“We could set up a stationary portal,” Valia said, though she quickly fell silent under her sister’s withering gaze.
“Sure, that’s easy enough. We would just need a palace, a city wall, a temple, and everything else on a very long list. Open and closed! Without all that, you can’t get a stationary portal—that’s basic city planning, sis.”
“How do you know?” the younger girl shot back, though Motar quickly stepped in.
“Valanil may look younger, but she’s still right. Back when Isor was alive, we were both on the council, and we often discussed expanding the city. How long has Culmart been around for? Ages. But they just set up a portal twenty years ago when repairs on the city wall finished. Every time the lixes knock it down, the portal disappears, presumably so they can’t jump over to other cities. I don’t know for sure.”
“But that’s not even the whole problem.” It was Forian’s turn to speak his piece. “Anyone who spends more than six months outside the empire loses their status as a tax resident, and that means they have to pay the yearly tax on their own. That’s seven crystals for me, five for Valanil. Probably five for Motar and the rest, too. It isn’t just coins you’re going to have to come up with, Student—the humans you tied to Mean Truk will die in six months.”
Motar’s cheek twitched, though he said nothing. He was too well-trained for that. Instead, it was Tailyn who looked like he’d swallowed a porcupine, his perfect plan to pick up workers having turned out to be a disaster. The fact that the city head didn’t have taxes to pay meant nothing for those under him, something the group discussed first and foremost. From what Forian said, they would have had to be banished the same as Tailyn to be exempt from taxes. Fealty to the head of an independent city wasn’t enough to free them of their lifelong yoke. Valanil had declared herself a subject of Mean Truk, but the tax line was there for her just as it was for everyone else. Even Valia, herself head of the city, still had it.
“Getting used to your language is tricky,” Bar-Truk said. The lix shaman’s name had once been Bar-Do-Gir, only Valia had insisted he and his warriors leave their first name and relinquish their family name. After a long argument that saw the lixes yelling until they were blue in the face about how they were nobody without their family name, Tailyn mentioned something about switching it to Truk. The city was to be their new home. That idea caught on, and all hundred and twelve lixes went through the renaming procedure, trading in their three-part names for two-part replacements. And while that might not have seemed like anything of note, it was quite the event for them and took all morning. Not many were given the right to bear a two-part name—there was a separate procedure for that. The Do-Gir name was ultimately left with just one representative: Ka-Do-Gir refused to turn his back on the tribe of his ancestors.
“We’ll be fine for crystals—I know where the blacks get them,” Bar-Truk said. “Those lands once belonged to the green lixes.”
Tailyn projected his map on the ground, and the shaman spent a while tracing his way around it with a finger. The human names weren’t familiar to him. Finally, he pointed to a spot at the other end of the Gray Lands.
“Here! There’s a deep fissure that cuts deep into the planet, and there are lots of crystals on either side. They appear every six months.”
The group clustering around him sighed in unison. The distance to the spot the shaman had showed them was three times what it was to Culmart, making it an eight-week journey with no time to rest.
“I can sense your annoyance, though I’m not sure what’s causing it.” As it turned out, Bar-Truk wasn’t done. “The main red lix camp is here, just four days away. Mu-Ro-Din definitely has a portal to the mine. While Halas doesn’t trust anyone, he made the red shaman his right hand after Vu-Rga disappeared. We just need to kidnap Mu-Ro-Din and torture him until we have the information we need. Let me take care of that—I have the executioner attribute.”
A silence fell over the tent. The lix’s plan was a good one, though it was going to need talking through. Forian understood that better than anyone.
“Crystals are due in seven months, but only if we live that long. More importantly, we need to figure out where we’re getting food. Any ideas?”
“What about this?” Tailyn jabbed a finger at a small point on the map not far from Mean Truk. Judging by the description, the frontier post occupied by a force thirty strong was well outside red lix lands.
“Not a chance,” Forian replied. “All we need is Halas coming after us. The lixes will get all riled up if they lose that outpost, and they’ll have their noses to the ground until they figure out what’s going on.”
“Forian’s right—we can’t attack there,” Ka-Do-Gir said. One of his paws pointed at a spot a bit farther off, that one inside red lix lands. “There’s our target. It’s the third-largest red lix village, and they’re going to feel safe because they have protective outposts here and here. Actually, they shouldn’t even have any warriors or mages to speak of since Halas conscripted them all. It’s just going to be females, children, and slaves. And lots of food since their hunters are all out campaigning. If we follow this path, it’ll take us a day longer, but we’ll be able to take everything.”
“Our rangers will cover our retreat and get rid of the tracks,” Bar-Truk said. “They’ll make it look like we fell back toward the other border... The advisor’s idea is a good one. It’ll be a good battle with good loot—I’ll go.”
“No more than ten fighters,” Ka-Do-Gir said. “We’ll need my master, me, and the shaman. Two rangers. Two drivers. Bar-Truk can pick the final three.”
“So, you’re not planning on taking any people?” Motar asked, bristling.
“No.” Tailyn’s servant looked the guard in the eye. “Humans are weak, and I can prove that right now.”
“Nobody’s going to be proving anything,” Tailyn said. “Motar, you and your troops don’t have enough experience to survive in the Gray Lands. This isn’t the city. It isn’t even the outskirts. Okay, we’ll head out as soon as the meeting is over.”
“Look at you go,” Valanil said in surprise. “He’s going to head out. You know, Tailyn, just having food isn’t enough for a normal life. We need to figure out what we’re going to do here.”
“We’re digging up Mean Truk,” the boy replied. He switched out the projection, replacing the map with a three-dimensional picture of the city. “We need to excavate all the buildings, including a few hundred meters in front of the outer wall. To here. There’s plenty of work to do, so we’ll need to get right to it.”
There was a low whistle as Motar realized the scope of the project.
“We can dump the earth here.” The lix shaman had taken the city head’s directive in stride. “We’ll need to fortify it with wood, though. That will give us another wall, that one even further out, though we’ll have to get lumber. And stone.”
“Not to mention carpenters, masons, haulers... Even a cook!” Valanil’s patience was gone. “Boy, you really decided to restore a city nobody could care less about? And this far away from the rest of the world, here in the very heart of lix lands? You’re out of your mind! You know, if we were to turn you over to the emperor, we wouldn’t have enough coins to finance a tenth of your crazy ideas.”
“The god doesn’t give missions for no reason, Valanil,” Forian said, reminding the group of his presence yet again. “The fact that it wants us to restore Mean Truk means that’s what we’re supposed to do. Tailyn, you need to buy thirty shovels, thirty picks, twenty barrows, three metalworker kits, a few cubic meters of lumber, a chef’s kit, and ingredients for cooking. I already checked the store—that will run us a thousand coins, and it’ll be enough for a while. Once we’re done clearing the city, we’ll get to work rebuilding the outer wall, and Valia will be our cook. That will save quite a bit of money. Shaman, do you have any lixes with construction skills?”
“No,” Bar-Truk said after a short pause. “Only our fighters were taken captive. The
weak were killed immediately, and the reds took the females, our young, and the smart ones with them.”
“Motar?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve only met thirty of mine, so that leaves another thirty-eight. Lots are numerical. Farmers, a couple miners, even one herbalist. But no carpenters. No chefs, either.”
“But that’s not all.” Forian threw a glance in Valanil’s direction that stopped her before she could jump in. “I’m not letting Tailyn go until we dig up his cube—something tells me both city heads will need to be here when we do that. Let’s take care of that today, check it out, and have the group set off wherever you want to go tomorrow.”
Tailyn, we need to give them titles, Valia thought. That will give them status and tell everyone else how to relate to them.
Agreed. Any ideas about who should be who?
If you don’t mind, why don’t I handle that?
That’s great with me! I don’t know anything about managing cities beside the fact that everyone started handing me their problems.
You should have thought about that before you accepted the god’s mission. Valia even chuckled before continuing aloud.
“Forian and Valanil, as head of the city, I name you senior vice-heads in Mean Truk. Motar, you’ll be captain of the guard for as long as you’re required to be here. Ka-Do-Gir and Bar-Truk, you’ll be responsible for the lixes as advisor and the shaman for clan Truk. Tailyn and I will remain leaders of the lixes and heads of the city, while you all can name your own deputies.”
A snow-white glow appeared around everyone in the room, though Valanil just groaned.
“Sister! Okay, I’m used to Tailyn never thinking before he does anything, but you? Where are you going to find the coins to pay us? You more than anyone should know what will happen if you can’t come up with them in time. Who did I get myself tangled up with?!”
Oddly enough, Forian supported his companion with a skeptical shake of his head. The frowning children immediately pulled up their city management interface and headed right to the payroll readout.
Forian Tarn. Vice-Head. Salary: 1,500 coins or 45,000 gold per week.
Valanil Revolt. Vice-Head. Salary: 1,500 coins or 45,000 gold per week.
Motar Lus. Captain of the Guard. Salary: 100 coins or 3,000 gold per week.
Ka-Do-Gir. Lix Advisor. Salary: 500 coins or 15,000 gold per week.
Bar-Truk. Lix Shaman. Salary: 500 coins or 15,000 gold per week.
“How is it that much?!” Tailyn burst out.
“It just is,” Forian muttered. “Didn’t you think it was strange that your guardian didn’t have any advisors or deputies? They’re expensive!”
“What do you mean, expensive?” Motar asked. “Three thousand gold a week is standard pay in the borderlands—that’s what I was getting in Culmart. Sure, it’s higher in the capital, but you have way more to deal with there. Oh, could I get mine in coins instead of gold? I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“You have seven days to find the coins, my boy.” Valanil somehow found the strength to keep from cursing, though she very much wanted to. “And you can’t fire us—you’d have to pay us for three months up front. Also, if you even think about being late, you’ll find out what the god does to negligent city heads. You won’t be a fan, believe me. Okay, Forian, let’s wrap this up before they come up with some other great idea. No new appointments—that goes for everyone! Once we have a steady supply of coins coming in, we’ll think about some bureaucracy. Got it? Excellent. Forian, anything you’d like to add?”
“Shaman, I need your lixes—there’s an area we have to clear quickly. Tailyn, send me a thousand coins, okay? Everyone else, get to work. This city isn’t going to rebuild itself.”
The adults had taken the initiative and headed out, leaving the pair of kids alone in the tent. Valia looked over at Tailyn, a guilty expression on her face, and barely held back the tears as she apologized.
“I didn’t know, really! I thought that was the right thing to do...”
“It’s okay, what’s done is done. Look at it this way—now we have a team to handle the rebuilding project. But they do need to be paid. It doesn’t sound like the god would take kindly to us making them work for free.”
“But where are we going to find the coins? We only have seven days!”
“In our case, that’s practically an eternity. Don’t worry, if things get really bad, we’ll find something to sell.” Tailyn glanced down sadly at the dragon relaxing by his foot. The legendary card would net him two and a half million coins, but that was a last resort. The boy was in no hurry to part with Li-Ho-Dun.
Forian spent the coins, and the dig began. The shaman and Motar headed out of the city to decide where the outer wall was going to be, taking with them a large squad of numericals to rip up grass, set up the lumber, and pile up the available stone. Meanwhile, the strongest lixes grabbed picks, shovels, and wheelbarrows and got to work peeling back the centuries of dirt that had mounded over Mean Truk. The main squad, under Forian’s orders, began digging a hole straight through to the mysterious cube. Watching them labor away, Tailyn was stunned—the lixes never complained about being tired, never asked for a break, and never groaned under their loads. Ka-Do-Gir had to replace them himself when he thought they needed a break.
The following few hours flew by. Tailyn made his way around the entirety of Mean Truk to complete his map of the city, finding out that the lake stretched deep under the mountains and even gathering a few flowers growing in the steppe. That was all he was good for right then—he couldn’t even help Valia. For her part, the girl was making dinner under the watchful eye of Valanil and an experienced numerical. As soon as Tailyn got close, the women gave him a hiss, threatening to leave him hungry. He was forced to beat a hasty retreat.
“Chief! We need you!” came a shout, and an entire band of people dashed over to the shaft. The lixes had cut straight down, hauling buckets of earth out as they went. Reaching the spot, Tailyn was stunned to see that the three diggers had reached the city basements in the space of just a couple hours. And that was five meters of earth followed by two meters of rock.
The boy leaped into the hole and activated his wings. Forian grunted, and his student could only smile—there had never been a reason to tell his mentor about his acquisition. No one besides Valia had known about it. Getting down to the bottom, the young city head found himself staring at a few shimmering items on the ground. The diggers had come across someone’s final resting place under a stone.
You found the place where Equi Greeve, a level 47 human, died.
Virtual inventory with 26 slots received.
Aristocrat’s festive attire received.
Mean Truk Holographic Almanac bracelet received.
“Keep digging,” Tailyn said as he flew back up to where the rest were waiting. Catching Forian’s eye, the boy handed him the virtual inventory. “Mentor, this is for you. The poor guy was crushed by a slab before he could even record a last statement. It looks like something terrible happened the day Mean Truk died—the city didn’t just fade away. Someone attacked it. Or something.”
Without a second thought, Forian handed the virtual inventory to Valanil just as the latter ran over from where the pot was boiling over the fire. The girl smiled coquettishly and quickly threw it over her shoulder.
“Gentlemen, do you realize what this means?” A smile spread across the herbalist’s face, though she could only sigh when she didn’t get a reaction. “That guy couldn’t have been the only ancient to die. We have lots of discoveries ahead of us, and lots of loot, too. An aristocrat’s festive outfit... My boy, how much can you get for it?”
“Ten thousand coins,” Tailyn replied after checking the store. “Thirty for the bracelet.”
“Hold onto the bracelet for now—we need to see what it is. That name is too interesting to just sell it, but you can get rid of the outfit. If we live to see a ball, we can buy something else.”
“Why don
’t we all try it on?” Tailyn said. “It’ll record itself to our memory, and then we can use mimicry to—”
“Give it to me,” Forian said before his student could finish his thought. Valanil just snorted and headed back over to help Valia with the cooking. Judging by the smell of something burning, the girl was having a rough go of it. The fitting occupied the next hour. The ancient outfit wouldn’t fit over armor, so the group had to get completely undressed before pulling on the whimsical pants with the pleats on the front, the white shirt, the noose—a “tie,” it was called—and the tuxedo, which turned out to be a fitted jacket. As it modified to fit everyone, even Motar was able to get himself into the suit after a few minutes. None of the group really enjoyed the experience, of course. There were no colors, no tinsel, nothing out of the ordinary. Just simple black fabric. There weren’t even any pockets.
Finally, the moment arrived. A crash came from the shaft, and it was followed up quickly by a happy cry from the lixes.
“Chief, we’re through!”
Isr Kale's Journal (The Alchemist Book #4): LitRPG Series Page 7
