Chapter 5

“You’ll…you’ll really do it?”

“Of course,” Elder Patli chuffed in good humour. “Karuvaki and I have discussed many of the opportunities that our efforts here might lead to. To seize them efficiently, however, leadership is required. Besides, I think it will be good for our people. Despite being surrounded by so many others, so many Ocelo live lost and alone in this all-engulfing city. Building a strong community will drive away that insidious malaise.”

Saraca exchanged looks with Karuvaki. As he expected, the ‘uplifter’ had done much on her end, as well. With the elder’s endorsement, Xoc would be off to an unassuming, but solid, start.

With the evening well underway, they returned to the Cuorocos Cliffs for dinner and to share their thoughts on what they had seen.

“Are you sure we didn’t do too much?” Mitra asked, “I know why you did it, but she might end up as Samrat in a few decades. Maybe sooner. That sort of thing can happen in a flash with the right timing and a bit of luck.”

“If she becomes a more mature version of her current self,” Saraca answered, “I would count that a good thing. Even if they don’t become our allies, the world needs bastions of order to stand against all of the chaos that assails it…and vestiges of order should chaos prevail and bring ruin to everything.”

Quite frankly, if something like the Demon Gods happened once again, Rol’en’gorek would surely be destroyed. He could only pray that someone survived to pick up the pieces.

“What did you tell that mystic, anyway?” Saraca asked, “I swear his coat was three times glossier than when we left him.”

“Nothing overly special,” Karuvaki said. “I used already-working concepts present in Rol’en’gorek. That farm of theirs will generate revenues for a government budget. That budget will be divided between raising new mystics, training warriors, promoting vocations that support their agricultural industry, and funding research and development. They may not have anything like guilds here, but even in primitive tribes, the young learn from the old. It’s only a matter of time before their truly sedentary state will organise the population into more advanced societal constructs.”

That much was undeniable. All social races did it to some degree, though the flow of things wasn’t always the same.

“Did you note anything problematic while speaking with Elder Patli?”

“There’s nothing that stuck out to me…actually, when you hear the name ‘Doubek’, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

“It’s a Human surname, isn’t it? A Ranger lineage from the Uhlan diaspora.”

“That’s what I thought…”

“…why?”

“It’s the name of the local god of the hunt.”

Girika let out a snort from where he was leaning against the entry flap.

“So these guys hunt Humans, but their god of the hunt is a Human.”

“It may just be a coincidence,” Karuvaki admitted, “but it’s certainly not a felid Beastman name, linguistically speaking.”

“What are the names of these other gods?” Saraca asked.

The furrow creasing Saraca’s brow deepened as Karuvaki went through a short list of names.

“Iškur is not common, but neither is it unheard of amongst Beastmen. Mostly from the civilisations in the west on the way here. The rest are from other races. There’s even an insectoid one in the mix.”

Another strange puzzle…

“You said that the iconography of these gods is either nature related or fashioned in the form of Beastmen, right?”

“I did,” Karuvaki said. “The names and gods are probably inherited from a time when they were more interconnected with the world, but they’ve long forgotten the source.”

“What about you, Mitra? Did you pick up any linguistic clues this entire time?”

“Their speech is bastardised between seven different racial forms,” the Chaaran replied. “There’s plenty of contamination from the Great Lut, as well. It’s impossible to tell whether any single element is from some far-flung past.”

I suppose we’ll have to stay sharp for that sort of thing from now on…

Devi appeared partway through their discussion. She tossed sacks heavy with gems and precious stones onto the room’s central table.

“You didn’t trade for more goods?” Saraca asked.

“There’s supposed to be an upper-class market in some other part of the city,” the Magnate replied. “I went with this for now since they might have some interesting offerings there. Can we visit tomorrow?”

“Sure. Maybe we’ll finally get to see what Rol’en’gorek’s conquest of the Draconic Kingdom brings.”

Early the next morning, Saraca found Xoc swatting the air in front of a wooden post with a look of intense concentration.

“Did anything come out?” He asked.

Xoc leapt in fright, landing on a ledge ten metres above him.

“Something almost came out!” She snarled down at him, “Who just sneaks up on others like that? You’re going to lose an eye one of these days.”

“You were just concentrating to the exclusion of all else,” Saraca said. “That’s not a good habit, by the way.”

“I was just trying to follow what you said,” Xoc hopped back down. “But it just doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, that’s one of the challenges of Martial Arts. You’ve adopted a combat style that is derived from your racial aptitudes. Ocelo are powerful and agile for their size, and Evasion comes naturally to you because it’s an extension of your nature as an Ocelo warrior. With that in mind, you’d probably learn much faster while hunting. Folklore has it that the type of technique you’re trying to learn originated from hunters who just needed a little bit more reach to catch their prey.”

That being said, whoever first developed that Martial Art and so many others that defied reality had to be insane. Fortunately, that insanity worked in their favour.

“Hmm…”

The young Ocelo warrior looked up at the canopy, sheathing and unsheathing her claws.

“Is it really that simple?”

“Basic Martial Arts are simply that: basic. Does using Evasion involve any great effort?”

“No.”

“It’s the same way with all of them. Basic Martial Arts are effortless for veteran warriors. Your physical stamina will likely run out faster than your mental focus. All you have to do is make that initial connection.”

Saraca’s wives walked down the cliff and joined them in front of the river. They were all armed for a day of shopping. Even the house guard had been wrangled into it. Wicker baskets were slung over their shoulders and he was certain that their magical containers had been emptied out.

“Do we know which way we’re going?” He asked.

“It’s some place called the Hibiscus Glade,” Devi answered. “Do you know where that is, Xoc?”

“I do, but are you sure you want to go there? It’s very uh…stuffy. Well, I guess you’ll all fit in. Not that I’m saying you’re stuffy or anything…”

Their guide leapt across the river and led them through the hills to the north. The divide between the wealthy and the impoverished was made abundantly clear long before they reached their destination.

The cramped landscape of humble abodes in the understory gave way to wide jungle paths lined by spacious estates under the broad boughs of older trees. Each estate had a cluster of buildings much like the fortress courtyard in Ki’ra. While both the poor and wealthy used timber construction, the homes of the rich had a sense of age to them. It was probably because the wood often sported painted designs displaying each clan’s history and was treated with glossy lacquer to preserve its condition.

No one race comprised the majority of the residents, though the instinctual quirks that Xoc had pointed out the previous day resulted in the same behaviours that they had observed in other parts of the city. Still, the citizens maintained a sense of pride that was absent elsewhere.

“Stuffy indeed,” Girika grumbled. “You think there’s anything behind those airs they’re putting up?”

“They’re rich and influential,” Xoc told him.

“How did they come by their wealth?” Devi asked.

“I don’t know what each of them does, exactly, but most of them get it from their territories outside the city.”

“None of them are from the warrior caste, right?”

“Right. These people are from the regular clans that live in the interior. They focus on ranching, collecting stuff and selling things.”

“Which is still important,” Saraca said. “Are there any behaviours we should be wary of?”

“Don’t pick a fight, basically? They usually keep to themselves. I don’t know what you’re going to do if someone comes and asks who you are, though. You’re a Lord, but you’re not one of our Lords, so someone might get too curious.”

“Are they hostile to outsiders?”

“We don’t have outsiders period. I have no idea how they’ll see you.”

“Well, how do you see us?”

“Um…annoying, at first. Now you’re just a mysterious Lord.”

“Tall, striped and handsome?”

Mitra kicked him in the leg. He was about to turn a victimised look at her when a strain of music drifted through the air.

“It sounds like you were right about their Bards.”

“There are a lot of them here,” Mitra said. “I can hear dozens in different parts of this district. It’s all mundane, though that’s not surprising.”

One thing that people almost always underestimated about Bards was their scouting ability, which included both their stealth and detection skills. As they made their way further into the district, he started picking up lyrics of several different songs, all of which were unfamiliar to him.

“Are these songs well-known here, Xoc?” He asked.

“I don’t know any songs, actually–eep!”

“You poor thing!” Mitra gathered Xoc up in a big hug, “Make sure you have Bards in your reborn clan, okay?”

His ears swivelled back and forth. He focused on listening to any histories – particularly those from two centuries ago or earlier. A leaden weight gradually formed in the pit of his stomach. All he could discern were more recent works extolling the feats and virtues of the resident clans.

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“Rol’en’gorek has always been alone,” he repeated Rana Saj’s words.

“No heroes to save them; no legends to adore,” Mitra said softly. “Born from the ashes of a people forlorn.”

“What are you saying?” Xoc sniffed, “Wh-why am I crying?!”

“Mitra, stop making her cry.”

“But sad things are sad!”

Mitra released Xoc, who cleared her throat to fix her moaning voice.

“I don’t understand,” she sniffed again. “Why do I feel so sad now? Was that magic?”

“It was the song of your people,” Mitra replied. “Strands of the truth, forgotten with the passage of time.”

“What do you know about the Demon Gods, Xoc?” Saraca asked.

“Not much. They came a long time ago and made a mess of everything.”

That’s it?

“From what we’ve discerned,” Saraca said, “the Demon Gods came to Rol’en’gorek two centuries ago. They made more than a ‘mess of everything’ – they annihilated the civilisation that was once here. That dam in your clan’s territory is a vestige of that civilisation. I can’t speak for their culture, but it indicates that the people here were once far more technologically and magically advanced than they are now.”

“That means we were strong, right?” Xoc asked, “A lot stronger than we are right now?”

“In all likelihood, yes,” Saraca answered. “It also means that the Demon Gods had to be powerful enough to destroy them. Something like that doesn’t stop on its own. It has to be stopped.”

“Alright, so they were stopped. Then what?”

“The point of Mitra’s verse is that they weren’t stopped here. All around us, you hear songs of relatively recent events, but no songs of that time two centuries ago. That means no heroes came to stand for Rol’en’gorek; no legendary feats to pass on to future generations. Only loss. I don’t know the reason why, but Rol’en’gorek was abandoned to its fate by the rest of the region. It adds a previously unknown dimension to the words ‘Rol’en’gorek has always been alone’.”

Xoc’s mouth dropped open in silent horror.

“You mean we had friends, and they abandoned us? That’s terrible!”

“My line of thinking assumes that this part of the world used to work like other parts of the world,” Saraca said. “We don’t know what happened for sure. All we know is that there is no record of resistance against the Demon Gods, and no one came to help the survivors after the Demon Gods were dealt with.”

A low growl filled Xoc’s throat.

“Grr…that’s vile. Once we get strong enough, we should just kill all of those bastards. They deserve what’s coming to them.”

Saraca placed a hand on the young Ocelo’s head.

“The past is the past,” he told her. “Wise people learn from the past. One may remember it fondly. But those who cling to the past are some of the most tragic and pitiful people you’ll ever know.”

“Are you saying we should just forget? Forgive our neighbours for their betrayal? While we went from whatever built that dam to what we are now, everyone else…”

“Again, we don’t know what the exact circumstances were. Everyone in the region might have been ruined to the same degree.”

That didn’t seem to convince the seething Ocelo in the slightest. Maybe it was better to approach the subject again when she wasn’t so angry.

Hibiscus Glade turned out to be centred around the stump of another colossal tree. Well-to-do patrons adorned in tooled leather outfits socialised with acquaintances around the old roots or made their way up them to enter the establishment. Unlike the fighting pits, the interior wasn’t hollowed out. The floor was instead purposely left at a high elevation to catch the most light from the gap in the canopy above.

They left navigating the luxury market to Devi, who casually followed the flow of patrons around the floor. The drumming of Bards competed with the Merchants advertising their wares in what Saraca assumed the locals considered a refined setting. In reality, it wasn’t much different from any other open-air bazaar that one might find in a trading town out in the world, so the way that the patrons carried themselves looked comically out of place.

The atmosphere of the establishment wasn’t of interest to him, however. His eyes carefully scanned the passing displays and he listened carefully to the claims of the Merchants drumming up interest for their goods.

“Speckled Blue Salt, fresh from the Tears of Lut!”

“Dear lady, this obsidian ornament would look wonderful on you!”

The variety of goods was the same as in a regular market, but everything was a step up from the ordinary. He supposed that was what a luxury market essentially was. There was tooled leather from the local craftsmen and expensive fabrics from beyond the Great Lut. The best quality fish from the lake and tumbled raw gemstones sifted from the muddy banks of Rol’en’gorek’s expansive river basin. No literature was in the offering, suggesting that illiteracy was high even in the upper class.

“Curios! Wondrous curios from Rana Dratha’s conquest of the west! The fantastic treasures of the Draconic Kingdom, at your command!”

Saraca craned his neck, trying to locate the source of the voice.

“We’ll get there eventually, ji,” Devi tucked her arm inside of his. “Just relax and go with the flow.”

He sighed and shuffled forward with the crowd. None of the other wares drew the slightest bit of interest now that he was made aware of his target.

“What’s so special about loot from the Draconic Kingdom?” Xoc asked, “It’s just a Human country, isn’t it?”

“Have you seen any items from the Draconic Kingdom before?”

“No. They’re losing to us, so they probably don’t have anything good. It’s like the guy said, right? Curios. Just pieces of junk that the people out there are trying to sell to us.”

Saraca felt more than a bit sorry for Rana Dratha, who had to constantly drum up interest for his campaign. If he had been a Warmaster in the Beastman Confederacy, investors of all kinds would be clamouring to support his venture. Maybe it should have been expected of the insular society of Rol’en’gorek.

The crowd slowed to a crawl as they entered the ‘exhibition’ set up by the Merchants from the west. A series of frames containing painted landscapes filled the first booth.

“This looks so desolate,” Xoc scrutinised a sunset over the sea. “They really don’t have many trees, huh? I wonder how they live.”

“That should be…”

Saraca’s voice trailed off as he scanned the landscapes. They were all solely landscapes. There were no buildings or people portrayed within them.

“That’s weird,” he scratched his head. “Humans usually have paintings of cities, daily life and such.”

“I doubt those would sell here,” Girika said.

They moved on to the next booth. Karuvaki was already there, closely examining the trinkets and pieces of art on display.

“Who would’ve guessed these guys had an appreciation for art,” the Inquisitor looked up at a long wooden beam mounted above them. “No, wait, that’s a bed frame. What the hell?”

“The market determines the value of an item,” Devi said. “In this case, it also determines what the item is. What do you see, Karuvaki?”

“I’m looking for religious iconography, family sigils, and official things like seals. There are plenty of these ones here, but I’m not sure what they are…”

Karuvaki picked up a small purple badge. A Merchant swooped in upon noting her interest.

“Ah, dear lady, what you hold is the mark of a Human warrior. They come straight from vanquished warbands.”

Saraca went to stand beside Karuvaki, sifting through the pile of purple badges with a claw. If it was as the Merchant claimed…

The most common ones with a single spear are regular infantry. No, some of these single spears are different…magic casters? Clerics? Crossed spears would be Sergeants. Three spears for an officer. Twenty-four infantry badges per Sergeant badge. Four Sergeants per officer, so a company is a hundred men…

It wasn’t a warband at all. The structure suggested that the Draconic Kingdom’s forces might have been composed of warbands in the past, but, now, the core elements of a professional army were represented in the chaotic pile of badges before him. Judging from the squad size, they mass-trained soldiers and the rate of recruitment would mean that they had fewer sergeants to go around.

His mind continued to work with the information presented at the booth, quickly coming up with a probable structure for the Draconic Kingdom’s military based on humanoid tendencies and what he knew of the relationship between Rol’en’gorek and their Human neighbours. He looked across the booth at the Merchant, holding up four different badges.

“How much for each of these?” He asked.

“They are all the same price,” the Merchant answered.

I guess he doesn’t know what they mean…

“Do you have anything from Human Lords?”

“Oh, no,” the Merchant let out a laugh. “Those who vanquish Human Lords keep their mementoes. But we do have mercenary tokens!”

The Merchant gestured to the display behind him. Dozens of different metal tags glittered in the sunlight.

“May I take a look?”

“Of course,” the Merchant placed the display in front of him. “The warriors from the front say that the Humans bearing these tokens are stronger than the ones bearing the badges. Well, the badges are wood and cloth, while the tags are metal, so that makes sense, yes?”

Hah?

Saraca brushed away the Merchant’s whimsical logic and picked up a tag hammered out of iron. Unfamiliar script was etched into the back.

『Mitra.』

『Got it.』

The Chaaran’s lips moved in a whisper of a Spellsong. She took the chain from his hand, dangling the tag in front of herself.

『Julia Aarad – Twilight Bounty – Oriculon – Cleric. Kenner Fest – Silver Blade – Eastwatch – Fighter. Oros – Catskinners – Eastwatch – Wizard. Catskinners?』

Mitra went through another half dozen of the tags. Saraca addressed the Merchant again.

“Are these the same way as the badges? Warriors on the front keep tags from strong Humans?”

“Yes, that’s right, good lord. If I recall correctly, this metal is copper, that one is iron, and that one is silver. According to Rana Dratha’s men, they’ve obtained Gold, Platinum and Mithril tokens, which they keep.”

His attention sharpened at the mention of the last. Copper was easy to refine and work with, as was iron. Silver, gold and platinum existed in native form…but not Mithril.

“How many of these…tokens do you have?”

“We have quite a few in inventory. Hmm…I suppose if you sew them into a leather jacket, they would provide good defensive value.”

“Er…sure. My wife here just loves to bargain, so please negotiate with her.

『Devi. On top of the badges that I pick out, try to get as many of those tags as you reasonably can.』

He picked out three companies’ worth of badges while Devi negotiated the sale of five hundred tags. In the end, the Merchant still had no idea what he had parted with, though he did recognise the material value of the different metals that the tags were fashioned out of.

The next booth made him stop in his tracks. He stared quietly at the items on display.

“Hey, Girika.”

“Hm?”

“Does that look like two hundred years to you?”

“Hell no.”

Civilisation did not go from sticks and stones to tempered steel in two hundred years. All along the booth, rows of spears, swords and shields gleamed in the morning sun. A Merchant unerringly moved in on him like a hunter fixated on her prey.

“Can I interest you in one of our fine trophies, good lord?”

“Do you have any suits of armour in stock?” Saraca asked, “Enchanted ones, perhaps?”

“I’m sorry,” the Merchant replied, “suits of armour from the west don’t make it very far up the Rol’en’gorek. They are repurposed for use by the warriors there.”

“I see.”

The weapons weren’t suited for use by Beastmen, so it made sense that they would eventually trickle into the capital as curiosities. Since metalworking was nonexistent in Rol’en’gorek, the weapons couldn’t be reforged into tools or anything else. He could only wonder how the warriors ‘repurposed’ the mundane armour.

He picked up one of the spears for closer examination. Several of his warriors leaned in to take a look with him.

It’s not enchanted, but it’s as close to perfect as you can get for mass-produced spears…

“So that’s a Human fang…”

Saraca glanced down at Xoc.

“It’s a spear.”

“Eh? That’s a spear? I thought spears were pointy sticks.”

“…out of curiosity, where did you hear about this weapon?”

“Stories from warriors that fight the border tribes. Or at least they claimed to. They always described them as long, sharpened sticks.”

He had experience with unsophisticated folk that lived far from the cities before, but he had never known someone living in a city so far from a country’s borders that they were relatively unsophisticated.

“Do you have any enchanted weapons?” He asked the Merchant patiently waiting nearby.

“We very rarely get enchanted weapons, and those go to be sold in the Great Lut.”

That made sense. Magic items were worth more than their material or artistic value, after all. In the end, he purchased a few examples of each type of weapon on display. The Merchant appeared pleased, so Saraca tried to get a bit more information out of her.

“Does anything other than curios make it upriver? Actual Humans, perhaps?”

“I’m beginning to doubt that Humans ever will,” the Merchant shook her head. “Everything else has been saturating the markets downriver and slowly making its way over, but the rare Human is snapped up at the border.”

Given that they had not seen a single Human in Rol’en’gorek from anywhere else so far, he was afraid to ask what they were snapped up for.

“They don’t have any books at all here,” Mitra grumbled.

“I bet they use ‘em to start fires,” Girika said.

The Chaaran’s look turned sour. There were few better ways to anger Bards than to destroy a source of lore.

It was late afternoon by the time they finished their ‘excursion’ to the Hibiscus Glade. Saraca watched the wealthy elite of the city go about their business on the way back to their inn. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about them: they were simply aristocrats of a primitive variety.

“We should advance our schedule,” he said. “This whole Draconic Kingdom thing doesn’t line up. We should leave as soon as possible.”

“W-wait a minute,” Xoc piped up. “You were supposed to teach me stuff…”

“I’d like for you to come with us, Xoc.”

“Me?” The Ocelo girl’s eyes widened in shock, “Leave the city?”

“You won’t be able to leave in a few years with how busy you’ll be. It will do you some good to see a bit of the world before then. Plus you’ll have a longer time to learn from us. Don’t worry – we’ll be heading back this way after we’re done.”