This and That
See post.
did ainhorr et al survive and escape the battle?
Yes. Or at least, Ainhorr himself did.
Discern Location by Mostin placed Ainhorr firmly on the 42nd layer of the Abyss.
**
Nwm sped westwards in vaporous form.
After his return from Khu, the Druid had felt depressed at sinking back into the routine on the Blackwater meadow – the pavillions, and tents, and feasts and objectionable behaviour of many of Trempa’s nobility. The tedious wait for Rintrah to manifest himself to Eadric, and instruct the Paladin on his next course of action. Nwm had
scried Hullu, and determined to find out what the Tunthi warrior – and unlikely star in the Uediian resistance in Hethio – was doing.
He arrived, after a three-hour flight, in an isolated glade deep within an area of forest dominated by elm trees of large size. Around a hundred people of both sexes had formed an encampment. Nwm was surprised at its organization, until he remembered that Hullu’s experience extended beyond the lonely plateau of Tun Hartha – he had served as a mercenary as far afield as the southern Thalassine.
A trench had been dug, and a dike raised, encircling an area of around three acres. A wooden rampart had been built and a catwalk ran along its length, and the outer wall of both the trench and dike had been faced with stone gathered with labour from nearby streams. As the Druid descended, he moved through plumes of smoke issuing from a large smithy, and the sound of hammers ringing reached his ears. There were stables, a granary, latrines and a dozen other buildings, constructed hastily but efficiently from timber.
Nwm materialized in front of Hullu, who was teaching a girl of around eight years how to shoot a longbow.
"She’s a bit young, don’t you think?" The Druid asked.
"No," Hullu replied. His unmistakable accent reminded Nwm immediately of his strange experiences upon the plateau.
"You’ve been busy." Nwm said. "I’m surprised that you’ve had time to conduct raids as well."
"Half of the camp is currently out on a mission," Hullu said, stretching. "They are dealing with a punitive exercise mounted by the Temple. My informants told me about it three days ago – the night that you visited the Temple."
Nwm arched an eyebrow. "News travels fast," he said.
"Did you kill him?" Hullu asked.
"No," the Druid replied.
"Pity," said Hullu. "I can’t offer you anything to drink, I’m afraid. The beer won’t be ready for another two months."
"You are making
beer?"
"Certainly," Hullu grinned. "The brewery went up before the stockade was even finished. Priorities are priorities, after all."
"Yes, I suppose so," Nwm agreed.
**
"We have over a hundred
bagaudas who are battle-worthy here," Hullu said. He sat, cross-legged upon the floor of a modest hut with sparse furnishings. "Maybe fifty more who are untested, but enthusiastic. The rest are children."
"Victims of persecution?" The Druid asked.
"Indirectly, for the most part," Hullu replied. "Many were forced from their homes when the tax burden became too high – they fled rather than face indentureship. A few were targeted by Oronthonian zealots, and had their homes burned. Ironically, these were the wealthier ones."
"I wonder why you yourself are not on the raid that you mentioned," Nwm said.
Hullu laughed. "Perhaps I am a coward at heart. Or perhaps I recognize the need to depute responsibility, and foster a sense of autonomy in those who follow me," he said acidly.
"Sorry," Nwm apologized. "I don’t mean to question your leadership skills. Who is leading the raid?"
"A woman named Tarva. She is being advised by one of yours, a Druid called Bodb. Do you know him?"
"I can’t say that I do," Nwm replied. "Is there anything that you need? Anything that I can provide? Resources that you lack?"
"Mail shirts. Leather goods. Harnesses for horses. Blankets. Another three or four fletchers. Saws and axes. Rope. Oil. Around half a ton of cast iron. Bows. Knives, daggers and swords. Pikes. Shields and helmets. Livestock."
"Hmm," Nwm said. "I’ll give it some thought."
"We’ve raided several chapels and ambushed a few caravans," Hullu pointed out. "So we’ve got silver and gold to pay for it. Transportation is awkward, though, and it takes a long time to make these things from scratch. I’ve tried to discourage my
bagaudas from stealing from the Oronthonian farmers, however. I see them as largely blameless in this affair."
"I understand," Nwm replied. "I’ll do my best. But please, Hullu, the others here must
not find out that I am provisioning you."
"As if they could possibly think that," Hullu remarked drily.
When Nwm exited the cabin, a hundred people stood in awed silence and gazed at him: something which seemed to justify Hullu’s cynicism.
**
"Greetings," Mostin said. "I’ve never met an Arcanaloth before."
Xerulko, cloaked and jackal-headed, stood within the thaumaturgic diagram devised by Shomei. His hauteur, combined with a vicious sneer, bespoke one used to command, at ease with his own power. The Alienist’s curiosity had compelled him to meet the daemon.
Hmm, he looks tricky, Mostin thought.
"Aah, the little Alienist. The
Xenomagulus." Xerulko mocked. "Have you come to tempt me with sweet offers?"
"Hardly," Mostin said, sitting in a comfortable chair. "I just came to gloat. Shomei is the one you should be worried about."
"She and I will strike a bargain before long. I know her sort. You, however, Mostin the Subgnostic, are now officially on Prince Graz’zt’s wish list for ‘items required delivered.’ I think you rank around fifth or sixth, after the Paladin, the Succubus, your elementalist friend and, probably, one or two others who were present. After all, you aren’t that important."
Mostin shifted uneasily. He hadn’t intended to draw Mulissu into the equation.
"If Graz’zt continues in this vein, he will quickly find himself running out of powerful vassals," Mostin said. "He has already lost a Succubus, a Marilith, two Nalfeshnees, his favourite Cambion and a Balor to this enterprise. And poor Ainhorr has a broken sword. Perhaps Prince Big Ears can let him borrow his, for a while. I do trust they made it back alright? Being chased by Celestials can be quite harrowing."
Xerulko said nothing, but gave a condescending smile.
"As for you," Mostin continued, "I believe that you are due to be collected in a few hours. Titivilus will be arriving through a
Gate opened by Shomei, with a group of Pit Fiends to escort you back to Dis. I’m sure that a suitable punishment will be devised for you."
Xerulko hissed, and then laughed. But Mostin had already anticipated his next words.
"If you do somehow convince your captors of your new loyalty," the Alienist said, "remember this: you are easily called, bound and obliterated. I do not fear you. Remember Rurunoth."
The Arcanaloth peered at Mostin through narrow eyes.
Mostin turned away, and grinned to himself. But before he left Shomei’s manse, he spoke with the witch again.
"Some of what you have said has merit, Shomei. You could impress upon the infernal embassy that I have no quarrel with Hell, and my work will henceforth concentrate on the Far Realms. Give my respects to Duke Titivilus."
"Will you not stay, and meet him?" Shomei asked, disappointed.
"I think not," Mostin replied.
**
"I will need to borrow your
Portable Hole," Nwm said to Mostin. "And your mirror, if you please."
Mostin scowled. "The hole. You will be putting armour, and weapons, and provisions in it?"
"Yes," the Druid replied. "I have made arrangements with a number of merchants in Fumaril. I
Wind Walked there yesterday. With your mirror, I can make the quick transports that I need. I chose the Thalassine, so as not to attract any attention. And the quality of goods is high."
"Oh very well," Mostin said. "But make it quick."
"I will be done in an hour or so," Nwm said. "Oh, and I’ll be transporting pigs as well. And chickens. And a cow. Or three."
Mostin gaped.
"Fresh milk is important in a healthy diet, Mostin."
Mostin gaped again.
"I’ll clean it out afterwards," the Druid assured him.
"Damn right you will."
Nwm’s transports turned out to occupy most of rest of the day, and half of the next. Around twenty thousand Wyrish crowns – much of it in the form of hard currency, but a considerable portion of it in church icons – found its way from Hullu’s encampment into the pockets and chests of several Thalassine merchants of dubious repute. The Druid assumed the guise of a Wyrish agent employed by a mercenary cadre working out of Jashat – an utterly plausible ruse, given the ubiquitousness of such organizations in the Thalassine itself.
After consulting with Hullu, Nwm purchased forty heavy crossbows in addition to the longbows which the Tunthi tribesman had initially requested. As Hullu pointed out, any idiot could shoot one of those, and even the untrained members of his group could dish it out to mounted soldiers if they ambushed them with crossbows.
Hullu’s
bagaudas were suddenly better armed than most Temple auxiliaries.
**
Eadric sat within the tower room of Hartha Keep with Mostin, Nehael, Ortwin and Nwm.
Diplomacy was the topic of conversation.
"I should speak to the King as a concerned Fey," Ortwin suggested. "Fear of Temple persecution, fear of woodlands being ruthlessly burned – those near Deorham being a good example. That sort of thing."
Eadric looked sceptical. "It’s rather duplicitous, don’t you think."
"Why?" Ortwin asked. "I
am concerned, and I
am a Fey. It makes perfect sense to me. Don’t the Feys make occasional trips to Morne?"
"I’ve never heard of it happening," Nwm said. "Fairs near small market towns at Midsummer, yes – and even then, usually in disguise. Morne, no."
"Well, perhaps it’s about time they did," Ortwin grumbled.
"Feys are connected with the Old Religion," Nwm said. "They are part of Wyre’s ‘Pagan Past.’ I’m not sure that they’d be very well received at the Royal Palace, especially given the current feelings toward Uediians. You might just as well ask a Demon to make a representation – no offense intended, Nehael."
"None taken," the Succubus replied.
"In any case, getting an audience will be difficult," Eadric pointed out. "Usually, as a landed Aristocrat, the king would be obliged to grant me a hearing. Given our heretical status, however, I’m not sure that would apply. Besides which, he is under no obligation to grant me an audience
soon. Some members of the nobility – notably those who have fallen out of favour, or those with minor titles and estates – wait months for a five-minute hearing. I’m afraid that I fall into both categories."
"You could always marry Soraine," Ortwin said. "As Duke of Trempa, you’d have some clout."
"Ortwin, Marriage is a sacrament, blessed by…"
"Or perhaps you’re just afraid to carry out your matrimonial duties," the Bard continued unashamedly. "After all, she is, what, seventy now? But you’ll have to start thinking about this kind of thing soon, Ed. Marriage is a powerful political tool. If you want to stay in the arena, you’ll end up wedded. Its inevitable."
"Shut up, Ortwin," Eadric said. "What would you do, Mostin?"
"If I were a political animal – which, of course, I am not, because that would violate the Great Injunction," he coughed, and stroked Mogus. "If I were, however, I would marry the Duchess, storm and secure the palace, assassinate the king, usurp the crown, and retroengineer all of my bloodlines to validate my claim to the throne. I would then begin to ruthlessly suppress any resistance to my rule, and have all of my chief rivals murdered. That’s the way it’s usually done, isn’t it? Except, in your case, you could claim divine right as well. I would declare myself Eadric I, Holy Emperor of Wyre and the Voice of Oronthon on Earth. I would unite Church and State into a single, seamless body. I would also issue commands to the effect that all avians must be shot on sight. A golden, birdless era of peace and prosperity would dawn across Wyre."
Eadric sighed.
"However," Mostin continued, "I realize that you may not have the stomach for such an enterprise. I would therefore speak to whoever holds the reins of power. The King is largely an irrelevance."
"That’s true to a point," Eadric conceded, "but his approval is still required for any course of action that is proposed."
"Who are the movers and shakers, behind the scenes?" Nwm asked.
Eadric thought for a while. "Besides the Temple influence at court, which is considerable, there is Tagur, both the Prince of Einir and Tiuhan’s cousin; Sihu, the Duchess of Tomur; his Chamberlain, Lord Foide of Lang Herath; Jholion, the Marquis of Methelhar – Brey’s Uncle, incidentally; Shiel, the Duke of Jiuhu – who is much more conservative than that town’s Bishop; Attar, the Warden of the Northen March; Skilla, the…"
"I get the picture," Ortwin interrupted. "Who can we apply leverage to?"
Eadric shrugged. "It’s a shame that both Soraine and the Marquis of Iald are now
personae non gratae. Both were once held in high esteem in the court."
"Is Soraine related to the king?" Nwm asked.
"They
all are," Ortwin groaned. "It’s just one, big, in-bred family party with generations of feuding thrown in for good measure. They’re a bunch of back-stabbing, worthless scum who leech off of everyone else. Except Ed, here, obviously." The Bard grinned charmingly.
"If I were to pick one to ‘apply leverage’ to, as you put it, it would be the Prince of Einir," Eadric said.
"Then we should go to Gibilrazen and speak with
him."
"He has a summer palace outside of Morne, as well," Eadric said.
"I’m sure he does," Ortwin said sarcastically.
