The Tunnels of Ancient Beletrain

Polished 4.1 and added the naga mage that is still with Meu. Made notes concerning 4.2, which must be changed since Meriona already has her marching orders. — 2020/04/20

Polished 4.6 — 2020/04/20

Polished 4.1, 4.2, 4.3 and 4.4 — 2020/04/24

Polished 4.4, 4.5, 4.6 and 4.7 —2020/04/27

Changed 4.7 so Duboha returns with word about Lady Yandira at the end. Changed 4.3 for continuity and clarity of Toar’s story — 2020/05/11

Polished 4.2, 4.4, and 4.5 — 2020/05/19

The tanner stared blank-eyed into the darkness. Meu sat just out of view, pried the cork from the bottle given to her by the bartender, and led the gruff fellow through his fantasy. She drank of the light tonic as she imagined a gentle lover with rough hands. Thankfully, there wasn’t an over abundance of the spirits in the bottle. She imagined a long day ahead of her.

Slowly, regrettably, the tanner closed the door to Beletrain. In the pitch black of the naga city, Meu drew in the shadows and changed shape. The sundress fell away as she shifted into her serpent form. In her human form, Meu suffered a human's senses, which were ill-equipped for such darkness, but the underground passage lit up as her senses shifted to that of a wyrm. She was born among the high cliffs of the Spires of Gendalou; among the cracks, crevices, and caves dug deep into the mountain, were the wyrm made their homes. Her serpent eyes were well suited for being underground, as well as her other senses, especially her senses of smell and touch, which allowed her to track shifts and variances in the air.

Meu was slow to start, and for a time thought the maze might overwhelm her. Although she could handle the dark, she could also smell a great deal of hatred and vitriol in Beletrain. It was an angry and brooding place, with a long history of sudden, sharp, violence. She realized the enormity of her task, and began to shrink.

Meu thought of her daughter and her coming grandchildren. They were eggs for some three or four months already, and would only remain so for another three or four more. She also had her own home to attend among the Spires. Was it really so necessary for her to risk life or limb for such new friends that were already damned—or just as likely—safe and sound?

Meu realized she was convincing her self to sleek off and return to her travels.

But what of her new friends? Would she not take a little more time to see them better established? Although it was only a few weeks, she was much attached to the shaman, the priestess, and especially her progeny. Some of the others were beginning to grow on her too—though the company now seemed quite crowded.

A new face appeared in Meu’s mind, next to the contrite, and resolute tanner; a face Meu knew, and had seen all too recently, though it took her several seconds to place it. What are you doing here? she asked the beast.

The naga mage replied. I saw you through the mind of the shaman. I knew that you intended to come to Beletrain and thought you might use a guide. My name is Libbetezeikiale, and this is my home—but please, he smiled, call me Libbets.

With the naga to guide her, Meu no longer saw Beletrain as a rough honeycomb of warren-like passages. Instead, Libbets noted that the walls were neatly set with brick and stone, and the pathways clear and level. Through the eyes of the mage, Beletrain seemed an ancient underground palace; one that stretched in every direction. There were a hundred ways forward, including down, and there where were ways back up into Ebertin at a thousand different places—though many were blocked or trapped.

The floor of many passages were neatly tiled, often with intricate patterns, that spoke of a precision and skill Meu did not expect. Through the eyes of Wenifas, Beletrain seemed rough and filthy. Viewed with the fine senses of a wyrm, Beletrain was a good deal neater. With the knowledge of Libbets, the catacombs were rich with history. Indeed, they were comforting. Admittedly, there was smoke and dust that accumulated in the corners for decades—especially in those areas controlled by the various human militias—but the walls themselves seemed like they might stand another thousand years before wear and crumble might see them blocked and impassible. The builders were undoubtedly artisans of high skill.

Despite the dirt and dross in many corners, there were clear paths worn in every direction. Meu could tell humans frequented this passage, and to a lesser extent, serpents. Indeed, the air was thick with naga magics. These were serpents born to earth and water, as Meu was a serpent of fire and air. Her magics were quick and agile—fleeting in comparison to the slow, ponderous, weighty magics of the naga. She was reminded that her place was above the surface, lighting among the tops of trees and the bottoms of clouds, while these shiftless catacombs were the strange home of the naga.

In various areas, large courtyards of rough native cave opened up. Aqueducts and streams brought water—though the quality varied greatly. Some were pristine while others contained copious amounts of filth, debris, and sewage. No end of piping, taps, and valves extended from parts of the waterworks—while some stretches of underground streams looked completely untouched. Meu pondered the strange works, unable to make much sense of them, and the kindly naga at the back of her mind chuckled. Water is life, it told her, and we masters of water.

Despite the warm recollections of Libbets, there was a palpable hostility about the place, born of long conflict between naga and men. A tinge of dread crept at the edge of Meu's senses as she noted no end of spikes, pits, traps, and other dangers of malevolent intent. Though she wanted to bolt, to run and hide, to return on her way south; Meu also felt guilty for leaving Wenifas, and could not forget her other recent failures. At Camp Calderhal, Meu could not free the shaman—though Krumpus managed his own escape. Then she failed to rescue Derris, arriving seconds too late. Now, she failed the brave soldier’s lover… to think, she'd left Wenifas with the men that murdered Derris… though she would not have left the priestess if she was not so distracted.

And what a distraction it was! The very angels of heaven, and the things they revealed! She'd never talked to humans without the venom before, and now she could do it with a simple glance! It worked on the bartender, and also on the tanner—though he required a stern bite in the end. Meu felt he certainly deserved it, the brute!

Of course there was the possibility that Meu couldn't help Wenifas anyway, even with Libbets to guide. The priestess may be lost and might never see the surface again. The last time Wenifas needed a little rescuing, Meu stared on in horror as the priestess spoke the shaman’s mind; as he poked and prodded at Kezodel's delicate ego. Chagrined, Kezodel stepped forward, ten feet tall, with the largest sword and shield Meu had ever seen—and a hundred men to back his every move! What could a mere wyrm possibly hope to do? If she'd acted against the chimera, she'd be dead. Thank the gods that the unthinkable happened! A blessed meteor struck the copula of the Great Court, rained stone upon the chimera, and that was that.

Ahh, so this is the thing that injured my brother, Libbets noted.

Then you’ve met the shaman before? Meu asked.

Libbets chuckled. No, he answered. We simply serve the same master.

And which god is this? Meu asked, curious to hear of the naga’s superstitions.

None other than the lord of lords, Libbets answered. None other than the god of all. There are many adherents from all races and times. We are attracted to each other through peace and love.

If you are brothers of love and peace, how is it that the shaman was able to kill the judge? A skeptical Meu asked.

Do men not strive and fight against those that would injure their women? Libbets replied. Men kill innocent lambs to feed their children, yet you do not call them violent. compared to these, what sanctity and protection can a perverted and vile judge hope to be granted?

Meu gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. She was not interested in the knots of dogma this naga was beginning the tie. Instead, she focused on the impossible. Somehow the shaman knew the meteor would fall. He’d goaded the judge, and Kezodel stepped forward to the very spot where the tumble of marble would fall, at the precise moment the meteor punctured the roof, and caused it to collapse. Was he indeed touched by god? How else could he have possibly known?

That was not the end of her questions. Why did he save the foreign duke? Why had Krumpus risked himself, and ultimately suffered, to save some stuffy royal from an ignominious death? Was the duke just another lucky bystander, as greater forces aligned against the judge and his fraudulent court, or did the royal serve a deeper purpose?

There was much wonder in the shaman. At the start, he’d seen through her camouflage, and caused them both to be captured. More recently, he’d guided the hand of Wenifas as she was attacked in these very tunnels…

I am sorry for that, Libbets noted, as she recounted the experience. Too many of my cousins are corrupted by vengeance and hatred. It is an old and sorrowful story.

Meu shrugged off his concern as she continued to think of the shaman. On top of these other things, somehow Krumpus had managed to sever Meu’s telepathic link—a thing Meu had never experienced! But he’d also severed Meu’s connection to Wenifas. If Meu could do anything for the priestess, she'd have to do it alone.

You have me to see you through, the reverent naga reminded. I was born in these halls and know them as well as anyone. If your friend can be found, I am the one to help you.

Meu smiled at the naga in her head. He was kind, observant, and had already saved her from a half dozen missteps. He was far more useful than the bedeviled tanner, as he picked through the mess that overwhelmed his shop, intent on regaining his life despite mountains of resistance. She crept through long halls and chambers of every sort as she heaped her good will upon the gruff man and encouraged his resolution—though she did it covertly.

In such fashion, Meu searched the dark of Beletrain. She wasn't lost. She could easily find her way out. She simply had to go up and there were exits galore. There were a great number of lines attached to bells and gongs, that she might alert someone with a barricaded door. Yet, Meu wondered what she might have to promise to escape Beletrain, an escape she would have to make naked. She was quite low on venom, though she had enough to force one more human to her bidding.

Libbets hinted at other ways out of Beletrain; hidden, and often too thin for full grown humans. These were the tunnels used by the naga to get to the surface. Some were disguised. Some were trapped by men.

But Meu wasn't trying to get out just yet. First, she had to see about a woman and her children, somewhere in this massive maze; lost. Though she had the company of the kind naga mage, Meu could do little to find her friends but wander the long corridors and grand halls of Beletrain and hope she crossed their path; and despite the helpful company of Libbets, the underground city kept getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 4.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

"But I do not wish to go east!" Meriona snapped at High Commander Gliedian. "I want to go home, to Tikatis!"

Gliedian shook his head as he stared at the Jay. "Without Celesi you have no reason to go west at all, not even the Falderfallen’s Hovey,” he said to her. “The Empress needs you here, and here you will stay," he said and held out a letter to the Jay.

Meriona stiffened as she saw the seal of the Empress on it. She glared at Gliedian and took the envelope.

“Is this because your ambush failed,” Meriona glared. “Am I punished because you’ve failed twice?”

“The duke did not appear at the Lady Yandira’s, like we’d hoped,” Gliedian stared back at her. “It was only the lover—and a few of the others.”

“Including the priestess,” Meriona muttered. “So what would you have me do?” she asked as she examined the letter.

Gliedian smiled. "You can go to Land's End and do my bidding there, or you can go after this wayward duke. It is one or the other—but you will not go west. Not at this time."

"And what in the name of Rauthmaug am I to do in Land's End?!" Meriona waved the letter at him.

“It’s a babysitting job—another polical hostage…” Gliedian began.

“Why are we doing any of this?!” Meriona interrupted. "We've lost our forts, and the Judge is dead. It remains to be seen if the Degorouth can keep the city without him,” she noted. “Once the Empress finds out about Kezodel, do you think she will continue this campaign at all?!"

"I most certainly do!" Gliedian snapped back at the Jay. "As we speak, five legions march on the road from Tikatis—and I have been promised five more by the end of summer!"

“Ten legions?” Meriona stared at the High Commander. “Where are we getting ten legions?“

"…and behind them a building wave of settlers!" Gliedian said as he ignored her question. "It is true that we've had issue with the waokie—north and west of our forts,” he nodded. “But you have not noticed how many Ministrians are about the southern towns! We have two legions in Rynth Falls as it is—and you know to what purpose!"

Meriona gave a nod. “To use the subverted Trohls in our continuing campaigns—but that is just a favor for the Dunkels of Land’s End, is it not? We do not need another ten legions.”

“Not for the small favor we do the Dunkels,” Gliedian noted. “But we do not end in the Noeth. Soon, we will be lighting fires in Gaurring.”

“Where are we getting so many men?” Meriona asked.

“Men!” Gliedian crowed. "Our interests in Borzia now belong to Gred duReb. For this we are given Gaurring and the Breck—once we take them,” Gliedian grinned. “Then we shall have these Trohls in a pincer, and we will take them at our leisure.”

Meriona was shocked. This was the first she’d heard of such momentous decisions.

“Did you not feel the shifting of the winds?” Gliedian mocked. “The Empress turns her head! She eyes new opportunities! What you thought was just a passing fancy is suddenly a great wave of interest! Do you think we merely loot and riot among these natives?

“We are not here to sow a little chaos—but to take these lands and the people for our own!” Gliedian continued. “ Do you think the Empress would be happy with just a little Bouge territory, when there are eight other tribes to subvert? And we cannot expect some duped berserkers to take Gaurring alone! They will need the Empire's legions to bolster their spines and lead their minds!"

Meriona blinked. "She brings the legions from Borzia. There are nearly a hundred legions in Borzia…”

“And we will get the bulk of them,” Gliedian smirked. He loved to be the one in the know. "So what say you? Will you go to Land's End? Or do you go after the duke?"

Meriona considered her options. There was nothing for her in the south except for her task—but she had scores to settle among the duke's company. "I shall go after this Creigal," she said. And Wenifas, and Celesi, she thought.

"Very well. I shall take Alise to Land's End. Karamina was meant to get pregnant by the duke—a simple enough task—but she has failed. I leave her in Falderfallen’s Hovey to govern the survivors, unless you should like it?”

Meriona snorted.

”I thought not,” Gliedian replied, as he knew Meriona had an aversion to small towns. "I give you four of my finest to do the work. All you have to do is make sure they get the right target." With a whistle, Gliedian waved several men to join them.

"Four men?!" Meriona complained. "This duke travels with over a dozen guards!"

"They are some of the best at what they do, they have rank among ours, and they are not the only ones searching,” Gliedian noted. "These are not simple men. These are conspirators with their own networks of informants and finks. They are perfect for this work. Just remember, it is the duke concerns us. I do not care about these others.”

Meriona gave a slow nod, though her own plans were already taking root.

“Once the duke is dead, you are free to return the Empire proper,” Gliedian noted. “If you are lucky, our Degorouth allies will catch him first.

“And what of you?” Meriona asked. “What will you do?”

“I do what I always do,” Gliedian said as he walked away. “I go to make war.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 4.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

“You sure this is the place?” Apulton looked at the large house, covered in vines, the yard crowded with plants.

“This it the place,” Toar said as he approached the door.

Apulton turned to Andrus and gave a shrug, then turned back to Toar. “Fine. Twenty minutes and we have to be out.”

Toar agreed reluctantly as he knocked on the door.

The door opened almost immediately, as a young face, maybe six or seven, gazed up at the assembled lot. “Hello!” she said, her mouth stretched in a grand smile.

“Hey l’il missy,” Toar began with a gentle smile. “Is Hazle home?”

The girl threw open the door as she turned away from the guests. “Gran!” she called as she went searching about the house.

Toar stepped into in the place, followed reluctantly by the others. Although the house was large, and the rooms spacious, they seemed small thanks to the crowding of objects. Shelves held innumerable books, plants, trinkets, jars, pictures, knickknacks; all seemingly placed with great care.

“Are you sure we should be in here?” Andrus asked, feeling as if he trespassed on a holy site.

Toar gave a nod. “She opened the door,” he began.

As if on a cue, people began pouring into the front room from down the stairs, the hall, kitchen—even behind them—as several children came running in the front door. A large man came in after the children carrying a babe in one hand and a large basket full of goods from the market. Several weapons hung off his hips as he turned and stared at the guests. “Hello there,” the man said, seemingly unconcerned to find strangers in his house. "Have a seat, or are you on the way out?” he asked, as the numerous children turned to the strangers with curious eyes.

Toar turned to the man, but was immediately cut off.

“Toar?!” A wizened old voice called from a hall as a stooped woman of too many years slowly approached, hurried by several children, as they laughed and escorted the weak old lady down the hall. “Is that Toar I hear?!” she cackled.

“Hello Hazle,” Toar bowed, a deep and formal greeting.

"Enough of that!” the old lady frowned. “Get over here, and give an old lady some love—or did I teach you nothing at all!” she continued as she held her arms out to the young man.

Toar did as he was told, allowing the woman to hold him as long as she liked, a smile of shared affection slowly melting his serious demeanor.

“I hadn’t expected to see you again—certainly not in a few short months!” She stared into his face. “Ahh, but I see you have been searching for me…” She turned on the others. “And who are these?”

“These are my friends, Celesi, Andrus, and Apulton,” Toar said.

“Please to meet you, miss,” Apulton bowed, confounded to find himself wrapped in a familiar hug by the wizened old woman.

“Well, you are a strong devil!” Hazle winked at the man. “…and one that knows what he wants!”

Apulton backed away, unsure what to say to such a charge. “Thanks,” he answered diplomatically.

“And you are?” Hazle wrapped Andrus in similar fashion. She held his hand long after their embrace was finished. “A cousin of lost heritage,” she tsked and shook her head. “But there’s power in you that you’ve yet to find!” she beamed, then turned on Celesi. With a gasp, she embraced the young Trohl. “And who is this angel?!”

“I am Celesi,” she blushed. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” she smiled as she wrapped the endearing old woman in a hug.

“Ah, yes! Finally! One that is found!” Hazle nodded and patted the young girl’s hand. “But you did not come to have your fortune told! You are quite sure where your future lay!” the old lady chuckled and shook her head. Still hold Celesi’s hand, Hazle turned on her large son. “Ganik, will you see to our new friends and their comfort while I talk to Toar?”

Ganik handed the baby to one of the older children, and the basket to yet another. “Yes, mother. Shall we take them to the kitchen and see what we might find to refresh ourselves?”

The children cheered and grabbed hands with the strangers. Smiling, laughing, and chattering, the children led Apulton, Andrus, and Celesi from the room.

Toar turned to Hazle, a glad smile on his face. Her expression was no longer jovial, but quite serious. “What’s the matter?” he began.

“Walk with an old woman,” Hazle said, and took Toar by the arm. “Take me into the garden,” she told him.

Slowly, step after plodding step, Toar led the bent old woman toward the back door.

Hazle shook her head, “I must say, I am quite surprised to see you, my young friend. By now I expected you’d be among the Salystians, learning the great magics you’d always hoped to know.”

Toar shrugged, “I must admit, I thought I’d never return. But things have not gone the way I’d intended.”

“You are troubled,” Hazle agreed. “What has happened on your journeys?”

“I’ve failed,” Toar said. He assisted Hazle down a couple steps and into the garden proper. “Salyst is nothing but empty buildings, teeming with bugbear.”

Hazle shook her head as she lowered herself to a bench. “It was never the place you were meant to find,” she replied. “It was always the people that once lived there, not the empty buildings.”

“But where are they?” Toar asked, his frustration quite evident. “Do you mean to send me beyond the Red Desert? And how am I to get there when the west is increasingly filled with Ministrians and bugbear?!”

“I know you,” Hazle shook her head. “You would not have turned around. Something has brought you back.”

“I was close,” Toar replied. “I was a few days from the city—but it did not call to me,” Toar shook his head. “Instead, I have met a foreign noble and guide him through Trohl lands…” he said as tears gathered in his eyes. “Am I forever meant to serve the privileged?”

“Now, don’t fret,” Hazle chastised. “Sadness cannot guide you in your quest.”

“I know,” Toar said wiping his eyes. “I know. But there is a deep sadness in my heart.”

“Yes, and you must strive to heal it, in a calm and patient manner,” Hazle stroked his hand. “Shall I look into your future? Would you have me tell you what I see for you?”

“I would,” Toar nodded.

“Well then,” Hazle placed a hand on the young man’s chest and the other on his forehead. She closed her eyes. For several seconds, neither said anything. Slowly, Hazle shook her head and pulled away from the young man. “Your path has not changed. Salyst still calls to you—or at least the people that once called her home.”

“Then you mean to send me across the Red Desert,” Toar asserted.

Hazle shook her head. “Do not seek the straight road. Yours is a circuitous route. Take this noble where he means to go—then you shall the people you seek.”

“Then I am to find some Salystians scattered among the other tribes?” Toar began. “And how am I to find a people that does not want to be found?”

“Do not be so hasty,” Hazle reprimanded. “Time will take you where you need to go, and it will teach you the lessons that will get you there.”

“Then I must wait,” Toar sighed. He slumped in a defeated gesture.

“And what will waiting gain you?” Hazle huffed. “Be careful and silent. Search your heart as you go. When the time comes, you will not be able to stop your destiny. It will come rushing at you, and you won’t be able to escape it, even if you should want.”

“But when? How much longer must I wait?!” he snapped.

Hazle shook her head and tsked at the young man’s impatience. “It will come, and when it comes, I should think you will beg for more time… but enough of such talk! There is nothing more I can do for you. You know the path forward, and you must walk every step of it! Stop asking an old woman to hurry it for you!”

Toar hanged his head. “You are right,” he began. “I know the way, and I am on it.”

“That is better,” Hazle smiled. “You will go with your new friends, and you will help them in their efforts. In return, they will help you. They will not even know it—and yet, they will see you further than you can imagine,” Hazle beamed at the young man. She reached into her pocket and produced a small jar. “Take this.”

“Thank you,” Toar wiped his eyes. “I did not think I could ask you for more of your ointment.”

Hazle scoffed. “You used it selflessly, for the comfort of another. It may be precious, but I cannot withhold it from one that uses it in such wise ways.”

Toar stuffed the slight jar in his pocket. “Thank you,” he said as he bent over the old lady and kissed her cheek. “Not having it is painful.”

“Say nothing of it, my blessed boy. Do you not see all that I have?” Hazle smiled as she held out her hands and gestured at the richness of her garden. “This life is a trial for you. There will be little pleasure or comfort. I only wish I could do more to alleviate your pain.”

“I am not your ward,” Toar replied. “I am determined to be my own man.”

Hazle nodded. “If not, I should ask you to stay and help an old look after her garden. There are other pleasures to be had in this world.”

“I would,” Toar shrugged. “I should think it is too much for one old woman to look after.”

“But I have my sons and their wonderful children,” Hazle beamed. “And soon I shall have my apprentice, and a number of my neighbors from the old town.”

Toar frowned and shook his head. “This is not possible,” he said. “They were at the Invader’s Fort when it was attacked.”

Hazle snorted, “Oh, ye of little faith! Now go to your companions and be about your business. Time is of the essence, and i trhink you should be happy that your friends are in a hurry!”

“We do not hurry,” Toar smiled—though he stood to leave. “Thank you, Hazle. Thank you for everything.”

“Think nothing of it,” she smiled. “I am rich. I have so much to give. I’d be remiss if I did not help such a beautiful creature as you.”

Toar turned from the old woman and walked back into the house. He found his friends in the kitchen, chatting and laughing with Ganik and the children as they enjoyed cookies, pastries, and a bit of milk.

“We are set,” Toar smiled at his friends. “Let’s be on our way.”

The children complained as they wrapped the visitors in hugs and stuffed treats in their pockets. Slowly, Apulton untangled himself and shook hands with Ganik, while Celesi curtsied.

“Are we leaving so soon?” Apulton asked, as he stood and followed a somber Toar to the door.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 4.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Carringten scanned the flickering shadows of ancient Beletrain. He began to wonder if they ever meant to come up out of the ground. They’d been under the city for a number of hours, and his claustrophobia was beginning to get the better of him, when suddenly the monotony brick and shadow was broken by a voice from out of the darkness.

“Halt! Identify yourselves!”

The Jindleyaks ditched their torches and pressed themselves to the walls. Carringten followed suit, as one arm pressed the duke behind him. He reached for Bence’s short sword and tried futilely to see in the blinding dark.

“It is I, Traust of the Wooden Hound! And who have we met in these tunnels?” the Jindleyak replied.

“These are not just tunnels,” the man replied. “For you have entered Pan Iskaer territory!”

“Huah!” A number of voices called from all around the group. Carringten realized they were surrounded.

But Traust was not concerned. He took his hand from the hilt of his sword, straightened up, and took a long, deep breath. “Excuse us gentlemen, but we would like to pass through your territory,” he replied to the disembodied voices.

“No one passes without a bounty,” called the stranger’s voice. “Do you have the bounty?”

“I do,” Traust stated. “And I should like to give it to you in full view of the sun.”

“Then I suggest we hurry,” the voice replied. “And where would you care to come up?”

“Near the Plaza of the Serena,” Traust said. “We’d prefer to come up behind the bake shop.”

“Mullaynes,” the voice said. “Squirrel, take them to the matron. Tell her to collect the fee.”

Despite his name, Squirrel was a large man, larger than any of them—except Aim. He stepped among the Jindleyak and eyed them suspiciously as the Jindelyaks gathered their torches from the ground. Ready to proceed, Squirrel turned and motioned for his charges to follow.

With light bouncing about the corridors once more, Carringten saw a good number of warriors about the tunnels, all presumably Pan Iskaer. These men eyed the strangers, but let them pass with no trouble. Some spoke to Squirrel, but none dared challenge the man as he led the party on.

Soon, they all moved up a ramp. Unlike the bar, there was nothing to secure this entrance. Carringten followed Duboha, aware that the light was getting bright—and then they were out in the open. They found themselves in a small courtyard.

All around them was a ten foot wall of brick and mortar. Several men looked down from this wall, armed to the teeth, and somewhat bored. Three walls had identical thick wooden doors while the fourth had the tunnel leading underground.

“If it isn’t the tree rat,” one of the guards smirked. “Who you got with you, tree rat?”

“Don’t give me no guff,” Squirrel glared at the man. “Get me the matron!”

The guard shrugged, then disappeared from view. Squirrel tapped Traust on the corner and shook his head, as the other guards all leaned on their weapons.

A monster of a woman appeared on the wall, larger than Squirrel, nearly the size of Aim. There was flour on her apron and a curious expression as she stared down at those in the box. “You certainly found enough of them,” the lady said, her arms akimbo, as she eyed the large company. “Are they square?”

“Not yet, momma,” Squirrel shook his head, “They hope to pay the metal price.”

“Sure beats the the bone price…”” the matron noted as she counted the strangers. “Five moons,” she tallied.

“Five moons,” Traust agreed with a smile, and proceeded to pay her.

“The portly woman took the coin, counted it, then said, “Would you prefer the alley or the shop?”

“The shop, to or three at a time, if you don’t mind,” Traust stated.

“We can accommodate that—for a bit more metal,” the matron bargained.

Traust bowed. “If it means a discrete exit, I shall double your price.”

With a nod and a smile, the massive woman said, “I shall meet you in the shop," then stepped down the stairs and disappeared. “Let ‘em out!” her voice roared over the wall, and the guard snapped to. The door to their left opened up, and with a nod Squirrel waved them through.

“If one door leads to the alley, where does the last door lead?” Traust asked as he passed Squirrel.

Squirrel shook his head, as it wasn’t his place to tell such secrets, but he knew it was for those that were to pay the blood price. “Farewell, men of the Wooden Hound,” he said instead, as they proceeded without him. He turned and proceeded back into Beletrain.

Carringten followed Duboha into an alley, all too happy to be above ground. He breathed deep and easy for the first time since they came up from underground. He had no issue with the dark, and was untroubled by tight spaces—but both together made his skin crawl.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 4.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Meu sensed several roving bands of men as she searched among Beletrain. There were certainly enough of them in the underground city, banging around with their garish torches, always traveling en masse as they made their way from one entrance to another. They seemed to have little interest in those areas beyond their own barricades.

Meu invariably noticed these men before they noticed her—but there was such a glut of them that she decided to abandon the areas under their control altogether. She slipped through a corridor rigged with traps, and found herself in no-man’s-land.

These corridors were blocked, often at inconvenient times. There were sporadic traps set by both sides in this area. The going was slow. Meu decided it might be better if she entered naga territory proper. Besides, she wanted to get a look at the beasts, and since she had Libbets to help her…

The serpent areas were clean and seemed to be of regular use. The general dinginess of the men’s tunnels, and especially no-man’s-land, was all but gone in naga territory. Several entrances were blocked by doors and heavy tapestries. Libbets explained that these were the homes of naga, and that the curtains were laced with bells and chimes , so no one could enter unexpectedly. Still, Meu had yet to see any of the beasts except Libbets—and then she did. This naga was much tidier than Meu had imagined, and also a fair bit meaner-looking. He had several weapons and long arms to wield them. He had a spear some ten feet long, and the blade at his hip was either a long knife or a small sword—she couldn’t tell. Wrapped about his torso was a chain with a heavy metal spike on one end. Meu wondered how such a weapon might be used, but thought it best to give the beast no reason to demonstrate. With so many weapons, the naga did not appear friendly whatsoever. Meu kept her distance, a mere stone in the corner, and wondered if this beast was a sourpuss even by naga standards.

For his part, Libbets suggested she avoid any other naga. Although some were kind, and would marvel to see her, others—perhaps most—would simply see her as an intruder, a trespasser, to be hounded out of the territory, or killed outright.

The deeper she went, the more of the creatures she saw, including a few that appeared to be female, with shirts and soft feather boas draped about their necks and arms. Unlike the males, who were gruff and severe in appearance, with a multitude of weapons; the females were appealing, beguiling, even attractive in a strange, serpentine way. She saw several young. They were cute in the way all young animals are cute—but they were also the most likely to give her away should she be seen. Though the naga occasionally spoke Trohl, they mostly spoke their own language, which was a good deal grittier.

Meu descended. She heard the muffled conversation of a crowd. There was a laugh, several knocks, and other disparate noises. The sounds came from behind a thin grate, about halfway up the wall, with an angled tunnel beyond it. The grate was locked, but the bars were several inches apart. With her wings tucked to her side, she could just slide through. Despite a cacaphony of sounds somewhere ahead of her, Libbets assured her it was a maintenance tunnel. He felt she was safe to proceed. She was unlikely to come face to face with any naga.

The tunnel was thin. Meu thought it must be just wide enough for a naga and too thin for any humans at all. If she should find her friends, they’d have to find another way back. Warm, rich scents washed through the sloping tunnel. Meu realized it was a chimney of sorts. Indeed, she came to the end of the tunnel and found a massive room below her; so massive that it had not one chimney, but over a dozen, with metal loops between them, that the naga might use their hands to go from one to the next in order to keep them.

What is this place? Meu asked.

It is a market—the Hetroke Market if I am not mistaken, Libbets replied.

How is the roof so smooth? Meu wondered. How is it that there are no cracks in the rock, even where the metal loops are attached?

There are ways to meld the rock, Libbets confided. It is ancient naga magic, understood by a number of our masters— but I am not one of them. I can make the slurry that helps fuse the rock—but the method of application is elaborate and tedious in my view, the naga mage answered. After a moment’s pause, he cahnged the subject. Look below and tell me if you’re friends are there.

Meu peered down into the soft light of the room. It was a good two hundred feet to the floor of the cavern. There were balconies on every wall, some with furniture, most with decoration. The market below was lit in many ways, though most of the sources were rather dim and muted by human standards. After the pitch black of the upper levels, this giant cavern appeared quite bright, and Meu could easily make out perhaps a thousand naga in the grand space with plenty of room for a few thousand more.

There was a large bath in the corner of the vast cavern, part of a natural section of cave, though the pool was neatly bordered. The pool was quite popular and filled with lounging naga. A gentle steam rose from the water and obstructed some of her view. Meu could not see the entire pool, and suspected that it receded under the far wall.

It wasn’t just naga on the floor. There were humans too. There weren’t many, maybe fifty or sixty, with leashes about their necks. Slaves, Libbets told her, taken, stolen, kidnapped from the surface. A few of them called and cried, but their voices were weak and long defeated. Meu searched them for faces she might know, but did not recognize any of them.

For quite a time Meu watched the crowd below, as she felt at leisure to study the beasts. Their appearance was gaunt, though Meu had no reason to think most weren't in perfect health. Libbets talked to her incessantly, and after a time, Meu began to wonder if she’d wanted such a thorough education about the beasts; then, suddenly, Meu felt eyes on her. Slowly, she turned and scanned the balconies below her. It took her several seconds to find what she was looking for. To her left and several levels down, a naga stood stock-still and stared at her. Meu felt a menace and calculation in its gaze. Her heart jumped and a shiver ran down her spine—but he was a good distance away. She stared back at her observer and challenged him to act. There was nothing he could do from so far away—or so she assumed.

Libbets let out a hiss when he saw the creature. A pretor, he began. One that considers himself a guardian of the people; a cunning bunch of naga, suspicious and dangerous. Do not let him catch you.

Now that she spotted the beast, the naga slowly pulled from view and disappeared behind the edge of a wall. Meu agreed that it was time to go. If Wenifas or any of the others were in the crowd below, well—so long kid; never say die. But with so many naga about, and with a pretor on the prowl, Meu believed she could be of no assistance.

Unless the pretor was an absolute dolt, it must know the tunnels better than Meu, so she decided to make a bold move. She unfurled her wings, flew out of the chimney, and through the arch of a massive balcony. Unfortunately, many among the crowd below noticed. Several gasps and a pause in conversation followed her as Meu covered the meager distance. As she flew, fingers were pointed. As she flew, sentries made for the exits.

Meu moved quickly and often took ramps and passages that led up and closer to the surface. After several levels, she had to move slow to safely navigate the various traps set by both sides. Finally, she was back in corridors that smelled more of humans than naga. She felt safe once more and wandered in a ponderous way, generally in the direction she believed to be east. She listened for any sounds of pursuit, but heard nothing for some time.

Your mind grows dim and far away, Libbets told her. I shall not be with you much longer.

Your guidance has been invaluable, Meu replied. I shall not forget your kindness.

It has been my pleasure, the naga mage smiled in her mind. Know that you have seen what few men of Ebertin have ever seen, with their garish torches held high, banging about with their metal armor, announcing themselves long before they ever appear.

Meu was astounded that any men had ever seen such a sight—but Libbets reminded her of the ancient war, and the back and forth fighting that occurred from time to time. He explained that there were many such large chambers, and grander sights still. She wondered what number of naga lived in the labyrinth, and Libbets reminded her that the naga fought the many men of Ebertin to a standstill. The earth was rich with naga, and Beletrain was deep and mysterious even to many of her own natives. Indeed, Hellefes market was considered small by naga standards.

As they talked, the voice of the Libbets began to fade, became erratic, then disappeared altogether. Meu realized she was all alone. She wondered if she shouldn’t give up. She had no idea how long she’d been underground, when suddenly a familiar scent caught in her maw. She paused. For a second, she thought it was a trick as she immediately lost the scent once more. She turned back and caught the smell again.

By some miracle, there was the familiar scent of the young boy, Claiten next to the aqueduct. Meu moved to the left, then to the right, then forward and back, but the smell was only in this one spot, next to the water. It took Meu a minute to realize the boy must have come out of the aqueduct, laid for a time, then got back into the water—or was pulled back into the water.

It wasn't just the boy's scent. There was no smell of the others, of Wenifas, or Evereste, or even the strange scent of one of the Jindleyaks—but there was the scent of a naga.

Meu realized if she wanted to follow the scent, she needed to take a bath. Without hesitation, she plunged herself into the aqueduct and decided to swim against the current, through several chambers and long tunnels. Although she could swim, her kind were not exactly built for it. The water was brisk and gripping. A couple of the tunnels were dangerously long and tested her ability to hold her breath.

Meu came to a brick and mortar room full of the smell of fire, where she noted the scents of Wenifas and Evereste. She filled her lungs with odor of her friends, and the two Trohls that traveled with them. Excited that she had finally found them, Meu moved several feet in the direction of the priestess—but as she came to the end of the room, she stopped. There was no smell of Claiten in this direction. Meu realized she was going the wrong way. She needed to go back into aqueduct and after the boy. This is where she was needed.

Meu feared if she hesitated her courage would flag. She turned, lifted into the air, dove into the water, and allowed the current to sweep her deep into Beletrain once more.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 4.6 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Though the surviving Ministrians managed to break through the southern line of waokie, a dart laced with rot caught Petaerus under his eye. By the time they reached Rynth Falls the next morning, he was delirious, could barely see, and was a ghastly sight to behold. The rot had spread over most of his face and neck. Dolif feared he would die, but unwilling to leave his injured friend, he half-carried Petaerus to the town walls of Rynth Falls anyway.

As they reached the city, two legions of battle hardened shocktroops, and a good number of Trohl berserkers entered the fray and battled back the war of waokie. A competent healer was found for the infected and set to the task of healing the afflicted men, women, and children; Petaerus among them.

For three days, Petaerus suffered a slow recovery. Though he was not the only one to suffer the rot, he was one of the last to recover. In a way he was lucky. Many of the others that were struck with the rot were simply amputated, losing arms or legs. Although their recovery was quick, they were no longer whole. But such a quick fix was not possible for Petaerus. They could not amputate his head and expect him to live—so the healer was forced to take his time. Three days later, a web of scarring laced his face, to remind him forever of his affliction. Dolif frowned as Petaerus came into his tent.

“Is it that bad?” Petaerus asked.

Dolif turned so his friend might not see his building revulsion. “It should calm a bit as you continue to heal,” he said.

“Can’t say I’ve felt any better,” Petaerus sneered. “There’s nothing like the edge of death to make a man feel alive!”

“That is the attitude!” Dolif nodded. “I admit, I was not sure you would make it.”

Petaerus shrugged. “So many didn’t. Guess Ooroiyuo has use for me yet—and I most certainly hope Naharahna still wishes to spread some legs for me!”

“Indeed,” Dolif smiled. “And your recovery is just in time,” he leaned forward, and in a conspiratorial tone continued. “Soon, we go south.”

“We are not moving against the waokie?” Petaerus asked, perplexed.

“Non,” Dolif answered. “That is for others to address. Instead, we lead the Trohls against their Saot enemies—which is all the better, since waokie have little treasure in comparison to men.”

“You are sure?”

Dolif nodded. “It is whispered among many of the high officers. We only wait for Gliedian to lead us.”

“And how is it that you should know such things?” Petaerus asked.

Dolif twisted his shoulder so his friend might see his promotion. “You should mind your own stripes,” he grinned, and pointed at his friend’s uniform.

Petaerus twisted and stared at his own insignia. He had not noticed it as he’d dressed, so he was surprised to see he’d jumped several ranks. “Copal?” he began. “How is this possible?”

“Your plan saved some fifty fighting men, several hundred slaves, and a good number of civilians,” Dolif smiled. “Drastarig has all the rank he wants, and wanted none of the praise; since he acknowledged it was our plan that saved us, we were rewarded.”

“Our plan?” Petaerus questioned. “I distinctly remember you were against it.”

Dolif shrugged. “I merely played devil’s advocate—as a second must—that we might flesh it out,” he claimed. “Besides, can’t you see I am still your subordinate? Or is your eye sight still so compromised.”

Petaerus twisted Dolif’s arm so he might have a second look at his friend’s promotion. Sure enough, his friend’s rank as a Minorus made him subordinate. “So Drastarig made it through?”

Dolif shook his head. “The man’s a monster—though he’s currently on death’s door,” he finished with an uncertain shrug.

“Does he also suffer the rot?” Petaerus asked.

“No, nothing so pedestrian for Drastarig,” Dolif began. “He made it all the way south in fine condition—and still looking to fight—but once the waokie came up against the walls of this town with our legions upon ‘em, they melted back into the forest and disappeared. Of course, Drastarig got his hands on one the devils. He brought the poor creature into camp—wounded, snarling, and spitting—and proceeded to skin it alive.”

“Vicious.”

“That’s not even the worst of it. He then stuck it on a spit and proceeded to cook it—while it was still squirming.”

“Vile,” Petaerus cringed.

“They don’t call him ‘the Gorpulent’ for nothing,” Dolif shuddered. “Just the smell of it made me gag. How he managed to choke down any of that meat is beyond me—though it smelled much better once the fire had done with it,” he shook his head. “Still turned out to be a bad choice. The next day, Drastarig was sick as a dog, losing solids and liquids from both ends.”

“Dreadful.”

“He’s been sick ever since. Yesterday the fever broke, but he still can’t keep anything down,” Dolif shook his head. “The man’s lost at least a stone, likely two, and is pale as a sheet.”

“Is that it for our friend? Do you think he’s going to die?” Petaerus asked.

“Dunno,” Dolif shrugged. “Personally, I think he’s turned the corner—but even if he recovers, he won’t be lifting his sword for at least a week.”

“Cripes,” Petaerus said. “And I thought I suffered.”

“You did, and you will continue to suffer,” Dolif nodded and pointed at his friend’s scarred face. “Have you seen your reflection? The ladies are certain to charge you double.”

“I’m a hero,” Petaerus frowned. “I should be discounted.”

“You won’t hear argument from me—but I don’t set the tithes,” Dolif replied. “But all know that the gods favor beauty, and in this way, you are no longer favored.”

“At least I’ll receive a Copal’s pay,” Petaerus smiled. “If the ladies are unkind—well, there are ways to deal with the priesthood.”

Dolif nodded and shrugged. “For the time it matters only a little. I’ve secured us a plum position. We’ll be looking for women among our enemies—and we shan’t have to pay a copper for any of them,” he smirked.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 4.7 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

"This, my good man, is the House of Leaves," Traust said with a satisfied smile. He held a hand out to a large house set back from the street with a commanding view and a large garden in the front.

The house was at the edge of an affluent neighborhood and quiet by all accounts. Creigal smiled and gave a nod, happy with the look of the place.

"And now, I welcome you to our safe home. It is not known by our enemies. Indeed, it is not known by most of our friends! You shall want for nothing as long as you are in our care; food, shelter, weapons for your guard," Traust assured as he began up the drive.

"I shall repay your kindness," Creigal smiled. "Though I am far from home, I am a man of means, and good to my word. If you or any of your men are ever in Gaurring..."

"Yes,” Traust interrupted with a friendly smile. “If ever we find our roles reversed, I am sure you will return us such favor," He patted the duke on the shoulder. "I am sure the others will be along shortly—if they are not here already—and then we shall be on our way. But for now, let us quench our thirst and satisfy our hunger as we wait," he smiled.

Later that night, as they began a late meal, Duboha returned from making the rounds and gathering some gossip. To most, he looked affable as he settled down between Apulton and Aim. To them, Duboha looked ashen.

“What is it?” Apulton asked, as Aim leaned into the huddle.

“It’s the Lady Yandira,” Duboha began. “Elpis is missing—Scurra, the foreign priestess with her kids… and as for the Lady Yandira,” he shook his head.

Aim wondered if he was gonna tear up.

“You have to help me break the news to Traust.”