The trip north from Farpoint was cold and unpleasant. The Mahads shrank to foothills to the east, and the sheriff assured me that to the west, the Devada Forest and small Devada Mountains in the center of them tapered off swiftly as well. That meant that winds coming from the ocean to the west could sweep more or less unobstructed across the prairie. Grayish clouds scudded across the sky overhead more often than not, dumping rain, sleet, and snow down on us several times a day. That left the road little more than mush, and the knee-high grasses flanking the dirt highway didn’t provide much better support for the roadwalkers. We huddled beneath our heavy clothes and waterproof ponchos–which were more water resistant at that point than truly waterproof–and rode along in silence, enduring the chill winds and miserable weather as best we could.
The forest first appeared as a dark smudge on the horizon, one that quickly thickened into a black line stretching as far as I could see to the east and west. As we plodded northward, that line rose into a wall of black. The nearer we drew, the taller that wall rose, but contrary to my expectations, the color of it never resolved into a shade of green. At last, we rode close enough to make out the forest in detail, and what I saw wasn’t particularly welcoming.
The trees of the Uttar stretched hundreds of feet in the air, their size and majesty matching the redwoods and sequoias I’d seen on Earth. Their bark was a brown color so dark it almost looked black, and the long needles stretching from their branches glittered like ebony. The trees grew together closely enough for the tips of their branches to intertwine, at least at the edge of the forest, leaving the ground beneath drenched in shadows that swiftly darkened the farther into the woods I looked.
I’d gained three levels in Generalist from the battle with the marshals, bringing me to level 8 in the profession. That gave me three extra points in all my handler stats and a new ability.
New Ability: Melded Stats
Passive Ability
All of your pets’ attributes gain 10% of the bonus from your highest non-affiliated Handler stat.
I wasn’t sure how that worked, but Sara explained it to me.
“You remember that each of your stats boosts some of your pets’ abilities, right?” she asked. “Personia boosts offensive stats, Dominia improves defensive ones, and Arcania improves healing and special abilities. Well, with this ability, you’ll get ten percent of your Arcania as a boost to your Personia or Dominia and ten percent of your Personia to your Arcania for the purposes of calculating those stats.”
That was a nice bonus, and it boosted my pets significantly.
Pet Stats
Name
Bond
Atk
Def
Dmg
Spd
Dodge
Buzzfly (Simple Glowwind)
313
59
21
56
71
32
Cloudhunter (Greater Air)
1,089
185
43
123
250
92
Shockfloater (Greater Lightning)
1,095
131
71
209
149
91
Galestrider (High Wildstorm)
2,557
321
146
348
281
179
Mistfreezer (High Ice)
2,780
230
204
204
308
307
Moonstalker (High Predator)
2,360
397
139
340
284
189
Sparksnake (High Lightning)
2,843
260
163
383
328
218
Terror Eagle (High Wildwind)
3,328
524
148
378
527
229
Wave Horror (High Water)
3,579
110
416
166
213
602
I’d considered using some of the XP to rank up the shockfloater, but it would simply take too long. We couldn’t wait for the four or five days we’d need for that to happen. Soon enough, Kamath would realize that something went wrong with the group he’d sent south to Chatrig, and at that point, he’d be on alert and probably send another group, maybe even a larger or better equipped one. We’d won the last two fights with marshals mostly due to superior planning, tactics, and the element of surprise. Running into a group of fifteen of them in the open would be a totally different story, and I wasn’t eager to see how that story ended. I did, however, channel a large amount of it into my terror eagle, just enough to bring the bird to the edge of the High ranks. It took an ungodly amount of XP to do–I could have gotten another few levels out of it–but if I had the chance to get the bird up to Paragon rank, I couldn’t pass it up.
Sinakha, as the sheriff warned, wasn’t the sort of town I’d grown used to in the Gistal. The town rested right up against the edge of the forest, only a couple hundred yards away from the nearest trees. A road ran through the town from east to west, joining the northern route we’d taken. A single building made of chestnut wood rose in the center of the place, next to a swift stream that poured from the forest and wound out into the prairie, a creek that would eventually join a dozen others to form the headwaters of the Sonkhee far south of us. A wooden paddlewheel turned in that stream, and even at the edge of town we could hear the sounds of wood being cut inside it. Tents were scattered haphazardly around the obvious lumbermill, most of them small affairs that probably housed one or two people but some of them large enough for a dozen or more to fit inside.
I rode wearily and warily into the town without my pets, who I sent to skirt the town and look for a trail northward into the forest. I’d had my cloudhunter scouting the place for hours before we arrived, and I’d spotted four different marshals through its eyes. The town was watched, and heavily so. The three of us came in separately with a half hour or so separating each of us, and to be sure we weren’t marked, we split up and each came in from a different direction. The road wasn’t so sparsely traveled that we were the only arrivals on any of the three roads, so I hoped we’d just blend in as more tired travelers.
The roads inside the town were dirt covered with sawdust, which kept the drizzle that poured onto my hat from turning the street into mud, at least. It lacked the wooden sidewalks of the towns in the Gistal, though, and the passage of heavy wagons had left hidden holes and ruts beneath the sawdust that caught my mount’s hooves every so often. I quickly realized why few people rode in the town; the street was designed for wagons and foot traffic, not roadwalkers. After a few minutes, I slid down from my saddle and began leading the beast along the side of the street. The largest tents all had obviously hand-painted signs made of rough wooden planks stuck in the ground before them, offering food, beer, supplies, and weapons but not lodging. Instead, a large, open space surrounded by a split-rail fence advertised secure camping for the night for the low price of three taans, three times what I’d have paid for an actual room down south.
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“If you don’t like my prices, stranger, feel free to go camp in the forest,” the old woman who apparently owned the campground told me with a shrug. “You likely won’t live the night, but that’s on you, not me. I’m not forcing you to stay here.” The woman spoke with a different accent than the people down south, as well, one that reminded me of Midwesterners back in America. A few quick conversations assured me that the accent was universal in the Uttar, and I considered adapting it but realized that I didn’t know enough about the towns nearby to really pass as a native.
I grabbed an expensive and none-too-palatable meal of stewed meat, chewy vegetables, and crusty bread, visited the general store just long enough to realize that it was ridiculously overpriced, and headed to the tent that advertised alcohol. Several large stills steamed and smoked behind the tent, and I hoped that the offerings within were more than the local moonshine. I stepped inside, blinking at the smoke and trying not to flinch from the smell of unwashed bodies that filled the place. The saloon was nothing more than a makeshift bar and a dozen rough wooden tables. The bar was a pair of long planks nailed to a trio of what looked like sawhorses, with a single bartender standing before several stacked barrels and a shelf filled with unlabeled bottles of alcohol.
As I approached the bat, the bartender looked up from wiping out a wooden mug and nodded to me. “What can I get you, stranger?” he asked in the same accent as the rest of the locals.
“What are my choices?” I asked.
“Sakrat or sarab,” he replied.
“And those are?”
“Local brews made from tree sap,” he said shortly. “Sakrat’s a dark ale. Sarab’s a brown liquor. Not much flavor, but it’s strong.”
“I’ll take the ale.” I watched as he moved to one of the barrels that had a tap sticking out and pulled a foaming tankard.
“Two taans,” he said, holding it until I passed over a pair of coins, then handing the mug over. I turned away and looked at the room, holding the beer in my hand but not drinking any as I swept my gaze across the patrons.
Despite its rough and even barbaric appearance, the saloon was relatively quiet and settled. Men and women sat around the tables playing cards, mostly the Imperial shakul game that Chomai favored and that was very similar to baccarat. They talked, argued, and laughed, of course, but no one seemed ready to fight or shouted at one another. It wasn’t exactly orderly, but I wasn’t worried about having to shoot my way out of a brawl, either. I took a sip of my beer and was surprised with its smooth flavor. It lacked hops, probably because it was locally made and not meant to be shipped, which made it sweeter and milder than I was expecting. I’d also been braced for a woody flavor, but except for a faint hint of something that reminded me of maple syrup and a touch of smokiness, it simply tasted like any other dark ale. It wasn’t great, but it was a lot better than most craft beers I’d had in my life.
The only group that stood out in my mind was a trio of men sitting in one corner. They had hard faces and glanced around often, watching the patrons suspiciously. They played cards, but despite having empty chairs, nobody tried to join them. A group of women in fairly provocative clothing stood around them, leaning on their shoulders or rubbing their arms suggestively.
I waited for a spot to open and bought into a table, playing idly while I waited for the sheriff and Chomai to appear. I still had the cloudhunter overhead, watching for threats, but I couldn’t see through its eyes and focus on what was going on around me, so I couldn’t be sure when they were arriving. It didn’t take long to spot the tells of the players around me, but I played modestly, winning and losing small amounts, always coming out slightly ahead but never winning or losing big enough for anyone to take notice or object. I wasn’t really interested in the money; the game was just a way to blend in and pass the time–and to ply the locals for information about the town, the forest, and the local conditions.
I saw the sheriff enter about an hour later but didn’t glance at him or acknowledge his presence. He went to the bar and got a smaller cup than mine that I assumed was the sarab liquor, then took up a spot at the end of the bar where he could idly watch the room. After another thirty minutes, one of the players at my table bowed out, having lost a significant amount, and the old man slid into her place, setting a stack of coins on the table as he did. We continued to play for another hour, chatting a bit as if we were strangers getting to know one another, then both left the table with our empty drinks and headed back to the bar.
“This place is exactly how I remember it,” the old man smiled as he waved to the bartender.
“Was it so much more expensive back then, too?” I asked with a grin.
“Different prices for different places, is all. Down in the Gistal, things like food and liquor don’t cost much because they’re plentiful and easy to get. On the other hand, finished goods are damn expensive since they’ve gotta be brought from the Valley or the Empire by ship or train.”
He took a sip of his drink. “Go east to the Valley, and prices for things like clothing and food go down–the Valley’s a damn garden along the Nadish River, and the power looms produce most of the continent’s cloth–but the cost of liquor goes up since most of the cities there ban distilleries.”
“Why?” I asked curiously.
“Couple hundred years back, a distillery exploded in the city of Rammot, south of Lake Badjhee. Fire took most of the city, thirty thousand died, and the blaze drew a trio of Paragon inferno dancers that killed another few thousand.” He shrugged. “The cities decided that it was cheaper to import liquor and beer. They’re fine with making wine, though, and they make some good vintages.”
“And out in Na Jhauta? What are the prices like there?”
“High, at least for most things. There’s money there, and that always pushes up costs. Finished goods are cheaper there, though, since that’s where the steam mills and coal-burning factories are. Usually better quality, too; the Gistal never gets the best goods.” He took another sip of his drink. “And the Uttar gets even less. No railroads up here, so there ain’t no cheap, fast way to move goods. Most things come up the Nadish to Lake Badhjee, then to Nampur, then by wagon here. Lot slower and more expensive, even with steamships, so the folks up here have learned to make do on their own.” He lifted his drink. “And they do pretty well at that.”
I sipped my ale and nodded my agreement. “It’s pretty quiet, too,” I noted. “I was expecting it to be rowdier.”
“Remember those mercenaries I mentioned before?” he chuckled, gesturing with his chin toward the group I’d noticed earlier. “They don’t take well to outbursts, and they’re likely to shoot first and ask questions later. Now, if they wasn’t here, this place would be a mite livelier, make no mistake.”
“I wouldn’t have thought the marshals would have let the mercenaries keep running things here,” I said softly.
“The mill owner’s the one that hired the mercenaries, and whoever they are, they wouldn’t take kindly to the marshals pushing their people out.”
“Would the marshals care about that?”
He shrugged. “Sinakha’s the largest town in the Uttar, and pretty much all the goods up here pass through it. That means its owner is beyond rich, and money buys influence out east. They’ve probably got dozens of magistrates in their pocket, not to mention any number of officers in the military and the constabulary out there. Somebody like that could make problems for the Service, bigger problems than it’s probably worth to hold this town.”
He leaned back against the bar. “My guess is that the marshals are here just to keep an eye on things and make sure their shipments north don’t run into no difficulties.” He glanced around and smiled. “And speaking of difficulties…”
I glanced at the entrance flap as Chomai entered. Her long, heavy coat was mud spattered and had a rip down one sleeve, and her hat was pulled low over her face, hiding her eyes. She stopped at the entrance and took off her hat, shaking water from it and brushing it from her sleeve, and I saw her wince as she touched the arm with the slash on it. She walked up to the bar and spoke quietly to the bartender, getting a small mug of sarab. She took a long gulp from it and sighed, setting it down on the bar. I gave the sheriff a questioning look before turning to walk over to her, but before I could take more than a step, the tent flap opened again, and what little noise there was vanished as a figure in black appeared in it.
The woman in the entrance had scarlet hair that hung unevenly below her ebon hat. Her face was round, with a narrow mouth set in a deep frown and small jowls at the bottom of her cheeks. Her hard, flat eyes passed over the crowd, and her hand reached down almost absently to pat the orange-red lizard at her side that looked like a six-foot long Gila monster coated in ash-grey scales with irregularly shaped patches of glowing orange splattered across its body. Her other hand rested on the pistol at her hip as her gaze fastened on the platinum blonde at the bar.
“Chomai!” the woman said challengingly.
I nonchalantly set my drink on the bar and analyzed the woman and her pet.
Marshal
Paths: Shaper, Bender, Magician
Rank: Greater
Affinities: Fire, Air, Prey
Pets: Sootblaster (Lesser), Firehopper (Lesser)
Dominia: 20.7 Personia: 14.9 Arcania: 32.2
Threat Level: Moderate
Sootblaster (Lesser)
Type: Ash
Bond: 180
Attack: 33 Defense: 12 Damage: 23
Speed: 29 Dodge: 14 Heal: 16
Special Attacks: Cinder Cone (51), Blinding Strike (51)
Special Defenses: Heat Aura (22)
Weaknesses: Water, Ooze
Threat Level: Minor
I kept my face carefully expressionless as I reached out to my closest pets, the buzzfly, cloudhunter, and terror eagle. The fly was the closest, perched as it was on the saddle of my roadwalker, and it flitted into the tent without anyone seeing it. Normally, I wouldn’t use the thing for combat, but it was easily as strong as the sootblaster, and with the element of surprise–and the cards I nonchalantly palmed as I crossed my arms and leaned on the bar–I was confident the fly could take the much larger creature. Of course, the marshal apparently had a second pet, as well, but if that one showed up, I’d just bring the terror eagle down. With a bond of only 180, the sootblaster would probably succumb to a single dive from the powerful eagle, and I hoped the other creature would be just as vulnerable. That would alert the other three marshals to our presence, but it was better they knew about us than Chomai died.
Before I could send the fly in to attack, though, Chomai simply raised her hat and sighed. “Vaya,” she said neutrally. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“You look like hell,” the marshal observed a trifle gleefully. “Rough trip?”
“Something like that. Ran into a beastie that didn’t much like me.” Chomai kept her back to the woman and took a sip from her drink, and the marshal took a step closer.
“What are you doing up here?” Vaya demanded, her voice hard.
“Just passing through, Vaya. Nothing to get excited about.”
The marshal snorted. “Passing through.” She took another step forward, and her pet scuttled out ahead of her. “You think it’s that simple?”
“I don’t know why it wouldn’t be.” Chomai took another sip of her drink. “I’m not looking for any trouble, Vaya.”
“Too bad it found you anyway, Chomai.” The scarlet-haired woman took another step forward. “You know the Marshal’s looking for you.”
“Is he, now?”
“He is. Every marshal in the Gistal and Uttar’s got orders to take you in.” The woman’s grin turned evil. “And I intend to do just that.” Her pet took another few steps forward. As it did, the orange patches on its body brightened, and visible ripples of heat emanated from its body.
“No dueling in here!” The gruff voice that shouted out came from one of the men in the back corner, a blue-haired man with a rough beard of the same color and a dark grey hat and jacket. “Take it out of town!”
“Or what?” Vaya sneered at the man.
“Or Abhu’s gonna hear about it,” the man growled. “And if he gets bothered, someone’s going to die–and the owners are gonna be right furious.”
The marshal grimaced but stepped back, giving Chomai a sly look. “It’s fine, Vija,” she said. “There ain’t gonna be no dueling. To duel, you need two handlers–and we only got one here, don’t we Chomai?” She laughed cruelly and took a step closer. “That’s right, girl, I see the wound on your arm. You ain’t got any pets, do you? I heard that you got severed. Where’s the pet the Marshal gave you?” She looked around exaggeratedly. “It ain’t here, is it? Did it get lost?”
The woman took a step back as Chomai spun, her pistol leaping into her hand and a card held high in the other hand. I recognized the card as the Severing rune, and I quickly touched my counter just in case the woman activated it. Vaya’s eyes went wide as she recognized the rune, and she touched her hat as if for reassurance.
“It’s still on your head,” Chomai chuckled. “Thing is, I’m pretty sure I can put three or four bullets in that hat and charge this card before your little sootblaster can blind me, Vaya. I wonder if the runes inside will still work with a bunch of holes in them.” She shrugged. “Might be interesting to find out.”
“There are three more marshals in town, Chomai,” Vaya said, the cruel tone in her voice replaced with a nervous edge as she stepped back from the blonde woman. “You do this, and there ain’t gonna be no end to the hurting they put on you.”
“Unless I do the same to them, Vaya. You forget that I walk the shaper’s path, too. I got enough juice in me to power this thing four times in a row.” She took a step forward, aiming the pistol, and Vaya’s eyes widened. Instead of firing, though, Chomai took a deep breath.
“I could kill you, right now, Vaya,” she said heavily. “And a mean, hard part of me wants to. You’re one of Kamath’s Riders, and you and your kind have done more to hurt the Service than any of the Empire’s enemies in the last century.”
“We’re saving the Service,” Vaya hissed. “Saving it from those weak fools in Na Jhauta who don’t have the balls to do what’s necessary.”
“Saving it?” Chomai laughed bleakly. “You’re killing us, Vaya. You know how many of us are left in the Gistal? None. Not a damn one, from Farpoint all the way down to Fazil. Unless someone’s still in Southpoint or Maray, way the hell at the edge of the Teeran Sea, there ain’t no marshals in the Gistal anymore. Far as the Gistal’s concerned, the Empire don’t even exist anymore.”
“You been killing marshals?” Vaya asked sharply. “You damn traitor!”
“I ain’t no traitor, Vaya,” Chomai growled. “I’m loyal to the Empire and the Service, not Kamath. That damn fool’s gotten almost all of us killed. I watched as Ishar died in Chatrig, killed by pets he’d stolen from someone else after he killed two of your Riders. I seen the bodies of over twenty dead marshals, Vaya, killed by handlers who don’t much like what Kamath’s doing and decided to do something about it. This keeps up, and we ain’t gonna have the bodies left to patrol Na Jhauta, much less the Valley and the Gistal.”
She sighed heavily. “And that, Vaya, is why I ain’t gonna kill you. I’m tired of seeing marshals dying for no good reason. The best of us, cut down for one man’s pride and foolishness.” The woman suddenly lowered her pistol and the card in her hand. “In fact, I ain’t even gonna fight you. You want to take me to Kamath? Fine. I’ll go willingly.”
“What?” Vaya asked, her face confused. “What do you mean, you’ll go willingly?”
“Did I say that in Kazari by accident, Vaya?” Chomai snorted derisively. “I want to see the Head Marshal and tell him what I seen. I want him to know that thanks to him, the whole Gistal’s open for the rangers or wardens to move in and take over, pushing the Empire right out. I want him–and all the rest of you Riders–to know what the hell you’ve done to the Service.” She holstered her pistol and slipped the card back into her deck. She reached back and grabbed her drink, tossing the rest of it back in a single gulp, then slammed the wooden cup down on the bar.
“Go ahead,” she said loudly. “Take me to see Kamath. It might be interesting to find out where he’s at and what he’s doing.” As she spoke, her eyes briefly met mine, and I had to resist giving her a subtle nod. I simply watched as Vaya moved forward and grabbed the woman’s arm, pulling her out of the tent. As they exited, I sent a quick command to the buzzfly, and it zipped over to land on her shoulder, climbing unseen down into her pocket. The pair left, with the sootblaster in tow, and I just watched in silence.
That same quiet reigned over the saloon for a few moments before the muttering began as people started speculating about what happened and what it meant. I ignored them and strolled back over to lean next to the sheriff. The old man looked at me, his expression grave.
“You understand what she’s doing, boy?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah, I get it. She’s leading us to Kamath.” I sighed and chugged the rest of my ale in a long drink. “I just hope it doesn’t get her killed.”