Following the conclusion of the strange partial sacking conducted by the Kharal I did not enter Summugigus. Few did. The attacking force retained control of the walls and roads long enough to receive the tribute payment they demanded and departed very swiftly once it was obtained. It is my understanding that the warband was very short of forage and needed to move on before their animals faced potential starvation. The local residents had already begun restoring the defenses from the moment the attack ended. With many stores plundered by the Kharal, it is certain that the city would face severe hardships prior to planting season, and the loss of wealth from the attack might well be felt for a generation. Despite this, it seemed they would endure regardless.
Many others left the city, swiftly following on the heels of the Kharal host. This included most of the merchants and mercenaries remaining in the city, and not entirely of their own volition. Though it was still a season of immense hardship and greatly dangerous travel, the merchants took to the road with whatever goods they could scrounge in the certain knowledge that a failure to leave would result in the seizure of their assets by the new prince, whoever that might be. Many, in an effort to acquire goods for sale, traded with the victorious warriors at a severe disadvantage and then departed with all speed. They knew the risks of travel at this time were great, but had little choice but to dare the winter’s wrath. The mercenaries, who had mostly avoided participation in the battle while standing sentry at the private compounds of various rich families, were perhaps in even worse straits. Many were completely shorted of their pay by those families, who no longer had any assets of their own but retained the ability to use knives in the dark if necessary. With the city impoverished new contracts were impossible, and many took work serving the merchants as guards with wages paid only in food. Such are the vagaries of mercenary life.
General Simumsanind, to my considerable surprise, kept his promise to provide me an escort south, though he did so by means of conscripting a merchant, Master En Nemin, to the task. An easterner from one of the small and isolated oasis communities who left home long ago to live a wandering life as a trader, he was aging, and though his hair and beard were still black, they had grown wild. He often held his ledgers very close to his face by lamplight, suggesting failing vision as well, but his knowledge of the ways of the steppe had not faded and he openly declared his intention to die in the saddle while on the road. His enterprise was a small one, two dozen camels, four horses, and a mere ten men to watch and guide them. These caravaneers were rugged castaways with strange pasts from origins scattered across the world. They spoke poorly articulated Nikkad when inclined to use words, but seemed to prefer a reliance upon gestures and expressive grunts, a method that served them capable enough. The camels were loaded down with rolls of felt, sheepskins, and a considerable quantity of marmot hides. These goods, being common products of the Kharal, are abundant throughout much of Shdustu and were of limited trade value, but Master Nemin appeared quite content to make the journey with these commodities regardless.
To supply a guard, the General utilized his spoils to hire a small squadron of the Stone Shields mercenary company, at a bargain price. In some sense, it might be said that the prince did, ultimately aid the Dragon Expedition. These soldiers were from the south, of mixed Nikkad and Rutar heritage, with several having been born amid mercenary companies. Five were pikemen and five were archers, serving under the command of one Sergeant Tarn, whose named was simply a bit of Rutar origin slang meaning ‘soldier.’ Like the caravaneers, they mostly conversed in broken Nikkad, though Tarn could speak tolerable Kharal, well enough to avoid insults when bartering with the herders. These men were capable fighters, though I confess I wished their number had been greater.
The Lady Indili, left unscathed by the battle, simply walked out of the city and attached herself to this modest company without the least fanfare. An overly aggressive Kharal sentry attempted to impede her and lost a considerable portion of his right thigh to a shark-shade for his temerity. General Simumsanind thanked the sorceress for her restraint and ordered the fool paraded past the rest of his soldiers as a lesson in the prerogatives of sorcerers. I had hoped to recruit another mystic to join the expedition, believing I could lure them to our side with stories of dragons and dryads, but all were in far too great demand in the aftermath of the battle and the attempt came to nothing. The general exodus from the city did allow me to hire a pair of Bronze Grass Explorers, members of Shdustu’s modest treasure hunting society, to assist our little enterprise. These two, an unofficial but obvious couple named Inumun and Kahunu, were Kharal by birth but had abandoned the pastoralist life for the wanderer’s path. The circumstances behind this were somewhat uncertain. I believe it had something to do with the complex network of marriage alliances common to Kharal clans, but they did not volunteer an explanation and I did not press for details. Additional pathfinding, especially as snow still covered the ground in most areas, was welcome.
We departed on the twenty-first day of the third month, with limited provisions available but contacts among the Kharal living to the south of the river and a pass granted by General Simumsanind to secure our unmolested progress. Master Nemin set a slow pace, unwilling to push hard. He said that snow tires the camels and that we must husband our strength against the possibility of a late season blizzard. The old merchant had cultivated a remarkable friendship with the local Kharal, allowing us to pass most nights in their company. He conducted minor exchanges and offered small gifts in return for hot meals. Somehow, he had acquired a supply of glass beads from the victorious soldiers after the sacking and these were highly in demand. Progress was sluggish, but spirits remained high despite the bitter cold. As I had not expected to start south for another month at least, I felt no need to push for greater speed. Many other merchants, desperate to recover whatever trade initiative they could, had pushed on much harder, and Master Nemin confided to me that bandits, unpaid mercenaries, starving Sunfire Cultists, and rogue Nikkad soldiers would all launch attacks on the lead element of the exodus, and he was happy to move slowly and allow others to absorb this violence. It seems that such surges in low-level conflict inevitably follow major battles, a natural consequence of the lack of any strong authority imposed on the landscape.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
After fifteen days of progress, we stopped outside the small town of Sisinginu, which held the first point of barge-capable navigation on a modest tributary of the Mumum River. It had been hoped that we could replenish provisions here and perhaps exchange some animals, as is done during ordinary times, but the local viceroy had closed the city and shuttered the caravanserai, allowing no admittance of any kind. Ostensibly this policy was to guard the city against Kharal aggression, but it was more likely that this man feared assassination for his failure to march in support of Summugigus. I would learn later that this ruler, and many others, escaped death by obeying a recall from the new prince but was ultimately reduced to commoner status. This action was widely considered a demonstration of restraint and reconciliation from the new ruler that won considerable praise.
The inability to resupply at this point was troubling, especially as the next leg of the southern trade route took us past the Indulum Badlands, a rugged and hostile area with little grass cover and few Kharal residents. Though we had sufficient food for ourselves, fodder was becoming a matter of concern and several of the camels had begun to look somewhat thin. Such limited margins greatly increased the danger attached to potential storms, which might force a halt lasting many days. Thereafter all watched the skies with trepidation, and nightly prayers increased in length and volume.
Four days later, with the bare brown-red buttes of dry and desolate badlands filling the view to our right, Master Nemin stopped, stared for long minutes at the sky, and solemnly proclaimed a storm was coming. He declared that the company should turn westward and make a forced march deep into the badlands to seek out succor in the secluded town of Bishdunumul, a Nikkad settlement on the shore of the hidden lake of the same name that lies in the center of the badlands plateau. There, he said, we could wait out the storm and find the necessary supplies to continue south. Sergeant Tarn opposed this, saying that the town did not exist, that it was nothing but old stories, and that going into the badlands would leave us stranded beyond all aid.
As nominal commander of the expedition, the decision fell to me, something I dreaded. The burden of command is not one I ever desired, and the weight of this choice was one I felt very heavily. Erun would have made the decision with confidence and convinced all to obey. For myself, I could rely only on knowledge acquired elsewhere and a trust in the capabilities of my fellow cartographers. I had studied many maps in Summugigus, and the lake was well-marked upon them. Its location also matched Master Nemin’s descriptions of the passage into the badlands. Even if Bishdunumul represented nothing more than a shoreside camp, that offered more shelter than we were likely to find elsewhere, for a survey of the surrounding hills revealed them to be empty of yurts. I could not predict a storm from the clouds, but with as many difficulties as there had been, it felt appropriate to sacrifice speed for safety.
The mercenaries grumbled, but only for a day. Late that night, snow began to fall. A spring snow, wet and thick, the worst kind. Normally, Shdustu’s intense cold and generally dry environment means that even the worst winter blizzards are dry and loose, light and powdery. This blows about easily, leaving high points mostly bare and filling ditches and valleys with vast volumes. Trails, which follow high paths to avoid mud in any case, remain passable once blowing winds have ceased. In spring, at the edge of the melt and with the air full and damp, this changes, and the snow falls in large flakes that stick and cling. This renders all things wet and soaking and does not clear from paths. To fight through the bulk and volume of such snow quickly exhausts man and beast alike. The Kharal fear such snows, for they weaken their stock in the critical time prior to calving. Pregnancies will fail, calves will die, and elderly animals perish in those years when spring snows come hard. Disease also spreads in the aftermath of such fell events. Such tragedies were unleashed in the Thirteenth Year of Enduring Peace in eastern Shdustu, and the year opened brutally hard. Spring snow breeds desperation, and this in turn fosters violence.
Master Nemin roused our company in the night after the first flakes descended. Even as the snow came down, we proceeded westward by torchlight, making all possible speed. I walked in front with the old caravan master, picking out the path forward. The explorers watched our flanks, ensuring none fell out of the line or into ravines. Lady Indili sent a shade ahead, a strange many-limbed and long-tailed thing she later told me was a swimming scorpion of ancient oceans, to mark the ground for hidden holes and gullies and prevent deadly falls. Several times we were saved by this shade, though the exertion left her drained and once the sun rose and restored visibility, I tied her to the saddle of my horse to spare her the remainder of the forced march. No one complained, for without her aid many would have fallen in deep snow and been lost, left behind as we dared not stop for long. Such is the power of sorcery, even when utilized for such seemingly mundane tasks.
The gray and white march, as the snowfall increased in potency and visibility fell to nearly nothing, was a terrible one. Save for the terrible flight across the Cracking Void, it was perhaps the most difficult of all days spent in Shdustu. Snow, it seems, is a regular acquaintance of misfortune on the steppe. All was shrouded. Even at noon we could not discern the position of the sun. We struggled greatly to maintain our course through the swirling, rounded paths the narrow trails followed through the badlands. The compacted soil, with little plant cover, was slick and clinging at once. It stuck to our boots and, when we inevitably fell, our mittens. Wetness soaked through even thick wool, bringing cold misery. After morning passed, we were no longer walking, but instead shuffled and slid forward with great difficulty. It was only in the last, fading light of day that, through a wind-blasted break in the snowfall, one of the sharp-eyed explorers spotted the round guard tower of Bishdunumul. We stumbled up to the walls guided by the light of sputtering torches, covered in a thick layer of white flakes, with water dripping from our robes.
The appearance of our company amazed the local people, who rarely received visitors even in clear weather. Those at the gate ushered us all within the guardhouse and spared no effort to restore us to warmth. Logs were piled high up a raging fire in the hearth and a messenger was sent to summon the village’s only healer, an elderly woman who needed to be carried across the square, to tend our injuries. Her ministrations saved every member of their party at least one finger or toe, and sometimes whole hands. Such hospitality, simple though it was, stands unmatched in my experience of Shdustu, overwhelming khagan and prince alike.