Footwizard

by Terry Mancour

  “It has some benefits,” Gareth admitted, reluctantly. “There are many wonders, in this vale. The soil is extremely fertile, in this region, at least – far better than in much of the Wilderlands. The water is clean, where it isn’t hopelessly polluted, or boiling hot—”

  “The Hot Lake is more like bathwater than tea water,” Fondaras said.

  “The baths alone would be a sufficient reason to settle here, in my estimation,” I offered.

  “My lord is a sensualist,” chuckled Fondaras. “In truth, I think that the exotic nature of the place encouraged them to stay here. And the challenge. It takes a tough spirit to survive Anghysbel, much less raise a family here. In truth, there are tribes who live out on the barren tundra,” he reported. “Compared to that hellish existence, this is paradise.”

  “There are people on the tundra?” Gareth asked, surprised.

  “A few nomadic tribes,” Fondaras shrugged. “They make their living by hunting and gathering certain plants. A stark life, at best. But it proves my point: mankind will live wherever he thinks he can live. The folk of Anferny are quite fortunate, all things considered. Perhaps not as secure an existence as the Wilderlands – where there are roving bands of goblins, undead, bandits, and the occasional dragon attack – but they seem to have managed to find a way to thrive, here.”

  “A compelling argument,” Gareth sighed. “I suppose things aren’t any better back home.”

  “You consider Vanador home, now?” Alya asked, curious.

  “I’ve spent most of the last two years building the place,” the young mage chuckled. “I suppose it had better be. I’ve worked too hard on it to leave it, now.”

  “Which is why the folk of Anferny love their little land, so well,” agreed Fondaras. “They built this place out on the edge of the world, and they are proud of that. They would not abandon it lightly. It is what they know. To leave it would be to leave their homes.”

  I could appreciate that. I had built Sevendor from scratch, often with my own bare hands. I quietly resented being exiled from it, and I missed the place desperately. Vanador was a substitute, a refuge distant from the designs of Prince Tavard and his mother. But Sevendor was special.

  I missed it, suddenly, with a determined passion. If these people could manage to fight to live here, on the beautiful slopes of ruin, I could fight to return to the white mountain, and my pretty little land.

  It might not have a volcano smoking constantly on the horizon . . . but I wasn’t ready to rule anything out.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lakeshire

  Of all the regions of the volcanic vale, the little lands of Lakeshire, on the shores of Baelor Lake, are the merriest by far. The three tribes of Tal Alon have been there for centuries, according to their records and the Kasari. No one knows why they, among all the Alon, managed to settle here, but they have thrived in their little land with no masters but themselves. Clearly, they have absorbed customs and crafts from both the humans in the vale and the Kilnusk colony, but their culture is truly their own. Their unique lives, their amusements, and their passion for sport and recreation made our trip to Lakeshire amongst the most memorable portions of our expedition.

  from the Expedition Book of Anghysbel,

  Recorded by Fondaras the Wise

  The Tal Alon have always been near the bottom in Alon society.

  According to lore, they were bred that way: a relatively short-lived species of humble gardeners whose dramatic surpluses fed the other subspecies. Some kindreds of the Alka Alon were involved in food production, but in traditional Alka Alon society it was the Tal Alon who fed the people. For their trouble they were given guidance, order and participation (in a small way) in Alon society, back in the days of their original settlement.

  They were also given short lives, high mortality and virtually no voice in how they were governed. Only the gurvani enjoyed worse treatment, as a sub-species. They had been designed with the shortest lifespans – disposable workers who could toil in service to the greater civilization and die an ignoble and anonymous death.

  But then structured Alon society in this part of Callidore had apparently broken down and changed, after their brutal wars ruined it. The various Alka Alon kindreds withdrew from the affairs of the world, clinging to a few refuges and largely abandoned the desire to build great cities or empires. As a result, the lesser races in the Five Duchies were left free for millennia – and without the far-sighted structure the Alka Alon provided. The immortals had just lost interest in them.

  Bereft of their guidance, most Tal Alon tribes drifted aimlessly through a land now largely controlled by humans where they had no place in the social order at all. Most devolved into simple tribes and clans ruled by local leaders and living, for once, largely for their own benefit. While they improved their lot by adopting some human customs, institutions and technologies, they also suffered abuse at the hands of their humani neighbors. When you look like a bipedal rodent and smell of shit, all the time, it’s hard to get much respect from the average peasant goodwife.

  Most tribes went into hiding in the woods, making small camps on the banks of rivers – hence the term “River Folk” – or found subsistence on the margins of human society. The Tal were not just adaptable, they were highly imitative, and they did not hesitate to adopt human customs, clothing and technologies when they were exposed to them. In some places this had become a mutually prosperous arrangement; in others, it had led to riots and even slaughter of the Tal Alon who offended human sensibilities. Their circumstance had reinforced their natural timidity to a terrible degree as a result.

  “As you’ve seen, the Lakeshire Tal are not quite the same as the River Folk in the Wilderlands,” Fondaras explained to us, as we rode through the outskirts of their country. “They don’t hide away in woods or swamps; they have built a legitimate society here. The Tal Alon tribes in the Wilderlands scrape by in the forests. In the Riverlands they’re little better than villeins. The Tal Alon of Lakeshire went in a radically different direction.”

  “According to Gareth’s records, there were three tribes of Tal present in their district before the first settlement at Anferny,” I related, as I enjoyed the rustic scenery around us. “The Kasari concur: their legends agree that the Lakeshire Tal were living peacefully on the southern slopes of Chimney Mountain when humanity first came to Anghysbel.”

  “First returned to Anghysbel,” Gareth corrected. “An important distinction. The Ancients had some settlement here long ago,” he reminded me.

  “Which is likely why the Lakeshire is split into three great houses, each run by a sheriff,” Fondaras agreed. “Their names translate into ‘the gardeners,’ the Sodiniki; they are the largest clan, and arguably the wealthiest, for they grow the sugar beets with which they make their famous rum and the bulk of the vegetables. They are prodigious breeders, as well. They keep to the slopes to the east of the lake as their district.

  “Most of the lakeshore belongs to the second group – the poorest of the three, and perhaps the most daring and aggressive as a result. The ‘fishers,’ known as the Sivaji – they, of course, are the ones in the little boats along the shore,” he said, pointing to the lake.

  “I’ve never seen any of the Alon use boats,” I observed.

  “Few of them do, in my experience,” he agreed. “But the Tal picked it up from the Kasari, over the years, particularly when they discovered the better fishing in the deeper parts of the lake. The dangerous nature of the work, and the occasional attack by the beasts of the lake make them bolder and more daring in outlook than their kin, and far more willing to fight. Their very lives are a struggle.

  “And then there are the Raiteli . . . the ‘riders.’ That’s the smallest clan, whose district is on the western slopes and lowland meadows. They are the ones who specialize in llama husbandry,” he said, as we passed a surprised Tal leading a llama-drawn little cart in the opposite direction. I tipped my cap and smiled, as we passed by.

&n
bsp; “That’s another innovation of the Lakeshire,” Fondaras agreed. “The Southern Tal Alon will occasionally use donkeys and even llamas, but only here have they taken to the beast with a kind of passion. For the last century they have bred them, used them as beasts of burden, learned how to harvest their wool, ridden them, raced them, and taken them into battle. The Raiteli clan obsesses about their llamas the way a Wilderlord does his warhorses, and for similar reasons. They provide the clan with wealth through wool and meat, and because of that some of the Raiteli families are considered as wealthy as rum merchants. But that’s not the only bit of human culture they adopted . . .”

  For the next hour, the footwizard explained some of the detailed history he’d accumulated about Lakeshire on his many visits, starting with the arrival of the Kasari, or at least the ancestors of the Kasari. They’d learned a lot of practical knowledge from the tribe, particularly crafting and construction techniques that were far superior to their native ways.

  When the first Wilderlords showed up and claimed the land, they had a new culture from which to steal . . . and apparently theft of more than ideas was an issue, in the early years. At some point the Lords of Anferny forced the Lakeshire to respect its frontiers and its property rights. At the point of a lance, in some cases. Indeed, it was from a negotiation with Anferny that the tribes incorporated themselves as a single political entity: Lakeshire.

  In the intervening years, the Tal were quick to absorb as much helpful insight from the human colonies as they could. The three tribes organized under a three-member council, picked up enough about humani law to establish the rudiments of a system of law themselves, and a few began to pick up literacy. But they were still three poor tribes that struggled with subsistence in this harsh land.

  “Life used to be much harder here, despite the fertility of the soil. Once some furry Tal Alon genius realized that the sweet beets they used to enrich their famous pies could be brewed with yeast and then fermented,” Fondaras chuckled, “that was when Lakeshire began to prosper. They had something that the folk of Anferny desired and would trade for. And the Kasari, to a lesser extent. Much of that trade would be llama breeding stock. Once the Kilnusk arrived, four centuries ago, things really prospered for Lakeshire, for the dwarves love drinking with a passion.”

  “How do they handle defense?” I asked, curious.

  “Each clan has an official militia headed by one of the three sheriffs,” Fondaras reported. “The Raiteli provide their cavalry, the Sodiniki make up an infantry and sappers, when needed, and the Sivaji have what can only be described as a Tal Alon navy. At need they will sail across the lake and reinforce the others, as well as manning the walls with the Sodiniki. Purely defensive, of course, but they won’t back down from a fight.”

  “They don’t sound like ordinary Tal, at all,” I agreed. “Mostly they would rather run away.”

  “In Lakeshire, there is nowhere left to run away to,” he reminded me. “They have a good life that they are willing to fight to defend, and their backs are literally against the mountain. It makes these clans bold, and far more willing to take risks than their southern kin. In this they are far more similar to the human society they pattern themselves after than the rest of the Tal Alon. You’ll see more clearly, as we come to their central settlement, Sostine,” he promised. “That’s the most prosperous part of the land, where the gentry live.”

  Among those adaptations that Lakeshire made was, apparently, a stronger conception of the individual than most Tal Alon enjoy. Perhaps it was the lack of magic, or just the rugged independence that the savage environment of Anghysbel encourages, but the Lakeshire folk were unlike any other Tal Alon I’d ever seen.

  Their physical differences were apparent: taller, on average, and less inclined towards chubbiness, as well as less dense coats of fur. Their faces were far less hairy than usual, too, exposing their cheeks and foreheads, particularly in the females.

  But that was minor, compared to the differences in culture. Typically, the Tal Alon enjoy a heavily communal society, with most of the community living in one big warren or burrow. Only the young left the burrows when they were of mating age. After they produced a few litters, they would return to the greater community.

  In Lakeshire, the pattern was different, with smaller family groups inhabiting the tiny cottages we saw along both sides of the road, most of them at the center of extensive gardens. They were simple affairs, round houses with stone foundations and curved wattle-and-daub walls with high-peaked rooves – clearly copied from their humani neighbors, by their construction. But they were frequently expanded with small pod-like additions crammed onto the sides, indicating a far larger family than most independent Tal dwellings boasted. The homes to the right of the road had far larger farmsteads, whereas the houses along the lakeshore were more densely situated, and much of their lots were devoted to repairing netting or repairing their little boats.

  But as we came to the central settlement of the region, there was a decided shift in the style of dwelling. The Lakeshire Tal seemed to abandon mere surface dwellings in favor of the subterranean. Indeed, the entire slope seemed to be covered with little wooden doors and windows. From the road there was no way to determine just how large the interiors were, but many of the entrances were quite grand.

  It makes sense when you consider their perspective. They were living on the southern slope of a mountain, surrounded by dense but fertile volcanic soil. Digging into the hillside was a reasonable use of the land, for a species that was particularly vulnerable. In a departure from Tal Alon norms, they had also constructed a series of stone walls and wooden palisades around their settlements, dividing the land in front of their underground homes into tidy little protected gardens.

  One could determine the wealth of the resident, Fondaras pointed out, by the amount of garden space devoted to largely decorative plants and not the usual collection of beets, carrots, potatoes, and yams. On the other side of the road, which did not enjoy the steep slope, was a little market village, where smiths and carpenters traded, just as in Anferny.

  Just before we arrived at Sostine, we came to an odd expanse of pasture that was clear of any home or barn. It was, instead, a close-cropped series of fields dotted with little meadows with the occasional sand pit or pond peeking through the grass. Though it appeared to be highly fertile, there were no vegetables grown there, and I saw no sign of sheep or llamas grazing.

  Instead, little groups of Tal Alon appeared to play some game that involved hitting a tiny ball or rock across the grassy lawns with a cudgel. They seemed extremely intent on it, and Fondaras explained that it was an ancient traditional game of the clans that they took as seriously as their llama races. Those most skillful at it were lauded and rewarded, in Lakeshire society, and just being good at the game afforded some status.

  But one section betwixt the hill and the lake was much larger than even the gamefield we passed. After we crossed a decent-sized river (which descended from a smaller lake much higher on the slope, Fondaras informed us) the houses were nearly human-sized but were not residential; they were where the distilleries were. Three big workshops were busy turning beet juice into rum. Hundreds of small barrels surrounded each shop, and scores of Tal workers rolled them into smaller warehouses or led llama carts full of fresh beets in for processing.

  “I can’t believe that there is this much industry among the Tal,” I said, shaking my head in wonder. “This looks more like a manufactory in Castabriel than a remote, rustic tribe of spuds!”

  “The rum trade has made Lakeshire wealthy,” the footwizard agreed. “When the Kilnusk discovered their taste for their spirits, they began purchasing a third of their stock. They had to build more to keep up with demand. There are probably forty families of coopers, alone, as well as dozens of smiths and hundreds of carpenters. Just to make barrels.”

  “What do the Kilnusk trade to them for it?” I asked, as I watched one wagon get loaded for market. They seemed to move with a
great deal of industry. The common mode of dress was a kind of vest or waistcoat, as well as short trousers or skirts. They wore no shoes, of course.

  “Silver, mostly, but also copper and steel, and a little gold. Trifles, to the Kilnusk, but worth a great deal to this little society,” he reported. “But that has also made some families far richer than their neighbors. The last time I was here there was a power struggle going on in the council. Things were quite tense. But the gentry of Lakeshire don’t let matters like that turn to violence. I believe they settled their differences with a ritual llama race or other contest.”

  In Lakeshire, Fondaras informed me, a far more decentralized social structure had evolved, but the wealth generated by the rum trade had concentrated actual power as it normally does. That had affected society greatly and caused the Lakeshire Tal to rely far more heavily on record-keeping, matters of inheritance and accounting than normal Tal Alon. Thus, to one side of the central square (which was circular) was a row of houses devoted to scribes. While only one in ten Lakeshire Tal could read and write, that was still more than most human villages.

  To the other side of the square was the entrance to an underground administrative complex. Each sheriff, the mayor of Sostine, the harbormaster, the market master, and a dozen petty officials each had an office there, Fondaras explained.

  And then, on the other side of the road, was a line of tiny taverns and canopies that seemed to be doing business a fair would be envious of.

  “This place looks delightful,” Alya said, as I helped her off the coach.

  “A good place to get a pint, it appears,” Ormar agreed, as he led his team to the only horse stable in the town. “Or a llama,” he added as a smart looking Tal Alon bravo rode by on one of the black animals.