Chapter 13
High above the bald peak around which Warlord Khrol’s contingent was encamped, Ilyshn’ish watched as the Stormcasters directed a dozen assistants to sweep the stone clear of snow and move supplies around their ritual site. Nearby, hunters from the Yeti army kept a watchful eye on the proceedings, but most of their energy went into scanning the jagged mountainside. They were still a problem, however. Ilyshn’ish didn’t doubt that they would start pelting her with rocks if she threatened their charges.
“How long are we going to watch these people for?” Ilyshn’ish grumbled, “This is taking far longer than a Lizardman ritual back home.”
Far longer was a gross understatement. The Lizardmen just sat in their little circle, cast their spells, and then got on with their lives. They even told her that ritual magic has been used in the past to rapidly deploy powerful Elementals in war.
The Yeti ritual, on the other hand, was far from rapid. They spent a whole lot of time organising their space, etching lines into the stone, positioning various ceremonial items, chanting a bunch of nonsense, and praying over everything. And then they did more of it. She wasn’t sure whether they had cast anything at all yet.
“Is this some sort of…political move?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “Something that adds apparent value in the eyes of the uninitiated? I’ve seen Human Priests do similar things.”
“It’s possible,” Pinecone said. “At the same time, this may simply be how they have learned to conduct ritual magic. Even if certain actions aren’t necessary for spellcasting to some, it may become integral to others.”
Ilyshn’ish glanced at the Krkonoše flying over her shoulder. The explanation felt absurd to her, but she admittedly often witnessed what Pinecone had described. Priests called upon the name of one god or another before casting their spells and Wizards spouted overly dramatic gibberish before launching their attacks. Adventurers in training were often castigated for doing so as it wasted precious seconds in combat, but many persisted nonetheless.
“Wait,” Ilyshn’ish said, “does that mean we’re going to be loitering here for however long it takes them to finish their ritual?”
“Do you not wish to learn more about these people?”
She held in a tired sigh. While learning about the world and its people was an ongoing thing for her, watching people cast magic was annoying. As an Adult Frost Dragon, she was well past the point that she should have been able to cast magic of her own. No matter what she tried, however, she couldn’t even grasp the most fundamental aspects of spellcasting. It had gotten to the point that she had stopped trying.
Her only consolation was that she could perform Spellsongs, which were sort of like magic. As a Bard, she could also cast magic through the use of scrolls, wands, and all manner of magic items, but the irony this ability presented annoyed her all the more.
Ilyshn’ish stifled a yawn as the droning chants of the Stormcasters drifted up through the wind. Maybe she would get some sort of bonus for collecting information about the Yeti Solidarity. It wasn’t exactly her assignment, after all.
“We go,” Vltava said from between her horns.
“Huh?” Ilyshn’ish blinked, “They’re already done?”
“They are still casting. The spell is an independently developed variety of weather control magic.”
“I have to wonder how they came to possess the equivalent of Sixth-tier magic when the best they have down there is a Fourth-tier caster.”
“Elements of culture and religion have allowed them to conceptualise their version of the spell. The lack of refinement suggests this magic is either a recent development or that blind adherence to tradition has stifled innovation. What evidence of magical integration did you see while you were among them?”
“The vehicle I travelled in was thoroughly enchanted,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “As for the work camp, the temple was the only building that showed any signs of magic.”
“What of the people?” Pinecone asked, “Do they have a diverse range of casters? Personal magic items?”
“There wasn’t anything obviously magical,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “I didn’t sense anything more valuable than it should have been, either. As for magic casters, I didn’t notice any aside from members of the Yeti clergy.”
“That suggests their religious caste is maintaining a monopoly on the use of magic. Across many societies throughout history, religious institutions often divide their resources between the maintenance of society and investing in monolithic projects that reinforce their primacy in the eyes of the people. Many also work to suppress threats to that primacy, such as what they consider unorthodox or heretical magic.”
She had no reason to question Pinecone’s words. Of course, most temple staff would probably describe what they were trying to achieve in more flattering terms.
“So what does all that mean for us in our current situation?” Ilyshn’ish asked.
“That it’s likely safe to descend,” Pinecone answered. “With their Clerics busy conducting the ritual, the only potential threats are the nearby sentries.”
“I see.”
Despite the late overseer’s claims of the Solidarity having an army with higher quality members, Warlord Khrol’s soldiers didn’t seem that much better than the company security she had observed around the work camp. They were a bit stronger and their standardised equipment did give off an air of professionalism, but, at the same time, it wasn’t as if they towered over their non-military peers in their apparent capabilities.
If she were to make a comparison, the Warlord’s soldiers were a bit stronger than the average veteran Beastman warrior. But to be fair, she had no idea how large the entire Yeti army was so she couldn’t be sure what the bigger picture looked like.
Ilyshn’ish slowly descended upon the ritual site, making wide circles as she inspected every nook and cranny of the landscape. The six Stormcasters each had a pair of Acolytes. Three pairs of hunters occupied points immediately surrounding the ritual circle while several dozen more were scattered along the approaches below. Like the Beastmen of Rol’en’gorek, they used leather slings and wore pouches filled with stone bullets. The last part was something she wasn’t particularly fond of.
“I’m the largest target between us,” she said. “They’re going to pelt me with stones the moment they notice we’re here!”
“「Greater Stoneskin」.”
She ascended in alarm as a rocky layer enveloped her entire body. After a moment, she levelled out again after realising it didn’t add anything to her mass.
“Don’t frighten me like that!” Ilyshn’ish hissed.
“Shall I dispel the effect?” Vltava asked.
“N-No,” Ilyshn’ish hastily answered. “I’m going to land now…”
Ilyshn’ish dove the final three thousand metres to the peak, hoping to dislodge the unreasonable ball of fluff atop her head. All he did, however, was hop off and cast flight magic on himself, allowing for a slow, relaxed descent. The Yeti ritualists jumped in collective shock as Ilyshn’ish landed and revealed herself to them.
“Good evening,” Ilyshn’ish bobbed her head.
“Stone Dragon!” The lead Stormcaster bellowed over the wind, “You have encroached upon the lands of the Solidarity! Why have you come?”
“S-Stone Dragon? No, this isn’t what it looks li–never mind. I, um, someone wishes to speak with you. Please hold on for a moment…”
The Stormcasters looked at her strangely, but they were perfectly content to give their escorts time to gather while Vltava took his sweet time floating down to address them. Someone snickered as the Krkonoše Druid alighted atop her head.
“Your weather manipulation activities exceed the acceptable bounds of the natural balance,” Vltava said in a high-pitched bleat. “You will cease your actions immediately.”
One of the Stormcasters laughed uproariously.
“Puny morsel,” she said, “who are you to–”
A blood-curdling shriek pierced the air as the speaker spontaneously combusted. The aroma of burnt hair and melting fat filled the air as the Stormcaster chaotically waddled about, flailing her arms in panic. Some of the Yeti froze, expressions aghast, while others scampered out of the path of their burning comrade. Seconds later, the Stormcaster fell forward and crumbled into a pile of char near the edge of the ritual circle.
Farther afield, the Warlord’s forces rushed forward, howling in fury. The lead Stormcaster, however, held up a hand to call for silence.
“The jungle basin below has already crossed an unacceptable threshold,” he said. “Our seers have reported the transgressions of these savage Beastmen to us. In their unthinking greed, they have facilitated the dominance of a single prey species to the detriment of all others. Through their efforts to maintain this unnatural state, they have forced the entire basin into a condition of systemic fragility. We are simply enacting a much-needed correction.”
“This gross interference with the cycle of seasons is an inappropriate measure,” Vltava told the Yeti. “It does not specifically target the problem and threatens all species that dwell within the basin. You will permanently end your activities or your activities will be brought to a permanent end.”
Well, that confrontation earlier today came back to bite him in the tail.
The lead Stormcaster glanced over his shoulder at the gathering soldiers before glaring at Ilyshn’ish – or, rather, the thing arrogantly standing on top of Ilyshn’ish’s head. Jhola and the Stormcasters were throwing temple clout around just that afternoon, so the power dynamic that they had asserted was now putting their backs to the proverbial cliff. A sane person who valued their life would acquiesce to Vltava’s demand, but doing so here would call the supremacy of the Yeti gods to question. Worse yet, Warlord Khrol would surely see such an action as a sign of weakness and use the event to erode the influence of the temples on the Yeti frontier.
At least that’s what her experience with Humans suggested. Indeed, her investigation of the Baharuth Empire’s history revealed generations of political and sometimes military conflict between the martial aristocracy, their civilian counterparts, the Temples, and the Guilds. If it wasn’t for the support of Fluder Paradyne, who bought enough time for the Empire to entrench its core institutions, the Empire might have even fragmented into five or six petty kingdoms shortly after their rebellion against Re-Estize.
Perhaps the Solidarity was more stable than that in its developed regions, but the confrontation with the Warlord earlier that day suggested that rule of law was tenuous at best on the Yeti frontier.
“What are you waiting for?” Warlord Khrol shouted, “Bring the wrath of the gods down upon these heathens!”
“Freeze their hearts!”
“Shatter their souls!”
“Call down the avalanche to bury their bones!”
Fervent shouts rose from all around them, amplifying the Warlord’s sentiment. Had they faced similar challenges in the past? It would hardly be a surprise if they did: Druids existed pretty much everywhere in the wilderness.
“Your answer?” Vltava asked.
The Stormcasters raised their hands. Huge orbs of frost coalesced in the air and were sent crashing into Ilyshn’ish.
“Why me?!” She cried.
“「Viral Maximise Magic – Inferno」.”
Vltava bleated out an ominous-sounding spell. Then, Ilyshn’ish realised that she was on fire.
“Hiiiiieeeee!!!”
Ilyshn’ish leapt up in fright, flapping her wings and thrashing about as she tried to smother the flames. Along the way, she rolled over the ritual circle and lit the Stormcasters on fire as well. Their screams joined hers as chaos erupted and Vltava’s awful spell spread to everyone who came into contact with anyone already set aflame.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
It took a good while for her to realise she wasn’t taking any damage. Once she did, she turned a hurt look at the Krkonoše floating overhead.
“Must you be so atrocious?”
Vltava yawned. All across the ritual site, scores of Yeti had been burnt to a crisp and many more were tracing fiery trails away from the peak. Ilyshn’ish’s fear-induced rampage had induced dragonfear in the Yeti contingent and a good number had dashed straight off of the mountainside to fall to their deaths. The only one who managed to get through everything unscathed was Warlord Khrol, who stood frozen before them wearing a dumbfounded expression.
“Return to your masters,” Vltava bleated down from on high. “If they abuse their power again, far worse will befall your people.”
With that, the ball of fluff drifted away on the wind. Ilyshn’ish folded her wings and settled them over her back before picking through the charred Yeti remains for anything of value.
The overseer said something about these carved jade pieces being coins. They certainly seem valuable, but what are they worth? Hmm…
She looked over at Warlord Khrol, who was still standing nearby in a daze.
“Excuse me,” Ilyshn’ish said as she held up a coin on the tip of a claw, “what can one of these afford you in Rygal?”
“Huh? Oh, uh…two nights at a decent inn, including a meal–wait, how do you know about Rygal?”
Ilyshn’ish took flight, heading off in Vltava’s direction. The flooding in Rol’en’gorek would recede with the cessation of the Yeti’s activities, so his new worshippers would probably raise statues of him all over the place.
“Where have you been?” Pinecone asked when she caught up to the Krkonoše.
“That should be my question,” Ilyshn’ish replied. “Why didn’t you two come down with us?”
“It wasn’t necessary.”
“That may be so,” Ilyshn’ish grumbled, “but it would have been nice if one of you was lit on fire instead of me.”
Rather than dwell upon the unpleasant experience, she went over a mental inventory of her gains as they descended into the jungle basin. Most of the Yeti’s belongings had been destroyed or damaged, so she was left with a few dozen pieces of Solidarity coinage and some magic items from the Stormcasters. Based on the Warlord’s quote, it was a meagre haul compared to collecting Green Dragon parts in Rol’en’gorek.
“Where are we going, by the way?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “Back to Ghroklor?”
“We did what we came to do,” Vltava told her. “We return to what we were doing.”
That seemed fine, so long as what they were doing didn’t bring them too close to the Great Lut. She didn’t want a flight of Blue Dragons chasing her around, or, even worse, a Brass Dragon yakking at her until her scales curled up and fell off.
It wasn’t long until their flight brought them back over the jungle, where they alighted near an Ocelo town carved into the side of a canyon. Their attention, however, wasn’t focused on the town but on a group of Nug herders tending to their livestock grazing alongside the churning river. The Beastmen cast wary looks in their direction as they approached, but the defeated air that hung over them sapped away any threat they could muster.
“Good evening,” Ilyshn’ish bobbed her head, “my name is Winter Moon. My companions and I were planning to stay the night in the town up ahead, but we couldn’t help but notice that something seemed amiss. Is everyone alright here? Are the Jorgulans raiding nearby?”
“It’s the herds,” one of the Ocelo replied. “A malaise has fallen over them.”
“A malaise? What did your mystics say about it?”
“There’s nothing to be done,” the Ocelo sighed. “The wet has rotted away the pastures and hunger’s weakened our animals. They’re all sorts of sick and we’re losing dozens every day.”
“Can’t your mystics use magic to cure these ‘maladies’?” Ilyshn’ish asked.
The Ocelo exchanged a look between themselves.
“Does your kind not raise livestock?” One of them asked.
“We’re hunters, primarily,” Ilyshn’ish answered.
“Ah. Then the answer to your question is that magic can cure your illness, but it won’t prevent you from catching it again. We’ve tried separating healthy animals from sick ones and the healthy groups still eventually get sick. All we can do is see which animals recover on their own.”
“How many have done so?”
“It’s hard to say,” the herder replied. “One might survive the Hoofrot but then the Scaletongue will get them. Or the Jitters. Or the Slimehide.”
“The mystics are asking us to pick out our best animals,” another said. “I think they’ve decided to try and brute force a small herd through to next season with healing magic.”
“A lot of our people will have to go to the front,” a third herder sighed. “Better to help take down our enemies and eat them than to sit here and wait for hunger to take us, I guess.”
We won’t be able to get a meal here. I didn’t get a chance to try some Yeti, either.
She parted with the herders on that sour thought and they opted to keep travelling downriver instead of staying the night at the town. The Krkonoše stopped to speak with some of the people at each settlement along the way, finding that they were also facing similar issues with their herds. A few of them had even put in the effort to make their way from the flooded lowlands to find a bit of pasture, only to find that their precious animals would perish anyway.
“It looks like the Yeti will ultimately get what they wanted,” Ilyshn’ish mused as they followed an orange clay road deeper into the valley. “Rol’en’gorek will be too busy starving to resist them and the mountain tribes stood no chance in the first place. The Jorgulans probably won’t be very happy about millions of Beastmen showing up to eat their invasion, though.”
“This would have happened eventually,” Pinecone said. “Simple systems are fragile. Rol’en’gorek engineered its own downfall by becoming overdependent on Nug.”
“So this is what you intend to ‘observe’?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “The death of a people?”
“It is merely one of many cycles in the world. Fragile systems fail while resilient ones thrive. Eventually, balance will reassert itself, leaving the survivors with the lessons of the past. In the case of Rol’en’gorek, I would say it is a fortuitous event.”
How can the collapse of one’s civilisation be a fortuitous event?
“No,” Vltava said. “Not fortuitous. What will come to pass is merely an element of the greater balance.”
“Now I’m really lost,” Ilyshn’ish said.
“It matters little. What is, is.”
As they travelled through the night, Ilyshn’ish idly wondered how Xoc would react when she informed her that Rol’en’gorek was in the process of getting is’d.
----------------------------------------
12th Day, Middle Earth Month, 1 CE
“Il-Enxoc, a cub was caught trying to sneak into the Human district!”
“Again?” Xoc scratched the back of her neck, “Please tell me nothing happened.”
“The cub was returned to her home, but the Humans grow increasingly worried over the safety of their own cubs.”
“Argh. Nothing’s ever happened, right? Our security measures are fine…”
Of course, Xoc had come to understand that Humans didn’t work like that. They were a woefully fragile race and their children were even more so. What counted as friendly play between Beastman children would probably result in dead Human children. Even Human adults could be grievously injured getting scratched or bitten by a Beastman cub. As a result, seemingly everything was dangerous and a matter of grave concern to the Human community.
To top it all off, they had a near nonexistent danger sense. They weren’t aware of nearby threats unless they noticed them directly or were warned of them by someone or something else. It made Humans especially crazy to deal with once they started believing in something that did or didn’t exist. She often found that no amount of reasoning or reassurances short of doing what they thought would fix the issue would satisfy them at that point, and if their supposed solution didn’t fix the issue, they would raise a fuss all over again.
“I’ll speak with Master Leeds later,” Xoc said. “There must be something we can do to stop this from happening.”
The runner jogged off, leaving Xoc to address the other petitioners in her court. Most of the problems they brought before her were good problems, however, as most of the petitioners had come from outside of her expanding territory hoping to partake in the plan her people had set in motion to offset the disruptions caused by the floods.
As for the floods themselves, they seemed to have levelled off. All of Rol’en’gorek breathed a collective sigh of relief at that, but the fact of the matter was that it didn’t erase all of the damage that had been caused. Some of the mystics even speculated that, by the time the floodwaters fully receded, the rainy season would be upon them once again. They could only hope things returned to normal afterwards.
Now, where was I…
She blew a feather away from her nose as she scanned the assembled petitioners. So many people had come through her court that they were all starting to look the same. The petitioners silently waited for her to speak, none of them giving any hint as to whom she should next address.
“Urmah Lamu.”
A grey-maned Urmah rose with a gesture of greeting.
“Il-Enxoc,” he said. “My lord and his council have reviewed your proposal. I am pleased to report that they find your terms satisfactory.”
“That’s great!” Xoc narrowed her eyes in delight, “Is your clan ready to begin immediately, or will they need time to prepare?”
“Our industrial facilities can take shipments immediately,” the Urmah replied, “and our markets greatly anticipate the arrival of your manufactured goods.”
“What about the matter with our friends in the south?” Xoc asked.
By ‘friends in the south’, she was referring to the Great Lut. Urmah Lamu’s holdings stretched to the border of the desert and it was critical that they understood that their ‘friends’ were no friends at all.
“We have long known they are motivated purely by profit,” urmah Lamu’s representative answered, “but we weren’t aware of the extent of their schemes. Rest assured, our clan has no desire to act as their unwitting agents. Perhaps one fortunate outcome of our present situation is that demand for imports from the south has very nearly collapsed. Our Merchants will continue to escalate the narrative of our grim future prospects, but rumour has it that many Merchants in the Great Lut have already cut their losses and abandoned the border trade.”
“Good,” Xoc said. “The sooner we sever those unhealthy trade ties, the better. What about the warriors we requested?”
“It may take us some time to provide what you need. Few chiefs will happily send their best warriors away from their lands even if they understand the reasoning behind it. This is especially the case with the wars raging on our borders already pulling away so many warbands.”
“Ghrkhor’storof’hekheralhr is a mere week via river from Lamu,” Xoc noted. “It isn’t as if we’re sending them to the Draconic Kingdom or the Jorgulan front.”
“Indeed, and, as you’ve mentioned, it’s an…investment for the future of Rol’en’gorek. But difficult times weigh otherwise straightforward choices with many worries. I humbly implore you to have patience for us on this matter, il-Enxoc.”
She wasn’t sure if the Urmah was doing it on purpose, but his resistance to the latter part of her proposal was tangible. At least to her. It wasn’t as if throwing a tantrum in front of the representative would expedite things, however, so all she could do was swallow her disappointment.
One of the common ideas between all of her foreign visitors was the notion that most countries outside of Rol’en’gorek had capitals. While this was also true for the great clans of Rol’en’gorek, what outsiders might mistake for the capital of Rol’en’gorek as a whole was merely the place where all of the jungle’s undesirables ended up. Trying to shake off that image and transform the city into a true capital was an ongoing challenge for her clan.
The sheer number of Beastmen dwelling in and around the city made it easy to turn it into an economic centre. It was already that way long before Xoc was born, though in a pretty random and informal way. Turning it into the political and cultural centre of Rol’en’gorek, however, was another thing entirely.
Her greatest challenge by far was securing the cooperation of the warrior clans. She had hoped to lean on their pride by asking for their help to train the city’s security forces and had even gone so far as to offer generous compensation for their assistance. Unfortunately, something had gone wrong along the way and now they treated her like a Merchant instead of the lord of a warrior clan.
Luck will only get me so far, I guess.
“Of course,” Xoc replied to the representative. “Your circumstances are entirely understandable. I was hoping that urmah Lamu would be able to show our Urmah citizens how to carry themselves as true warriors, but my enthusiasm has perhaps led to unrealistic expectations. We will proceed with our trade arrangements and eagerly await your favourable response with the remainder.”
After a long evening receiving petitioners, Xoc slipped off of her throne and went for a walk under the canopy to refresh herself. She nearly jumped out of her fur when Winter Moon hopped down from a branch nearby.
“Are you trying to make my whiskers fall out?” Xoc said.
“My apologies,” Winter Moon said as she rose to her towering full height. “I just arrived and it looked like you weren’t busy.”
“You were looking for me? Did something happen? I figured you’d still be out east. Did nar Ki’ra send a message?”
“They appreciate the support that you sent them, but that wasn’t what I came to talk to you about.”
“Then what is it?”
Xoc sat back on her haunches, wondering what the Bard had to say.
“I’m not sure how to put it nicely,” Winter Moon said, “but it looks like Rol’en’gorek is doomed.”
“Hah?” Xoc nearly shouted as she shot to her feet, “W-What do you mean? Is it the Jorgulans?”
“I’m sure they’ll contribute,” Winter Moon said, “but they aren’t the main issue. A number of maladies have affected the herds upriver. The herders have tried separating sick animals from healthy ones to no avail. With how quickly the sickness is spreading, the mystics can only believe that it’s being spread through the air or water…or perhaps some parasite that has been driven outside of their usual range by the irregular conditions.”
“That’s no good,” Xoc said. “How many animals are they losing?”
“From what I’ve managed to gather, only one in fifty manage to survive.”
Xoc fell back onto her haunches. One in fifty? They were all doomed.
“…what do we do?” She said in a small voice, “My people worked so hard to survive everything so far. Was it all useless in the end?”
She kneaded the stone walkway anxiously as countless worries whirled through her mind. Despite all of the improvements and innovations ocelo Pa’chan had introduced to Rol’en’gorek, they still relied on the herds for survival. If this pestilence swept through the basin, it would make the problems caused by the flooding look like nothing in comparison.
But knowledge was not power. Knowing about something didn’t mean one could do anything about it.
“I don’t want it to end like this,” Xoc looked up at Winter Moon helplessly. “I never thought things were going great, but I figured we could at least survive. Is…is there any way you could help us? Y-You’ve been to a lot of places, right? Maybe…”
Winter Moon’s cool turquoise gaze didn’t waver in the slightest as Xoc fell apart. Everyone was going to die. She had been a fool to cruelly string her people along with hope after empty hope. Worse than a fool. Already, she could imagine all of Rol’en’gorek cursing her as everyone perished.
She flinched as Winter Moon released a disgusted sigh.
“I give up,” the Bard said.
Xoc cringed at Winter Moon’s scathing words. Then, a massive claw snatched her off of her feet and spirited her away into the night.