Tortilladas, the 19th of Lost Speed, 4E 201
There was no stopping Thral when he saw the inn. He disappeared through the door before the last of them stepped off the carriage.
“I’ll say goodbye then,” Brendan said as he turned the carriage around. “And keep an eye out for the bears and goats—especially the goats!”
Kharla frowned as the carriage rolled out of the town. What bears and goats? She rubbed the numbness out of her backside. Bessie’s back was definitely more comfortable than a carriage seat. The others made their way into the inn and she followed.
“Eight yesterday,” the woman sitting at the bar said to the Wood Elf sitting next to her. Kharla noted the Nord woman had a strange tubular device at her hip made of some orange-yellow metal. “Eight! It’s as if they are trying to ruin my business on purpose.”
“I hardly think the bears are clever enough to hold a grudge against you, Miss Timba,” the Wood Elf said.
“When I want your opinion, Gwilym, I’ll ask for it. Otherwise, mind your own business.”
The Wood Elf shrugged and looked into his mug.
Miss Timba looked up as Kharla ordered a mug of mead and her eyes settled on her spear. “Don’t want to sell that, do you?”
Kharla shook her head. “No.”
“Pity. Could impale a few bears on a sturdy spear like that.”
“You got a problem with bears?” Kharla asked as the barman put her mug of mead on the counter.
“Yeah, you could say that. I run the sawmill here. Founded by Ivor and Wilma themselves, it was. But now it’s under threat from all these bears. Name’s Timba, by the way. Timba Side-Arm.”
“Side-Arm?” Kharla questioned after she’d introduced herself.
“A nickname. Because I carry this.” She tapped the tubular device at her side. “Back when our family was more wealthy my father’s father paid a lot of money for this old Dweeber technology. Locals call it a boomstick but it’s actually a pistol blunderbuss. Doesn’t do much harm except at close range, but makes a terrible noise and that’s usually enough to scare off the bears, though they seem to be getting more bold of late.”
The Dweeber were a race of nerds who spent most of their time developing gadgets and attending steampunk conventions. They were known to be socially awkward, hence their proclivity for living underground, role-playing, and building automatons as a replacement for social interaction. The Dweeber disappeared from Tamarind long ago. No one knows why and no one cares. Though there are those interested in Dweeber technology, most couldn’t give two charred Skreever tails about the race itself.
Outside a bell started ringing. Timba stood and grabbed her blunderbuss. “That’s another attack! Everyone with me!”
The inn’s patrons piled out of the inn and Kharla and her companions followed, more out of curiosity than anything else. Was the Impeccable Legion mounting an assault? A dragon maybe?
Outside, the townsfolk had gathered at the bridge leading out of town. They carried all manner of implements. Farming tools mostly, though some had swords and other weapons. Four guards stood at the head of the crowd with Timba Side-Arm. Across the bridge and heading their way stomped around twenty large mean-looking bears.
Timba aimed her blunderbuss and fired at the oncoming sloth of bears. The bears paused but then started their approach again, moving faster this time. The townsfolk scattered and the guards moved back, desperately firing arrows that all seemed to miss. Kharla and her companions now found themselves right in the path of the bears along with Timba who was trying to reload her blunderbuss.
“We need fire to scare them away!” shouted Kharla. “We need torches! Fire!”
Mell raised her hands and a huge ball of light appeared before her, its glow intensifying to the brilliance of the sun. The bears ceased their approach and began to shake their heads at the glare, some growling and others moaning.
Thral held his finger to his nose but sneezed anyway. “Fohs!”
The sound was terrible, like a great boom and far more powerful than Timba’s boomstick. Like a great gust of wind, the sneeze raced down the bridge extinguishing Mell’s orb and smashing into the bears, sending them flying—some into the river, others rolling away like big furballs, and some of the smaller ones even becoming lodged into the top of nearby trees.
Everyone stared at Thral. Thral smiled and wiped his nose.
“What just happened?” asked Kharla.
“It must be the Boo’m,” said Draloth. “What Baldgoof was talking about. Remember, Thral said the word at the Weird Wall in Teak Halls Barrow. That’s where it must’ve lodged in his skull. It’s this Voice thing the Dragonbore can do.”
“He said a Shout, not a sneeze,” said Kharla.
“I think the sneeze triggered the Shout. And the sneeze was triggered by Mell’s light,” the Dark Elf continued.
“My light? How?”
“It’s called photic sneeze reflex. It’s a condition that some people have. The sun or sudden bright light can cause them to sneeze. It’s more common than you think.” The Dark Elf stroked his chin. “I had an uncle, a powerful storm mage, who was prone to this condition. Sadly, he accidentally electrocuted himself and several dozen fish while taking a quick dip in his local river on a hot sunny day a few summers back.”
Kharla heard something moving in the water and then saw Timba clamber out, soaked to the skin. It was then that she realized she hadn’t seen the sawmill owner since Thral had sneezed.
“Well,” the dripping Nord woman began. “We sure showed those bears, didn’t we? They won’t be coming back in a hurry!” She squeezed the water out of her apron and looked around. “Has anyone seen my blunderbuss?”
***
“All right, that’s enough! Thane Thral has to go now. He’s important business to be about,” Eilgird insisted as she and Kharla pulled the Nord up from his seat.
The townsfolk had been treating Thral to an all-you-can-eat (and all-you-can-drink) meal at the Wilma Inn to thank him for saving their town from the bears. It was now pushing toward mid-afternoon. Kharla only hoped Thral was still sober enough to climb all those steps.
As they approached the bridge that led to the steps they saw a middle-aged man leaning against it. “Are you by chance going up the Seven-hundred-and-thirty-two Steps?”
Kharla frowned. The bridge led nowhere else. “Yes.”
“It’s just that I’m supposed to deliver some supplies to High Healthspa.” He indicated to a wooden crate by his feet. “But my old bones are aching and the way just isn’t safe these days. Would you be able to take them up for me? I’d be very grateful.”
“What’s in it for me?” Kharla asked.
“Nothing. It’s all for the Greatbeards,” the man replied. “Though I suppose they wouldn’t miss one of the leeks. Don’t touch the dried salted fish, bottles of mead, or the fine steel razors though or they’re sure to get upset. And you don’t want to upset a Greatbeard.”
“No, I meant…oh, never mind.” Kharla lifted the crate and gave it to Thral. “Thral, you’ll have to be Bessie for a while. Sorry.”
Thral made a mooing sound and then laughed. Yes, definitely drunk.
The man pressed a gold coin into Kharla’s hand. “Toeless bless you.”
Kharla forced a smile and the man ambled off.
“Oh,” the man said, turning back, “watch the four-hundred-and-eighteenth step. It’s a bit loose.” Then he disappeared into the town.
Ti’lief crossed the bridge with one eye open, stopping now and again to glance in horror at the admittedly powerful waters that flowed beneath them. Kharla could see why a water-powered sawmill had been built here. About two-thirds of the way across Ti’lief closed both eyes and fled to the other side, colliding with a sign at the base of the steps.
“Ouch, who put that there?” the Cat complained, staring at the old wooden notice. In white paint a series of increasingly small numbers, starting with ‘7000’ had been written and then crossed out with only the last bottom-most entry not struck through — ‘732’.
“This High Healthspa, their population sure has plummeted,” said Ti’lief.
“I think, excepting a highly improbable coincide, the number refers to the number of steps, Khapiit,” said Draloth.
“So why fewer steps now? How do you lose steps?” asked Mell.
“Hmm, they are old,” the Dark Elf muttered. “Maybe it’s the number of steps still visible above the mud and snow. Maybe some have eroded away.”
“Yes, anyway, shall we get underway?” Kharla suggested. “We’ve got less than six hours of light left and we don’t know how long this takes to climb.”
“They are terribly uneven,” Ti’lief observed after a few steps into their ascent.
Mell, who had gone ahead, stopped by a stone tablet ensconced in what looked like a little shrine. There were words upon it. “What does it say?” asked Draloth as the rest of them caught up.
“Follow our 732-step plan back to total health,” read Mell.
They pressed on up the steps and Kharla looked back when she realized Ti’lief had fallen behind. The Khapiit seemed to have his head down. Kharla hoped he wasn’t afraid of heights as well as water. “Cat? What are you doing?”
“This one, he counts the steps, yes. Maybe the number is no longer the same as when it was last counted. Ti’lief ensure accuracy and update sign.”
Kharla sighed, thrust her spear butt into the ground and carried on. Not far away a wolf howled, and Kharla thrust out her spear as the creature leapt toward her but moments later. She pulled the spear out of its chest and kicked it to make sure it was dead. Why wolves insisted on howling before they attacked, Kharla didn’t know, but it sure made defending against them easier. She looked at her spear. First kill. Only a wolf, but a kill all the same.
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“I wonder what that is?” Draloth said. A narrow wooden grooved structure had been built alongside the steps here, the end of which turned outward.
“Beats me,” said Kharla.
“Look at the view!” said Mell as she stared down at Ivor’s Shed and the surrounding woods and land. “So pretty!”
“It is, Mell,” said Eilgird. “It reminds me of the view from the observatory at Dragonsearch. I was lucky enough to be assigned to guard it once. Even had a look through the Jarl’s lens when no one was looking. It’s one of the few guard posts that isn’t boring in Whiteruin.”
“Does he count that as one or two steps?” came the Khapiit’s voice from a little farther down the trail. “Ti’lief isn’t sure.”
The smattering of silver birches clinging to the mountain gave way to conifers as they climbed higher, the steps periodically surrendering to areas of ground where either no steps had ever been built or where they’d long since eroded. A couple more wolves tried to ambush them but again gave themselves away with their ear-piercing howls. Eilgird managed to get one with an arrow, and Kharla the other with her spear.
The steps twisted around the Thrill of the World as they worked their way up. Kharla saw a goat. Then another. Soon the steps and rocks were filled with goats, some going down, some going up, some standing still, but most walking just in front of Kharla and the others just slow enough to be annoying but fast enough to spring ahead at a moment’s notice should Kharla or the others try to get ahead. Kharla was familiar with goats and their annoying behavior. She’d spent a good part of her youth watching over her clan’s goats, defending them against wolves and goat rustlers after the clan’s best cheese-producing goats.
The goats on the steps slowed them down but there was little they could do. So they continued up the mountain through a mass of goats, Kharla desperately hoping to see a goatherd who’d take them down the mountain and out of their way.
“Where do they all come from?” asked Draloth as he weaved his way through.
“Out of the way!” came the Cat’s frustrated voice from behind. “Ti’lief cannot see the steps and will lose count!”
The goats thinned out at last and the company bent around another twist in the trail to see another enshrined etched tablet. Before it, a Nord hunter lay on the ground. They approached and Kharla bent down. The man moaned. He had a nasty bump on his forehead head. By his side, much to Kharla’s surprise, was Timba’s blunderbuss. She picked it up, looked at it, and handed it to Eilgird. She helped the man to his feet.
“What happened?” asked Kharla.
The man breathed out deeply and then shook his head. “I heard this big boom and then something, orange-yellow in color I think, came out of nowhere and hit me. That’s the last thing I remember.”
Eilgird hid the blunderbuss behind her back.
The hunter looked up at the sky. “I must’ve been out for a few hours. Think I’m all right now though. That’s the second boom I’ve heard from here in the last couple of days. I do hope the mountain isn’t going to erupt!”
“Are you all right? You can come with us if you like. We’re going to High Healthspa,” said Mell.
“Oh, I’ve never been that far up. Don’t much care to come across any of those Ace Wolves farther up the Thrill. I just came up to bag some game and read the adverts. Get a lot of goats around here. Not much fond of their meat, but they make for a fine curry that sells well in Ivor’s Shed.”
Mell took some of the snow that had now begun to cover the sides of the trail and let it melt in the palm of her hand. She poured it into a phial and added a little powder from one of the packets she’d bought and shook it up. “This’ll help with the concussion.” She handed the hunter the phial and he drank it.
“My thanks! Ah, yes, I feel much better already! That’s a good idea, dried potion mixtures.”
After the hunter bid them farewell and disappeared around the bend from which they’d just come, they looked at the etched tablet.
Draloth read it out. “Over thirty varieties of uniquely scented soap available from our exquisite gift shop.”
Kharla shook her head. Soap. Why did humans use soap? A dip in a river or a shower under a waterfall was good enough. You didn’t want to lose your natural scent to all this smelly stuff.
Fluffy snowflakes began to drift through the air as they pressed on.
“Two hundred and twenty-nine,” came the Cat’s voice from the back of the group.
Kharla stopped as a howl echoed down the steps from a short distance ahead. A deep howl. She slowed and indicated for the rest of them to do so. Then she saw it. A light gray wolf almost twice the size of the other wolves they’d encountered. “Ace Wolf,” she whispered back to the others. “Be quiet! Let’s see if we can take it down before it—”
Kharla heard bottles jingle and wood hit the floor. She looked back to see that Thral had slipped on an icy patch and dropped the crate.
“Oops!” he said, picking up the crate again.
Too late. The Ace Wolf had seen them. It came bounding down the steps. Eilgird shot an arrow but the beast dodged out the way. She shot another and the wolf swerved to the side and leaped against a rock to propel it forward even faster. Kharla hurled one of her axes at it but the creature caught it in its maw and flicked its head, sending the axe back at them, missing Kharla’s head by inches and embedding itself in Thral’s crate. Kharla’s blood began to boil. But she controlled the desire to go berserk.
Its huge teeth bared, it sprung the final few strides toward Kharla who managed to get her spear up just in time, piercing the Ace Wolf through the heart. The momentum carried the beast over her head where it separated from the spear and went tumbling down the steps coming to a stop in front of Ti’lief.
“Are you trying to make this one lose count?” the Cat shouted up at Kharla.
They continued up the steps, the evergreens now all white with snow or frost. They passed a marker, a pile of stones with an old banner fluttering from its top in the growing wind. Kharla had seen a number of them on their ascent. She wiped the blood from her spear on the tattered banner. A few dozen steps later they came to yet another of the etched tablets.
Eilgird read it this time. “The High Healthspa healing sanctuary — you won’t just feel on top of the world, you’ll be on top of the world!” Eilgird sighed. “Who wrote these?”
As they made their way onward the steps widened so they could almost walk abreast, but also often gave way to more patches where no steps could be seen underfoot at all. Kharla looked back to see Ti’lief trailing behind, kicking up the increasing layers of snow, no doubt checking to see if any steps were hidden below.
The path dipped, went past several old pillars, perhaps part of the original Seven Thousand Steps, and the trail rose and dipped again a couple of times before they came to the fourth etching. Before this shrine sat a Nord woman in scale armor with a circlet about her head.
“There wasn’t anything special about that four-hundred-and-eighteenth step,” said Ti’lief as he caught up, not seeing the Nord woman ahead. “This one thinks the man with the crate was playing games with us.”
It seems that he may have indeed been playing with us. Looking into this, I discovered in the book ‘The Jive Songs of King Wulfitdown’ that this High King rebuilt the four-hundred-and-eighteenth step way back in the First Era after striking it with his axe when he missed the head of the dragon he was fighting. After the fight, the Greatbeards insisted the High King mend it because ‘someone could fall and break their neck’. This he did, and as a token of goodwill he also gifted the Greatbeards with a salt bin at the top of the steps. The Greatbeards, however, later removed the salt and converted the bin into a donations chest.
“Hello,” said Eilgird as they approached the Nord.
“Hello,” the woman replied, looking up at her. “Is Whiteruin assigning patrols to the Thrill of the World now?”
“Oh,” began Eilgird, looking down at her uniform. “No, I’m traveling in the company of the Dragonbore as part of a sponsorship deal with the Jarl of Whiteruin.”
“The Dragonbore? So, it’s true! I heard the summons of the Greatbeards yesterday. Which of you is the Dragonbore?”
Those gathered around her parted and indicated toward Thral who stood a few feet away, crate in arms, staring up at the falling snowflakes, a look of wonder on his face.
The woman stood, pulled out her journal and a quill, and stepped toward Thral. “Can I have your autograph? And can you sign it for Ceridwen? That’s C-E-R-I-D-W-E-N.”
Thral put down the crate, took the journal and quill, and scribbled in the journal. The woman smiled as Thral handed the journal back, and then frowned as she looked down at it. Kharla could see the line that Thral had scribbled down the page. He’d improved since signing the guards’ journals at the western watchtower. Put a more prominent little squiggle at the bottom, or maybe that was the product of all the mead he’d been drinking.
“He’s none too good at writing,” Kharla explained. “Or speaking, come to that. But Thral, Thane of Whiteruin, thanks you for the honor you show him.”
Ceridwen placed the journal back in her belt pouch. Then she took off her necklace. “I wish to gift the Dragonbore with this amulet.” She held it up and, after Thral had bent a little, put it around his neck.
Thral looked at the amulet on his chest. It bore the shape of a man holding his foot as if in pain.
“Thanks!” said Thral before turning his attention back to the cute fluffy snowflakes again.
“So, Ceridwen,” Eilgird said. “Are you on your way up or down?”
Ceridwen placed the journal back into her clothing. “Down. I just popped up for a dip in one of their hot springs and a quick manicure. I stopped to read this.” She indicated toward the etched tablet and read the words out loud. “A great beard makes a great day.”
She sighed. “I’ve been trying to get my husband to come up here for years, but he’s too lazy. His beard’s so messy and it makes me itch when he kisses me, or perhaps I should say when he tries to kiss me. I’m sure he has fleas in it, maybe a couple of bird nests by now. I told him he either comes here to take advantage of the beard-grooming services or else. I’ve got a coupon for ten percent off on my next visit and it’s good for the beard grooming service too. Maybe that’ll convince him. If not, then it’s off with his beard or I’m leaving him.”
Eilgird folded her arms. “Nord men and their beards, eh?”
“Aye, tell me about it,” said Ceridwen.
“Do you know much about the Academy?” Kharla said. That was, after all, where they’d been invited specifically.
“Big great building. Old. Never seen anyone go in or out, to be honest. It’s where the Greatbeards live. The spa staff up there seldom see them either, as far as I understand,” Ceridwen replied.
“Do you know if they have a cleaner?” asked Ti’lief.
Ceridwen frowned. “I’ve really no idea. Anyway, I must be off. I have a husband to confront!”
The trail led up again, the trees giving way to rock and the cold spray of ice in the wind. The steps disappeared entirely as they passed through a narrow gorge. Then Kharla and the others stopped as they heard a strange sound. A slurping noise followed by thumping. Something big. Then from the right side of the gorge a shape descended, landing right in front of them. Ape-like and covered in white hair, it had a number of eyes and a huge mouth from which drooled copious amounts of foamy saliva.
“A Froth Troll!” warned Eilgird. “Don’t let its saliva touch you!”
“Why?” asked Draloth, drawing back. “Is it poisonous?”
“No, just very hard to get the stain out of your clothes.”
The creature pounded the ground with massive fists, stomped on the ground, and raised its ugly jaws, salivating so profusely that Kharla wondered that it had any fluids left in it.
The Froth Troll’s frenzy was interrupted by a loud boom that came from Kharla’s side. Eilgird had gotten the Dweeber blunderbuss to work! The Froth Troll, singed down one half of its body, turned and ran off, covering its ears as it did so.
“Well, that worked quite well, I think,” said Eilgird.
Once out of the gorge, they came across yet another tablet ensconced in a little shrine. Ti’lief, with no steps to count on this part of the trail, offered to read it.
“At High Healthspa we have an attitude that meets our altitude.”
Draloth shook his head. “I’m going to find who wrote these and give them some lessons in sales copy.”
“Whoever wrote them’s probably long dead,” said Kharla.
“Yes,” said the Dark Elf, “you are most likely right. He would’ve had a lot of enemies with writing like that.”
Ti’lief eagerly counted the few steps they encountered before the ground went flat again. They passed some more columns and markers and then the trail declined, snow-covered firs appearing again as they reached another tablet.
“Who’s turn is it?” Draloth asked.
“Oh, I’ll do it,” said Kharla. She bent down and read it out. “The absolute lowest price at the highest precipice.”
They all moved on without comment, the way leading up again as they hit some more steps. A splendid view of the land below opened up as they turned the bend. Kharla spotted the grooved sloping structure again, a little below the height of the trail, but it and the view were soon gone again as they passed through another gorge, this time with steps leading up.
They passed other etched tablets as the snow-strewn wind picked up, but did not deign to read them. They just wanted to get inside now. Out of the snow and cold. The steps seemed to become better as they rounded a bend and then, at the top of the steps, a huge building loomed before them. They’d finally reached High Healthspa.
“Big, isn’t it?” said Kharla.
A large chest sat outside the doors. A little notice above instructed visitors to deposit all donations and supplies therein. Kharla had Thral put the crate into the chest before they proceeded up the steps to the doors.
There were three doors. One had a sign on it saying ‘High Healthspa Wellness Center’, another ‘High Healthspa Beard Grooming Services’, and a third ‘High Healthspa Academy’.
“We’ll have to go back,” said the Cat, looking up at them.
“Why?” said Kharla.
“This one has lost count.”