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.