by J. Langland
Gadius smiled. “Neither of us will win this argument. I am too pragmatic to force any such issue in the real world prematurely, so we are where we always are.”
“Where almost everyone has been for centuries. Fortunately, scarcity makes the choice effectively moot,” Gaius said as they walked up to the bar. He made a small motion with his hand to end the discussion now that others were present. They had noted the posted time of day during which alcohol was sold at the door’s entrance. It was still a bit early, but the tavern was open for alcohol now, and they had been travelling the aether for several days.
“Ah, my good barman, might we purchase one of your fine libations? An ale perhaps?” Gaius asked.
The barman nodded in greeting at the two. “Certainly; two ales it is then?” Gaius nodded.
Smiling, the barman reached down below the bar and pulled up two sets of documents bound by a small string loop in the upper left corner. The documents appeared to be some form of contract. “I just need you to sign the waiver of liability, the acknowledgement of the health dangers of alcohol, tobacco and other substances within our foods, along with the absolution of responsibility for any actions taken by you after partaking in food and beverage within these premises.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Just the standard stuff you have to sign everywhere these days. Nothing unusual, all on the same old eight pages.” He shrugged. “Oh, and of course, an ID to verify the name and signature.”
Gadius shook his head and grinned. He had heard stories, but no one seriously believed them. He now believed. These Oorstemothians were something else. He found it amazing that Oorstemoth could maintain such an efficient and flexible army and navy with so much paperwork. Normal soldiers everywhere else could barely read, let alone understand and sign contracts. He frowned. Oorstemoth must have a very highly educated population if they were all expected to sign and understand legal contracts for everyday activities. After they had signed the documents, the barman handed them each a small bracelet with an odd charm on it to wear on their wrists.
“These indicate that we have your paperwork on file. You can add charms from other taverns and bars if you need to,” The bartender said.
“Interesting… quite useful, it would seem,” Gaius noted to the man.
“That’s the advantage of the strong guild system here. The Tavern Keeper’s Guild ensures that all inns, bars, taverns and other similarly licensed establishments all cooperate to ease the overhead cost in ensuring that all patrons are properly informed and up to date on their agreements with the establishments.”
“Curious,” Gaius said, looking at the charm and ensuring it was not too magical. Simply a small, inscribed runic symbol with an object link back to a centering piece in this tavern.
While the two knights were fastening on their bracelets, the barman poured each of them a house ale from a cask. Gadius raised his eyebrows in surprise as the barman set down two frosty glass mugs of ale. He was not sure if he was more surprised by the glass mugs, or the fact that they served their beer cold. He and Gadius generally preferred cold beer, but as Knights Rampant they were often adventuring in backwaters without the resources to chill beverages.
Sitting at a table near the bar, the two knights had finished about half of their ale when the tavern door opened and a loud, deep tenor voice called, “Like night and day—if it isn’t Salt and Pepper!” The two knights grinned to each other and turned to salute the new arrival with their ales.
“Sir Lady Serah!” Gaius greeted the arriving knight.
“That’s Sir Serah to you, Knight!” Serah laughed. “You know what I think of that ‘Lady’ crap. I ain’t no lady, I’m a Knight Rampant of Tiernon.”
“You really can’t blame the Church hierarchy for maintaining archaic and patronizing forms of address,” Gadius said. “It’s just part of their nature, ingrained for millennia.”
Serah snorted as she pulled up a chair to their table. “Jaedall, a pint of Neurien mead!” she called to the barman, flashing a bracelet with multiple charms on it.
It was Gaius’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I take it you are familiar with the city?”
She flashed him a grin as she pulled her large helm off and shook her insanely long hair, nearly two inches long, free of the helm. “Not officially.” She grinned.
“You really need a haircut, soldier,” Gadius said with a grin. He knew how much she disliked having long hair. She must have been on a rather intense mission.
“Tell me. Fortunately, I have paperwork with a couple of good barbers here,” Serah replied.
“You need to sign papers with a barber?” Gaius asked.
“What if they cut your neck by mistake while trimming your beard?” Serah asked.
“Is that actually a problem you have to worry about?” Gadius asked her. She punched him in the shoulder.
“You get my point; a barber brings a sharp blade close to people’s throats. They are all bonded and insured. Also, my understanding is that for certain high officials, it’s best to have a clear design plan agreed upon before starting to style said person’s hair. It avoids a lot of court time if they are unhappy with the new look.”
Gadius and Gaius shook their heads in wonder at the complexity of this city.
“So other than that, what all can you tell me?” Serah asked. “I’m sure I got the same initial message, which sounds appalling, but then I got a second message to come here when I couldn’t get to Freehold before you left.”
“Are you up to date on Freehold?” Gaius asked.
“All I know is that Talarius was cruelly defeated and kidnapped by a demon.” She shook her head. “It sounds impossible. He’s bested more demons than I can count.”
“Not just any demon, an archdemon. And there were at least two more, along with a few greater demons,” Gadius said.
“Archaedemons? Multiple archaedemons?” Sera asked.
“Well, yes, and well over a thousand other lesser demons that had been infesting Freehold.” Gaius shrugged.
Serah gave them a double take. “You are going to have to tell me more!” she commanded.
~
“This place makes Gizzor Del seem civilized!” Jenn complained as she, Gastropé, Danfaêr and Treyfoêr made their way down the cramped stone street towards the apothecary. As cramped as the small street was for her, she could only imagine what it felt like to the aetós.
They had arrived shortly after dawn. Trefalger, the second mate, and Seamach began putting together landing parties. All five people from the Council party were going down: Trevin, Maelen, Elrose, Jenn, Gastropé, along with Seamach the scout, Bealach the navigator, Trefalger, four of the aetós guardians and four of the dwarf guardians.
“I have not been to Gizzor Del, but I have heard of it,” Danfaêr said. “But given these horribly confining streets, I can’t see how it could have been conceivably worse!”
“I do not like all the little tunnels where people’s homes have extended so far over the street that they are bumping into the apartments on the other side and cutting off the sky above!” Treyfoêr said.
“Why even groundlings would want to live like this is beyond me! It’s like a cage, complete with a dung-strewn floor!” Danfaêr said, trying to scrape some excrement off his right boot.
“Who would have thought being cooped up for days inside a cloud would feel less confining?” Gastropé added with the others nodding in agreement.
They had made a quick descent on the carpets, diving out of the sky at a far faster pace than they had when going up to the Nimbus at the first town, albeit more restrained than during combat. The pilots had landed them outside of town and they had split up into different groups to gather various supplies. The plan was to all rendezvous at a large tavern named “The Alfar’s Arse,” oddly enough run by an alvaren couple for the last seven hundred years. It had a good-sized banquet room that Seamach had rented out for the day. Seamach had told them that there would be snacks, beer and wine available and paid for
throughout the day and that they would be having dinner in the evening with some of his friends.
It seemed like a pretty good deal to Gastropé, albeit a bit odd. Seamach had talked about his contacts in the alvaren intelligence community, but they were not being particularly circumspect. True, there were plenty of alvar in town, so that was not unusual, as well as a fair number of dwarves, heartheans and other races compared to Freehold or most of Turelane, for that matter. However, the only aetós in town were the ones with them, and that did attract quite a bit of attention. Tall, extremely attractive humans with large, colorful feathered wings and wild hairdos were not common anywhere that Gastropé had ever heard of. Most thought the aetós to be creatures of myth and legend. He felt rather sorry for their discomfort. In the more crowded areas people, especially children, would just randomly reach out to touch their wings. Gastropé had to imagine it felt rather awkward to be continually groped and touched like that. However, Danfaêr and Treyfoêr seemed to maintain a pleasant demeanor.
Eventually they were able to see the sign for the apothecary. They had a list of chemical and alchemical ingredients they needed to pick up for the ship; ingredients that helped keep the air fresh when it had to be recycled at high altitude, along with items to keep the stored water pure. Apparently, there was what Gnorbert called a sophisticated life support system onboard the cloud, and it was rather high-maintenance. While all the organic components were generally available in the grove, there were some elements that were easier and cheaper to obtain in Murgandy and a few other areas.
After awkwardly crossing the crowded square, Treyfoêr opened the entrance to the store. He ducked at the waist and tightened his wings close together to squeeze through the door. Gastropé noted the door was a bit larger than a normal human door, but still a bit tight for the winged warrior.
Jenn followed Treyfoêr and then Gastropé entered, with Danfaêr bringing up the rear. As she entered, Jenn drew a soft but sharp breath. He glanced ahead to see what had caused her reaction and blinked at the sight of an extremely ugly fellow behind the counter. His skin was green and pockmarked all over. He was balding with greenish black hair streaked with white. His nose was rather snout-like and his mouth sported a set of huge bottom teeth and two rather large tusks.
An orc, Gastropé realized in surprise. His first thought was that the orc had broken in and killed the apothecary; but then he realized the orc was wearing a white lab coat. This was quite unusual. He, and he was sure Jenn, had never encountered an orc actually engaged in legal behavior.
To be fair, he had only encountered orcs infrequently in Exador’s army, so technically he had only experienced them as part of an Army of Evil, of which he himself had been a member. As of the time they had left Freehold, the Council still had not ruled on Exador vs Lenamare, so in theory that might have been a legal activity, except for Exador being an archdemon. Which, he was pretty sure, was illegal in most regions.
“Yeah?” the orc behind the counter grumped at them. He seemed none too pleased to have customers.
“Uhm, yeah… we need to purchase some items?” Jenn asked rather hesitantly as she unfolded the list.
The orc gestured for her to hand him her list. “It’s in Noralese, do you read Noralese?”
The orc looked at her as if she was insane. “I speaking it now! What you think, I stupid?”
“No, not at all,” Jenn said. “I’m sorry.”
“Would be shitty business orc if I not speak and read Noralese and Etonese. I also good in Gnomish Prime and can talk Mogradin if have to. No read stupid runes. Who put words as pictures? Dumbies, that who! No alvaren, any kind. Crappy language, too complicated to bother. Don’t speak wingdings either.” He pointed to the aetós.
Danfaêr and Treyfoêr looked at each other in puzzlement; they had no idea what “wingdings” was. Treyfoêr had told Gastropé that the aetós generally spoke either Noralese or Etonese, depending on where they lived. The actual aetóên language was only spoken in High Council, ceremonies and when privacy among other races was essential.
“I apologize; can we please get what’s on the list?” Jenn said.
The orc gave her a stare, nodded and looked at the list. “Lot of weird dung here.” He glanced up at the two aetós. “Must be Grove business, those crazy always do weird dung.” He shook his head. “Need half candle to put together.” He gestured to a candle that was lit on his counter, even though most of the room was lit by lanterns. Some merchants used candles as an indicator of time, Gastropé remembered his father saying.
~
“I am getting spoiled in Tierhallon,” Hilda told Stevos as they entered Murgatroy. Beragamos had asked her to introduce Stevos to their new tactic of using “on-the-ground intel.” He had mentioned that everyone had been so pleased with her quick success, they were going to be doing a lot more on-the-ground work and that if she was interested after this was over, she would be a huge asset to the new team.
Hilda has smiled graciously and replied that it was a huge honor. She had left it at that. She really had not been sure how much she wanted to have a job that required a lot of travel. Although, if her expense account continued at the current level, that would more than compensate. At least, that’s how she felt until she and Stevos arrived in Murgatroy. Ugh!
Muddy, dung-filled streets with no sidewalks other than a few wooden planks here and there. Rough wooden buildings right up alongside poorly constructed stone buildings. The smell? Horrible. The town was overrun with animals and some odd beasts of burden. And there were orcs. Lots of orcs. Quite a number of alvar as well.
Truly amazing that the city was still standing with both alvar and orcs in it. It had been her understanding that the two races frequently clashed, even in non-wartime situations. If alcohol was involved, it was considered guaranteed. Yet there was no question that there was alcohol in this town. Bad alcohol, vinegary and nasty, mixed with the smell of vomit and urine. Every alleyway they passed was an assault on her nostrils. Seriously, the damn wards around Freehold had been less of an assault on her person than the stench from some of these alleys.
Fortunately, she was not in her saintly attire. Since they were undercover, she was dressed in leather breeches and sturdy leather boots. Hidden beneath her rather large leather coat, she had a knit shirt and silk undergarments, fortunately. Otherwise, there would be no question of chafing in the stifling heat of this city. The humidity was quite atrocious. Her hair was apparently on strike and curling in random directions.
Stevos was dressed similarly and appeared quite happy to be out of saintly attire. Even as she was thinking this, he spoke up. “It’s really nice to be back in normal clothes.”
Hilda grinned at him. “You think it’s nice? Try walking through the mud in slippers and a white gown with gossamer lacing along the bottom trim.”
He shuddered and grinned back. “Yeah, women saints have it far worse, I agree with that.”
“At least those of us from the Sisterhood. The women Rod members have a better getup,” Hilda noted.
“Yeah, but think of the knightly saints; they have to wander around in full armor all the time.”
“How is that different than how most of them lived their entire lives? How often have you seen a Knight Rampant or a Paladin not in armor?”
Stevos grinned at her. “Point taken. Although, in my defense, we did not get a whole lot of knight anythings down here. Mainly Brothers and Sisters, along with priests and an occasional Rod detachment.”
“Given what I’ve seen so far, it is probably a good idea to keep the knights away,” commented Hilda. “There are too many suspicious characters here, most almost certainly up to no good. Plus all the orcs, goblins and other unsavory types would probably distract them and cause all sorts of unwanted political issues.”
Stevos nodded. “The Church keeps a much lower profile down here. We also interact more with the churches of the Holy Siblings than in other parts of Norelon.”
“And probab
ly in Eton,” Hilda said. “I lived in Eton and while we saw Sibling church members, we had very little interaction with them. Rather odd, I always thought, but who was I to say?”
“Do you ever encounter any avatars from the Sibling Hosts?” Stevos asked.
“Only at official dinners. They will show up to those, but they generally only interact with the highest ranking avatars on our side.” She paused. “Where does this illuminary of yours, Teragdor, live?” she asked, adjusting the subject to their current business.
“ ‘Around’ is about the best I can say, unfortunately.” Stevos said with a grimace.
“Around?”
“He’s itinerant and travels the area around Murgatroy and many of the deeper villages of Murgandy,” Stevos said. “He just happened to be in Murgatroy when the D’Orcs came to town.”
“He is still here?” Hilda asked.
Stevos shrugged. “I would think so; it was just last night that he contacted me. If he’s not still in the city, he is going to be close by.”
“Very well, then. Can you follow your illumination line to him?” Hilda asked.
“I should be able to. I have never really had to do it from the Planes of Men before. Normally I’m doing it from Tierhallon and so—”
“I know.” Hilda beamed at him and gave him a small pat on the shoulder. “It is trickier here because everything is close and the lines tangle. From up there, the lines spread out over all of Astlan so they become easier to track. Down here, it is like being in a bowl full of noodles trying to follow a single noodle!”
“Exactly. Let me try.” Stevos stepped up against a nearby wall and closed his eyes.
Hilda waited patiently while he worked to trace the illumination line. She looked around at the Stone Age village they were in. The best buildings were crudely carved stone; many were of fieldstone and a fair number were timber of various sorts. As she was looking around, she noted a beggar surreptitiously heading their way. Hilda softly chanted a ritual to distract his attention elsewhere, quickly making the semantic gestures inside her sleeves.
