It wasn't long before the quiet of the early afternoon was broken by the peal of trumpets, drums, and finger cymbals as the great Imgril Shár, the “Silver Gate,” began to open for the royal procession of the Gnolls. I had to admire it. For a monarch to travel this far without an army for protection took some nerve.
As it was, there was a fine host. Perhaps 100 Spotted Gnoll soldiers in purple tabards over chain mail, halberds gleaming in the brilliant sunlight of the beautiful summer morning. Behind these soldiers in the procession was what appeared to be what those in the military call a battlewagon — an extended carriage with metal plates all over it. Only slits to peer through as the world rolled by outside. I'm certain it was comfortably and richly appointed inside, but good heavens, what a monstrosity.
I had gone down to the forest floor to watch the arrival, and I wasn't disappointed.
“Quite the spectacle, eh?”
I jumped hearing the voice so close behind me. It was Count Pelisir.
I gave the Elf a slight bow and said, “Yes, My Lord, they've certainly taken precautions.”
“You know, they used to eat us?”
I turned to him quickly, “You're in my head again, My Lord!”
“No, no,” he seemed startled, “merely stating a fact. Was that what you were thinking as well?”
I wasn't sure I believed him. “Not just then, My Lord, but I've mused about it being a negotiating strategy if they appear to be too much of a threat.”
“So you know, Mister Bascombe, I can only do that little mind trick once a day. It weakens me.”
We were silent for a bit, taking in the sights as the Gnolls marched rhythmically with the drums and trumpets down the city's main boulevard. They are impressive creatures to be sure. I am guessing that the royal guard is all female. It's only the Spotted Gnolls, but with them, the females are larger, stronger, and more aggressive than the males. They're all about seven feet tall, humanoid in form but with the heads and coats of hyenas. They are striking.
As the soldiers passed us by and the battlewagon approached, trumpets sounded behind us as Queen May was being lowered on a very fancy version of one of their pulley platforms. My gods she had changed much in an hour or so. Now, in a beautiful silver silk gown with matching gloves and a crown that literally made me gasp. It was silver and tall, with amber stones placed all about it. And she looked absolutely lovely.
The coordination couldn't have been better as the battlewagon and platform each reached their destinations at the same time. Queen May stepped forward to what I guess was a marked spot for these occasions, and Count Pelisir left my side to go stand behind her and to the right. A guard unit of Gnolls rushed to the door of the battlewagon, standing in two rows of five with their halberds crossed in an arch as the door squeaked open on its hinges.
There was much murmuring from the gathered crowd, and then gasps as the Witch Queen, Mag’stula, began to descend a small flight of fold-out stairs to the stone paved path below.
Incredible. Draped in purple silk and more gold jewelry than I've seen in my short life, with a beautifully elaborate crown of gold and amethysts, her paw touched down and she looked around, sniffing the air.
Queen May waited patiently with a cordial smile on her lips, trying not to look as enthralled as I'm sure she was. As we all were. This wasn't something you saw every day in the North Wall District or in Nez Ambríl.
As the Witch Queen continued sniffing, you could quite literally feel the power coming off of her, like a static energy. I had heard that she was a Witch of great strength, but to feel it is a different thing.
And then, for the briefest of moments, she locked eyes with me, and a voice entered my head, “Mister Bascombe, I look forward to getting to know you better,” and then it was gone.
I looked over at Count Pelisir and he was glaring back at me, a look of concern on his face. I gave him a quick nod and waved off his concern. He knew what had just transpired. She may have done it to him too. He had his negotiator's face on now though. She wouldn't shake him that easily.
As Mag’stula approached her, Queen May was absolutely beaming, extending her hand to take the Witch Queen's into hers. I think May intended to kiss the Gnoll’s cheek or something. She stood on her tiptoes and leaned forward before thinking better of it. Mag’stula was at least two feet taller, making May look and feel like a child. Then there was a moment of tension as they looked at one another rather too deeply, each showing a light strain on their countenances. I knew that meant that there was a little mental jousting happening. It was only a moment, and very subtle, but it was there.
I was not prepared for all of these magical and psychic elements that were presenting themselves. And perhaps May and Pelisir were right, maybe I had been duped in order to keep me purposefully naive. I couldn't take offense, could I? Still, it's not a good feeling being lied to like that. Even if it's a lie of omission rather than a direct one.
The two queens made some brief small talk. I couldn't make out what they were saying. Queen May's back was to me and I had trouble getting a read on Mag'stula because of the shape of her muzzle. I was well-trained in the art of lip reading, but this was the first time I'd ever been this near to a Gnoll. My gods, what a fascinating beast she was!
Without getting too graphic, in Spotted Gnoll society, I've already allowed that females are dominant in the species. It goes further than that. In Humans, men have a man's bits, and a lady has a lady's bits if you catch my meaning. For Spotted Gnolls, the lady's bits are more similar to a man's bits. You would need to learn more from a natural philosopher who has studied the creatures, but it's a definite curiosity.
After a few moments, Queen May swept her hand toward the Palace, indicating that Mag'stula should follow a group of attendants to her rooms. With a quick thunk, thunk, thunk, Mag'stula’s ten guards double-timed to escort her, five to the fore and five behind.
The small retinue May had with her followed her back to the Palace except for Count Pelisir who came over to me.
“Mister Bascombe, would you please accompany me for lunch? I'm headed to the Esti Plád, I believe that's the “Warm Loaf” in the Common Tongue?”
“That sounds excellent, My Lord. I'm most famished!”
He smiled genuinely back at me, “It's just across the boulevard and up over there,” he said, pointing at a large pulley platform that led up to a series of shops and houses wrapped about a massive redwood. Rope bridges and more pulley platforms joining it all together. I could already smell bread baking and a dozen other scents of unfamiliar herbs and spices. And of course, the warm, enveloping aroma of amber perfume which permeated everything in Nez Ambríl.
As we walked toward the heady smell of bread in the oven, the Count put his arm on my shoulder and asked, “Are you okay, my friend?”
I was momentarily confused. Then realized his meaning, “You mean after the mind rape? Yes, My Lord. My head aches something awful. She was certainly in there.”
He nodded and patted my shoulder, “Yes, Mister Bascombe, she's incredibly powerful. She's not called the Witch Queen as a scare tactic. They say she's the most powerful in the land. And that leads to a whole other conversation.” He pulled a small parchment packet from his satchel and flashed it at me, “First, let's take care of that headache and get some food in you. We've much talking to do before we see the Queen again this afternoon.”
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We seated ourselves at a small table on what could best be described as something of a boardwalk. It was a wide avenue of wood that went from tree to tree with intermittent pulley platforms going up or down to either another wooden avenue or the forest floor. I was spellbound watching it all work and amazed that my fear of heights wasn't crippling me. I think I've read that these Gray Elves give off a sort of calming scent. Perhaps that's true, because I was perfectly at ease except for my throbbing headache. Once we had been seated, a young, female Gray Elf came to our table to see what we'd like.
Normally I would have been a little offended, but as relaxed as I was, I didn't care that Pelisir ordered for both of us.
“Yes, Sidra, how are you this beautiful day?” The Count was obviously a regular.
“I'm well, My Lord. Just been watching the magnificent procession of Gnolls! How wonderfully exotic they are! What can I get for you, um, My Lords?”
“Oh, I'm not a Lord, My Lady,” I protested.
“Oh hush, Lord Bascombe, of course you are!” Pelisir was chuckling at his own humor and the harmlessness of the ruse. “Alright, Sidra, we shall have two cups of the barley and leek soup, four penny cakes with herb butter, and two of the coldest mugs of pear cider you can conjure, all while remaining as beautiful as you always are, and pretending not to be my niece.”
“Yes, Unc … sorry, My Lord Pelisir. I'll be right back with your ciders.” She curtsied and went into the small cafe.
Pelisir smiled at me, “My eldest brother married a commoner and was cut off from the family. Sidra is their daughter. I'm not supposed to be coming here, much less being cordial with her, but I make sure they want for nothing. Anyway, Sidra is a most charming girl and none of it was her decision. Now, let's fix that headache.”
When Sidra reappeared with the mugs, they were so cold that they were covered in condensation, forming pools on the bare wood of the table. Before I could take a sip, Pelisir dumped the contents of the parchment packet into my drink. It was a light green powder that dissolved into the cider immediately with the slightest wisp of smoke.
Evrím Qualtír is the Elvish word for it, “Dream Herb” in the Common. Colloquially it's known as Goblin's Nog, he laughed. It's a mild sedative with analgesic properties.”
Hesitantly, I took a quaff. The flavor was amazing, the drink as cold as snow. Perfect for a warm summer’s day, and I immediately felt the effect of the drug. My body relaxed, it felt like the pain literally floated out of my head and left a soft and fluffy empty space. Sounding like a child having their first ever taste of ale, I embarrassedly said, “Ooh, tingly!”
“Never been out with the grown-ups, Mister Bascombe?” Pelisir asked. And we both had a good laugh at my expense.
“I've just never done anything like that, My Lord. I believe Goblin's Nog is illegal in Wikehold.” And indeed it was.
“Well, Mister Bascombe, while you're in Nez Ambríl, you're obliged to do as we do so as not to make an affront, right? You wouldn't want to hurt my feelings.”
“Yes, quite, My Lord. I would hate to offend your generosity.”
“Now, give it a moment, Mister Bascombe. Enjoy the feeling, enjoy your food. I've much on which to catch you up in regards to this whole scenario. There are many moving parts.”
With that, Count Pelisir eagerly went about devouring his soup and rolls, ordering another and then a third pear cider. Initially, my mind was swimming from the Goblin's Nog, but it slowly wore off. The pain was gone and I could finally think clearly once I'd done with my last roll. The food was fabulous.Finally, the Count spoke. “First, the Gnolls. Unbeknownst to Mag'stula, theirs isn't the only delegation of Gnolls to be arriving today. In fact, another should be here shortly though with much less fanfare. That would be the Aardgnolls. They come in secret to join the bidding process.”
I'd only read a few lines regarding the Aardgnolls. They were a much more rare subspecies of Gnoll who lived in the plains, 100 miles to the west of the Spotted Gnoll city of Yis-Gláz, land contested by the Hask as well as the Sun Elves. I told Count Pelisir the extent of my Aardgnoll knowledge.
“Well, that's all correct, Mister Bascombe. And their subspecies is certainly related to the Spotted Gnolls. They are much smaller though, smaller than Elves. Dwarf sized but thin. Golden pelts with russet colored stripes. Very distinct. Their capital is a city called Yagdiz, well out in the savannah to the west of Mag'stula and her people.”
“Yagdiz is small by any metric. No more than 5,000 souls in burrows they dig by hand, or paw, or however you wish to describe it. But their digging is what brings them today. Where they do their digging, out there in the plains, is a marvelous source of gold. They are fabulously wealthy. And Yagdiz is a center for the gold trade, long coveted by Mag'stula.”
“Like most, you're probably wondering why Mag'stula hasn't just taken it, and that's a fair question. The Aardgnolls have a leader, a Sidraz, that's their word for Father, named Mal’friq, an exceptional warrior and well-loved by not only his people, but the populations of Brown and Striped Gnolls who make up a good percentage of the population of the species. Mag'stula has to be concerned that a move on the Aardgnolls would bring the other subspecies together against her. So she has to walk a fine line diplomatically. You may meet Mal'friq today, by the way.”
“I relish the opportunity to meet him, My Lord. I really know so little about the world beyond Feersland, it seems. The school books I had growing up could certainly use some broader perspective.” I was embarrassed to be so ignorant.
“That's hardly your fault, Mister Bascombe,” he replied, “Humans are given very little time in their lives to study as we do. And our libraries have over 9,000 years of the works of Elves trying to make sense of it all. I think the oldest surviving Human writings are perhaps 2,000 years old? Less, more, what does it matter? It's not much to go on.”
He was just trying to make me feel better, and I appreciated it, sincerely. But I have my pride, and looking like an undereducated primitive isn't boosting that to any degree.
“You're too kind, My Lord. Truly. I'll take it on myself to try to learn more about these things before I'm sent on another trade mission.”
He smiled at me like I was a child just trying to do my best, then got very serious. “What you don't seem to understand, Mister Bascombe, is your place in all this.”
He was right on that point.
“When all of this is over, I invite you to stay for as long as you wish. As long as you live if it be your choice. You may have full access to our libraries and teachers and all the knowledge therewithin. But for now, put aside your pride. You need to understand that we want you to win this bidding process. The other options are far too dangerous. Those outcomes bad for this world in ways we don't even want to contemplate.”
“I'm trying to wrap my head around it, My Lord.”
He leaned in, “Okay, here's the whole thing in a neat packet for you. We don't want the Swalesians to have it. They'll use the magic to go about enslaving the rest of the world. They are an evil people with evil goals. We don't want Mag'stula to have it. A Witch like her with that much power is unconscionable. And Mal’friq and his people? We aren't convinced that they can keep Mag'stula at bay for long. If it went to the Wood Elves, it would just destroy their culture and ours wouldn't be very far behind.”
“Well, My Lord,” I was doing my best not to appear dense, but I couldn't just pretend to understand his meaning. This was too important. “With the fear of appearing to be dense, why this whole charade? Why not just give us the concession?”
He sighed and sat back. “It's not that you appear dense, Mister Bascombe. There's just too much for you to take in as quickly as is needed.”
He called his niece over and ordered us two more ciders. I certainly didn't need one. The ciders here are much more potent than those back home, and I was already running my brain at full capacity just to keep up.
“Okay,” he continued, “So the Wood Elves are the easiest party to understand. Their threat to our way of life may not be so obvious to you but it makes enough sense that you can accept it. The Swalesians, we fear that if they think the process is rigged, they'll go out of their way to eliminate me, Queen May, you, anyone they need to do away with to get what they want. We don't desire getting our people involved in a war. So we have to maintain the appearance of fairness, and that includes in our dealings with the Gnolls.”
I was beginning to feel a little better about myself as it all began to come clear. “And what about my people, My Lord? Why do you trust us?”
He smiled grimly and asked “What instructions were you given on the bidding for the amber with inclusions, Mister Bascombe?”
“Well, none now that you mention it, My Lord. In fact, I was tasked with trying to make sure the included amber wasn't part of the deal,” I replied honestly.
“And there you have it, Sir.”
But I hesitated. “Now that I know the full scope of all this, I need to go back through all of my paperwork to make sure our intentions are being honestly represented, My Lord. It hurts me to have to say it, but the Hard Coast Company isn't exactly known for fair business practices.”
He had a good laugh at that. “No, Mister Bascombe, they are not!”
Something seemed to pop into his head, “I forgot to mention. The Aardgnolls are also known for their Assassins,” he laughed again, “It will be an interesting week, yes?”
image [https://i.imgur.com/3y3DcyH.jpeg]