Fate's Pawn 16

 

Chapter 16

 

Kaz set up camp on the cliffs overlooking the lake, far enough off the road to be inconspicuous. On second thoughts she had sent Rynn with Protasion and Evgon to purchase some cooked meat pies of some kind to bring out. A trógling slave running an errand would not occasion any query.

“Why are we so secretive about Kallos?” asked Zon.

“Because the commandant of the temple of Alethos there is a fool. He is the sort who might gabble to the Selenite garrison commander because he looks on him as a colleague in arms and because Alethos accepts chaotic beings if they can follow his rules, so he does not see a problem with Selenites, who keep order on the roads. It doesn’t occur to him that this gives them a standing invading army in our country,” said Lelyn. “Furthermore, Kaz is the subject of a prophecy that she will lead trógling from slavery, and she also knows some Toróg healing techniques, and the old fool is likely to disregard both because she’s young, female, and a trógling, and therefore incapable in his eyes in three ways.”

“Oh!” said Zon, looking on Kaz with something akin to adoration.

“And we’ll be going to war with the Selenites soon as a part of it,” said Kaz. “In a few years, when I am a Glyph-Lord and Priest.”

“I am yours,” said Zon.

“Thank you,” said Kaz.

Rynn slipped into the camp, leading a donkey.

“Meat pies,” she said. “And the donkey is called ‘Hey You,’ so I changed that to Jet, for her eyes.”

“Well done,” said Kaz.

They ate, waiting for the other two.

 

 

It was several hours before Protasion and Evgon might be seen on the road, and Kaz sent Zon to guide them into the camp.

“You were right about rewards,” said Protasion. “It amounts to another seven and a half Solosti each.”

“Impressive,” said Kaz, helping the boys to sort that out into the various bags.

“The other jewellery is left there, and if not claimed by someone by the winter solstice, we have chits for it with drawings to claim it for ourselves,” said Protasion.

“Which is to say, we will make a trip, and then sell it,” said Evgon.

The journey back to Mesolimnos was uneventful. They camped in the same place as before, but Evgon went into the inn, and came back laughing.

“The Selenites bought a load of trógling slaves for their road mending, and they disappeared overnight,” he said. “They haven’t figured out how, and pulled down the whole slave complex to remove whatever curse the plainsmen put on it.”

Kaz sniggered.

“Darksense found our hole,” she said. “I hope they aren’t stupid enough to become bandits. If they slip back to Kallos they can doubtless hire as night guards anywhere, because few enough people look closely enough at trógling to tell them apart.”

 

If the trógling band had become bandits, they did not trouble the well-armed and confident Alethosi, who swept back into their base in perfect formation. Except the mules; but nobody expected mules to be in formation.

Commandant Pythas watched them sweep in.

“Success?” he asked.

“Sir, I have the honour to report that the mission was a complete success and so were a couple of side missions that arose,” said Kaz.

“Deliver the herbs to Varon, get yourselves bathed and fragrance-free and report to be debriefed,” said Pythas.

They saluted. Kaz took the herbs, those carefully preserved picked flowers, and the growing plants to the Glyph-Priest of Latrika.

“Oh, well done,” said Varon. “I’ve prepared pots with lime in for growing them.”

 

An hour later, the eight young people filed into Pythas’s office, the two new tróglings visibly nervous.

“Report,” said Pythas.

“Our outward journey came upon a situation which required a diversion,” said Kaz. “There were plainsmen enslaved by the Selenites, mending the road, so we took the opportunity to free them before moving on. Incidentally, the Trógling they replaced them with also escaped, taking advantage of what we had done.”

“And why am I hearing reports of strange, unknown god-magic?” asked Pythas.

“Because we made up some glyphs to look like we had opened some mystical gate,” said Kaz. “People are far more likely to belief a strange and powerful divine magic than a hole in the back of the compound.”

Pythas laughed.

He laughed so hard he started to cough, and had to take a drink of water.

“I believe every word of that prophecy with evidence like that,” he said. “Alethos’s toenails! Beautiful misdirection. And the tróglings found the hole?”

“Darksense,” said Kaz. “No, these two aren’t from that band. I’ll get to them.”

Succinctly she reported on their actions, and how her prayers had been answered to deliver divine retribution to those taking the name of Alethos in vain, and how this had prompted Rynn to throw in her lot with them, and how she had won the freedom of the other trógling but gave them the chance to remain with their mistress.

“She must be a good mistress for them to want to stay, so you have made some good overtures,” said Pythas.

“Or, they preferred what they know to trying to think for themselves,” said Kaz. “Rynn?”

“A bit of both,” said Rynn. “I am too cheeky so I got hit about, but if you behave, she’s moderately tolerant.”

“I prefer opportunity, and freedom,” said Zon.

Pythas listened intently to the tale of the bandits.

“Well done for rescuing their captives, and a good thought to make the cave your own,” he said. “You have the makings of a good commander, and I think we shall initiate you soon. However, in the meantime, there is a problem where those who can see in darkness would be an advantage.”

“I am certainly at your disposal, and I am sure I speak for everyone,” said Kaz.

There were murmurs of assent from her friends.

“What do you know about the so-called ‘Ghostlands?’” asked Pythas.

“Nothing much, except that adventurers like to go there, and sometimes they come back rich, but mostly they stay there, dead,” said Kaz.

“Succinct enough, I suppose,” said Pythas, with a smile. “Before the breaking of the blue moon, whose wounding made the great lakes, the greater part of civilisation was in what is now known as the Ghostlands, in a series of raised mountain valleys, where city states each occupied a valley or a portion of a valley. Here, the great table mountain, called the Anvil of Kyrios, smith of the gods, was said to be the meeting place of the gods, whence they observed the doings of men. The falling of much of the moon, however, changed the climate entirely, and the region around the lakes, when they filled, became fertile, where previously there had been desert. The climate in the Ghostlands became very unstable for many hundreds of years, with earthquakes, wild, chaos-wracked storms, and the inhabitants, on the whole, abandoned the place, and yes, many treasuries were left behind. Cities were buried, or sank as the ground they were built on shook and became unstable. There was a widespread belief that it was the end of the world, and not unreasonably so; the weather gods and nature gods went insane, wracked by forces of ungovernable chaos. This is why it is the weather gods who are foremost in the fight against chaos, because of the damage wrought to them by the birth of the Blood Moon, and her unholy consort.” He gave a ghost of a smile. “Because Alethosi do not see chaos of itself as evil, the worshipers of the weather gods dislike remembering that Alethos, disgusted by inappropriate deaths, and the corruption of the weather, joined with his sister, Latrika, and Phrodine, goddess of love, to corral the insane gods in the desert beyond the western mountains, where they forced them into a single small area, small for gods, that is, in a roiling maelstrom, and drew them out one by one to heal, and soothe, and restore to their proper paths. Their very memories of the Luna, the Blue Moon Disk, when it was a disk, not a sickle, are faulty, which is why they became the Knights of the Clear Starlight. I suspect they do not consider the Toróg very much, despite hating Selen as much as they do, because having a troglodytic existence in caves and tunnelled passageways, the vagaries of the weather are largely immaterial to them, so they do not worship any weather gods.” He added, “The lake known as Maelstrom Lake is about the same size as Lake Ena, the lake to the south of the city here, but it is a salt lake, filled with the bitter tears and sweat of the weather gods as they suffered in the toils of the Maelstrom. It is said that if you dive into it, you can enter the Underworld, but of course you have to survive diving it to get there.”

“I am sure there are better ways,” said Kaz.

“Yes, there almost certainly are,” said Pythas. “And the cult holds secret maps to aid those questing beyond the normal. The cult holds maps of the Ghostlands too, though by no means complete. Most are held by the cults of Pollonis and his son, Polos, god of knowledge, and part of their temple income is in selling the right to copy such maps for adventurers. Occasionally, other maps come to light, some accurate, some spurious, and the Temple of Polos attempts to buy them all up, and will pay adventurers to check out their accuracy. As, indeed, does the Temple of Librax, Selen’s answer to a god of knowledge for her people, as she hates the other gods to be worshipped.”

“Yes, it is why we are enemies with her war god, Thanus, who was once a hero of Alethos, but was seduced by the Blood Moon and became apostate,” said Protasion. “And a cheek that he kept his name, given by his family in honour of Alethaothanotos, as was the ancient name of Alethos. He just changed it to the Selenite form, ending –us, not –os.”

“You have been taught well,” said Pythas. “Much of the old knowledge has been lost; we do not know the origins of Alethos or Latrika, or whether Phrodine is related to them. And knowledge is what is sought by the temple of Polos.”

“And they need us to find something?” asked Kaz.

“It’s a little more complex than that,” said Pythas. “And somewhat more dangerous. I’m not sending you unless you volunteer, and I’m tempted to send Harkon as well.”

“That dangerous?” said Kaz, startled. “If you will it done, Commandant, we volunteer.”

“The last lot of adventurers sent by the Temple of Polos had one survivor,” said Pythas. “And he was the Polosi scribe who went along purely to record. He returned, gibbering. Apparently, they uncovered a cult of undeath, and they were all cut down by zombies and skeletons, which, to add insult to injury, were inhabiting what may have been an old temple to Alethos.”

“We’ll go; that’s insupportable,” said Kaz.

“Absolutely,” said Lelyn, as the others nodded.

“I can arrange crossing of the drylands by boat, as far as the city of Sideropolis,” said Pythas. “It’s a city which deals in the iron ore still to be found in the Anvil of Kyrios.”

“I thought all the inhabitants of the area had left it?” said Kaz.

“Oh, not everyone,” said Pythas. “There are isolated communities, who hung doggedly to their way of life, and who perform ceremonies using ancient languages and with slight variations on what are common today; though who knows whether they perform the ceremonies as originally laid down, or if there has been cultural drift. Even the gods change to some extent, especially after catastrophe. Our culture has changed, of that, there is little doubt. How could it not, with the imposition of chaos and the Blood Moon and her minions and the changes wrought by chaos to creatures and people of this world? We have all adapted, even the gods.” He paused, and went on, “Moreover, after things settled down, some people returned, mostly the miners. The Anvil is the purest and best source of iron in the world, and Glyph-lords must have their armour. It is a profitable business, and Sideropolis is visited by traders from all over.”

“So, will we be taking the scribe of Polos as a guide, and to hand over any knowledge we uncover?” asked Protasion. “He could be a flaming nuisance.”

 “I had a feeling you might look at it that way,” said Pythas, with a smile. “I have come to an accommodation with the Librarian, which is their term for the chief Glyph-Lord-Priest. The initiate who went with the adventurers refuses point blank to go back, but has drawn maps for you. I argued that if one initiate had proved so unsteady in the face of chaos, the whole mission would be jeopardised by trusting another to be firmer, and intimated that as the Polosi lost the information, they should be glad with any gained, since I would put together a team primarily to destroy the undead and their cult, rather than search for information.”

“If a Glyph-Priest comes, it could be re-sanctified, a willing spirit guard be requested, and then they can whistle for anything else,” said Kaz.

“I wasn’t going to point that out,” said Pythas. “Harkon is close to becoming a Lord-Priest, which is one reason I thought to send him with you. He also knows not to despise your abilities, but if there is a cult of undeath, it is not impossible that there is also, in charge of it, a Bloodsucker, a priest or lord of Aima, the daughter of the Blood Moon. And you are none of you capable of dealing with such.”

“Harkon is a man who believes in using his men well,” said Lelyn. “I think he would be capable of doing it alone, but even a Hand of Alethos has to sleep sometime.”

“Yes, we must be realistic,” said Kaz. “Our eagerness to destroy this anathema must also be treated with practicality.”