fate's pawn 2

 

Chapter 2

 

Kaz soon met the other eight female lay members; Dinalla, a superficially snooty girl with dark hair, who appeared to be better born than most, but who had the declared intent of making her own way, rather than marry to her family’s commands; Leea, a merchant’s third daughter, who was firmly fulfilling her father’s wish to have at least one son as a bodyguard of his mercantile trains across the Great Plain. Her sister, Dalla, was also there.

“How many sisters do you have?” asked Kaz.

“There are fifteen of us,” said Leea.

“Each lovelier than the last,” said Dalla, cheekily.

“But only if you line them up the right way,” added Leea, dryly. “The thing is, Daddy might be wealthy, but not fifteen dowries wealthy. Shanna joined the cult of Merkedes, the trader-god, and she’s doing well, and hopes to be a glyph-priest soon, which will mean she can perform the ‘Safe Market’ ritual, with wards major to prevent minor violence and set off alarums at theft. It’s said that the thieves guild worships a god who gives them glyphs to circumvent the ‘Safe Market,’ but it’s still god-magic, and not available to any Pelos, Nico or Portian.”

“Our sister, Frolla, suggested that she should join the thieves’ guild to have a toe in each camp. Daddy nearly had conniptions until he realised, she was joking,” said Dalla, with a giggle. “Nalke got married to a nobleman, and Penna married another merchant, who took her without dowry, Shomie is courting, and the little ones don’t have to decide yet.”

“And when I am an initiate, we can incorporate as daddy’s guards,” said Leea. “I’m getting close to the requirements.”

“Good luck,” said Kaz.

“I might even join you,” said Dinalla. “I was thinking about being a freelance bodyguard, because I can pass anywhere and look like a harmless woman.”

“Always handy,” said Leea. “Don’t mind Sono and Mono, they’re twins, and don’t speak our language well. They’re the orphaned children of a trader who got stranded here, and they had nowhere else to go.”

Kaz nodded to the pair with golden tan, and the lightly pointed ears of the Easterfolk.

That left three; a sullen looking woman who owned to the name ‘Farrally’ and no more, a stocky youngster named Lelyn, who muttered about being the child of another member of the cult, and Jesylli.

“It’s a way up in the world,” said Jesylli. “I grew up fighting on the street, it’s what I know. I need a cult to get anywhere and this one is as good as any. I don’t have much time for gods, they were never there when I was small, I rely on myself, me.”

Kaz was shocked.

“But did you not feel drawn to the cult by dreams?” she said.

“Oh, boy! You’re one of the crazy devouts, are you?” said Jesylli, with a yawn.

“What’s the point of joining a cult if you’re not devout?” asked Kaz.

“Half-price training, and the spells available,” said Jesylli. “I don’t even plan to initiate if I can get away with it; a bodyguard’s job for me.”

Lelyn touched Kaz on the arm, a touch which said not to mind Jesylli, and that she understood.

Kaz smiled at her.

“Perhaps, as you’ve grown up with it, you can help to educate me in cult dogma?” she said.

“I’ll do my best,” said Lelyn. “I thought I recognised the armour you were working out in; how did you come by it?”

“Oh, Lord Harkon said I might as well use it as have it lying around, as it belonged to his brother. Should I not have accepted?”

“You’re honoured; he’s jealous of Toval’s memory, but Toval feasts in Alethos’s halls, and would rejoice in another warrior using his kit. He was so determined! And Harkon the same, he’s risen fast for his dedication.”

“I will try to make sure I honour Toval’s armour and weapons,” said Kaz, ignoring Jesylli rolling her eyes.

 

 

       Kaz might not feel any fellow feeling towards Jesylli, nor to the eastern twins, or the sullen Farrally; but none of them seemed outright hostile, which was a good start. Whether that would change if Evalla tried to set them against her, she could not guess, but at least there were some other women who seemed pleasant enough, and Lelyn seemed about her own age as well, which was nice. She liked Lelyn on sight, a merry girl, still half child, but with a firmness to her mouth and chin which spoke of determination. The girl-woman had soft dark curls which she wore slightly longer than those of Glyph-Priest Arana, whom she resembled. Kaz’s delicate nose was also able to confirm that Lelyn appeared to be related to Glyph-Priest Arana, and the grizzled, balding Glyph-Lord-Priest who was the temple commandant, Lord Pythas. Their pheromones suggested that they were mated.

“I admire your parents, they are very hardy,” Kaz said to Lelyn.

Lelyn froze.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

Kaz blinked.

“Only that I think you are lucky to have such fine family. It must be a comfort to know that they are there, even though they must keep a distance.”

Lelyn let out a breath, explosively.

“No, you have no side to you at all,” she said. “How did you know?”

“I can scent relationships,” said Kaz. “Not as well as other Toróg, but then, I can handle daylight better, and see better in half-light. I don’t have such good darksense either, but it’s more than any human has.”

“What’s that?”

“Echo-location in the darkness, like a bat; but to most Toróg, a Trógling is short ‘sighted’ with darksense. I can tell if someone has eaten recently, or is hungry with it, too.”

“My! That sounds useful.”

“It can be.”

“I... I’ve had some trouble from some of those who know my parentage, sneering at me that I’ll get plum placements because of nepotism, not because I’m any good, and that I’ll be a tell-tale.”

“And you’ve had dirty tricks too, like Svargia.”

“Pushing me like that, whilst taunting me that if I tell, I’m a tell-tale, and a weak little baby,” said Lelyn. “And she still sneers at me, that I’ll never make the grade.”

There were tears in the corners of Lelyn’s eyes. Kaz pretended not to notice.

“Evalla,” she said. “Oh, how I do not like her. Your mother warned her off, but I think it made her more determined to find a way to get me into trouble somehow. I presume she’d love to get you appear to commit an offence which would lead to a public thrashing by your father?”

“Yes, how did you guess?”

“I’ve known Toróg like that,” said Kaz grimly. “Like Mistress Skarraga, who birthed me.”

“Your own mother?”

“Not mother; mothers nurture. I was born from her womb. But I am only a Trógling.”

“I don’t really understand fully, but that must have been hard.”

“I had a nurturer in the slave pens before she was deemed too old for work and was sent to the table,” said Kaz, in a hard little voice. “I hate Toróg.”

“I can see why.”

“We can work together, and then be a voice for each other. Svargia would back us too, but she is pretty independent.”

“She does help,” admitted Lelyn. “What do you suggest we do, though?”

“Well, we are scheduled to scrub the floors,” said Kaz. “What do you bet that Evalla will come to see how we are doing, and will manage to upset the dirty water?”

“No bet. What are you thinking?”

Kaz told her.

 

Evalla had not ceased taunting Kaz, and trying to spoil her work, but as Kaz had managed to get a lot of work in the laundry, under a brawny laundry-mistress who knew a hard-worker when she saw one, and who cordially detested Evalla, there had been no serious trouble yet. Kaz just knew that Evalla was itching to get her into trouble. Kaz had been pitted against Evalla in some practice bouts, and bore the bruises, inflicted more to cause pain because Evalla enjoyed it, she thought, than to punish faults and bad guards, as Harkon did. Evalla had not been pleased that Kaz had taken a severe beating without a whimper.

She could not hit as hard as a Toróg, and moreover was constrained to make it seem like a fight.

 

Sure enough, Evalla came along the corridor the two girls were scrubbing.

“Well, two for the price of one,” said Evalla. “And little miss Born-Here won’t dare tell, for fear of being thought feeble; and the trog is just a dirty, stinking trog.”

“Trógling,” said Kaz.

“Do I look as if I care?” sneered Evalla.

She marched forward towards the bucket, ready to kick it over.

“Do be careful, Initiate!” said Kaz, shrilly and loudly. “You’re going to stand on....”

Evalla, ignoring her, put her foot on the bar of soap, which had a glyph of invisibility carved into it by Kaz, who could still find it with darksense.

The door of Commandant Pythas’s office banged open, as he heard a shrill female voice; he knew his daughter was working here as part of the menial tasks lay members undertook to pay for their keep. He was not expecting Evalla to skid all the way along the wet floor and crash into his arms.

“Control yourself, initiate!” he roared, pushing her to one side. Evalla flailed wildly and sat down hard on her rump.

“Please, initiate, if you’ve finished playing with our soap, may we have it back?” asked Kaz. The glyph had been destroyed by Evalla’s weight and was now visible.

“You little shit! You did that on purpose!” screeched Evalla.

“I did warn you to be careful,” said Kaz. “I was afraid you would knock the bucket of dirty water over as well, but you did skid gracefully past it to throw yourself into Lord Pythas’s arms.”

“I did not throw myself into his arms, and you know it!” screamed Evalla.

“You appear over-wrought, initiate,” said Pythas. “Perhaps you should present yourself to the infirmary for a draft of Valerian to calm down; I’ll write you a chit.”

Evalla bit her tongue, looking horrified. Valerian was bitter, and yet she did not dare disobey.

If looks could kill, Kaz would have burned up.

Evalla peeled the soap off her boot and threw it at Kaz, who caught it neatly, one-handed, and managed not to squeeze it hard enough to shoot out of her grasp.

“Thank you, initiate,” said Kaz.

Pythas waited for the initiate to be out of earshot.

“Unofficially, well done. But watch your back, neophyte Kaz; I don’t think she dares do more than torment Lelyn, or risk a duel. But she thinks you are vulnerable.”

“Thank you for the warning, my lord,” said Kaz. “I will heed it.”

 

 

Next day, the Commandant held up his hand for silence.

“I have need of some guards to escort a seer of the Holy Wells Oracle. Apparently, she needs to come here to fulfil a dream. Harkon, I want you to lead a group of initiates to escort her in; you can give the five newest lay members a taste of what should be a safe mission, with a couple of initiates of your choice.” He smiled at the Eastern twins who were almost vibrating. “I’m assigning Sono and Mono under Lai-fah Lightfoot as their bodyguard here in Mesolimnos.”

“Thank you, my lord-brother,” said Harkon. “I’ll take Zalmox and Alcitha, and the neophytes will be Kuros, Evgon, Stakis, Protasion, and Kaz, I believe.”

“I’m not working with any trog,” said one of the male lay members.

“Fine, I’ll have neophyte Lelyn, then, instead of you,” said Harkon. “If you can’t co-operate with a sword-sister in Alethos’s service, then I fancy you might find this cult is not for you; perhaps one of your fellows will help you to pack when you leave later. You said something, my lord-brother?” he asked Pythas.

“No, I merely grunted approval, there has been too much laxity of late, merely because my wife and I have been on quests for our god, and have had to leave the city. I will be looking into this.”

The neophyte, Stakis, was gaping.

None of his fellows seemed inclined to take up the issue on his behalf.

 

oOoOo

 

The noise and bustle of the city assaulted every one of Kaz’s senses as they left the temple complex. True, in the temple, there were often stentorian voices barking orders, and the ringing of weapons as people worked out, but conversation was usually low in tone, and of those who were there, at any time, resident or visiting, many were to be found in teaching halls learning those skills and spells which were on sale here. Many lay members and initiates lived outside the temple, coming in, to worship, and for training; and many liked to hone their skills adventuring. Though the great lakes provided transport, and Mesolimnos, between two of the three smaller lakes, thrived on the trade carried, the land side of the city was full of many dangers, despite the trade route built and patrolled by Selenite soldiery, as part of the Selenite Empire’s attempts to expand to control Limnesthos. They had got a toehold by circling the Great Lake with their well-made road and using guarding the road as an excuse to get soldiery into the heart of Limnesthos. Since this was hardly more than a collection of city states, the residents found resistance hard. There was even a temple to Selen in Mesolimnos, and reputedly a secret cult of Daze, whom even many Selenites felt too chaotic. The sacred prostitutes of the cult of Phrodine had changed the colour of their welcoming light to green, rather than be associated with the blood red moon, Selen, but nobody could stop the Empire building its own temple.

It was some consolation, perhaps, that the Selenites had had to call in the aid of Alethosi and Pollonosite warriors to help deal with the ever-present incursions of the denizens of the Akerusian Swamp, not least the Marsh-Creepers who had killed Toval, Harkon’s brother.

 

Fate's Pawn 1

 

Chapter 1

 

“You, a warrior? That’s the best laugh I’ve had all day! Beat it, Trogling.”

“Trógling. A long ‘o,’” said the small being.

Harkon strolled over to the gate guard, and the visitor. . Harkon moved like a cat, on silent, but heavy tread, the speed of his movement belying his tall inches and broad shoulders, his golden-brown hair and face furniture betraying his northern origins.

“What’s the problem Arrax?” he asked.

“This trogling wants to join the cult of Alethos and be a warrior... Glyph-Lord Harkon,” said Arrax.

The Trogling... Trógling... was at first glance typical of her race, small, slight, and delicately blue of skin, with a somewhat flattened nose. Her eyes were large and golden, the colour filling the whole eye, which had no white to it. Her features were much more human than the Toróg race from which Tróglings descended, and more human than some Tróglings; no discernible muzzle, and apart from being no higher than his chest, she was well-proportioned, if skinny and underfed-looking. But her posture was full of pride.

“My brother wasn’t much taller, and he was accepted, praised for overcoming being undersized,” said Harkon.

“And he was killed by a duck,” said Arrax.

“Marsh-creeper,” said Harkon, evenly. “You disrespect my brother’s memory by denigrating those vicious little beings.”

Arrax considered shrugging, and decided that this was a stage too unwise; the brawny Glyph-Lord, Harkon, had won a few honour duels over his brother’s somewhat ignominious end. Marsh-creepers could be vicious, and were skilled with spears.

“Well, you, mighty Sword of Alethos aren’t about to sponsor a Trogling, are you?” he said.

“Yes, I am,” said Harkon. “I think she has the spirit.”

“I do,” said the small female. Her firmly thrust out chin was on a level with Harkon’s sternum, but it was determined. When she filled out, Harkon thought she might even be pretty, especially if she let the fuzz of dark blue hair on her head grow.

She did not crouch to place her forehead down to the ground as many of her kind would do in gratitude, and Harkon was glad of his decision to sponsor her.

“You’ll work hard, and if you fall behind, I’ll tell you,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“They call me Kaz,” she said. “I’m a runaway.”

 

The gods, idle for once, looked down on this scene.

“Oh, Alethos, I shall tease you about this forever,” said Pollonis, the god of light, son of Solos, the sun. “I wager she fails within a week, filthy little darkness creature.”

“And I wager she is a glyph lord within five years,” said Alethos, god of death and honour. “I have no problem with creatures of darkness, or even those entropy-tainted so long as they have the discipline to obey my rules.”

“You’re on,” said his cousin.

 

“I don’t know much about Tróglings,” said Harkon.

“We’re the cursed beings of the Toróg,” said Kaz. “Once, the Toróg were all as the High Toróg, children of Luna, the Blue Moon, every female six-breasted and fertile, their silver hair shining like moonlight, and priestesses able to take a switch of hair to make into a light like the moon in the dark caverns, or weave it into ritual cloth, or lay into stone in patterns of glyphs. In those days, the glyph of the moon was a circle divided into two white curved drops of sacred water. Now, one is black to signify the coming of Entropy into the world, when Luna was raped by the ravening wolf from Outside. Because it was not natural, she was diminished by the birth of her chaos-infested twins, Selen, the red moon, and Daze, the trickster, lord of illusions, mirages, and misdirection. With this weakness, lesser Toróg were born, the Darklings, who are now the most common, and whose females never have more than four breasts and their hair is dark blue, and whose males consider themselves equal to females. The ritual performed by the High Priestesses to try to rectify this was unsuccessful, bringing forth only the Greater Toróg, all male, all stupid, slate grey rather than blue, but very strong. And the ritual was to take power back from Selen, and she and Daze conspired to put a curse on the Toróg, so that three in five births are now the diminished form of Trógling who never have more than two breasts. And some with very little to show, and proportioned more like children all their lives. I got lucky to be made in proportion.”

“And do Trógling also breed?”

“Yes, and so we make up the greater number of Toróg now, but we are slaves... and food. Which is why I ran away. My mis... my former mistress is a Darkling trader, and I was one of her bodyguards, being willing to fight. I learned the tongue humans use here, and I know High Toróg too, which is why I ran away. I have been of use to my former mistress in being clever, but her mother, who is a High Toróg Priestess, told her, ‘Get rid of that one; have it breed or put it in the food pens. It is too intelligent, and my spells tell me she will be a danger.’ So, I ran away.”

“Hardly surprising,” said Harkon. “Now, a practice bout; I want to see what you know.”           

He was surprised to find that his neophyte had some good instincts, and really listened and learned. She was also fast, and had a chance of dodging most attacks.

“But you must learn to parry as well,” Harkon told her. “You may meet someone as fast as you.” He hesitated. “I can let you have some of my brother’s armour; few others are small enough. But it will not all fit. The chest armour is cuir-bouilli, with metal greaves and vambraces.”

“Thank you; I am grateful,” said Kaz, who was overcome by the kindness of this stranger.

 

Kaz drank it all in.

She felt driven to be good, to show the wretched Toróg that she could learn to be as good as any of the Darkling warriors; maybe even the High Toróg males. Females were always priestesses of Luna; this was barred to males, who must aspire to be glyph-lords of Tor, lord of death and darkness, whose association with Luna had given rise to their children, the Toróg in Luna’s aspect as Rogaz.

And Tor the berserker was the enemy of Mighty Alethos, her newly chosen god.        

Harkon led her over to a brawny female, who did not trouble with curling her dark hair, and wore it short.

“Initiate Evalla, this is Kaz; a new lay member. Perhaps you will show her the female dortoir and help her settle in. She has promise.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Evalla. She waited until Harkon was out of earshot, to add, “Though what use a trogling can be, I don’t know.”

“Trógling,” said Kaz.

“Whatever. This way: this building is the barracks, and the few of us who are female have a couple of rooms upstairs, on the same level as the Glyph-lords and Glyph-priests, so don’t make a noise to irritate them. This is my dortoir, as an initiate; you’re in here with other lay indigent riff-raff who have nowhere else to go. You work for your keep.”

Kaz looked around the big, airy room with a dozen or so beds.

“How many do I have to share a bed with?” she asked.

She was not expecting the slap across the face that sent her flying.

“Little slut!” roared Evalla. “Don’t even try such tricks! This is the cult of Alethos, not Phrodine’s brothel!”

“Evalla! I might have guessed!” An armoured woman in her fifties came in. “What’s going on?”

“This little whore wanted to know how much sleeping around she was permitted, Glyph-Priest Arana,” said Evalla.

“The child looks confused by your words, Evalla,” said the Glyph-Priest.

“I’m not a child, please, Glyph-Priest, I’m sixteen,” said Kaz. “But I don’t understand what angered the initiate about having to share a bed. I only asked how many women there were to any bed, for surely foot soldiers don’t have the luxury of a bed to themselves?”

“Hasty judgement, again, Evalla; I’ve had to speak to you about this before,” said Arana. “She isn’t much more than a child, and as our god is Lord of Truth and Honour, I can tell she is not lying.”

“She didn’t say women, though, Glyph-Priest, she asked how many she had to share a bed with,” said Evalla, resentfully.

“Well, if you thought she meant men, putting it that way sounds rather as if she could have expected to have to serve the men to pay for her training, which would have been a misconception of which to disabuse her, so she might rest easy, rather than fear to be used. Either way, your interpretation says more about you, than the child,” said Arana, raising a flush to the initiate’s face. “Child, you have a bed to yourself. We should move things around to make sure of that. The beds are not luxurious, and you are expected to air them and make them every day, and to change the linen once a week, and take your turn in the wash-house as well as general cleaning, helping with the cooking, and so on. Trading tasks is permitted. Very well, Evalla, carry on showing her around when she has settled her belongings into her own chest.”

“These three beds are unclaimed,” said Evalla, pointing to them. “Your chest locks, you are responsible for the key. When your turn comes up for guard duty in the town, you will be paid for it; damage to your bed linen or loss of the key to your chest comes out of your wages for that.”

The Glyph-Priest was on the landing after Kaz stowed her meagre belongings in her chest.

“Evalla, I don’t want to hear of any... dirty... tricks, just because the girl is a Toróg,” she said.

“Tor of the Darkness wounded our Lord Alethos and left him limping, they are not to be trusted,” said Evalla.

“I reject Tor and all his works,” spat Kaz. “I have chosen my god, and I will be faithful to him, for I believe in truth and honour.”

“We shall see,” sneered Evalla.

“We shall, but if you even hint at putting unpleasant things in the recruit’s bed, or permit it in others, I’ll see you stripped of your status,” said Arana. “I’ve had to speak to you before about excessive hazing of newcomers. It is not something befitting the dignity of one who aspires to follow a god of honour.”

Evalla flushed.

“No, Glyph-Priest,” she said.

Kaz kept her face immobile; she had had a lot of practice. She would have trouble with this one, and she would not complain to the Glyph-Priest, nor to Glyph-Lord Harkon. She could endure ill-will; it described the attitude of most Toróg most of the time to tróglings. She was adept at such manoeuvres as placing buckets of dirty water where it was harder for Darklings to kick them over, or where they might stand on the soap and skid. A dangerous trick to pull, that one, because the best one might expect was a good kicking, the worst, a weapon descending.

It would be worthwhile using cantrips of warding on her bed, the lesser spells which did not require the casting of runes and glyphs that called on god-magic.

 

Kaz was no stranger to hard work and long hours. A slave worked hard, or became someone’s snack. It was something humans abhorred, cannibalism, and Kaz had been preparing to run for a while, and had gone hungry at times rather than eat part of a former colleague. For the toróg, eating the dead was a ritual obligation, and it was perhaps one reason Alethos did not like Tor. Kaz recalled the shocked horror of a human merchant who had been wined and dined by her mistress and served a joint of the trógling who had offended the human by being clumsy. The human had actually vomited, and fled the meal. Mistress Skarraga had not understood; it should have been an honour to be fed one who had offended. Kaz listened to what humans said, however, and realised that the merchant would take it as an insult. She had tried to warn her mistress, and had been backhanded for insolence. It had been one of the points against her. Being right was not something stupid little mutants were supposed to be. Evalla reminded Kaz too much of Skarraga.

She signed up for duties, and set about exchanging her duties in visible places with working in the laundry.

“I’ll swap, readily,” said a lean, well-muscled woman, who looked as if she was a plainswoman originally, swart of skin but blue-eyed. “I hate washing. I’m Svargia.”

“Kaz,” said Kaz. “I don’t mind washing, and it strengthens the wrists to wring out water.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Svargia. “I strengthened mine roping cattle. You’re not going to be the pushover I bet Evalla thinks you are.”

“No,” said Kaz. “And I know cleaning cantrips too, for if my bed is... soiled.”

“Oh, you know about those tricks, do you? I had problems at first; dirty plainswoman, doesn’t know civilised living, needs keeping in her place.”

“Humans aren’t so very different to Toróg,” sighed Kaz. “And my eyes hurt in the glare, which I must get used to.”

“Tie a light veil over your face; I can let you have one, I use them on the plain both in high summer, when the glare from the golden dried grass is intense, and in winter when snow blindness from its brightness is a risk.”

“Thank you,” said Kaz. “I have been shown more kindness than I expected.”

“Oh, most of us are reasonable people,” said Svargia. “It’s the rotten egg that leaves its smell lying about. And Evalla is a rotten egg and taints those who try to toady to her.”

“I will be careful,” said Kaz.