ilgatto
How inconvenient
Swords & Spells, or: Coming of Age
Part I: Coup de foudre
Part I: Coup de foudre
Night 167: The company reach Stalag at the end of the day. They make their way through the forest of stalagmites and stalactites and across the suspended bridges to the palace, where the duergar queen receives them at once.
“Majesté!,” the chevalier sings, flourishing as elegantly and intricately as ever. “It is an honor to be in majesté’s exalted presence once more! If majesté would allow me the honor of informing majesté that our grand tour is at an end and that we are eager to avail ourselves of majesté’s backdoor to the surface – perhaps after majesté has graced us with a discussion of trade, to our mutual benefit?”
“A-a-a-h!,” the queen says. “New wine! How humans deliver? When?”
“We are at the mercy of majesté,” the chevalier replies smoothly. “Perhaps majesté would do us the honor of informing us how and when majesté wishes the goods delivered?”
And so it transpires that the chevalier has once again spoken in haste, for the proceedings soon lead to the conclusion that it would be more practical to use the exit in the old tin mine rather than ‛majesté’s backdoor’.
“A-ha-ha-ha!,” the chevalier trills. “Majesté is, as always, quite correct.”
“Humans go now,” the queen says, gesturing at one of her generals. “I have a party to attend to.”
Nights 168-172: The company spend the night on the folding boat in the cavern with the waterfall, and set out for the old tin mine early in the morning – a six-day trek ahead of them.
“We haven’t really cleared this dungeon, have we?,” Sir Eber remarks, when they have been on the road for some time.
After the laughter has died down, the company reach the cavern of the rothmen at the end of the fourth day, where they are allowed to spend the night in the settlement again. They are enjoying some rothé steaks for dinner when the chevalier brings up installing Rodlu in the old tin mine again.
“Not sure that’s the way forward, old bean,” Navarre says. “I’d rather leave the matter to Uncle Alphonse. Good man. Head for coin and all that.”
“Mon cher!,” the chevalier exclaims. “One can hardly expect a noble of the realm to spend the rest of his life in an old tin mine! I say we give Rodlu his trading post. He is much better suited to deal with the duergar than any of us.”
“I suppose one could agree to setting up Rodlu in the mine and leaving Uncle Alphonse to deal with the rest,” Navarre admits.
“He must still remain under permanent guard,” Sir Eber says. “Underlings cannot be trusted.”
“Agreed,” Navarre says. “With things the way they are, we’ll have to protect the operation from bandit raids anyway. We shall deploy a military force with troops from all four duchies of the Alliance. They can also keep an eye on what goes on in the mine.”
Night 173: Early that evening, the company reach the crack in the ceiling that leads to the long, long way up to the tunnel to the old tin mine. Now without the benefit of an experienced guide, it takes them until late in the night to spelunk, climb, and wriggle their way up to the passage. When they are about halfway to the exit, Navarre overhears the chevalier and Rodlu discussing the trading post – as one does the talking, and the other keeps his thoughts mostly to himself, except when the conversation touches on such subjects as his rewards and the prospect of having to do any work himself.
“Duergar must come to post for trade,” the chubby duergar says. “Rodlu not go down again.”
“Et voilà!,” the chevalier says, beaming at Navarre. “A shrewd trader! Why should the company pay for transporting goods any farther than the mine?”
“Is much better trade,” Rodlu agrees, a lewd smile on his face. “Rodlu buy woman before you know it.”
“Buy a woman?,” Navarre asks, raising an eyebrow. “I thought women were sacred?”
“Certainly!,” Rodlu says. “Is why womans so expensive!”
When the company finally reach the old tin mine, Sir Eber instructs his ‛team’ to remain behind and make do with the supplies the company have left until he reaches the river and can send back more. Over the past couple of ten-days, the pale humans have begun asserting themselves ever more, and presently some of them emerge from various nooks and crannies to offer him handfuls of insects and arthropods, which he bravely declines.
The chevalier says his goodbyes to Rodlu, who promises to stay in the mine and await his return.
“Rodlu put slaves to work for trading post, yes?,” the plump duergar concludes.
“A-ha-ha-ha!,” comes the chevalier’s falsetto laugh. “Et maintenant… au revoir, mon ami!”
And was that a single tear in the chevalier’s eye?
Meanwhile, Sir Oengus has reached the cave exit.
“Bad weather ahead, lubbers!,” he hollers, looking up at the sky.
Sure enough, a furious wind is already tearing at their cloaks when his noble companions join him. They look up to see the moon disappear behind the dark clouds racing across the night sky, occasionally lit by formidable strokes of lightning followed by the sound of distant thunder.
“Gentlemen,” Navarre says. “Welcome to Dauberval.”
“Coup de foudre…,” the chevalier muses, when another bolt of lightning streaks across the firmament. “Messieurs, we are at war.”
“Best hurry up then,” Navarre says, throwing off his cloak. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”
And so our noble heroes honor their tradition of diving into the small lake at the bottom of the meadow below the mine. Sir Eber is the first out of the water again, and he manages to track down a mountain goat and kill it before the rain comes gushing down – or rather, he stumbles upon a sleeping mountain goat and slits its throat without it being any the wiser.
Day 174: The sun rises in a clear sky and our noble heroes eat some of Sir Eber’s mountain goat before they start their trek down the mountain. Looking out over the mountains and forests of his homeland, Navarre realizes that he is already beginning to doubt the reality of his experiences in the Underdark. How can a world so dark truly exist? Isn’t all of this much more tangible – the open sky, the mountains stretching rimward, the vast forests to his left, the wind in his face? Indeed, he hasn’t felt as clear-headed as he does now in a long time, and he realizes that the memories of the past ten-days are already slipping away, like phantoms fading. Languidly giving in to the feeling, he wonders whether humans and duergar will ever be truly able to accept each other’s existence.
He is roused from his reverie when the chevalier blows a reveille on his trumpet and announces the ‛On départ!’. And so, after some four hours of hauling chests and rolls of silk down the mountain, our noble heroes arrive at “The Dancing Pig”, where they enjoy a farmer’s luncheon in the courtyard, surrounded by chickens and goats.
When they eventually continue their way down the mountain, our noble heroes soon reach the river, and then the small settlement downstream later that afternoon. Here, everything turns out to be business as usual, as it were, with the townsfolk once again proving unable – or perhaps unwilling – to provide their betters with any news of Mim and the war.
And so, eager to get the matter of the wine and gifts for the duergar queen out of the way, Navarre suggests a visit to the local wine merchant.
“Primeur in yet, my good man?,” he asks, barging into the establishment.
“Maturing as we speak, my lord,” the merchant replies with a slight nod. “Perhaps my lord would be interested in some Lillac of the finest vintage?”
“Not today, old boy,” Navarre says. “Rather looking for some plonk, you see.”
“Certainly, my lord,” the merchant says, admirably straight-faced. “What would his lordship have in mind?”
“Doesn’t really matter, old sport,” Navarre says. “Whatever you can supply in large quantities.”
After the merchant has informed them that he may well be able to provide about five hundred liters of a mixture of various wines of this year’s harvest at a reasonable price, our noble heroes inform him that someone will contact him at a later date and bid him good day. Next, they sell the copper ware from Low-Ball and two rolls of the best quality spidersilk for a grand total of one hundred and seventy-five gold coins, netting them a decent profit of fifty-nine gold – enough for the wine – and still leaving them with the remaining roll of first-quality spidersilk to do with as they please.
Then, obviously long bored with the proceedings, both Sir Eber and Sir Oengus announce that they will leave their noble fellows to it – the first to buy horses, and the second to see if he can learn anything about Mim’s barge at the jetties.
This leaves Navarre, the chevalier, and Sir Suvali to discuss their profits and what to do with them. When the subject of whether they should travel on to the capital today or tomorrow comes up, the chevalier nudges Navarre.
“Do take care of the details, will you, mon cher?,” he says, spying what can only be a house of ill-repute. “I’ve got an itch to scratch.”
“Indeed,” Navarre muses, when his noble friend has disappeared and he finds that the sorcerer is equally nowhere to be seen. So he heads for a small inn and spends the afternoon drinking beer and pondering the war. When evening falls, Sir Oengus finds him on the terrace, watching the sun set.
“Pint of?,” Navarre asks, pointing to his mug and rising from his chair.
When he returns and the noble duo have taken a couple of swigs from their beer, Sir Oengus explains that he has not learned anything new from the bargemen, but that he has arranged passage on a barge to the capital tomorrow.
“Old salt name of Butter,” he adds, emptying his mug and calling for a refill. “Not one I would trust with my life, but all the best captains have been enlisted.”
Some time later, Sir Eber joins them and announces that he has traded his dwarven armor for two horses and the necessary equipment.
“Sarazin still at it?,” he asks, when the noble trio have had dinner and the amorous chevalier hasn’t shown up yet.
“It would seem so,” Navarre says.
And so Sir Eber kicks the chevalier out of the bordello and our noble heroes spend the night at the inn.
Day 175: That morning, after a hearty breakfast and with the sun out in all its glory, our noble heroes board captain Butter’s barge.
“What’s with the barge?,” Sir Suvali asks his noble fellows when he is on board. “We have a ship.”
“Ah, yes,” Sir Oengus replies. “I may have forgotten about that.”
Much to their astonishment, the rest of our noble heroes realize that they, too, haven’t given the folding boat a second thought. Fleeting memories indeed.
Some four hours later, the barge docks at the ducal jetties just down the river from the capital, and our noble heroes are soon on their way to the Dauberval family barrows. Keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of the traitorous Mim and his rebels, Navarre is first through the gates, to find servants hurrying to and fro, unloading carts, and hauling chests and coffers into the barrows. Not sure what to make of it at first, he suddenly realizes that his noble father and mother must have returned from the mountain castle, where the family summers. When he sees his noble father appear at the doors of the great barrow in the company of his master-of-arms, he hurries to intercept them.
“Ah, son!,” the Duke of Dauberval says when he notices him. “My dear boy! Where have you been all summer?”
“We have been… preparing for the war, father,” Navarre says, quickly deciding that now might not be the time to inform his noble father of duergar and Underdarks. “May I reintroduce my friends?”
“Indeed,” his noble father replies, absentmindedly surveying the bewhiskered assembly. “Well, best foot forward!”
“I say,” Navarre says, before his noble father can turn to the master-at-arms again. “What of Mim?”
“Ah, yes,” the duke says. “Taken himself to the mainland as I understand it.”
“The mainland? Where?”
“I believe it was Sarazin.”
“What?!,” Navarre and the chevalier exclaim almost in unison. “Sarazin?! How so? By Olm! The nerve of the fellow!”
“Just so,” the duke agrees. “Well, perhaps not Sarazin as such but rather the Lake District, and in Palava at that.”
“Mon duc,” the chevalier begins, with a graceful gesture. “De Sarazin. Is there any news as to the number of men the duke currently has at his disposal?”
“A hundred and fifty of his own men,” the duke says. “Then there’s infantry from Palava, Bagabuxsha, Thuxra. Some former Royal Navy. Current estimate is around four hundred and fifty in total.”
The duke has a good look at our noble heroes.
“Indeed,” he says. “Well, I’d say this calls for a late breakfast, what? I’m sure there must be some cider around here somewhere.”
Our noble heroes spend the day at the Dauberval barrows, where a late breakfast turns into lunch, then into dinner. The war and the traitorous Mim are not mentioned again until the women have retired, the servants have cleared the table, and some of the duke’s military commanders start spreading out maps on it. Servants bring in a selection of brandies, ciders, and cigars, and our noble heroes spend the evening discussing the war with some twenty Dauberval nobles.
“All in all, the fellow has rather done us a favor by landing his troops,” the duke says, when the meeting is nearing its end. “We will move when the mud has gone.”
“A winter campaign,” the chevalier agrees.
“Just so,” the duke says, pointing at some maps. “An ultimatum will be issued once Nisibis has rallied its troops – here. Best lend some force to the argument and all that. If no answer comes, we will join forces and march to the field of battle en force. Troops will advance along the shore – like so. Supplies will follow in barges.”
“An ultimatum,” Sir Oengus says. “That leaves us ample time to harass his troops and inflict some damage.”
“I beg your pardon?,” the duke says, throwing him a sharp look. “My dear fellow! This is war, not some bar room brawl! One cannot simply start ‛harassing’ people without due warning! There are procedures to follow!”
If anything, the meeting has made it clear once again that the assembled Dauberval noblesse do not think much of the unorthodox ideas some of our noble heroes bring to the table. And so, when the nobles have retired, our noble heroes open another bottle and discuss what to do with the time they have left before winter comes and the armies march – albeit without Sir Suvali, who has long since left for Nisibis on some errand of his own.
Numerous plans of action are discussed – to their ever louder guffaws and boisterous exclamations – and a respectable amount of the best cider the ducal cellars have to offer is consumed. Sir Oengus keeps speaking of armored barges and water liners, the latter being his supposed unit of specially trained ‛marines’ he has yet to meet; Sir Eber of anything and everything involving the abundant shedding of blood, usually against overwhelming odds, and ranging from raiding supply lines and attacking scouting parties to just charging into Mim’s camp and taking it from there; the chevalier of heavy infantry, leading cavalry charges, the situation on King’s Lake, attacking blockades and crippling Mim’s fleet, an assault on Apple Island, and spies being everywhere; and Navarre of the betrayal of trust given, throwing the traitorous Mim the gauntlet to make him answer for his conduct unbecoming, of rather being against commando-style actions, and calling for caution in general.
In the end, all agree that they are quite tired of having to rely on second- and even-worse-hand information all the time, and they decide that they will ride out to the lakeside to have a look at Mim’s encampment for themselves – which has the added advantage that they will pass one of his blockades at the mouth of the River Dusk, and that they will be close at hand should developments offer them a chance to engage either the traitorous duke himself or any of his troops.
“I say we take Apple Island regardless,” the chevalier suggests at some point, as he opens another bottle.
“I quite agree,” Navarre says, emptying his glass. “If only for symbolic effect. Reclaiming King’s Castle for the Alliance will invalidate Mim’s claim to the throne – effectively exposing him for the rebel he is. No throne, no king, I say – a notion that will be understood by commoners and nobles alike.”
“Excellent,” the chevalier says. “Oengus? Send in the marines!”
“Hold yer horses, lubber,” Sir Oengus says. “My water liners won’t attack anything until they’ve had a look-see first. And they sure as hell won’t attack just because you say so, by thunder!”
Long before this, Sir Suvali has crossed the River Dusk and located the bivouac of the Nisibis army – currently under the command of Sir Oengus’ noble sister. He is granted an audience and informs her, perhaps among other things that have not been recorded, that “Navarre has ordered the arrest of the traitorous Mim” and that “he will challenge him to a duel”. When asked whether this duel will be fought by Navarre himself, the sorcerer declares that his noble fellow will not make use of his right to put a champion in the field and that he will fight the traitor himself. Which just goes to show that, even when he is alone, there’s only little the vainglorious sorcerer won’t do to claim the stage for himself.
After this, it seems that he also contacts one Shayla, apparently the head of the chevalier’s ‛secret spy service’, who informs him that Mim has some fifty cavalry in addition to the troops Duke Dauberval mentioned earlier that day; that some ninety percent of his troops are estimated to be on the mainland, probably leaving Apple Island largely deserted; that he has established blockades on all rivers leading to King’s Lake, and is imposing heavy taxes on all traffic seeking passage; and that he has called for negotiations.
The sorcerer returns to Dauberval late that night and informs his, by now quite inebriated, noble fellows of the results of his mission.
“‛Called for negotiations’? Ha!,” Navarre scoffs. “Negotiate with a traitor? Whatever will be next!”
Day 176: After an early breakfast, our noble heroes board captain Butter’s barge again. Sir Eber brings his two horses on board, and he now also has two Irish wolfhounds, which he seems to have commandeered from the ducal kennels. When they arrive in Sarazin, Sir Oengus pays captain Butter the princely sum of three gold coins. Then, as usual, there is a change of plan: Sir Oengus and Sir Suvali announce that they will continue the journey on the folding boat, and rejoin the others a couple of miles before the first blockade. And so it is that just Sir Eber, Navarre, and the chevalier disembark in Sarazin, where the latter commandeers three more horses and the trek down the River Dusk commences.
With the weather worsening and the traffic and number of buildings steadily increasing as they draw closer to King’s Lake, the noble trio have been on the road for some four hours when Navarre notices that a lone rider has been following them for some time. He alerts his noble fellows, upon which Sir Eber dismounts and disappears into the fog rising among the trees to wait for the man, and the others continue riding at a slow pace.
And sure enough, a rider comes into view only minutes later. Staying low, he starts moving back to the road, and he is within twenty yards of him when the man notices him. Suppressing a curse, Sir Eber draws his bow and fires two shots, hitting the man once for a respectable amount of damage. When the rider leaps from the saddle and starts running, Sir Eber draws his swords and gives chase, soon catching up and hitting the man twice, aiming to knock him out rather than kill him.
“Goddammit!,” the rider curses, fumbling for his short sword.
“Surrender!,” Sir Eber commands, staying his next attack.
“Wot’s innit for me then?,” the rider asks, after he has sized up his opponent for a moment and decided that he’d better come down a peg or two if he wants to survive the encounter.
“Your life.”
“Spit on it?”
“Naturally.”
The rider lowers his sword and surrenders.
“Come along,” Sir Eber says, after disarming him and whistling for his dogs. Bothersome lot, dogs.
When the our noble hero rejoins his noble fellows down the road, the chevalier opens the proceedings in his usual flamboyant manner.
“Filthy spy!,” he exclaims. “Hateful traitor! Speak, or face death!”
“Hold yer horses, fella,” the rider says, taking a few steps back. “I’m just a hired hand!”
“I remind you that you are addressing a peer of the realm, sir,” Navarre says frostily. “Well? Out with it! Who hired you?”
“I’m from Nisibis,” the man replies.
“Are you now?,” Navarre says. “In that case, you surely won’t mind telling me the name of the duke’s daughter. Well? Out with it!”
The rider glances at him uneasily.
“Quite,” Navarre says, getting back into the saddle. “Bring him along. He can explain himself to Oengus tomorrow.”
Day 179: The noble trio join Sir Oengus and Sir Suvali at the meeting point later that morning.
“This one of yours?,” the chevalier asks Sir Oengus as he brings the prisoner on board.
“No,” Sir Oengus replies.
“I serve the rightful king!,” the prisoner suddenly yells, thus spilling the beans without further ado.
“That’s it,” Navarre says grimly. “It’s going to be a court-martial for you, my friend. Does anybody have a rope?”
“No hangings,” Sir Eber says. “I have given my word. Harm him, and answer to me.”
