called.
A five foot round man pushed open the door, face as red and sweaty Jeremiah's had been when they first arrived.
"I am so sorry, Bishop Peter," Governor Risgath hurried over to offer his support to the toddling bishop, "I had hoped that I didn't call for your help with too little time between morning Mass and now."
"Oh it's not the time," the Bishop pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face, "It's all those blooming stairs! Their even worse than the lot in the cathedral. I suppose the Great Good is telling me that I should lose weight but try as I might, I keep finding it again." Still puffing he waddled over to the corner sofa but didn't sit.
"Now then, who have I the joy of meeting?" he asked. The King's Special was staring at him. Bishop Peter wore the Miter of his office and his robes were of finely made cloth but they were a lot simpler than the ones Jeremiah wore, almost austere. His face however was open and friendly, his eyes full of a merriment and mirth that invited you to enjoy your time with him. Kaelin found herself fighting not to smile at him. There was something about him that made her want to relax and accept that the world was going to be alright.
"Hartseer, would you mind?" Governor Risgath asked, "It has just occurred to me that in our urgency to face the challenge before us we rather missed out on introductions."
"Bishop Peter," Hartseer stepped forward, "May I introduce Thorian Vandervast, a warrior of great heart. Don't crush his knuckles Thorian." Thorian froze in the act of closing his hand over the Bishop's own.
"It is quite alright, Goodman Thorian," Bishop Peter smiled, "I understand that it can be difficult around people who are more delicate than you."
"Ulrich Brekka, the son of a nobleman, unable to claim the inheritance," Hartseer continued.
"Ah, not an easy road to travel, especially as it was not one of your choosing," Bishop Peter shock his hand, "But the gods move in mysterious ways and though being a King's Special can seem to be the lowest point, there are those who have used it to climb high, as present company proves." The Bishop smiled at the Governor and Risgath inclined his head.
"Jeremiah Maat," Hartseer's voice was careful level and none accusatory. However, it didn't seem to need to be.
"Now you I know of," Bishop Peter's face became frosty, the whiplash turn of his mood all the more striking for the amiability that had gone before and he did not offer his hand, "I had hoped that justice would have caught up with you by now."
"Ah," Jeremiah's oily smile faltered, "I had, ah, rather hoped that news would not have travel so fast... Wait, how could you know about that since the lake has been shut for months? It only been days since..." He trailed off, realizing that he'd just incriminated himself.
Bishop Peter's expression became even colder.
"I don't know what you have done since you became a member of the King's Special," he said icily, "But the clergy was gathering evidence of what you were up to for nearly a year before we moved to hand you over the the King's Judgement. If you did not notice that you were under observation during that time then you can only blame your own delusions. Your name and description was circulated among us several months ago to make sure that if you did get wind of something then we could all keep an eye out for you. Personally I would have preferred to see you handed over the Hartseer immediately, what you have been dabbling in is beyond dangerous, but if the King considers you to have a chance at redemption I will abide by that decision. However, bare in mind that if you do not change your ways then that decision can always be reconsidered."
After a moment, Jeremiah looked away from the Bishop's hard edged gaze and sat back down.
"Lastly," Hartseer continued, "Kaelin of no named family." Bishop Peter frowned as he peered at her.
"Unnamed family?" he asked, "That surprises me. There is something about your face that reminds me of someone I've meet before. I just can't think of who."
"I was under the impression that we of the clergy are not supposed to have families," Jeremiah muttered under his breath. Nobody glanced at him.
"You definitely remind me of someone," the Bishop put a hand to his mouth, even as he shook her hand with the other.
"A daughter perhaps," Jeremiah muttered spitefully. Again nobody looked at him.
"Leave it with me my dear, I'm sure the answer will come to me eventually," Bishop Peter settled himself on the sofa as a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the refreshments. After the coffee had been poured out and everyone sat back with their cups, Risgath set to business.
"Bishop Peter how does the little girl fair?"
Bishop Peter sagged.
"She come out of the catatonic state at least, which is some progress," he reported, "But she has now gone completely mute. Other than a nod or a shake of the head, and that is only gain with much persistence, she has not made any sign of understanding language. She will move if asked and has shown some willingness to help with simple tasks but she will not speak. It is concerning. If we cannot convince her to begin to discuss what happened to her then we cannot help her to avoid permanent damage to her mind."
"Is that a possibility?" Ulrich asked.
"The problem is that we don't know what happened to her," the Bishop admitted, "And children will internalize things that a more adult mind would be able to rationalize. For instance, if she had done something that had landed her in trouble, or worse, had not yet been discovered, then she could internalize that what happened to her family was her responsibility."
"Why?" Kaelin asked, shifting uncomfortably.
"What are children told when they skip their chores and then, say, the pigs get sick?" Bishop Peter replied, "They are told 'if you'd done what you are supposed to then this wouldn't have happened'. The same logic can led them to believe that if they had been good and pleased their parents then the bad things wouldn't have happened."
After a moment Kaelin nodded slowly.
"I guess we are all members of a cult in one way or another," she said quietly, "It's all a matter of how tight that cult controls you."
"Unfortunately children cannot recognize the difference between a consequence of their own actions and an event that no one could have predicted," the Bishop agreed, "It would help, I think if we knew what happened from an outside perceptive. Do we know how she was found?"
The Bishop looked at the Governor and the Governor looked at Hartseer.
"Hartseer, how did you find her?" Risgath asked. Hartseer turned away, gazing out of the window. Kaelin frowned. Something about the metal man said that he was gazing more at horrors, both recent and far gone, than at the view.
"Her parents had thrown her down the well to save her life," he said quietly and something in his tone held the sound of tears that glass eyes could not shed, "The rest... The adults... The whole community... Had been butchered. Men, women, there wasn't one of them left alive and that one in the other room was the only one of their attackers that they managed to take down. She'd hidden in the barn and as he'd come in through the door, she came out of the dark with the pitchfork in her hands. They'd shot her for it... and set the barn on fire." He turned to face them, "There were no other children. Not one. Not one alive and not one dead. They've been taken."
Risgath closed his eyes and rocked back a moment.
"I was afraid that you were going to say that," he admitted, "They'll still be alive, though they might wish that they were not. They'll be in one of the holding pens while they'll be processed, trained and bartered among the clans. So I think our main problem is discovering what has driven this demographic shift among the clans. If we know that then we might be able to destroy the root cause of the raids before it drives a full on war of conquest."
The King's Special looked at each other.
"The Prince did say something about us dealing with the problem," Thorian observed. Jeremiah opened his mouth to protest.
"And you know what will happen if we go back to the capital with the news that we knew what the issue is and did nothing about it," Kaelin got in first, "He'll send us straight back out to deal with it and by then it could be in the full on war stage."
"My dear Kaelin," Jeremiah protested, "The deal was that if we came here and discovered what the issue with the tax flow was we'd keep our necks out of the noose. We have discovered the cause of the issue so surely we have up held our side of the bargain and it is time to claim our reward."
The Bishop, the Governor and Hartseer looked at each other and promptly burst out laughing. Jeremiah sat, blinking slowly, the center of the storm of merriment.
"You honestly thought that this was a one job only career?" Bishop Peter was a bowl of jelly laugher, "Oh my dear boy, once you are on the King's Special it is a job for life!"
"Yes, indeed," Risgath wiped his eyes, "And your life is the payment over and over again. I maybe the Governor of Nether Wallop but that is because the King wanted a man who knew exactly what awaited him if he did not give his best each and every day. I confess that when Hartseer arrived last night I was terrified that I had been found wanting and I was to be removed."
"Removed from your position?" Ulrich asked for clarification.
"Removed from this life," the Governor admitted, "Thankfully the King is not one for hasty decisions and I have been allowed to plead my case but now I have to hold the center while others protect the edges."
"Not sure I follow," Thorian frowned.
"It's us, old boy," Ulrich grinned, "We have to go and find out what, or who, has kicked over the Ash Elves' Nest while the Governor here tries to hold a scared and panicking people together. I'm not sure who has the harder job."
"I wouldn't like to say," the Governor admitted, "I can do you a map of the tunnels I used to get out of that land but they may have changed. The geology down there can be restless. I can also give you some supplies. As for transport, you'll have to manage that yourself. Some of the outliers did not wish to be evacuated so you might be able to recruit one of them."
"Do you have any other information about the culture of the Ash Elves that might be useful?" Ulrich asked. Risgath turned and walked to his book case.
"I wrote this not longer after I left," he admitted, "I wanted to share what I knew for the safety of others. Turned out not many were interested but if it can help you now." He handed Ulrich a thick tome. "Use it well."
"Will do," Ulrich stood to accept the book and shake Risgath's hand, "And I hope we'll be back soon to return it to you."
"One more thing that I'm not sure I put in the book," Risgath said, "If you get lost down then pray it rains heavily on the surface. If water is trickling down a tunnel then you have a route to the surface. No water? It's a dead end."
"Thank you again, your eminence," Ulrich smiled and laid the way out of the room. The stairs were not as hard going down.
That afternoon saw them rolling out of the east gate in a rather beat up old cart. As Risgath had predicted they had managed to find one of the back woodsy types that had never wanted to be evacuated from his home up in the foot hills and had engaged his services for a not inconsiderable fee, thankfully covered by the governor. Now they rattled out of Nether Wallop, the back of the cart laden down with supplies for their trip underground.
"Seems our King's Blade is being rather lax in his duty," Jeremiah observed as he settled down to snooze on the cart bed, "I wonder where he's run off to."
"Not like you really care," Kaelin said over her shoulder, "But he's already left town. My guess would be he's heading for where the kids are being kept."
"Surely the King's Blade would not be the best to rescue children," Jeremiah observed, "He's more likely to break their minds when they are already so fragile."
"Unlike you, you mean?" Kaelin's doubt was there even if she didn't turn her head, "I'm sure that Hartseer will make a neater job of it than we would. If nothing else he followed us through the Abbey without letting us know he was there until things really went south. I'm sure he'll do the same to the holding camp and as for the kids... Well these are frontier kids. A few of them have probably already faced down wolves and worse to still be alive. They'll be used to the sights and smells of gutting animals and hanging up the meat, probably helped out with the job and all, particularly the boys. Childhood is a privilege reserved for rich kids and townies, not for those of us who grow up out here." Her arm encompassed the forest that was beginning to press in to the edges of the farm land.
"You grew up out this way?" Thorian asked from where he was riding next to the driver.
"Not here," Kaelin admitted, "But a place rather like it. It reminds me of home." She folded her arms on the rim of the cart's side wall, watching the forest march ever closer to the road. "It wasn't a bad place, not really. At least the forest wasn't, when you could get away from Grandpa." Silence fell on the group as the carter flicked the reigns and chewed a black root stick.
The sun marched on as the horse plodded with on with a steady if uninspired tread. Neither Kaelin nor Thorian seemed bothered by the bumpy road and Ulrich was too busy reading the book to notice Jeremiah's quiet grumbling that steadily rose in volume until the cart's owner suggested that he should get out and walk if he didn't appreciate the ride. That made Jeremiah shut his mouth and left him glaring at Ulrich for want of any other target. Ulrich however, was grandly ignoring him in favor of the book, slowly turning the pages. What the book had to tell him was not reassuring, painting a vivid picture of a shadowed subterranean land that was a labyrinth of tunnels and shafts burrowing ever deeper into the world rocky hide. Ulrich frowned, as he digested the impression of some where were ambush and pitfalls were a way of life and just about every creature was at least omnivorous, if not out right predatory. The way Risgath wrote about it just about everything in the Underworld wanted to kill you and use your corpse as a nest for its young. Part of Ulrich agreed that the Ash Elves could rightfully claim to have reason for their overweening pride, they had managed to colonize and settle an environment that would have sent just about everyone else screaming for the hills. You had to respect them for that.
The King's Special had left the farm land by the time the sunset stained the sky crimson and they made their camp in a shallow hollow just off the rode, the horse tied to the cart by a long line that could easily be cut and the fire banked down low and smokeless before they turned in for the night.
Kaelin awoke but did not move, long years of training the hard way having taught her to evaluate her surroundings before she gave away the fact that she was awake.
"Oh shiny," a harsh yet high pitched voice squeaked.
"Hey that's mine!" another voice with the same high pitched yet rough quality snapped, "It's mine, it's mine, it's mine. Let go, let go, let go!" There was the sound of someone being slapped.
"Hush, hush, hush! Donkey brain!" a third voice interrupted the growing fight, "No wakey-wake! Eh you dim glow?"
The camp was alive with small noises, little clinks and clacks, the sound of something being rifled through, the slosh as someone found Ulrich's ever pouring kettle. The sneeze when they found the always full tea caddie was explosive in the extreme, earning the sneezer another slap as Thorian snorted and rolled over in his sleep.
Carefully Kaelin, slowly and steadily, reached out a hand until she found Haggis' strap and she rolled away from the fire into deeper shadow.
The diminutive figures meddling through the supplies jerked round in stunned shock as Haggis roared into life, the skirling drone shivering through the trees, shaking the air with its force. Squealing and nattering in hysteria, long nailed hands waving and sharply pointed ears laying flat back as they fled through the underbrush... all save one.
Eyes so wide they reflected the stars above, mouth stretched open with awe, the grayish-green skinned, knife nosed goblin stood trembling as it listened to Kaelin's music in raptures. Kaelin frowned as much as she could and blew until she felt like her cheeks were going to burst but the goblin didn't run, or attack, standing as if hypnotized by the sound of Haggis. Finally Kaelin let the reed fall from her mouth as she struggled to catch her breath.
"Oh," the goblin breathed and then did something Kaelin would not have expected in a month of Mondays. He bowed to her.
It was a clumsy bow, more of a just folding at the waist but it was unmistakably a bow.
"Goddess of the Thunder-voice! Goddess of the Thunder-voice!" the Goblin gasped and squeaked, "We look, we see-see, we hear! Goddess of the Thunder-Voice! You come! We hear! We... Arrrrrggggghhhhh!"
The Goblin sailed off into the dark as Thorian delivered an unbelievable kick to the pants that lifted it clean off its feet and sent it whizzing off into the night.
"What was that nasty little blighter up to?" Thorian stood leg akimbo, fists on hips, peering into the night.
"I'm... I'm not exactly sure," Kaelin admitted. Some where out in the dark there was a crash as a projectile goblin returned to earth.
"No matter," Thorian sniffed, "I'll take first watch. Ruddy little runts." He settled himself on the tailgate of the cart and drew his sword. He pulled a lump of sandstone from his pocket, spat on it and started rubbing it along the blade.
"Like we are going to be able to sleep with that noise going on," Jeremiah grumbled as he rolled himself back up in his blankets, "Especially on a ground full of rocks."
"Try actually listening to it," Ulrich suggested as he closed his eyes, "Its like the sound of a clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.... Tock..... Tick......."
"You were saying Ulrich?" Kaelin asked. A quiet snore as her only reply. She cuddled up to Haggis and doozed off.
The next morning the cart was creaking its way up hill. Thorian laying in the cart bed dozing, Kaelin riding next to the driver and Jeremiah squished into a corner while Ulrich rode with his legs dangling over the tail gate, nose buried in the book Risgath had given him.
"I never peg you as a scholarly man," Jeremiah needled at him.
"Uh what?" Ulrich blinked as he looked round, obviously re-adjusting to his surrounding as opposed to the imagines the book had been painting for him.
"You," Jeremiah repeated, "I would not have believe it possible that you could be the scholarly type."
"Depends on the book," Ulrich admitted, "I have to admit I can understand why the Governor wanted to leave the Underworld. I'm not half way through this and the picture I'm building of his parents might even give yours a run for their money Kaelin."
"I doubt that is possible but go on," Kaelin called back.
Ulrich half turned on his seat, cleared his throat and began.
"Ash Elves live in a strict clan system that channels all efforts towards the upholding of the clan. Though scheming and treachery is a way of life among them, no scheme can directly or indirectly endanger the overall well being of the clan. This rule is sacrosanct and understood on an instinctively level for the simple reason that a weak clan will be devoured by other, stronger clans.
The main strength of the clan is held by the women of the clan. As the providers of new life of the clan, the power of leadership and rule has come to lay solely within the grasp of the women. The women of the clan have the final say in the matters of clan policy, inheritance, property, breeding rights and even life itself. Displeasing the females of the clan is the quickest way for a male Ash Elf to be ended, with female Ash Elves even killing their own sons if said sons are not up to standard. Rank among the females is decided upon political acclaim, wit, intrigue and child birth. Indeed, there have been recorded instances of a politically weak or even caring Ash Elf female rising to high position on the grounds of the number of children she has born. Though inwardly and sometimes openly despised by others, a good breeder will always have her position within the clan secured.
There is no such route to easy power among male Ash Elves. As a clan who has had their male population decimated by war or disease can be resurgent as long as their women folk remain healthy, male lives are not considered as valuable as female lives. As such male Ash Elves spend their days in training and competition. These tests are most grueling during an Ash Elves formative years and fatalities are considered to be a normal part of the training itinerary..."
"Woah!" the carter pulled back on the reigns, slowing the horse to a stop, interrupting Ulrich's reading, "Trouble ahead." Ulrich snapped the book shut and stood up as Jeremiah struggled to his feet and Thorian blinked awake.
In the road ahead a group of four goblins stood, three of them twitching nervously but the one at the front standing completely still, despite the lack of cover.
"Well, this is a new one," Thorian muttered, "Yah don't suppose them sneaky gits is trying to come at us from the sides?"
"Would definitely be a new one if they are," Jeremiah noted, "Goblins are not known for being that tactical."
"Tac-what?" Thorian asked.
"Able to plan ahead," Jeremiah snapped as he limbered up the arm that was holding the mace of office.
The goblin that didn't show any sign of the jitters stepped forward and folded himself in half again, turning his head towards Kaelin.
"Goddess of the Thunder-voice," he called, "We come, we come to you, Goddess of the Thunder-voice. You teach us, you teach us to build, build, make, learn. We learn quick-quick from Goddess of the Thunder-voice."
"Erm, are you sure you are not mistaking me for someone else?" Kaelin asked, with narrowed eyes.
"No, no, not possible," the goblin bobbed about, "We hear tell of the Goddess of the Thunder-voice, you give back what pointy-eared God took, you give back ability to learn. We want, we want to learn, want to be smart, want to be clever, want to not be dead."
"Not be dead?" Kaelin blinked in surprise.
"Goblin stupid, goblin sneaky, goblin take-take, only good goblin dead goblin," the Goblin leader twittered his hands, "We want more. We want to be people, not things." One of the other goblins stepped up behind his leader, with a frown on his face, tugging at the other's tunic and whispering something in his ear. A short, snarled argument in a twittering, chirping language happened and then the Goblin Leader turned back to Kaelin.
"Forgive this lowly unbeliever," the Goblin Leader flapped a hand at the goblin who had interrupted him, "But he wonders if it is true, if you are the Goddess of the Thunder-voice. Please, please show him that I have not said the untrue thing, show him your great power, oh Goddess of the Thunder-voice."
Jeremiah immediately leaned towards Kaelin.
"This could be your chance, you know?" he suggested, "If you just refuse to show them Haggis then he'll get beaten to a pulp and you'll have no more of this Goddess business to worry about."
"True," Kaelin muttered out of the side of her mouth, "But from the way Ulrich's eyebrows where bouncing up and down from his hairline last night we could probably do with everybody we can gather for this trip."
"My dear Kaelin," Jeremiah smiled, "Are you suggesting we get ourselves a meat shield? I never would have thought it of you."
Kaelin opened her mouth to reply and stopped as the wind shifted.
"Can you smell that?" she asked as the goblins in the road looked round and chattered warnings to each other in their rattling tongue. Then the underbrush rustled and hairy, grey backs rose through the green leaves, long, spindly legs that had joints higher than their backs parting the foliage like fish breaching through the surface of the water.
"To the south!" Ulrich shouted and Kaelin turned her head to see the giant spider's coming up on their other side as well. She unslung Haggis and lifted the reed to her mouth. The goblins yelled as their leader was trapped between two spiders. He gouged a rusty looking knife across the face of one of them but wasn't fast enough to stop the second jabbing its fangs into his shoulder. He went down, twitching and shivering as the spider's venom racked through his system.
"One for me!" Ulrich grinned as the spider in front of him came apart in a blur of blades.
"And for me!" Thorian yelled back as he cleaved the spider that had bitten the Goblin leader in half, splitting it from top to bottom. Jeremiah drew himself up, chanting and gesturing. The spiders coming down from the north fell back several paces, their clicking tongue making the horse buck and rear, the carter hanging on to the reigns for all he was worth.
The remaining goblins dog pile on to the other spider that was menacing them, tearing it apart by main strength and determination.
"Another, another for me!" Thorian yelled as two spiders lost their fangs and their legs as Haggis' blast swelled and grew above the din of battle.
"Ha!" Ulrich not only destroyed a further two spiders, he was elegant while doing it, every blow a dance of speed and grace, parts of now deceased spiders flicking up and away from him, leaving not a speck of dirt on his clothes, "Three as well and with style. Tell me, Sir Thorian, can you ever kill anything without using mindless strength?"
With a grin Jeremiah saw a chance for chaos and took it, changing what he was muttering and flicking his fingers towards Thorian, increasing his annoyance, building and swelling it to unreasoning rage.
"You big headed.... lousy... stuck up little squirt!" Thorian bellowed, eyes turning red, muscles bunching and veins bulging in his skin. Haggis' music faltered for a second as Kaelin turned her head to Thorian and then she blew extra hard, Haggis coming back with a thundering anthem that sent the goblins into a frenzy as they leapt upon another spider and started yanking it apart in a jabbing, slashing ball that rolled across the ground in a jumble of legs and arms and grey hairy pieces.
Thorian's roar echoed of the mountains and was answered by rumbles of collapsing snow and ice in the distance. Thorian's sword cleaved down through the spider that Ulrich was meant to be tackling next, splitting it with a grizzly crack. Ulrich opened his mouth to protest but Thorian was already gone, the last spider menacing the goblins coming apart in a fountain of yellow gloop and shattered chitin. The spider changing down on the goblins from the north received Thorian's sword through the center of its mass abdomen and as it collapsed the one threatening the horse found itself grabbed by a leg and swung round. It squalled, fangs waggling in Thorian's face.
"Come here, you ugly son of a sow!" Thorian roared at it and made good his grip. The spider screamed just before Thorian pulled it apart, its insides painting not only the ground yellow but also Thorian himself. He span, grabbed the hilt of his sword and hefted it high, not bothering to pull it out of the corpse of the spider first. The one closest to the cart chittered, blinking, confused by the sight of its one time brood mate falling out of the sky at it then it screamed as said brood mate was used as a hammer to batter it into the ground, shattering both of them beyond recognition. The last two hesitated and then turned toward the forest but they had left it far too late. Bellowing Thorian landed on top of one of them, his sword driving down through its head, splitting its many eyes apart. The last went down, hacked apart in a blizzard of blows that splashed it across the surrounding trees.
"There," Thorian yelled as he turned back to face Ulrich, his sword leveled at his team mate "Who's the big man now?" Ulrich slowly lifted his hands up, palms turned towards Thorian but Thorian's sword point was wavering through the air, drawing a very unsteady figure of eight and then the big orc-crossbreed toppled forward on his face.
"Um, Thorian," Ulrich asked, "You O.K. there buddy?" A resounding snore echoed up from here Thorian lay prostrate.
The cart managed to claim the terrified horse and as it settled to standing still, hide shivering with after shocks, he took the black root stick from his mouth.
"Welp," he said reflectively, "You don't see that every day of the week. No sir rey." He stuck the black root stick back in his mouth and chewed it.
Kaelin let Haggis' reed fall from her lips and looked round at the goblins. They were clustered about the still shivering form of their leader but they looked round as one at her and bowed.
"Goddess of the Thunder-voice!" they chorused, "Thunder-warrior! Mage-of-Thunder! He-of-the-Lightning-Sword! We look, we see, we know! We know!"
"Well my dear!" Jeremiah grinned unpleasantly, "How does it feel to be a Goddess?" Kaelin found she only had one reply for that.
"Oh boy."
