The Tunnels of Ancient Beletrain

Polished 4.1 — 43m21s — 2020/07/11

Polished 4.2 and 4.3 — 1h14m23s — 2020/07/18

Softening up the interactions between Meu and Libbets in 4.5. I feel it’s coming along nicely—though I only got about halfway through. Still, it’s almost 3 am. I need to rest. — 1h47m35s — 2020/07/19

Polished 4.5… and just noticed I skipped over 4.4… — 1h01m35s — 2020/07/19

Polished 4.4 — 48m11s — 2020/07/22

Polished 4.5 and 4.6 — 1h23m48s — 2020/07/25

Polished 4.7 and extended it a fair deal. Details, details, details…— 1h54m36s — 2020/07/26

The tanner stared blank-eyed into the darkness of Beletrain. Meu sat just out of view, led the gruff fellow through his fantasy, and pried the cork from the bottle given to her by the bartender. 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. Meu figured there was still a long day ahead of her.

Full of regrets, the tanner slowly closed the door to old Beletrain. Enveloped in shadow, Meu changed shape. The sundress fell away as she shifted into her serpent form. In human form, Meu suffered a human's senses—which were ill-equipped for such darkness. But as she shifted, her sensitivities became that of a wyrm. Born among the high cliffs of the Spires of Gendalou, were the wyrm made their dens in cracks, crevices, and caves, dug deep into the mountain, her serpent senses were well suited for being underground, especially her smell and touch, which allowed her to track shifts and variances in the air.

Yet, 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 permeating Beletrain. It was an angry and brooding place, with a long history of sharp and sudden violence. She realized the enormity of her task, and began to shrink. Her thoughts shifted to concerns in distant parts of the world.

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?

Yet, she also wanted to see Wenifas settled somewhere safe with her own babies Would it take more than a few weeks? After all, Wenifas already had more money than she’d ever need. She also hoped to see the shaman’s home.

As Meu thought about the shaman, a familiar face appeared in her mind. At first, she was frightened, and feared she was in immediate danger—but the presence was soft and friendly in its thoughts and attitudes. It took her several seconds to realize it was the naga that had attended Krumpus.

Yes, the naga mage smiled. 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 Libbetyz Eikiyale, and this is my home—but please, he smiled, call me Libbetz.

Through the eyes of Libbetz, Meu saw Beletrain as an ancient underground palace; one that stretched in every direction, with a thousand ways forward, down, and with a hundred ways back up into Ebertin—though many were blocked or trapped. She noted that the floor was often tiled 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; and with the knowledge of Libbetz, the catacombs were rich with history. Indeed, they were comforting. Admittedly, there was dust and dross accumulated in the corners—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 of the grander passages were undoubtedly artisans of high skill.

Despite the filth and funk in many corners, there were clear paths worn in every direction. Meu could tell humans frequented this passage, and to a lesser extent, serpents. Despite the immediate intervention of human energies, the air was still 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 pipes, taps, and valves extended the waterworks, while some stretches of underground streams looked completely untouched. Meu pondered the confusion of engineering, unable to make much sense of it. The kindly naga at the back of her mind chuckled. Water is life, it told her, and we masters of water—though he could take the statement no further. He assured her that many of his people could operate, repair, even replace this maddening array—but he was not one of them. He had other talents.

Despite the warm recollections of Libbetz, 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 had managed his own escape. Then she failed to rescue Derris, arriving seconds too late. Now, she failed the brave soldier’s lover—and to think she'd left Wenifas with the men that murdered Derris! 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! How is it that the shaman has such a gallery of friends?! She asked the naga mage.

I have never met the man, Libbetz admitted. I felt the presence of a bright light sputtering and needing assistance. I traveled to his side in my astral form only to find so many of the others already there, he explained.

Even with Libbetz to guide her, Meu wondered if she could do anything for her friend. The last time Wenifas needed a little rescuing, Meu stared on in horror as the priestess spoke the shaman’s mind. She poked and prodded 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 wyrm, even a skin-walker possibly hope to do? If she'd acted against the chimera, she'd be dead. Thank the gods that the unthinkable happened! Somehow the shaman knew the meteor would strike. 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?

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 noble serve a deeper purpose? Indeed, 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, attacked by some unknown naga.

I am sorry for that, Libbetz noted. Too many of my cousins are consumed by vengeance and hate. It is an old and sorrowful story. Yet I will see you through, the reverent naga assured her. 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.

In such fashion, Meu searched the dark of Beletrain. She noted a great number of lines attached to bells and gongs, behind barricaded doors. She wondered what she might have to promise to escape Beletrain, an escape she would have to make naked. She was quite low on venom. She felt had enough to force one more human to her bidding.

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 Beletrain and hope that she crossed their path—and despite the helpful company of Libbetz, the underground city kept getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger.

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

"But I do not wish to go east!" Meriona snapped. “I want to go home, to Tikatis!" She glared.

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

Meriona stiffened as she saw the seal of the Empress on it. “Is this in regards to your lost duke?” She glared at Gliedian as she took the envelope. “Am I to be punished for your failure?”

Gliedian ignored her insults. “The duke did not appear at the Lady Yandira’s, like we’d hoped,” he stared back at her. “It was only the lover, and a few incidental others—though I am told your priestess was there.”

“The priestess,” Meriona snorted. “And what would you have me do about it all?” she asked as she examined the letter.

“You have a choice,” Gliedian noted. ""You can go to Land's End and do my bidding there, or you can go after the wayward duke. It is one or the other—but you will not go west. Not yet."

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

“I need someone to keep an eye on the Dunkels, to make sure they uphold their end of the bargain,” Gliedian began.

“What bargain?” Meriona huffed. Why are we doing any of this?! We've lost our forts, and Kezodel is dead. It remains to be seen if the Degorouth can even keep the city!” she noted. “Once the Empress finds out about Kezodel, do you really 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!"

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

"…and behind them a building wave of settlers!" Gliedian chortled. “ Have you not noticed how many Ministrians are about the southern towns? We take this land, and we make it our own! As it is, we have two legions in Rynth Falls—and you know to what purpose!"

Meriona gave a nod. “To continue the slow erosion of the Trohl Freelands—but what does that have to do with the Dunkels? And why should we need another ten legions if this is a slow burn?”

“The Empress has her eye on more than Trohl lands,” Gliedian noted. “We’ve come to an understanding with the Dunkels, and soon , with their assistance, we will be lighting fires in Gaurring.”

Meriona shook her head. “Ten Legions do not simply appear. Where are we getting so many men?”

"Our interests in Borzia now belong to Gred duReb,” Gliedian told her. “For this we are given the Noeth—but we agree to help his majesty retake Gaurring and the Breck. Then we shall have these Trohls in a pincer, and we will take them at our leisure.”

Meriona was shocked. This was the first whisper she’d heard of such a momentous turn of events—and now that she noticed, it seemed so well progressed.

“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?” The High Commander shook his head. “We are not here to sow a little chaos. We’re here to take these lands and these people for our own!” he 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. But there are nearly a hundred legions in Borzia…”

Gliedian nodded. “And as the trade proceeds, we will get the bulk of them,” he smirked, as 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. Opportunities would undoubtedly appear, inevitably—but she figured she had scores to settle among the duke's company. She nodded, "I shall go after Creigalvand his company," she said, as she thought of Wenifas, and Celesi and the ways she might get even.

"Very well,” Gliedian nodded. “I shall take Alise to Land's End. We leave Karamina in Fladerfallen’s Hovey to watch fter our interests there—and she will be thankful for that opportunity after her failure with the duke…”

“What was she meant to do?” Meriona interrupted.

“She was meant to get pregnant. You’d think it’d be simple enough for such a tart—but no…”

Meriona snorted.

"I give you four of my finest to do your work,” Gliedian continued. He turned, and with a whistle, he waved several men to join them.

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

Gliedian pointed at the approaching men. “These are some of the best at what they do. They hunt. They track. They kill. And they do it all with efficiency,” he nodded.

“Jaded blades,” Meriona realized.

Gliedian nodded. “They have their own networks of informants and finks. They are perfect for this work. Just remember; it is the duke that concerns us. The Empress does 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 you will only have to identify the body.”

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

“I do as 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, and the yard crowded with plants.

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

“Twenty minutes, then we’re out,” Apulton said.

Toar shrugged, uninterested in offering any concrete assurance. As far as he was concerned, this would take as long as it took, and no less. He knocked on the door before more assertions might be made.

The door opened almost immediately. 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.

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 a great crowding of objects. A number of coats hung near the door, over a mountain of shoes. Shelves held innumerable books, trinkets, jars, pictures, knickknacks as they stepped into the house proper; and any available space seemed to be home to some potted mystery of fragrance and flowers.

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

“She opened the door,” Toar gave a shrug.

As if on a cue, people began pouring into the front room from down the stairs, the hall, kitchen—even behind them—mostly children. With a booming voice, a large man followed them into the house. He carried a babe in one hand and a large basket full of goods from the market as several weapons hung off his hips. “Hello there!” he smiled and stared at the guests as he closed the door behind them. "Have a seat—or are you on the way out?” he asked, as the children stared up at the strangers with curious eyes.

"We’re here for Hazle,” Toar began.

“Toar?!” A wizened old voice called from the top of the stairs. A stooped woman of too many years slowly approached, hurried by several children, as they laughed and escorted the weak old lady down each step. “Is that Toar I hear?!” she cackled as she searched the dim faces below her.

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

"Enough of that!” the old lady frowned as she stepped close. “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,” Toar began. This is Celesi,,” he introduced the former apprentice Jay. And these are Apulton and Andrus,” he said of the young warriors.

“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,” Power you’ve yet to find!” she beamed.

Shocked at such an assertion, Andrus thought to ask her what she meant—but the old woman turned and took Celesi by the hand before he could.

“And you!” Hazle gasped. “Toar, have you brought me an angel?!”

“Thank you, miss,” she blushed. “But am just Celesi. 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 have certainly not come here to have your fortune told! Of the lot, you are most certain where your future lay!” the old lady chuckled and shook her head. Still holding Celesi’s hand, Hazle turned on her large son. “Ganik, will you see to our new friends and their comfort while I have a moment in private with Toar?”

“Yes, mother,” Ganik handed the baby to Celesi, and the basket to Apulton. He turned to the children. “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, but her expression was no longer jovial. Instead, it was 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 as she remained silent. He would wait. She’d speak in her own time, as she always did.

Outside, Hazle opened up once more as 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.”

“Me too,” Toar shrugged, “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. “i made it to the edge of Salystian lands only to find that it is teeming with bugbear.”

Hazle shook her head as she lowered herself to a bench. “It was never the empty buildings you were meant to find,” she replied. “It was always the people that once lived there.”

“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?”

Hazle shook her head. “I know you,” she said as she stared at him. “You would not have turned around. Indeed, smething 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. He was poisoned and needed my guidance. So I led him through the westlands… or so I tried,” he said as tears gathered in his eyes. He shook his head. “Am I forever meant to serve the privileged? When will I do for myself what none other can do?”

“Now now,” Hazle chastised. “Don’t fret. 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.

“Do not seek the straight road!” Hazle shook her head. “Yours is a circuitous route! Instead, stay with this noble and go where he means to go, and when the time comes, your path will diverge. Then, you shall the people you seek.”

“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? How will I know them? Or must I expect them to know me?”

“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. Be sure of it! Only in this way will you get where you mean to go.”

“Then I must wait,” Toar sighed. He slumped in a defeated gesture. “I’ve spent my entire life waiting.”

“And what is one life to an immortal being?” Hazle huffed. “You must be careful and silent. Search your heart as you go. Then, when the time comes, you will not be able to stop your destiny! It will catch you up, and it will rush you off, and from there 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! So 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.”

“I admit, I have missed it,” Toar said as he 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,” she continued. “There will be little pleasure or comfort in it—but it is just one life. Still, 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 woman look after her garden. There are other pleasures to be had in this world.”

“If things were different, I would stay,” Toar shrugged. “I should think all this is too much for one old woman to look after.”

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

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 think you should be happy that your friends are in such a hurry!”

“They do hurry,” Toar smiled as 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 and gentle 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 an assortment of cookies and pastries with 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 and 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. After such a long time of nothing other then the men around him, he flinched to hear a strange voice call from out of the darkness and break the monotony of brick and shadow.

“Halt! Identify yourselves!”

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

The Jindleyaks replied without pause. “It is Traust of the Wooden Hound, and friends of mine! that mean only to pass! Who is it before us and will you allow us through?”

“There is a price for passing through Pan Iskaer territory!” the voice called back. “Huah!” A number of voices called from all around the group.

Carringten realized they were surrounded, but he also felt the tension fade from his Jindleyak friends.

“Excuse us gentlemen,” Traust called. “But we are more than happy to pay your charge—only, let us do so in the light of the sun, so we might all be sure of the coin,” he replied to the disembodied voices.

“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.”

Several sparks jumped in the dark. Torches were lit all around. A number of heavily armed and serious looking men appeared in the darkness and approached. Squirrel was the largest among them, and was nearly as big as Aim. The two giants stared at each other for several seconds.

“I didn’t come down here to serve as an escort, so let’s not doddle,” Squirrel frowned, turned, and motioned for his charges to follow.

The company followed the large Pan Iskaer guard passed several barricades, then proceeded through tunnels that Carringten were too high, but not as narrow as most they had passed through. Later, he’d learn this was because the naga were slender and tall, and so was their architecture.

A light appeared in the distance. It took Carringten several seconds to realize that the light came from the sun, and he was looking at the exit. His breathing eased up.

There was no door to secure this entrance. Instead, they found themselves in a small courtyard with high walls all around them, ten feet foot high, and made 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 housed the ramp leading down into Beletrain.

“Well, well, look what furry found us,” one of the guards smirked and stood straight. “Who’s that with you, Squirrel?”

“Friends of the matron,” Squirrel called up to the man. “They wish to pay their compliments!”

Carringten heard her huffing and struggling before he saw her over the rim of the high wall. She was old and massive, both tall and wide, with thick white hair she constantly brushed from her face. There was flour on her apron and a bothered expression as she stared down at those in the box. She snorted. “Certainly found enough of ‘em,” the lady said to Squirrel, her arms akimbo, as she eyed the large company. “Are they square?”

Squirrel shook his head, “They complained of poor light and asked to pay once they reached the surface.”

Traust already had his purse out.

The matron pointed as she counted the men. A frown crossed her lips as she noted the comatose form of Krumpus on Aim’s shoulder, but said nothing about it. “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—and if you don’t mind, we’d like to exit two or three at a time,” Traust stated.

“So long as I can get back to my baking, you can do as you like,” the matron huffed. “Let ‘em out!” she 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 this door leads to the shop, and another door leads to the alley, where does the third door lead?” Carringten asked as he paused near Squirrel.

Squirrel shook his head, as it wasn’t his place to tell such secrets. Duboha leaned in close. “It is for those that must pay the blood price,” he said. “It is not the door you wish to see.”

Squirrel smiled and touched his nose. “Farewell, men of the Wooden Hound,” he replied, as they proceeded without him. He turned and went back down the ramp, into Beletrain.

Carringten followed Duboha into the shop which was full of various foods, most notably breads and pastries. He was all too happy to be above ground as he browsed the wares, waiting for his chance to leave. He bought several items as he was made to wait almost until last. Traust wanted his men well positioned before he brought out the foreigners and the sleeper.

Finally, Carringten stepped into the fading sunlight and breathed deep and easy. He had no issue with the dark, and was untroubled by tight spaces—but the combination had made his skin crawl.

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

Meu wasn’t alone in Beletrain. Several roving bands of men banged about the underground city with their garish torches, traveling en masse from one entrance to another. Though, she invariably noticed these men well before they might see her, they were certainly sowing her progress. There was such a glut of them. After about a half dozen such parties, she decided to abandon the areas under their control altogether. She slipped through a corridor rigged with obvious and clumsy traps, and found herself in no-man’s-land.

No-man’s-land was not a safe and easy passage. Too often, and at inconvenient times, corridors and passages were blocked with traps and barricades set by both sides. The going was slow and LIbbets could not help her except to keep her suspicious and weary of the things she sensed. They call it no-man’s-land for a reason, he cautioned. Meu thought it might be better if she entered naga territory proper, instead of skittering back and forth, passed precarious traps and heavy barricades. Libbets was a big fan of this new plan.

Meu descended. The tunnels cleaned up and seemed to be of regular use. The general dinginess was all but gone in naga territory.

Although barricades and elaborate traps no longer barred her way, Meu now found her way often blocked by ornate doors and gates. Thankfully, she could slip through some of the gates—though others were a tighter mesh. Indeed, many seemed designed so naga might get by, but not humans., and since wyrms were even thinner… Libbets confirmed her suspicion. These were an additional defense for when men attacked next.

Do you believe they’ll attack? Meu asked the naga mage.

Eventually, Libbets confirmed.

Beyond such gates, Meu occasionally passed corridors with thick drapes blocking the way. Libbets explained that these were the homes of naga, and that she should not go passed them. The curtains were often laced with bells and chimes to alert the occupants of intruders.

Despite her close proximity to a number of their homes, Meu had yet to see any of the beasts—and then she saw one, slithering down the corridor. This naga was much tidier than Meu had imagined, and also a fair bit meaner-looking. He wore several weapons over a sleeveless shirt. He had a spear some ten feet long. The blade at his hip was either a long knife or a small sword—but then, she couldn’t tell the difference.

This naga passed much closer than Meu might have liked. She hid above an entry, done up with ornate bricking. She was happy to see him proceed as normal, not even glancing up.

Meu noticed a chain about his waist with a heavy metal spike at the end. It is for dropping on things, Libbets told her. Don’t let an angry naga get above you. Indeed, the naga did not appear friendly whatsoever. She wondered if this beast was a sourpuss even by naga standards, as it continued on without slowing or turning.

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. Of course, then she started to see them more frequently—but dodging naga was still better than slinking over the barriers and traps that clogged the passages between the cities.

Many of the naga were not nearly so intimidating. Meu saw a number of females, that all wore shirts of some strange fabric, and often had soft feather boas draped about their necks and wrapped about their arms. The young were cute in the way the young always are; with overemphasized features promising of future growth: big hands, eyes, fingers, and tails.

Though the naga occasionally spoke Trohl, they mostly spoke their own language with an inordinate among of clicks and hisses. Libbets translated the small bits she heard, though none of it seemed of any import.

Meu continued on.

Muffled conversation drifted on the wind. There was a laugh, several knocks, and other disparate noises that seemed to grow in frequency and volume as Meu made her way through a large and airy hall. She came across a small passage with a basic grate of thick metal meshing. Beyond it, a tunnel angled down into the earth. It was not long and there was a dim steady light at the end.

What is this? she asked her guide.

Ah… you must be above Belaine, Libbets told her. These are the vents that carry any smoke and bad air from the market.

Belaine is a market? Meu asked.

There are seven major markets in Beletrain, Libbets told her. This one is of fair size and average traffic—bigger than Hekote Square for sure—but a dim glimmer compared to the Shore Roses.

The air that washed up the vents was richly varied and mostly pleasant. A marvel! Meu said as she realized there must be quite a gathering below her. She considered the grate and noted the bars would not keep her out. Do you think anyone might notice if I should take a look?

You will be quite high up, Libbets noted. And I think mostly out of view. Plus you will have far more options concerning a path forward. Just don’t get caught in the tunnel. There are no turnoffs, and not enough room to hide if you should get pinched.

It doesn’t look long, Meu noted.

She couldn’t resist. Wings tucked close, she slipped through the grate and slithered down the tunnel.

How is the tunnel so smooth? she 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 how it works is beyond me—and the method of application is tedious just to think about, the naga mage answered. Thankfully, I haven’t had to do any of that in years.

The slope was not that steep. Meu proceeded easily as the warm, rich air rushed passed her.

This is the newest of the markets, Libbets informed as she continued forward. It was expanded from a neighborhood bath after the Rotund fell to the militias.

The Rotund?

Another market, the original in this area. Beletrain will always have seven markets—or major markets, Libbets corrected. There are a couple dozen smaller markets all about these tunnels, and should any of the other large markets fall or be destroyed, one of them would likely be expanded to take its place. .

The humans sacked one of your markets? Meu gasped as she imagined the tragedy.

It happened long before I was born, Libbets noted with calm dispassion. The war is old and tragic. Indeed, we are blessed with relative peace these days.

Where are we in terms of Ebertin? Meu asked.

We are near the city’s center, though it is now a bit behind us, he told her. We still have the physical center of Beletrain ahead of us, but most of the population is behind, closer to the lake.

Beletrain is larger than Ebertin?

Physically it is much larger, Libbets told her. Down here things are a bit more distanced. One needs increasingly heavy walls as one descends, in order to support the weight above.

How deep do the tunnels run?

Very… Libbets confirmed. Indeed, they seem endless and greatly varied as the city simply ceases at a hundred different points, and becomes natural caverns—or those built by even older peoples. These areas are collectively called the deep, and though we explore it, the deep has no end.

Meu could not believe it. There is no end to this deep?

Not that' we’ve managed to map, Libbets confirmed. We’ve come out of it in jungles and deserts, near beaches, as well as atop mountains. Of course, there are parts of it we’ve settled—but there are also great dangers in the deep—areas we do not go, inhabited by strange and cunning creatures of malevolent intent.

Meu was astounded that so much should transpire below the surface. To think, there was a whole different world under her feet where she expected nothing but dirt!

The whispers of naga below her quickly grew into a cacophony of sounds as she approached the distant opening of the tunnel.

Do you know this market well? Meu asked as she proceeded.

Not especially, Libbets admitted. It is several hours from my current residence, so my visits are infrequent—but the baths are among my favorite, so I do try to visit ever few months.

The tunnel retreated on all sides, and Meu realized she was high above a massive cavern; 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. But she no little attention to all that. Instead, she gaped at the spectacle below her, speechless.

The market was lit in many ways, though the sources were 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 at least a thousand naga in the grand space with plenty of room for a few thousand more. It was several hundred feet to the floor of the cavern. The walls varied, though some were so distant they were hard to see. There were balconies on almost every wall, some with furniture, most with decoration. There was a large bath in the corner of the vast cavern, part of a natural section of cave. The pool was neatly bordered as a visible steam drifted above it. There was a great crowd about it; lounging, wading, and swimming. Meu could not see the entire pool. Libbets confirmed that it receded under the far wall, and was even separated into several other pools as it extended through a series of natural caverns.

Meu turned back toward the general market. As she studied the melee below her, she realized it wasn’t just naga on the floor. There were occasional humans too.

A knot of fifty or sixty people of varying ages stood to one side with leashes about their necks. Slaves, Libbets told her, taken, stolen, kidnapped from the surface and sold in the markets. Most are brought here as children, though from time to time adults are captured.

This is a strange place indeed, Meu noted. I should not think that naga would keep human slaves.

Quite a few—though a good number of us abhor the practice, Libbets confirmed. Only Hekote Square and the Hollows don’t allow trafficking in humans.

A few of the humans called and cried, but their voices were weak and long defeated. Meu searched them for faces she might know. For quite a time she watched and studied the crowd below her, as she felt at leisure to study the beasts. Their appearance was gaunt, though she had no reason to think most weren't in perfect health. Indeed, she thought they were beautiful and wondered how she might find life among them—if she’d been born in such a form.

As Meu wondered about the lives of the creatures below, a slow uncomfortable creeping suspicion, crept over her. She felt eyes on her. Distraught, and with slivers climbing up her back, she turned to the closest balconies. It didn’t take her long to see the spy.

To her left and several levels down, a naga stood stock-still and stared at her. Her heart jumped. Meu felt a menace and calculation in its gaze. A veracote, Libbets identified it. He is one of the market guard. You would be wise to evade him.

The veracote was a good distance away. There was nothing he could do to her from so far—or so she hoped. As they stared at each other, Meu decided to simply stare back at her observer, and challenged him to act first. Now that she had spotted the beast, the naga slowly pulled from view and disappeared behind the edge of a wall. Was it really gone?

You should go, Libbets spurred her on. Meu agreed. 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 guards now on the prowl, Meu believed she could be of no assistance. But which way to go? There were so many options before her.

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 her flying form. Several gasps and a pause in conversation followed as Meu covered the meager distance to the far balcony. It only took her a couple seconds, as she ate up several hundred feet, and placed herself on the far side of the market. Still, fingers were pointed, and a number of sentries made for the exits.

Meu moved quick and often took ramps and passages that led up and closer to the surface.Thankfully, she ran into no one. After several levels, she had to move slow to safely navigate the various traps set by both sides. She didn’t stop until she was through another patch of no-man’s-land, and back in corridors that smelled more of humans than naga. Only then did she feel safe enough to wander about in a ponderous manner once more. She listened for any sounds of pursuit, but heard nothing.

Libbets commended her efforts—but his words were not all optimism and encouragement. Your mind grows dim and far away, he told her. I fear I shall not be with you much longer.

Meu nodded knowingly. This is about how long my venom would have lasted if the shaman had not somehow blasted its effects, she told him. I am so glad you managed to join me for so long, she said to her mental companion. Your guidance has been invaluable, and I shall never forget the kindness you’ve showed me.

It has been my pleasure, the naga mage smiled. Know that you have seen what few foreign souls have ever seen. Indeed, no men aside from our slaves have ever seen this market.

But they have seen the others? Meu asked.

Some, Libbets answered. Indeed, a good number of men once made it all the way to the edge of the Roses themselves—although once we took notice, they were quickly pushed back by wave upon wave of naga warriors.

How many naga lived in the labyrinth?

Lots, Libbets answered. You saw the size of Ebertin—and yet, we’ve fought her men to a standstill in a war that’s waged for over a century. Indeed, Beletrain is deep and mysterious, even to many of her own natives.

There was little more talk of history and the naga of Beletrain. The consciousness of the naga mage faded to far, and then Meu could only sense the thicker emotions of the beast, before they too faded, and she could feel nothing at all.

For a time, Meu wandered through corridors that stank of men. There seemed to be few of them, at least at this time, or in this area. She had no idea how long she’d been underground, and wondered how much longer she could stay down here. Hunger and fatigue were beginning to creep upon her.

A familiar scent caught in her maw. Meu paused. For a second, she thought it was a trick as she immediately lost the scent once more, but she turned back and caught the smell again as she hovered near the edge of an aqueduct.

By some miracle, the familiar scent of the young boy, Claiten, stuck to the side of the aqueduct. Meu moved to the left, then to the right, then forward and back, but the smell was only in this one spot, right here, 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. Why? She wondered. Why should he be in the water at all?

Unless he was pulled back into the water.

She noted that it wasn't just the boy's scent. There was no smell of the others—of Wenifas, or Evereste, or even 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. She hesitated for a second, then plunged herself into the aqueduct—but which way to go? She decided to take the hard path and swim upstream, that way if she had to reverse and come back the other way, at least it would be the easy path before her. She swam against the current, through several chambers and long tunnels.

The water was brisk and gripping. Although Meu was an adequate swimmer, her kind wasn’t exactly built for it. 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 the odor of her friend and the two other Trohls that traveled with her as she pulled herself from the water. Excited that she’d 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 the aqueduct and after the boy. This is where she was needed. She feared if she hesitated her courage would flag. She could already hear a part of herself argue against going after the boy. It’d be exceedingly dangerous. There were too many unknowns. Instead, she should just make for the surface…

Before she might talk herself out of it, Meu turned, lifted into the air, and dove into the water once more. She steeled herself and allowed the current of the aqueduct to sweep her deep into Beletrain.

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

From the remains of the Invader’s Fort, the surviving Ministrians managed to break through the southern line of waokie. They began a long, harried march as they made their way to Rynth Falls. A good number of civilians and soldiers alike were overcome and perished as they proceeded.

Petaerus did not escape unscathed. A dart scraped through the undergrowth and caught him under his eye. By the time the survivors reached Rynth Falls the next morning, he was delirious, could barely see, with a patch of rot creeping all about his right eye. Dolif feared he would die, as he half-carried his friend to safety, beyond the walls of Rynth Falls.

As the survivors approached the city, they were bolstered by two legions of battle hardened shock troops, and nearly triple that many Trohl berserkers. As numerous as they were, the waokie melted before this force and disappeared back into the trees. For a time, they were pursued—though Petaerus and Dolif had nothing to do with any of that.

A competent healer was found for the infected. For three days, Petaerus suffered a slow recovery as the healer returned every few hours to administer one of his various unpleasant treatments.

Petaerus 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 to save them from the slow creeping death. Once the infected limb was removed, their recovery was quick, although they were no longer whole. Such a quick fix was not possible for Petaerus. They could not simply amputate his head and expect him to live, so the healer focused heavily on the man. Some argued that he should simply be allowed to die—but too many of the survivors said he was integral to their escape, including a hulking and most disagreeable giant. Three days later, the healer left Petaerus in his tent for the last time.

The High Guard turned to his friend and confidant. “Does it look as bad as it feels?” he asked as he gingerly fingered his scarred face.

“It should calm a bit as you continue to heal,” Dolif said, unconvincingly.

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

“That’s the attitude!” Dolif grinned. “I’ll admit, for a while there you had me scared. I wasn’t sure you’d pull through.”

“War takes the weak,” Petaerus snorted. “Ooroiyuo has use for me yet—and Naharahna means to spread more 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 will 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 lifted his shirt and stared at his own insignia. He’d jumped several ranks. “Copal?!” he began. “How is this possible?”

“Your plan saved over fifty fighting men, several hundred slaves, and too many civilians,” Dolif smiled. “Drastarig has all the rank he wants, and since he acknowledged it was our plan that saved us, we were rewarded.”

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

“I merely played devil’s advocate—as a good second must—that we might flesh it out,” Dolif 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. “Drastarig made it through, eh?”

Dolif shook his head. “The man is 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 disappeared back into the forest. 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,” Dolif continued. “He then stuck it on a spit and proceeded to cook it—while it was still squirming.”

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.”

“Vile.”

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

“Is he gonna 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,” Dolif replied. “But I don’t set the tithes. Still, the gods favor beauty, and in that 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 doesn’t even matter. 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. “It belongs to you?” the duke asked.

“It belongs to the family,” Traust smiled. “Cousins, five or six generations back?” he looked to Duboha for clarification.

Duboha shrugged. “You’ll have to ask one with more Yakcobs if you want those sorts of specifics,“he said.

“They’re part of ours,” Traust assured.

Aim came down the drive and waved the party forward.

Traust began up the drive, “They’ll take the little ones into the city to sleep with friends and family. A few of the most trusted will see to our needs and run our errands.”

“We’re the first ones here,” Aim nodded. “You expect Apulton or Elpis to return first?”

“They return when they return,” Traust shrugged. “In the mean time, I’m feeling rather peckish. Let’s raid the kitchen, and hope the others think to get some food; and we’ll talk over what we mean to do next. Then we can see you supplied with any immediate needs; paper, pen,… maybe a sword in case things get a bit dicey,” he smiled at the duke. “I know I’d want a pig sticker if I were in your shoes,” he smiled at the duke.

"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.

They took their meal on the porch, overlooking the garden, and whittled away the hours with pleasant conversation. Then, as dessert sat lingering and the hours began to grow dark and long, Creigal saw Toar and Celesi return with Duboha, Aim, and the other two Jindleyaks that left with his guide for Edgewater. He stood and waved to his guide and the former Jay.

Fresh succor was brought out for the new arrivals. Apulton and Andrus emptied their bags and filled their obligations, then began to eat, as some stayed to hear of what happened, and others went inside to squirrel away their prizes from Edgewater. Conversation was crisp and told of the day’s events.

One of those natural long lulls in conversation crept over the table as most everyone either stepped back, took a bite or a drink, or simply waited for someone else to talk. Creigal smiled about the group as he studied the others—then noticed Traust staring at Duboha, as the second mopped his bread through sauce in a half-hearted and distracted manner that suggested he might eventually eat it, if he just remembered it was in his hand…

“What is it?” Traust interrupted Duboha’s moping. “What’s got your goat?”

Duboha locked eyes with his friend. “Yandira’s dead, and at least a dozen others,” he frowned.

“What?” Apulton said as he held a bite halfway to his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I am telling you,” Duboha replied. “Word is, Degorouth were arresting her when Elpis arrived. A fight broke out. Our cousins were last seen running toward the slant streets with the priestess and her children in tow,” he shook his head.

“No other word?” Traust asked.

Duboha pointed at Apulton, Andrus, Toar, and Celesi. “We found them next, and I figured it was best to come back and give you a head’s up.”

Traust shook his head. “Changes nothing for us. Yandira nor any of her people knew of this place, and even if they get their hands on him, Elpis won’t tell.” He stared at his second. “Take Apulton and Aim, go out into the streets, do what you do.” Traust pointed. “Find our boy and bring him in.”

“Yes sir,” Duboha nodded.

“Also, send word to the Lady’s family. Give our condolences, and see how we might be of assistance,” Traust said.

Duboha turned to Komotz. “Go tell your cousin we need him out here.”

“Can I go with you?” Komotz asked.

“How fast can you be?” Duboha replied.

Komotz turned and ran into the house.

Andrus perked up. “Do I get to go?”

Duboha shook his head.

“But you might let Komotz go?!” Andrus protested.

“I ain’t taking both of you into town—and he asked first,” Duboha said, then pointed a finger at his cousin. “And don’t you even think of telling Homoth until we’re gone!”

Offended, Andrus held up his hands. He leaned forward and stared at Duboha, then slammed his hands on the table, huffed, and stood. “I didn’t want to go anyway!” he snapped, then turned and sulked away.

Duboha let him go.

“He’s gonna tell Homoth,” Apulton noted as Andrus kicked rocks.

“I hope so,” Duboha snipped. “I’m still on him about his last gaffe, what now? …a month ago?”

“Two,” Apulton noted.

“Still not letting him of the hook just yet,” Duboha snorted. “Last time I let him hitch along, he cost me a good friend.”

“Informant,” Apulton corrected. “You were never his friend.”

“He thought I was,” Duboha pointed.

As this went on, Traust stood, and excused himself from the table. He stepped from the porch and began to mosey about the garden.

Creigal watched the man go. “Is he alright?” He asked the table.

“He’ll be fine,” Apulton nodded. “It’s gotta be hardest on Elpis.”

Duboha nodded in agreement, then pointed at Traust, “he just needs some time to blow off a bit of steam. He’s too well known as the emissary of the Oak and the Beast. He knows he can’t leave the property and do anything about all this.”

“What of you?” Creigal replied. “Aren’t you known as his second?”

“You know me as his second,” Duboha answered. “Among our enemies, Saleos is his right hand man—and I’m just another lump with a blade, hangin’ about the edges when he needs to show a little extra muscle,” he explained. “But this neighborhood, this is my home. This is where we do the dark work,” he pointed to implicate Apulton also.

Creigal smiled as he realized the men’s game: they were spies, sneaks, opportunists.