Greenfield
Adventurer
This is a portion of our Curse of Darkness campaign that I never posted. To preface: The Gatekeepers to the Land of the Dead had gone on strike, so to speak, and had closed the gates. People could die, but their souls had noplace to go. Some stood in the Penitent's line forever, some became a haunting spirit of some sort, and those few with the strength of character could realize where they were and why, and return to their bodies. They would live on "borrowed time", which is to say that when the gates finally opened again they'd be called down.
The Gatekeepers had set a price for opening the gates again: We had to travel to the land where they didn't believe in an afterlife, and there spread the word about the land of the dead. That land was called Chin (China, in modern terms), where they believed in reincarnation.
On the road we met a Gnome named Ignominious T Padfoot, a circus acrobat by trade (or so he claimed). Also, one our company died, then made the roll to find his way back.
We pick up this tale as we enter one of the great cities of Chin, the dragon Kingdom:
Cast of Characters:
Seburn – Half Elf Barbarian 3/Wizard 6
Marcus – Human Rogue 3/Cleric 6
Imagina – Human Wizard 5/Cleric 4
Sylus – Half-Elf Ranger 5/Druid 4
Penn – Half-Satyr Bard 9
Iggy – Whisper Gnome NPC Rogue 7/Sorcerer 1
Carralon – Human NPC Merchant
*******
The wheels of the heavily laden wagons were a chorus of creaking complaints as the caravan entered the walled city of Shandu. Carralon made a show of grumbling as he paid the entry fees, but was really quite pleased. Although they’d been plagued by troubles, they’d weathered them well, and in fact had made remarkable time on their long journey.
Penn pulled his hood tighter, to shield against both the early winter cold, and against prying eyes. The last thing he needed was someone else accusing him of being a demon. They were near the end of their long road. The caravan master had said that he planned to sell about half of his goods here, then travel by river barge to the port of Tsanjin. He’d ply his trade about the country for a few months, then sail for home. But whether he left tonight or next spring, his need for caravan guards was nearly at an end.
Sylus scowled slightly as he entered the city. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong, he just didn’t like cities. Of course, they’d been traveling past villages and farm steads for weeks, but for him cities were just too many people and not enough green. The only song birds you heard there were in cages. The very thought made him ill. One thing caught his eye though. There were long, fluttering pennants beside the gate, pennants depicting an animal he’d heard of, but never seen before. It was a great cat, gold and black, and the depiction ran a chill down his spine. “I’ve seen that before.”, he said quietly. “I dreamed about a cat like that. It was huge, magnificent.” The vision so entranced him that his scowl faded, and his horse shuffled to a halt.
“Move along, don’t block the way. You can gawk later!”, barked one of the gate guards.
Sylus touched his heels to the horse’s flanks and they began to move again, but still Sylus craned his neck to look back at the banners. There was something compelling about them…
“Better watch where you’re going.”, Imagina chided him. “If you’re not careful, you might run into something you like.”
“If you want to look at tigers, go to the grand temple in the main plaza.”, Carralon laughed. “This is the City of the Tiger. It’s their emblem and their patron. In the mean time, we’re off to the inn. You’ll like it. It’s called the Teak Tiger, in fact. You can meet with us there, when you’re done sightseeing.”
“The temple is in the main plaza?”, Seburn asked. “I was told that that’s where the Palace is.”
“Aye, and the Imperial Guard as well.”, Carralon added. “The three faces of Chin are the church, the Emperor, and the army. Everything in the entire land revolves around one or more of those three.”
“Why do you care about the army?”, Marcus asked his fiery-headed friend.
Seburn drew forth a folded and sealed packet of papers. “We sold the Mongol weapons we took from the field back in Nengoa, but we get paid here.”, he reminded the others. “And since they don’t like our gold, the more of theirs we have, the better.” Then he smiled, and added, “The more gold of any kind we have, the better.”
And so the companions set their sights on the towering spires at the civic center, and tsk-ed their horses into a soft canter.
***
The crowd was quite deep in the central plaza, despite the nearness of sunset. A group of men stood on three raised dias, addressing those gathered.
“Yau Chun!”, the man in elaborate armor called, reading from a long list. “Yee Chang! Quo Leung!” The list was long, and the recitation continued. And with each name called, a young man would step forward. In some cases, if the man called was too young, an older man would hold him back and step forward in his place.
“What’s going on?”, Penn asked in a whisper.
“We are going to war, and each house must send their eldest to join the army. If the eldest is too young, or is a girl, then the father goes to service.”
“And if there is no suitable man in the family?”, Penn asked, again in a quiet voice.
“Then a duty is paid, enough to hire someone to fulfill their obligation.”, the helpful man replied. “But don’t worry, outlander. They’ll call for mercenaries soon enough. You’ll get your chance.”
Penn nodded, then drifted back to his companions to share what he’d learned.
“I guess we’ll have to wait until they’re through.”, Seburn said, impatience grating on him. He wanted his gold so he could go get a cold bath and a colder drink.
“We aren’t broke.”, Penn reminded him. “We have all that coin we found in the Ogre’s fortress. We can get paid tomorrow.” Then he saw the look of determination on his friend’s face and sighed. The hardy Scott loved his gold, and loved it most when it was in his hands.
Sylus attention was elsewhere though. The speaker had taken the center platform. To his right stood a tall man with pale skin, in robes of richly embroidered silk. His clothing and the entourage behind him marked him as a man of great importance. But to the speaker’s left stood another party of men. Their robes were simple and clean, Saffron and jet in color, and beside their leader lounged a tiger. The creature really was as large and as magnificent as depicted on the city’s standards. It seemed at ease, neither collared nor caged, and it rubbed its head against the leader with obvious affection. The hunter was entranced by the very sight of the creature.
Finally the long list was finished, and the soldier called for mercenaries or other volunteers. Many people turned to stare at Seburn and Penn, the obviously armed and armored outlanders. A way was made clear for them, and the soldier gestured, beckoning them forward. They advanced, as that seemed to be expected of them.
Penn bowed, as he had seen so many others do, and waited to be addressed.
“You have the look of warriors about you. Are you seeking employ?”, the soldier asked.
“We are already employed.”, Penn explained. “While it would be an honor to serve under your command, our current master has not yet released us from his service.”
“Then why are you not with him now?”, asked the soldier curiously, though there was a hint of accusation in his tone.
“Our caravan has just arrived this day, and our master has granted us the freedom of the city while he conducts his business. However, when he leaves in a few days, we shall accompany him once more.”
The soldier nodded, satisfied. While the smooth tongued outlander’s frightful appearance might inspire the men, he might also intimidate them, so it was probably best if such a being were not to march with them.
“Do you have other business here then?”, he asked, preparing to turn away.
“Yes, sir.”, Seburn declared, offering the sealed document. “We fought Mongol raiders before we reached Nengoa, and took trophy’s from the field. The captain of the guard there bought the weapons from us, for the army, and gave us this. We were to be paid here.”
The man unbound the folded packet, examined the seal on it, then broke the seal and began to read. “Hmm. An impressive array. How many did you lose in the fray?”
“There were six of us on duty when the raid began.”, Seburn said with a hint of pride. “Each of us accounted for four of their number, and none of us fell.”
The soldier raised an eyebrow in doubt at the boast, but then tallied the arms and armors listed, and nodded. Such men would help their cause greatly. He began to stroke his narrow beard thoughtfully.
“They came at us in waves, allowing us brief respite to regroup.”, Penn added to explain their apparently miraculous success. “I believe they were scouts who saw the caravan and got greedy. They thought they could take the whole prize for themselves.” He didn’t want to mention the use of magic, as they had been warned that the Emperor was seeking arcanists and alchemists in his quest for immortality.
“Hmm. You were lucky.”, the soldier concluded. “I’ve never heard of Mongols traveling in such small groups.” He gave the document another good look and, satisfied, folded them under his arm.
“I am Captain Yee. Seek me out tomorrow, at the training field, and I’ll see that you’re paid. I’d give you your gold now, but the paymaster’s office is closed.” He waited for the outlander’s to nod agreement, then turned smartly and marched away to join the new recruits.
***
The crowd was thinning, though some of the curious stayed to watch the demon and the red haired savage talk to the Captain. Sylus, while waiting for his friends, found himself drawn towards the temple priests, and the great cat. They had stepped down from the dias and were discussing the coming war amongst themselves. One of them saw Sylus in his plain robes and noted his almost glassy-eyed stare.
“Welcome, traveler.”, he began formally. “Do you seek the guidance of the temple?”
“I’m not sure.”, Sylus admitted, tearing his eyes away from the great cat. The man he faced was of wiry build, his head shaven, and only slightly taller than the Half-Elf himself. Yet he had a peace about him. “Centered” was the word that came to Sylus mind, as if he knew himself completely and was content with it all.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”, Sylus said, in an effort to start over. “I’ve never seen a cat like that one before, yet I’ve been dreaming about one for a week now. Each night he’d visit my dreams. He was smaller than that one, and his colors were white instead of gold, but he was the same.”
The monk was startled, a look that was startling in itself, for he had seemed beyond such things. He excused himself, gesturing for Sylus to wait there as he hurried to talk to his companions. There was much discussion, and a few looks of shock before the leader came to address Sylus directly.
“You say the spirit of the tiger visited you in your dreams. How can this be? You are an outlander, and of the forest fey. Your people neither sleep nor dream.”
“My father was of the forest fey.”, Sylus explained, adopting their local term for Elves. “My mother was not. I sleep and I dream. As for me being an outlander, well, yeah I guess I am. But I had the dreams anyway.”
There was more hurried discussion before a decision was made. “Do you seek the tiger, as he has sought you?”
“Yes.”, Sylus said firmly. “I ran with the wolf for a time, but that didn’t last. Now I know why.”
And so Sylus was ushered into the temple of the Tiger.
***
The inner courtyard was kept clean by the labors of many acolytes, and several could be seen hurrying about as Sylus entered. As he waited there more seemed to be finding reasons why their business might take them there, for he was an odd sight, and the rumors were spreading fast and furious as the iron pen was assembled.
They were confirmed when one of the senior handlers brought out a young tiger, white and black just as Sylus had envisioned. The animal was wild and anxious, pacing his cage and occasionally throwing himself against the bars in rage.
“This is the test.”, the handler explained. “You will enter when you are ready. You will either walk out together, or you won’t walk out at all. Is this truly your wish?”
Sylus nodded sharply and approached the cage. Carefully he settled down outside the bars, just beyond the reach of the great cat’s claws. He bowed to the beast, then brought his magic to bear. Soon he and the tiger were in communion.
To those who looked on, it seemed as if he had been possessed, for he rose onto all fours, his body moving in a sinuous imitation of the tiger’s own. The senior monks, however, had seen this before, and explained to the younger students: “He is now speaking to the cat as an equal. We will see if the tiger accepts him as one.”
Sylus caught the tiger’s gaze and held it with his own. “I would hunt with you, away from iron and stone walls. Will you hunt with me?”
The cat matched his stare and grew still, his posture a mirror of Sylus’ own. “I hunt quickly, in snow and silence. Cold wind, hot blood, mountains and forests. Can you hunt with me?”
Sylus replied, “My home is mountains and forests, snow and silence. I have hunted in cold night, and known hot blood. It is far from here, far from iron bars and the walls of man. The journey is far, and needs patience. Are you a patient hunter?”
And so the exchange went on. Sylus entered the pen with the creature, and they faced each other with no barriers between them.
One of the older students looked angrily to his master, questioning why such a rare prize might go to an outlander. The master silenced him with a look.
“Your heart betrays you.”, he admonished the boy. “If you enter the tiger’s home with such anger, seeking to own him, you will surely perish. See how this one moves? He seeks neither domination, nor offers submission. It’s possible that he may truly understand the spirit of the tiger. If he lives to see the sunset tomorrow, the two will be as one.”
***
The innkeeper at the Teak Tiger was surprised by the generosity of the foreign mercenaries. Carralon had taken a private room, as befit his position, and the drovers had taken a common one, each of the mercenaries wanted separate chambers. The dark skinned woman’s desire was understandable, for it would be improper for her to share a bed with any but her husband. But the horn-headed one had also asked for a private one, with a large bed. That left the red haired one and the balding one, who might have taken a shared room but chose instead to pay the extra and get private ones as well. The tiny drover had even paid for one of his own, which meant his private rooms were all but filled. He rubbed his hands together in glee, for with most of the men in town leaving to join the army this was a windfall when he needed one most.
Imagina had headed for a bath house, while Penn and the others got settled in. She could clean herself with magic just as easily as any of the others, but no flit of the fingers could match the sheer luxury of soaking in hot water, especially after weeks of travel by wagon and horseback.
When she returned, cleansed and perfumed, the front room of the inn was overflowing with people.
To the locals, travelers meant news, which was always welcome, and despite his odd appearance the foreign demon told a good story and sang well. So the music played and the rice wine flowed, and the party went on into the night.
***
“Captain Yee?”, asked the soldier on duty at the gate. “Yes, he’s working with the new recruits. You can see his standard there, at the south end. The golden Dragon.”
“Thanks.”, Seburn said casually as they left. Then he got a good look at that standard. “That’s a dragon?”, he aske in surprise. “It doesn’t have any wings.”
“I think that’s what the dragons look like around here.”, Marcus answered, though he was confused as well.
They found the Captain red faced with fury, gesturing with a fan and getting more angry with each passing moment.
To call the formation before him “disarray” was to insult disarray, and to even call what was there a “formation” was a severe stretch. The air was thick with dust and the training instructors kept shouting at them to pick up their feet as the drilled.
Seburn was inclined to wait until the Captain was ready, but Penn thought that it looked like the Captain could use an excuse. He caught the Captain’s eye and bowed with a smile.
The Captain made a slashing gesture with the fan, then stormed over to the companions.
“Calm down Captain.”, Seburn advised. “You can’t control them if you can’t control yourself.”
“Oh, I’m calm.” Said the captain with a smile, all traces of rage melting from his face. Of course, he waited until he was sure none of the soldiers could see the change. “I’ve trained raw recruits before, and these are no worse than any other. Better than many, in fact. More than half of them know their left from their right, which can’t be said for the ones from the farms. But I need them to fear me, at least to begin with.”
The Captain walked with them as he talked, explaining how a commander controlled the battlefield, and how his sub commanders could read the fan signals. The paymaster had their monies ready, and they concluded their business happily.
But before they departed the Captain had a suggestion. “If you’re looking for a few days work while you’re in town, the city guard could use some help.” He gestured towards a group of men who were already drilling with weapons. “We ended up taking almost half of the city guard last night, so their commander recruiting as well. Just kids, most of them. They need someone to help train them in street fighting. It probably won’t match your usual fees, but…”
“But it will keep us out of trouble.”, Penn finished for him, laughing.
***
The next day, Penn, Marcus, Iggy and Seburn all reported to the local constabulary.
“Iggy, I’m surprised at you. This seems out of character.”, Marcus admonished with mock severity.
“No’ really.”, the Gnome replied in his heavy Londinuim accent. “They’s recruiting kids to this job, and the little ones need to be able to stay safe. Besides, it never hurts for someone like me to get in good with the law, now does it?”
They each had their own small group to work with. Iggy taught teamwork, advising each of the smaller ones to pick a larger partner, then back them up. He showed how to flank, how to take advantage of their small size in tight quarters, and how to protect themselves.
Pen taught it almost like a dance, showing them the advantage of the light blade and the quick step.
Marcus tried (and failed) to treat them like students in a religious school. He ended up trying to inspire them with tales of Hercules, but he was no story teller, and the tales of foreign demigods left them disinterested.
Seburn tried to teach them the way of fighting from a position of strength. He worked on training dummies, showing them how to put your weight and power behind every blow, but his outlander style and barbarian fighting technique earned him little respect. Finally, infuriated by their lax attention, he laid into the practice dummy with a single power swing, releasing the stored spell from his weapon.
The result was spectacular as his blade clove clean through the timber frame, and the entire thing nearly exploded into flame.
They finished the day with mixed levels of success, and retired to the Inn for an early supper.
***
“Seburn of Dumphreys? Marcus de Roma?”, asked the guard captain as he entered the common room.
“Yes?”, the pair responded, almost in a single voice.
“The Magistrate would like to see you.”, the man said, semi-fromally.
“You two have fun.”, called Penn as the pair rose. He moved towards the clear spot by the fireplace, unlimbering his lyre as he went.
***
The pair were escorted to a small garden area where a well dressed man was just finishing his supper. They recognized him as the second most important looking man in the plaza the previous evening. An aide addressed the two outlanders.
“This is Provincial Magistrate Qwang See.” He announced, then paused expectantly.
Marcus realized that some response was expected, so he bowed to the Magistrate and replied, “I am Marcus de Roma, and this is Prince Seburn of Dumphreys.” Seburn didn’t think to bow, and after an uncomfortable moment Marcus straightened and took on an expression of interest.
The Magistrate gestured to his aide, who continued. “His excellence has heard reports of ‘Prince’ Seburn’s battle prowess, and in particular of his marvelous magical weapon. He asks if the Prince’s blade is available, as such a weapon would inspire and rally the troops in battle.”
Seburn paid attention this time and responded directly. “The blade was the dying gift from a dear friend. I couldn’t part with it.”
The aide looked at the Magistrate, who frowned slightly and tapped the arm of his chair with one finger.
“His excellence would hope to see a demonstration of its power, to be certain that what he has heard is true. He suggests that, if it can’t be sold then perhaps an exchange of gifts might be in order. He says that he has a fine collection of blades of his own.”
Seburn carefully took his blade and scabbard off, and offered them to the Magistrate’s body guard. “Better to know that the power is in the blade, not the man.”, he explained, though he had a bad feeling about what was to follow.
As training dummies were set up in the garden, he felt he had to warn the Magistrate. “The power of the blade doesn’t manifest with every strike. It needs time to regain the power.” He didn’t want to admit that he had to replace the magic in it for each use, as admitting to being a spell caster was problematic. He also wished Marcus hadn’t addressed him as “Prince”. The Magistrate was clearly skeptical of the title.
As the bodyguard drew the hand-and-a-half blade his face lit with wonder, for he felt the power stored within. He took a couple of practice swings, to get the feel of the foreign weapon, then struck at the first of the wooden forms. Again, the power of the blade flared, and the wooden manikin burst into flames.
“The power is gone, Excellence!”, the guard exclaimed in surprise. “It is still a masterful blade, but the fire is gone.”
“Fascinating!”, declared the Aide, after exchanging looks with the Magistrate. “His Excellence has never heard of a blade whose power must rest. Extrordinary.”
“Yes, it is unusual.”, Seburn agreed. “Typically the power can be used once per battle. Sometimes I use it to drop my first foe, and put the fear in my enemies, sometimes I save it to finish a mighty enemy, if such a man is present.”
Your excellence, if I may ask, why was I summoned?”, Marcus interjected.
“Oh, that.”, replied the aide, apparently reading his master’s mind again. “You preached heresy to the city guard today, did you not?”
“Well, I, uh…”, Marcus stammered, caught completely off guard.
The Magistrate looked at the Cleric with disdain, as if being forced to attend to some unpleasantness, then waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal.
“Ah, very good your Excellence.”, beamed the aide. “To the mines with him!” He then turned his attention back to Seburn. “Are you sure you couldn’t be induced to sell the blade? As you say, with proper tactical use it’s ability to inspire the men would serve our Emperor well.”
Seburn looked on in dismay as guards appeared to either side of Marcus, ready to take hold.
“I’m sorry, but the blade is not for sale.”, he finished sadly.
“Obscurous”, Marcus intoned, ducking and twisting as he did so to avoid the grasp of the guards. Instantly the region was covered in billowing, thick mists. He curled his legs beneath him, drawing into a tight ball and rolling backwards, beneath and away from the grasping hands of the guards. Then he slow-sprinted across the grassy garden, to vanish in the silent darkness beyond the circle of torchlight.
“Well, that was rude.”, came the voice of the aide from somewhere within the fog. “The guard will have him before dawn, in any case. Do you need a safe escort back to your Inn? The city can be confusing at night, particularly if you aren’t familiar with it.”
Seburn was stunned by the complete separation in the man’s attitude. To casually condemn a man to a life in the salt mines, and then pass pleasantries with the next breath.
“I think I can find my way, thank you.”, he replied, and made his way out of the mist shrouded gardens.
***
“Penn!”, came the loudly hissing wisper from the doorway. The Bard looked up and saw his friend peeking inside, but for some reason trying not to be seen. He nodded to show that he’d heard, then looked pointedly towards the rear door before continuing his song. Breaking off mid tune would draw more attention to the moment than it needed. Marcus would have to wait a minute.
When he reached the end of that ballad, he bowed, announced a short break and took his leave, making a point to leave his hat where it was, to show that he’d be returning. Even the best of us have to go out back eventually, and that was where he headed.
Marcus was standing in a deep shadow by the side alley. “Penn, I need to hide and stay hidden. They sentenced me to the mines.”
Penn looked at his friend dubiously. “What did you do this time?”, he asked.
“I just told stories, like you do.”
“If you told them the way I do, you be getting silver, instead of getting sentenced. Still, it’s not as if we didn’t expect to have at least one of us in trouble.” He drew out the drab silk sweatband they had picked up from the other travelers and handed it to Marcus. “Use this to disguise yourself. You’re a boney-thin man, about my height, with a curved scar on your right cheek where a horse kicked you. Western, not local.”, he added, as Marcus began to invoke the magic of the circlet. “You speak the local language well enough, but you have an accent. Oh, and you shouldn’t admit to speaking the local language very well. You’re jst another drover, at least until we’re clear of this city.”
By the time the pair had finished, the magic was complete, and Marcus looked like just another teamster from the caravan, and the pair went back inside together.
Seburn entered about three ballads later, and Penn smiled and nodded to him to let him know that everything was under control, at least for the moment.
***
The evening finished quietly, with a final song, a final drink, another final song, and the innkeeper finally herding the people out. Penn made it a point to share his evening’s take with the man, even though the inn had had a full evening selling rice wine and cakes.
The guard had visited several times seeking Marcus, but no one had seen him all night, and there were far too many people there to keep a secret.
Marcus bedded with Pen that evening, since his own room would be watched.
And all was quiet and restful. Until the scream…
***
The Gatekeepers had set a price for opening the gates again: We had to travel to the land where they didn't believe in an afterlife, and there spread the word about the land of the dead. That land was called Chin (China, in modern terms), where they believed in reincarnation.
On the road we met a Gnome named Ignominious T Padfoot, a circus acrobat by trade (or so he claimed). Also, one our company died, then made the roll to find his way back.
We pick up this tale as we enter one of the great cities of Chin, the dragon Kingdom:
Cast of Characters:
Seburn – Half Elf Barbarian 3/Wizard 6
Marcus – Human Rogue 3/Cleric 6
Imagina – Human Wizard 5/Cleric 4
Sylus – Half-Elf Ranger 5/Druid 4
Penn – Half-Satyr Bard 9
Iggy – Whisper Gnome NPC Rogue 7/Sorcerer 1
Carralon – Human NPC Merchant
*******
The wheels of the heavily laden wagons were a chorus of creaking complaints as the caravan entered the walled city of Shandu. Carralon made a show of grumbling as he paid the entry fees, but was really quite pleased. Although they’d been plagued by troubles, they’d weathered them well, and in fact had made remarkable time on their long journey.
Penn pulled his hood tighter, to shield against both the early winter cold, and against prying eyes. The last thing he needed was someone else accusing him of being a demon. They were near the end of their long road. The caravan master had said that he planned to sell about half of his goods here, then travel by river barge to the port of Tsanjin. He’d ply his trade about the country for a few months, then sail for home. But whether he left tonight or next spring, his need for caravan guards was nearly at an end.
Sylus scowled slightly as he entered the city. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong, he just didn’t like cities. Of course, they’d been traveling past villages and farm steads for weeks, but for him cities were just too many people and not enough green. The only song birds you heard there were in cages. The very thought made him ill. One thing caught his eye though. There were long, fluttering pennants beside the gate, pennants depicting an animal he’d heard of, but never seen before. It was a great cat, gold and black, and the depiction ran a chill down his spine. “I’ve seen that before.”, he said quietly. “I dreamed about a cat like that. It was huge, magnificent.” The vision so entranced him that his scowl faded, and his horse shuffled to a halt.
“Move along, don’t block the way. You can gawk later!”, barked one of the gate guards.
Sylus touched his heels to the horse’s flanks and they began to move again, but still Sylus craned his neck to look back at the banners. There was something compelling about them…
“Better watch where you’re going.”, Imagina chided him. “If you’re not careful, you might run into something you like.”
“If you want to look at tigers, go to the grand temple in the main plaza.”, Carralon laughed. “This is the City of the Tiger. It’s their emblem and their patron. In the mean time, we’re off to the inn. You’ll like it. It’s called the Teak Tiger, in fact. You can meet with us there, when you’re done sightseeing.”
“The temple is in the main plaza?”, Seburn asked. “I was told that that’s where the Palace is.”
“Aye, and the Imperial Guard as well.”, Carralon added. “The three faces of Chin are the church, the Emperor, and the army. Everything in the entire land revolves around one or more of those three.”
“Why do you care about the army?”, Marcus asked his fiery-headed friend.
Seburn drew forth a folded and sealed packet of papers. “We sold the Mongol weapons we took from the field back in Nengoa, but we get paid here.”, he reminded the others. “And since they don’t like our gold, the more of theirs we have, the better.” Then he smiled, and added, “The more gold of any kind we have, the better.”
And so the companions set their sights on the towering spires at the civic center, and tsk-ed their horses into a soft canter.
***
The crowd was quite deep in the central plaza, despite the nearness of sunset. A group of men stood on three raised dias, addressing those gathered.
“Yau Chun!”, the man in elaborate armor called, reading from a long list. “Yee Chang! Quo Leung!” The list was long, and the recitation continued. And with each name called, a young man would step forward. In some cases, if the man called was too young, an older man would hold him back and step forward in his place.
“What’s going on?”, Penn asked in a whisper.
“We are going to war, and each house must send their eldest to join the army. If the eldest is too young, or is a girl, then the father goes to service.”
“And if there is no suitable man in the family?”, Penn asked, again in a quiet voice.
“Then a duty is paid, enough to hire someone to fulfill their obligation.”, the helpful man replied. “But don’t worry, outlander. They’ll call for mercenaries soon enough. You’ll get your chance.”
Penn nodded, then drifted back to his companions to share what he’d learned.
“I guess we’ll have to wait until they’re through.”, Seburn said, impatience grating on him. He wanted his gold so he could go get a cold bath and a colder drink.
“We aren’t broke.”, Penn reminded him. “We have all that coin we found in the Ogre’s fortress. We can get paid tomorrow.” Then he saw the look of determination on his friend’s face and sighed. The hardy Scott loved his gold, and loved it most when it was in his hands.
Sylus attention was elsewhere though. The speaker had taken the center platform. To his right stood a tall man with pale skin, in robes of richly embroidered silk. His clothing and the entourage behind him marked him as a man of great importance. But to the speaker’s left stood another party of men. Their robes were simple and clean, Saffron and jet in color, and beside their leader lounged a tiger. The creature really was as large and as magnificent as depicted on the city’s standards. It seemed at ease, neither collared nor caged, and it rubbed its head against the leader with obvious affection. The hunter was entranced by the very sight of the creature.
Finally the long list was finished, and the soldier called for mercenaries or other volunteers. Many people turned to stare at Seburn and Penn, the obviously armed and armored outlanders. A way was made clear for them, and the soldier gestured, beckoning them forward. They advanced, as that seemed to be expected of them.
Penn bowed, as he had seen so many others do, and waited to be addressed.
“You have the look of warriors about you. Are you seeking employ?”, the soldier asked.
“We are already employed.”, Penn explained. “While it would be an honor to serve under your command, our current master has not yet released us from his service.”
“Then why are you not with him now?”, asked the soldier curiously, though there was a hint of accusation in his tone.
“Our caravan has just arrived this day, and our master has granted us the freedom of the city while he conducts his business. However, when he leaves in a few days, we shall accompany him once more.”
The soldier nodded, satisfied. While the smooth tongued outlander’s frightful appearance might inspire the men, he might also intimidate them, so it was probably best if such a being were not to march with them.
“Do you have other business here then?”, he asked, preparing to turn away.
“Yes, sir.”, Seburn declared, offering the sealed document. “We fought Mongol raiders before we reached Nengoa, and took trophy’s from the field. The captain of the guard there bought the weapons from us, for the army, and gave us this. We were to be paid here.”
The man unbound the folded packet, examined the seal on it, then broke the seal and began to read. “Hmm. An impressive array. How many did you lose in the fray?”
“There were six of us on duty when the raid began.”, Seburn said with a hint of pride. “Each of us accounted for four of their number, and none of us fell.”
The soldier raised an eyebrow in doubt at the boast, but then tallied the arms and armors listed, and nodded. Such men would help their cause greatly. He began to stroke his narrow beard thoughtfully.
“They came at us in waves, allowing us brief respite to regroup.”, Penn added to explain their apparently miraculous success. “I believe they were scouts who saw the caravan and got greedy. They thought they could take the whole prize for themselves.” He didn’t want to mention the use of magic, as they had been warned that the Emperor was seeking arcanists and alchemists in his quest for immortality.
“Hmm. You were lucky.”, the soldier concluded. “I’ve never heard of Mongols traveling in such small groups.” He gave the document another good look and, satisfied, folded them under his arm.
“I am Captain Yee. Seek me out tomorrow, at the training field, and I’ll see that you’re paid. I’d give you your gold now, but the paymaster’s office is closed.” He waited for the outlander’s to nod agreement, then turned smartly and marched away to join the new recruits.
***
The crowd was thinning, though some of the curious stayed to watch the demon and the red haired savage talk to the Captain. Sylus, while waiting for his friends, found himself drawn towards the temple priests, and the great cat. They had stepped down from the dias and were discussing the coming war amongst themselves. One of them saw Sylus in his plain robes and noted his almost glassy-eyed stare.
“Welcome, traveler.”, he began formally. “Do you seek the guidance of the temple?”
“I’m not sure.”, Sylus admitted, tearing his eyes away from the great cat. The man he faced was of wiry build, his head shaven, and only slightly taller than the Half-Elf himself. Yet he had a peace about him. “Centered” was the word that came to Sylus mind, as if he knew himself completely and was content with it all.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”, Sylus said, in an effort to start over. “I’ve never seen a cat like that one before, yet I’ve been dreaming about one for a week now. Each night he’d visit my dreams. He was smaller than that one, and his colors were white instead of gold, but he was the same.”
The monk was startled, a look that was startling in itself, for he had seemed beyond such things. He excused himself, gesturing for Sylus to wait there as he hurried to talk to his companions. There was much discussion, and a few looks of shock before the leader came to address Sylus directly.
“You say the spirit of the tiger visited you in your dreams. How can this be? You are an outlander, and of the forest fey. Your people neither sleep nor dream.”
“My father was of the forest fey.”, Sylus explained, adopting their local term for Elves. “My mother was not. I sleep and I dream. As for me being an outlander, well, yeah I guess I am. But I had the dreams anyway.”
There was more hurried discussion before a decision was made. “Do you seek the tiger, as he has sought you?”
“Yes.”, Sylus said firmly. “I ran with the wolf for a time, but that didn’t last. Now I know why.”
And so Sylus was ushered into the temple of the Tiger.
***
The inner courtyard was kept clean by the labors of many acolytes, and several could be seen hurrying about as Sylus entered. As he waited there more seemed to be finding reasons why their business might take them there, for he was an odd sight, and the rumors were spreading fast and furious as the iron pen was assembled.
They were confirmed when one of the senior handlers brought out a young tiger, white and black just as Sylus had envisioned. The animal was wild and anxious, pacing his cage and occasionally throwing himself against the bars in rage.
“This is the test.”, the handler explained. “You will enter when you are ready. You will either walk out together, or you won’t walk out at all. Is this truly your wish?”
Sylus nodded sharply and approached the cage. Carefully he settled down outside the bars, just beyond the reach of the great cat’s claws. He bowed to the beast, then brought his magic to bear. Soon he and the tiger were in communion.
To those who looked on, it seemed as if he had been possessed, for he rose onto all fours, his body moving in a sinuous imitation of the tiger’s own. The senior monks, however, had seen this before, and explained to the younger students: “He is now speaking to the cat as an equal. We will see if the tiger accepts him as one.”
Sylus caught the tiger’s gaze and held it with his own. “I would hunt with you, away from iron and stone walls. Will you hunt with me?”
The cat matched his stare and grew still, his posture a mirror of Sylus’ own. “I hunt quickly, in snow and silence. Cold wind, hot blood, mountains and forests. Can you hunt with me?”
Sylus replied, “My home is mountains and forests, snow and silence. I have hunted in cold night, and known hot blood. It is far from here, far from iron bars and the walls of man. The journey is far, and needs patience. Are you a patient hunter?”
And so the exchange went on. Sylus entered the pen with the creature, and they faced each other with no barriers between them.
One of the older students looked angrily to his master, questioning why such a rare prize might go to an outlander. The master silenced him with a look.
“Your heart betrays you.”, he admonished the boy. “If you enter the tiger’s home with such anger, seeking to own him, you will surely perish. See how this one moves? He seeks neither domination, nor offers submission. It’s possible that he may truly understand the spirit of the tiger. If he lives to see the sunset tomorrow, the two will be as one.”
***
The innkeeper at the Teak Tiger was surprised by the generosity of the foreign mercenaries. Carralon had taken a private room, as befit his position, and the drovers had taken a common one, each of the mercenaries wanted separate chambers. The dark skinned woman’s desire was understandable, for it would be improper for her to share a bed with any but her husband. But the horn-headed one had also asked for a private one, with a large bed. That left the red haired one and the balding one, who might have taken a shared room but chose instead to pay the extra and get private ones as well. The tiny drover had even paid for one of his own, which meant his private rooms were all but filled. He rubbed his hands together in glee, for with most of the men in town leaving to join the army this was a windfall when he needed one most.
Imagina had headed for a bath house, while Penn and the others got settled in. She could clean herself with magic just as easily as any of the others, but no flit of the fingers could match the sheer luxury of soaking in hot water, especially after weeks of travel by wagon and horseback.
When she returned, cleansed and perfumed, the front room of the inn was overflowing with people.
To the locals, travelers meant news, which was always welcome, and despite his odd appearance the foreign demon told a good story and sang well. So the music played and the rice wine flowed, and the party went on into the night.
***
“Captain Yee?”, asked the soldier on duty at the gate. “Yes, he’s working with the new recruits. You can see his standard there, at the south end. The golden Dragon.”
“Thanks.”, Seburn said casually as they left. Then he got a good look at that standard. “That’s a dragon?”, he aske in surprise. “It doesn’t have any wings.”
“I think that’s what the dragons look like around here.”, Marcus answered, though he was confused as well.
They found the Captain red faced with fury, gesturing with a fan and getting more angry with each passing moment.
To call the formation before him “disarray” was to insult disarray, and to even call what was there a “formation” was a severe stretch. The air was thick with dust and the training instructors kept shouting at them to pick up their feet as the drilled.
Seburn was inclined to wait until the Captain was ready, but Penn thought that it looked like the Captain could use an excuse. He caught the Captain’s eye and bowed with a smile.
The Captain made a slashing gesture with the fan, then stormed over to the companions.
“Calm down Captain.”, Seburn advised. “You can’t control them if you can’t control yourself.”
“Oh, I’m calm.” Said the captain with a smile, all traces of rage melting from his face. Of course, he waited until he was sure none of the soldiers could see the change. “I’ve trained raw recruits before, and these are no worse than any other. Better than many, in fact. More than half of them know their left from their right, which can’t be said for the ones from the farms. But I need them to fear me, at least to begin with.”
The Captain walked with them as he talked, explaining how a commander controlled the battlefield, and how his sub commanders could read the fan signals. The paymaster had their monies ready, and they concluded their business happily.
But before they departed the Captain had a suggestion. “If you’re looking for a few days work while you’re in town, the city guard could use some help.” He gestured towards a group of men who were already drilling with weapons. “We ended up taking almost half of the city guard last night, so their commander recruiting as well. Just kids, most of them. They need someone to help train them in street fighting. It probably won’t match your usual fees, but…”
“But it will keep us out of trouble.”, Penn finished for him, laughing.
***
The next day, Penn, Marcus, Iggy and Seburn all reported to the local constabulary.
“Iggy, I’m surprised at you. This seems out of character.”, Marcus admonished with mock severity.
“No’ really.”, the Gnome replied in his heavy Londinuim accent. “They’s recruiting kids to this job, and the little ones need to be able to stay safe. Besides, it never hurts for someone like me to get in good with the law, now does it?”
They each had their own small group to work with. Iggy taught teamwork, advising each of the smaller ones to pick a larger partner, then back them up. He showed how to flank, how to take advantage of their small size in tight quarters, and how to protect themselves.
Pen taught it almost like a dance, showing them the advantage of the light blade and the quick step.
Marcus tried (and failed) to treat them like students in a religious school. He ended up trying to inspire them with tales of Hercules, but he was no story teller, and the tales of foreign demigods left them disinterested.
Seburn tried to teach them the way of fighting from a position of strength. He worked on training dummies, showing them how to put your weight and power behind every blow, but his outlander style and barbarian fighting technique earned him little respect. Finally, infuriated by their lax attention, he laid into the practice dummy with a single power swing, releasing the stored spell from his weapon.
The result was spectacular as his blade clove clean through the timber frame, and the entire thing nearly exploded into flame.
They finished the day with mixed levels of success, and retired to the Inn for an early supper.
***
“Seburn of Dumphreys? Marcus de Roma?”, asked the guard captain as he entered the common room.
“Yes?”, the pair responded, almost in a single voice.
“The Magistrate would like to see you.”, the man said, semi-fromally.
“You two have fun.”, called Penn as the pair rose. He moved towards the clear spot by the fireplace, unlimbering his lyre as he went.
***
The pair were escorted to a small garden area where a well dressed man was just finishing his supper. They recognized him as the second most important looking man in the plaza the previous evening. An aide addressed the two outlanders.
“This is Provincial Magistrate Qwang See.” He announced, then paused expectantly.
Marcus realized that some response was expected, so he bowed to the Magistrate and replied, “I am Marcus de Roma, and this is Prince Seburn of Dumphreys.” Seburn didn’t think to bow, and after an uncomfortable moment Marcus straightened and took on an expression of interest.
The Magistrate gestured to his aide, who continued. “His excellence has heard reports of ‘Prince’ Seburn’s battle prowess, and in particular of his marvelous magical weapon. He asks if the Prince’s blade is available, as such a weapon would inspire and rally the troops in battle.”
Seburn paid attention this time and responded directly. “The blade was the dying gift from a dear friend. I couldn’t part with it.”
The aide looked at the Magistrate, who frowned slightly and tapped the arm of his chair with one finger.
“His excellence would hope to see a demonstration of its power, to be certain that what he has heard is true. He suggests that, if it can’t be sold then perhaps an exchange of gifts might be in order. He says that he has a fine collection of blades of his own.”
Seburn carefully took his blade and scabbard off, and offered them to the Magistrate’s body guard. “Better to know that the power is in the blade, not the man.”, he explained, though he had a bad feeling about what was to follow.
As training dummies were set up in the garden, he felt he had to warn the Magistrate. “The power of the blade doesn’t manifest with every strike. It needs time to regain the power.” He didn’t want to admit that he had to replace the magic in it for each use, as admitting to being a spell caster was problematic. He also wished Marcus hadn’t addressed him as “Prince”. The Magistrate was clearly skeptical of the title.
As the bodyguard drew the hand-and-a-half blade his face lit with wonder, for he felt the power stored within. He took a couple of practice swings, to get the feel of the foreign weapon, then struck at the first of the wooden forms. Again, the power of the blade flared, and the wooden manikin burst into flames.
“The power is gone, Excellence!”, the guard exclaimed in surprise. “It is still a masterful blade, but the fire is gone.”
“Fascinating!”, declared the Aide, after exchanging looks with the Magistrate. “His Excellence has never heard of a blade whose power must rest. Extrordinary.”
“Yes, it is unusual.”, Seburn agreed. “Typically the power can be used once per battle. Sometimes I use it to drop my first foe, and put the fear in my enemies, sometimes I save it to finish a mighty enemy, if such a man is present.”
Your excellence, if I may ask, why was I summoned?”, Marcus interjected.
“Oh, that.”, replied the aide, apparently reading his master’s mind again. “You preached heresy to the city guard today, did you not?”
“Well, I, uh…”, Marcus stammered, caught completely off guard.
The Magistrate looked at the Cleric with disdain, as if being forced to attend to some unpleasantness, then waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal.
“Ah, very good your Excellence.”, beamed the aide. “To the mines with him!” He then turned his attention back to Seburn. “Are you sure you couldn’t be induced to sell the blade? As you say, with proper tactical use it’s ability to inspire the men would serve our Emperor well.”
Seburn looked on in dismay as guards appeared to either side of Marcus, ready to take hold.
“I’m sorry, but the blade is not for sale.”, he finished sadly.
“Obscurous”, Marcus intoned, ducking and twisting as he did so to avoid the grasp of the guards. Instantly the region was covered in billowing, thick mists. He curled his legs beneath him, drawing into a tight ball and rolling backwards, beneath and away from the grasping hands of the guards. Then he slow-sprinted across the grassy garden, to vanish in the silent darkness beyond the circle of torchlight.
“Well, that was rude.”, came the voice of the aide from somewhere within the fog. “The guard will have him before dawn, in any case. Do you need a safe escort back to your Inn? The city can be confusing at night, particularly if you aren’t familiar with it.”
Seburn was stunned by the complete separation in the man’s attitude. To casually condemn a man to a life in the salt mines, and then pass pleasantries with the next breath.
“I think I can find my way, thank you.”, he replied, and made his way out of the mist shrouded gardens.
***
“Penn!”, came the loudly hissing wisper from the doorway. The Bard looked up and saw his friend peeking inside, but for some reason trying not to be seen. He nodded to show that he’d heard, then looked pointedly towards the rear door before continuing his song. Breaking off mid tune would draw more attention to the moment than it needed. Marcus would have to wait a minute.
When he reached the end of that ballad, he bowed, announced a short break and took his leave, making a point to leave his hat where it was, to show that he’d be returning. Even the best of us have to go out back eventually, and that was where he headed.
Marcus was standing in a deep shadow by the side alley. “Penn, I need to hide and stay hidden. They sentenced me to the mines.”
Penn looked at his friend dubiously. “What did you do this time?”, he asked.
“I just told stories, like you do.”
“If you told them the way I do, you be getting silver, instead of getting sentenced. Still, it’s not as if we didn’t expect to have at least one of us in trouble.” He drew out the drab silk sweatband they had picked up from the other travelers and handed it to Marcus. “Use this to disguise yourself. You’re a boney-thin man, about my height, with a curved scar on your right cheek where a horse kicked you. Western, not local.”, he added, as Marcus began to invoke the magic of the circlet. “You speak the local language well enough, but you have an accent. Oh, and you shouldn’t admit to speaking the local language very well. You’re jst another drover, at least until we’re clear of this city.”
By the time the pair had finished, the magic was complete, and Marcus looked like just another teamster from the caravan, and the pair went back inside together.
Seburn entered about three ballads later, and Penn smiled and nodded to him to let him know that everything was under control, at least for the moment.
***
The evening finished quietly, with a final song, a final drink, another final song, and the innkeeper finally herding the people out. Penn made it a point to share his evening’s take with the man, even though the inn had had a full evening selling rice wine and cakes.
The guard had visited several times seeking Marcus, but no one had seen him all night, and there were far too many people there to keep a secret.
Marcus bedded with Pen that evening, since his own room would be watched.
And all was quiet and restful. Until the scream…
***
) out.