by Ben Stovall
Graal Wylan spun around to regard him. The warrior’s scales were red, like fresh blood, or apples. His eyes were a deep brown and he wore armor that held heavy plates tightly to his frame. At his hip was a curved sword, and a wooden shield with a steel banding was strapped to his back.
“Torvaas,” he greeted him, “I’m glad you could come. Did the soldiers give you any trouble?”
“I remained out of their sight. My skills do have some use,” he joked.
Graal Wylan chuckled. “Good to hear. I know it was vague in the message, but I need your help with some … diplomacy.” Torvaas replied with only an arched eyebrow. “Have you heard of Captain Tayna? She commands the human forces brought from Daralton. She requested a meeting with me, and from her missive it sounded as though the Daralton forces are wary of us.”
“They do not know what to think,” Torvaas said. “The last interaction we had with Daralton was three years prior to the flood that drove us inland. Do you remember?”
“Sixteen years ago? We were … eight years then?”
“Yes. It was before my … before my father had become Nalar’wylan. Daralton had begun logging on the northern side of the marsh. We sent an emissary to them, asking them to stop, and they refused.”
“Then we sent another emissary, with ten soldiers,” Graal Wylan added. “We asked again, and the humans killed all eleven of them. A series of skirmishes started afterward and ended with the destruction of the logging camp and a full company of their men. I remember.”
“She probably wants to ensure we have Souhal’s best interests at the fore, nothing more,” Torvaas assured him.
“Even more reason to have you accompany me,” Graal Wylan said. “You are the whole reason there are any scaleskin soldiers here.”
Not the whole reason. “If you think it is best, I will.”
“I do. Thank you, Torvaas. We’ll go now.” With that, they left the tent. Graal Wylan marched straight through the Torgashin forces, and to his own dismay Torvaas followed. To their credit, the soldiers did not hiss at him, as they had before. They only watched him suspiciously and moved their hands to cover their valuables or clutch their weapons.
The scaleskin rogue had to admit their reactions were well deserved, as he could have made off with every one of their coin purses had he so wished. Not that he stole often, especially from his own tribesmen. He had unfortunately had no choice on a few occasions. Sometimes on jobs for Valan Rivrak, and others just to survive while away from Torgas’hallan. He did well enough not to dwell on the few coins and loaves of bread he had taken, as he never took any more than he needed.
To Torvaas’s unannounced pleasure, they were away from the Torgashin garrison and finally in the city proper. Aware that the Daralton forces had made camp on the northern side of the city, he prepared for a long walk. The scaleskin soldiers had sought the dampest area for their own station and settled for a small patch of land just inside of the walls that protected the eastern side of the docks. Thus, they were the furthest from the northern wall as possible. The rogue silently hoped that Graal Wylan would not ask him to return to the Torgashin camp tonight, as if he did he would be on his feet for nearly six hours, as Souhal was not a small city. The records King Aldariak kept estimated Souhal to have around seventy-five thousand people in its walls. Torvaas believed them to be accurate, at least before there was a small exodus of people when the city began preparing for war.
It was natural, as well. Souhal had become the most valuable port in Gandaraar, with open trade between Auzix, Kual’apir, Vainyr, and even Dwallfarr, the Dwarven Empire on the southeastern side of the Serene Sea. The dwarves had shut themselves off from their neighbors, as on one side they had the religious zealots of Auzix, and the other the slavers of Kual’apir. Souhal had goods the rest of the world had interest in. To the east of the city, just before the marshes the Torgashin called home were large marble deposits, along with many caves that held other precious minerals, such as gold and iron. Daralton’s plantations, farms, stone quarries, and logging camps didn’t hurt Souhal’s trade either, allowing them to be diverse enough to offer goods to the different empires. King Aldariak had done well to hold the naval trade agreements favorably, and, of course, Souhal’s land routes were no slouch.
Torvaas wondered if the Torgashin could ever have such a bustling home often. Per some scholars, the scaleskin had once ruled an empire that covered much of the world. The disparate tribes were assumed to be an echo of such a kingdom. There were indeed ruins that suggested so, such as the large ones in the Whitemarsh that the Salan Akron tribesmen called their home. Additionally, many xena’ithlans were scattered over both Gandaraar and Kual’apir, often used now as dead drops for information and payment for Torvaas and agents like him.
However, even if the scholars were correct, there did not seem to be any hope for the scaleskin tribes to return to such form. A few tribes far to the east, closer to Ulen than the Lowlands had begun trading with various settlements that would have them and building cities more like those of the humans’ and elves’ than Torgas’hallan. A few tribes in Kual’apir had gone so far as to assimilate into the empire. Such tribes were accused of betraying their people and traditions by the more conservative scaleskin, such as Valan Rivrak. Torvaas had once agreed with the view, but now he was not so sure. Secretly, the rogue even hoped that the Torgashin would consider becoming more open in Gandaraar, instead of letting the tribe fade into obscurity before igniting a war in a gambit to remain relevant.
Torvaas realized he and his companion had been completely silent thus far on their walk. The two admittedly had little in common, due in part to their entirely different lives. Though, they had been good friends once, and Torvaas had to wonder …
“Do you remember when we were in the marsh, eleven years ago? It was the two of us and Lyvalla,” Torvaas asked.
“Do you mean the time we found the muckthistle?” Graal Wylan replied.
“Yes,” Torvaas began. “Though, that wasn’t all we found.”
“What was the name they’d given that alligator?”
“Deathmaw. He’d managed to fight off a group of soldiers, I think it was four or five of them. One was eaten in the battle, and the others barely survived their wounds. Though, they’d managed to inflict some of their own, and Deathmaw escaped deeper into the marsh. They couldn’t find him and gave up,” Torvaas explained.
“Six months passed, and we’d been given an assignment to test our progress on our paths,” Graal Wylan continued. “Lyvalla was tasked to gather the muckthistle for the tribe’s poisons. You were to lead us through the bog to prove your resourcefulness and your ability to memorize a map. I was there to protect us from any marsh beasts that troubled us. We encountered a few smaller alligators and some unfriendly snakes, but you and I were able to handle them with ease.”
“Before long we found the muckthistle, and harvested it,” Torvaas said. “The plant had grown well, and Lyvalla had managed to gather enough extra that she could sneak a bit of the poison to me. It’s a fast-acting paralytic mix. A mainstay of any self-respecting torvaas.”
“And it served us well,” Graal Wylan added. “It slowed Deathmaw down enough for us to handle him, or we’d have all died in the marsh that day.”
“Indeed,” Torvaas agreed. The two smiled in nostalgia as they walked, quietly going over the fight in their heads. Torvaas caught a quick glance at Graal Wylan’s armor, and he noticed that a few of Deathmaw’s scales lined the warrior’s arm, covering a heavy steel plate.
Graal Wylan’s eyes darted to the rogue, who regarded him curiously. “Listen, Torvaas,” he began, “you should know—”
“There you are!” a voice shouted from ahead. It belonged to a dark-haired woman in heavy plate painted a navy blue. The armor was well-worn, scratches marked the plates all over her form, as well as a small scorch mark on the left arm. Her hair was kept short—neck length, with a braid on the left to keep most of it away from her face. There wa
s a small scar on her chin, nearly faded away completely, from some fight long ago.
“Captain Tayna,” Graal Wylan greeted, “I thought we would be meeting you at the Daralton forces encampment.”
“I figured it was an awful distance to ask you to walk, tried to meet you halfway. There’s a small tavern over there, the Oaken Mug or some rubbish. But a cup of ale is a cup of ale, would you mind talking in there?”
“No, not at all. Lead the way, m’lady,” Graal Wylan bowed.
“M’lady?” Tayna snickered loudly. “I ain’t a noble or nothing, friend. Just a soldier.”
“Do many women serve in the king’s armies?” Torvaas asked.
Tayna cocked her head to the side. “Absolutely. Is it not the same for the Torgashin?”
“Very few,” Graal Wylan admitted. “They are welcome to, of course, but we choose our paths early, and most are not interested in the ways of war.”
“Makes sense,” Tayna agreed. The three of them approached a small building with a sign hanging just above its threshold which depicted three overflowing mugs. Graal Wylan stepped ahead and pulled the door open and waited for the two of them to walk inside.
The trio remained in the entryway, scanning the room for an open table. This tavern was much smaller than the Unruly Pony, Torvaas noticed, but it was just as busy, due in no small part to the stationed forces. Most the men and women inside were from Daralton, unsurprisingly. In the back corner on their right were a small group of orcs in brown clothes, who had been smart enough to leave their weapons in their camp. Many dwarves had been sitting along the barstools, accompanied only by a pair of guards from Souhal itself.
They were all noisy too. The patrons were sharing songs and laughing loudly at forgettable jokes. Nothing like war and beer to bring people together, Torvaas mused.
Tayna quickly ducked to the left, spotting an empty table along the wall. Torvaas and Graal Wylan were close behind and took seats beside one another on the edge opposite Tayna.
“Are human taverns always this noisy?” Graal Wylan asked.
“Yes,” Torvaas replied. Tayna looked at the rogue with an eyebrow arched high. “In my line of work, I have been in many taverns across Gandaraar,” he admitted. “Including this one.”
“I see,” Tayna said. “What exactly is your line of work?”
Torvaas considered the question briefly, but not without care. It would be wise to be honest with their allies now, but it would also be prudent not to reveal his line of work, given how most regarded him. “I gather intelligence for Valan Rivrak and perform various actions on it when tasked.”
“What kinds of intelligence? How did Valan Rivrak ask you to act?” Tayna pressed.
“Again, it varies. For instance, I know you were only a recruit to the Daralton guards five years ago. You’ve moved up in the ranks quickly,” Torvaas said. “As you know, the Torgashin and Daralton had a small series of battles. Valan Rivrak only wanted to see if the city had been recruiting more heavily, to ensure they were not preparing to reignite the hostilities.
“Honestly, though?” Torvaas paused, leaning in closely. “Most my missions were less … diplomatic. Often, I would be asked to slay targets and leave no trace. Or to dismantle and sabotage weapons before a battle. I would—”
“Torvaas,” Graal Wylan stopped him. “I am sure our friend sees your point.”
Tayna raised a hand into the air and signaled the server over. A young woman with long blond locks hopped over, smiling at the three of them. “What would you like?” she asked.
“A cup of boulderbeer for me. Would you two like anything?” Tayna asked.
“Water, please,” Graal Wylan said.
“Water for me as well,” said Torvaas. The waitress nodded quickly before darting away through the crowd.
“This is a tavern! You’re drinking water?” a soldier from Daralton slurred from the table beside them.
“I have a taste for drinks I doubt they serve here,” Graal Wylan said.
“Do the Torgashin have ales of their own?” Tayna asked.
“We do. I am not sure how it would be said in your tongue, but we call it thaldru’il.”
“They have the dwarven stuff, even though most of it tastes like mud. Maybe they have that too?”
“The Torgashin do not trade it,” Torvaas said. The waitress set down the three cups before them and informed them to call her over again if they needed her service later.
Tayna took a deep drink of her boulderbeer before sighing contentedly. “We have people who do similar work for us in Daralton. It’s not an uncommon practice. Thank you for being forthcoming, Torvaas.”
The rogue nodded. “I thought it best, given we’re here to set your mind at ease.”
“That’s not the whole of it,” Tayna admitted. “The men are wondering why the scaleskin forces are here. They don’t see why you would risk your lives for a human city. It was the same with the orcs before, but I could convince them they were here to help. The soldiers were accepting because of Inaru’s aid during the Blood Suns’ siege on Daralton. I failed to do the same for the Torgashin. Partly because of how many soldiers in my employ are veterans of the … ‘small series of battles’ with your tribe before.” Tayna took another swig of her drink before continuing, “And partly because I am not sure that the Torgashin are here to help myself.”
“Ah,” Graal Wylan realized, “they are wise to question why we would value Souhal’s defense, given our unfavorable history with the people outside of the marsh. I assure you my soldiers are entirely invested in the defense of the city, Tayna.”
“How can you be certain?” she asked. The question was without heat, and Graal Wylan nodded contemplatively, knowing the answer would decide the whole conversation.
“They follow my lead without question, and I will do anything to save this city. Our chieftain has promised me a reward greater than any other for Souhal’s protection,” Graal Wylan explained. The warrior took a deep drink from his water.
“And what reward is that?” Tayna asked. Torvaas had to admit he had the same question on his mind. While Graal Wylan had always been courteous and civil with the humans when interacting with them, he held no particular love for them. Then, Torvaas understood, to his unvoiced dismay.
“His daughter,” Graal Wylan said. “Valan Rivrak has agreed that if the city is saved and I return to Torgas’hallan, his daughter will be my wife, and I will be named his successor. I will become chieftain once he has passed, and I know I can help the Torgashin become a powerful, contributing society on Gandaraar. We’ve sat in our marsh home too long, we need to become part of the world.”
Tayna’s eyes widened at the statement, and Torvaas was sure his own had as well. She pulled her drink to her lips and lifted it high into the air as she swallowed large gulps of it before setting the empty mug on the table unceremoniously. “That’s good enough for me,” she said before quickly standing. “I’ll make sure it’s enough for my men too. You two take care.”
And with that, she left, joining some of the other men from Daralton at another table in the tavern. Torvaas and Graal Wylan sat quietly beside each other for a few moments that stretched on like years. The rogue stared into his water, watching it shake from the movement in the room around them, trying to focus on anything but what he’d just heard.
“Torvaas, I … I’m sorry. I mean that. I wanted to tell you earlier. I never wanted you to find out like this. I know how much she means to you,” Graal Wylan offered quietly.
Torvaas’s eyes narrowed reflexively. He lifted the mug of water to his maw, drinking deeply. It cascaded down his throat in a cool, refreshing stream. He raised the cup further and drank all that it held, before setting it back on the table carefully. He turned his head to face his old friend, who regarded him with worried eyes. Torvaas didn’t say a word as he rose from the chair, Graal Wylan standing with him. Torvaas began to leave, but when the scaleskin general remained close he turned to him and leaned in closely
.
“You will make a great valan, Graal,” he whispered. Then, the rogue collected himself and left Graal Wylan where he stood, stepping out onto Souhal’s bustling street alone.
✽ ✽ ✽
Fanrinn fidgeted. On his left, Ellaria shifted her weight from one foot to another. General Ranuiin had sent for them, but they’d arrived quicker than he expected. As such, the two elves waited in the freezing wind outside the elven commander’s tent. The flap was finally pushed aside, and a rather disgruntled soldier, bearing a green tabard of Aelindaas marked with accolades uncountable upon his breast, walked away without a word to the siblings. “You there, Red Watch. Enter,” a voice called to them.
Sharing a glance, they moved inside the shelter. Before them, General Ranuiin, an elf as regal and noble as they came, stood over a map of the city. His blond hair was pulled back into a pony tail, and Fanrinn wondered if he had more on his head than Ellaria. His eyes were a piercing blue, and they demanded the attention of any they looked upon. “Fanrinn and Ellaria, correct?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Fanrinn answered with a bow.
“Excellent. I understand you two and the rest of your … ah, compatriots will be involved in the battle—and you two have experience with the lands here. Now, I’ve come to understand this will be a battle, pitched as possible—can’t outlast a siege against necromancers it sounds. Please, come, look at this map the king sent us,” the general said. Fanrinn approached the parchment and inspected the layout. It was correct to his knowledge, but his opinion wasn’t as accurate as the general seemed to believe. The medic noticed immediately a knife had been stabbed into the map where the westernmost gate on the northern wall would be. “Now these necromancers, they come from the west?”
“Yes, general,” Fanrinn nodded.
“Achor?”
“No, sir. From the depths of the Deadlands. They seem to have crossed the Gray Sands,” Fanrinn said.
“Ah, I see. Do we know how many of them possess this magic of theirs?”
