Chapter 8: A Royal Invitation
Ash stood on the boat's prow. Sails flapped loudly behind him as sailors reigned them in, lowering their speed as they prepared to dock. Ships slipped past in both directions, packing ten into port at a time while a small flotilla anchored itself off the coast, waiting for some sort of signal to approach. Ash saw several Othelan ports in the last week, most bigger than this one, and he’d prepared himself. Here, hundreds of people bustled about as they unloaded cargo. Mostly, Ash watched hunters aggressively trying to reach the outpost as early as possible, while the beasts were most plentiful. The hunters clad themselves in steel and silk, standing out among the sea of navy-cloaked workers struggling to keep up. Each navy cloak sported a golden anchor overlaying a ship’s wheel, a symbol copied onto a multitude of flags high above a pocket of wooden structures and the spiked wooden walls separating them from the forest.
He was ready for the people, but the forest itself? How could anyone prepare for that?
As far as he could see, the coast was littered with trees, actual trees. His father’s descriptions didn’t do them justice. At their bases, the trees were as wide as some houses, making the animal-made structures look like children’s toys in comparison. Moss-covered bases stretched into smoky clouds above and vanished into into mist. The cloud was so dense it created an opaque veil that rolled above the port, turning upward as it hit the ocean and leaving an ethereal wall that obscured the branches and leaves of the new world.
For a while, Ash stood on deck, letting sailors and passengers file off with their things. People flowed around the dock and onto the port, each moving with purpose, veterans of the battlefield he’d chosen for his last stand. With a sigh, he pulled the wrinkled paper from his bag and read it again. This was his opening - a gamble to deal with Via where there wasn’t an official government and death was commonplace. He’d be cornered, but more importantly, there was little chance she’d send a letter to the Dusk Empire. He pinned everything on this piece of paper, an open letter from Cliona, the daughter of the highest-ranking deer in the Direwood Syndicate. It wasn’t a good plan, but it was all he had.
At the captain’s final yell, Ash folded the paper, tucking it into his satchel before wheeling the tarp-covered cart off the ship. Without knowing who was watching, Ash was keen for his performance to begin. Casting a subtle look to the left, he mimicked the other hunters’ confident gait for a mere step before something caught his eye. The sight of a dog-girl wearing leather armor, armed with a long, curved sword beneath her cloak made him draw a quick breath, tensing before he remembered: this is normal. It’s fine. That had to be The Direwood Syndicate’s version of the militia, differentiated by an etched metal pauldron on one shoulder. Missing only that step, his confidence was carried in each subsequent one, an unbothered mask upon his features.
The front gate held a large open area, filled with covered wagons that workers loaded with boxes and bags. His breath caught at a slightly sweet scent, drawing Ash past the workers and wagons as he rolled next to the attached beast. It was unmistakably an aibax, only not like one he’d ever seen. Even lying on its belly, the creature was so tall Ash would’ve had to reach up to pet its back. Its skin was covered in uneven thick black growths that cracked and split, but didn’t seem to bother it, and its nubby little horn had lengthened to the size of Ash’s forearm.
When the beast shifted its massive head, blinking curiously, Ash held up both hands so it knew he wasn’t approaching with food. “Hey boy, you’re a big one, aren’t you?”
“You can tell it’s a boy just from looking?”
Ash turned, only now noticing the man ahead of the beast. He was a worker, though his uniform didn’t seem to fit properly, hanging loosely around his torso and stopping short, while his pants were bunched up and hemmed to accommodate his small squat legs. He flashed a sharp toothy grin that blended with his platinum-blonde coat. “Ah, I recognize that look, before you ask, I’m a ferret. Related to weasels, not dogs. And yes, we’re supposed to look like this.”
“Uh,” Ash stammered, “No, I didn’t... I’m sorry.”
“Why?” The man patted the aibax’s head, then skirted around, offering his hand. “If ya’ve never seen a weasel, ya’ve never seen one. Ain't nothin’ to apologize for. I’m Sven.” Once Ash accepted the handshake, Sven stepped back, running his hands along the aibax’s flank. “So, you’re familiar with aibax? New driver?”
“Business,” Ash muttered, gently copying Sven. The skin was far tougher than he was used to, broken by the rocklike solid masses. “This is what they look like grown up? I’ve never seen them older than five.”
Loud claps rang off the beast as Sven roughly slapped its side a few times. “Oh, you’ve only seen them in farms then? Yeah, this one’s about sixty I think. Carried me from the Othelan Confederacy all the way to the Republic during my months as a beastherd. When they get old enough they get real protective of younger aibax, so farms need to cull them early.”
“Sixty...” Ash mused before shaking himself off. “I need to get to the outpost; is it just down the road there?”
“Yeah...” Sven looked around nervously. “It’s not against the rules to walk or anything, but I really suggest taking a wagon. Hunting season just started and beasts can get close to the road sometimes. If you can spare two hundred florins, we’ll transport you safely and move your luggage to a warehouse ‘till you can make permanent arrangements.”
That made sense. It was fine if he seemed unfamiliar with this place, that was unavoidable, but he needed to blend in with the wealthy hunters. Ash fished into his cloak pocket, removing two of the square iron coins. “Can we get the whole cart on, or do I need to remove the boxes separately?”
With Sven at the helm, the old wooden cart left the little port and pushed into the vast forest. Within a hundred feet, it was swallowed. The heavily fortified walls vanished behind incomprehensibly massive trees, themselves obscured by layers of moss so thick Ash could only guess at their true dimensions.
The cool, salty sea air slipped away, replaced by a cloying mix of earth and moss. Drowning the ocean breeze behind an ever-thicker fortification of trees until it was stagnant and warm. The breath of a thousand-ton living carpet, endlessly consuming an environment its visitors only dared to visit from behind the safety of their walls, if Sven was to be believed.
As they continued, the road narrowed, rapidly shrinking until the cart barely fit into its alien world. The wooden crates he surrounded himself with seemed more out of place the further they descended. Relics of a mundane farmer’s life instead of the wild unknown he dove into. A little wall of normal to cling to, as though being on one side or the other made a difference.
The stories of daring heroes embarking on quests always showed the wilderness as something to fear. That outside of the protection of their ordered civilization lay a darkness housing lawless brigands who preyed on hapless travellers. Sven assured him they needn’t worry. For bandits to stalk the roads they’d need to live outside the walls, and The Direwood cleansed such impurities.
Soon, the air stilled and darkness set in. Not the darkness of night, but an endless shade. Perhaps whatever was atop the trees grew thicker, or perhaps only the endless ceiling of mist did. Ash watched the massive mossy growths stretch up thirty feet before becoming hazy, and forty before they vanished into an ethereal, softly glowing oblivion. He was an insect burrowing into an unidentifiable living thing older than the first pictures scratched into the walls of his ancestors’ caves. And it didn’t want him here.
Long after Ash’s eyes adjusted to the new light, the forest continued. Hours of squeezing through tiny, winding trails avoiding hills and abrupt drops. Sven claimed the road followed as close to the river that ran through the port as they dared, making detours to navigate around impassible cliffs with raging waterfalls - something Ash never saw or heard evidence of until they finally reached Direwood Outpost.
After hours of staring into the endless expanse, a rushing waterfall pulled Ash’s eyes to the wagon’s front. To call this ancient wonder an outpost was both comical and insulting. Water seeped over a wall so high it touched the mist, only to find a cracked section that exploded into a small lake that fed into Sven’s river.
The road met the wall and clung to it, letting the wagon creep around the massive structure. Eventually, the weeping walls stopped. Apparently, only two of the ancient city’s districts were underwater, the end result of ancient collapsed aqueducts prematurely ejecting the river’s flow into the city. They followed the walls further, every step emphasizing the massive scope of the civilization that lived here before The Schism. Although every non-underwater district had been explored by archeologists, only one had walls secure enough to let someone dare to sleep.
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A weight lifted from Ash’s chest as they finally met another person. Dog-guards in leather armour sat beside a makeshift gate, barely watching the wagon as it passed. The ‘gate’ was more of a blockade built from chunks of the collapsed three-foot thick stone wall assembled in a sparsely constructed framework. That, naturally, made him curious as to what entrance the ancient wolves used, and why in the world they’d construct a watertight district in the first place.
As for the wall itself? Math was never Ash’s strong suit, but he’d helped his sisters build retaining walls back home. Assuming the wall’s construction was even throughout, three feet deep and thirty feet high meant every foot contained five thousand...ish kilos of stone. No, considering it was still standing after so many years, it had to have an impressive foundation to match. Without a quarry in sight, Deianira only knew where the ancient builders got it all.
Beyond the gate, the first flickers of civilization revealed themselves. Buildings sprouted like ivy along the inner wall, carpeting it in utilitarian boxy things, painted a rusty red and flickering with gaslight. The wagon turned, rolling down a road with wooden structures on one side, and a mishmash of tents masking the decimated ruin of a lost civilization on the other.
Sven reigned in his beast in front of a large barn, the warehouse where he’d store Ash’s things. With little left to keep him, Ash pulled his cloak tight, strapped his travel bag on, and offered Sven his thanks for the ride.
Direwood Outpost was the largest city he’d set foot in. The long strip of wooden buildings curved with the wall into the distance. Thousands of people moved around the road, easily the entire population of his island, packed together in this single cluster of wood and tents. A perfect cover to prepare his trap.
As luck would have it, finding his mark was simple, even among the boondocks bustling with bodies, buildings, and buggies. The seat of power for any organization included areas for its members to flaunt their status. Places designed to concentrate power while providing a space for new talent without tying up official channels. Since he was looking for someone important, that meant the biggest building on the strip, a place known as “The Lodge.” The building was three times wider than even the warehouses, and climbed so high the roof touched the top of the wall. It was still simple hardwood, but distinguished itself by lining the outside with skulls of strange beasts he didn’t know, and an enormous flag with the Direwood Syndicate’s logo hanging across the second story.
When Ash set foot in The Lodge, eyes subtly turned his way. Deer and dogs in silken finery chatted at tables that were little more than shipping crates covered in navy fabric, waited on by smiling uniformed workers. The walls were equally strange, filled with tapestries of warriors facing down grotesque beasts, ones he’d write off as storybook illustrations anywhere else. While everyone shot curious glances at the shoddily dressed outsider, none deigned him worthy of acknowledging outright.
For his part, Ash ignored them as well, and for the same reason. Opening a conversation with someone was a show you needed something from them, a sign of weakness. He passed without a second glance, moving to the uniformed man behind the bar with a polite smile. “Excuse me,” Ash said. “I’m looking for Cliona, would you happen to know where she is?”
The worker looked him over curiously, then jerked his head toward a large set of stairs in the back. “Third floor.”
“Thanks.” Ash strode through the room, passing guests without acknowledgement. By now, most lost interest. He was a messenger or something, nothing they needed to concern themselves with.
The second floor was more lavish. A scattered group of men and women in fine silks sat at propper tables, each with a few armoured women standing guard while they ate. The third floor was clearly designed to show off. The floors were grey tile, leading to windows where glass tables let guests enjoy their meals with a view overlooking the endless ruins.
Dozens of women in scaled black leather glared at him. There was an even mix of dogs and deer, each with steel collars inscribed with their owners’ names around their necks. Past them, a deer-girl about his age dressed in red-plated armour and a golden circlet sat across from a dog. This man, presumably her date, was exactly the kind of man Ash expected. He so embodied the preening palace courtiers that any boys back home would wither of embarrassment trying to match him. His black coat swept down to his ankles, covered in intricate swirling silver lines. His eyes flicked Ash’s way as he leaned back in his chair, coat opening to expose white fur covered in black spots, like an inkwell exploded from a few feet away. The dots continued up to his face, where they joined a bright pink design stretching from his raised eye to the top of his head. On the same side, a series of silver rings ran down his ear, bumping gently against his cheek as he turned.
Ash smiled, pushing past their bodyguards and striding to Cliona like he hadn’t noticed. His father hadn’t encouraged lying, but he hadn’t been shy about the tactics merchants used. You either lied small enough no one suspected, or you lied big enough no one believed you were stupid enough to try. He’d done plenty of the former, but this was his first time with the latter. “Hi. You wouldn’t happen to be Cliona, would you?”
The deer-woman half turned her head, grimacing like an insect landed in her food. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m Ruari. Uh, Ruari Tythic. It’s nice to meet you.” Ash extended a hand with a warm smile.
The two at the table watched his hand in disbelief, then cracked grins before devolving into laughter. “Oh honey,” the man said, turning the end of his word up with an exaggerated inflection. “Honey, no. You’ve had your fun, now off with you.”
One of the dog-women put a hand on his shoulder, which Ash slapped away in irritation. “Excuse me?”
Amusement remained on the dog’s face, but Cliona’s mirth rapidly dissolved. “He said, go. And I think you should listen.”
This was going about as well as expected. The thing about lies this big? Conviction. “Go? You invited me!” Ash dug through his bag, causing the twelve closest women to tense and grab their weapons, only calming after he fished out the paper and slapped it on the table.
Cliona’s companion grinned harder, leaning back in his chair and watching his friend grit her teeth. With restrained rage, Cliona snatched the paper from the table, skimmed it, and crumpled it up. “That’s an open letter my family made to those hoity-toity royals in their ivory towers. We sent one to every port and major city. Anyone could read it. That’s the point! It’s mocking them for being too cowardly to come up here and talk to us!”
Ash blinked, feigning shock. “Well... I’m here. And for the record, they’re not ivory, they’re mostly wood and granite.”
The dog’s chair clicked as it fell flat, letting him rest an elbow on the table to support his swollen grin. When Cliona hesitated, open-mouthed and furious, the spotted man cut in. “You’re royalty? Dressed like that, with no bodyguards or notice?”
With a dramatic step back, Ash raised his arms to make a show of examining himself. “I’ll admit they’re not my best clothes, but I didn’t expect I’d need to host a dinner party. As for the escort, I’m a governor, fiftieth or sixtieth in line, I don’t-”
The deer rose to her feet with a furious snarl, fists balling. “Enough! Even if you were royalty, it’d be an insult they sent a fucking man to talk with us! Now unless you want a crushed windpipe. Get. Out.”
Ash stepped back, bumping into the guards breathing down his neck. For a moment, her friend’s face twitched, bemused smirk slipping as hardened eyes glared holes into the back of her head, only to shift back when the moment she turned.
This was about as bad as he could imagine, and further attempts to sway Cliona would only provoke her. But did he need her specifically? Whoever her friend was, he was important enough to be here too, and he didn’t appreciate Cliona’s opinions on men. “Fine,” Ash conceded, throwing up his hands. “I’ll work out the business myself. But the treasury’s already allocated funds for hunting, so I’m stuck here for three months. Can you at least point me to where-”
“Throw him o-”
“Hold up!” The dog said, raising a limp hand. Instantly Cliona whirled on him, and the deer and dog guards eyed eachother warily.
“What?” she asked, leaning on the table.
The dog shrugged, ignoring Cliona to lazily look Ash up and down. “I’m curious. You say the treasury allocated funds? How much?”
Ash swallowed hard, inwardly screaming as he removed the gold bar from his bag and set it on the table. Nine months of growing and trading, condensed into a single metal bar. “This is what our treasurer budgeted to get me started. I’ll have to prove it’s worth it to convince them to send more.”
Those soft eyes watched Ash closely, really looking at him for the first time, then examined the bar on the table. Finally, he turned to Cliona with a dramatic sigh.
“You’re not serious!” she protested, gesturing to Ash. “Fuck his one brick of gold, that’s nothing. He’s not royalty!”
“No.” The dog turned away, pursing his lips as he examined Ash like an aibax ripe for slaughter. “But he’s a customer. And his ‘one brick of gold’ is worth an afternoon. I’m Issac.” Issac offered his hand, which Ashling accepted before Cliona could ruin it. “Now, your lordship, the most important equipment when hunting in The Direwood is a hunting slave. Prices vary depending on quality, so with that, you can get a small team of lesser-quality slaves, or one premium one. Keep in mind, the more damaged they get, the less money you can resell them for at season’s end. So, what’s your pleasure?”
That was tricky. More slaves meant more light could be harvested for the next part of his plan. However, numbers came with risk. The slaves would see everything, so any deception would be unearthed eventually. They’d need to be in on the con, and trusting one woman was hard enough. “Why settle for anything less than the best?”
Cliona groaned, sinking into her seat as Issac kicked the third chair out with a grin. “Why indeed, your lordship.”