The County of Trism was the third most powerful house in the Kingdom of Humbrey. The House Trism had come to power more than three centuries ago after fending off a horde of reptilian men from the Lost Swamp to the west, raising the fifth noble house in the Kingdom. The Count of that time quickly opened trade with the city of wizards, Pantageas, to the southeast and allowed them access to the dammed Weird River. Five generations ago that Count helped establish the Duchy of Velent, seating the final noble house in the Kingdom, giving a crown prince his own lands and a debt of honor to Trism. The two noble houses had been allies since.
The latest Count of Trism, Yearl Marshlord, had opened trade agreements with the Kingdom of Trysteria to the south and east, including the Duchy of Malvor. His house had flourished under this trade agreement, and he had been knighted for his efforts. There was even talk of the marriage of his son and a royal princess, which would make Trism a Duchy. Count Marshlord was a moral man who always saw to his duties, and tended to his people and trade agreements without hesitation. He wanted to bring his house honor and glory without having to fight a war.
A light snow dusted the sprawling streets of Trism. The metropolis’s stone buildings were a picture of serenity. The setting sun gave way to chill winds and moonlight reflections, making folks want to be inside with a mug of hot mulled cider and good company. Music and laughter spilled out onto the snow-sprinkled avenues from pubs and taverns, along with the amber light of oil lamps.
In an alley, an undernourished dog sniffed at the back door of a pub. The door opened and a sweaty man in a stained apron emptied a bucket of kitchen scraps across the cobblestones. Hands on his hips, the fat cook drew a deep breath of air that wasn’t heavy with smoke, enjoying the crisp bite of autumn. The animal crouched, growling, as its hackles rose. The man looked down, seeing the dog for the first time. He shouted at the cur to scare it away. The mutt crept forward, showing its teeth through foam-flecked lips. The unnerved man retreated inside, and slammed the door.
Grenedal glanced down the alley as the dog began nosing through the scraps. The cur glanced his way, whimpered, and slunk behind a barrel as the man trudged through the slush, leaving shallow boot prints that would be covered soon enough. Dragonblood had been in Trism almost three weeks and had learned a lord was raising a resistance to stage a coup from within the court of Trism; that lord had gone missing; and the local criminal syndicate had been infiltrated and was under the control of an unknown crime lord. Grenedal knew who it was though; it was the same man that compromised the loyalty and honor of a kingdom legendary for those traits: Duke Malvornick.
Grenedal had never been good at digging up information, but Kaht had a way of digging up things that he couldn’t. Whether by intimidation or by bribe, Grenedal always pushed too hard. He was an expert at putting information to work, though. He had sent his companion back to Everyway, tasked to find Hue Blueaxe and bring him here to Trism. The giant man would be more prone to get along with the men here than Grenedal. The dragonkin believed in being more flexible with the law and rules than the people who lived in this country. Hue would feel that the law was sacred, just as the locals did.
Grenedal walked along with his cloak pulled around his wings, sluching to hide them, still unused to them and not wanting to attract attention. His family name was Dragonblood, but he had never thought it was literal, until his ‘awakening’. Since that moment, he had changed every day, not just physically, but in other ways also. He could feel the magical force lines that were tapped by wizards; he could use the magic of his own mind like the mages; and even the art of sorcerers and alchemists were not out of his grasp. He found himself sensing other things - communications flying through the air. It was as if someone was sending messages and he was receiving not only those, but the responses from the other party. He couldn’t recognize the language, but it was familiar.
He made his way to the appointed place where he had instructed Kaht to send Hue. It was an hour after sunset and he was at the statue of the realm’s greatest hero, Trism the Bold. It had been five days since he sent her. It was two hundred kilometers to Everyway and would take about twelve days to reach it on horseback, but Kaht had other ways to travel, and she may have made it in two days, then three days for Hue to travel back. Pantageas, the city of magic, was due south. The right amount of coin, and one can be transported almost anywhere, but the right amount was a lot. It should be possible that Hue was here; he also had other ways to travel.
Standing in the growing snowdrift in front of the statue, Grenedal watched stragglers hurry home. The sky lost its remaining light as the sun set, and dusk turned into night. He saw Blueaxe approaching from a distance. The man had an unmistakable stride, bold and confident, and the double bladed axe strapped to his back jutted out past his broad shoulders. He was a giant of a man and his pale blue skin glowed in the dim light.
Grenedal remembered when Hue had been a blind beggar man, nicknamed Smiles. The man had always been happy, even though he had been on the bottom rung of the social food chain. When the Talisman had appeared in the sky, abominations had crawled from unknown places. The dead rose up and walked the streets. The elderly and young caught outside were exposed to the magical emanations and transformed into mutated horrors, and Smiles had become one of them. Grenedal and Kaht had found him in a room of living dead, recognizing him as one of their street informers. They had slain the rotting monsters and brought Smiles back to a safe haven. Finding a sorcerer to help had not been easy, but Grenedal’s sense of duty drove him. Drawing upon the energies of another realm, the sorcerer had healed Smiles. When the homeless man had awoken days later, he was changed. He was in his prime once again, and took a name from that time in his life when he had been a gladiator. Hue Blueaxe returned, but changed by the powers that touched him. Grenedal guessed that the Gods decided to help equip the world with people who would have a chance to face the Talisman and all it brought.
Hue smiled at Grenedal as he walked up. The blue-skinned man stood a few centimeters shorter than the dragonkin, but was more than a hand span wider. He wore a sleeveless tunic and wool pants. It was hard to find boots in his size, so the man had made a pair of simple sandals. The cold didn’t seem to affect him.
“My friend,” the blue skinned man said, “Kaht said it was urgent. What is it?”
The taller, thinner man explained in hushed whispers all he had learned, that there were men gathering to face Duke Malvornick and break his hidden hold on the Kingdom of Humbrey. He gave his axe-wielding friend the names and secret meeting places, and imparted the urgency to him.
“Gather allies; lead them north, warning of Malvornick and his plans. You have to organize them if we are to survive the darkness of the Talisman and the horrors it brings.”
As they stood talking, their heads bent close for secrecy, the sounds of rapid hoof beats and a crier was heard approaching. He charged straight through the square, shouting his message, and kicking snow up behind his mount.
“Velent has fallen!” the crier yelled. “Demon bugs attacked from the Lost Swamp! Prepare! Beware! They come this way!”
Velent was a day ride south; less if you changed horses on the way. Magic could have been used to send the news quicker. It was a few hours east of the Lost Swamp, and Trism was about twice the distance. Hue and Grenedal looked at each other.
The mangy cur from the alley crept out of the shadows, hackles up, its snout twisted in a snarl. The two men turned to look at it. It stood on its hind legs, and began to warp and change. In a moment, Nomed stood where the beast had been. The demon half breed smiled.
“Gentlemen,” Nomed said, nodding to each of them in turn, “did you plan a meeting of half breeds without including me, your brother in this odd triangle of fate?”
“Nomed,” Grenedal muttered acknowledgement, “we don’t have time for you and your games.”
“Nomed!” Hue took a large stride towards the demon spawn, grabbed his hand in greeting, and pumped it up an
d down while slapping him on the shoulder with the other hand. Nomed stumbled under the power of the greeting. “You’re always welcome if you come to help, my dark friend. Don’t pay any mind to Grenedal, he forgets hope and happiness when he’s under pressure. Always gets too serious and forgets the small things.”
“Yes, good to see you also, Blueaxe,” Nomed said, straightening his leather cape over his bare chest. “I am here to help, Dragonblood. Don’t be so snotty. I can be of great help. I witnessed what happened in Velent, it wasn’t pretty. And it is coming this way. In fact, it should be here in just a few minutes.”
“Then we don’t have time for the simple things, like idle conversation,” Grenedal said to them both. Turning to Hue he continued, “Go to the people I told you about and gather them, I will check into this new menace. I will find you again.”
“Godspeed, Grenedal, and be careful.” Smiling, Hue slapped the taller man on the shoulder. Grenedal threw his cloak from his shoulders, and it settled down the middle of his back. His leathery wings unfurled and he launched himself into the cold night air.
Nomed grinned as the two disappeared into the night. As he turned, a dog stood where the man had been a moment before, and loped into an alley.
Aetheric Elements: The Rise of a Steampunk Reality Page 8
