AQUILA

775DY

Werdas, 35th of Anovo, Spring

The opening of the vote was the day before, and the streets were still jammed with people today. Aquila marched south of the Opis District, passing by the magnificent Basilikon. He couldn’t help but stop and gawk whenever he came near it. The braziers were large enough to roast a bull whole, and the marble pillars would take three men joining hands to put their arms around it. The entrance had wide marble steps at the bottom, with slightly narrow stairs leading upwards, each lined with gold engraved edges. He had seen one thief trying to scrape up the gold, but the guards quickly ran him off. The place was surrounded day and night with its own detachment of the army, called the Praetorians. But only the ones outside had weapons. Aquila peeked up at the massive golden dome atop the building, which had the history of Doros carved into it like a tapestry. When the last king of Doros was overthrown, it had been redone, showing the good kings of the early days becoming tyrants. Then, the valiant rebels led by Maximus Arula cast them down. A hulking statue of Maximus topped the statue, and at his feet was a plaque stating, “Maximus, Father of the Republic.” Ironically enough, Maximus ended up being named Dictator when the remnants of Doros’s nobles rose in rebellion not many years later.

His eyes next flicked to the Spire, which was hard to ignore. They said it was built around the time of the first Kings of Doros. A great sorcerer, a friend of the King, named Chaerophon, built the Spire to house himself and his followers. They believed him a god given flesh, and he eventually betrayed the King, killing him and ruling the city from the Spire. His own spell killed him, while attempting to create new life from matter, a perilous sin. The creature he created devoured him, and later had to be destroyed by the surviving mages. Aquila often read these histories late into the night. His uncles and aunts even paid him a few silvers to tutor his cousins in the subject. That kept him busy, since his father was one of five children.

Aquila continued, leaving the Melitine and its illustrious architecture behind. He was going to the Aveline District to find his old friend, Rosh. He recalled the day they had met clearly; Aquila had been drinking with his friends at 17 and had strolled home alone. He stumbled into a dark alley and was jumped by a gang of 4. They pulled a knife, but they backed away when they saw the towering figure of Rosh approaching. His scaled head stuck out of his hood, his sharp teeth and reptile eyes staring as he clutched a round bottle. Rosh demanded they let Aquila go, or he’d throw this bottle, and they’d all be lit by Alchemist’s fire. Aquila had thanked him profusely, and Rosh laughed, confessing it was a bottle of whiskey. They had joked together, returning to Rosh’s tiny house, where it turned out he actually was an alchemist, and had many secrets to share.

Aquila thought that if anyone knew the city’s underworld, it would be Rosh. He pressed through the streets of the Aveline, which were always stuffed to the gills with many stalls, tourists, bards, and other revelers. It was where you came in Doros if you wanted to “experience” the city, and hordes of them did. He pushed past them, not stopping to be polite this time, and ducked into a deserted side street. Further down, he could see the little house Rosh lived in. In truth, it was the outhouse of a multi-story tenement building, but it was big enough to fit Rosh, a bed, and his alchemist supplies. He approached the shabby, peeling door that smelled damp and rapped his knuckles against it.

“Who’s there?” Rosh rasped in that strange voice of his. The door had given Aquila a painful little splinter, and he attempted to suck it between speaking.

“It’s Aquila! I’ve come to see how you are, my friend!” He said, sucking on his knuckle again. Rosh opened the door slightly and poked his bronze-scaled head out, looking him up and down. He had large, deep orange eyes and a ridge of bone beneath his skin in the middle of his long head. As his sharp teeth became visible, Aquila could smell the alcohol the Lizardmen favoured, Pova, on his breath and a strange hint of sulfur wafting from behind him. He let out a grunt and opened the door wider. Aquila stepped in, still trying loose the splinter. The sulfur smell was overwhelming now, and Aquila spotted a flask bubbling away on his table. “Cooking something up?” Aquila coaxed, pinching his nose.

“Yes. Have an order, some potions of vigor.” Rosh replied.

“Vigor? What does that do, make you stronger?” Aquila asked. Rosh smirked as much as he could with no lips.

“No. To keep old men’s cocks hard. We call potions of vigor to keep things discrete.” Rosh said, grinning and stirring the bubbling flask idly. “So, what can Rosh do for you, young meskar?” Rosh asked. Young was right. Lizardmen lived long lives and lost almost none of their vigor, as it happens. Many stayed fighting fit well into old age, and tended to live anywhere between 90-120 years old. Rosh is past 60 and looks no worse for it. A Lizardman warrior could have 50 years of fighting experience and still be in peak condition. That was not someone you wanted to oppose on the battlefield.

“Well, I might’ve simply come to visit my dear friend,” Aquila said, beaming at Rosh, his arms folded. Rosh jerked his head.

“No. Every time you come here, you want to know something. Now tell Rosh what it is, dijat.” The lizardman rasped. He often called him ‘dijat,’ which meant ‘young one’ in his tribe’s tongue. They also seemed to have a custom of referring to themselves in the third person, always by their name. Also, they almost always started sentences with yes or no, whether you asked a question or not.

“Well, I enjoy your company as well, slarak, but I do come bearing questions, I admit,” Aquila said with a flashing grin. When he asked Rosh what ‘dijat’ meant, he’d followed by asking the word for ‘old man’ and had never stopped using it. Rosh sighed and sat down on his creaky bed.

“Pala.” He cursed. “Yes. Go on then, ask your questions. Rosh has nothing better to do while this batch cooks.”

“Wonderful.” Aquila said, “Well, I first wanted to know if you’ve heard of this new slave law?” He asked, leaning on the table with both arms behind him. Rosh nodded.

“Yes. Rosh has heard of it. Rosh does not care. Gimaz are not enslaved because meskar think we worship demons and do magic.” He replied, using the word for his tribe and humans, respectively. Aquila chuckled.

“But my dear fellow, you do magic quite a lot. And you’ve got books on the occult. You’re a walking stereotype.” Aquila said, grinning wider. Rosh shrugged and took out a long thin pipe, setting some strange matter into it and lighting it with an alchemist’s match.

Aquila continued. “That wasn’t all though. I’ve heard a whisper in the wind, an anti-slavery movement. Heard of them?” He asked.

“Yes. Rosh has heard of them. Don’t say that you are becoming a resistance fighter.” He implored, his large reptile eyes narrowing.

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“Gods no, I simply want to meet and chat with them. Have a friendly debate and discover what I think of their manner.” Aquila responded, confidence growing.

“No. That is stupid. You will go and get your throat slit. Forget it.” Rosh said, standing up and checking on the flask. The sulfur smell boldened as he lifted the lid, and Aquila scrunched his nose and held his breath momentarily before speaking.

“Come now, my good man, I swear not to goad them, and I am willing to reward you if you point me to them.” Aquila reassured him. Rosh’s interest seemed piqued.

“Reward? Yes. Now Rosh is interested. How much?” The lizardman asked.

“My good man, I will brush your hand with four silver for your trouble. Is that enough?” Aquila asked, and Rosh put a clawed finger to his chin and scratched the hard scales underneath.

“Yes. Enough for supplies to make two more batches of cock potion. Rosh will tell you, and he will go with you so you don’t get beaten up again.” He said, picking up a note. “Rosh receive it. Someone gave it in Oreni District. Rosh does not know why they think proud Gimaz cares about slaves.” Rosh said, handing it to Aquila. He read the lines. His eyes lit up with excitement, and he spoke.

“So, they congregate at the Ironfoot tavern, hmm? Shall we go there tonight? I’m not busy old friend.”

“Yes. We go tonight. And Rosh does not know any Kongrah Gate. Rosh only knows Westgate and Eastgate.” The lizard replied, referring to the two gates to access Doros by land. Aquila erupted into laughter.

“It’s not a gate, Rosh it’s… Nevermind. Come on, let’s get going, eh?”

“No. Rosh finishes his pipe first.” He said, and continued to inhale. Aquila stuck out his bottom lip.

“Give me a try.” Aquila asked, trying to seem nonchalant. Rosh grinned slyly, and passed him the pipe. Aquila inhaled and tried to keep the smoke down but coughed violently. It tasted ghastly and made him wobble quickly. Rosh laughed that bizarre scratchy laugh he possessed. Aquila rubbed his throat, stopped coughing, and returned the pipe to the Lizardman. Rosh spoke.

“Yes. And now you will meet violent criminals that hate your kind while high on dragonflower.” Rosh said, still grinning. Aquila shook his head and steadied himself while he waited for the other to finish the pipe. Eventually, Rosh grabbed his cloak, put away his alchemist gear, and they set out towards the Oreni district.

Aquila’s vision warped and vibrated as they walked the streets, and they had to stop several times. By the time they neared the Oreni, it seemed to wear off, and Aquila was feeling merry and confident.

“No. Don’t grin like that. They’ll think you’re an idiot.” Rosh warned. Aquila shrugged and replied,

“Well, I’m very much looking forward to this meeting, is all. Perhaps they’ll sway me, and I do join the cause.”

“It is a good thing Rosh brought his pova. This tavern will only serve meskar swill.” Rosh said. Aquila nodded, but found he was looking forward to a pint of that swill, even though he usually favored wine.

“Hey, you started a sentence without saying yes or no.” Aquila said. Rosh grunted, shrugged, and walked on without reaction.

The sun was sagging behind the horizon, and the clouds, with few algae today, glowed red and orange. The few tiny shimmering spots shone yellow in them, hinting at uncertainty. Even the cracked pavement beneath their feet seemed to glow, and you could smell the thin rains of earlier evaporating from the warm stones. Aquila wondered to himself, while his steps rang rhythmically off the walls around him, if the algae had thoughts too. He shook his head. What a ridiculous notion. This dragonflower is making me a ponderous oaf. He thought. Most people still called them ‘the lights’ or, in Old Doranic, ‘Astaros’, but learned men determined they were plant life, quite like the glowing algae found in the southern swamps of Mastilia.

He focused back on the Ironfoot Tavern, not far from them now. Rosh spoke up.

“Be cautious in how you speak to them. If anything starts to go wrong, leave. If any follow, Rosh will pull the alchemist fire trick again.” He said hoarsely. Aquila nodded. A few streets later, they finally stood before the tavern, its sign swinging mildly. The symbol, of course, was a foot with an iron manacle clasped to the ankle. Aquila swallowed, cleared his throat, and pushed open the door.

The inside was thick with a haze of smoke from a smoldering fireplace. The warm air smelled strongly of beer, bacon, and burnt wood. Rosh followed him, and they walked to a small empty table and began to listen. As they did, a bit of broken glass crunched beneath their feet. There was a much larger table, with nine people surrounding it, some standing, some sitting. An attractive woman with shoulder-length brown hair and full red lips stood, leaning on the table, wearing a grey cloak with the hood down and a leather coat beneath. She boomed over the rabble.

“This senator says we can hit anyone we like in the other faction, and we’ll be rewarded handsomely if we sway their vote. This is a golden opportunity, and we must seize it before the Senate votes this weekend.” She said, rapping the table with her knuckles. She seemed to notice the tavern had gone quiet and lowered her voice significantly. A broad-shouldered barmaid approached Aquila’s table, eyeing the pair suspiciously, blocking their view.

“Don’t see many lizardmen in ‘ere. Sorry about the glass. What can I get you, lads?” She said, with a thick accent placing her from south of Doros, perhaps even as far as Mastilia. Her vowels were elongated, except for A’s, which she shortened, and her voice was surprisingly deep. Rosh didn’t reply, so Aquila did.

“I’ll have one pint of whatever beer you recommend, madam, and perhaps some olives if you have any?” Aquila asked, eyes searching hers for the suspicions she held. She frowned.

“Madam? Olives? Blimey, not from around here, are you lad? Well, I’ll get you some decent beer, but you might wanna be careful. The blokes in ‘ere tend to get a bit territorial at times. Best keep yer ‘head down.” She replied, before walking away brusquely, despite Aquila calling thanks after her. He shrugged and went back to listening to the table. He felt he recognized the brown-haired woman who seemed to command so much respect here for some reason. She carried on in hushed tones, but someone loudly cut her off.

“Virelia, it’s a bloody bad idea. The Opis district is crawling with private guards, and the houses are more like fortresses. I’ll have no part in it.” A man told her, throwing up his hands. Aquila’s eyes widened. Virelia, my god, that’s… His thought caught as she suddenly locked eyes with him. He froze in place. He had no idea why he hadn't recognized her, perhaps it was the location and her garb. She mouthed at him silently, ‘Aquila?’ and he nodded in reply. Virelia, or El as he had usually called her, had been his uncle’s slave and Aquila’s tutor as a boy. Virelia walked away from the table, and brought a chair with her. The others seemed confused, but she didn’t seem to care. She sat down next to him.

“That's the second coincidence today. How in the black pits have you been? Still reading your history?” She asked, a smile curling her lips. Aquila could scarcely get a word out as his teenage crush on her returned in full force.