The Tunnels of Ancient Beletrain

Polished 4.1 and 4.2 — 48m25s — 2020/11/10

Polished 4.3 — 31m25s — 2020/11/11

Polished 4.4. Trying to establish Carringten’s fear of the dark without being too heavy handed—though it has to stand until the end of book three, so, i guess it needs to be pushed a little… — 57m46s — 2020/11/13

Polished the end of 4.4 and the beginning of 4.5 — 15m58s — 2020/11/19

Polished 4.5 — 1h14m46s — 2020/11/21

Polished 4.6, then moved it to 5.1 — 32m18s — 2020/11/23

Polished the new 4.6 — 55m28s — 2020/11/26

Polished 4.4 — 42m09s — 2020/12/01

Polished 4.5 — 1h27m21s — 2020/12/03

Polished 4.6 —26m41s — 2020/12/03

The tanner stared blank-eyed into the darkness of Beletrain as Meu sat just out of view, and led the gruff fellow through his fantasy. She pried the cork from the bottle given to her by the bartender and 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 ol’ 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. She was 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 senses of 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 this underground labryinth. 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. She 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?

Yet, she also wanted to see Wenifas and her own babies settled somewhere safe. She didn’t believe it would take more than a few weeks. After all, the priestess had more money than she’d ever need—if only she was wise with it. And Meu also hoped to see the shaman’s home. She’d heard such things of the place.

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, since it was a naga that swam among her thoughts—but the presence was soft and friendly in its tone and attitude. After several seconds, Meu realized it was the naga that had attended Krumpus. Somehow, this creature was still in her mind.

Yes, the naga mage smiled. I saw you through the shaman. I knew that you intended to come to Beletrain and knew you might want for a guide. My name is Libbetyz Eikyale, 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 hundred ways forward and down—and a thousand ways back into Ebertin—though many were blocked or trapped. She began to take closer notice of the place and realized the floor was often tiled with intricate patterns that spoke of a precision and skill she 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 a history of a thousand lifetimes. Indeed, the darkness was comforting compared to the glaring light of the surface. 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 incredibly 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 are masters of water. She expected to here him explain some of that mastery, but he left it at that. She pressed him. Finally, he assured her that many of his people could operate, repair, even replace this maddening array of plumbing—but he was not one of them. He had other talents. Indeed, he understood the workings only a bit more than her.

With Libbetz to point it out, Meu realized the palpable hostility about the place was 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; she 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. She also failed Derris, arriving seconds too late. Now, she failed the brave soldier’s lover—and to think she'd left Wenifas with the very men that murdered Derris! She would not have left the priestess at all if she was not so distracted.

But 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. Well, he’d certainly deserved it, the brute! Thinking back to the host of creatures that followed the shaman, Meu wondered how it was possible for the shaman to have such a rich gallery of powerful friends?!

Libbetz heard the questions, and shrugged in response. I have never met the man, he admitted. I felt the presence of a bright light sputtering and needing assistance. In my astral form, I traveled his side, only to find so many of the others already there, he explained. I should think many of them arrived in a similar fashion. This was as much as he could say the matter.

The shaman—oh what a rich and complex set of troubles he’d initiated when they first met! And now, she was underground, in a kingdom she knew nothing about. Even with Libbetz to guide her, Meu wondered if she could do anything for her friend. Indeed, the last time Wenifas needed rescuing, Meu stared on in horror as the priestess spoke the shaman’s mind. Wenifas poked and prodded Kezodel's delicate ego as hundreds of the judge’s men looked on. Chagrined, Kezodel stepped forward, ten feet tall, with the largest sword and shield Meu had ever seen! 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 and at the precise moment the meteor punctured the roof, and caused it to collapse. Was he indeed touched by the gods? How else could he have possibly known?

And 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 by a naga in these very tunnels.

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—but it has no grip on me. he assured her. I will see you through. 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 find her.

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, still intent on regaining his life, despite a mountain of resistance. She wondered how long that might last, as she crept through long halls and chambers of every sort. She heaped her good will upon the gruff man and encouraged his resolution—though she did it in a secretive manner.

In this fashion, Meu searched the dark of Beletrain; alone—and yet among a mixed company. 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 she had enough to force one more human to her bidding—and if he was as big as the tanner... she decided not to think about such difficulties. After all, she 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!" the Illustrious Lady Jay 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 her.

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?” 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?!” she continued. “We've lost our forts, and Kezodel is dead. It remains to be seen if the Degorouth can even keep the city! 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 Gred duReb and the Dunkels, and soon 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 the King,” Gliedian told her. “And we’ve agreed to help his majesty retake Gaurring and the Breck.”

“To what end?” She asked. “What do we get from this?”

“We get the Noeth,” Gliedian smiled. “And 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 her. “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. “The bulk go to Hof Hebrin—to subdue the uprising, but as this trade proceeds, we will get a good number—some twenty, I am assured, with the armies of the Noeth also at our disposal,” 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. Admittedly, opportunities would undoubtedly appear—but she figured she had scores to settle among the duke's company. “I shall go after Creigal and his company," she nodded, as she thought of Wenifas, 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 after 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 by the duke,” Gliedian snorted. “Can you think of all the ways such a child might be used? But no—you’d think it’d be simple enough for such a luscious tart—but apparently our duke was not amused.”

Meriona snorted.

“Well, then,” Gliedian continued. "I give you four of my finest to do your work.” 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. Several other small faces appeared around the door jam. One curious, one bored, one suspicious.

“Hey there,” Toar began with a gentle smile. “Is Hazle home?”

The girls turned on each other with a giggle. The door pushed open, and the children retreated into the house. “Gran!” they called as they went searching about. “There’s people at the door!'“

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 furniture and objects. A number of coats hung near the door, over a mountain of shoes. Shelves held innumerable books, trinkets, jars, pictures, knickknacks. Every window was jammed with potted mysteries of fragrance and flowers.

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

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

The girls returned to the front room, running and giggling, followed by brothers—or male cousins. Down the stairs, in from the hall, out of the kitchen—some even appeared behind them, coming in the front door. With a booming voice, a large man pushed into the house. He carried a babe in one hand and a large basket full of goods from the market, along with an assortment of knives. “Hello there!” he smiled and stared at the guests as the door closed behind them. "Have a seat—or are you on the way out?” he asked, as the children grabbed at his pants and 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. “Miracles never cease,” 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 melted his serious demeanor.

“Ooohh!” she cooed. “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, 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 snorted.

Andrus thought to ask her what she meant—but the old waved him off. She turned to Celesi and took the Jay by the hand.

“And you!” Hazle gasped. “You are a sight! Why, I should think Toar has brought me an angel!”

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

“Welcome home, my dear,” 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 the large man. “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.

Hazle breathed in deep, and said, “My earthly vision may be going, but my nose is as keen as ever. The flowers are magnificent!”

“They are,” Toar nodded as they stepped into the garden.

Hazle nodded, felt his palm, and stared toward his face with cloudy eyes. “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. “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,” he 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 no one else can do?”

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

“I know,” Toar said as he wiped 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 that place home.”

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

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

“Am I 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. “No. 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 you along!”

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 others. 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 skin was beginning to itch. Quarters were cramped, and the torches barely pushed back at the devouring dark. He had the sense that there was something there, cloaked in shadow, just beyond the reach of his eyes. Indeed, he had a sense that there was a good deal all about him; invisible, secretive, and seeming to follow…

A strange voice called from out of the darkness and broke the monotony of brick and shadow. “WHO GOES!?” It roared. The Jindleyaks ditched their torches and pressed themselves closed to the walls. Carringten followed suit and one arm pressed the duke behind him. He reached for Bence’s short sword as he glared into the darkness and gulped at the stale air.

“It is I, Traust of the Wooden Hound!” replied their escort. “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—a fact that deeply worried Carringten. It seemed that they were pinched and likely outnumbered. If it came to a fight, they’d be attacked on all sides—but as Carringten prepared to fight, the Jindleyak around him relaxed; their tension fading into the brick about them.

“We are more than happy to pay your charge,” Traust replied in a congenial tone. “Only, let us do so in the light of the sun, so we might all be sure of the coin.”

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

“Near the Plaza of the Serenah,” Traust answered. “The bake shop, Mullaynes.”

“The bake shop,” the voice repeated. “Squirrel, take them through to the matron. Ask 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 from all angles, grinning and clapping hands with the Jindleyaks. They stared at Carringten’s dark complexion, then offered their open hands. The Jindleyak held out their extinguished torches and thanked the strangers for lighting them.

“Come on then,” Squirrel smiled, the largest among them—but still a good hand shorter than Aim. “Let’s not doddle,” he frowned. “I didn’t come down here to serve as an escort.” With that, he turned and motioned for his charges to follow.

The company followed the large Pan Iskaer and several of his fellow guard past a number of barricades. Carringten glanced up at the unusually high ceiling and noticed the thinness of the tunnels once more. Duboha said the dimensions of the tunnels were a reflection of their naga builders, who were quite slender and tall and able to stand nearly ten feet on the edge of their tales—but knowing so only made the naga seem more alien and dangerous. Then Carringten saw a light from around a corner, and just like that, he could see the light of day. He was looking at the exit—and it was remarkably close. Convinced he might yet make it back out into the open air, his breathing eased up a bit, and he suppressed the urge to run.

There was no door to secure this entrance. Instead, they marched into the sun and found themselves in a small courtyard with high walls all around them; nearly twenty feet high and smooth all about. 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 with you, Squirrel?”

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

The guard on the wall shrugged, then disappeared.

Traust pulled a purse from his pocket and poked about the coins. The Jindleyak and the foreigners all seemed relaxed, so Carringten breathed deep, closed his eyes, and relished the warmth of the sun.

The voice of a woman materialized, seeming to lecture someone as it huffed and struggled up the stairs. Then her face and half her body appeared over the rim of the high wall. She was old and massive, both tall and wide, with thick white hair. There was flour on her apron and a bothered expression as she stared down at those in the box. “Well now… certainly found enough of ‘em!” she snorted at 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.”

“They all gotta see their money,” she seemed to say to the air. “Why don’t any of ‘em ever come with the price in hand is what I ask?”

“Because it’s always changing, my lady,” Traust smiled and gave a bit of a bow to the woman.

For a second she glared at him. “Right,” she said, then a frown crossed her lips as she noted the comatose form of Krumpus on Aim’s shoulder—but in the end she decided not to say anything about him. “Well then, five moons,” she tallied.

“Five moons,” Traust agreed and pulled several coins from his purse. He offered the money directly to her, but she waved him away. Squirrel offered to take the money instead. He counted it and gave a nod to the matron.

“Would you prefer the alley or the shop?” the matron asked.

“The shop—and if you don’t mind, we’d like to exit two or three at a time,” Traust stated.

She waved her hand, and began down the stairs. “So be it, so long as I can get back to my baking, you can do as you like. Boys acting like there’s nothing else to do all day but play in the dirt,” her words trailed off after her. The door to their left opened up, and with a nod, Squirrel waved them through.

“If this door leads to the shop, and the other door leads to the alley,” Carringten began. “Where does the third door go?”

Squirrel shook his head, as it wasn’t his place to tell such secrets.

Traust leaned in close with a knowing smile. ““It is a narrow corridor with the semblance of a doorat the end—only there’s nothing beyond the door but high brick walls.”

Squirrel put a finger to his lips, but proceeded to add a bit, since the secret was known. “That is for those that must pay the blood price.”

“You can fit two dozen men in that hallway,” Traust noted. “The question I’d ask is whether or not it’s ever been used.”

Squirrel smiled and touched his noise. “Farewell, men of the Wooden Hound,” he added, then turned and went back down the ramp, into Beletrain. Carringten shuddered to see it. He turned, then eventually followed Traust and Creigal into the shop, which was full of various foods; breads and pastries, buns, rolls, cookies, cakes, and delicacies of flour and sugar impossible to describe. Not only was he now above ground, but stared at an array of pleasing food. Better yet, Traust placed several heavy coins on the counter, and told the boys to gather whatever they might liked. He didn’t know where to start. He followed after the Jindleyaks and asked at the pieces they chose, then selected several meat pies and a couple sweet pieces bursting with fruits and nuts. They were so good and baked to absolute perfection. For several minutes, as he ate and shared bits with Creigal, he forgot all his troubles. And still they waited. He had to remind himself not to gorge, so he did not become lethargic.

Now that his men well positioned, Traust nodded and waved Creigal, Carringten, Baet, and Aim forward, with the shaman still sleeping in his arms. Carringten stepped into the fading sunlight and shook off the dark quarters of Beletrain. He breathed deep and easy once more, happy to see other people about, in the open air—yet the crowd was slight, and carried about its business. They did not bother, though a few glanced, curious to see a man colored like the shadows. He proceeded as if everyone was always staring—which was often the case since he accompanied the duke throughout his duchy.

As they proceeded, Carringten noticed the Jindleyak militia all about, keeping a sharp eye, as their charges proceeded down the street. He turned and gave an approving smile to his duke, as he felt their new friends were doing a right proper job. So far, it seemed they’d fallen in with quite a competent lot. Perhaps their luck was finally turning…

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

Roving bands of men banged about the tunnels of Beletrain. With their garish torches, they traveled en masse from one entrance to another. Meu invariably noticed these men long before they might see her—but all the maneuvering and dodging slowed her progress. Indeed, there was such a glut of activity that after about a half dozen such encounters, Meu decided to abandon the areas controlled by men altogether. She slipped through a corridor riddled with traps, then found herself in no-man’s-land.

No-man’s-land was not a safe and easy passage. Too often and always at inconvenient times the corridors and passages were blocked with barricades and traps, set by both sides. The going was slow even with Libbetz to bolster her senses and ease her suspicions. Libbetz thought it might be better if she entered naga territory proper, instead of skittering back and forth, passing precariously between traps and heavy barricades set by both sides. Meu agreed. She descended. The dinge of no-mans-land diminished, then slowly disappeared.

Although barricades and elaborate traps no longer barred her way, Meu found her way often blocked by ornate doors and gates. Some of these gates she could slip through and around—though some were of a tight mesh. Indeed, many were designed so naga might get by—but humans could not—and since wyrms were even thinner than naga, she had an easy time getting through.

Meu slipped passed yet another gate, and couldn’t help but feel the animosity between nagas and humans. These peoples hate each other so much, she wondered. Must it always be so?

We are strange and foreign to each other, Libbetz noted. Is it possible for such different peoples to ever get along?

I cannot see why not, Meu replied. We are equally different to the humans, and yet we manage to get along. Indeed, there is a small band that lives about the Spires of Gendalou.

But it is just a few?

Not many. Perhaps a couple hundred, Meu clarified. A few refugees, cut off from their own people—but they are not simply neighbors. We often trade and entertain each other. Indeed, there are celebrations in the name of our friendship. And our southern cousins are said to have a similar understanding, but these men of the south are beyond count.

Perhaps, if there was a shake-up, if we were forced to look at our similarities and not our differences, Libbetz finally replied. There is so much blood and anger on both sides, and some of it deservedly so. It would take a good deal of compassion and compromise to bring us together.

It is obvious that the traps and barricades have been there for decades, even generations. Does neither side weary of the war?

The nature of each is to be renewed with the young, Libbetz noted. There are some among us that long for peace, and I suspect there are those among the humans that want the same—but i suspect most teach their children to hate, and the children tend to do so with vigor.

Saddened to hear it, Meu ventured on. She occasionally passed corridors with thick drapes blocking the way. Libbetz explained that these were the homes of naga, and that she should not go into them. The curtains were often laced with bells and chimes to alert the occupants of intruders. Some would be blocked with nets of rope or chain behind them. They would make a racket and attract attention.

Despite such close proximity to a number of their homes, Meu had yet to see any of the beasts—and then she saw one, slithering toward her.

This naga was much tidier than Meu had imagined, lean yet muscular, and looking quite mean. 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, she wasn’t sure if there was a difference.

This naga passed much quicker and 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—though he slowed and glanced up at her, undoubtedly curious to see such a stone figure above a door he was likely frequent to pass.

See the chain about his waist, Libbetz noted. It has a spike at the end of it. It is for dropping on things.

The naga did not appear friendly whatsoever. As it continued on its way, Meu wondered if it wasn’t a sourpuss even by naga standards. From there, she started to see them more frequently. Still, dodging naga was better than slinking over the barriers and traps that clogged no-man’s-land. Indeed, many of the naga were not nearly so intimidating as the first. Meu saw a number of females, that all wore shirts fine fabric. they often had soft feather boas draped about their necks and wrapped about their arms. Indeed, the young were cute in the way that young always are, with overemphasized features that promised of future growth: big hands, eyes, fingers, and tails. The naga also spoke Trohl, though they mostly spoke their own language, with an inordinate among of clicks and hisses. Libbetz translated some of the small bits Meu heard, though none of it seemed of any import.

Meu continued on. The naga thinned, and for long stretches disappeared altogether. 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 could not say the tunnel was any stranger than the rest, for they were all quite strange to her, until she came across a small passage with a basic grate of thick metal meshing over it. Beyond it, a tunnel angled down into the earth. The tunnel was not long and there was a dim steady light at the end of it.

What is this? she asked her guide.

Below is a market, Libbets told her. These are the vents that carry away smoke and bad air. You are above Ancore.

Ancore, Meu repeated, and sniffed the air. It was rich, varied, mostly pleasant, and spoke of a large gathering below her. So this is the central market of Beletrain…

Libbetz chuckled. Although we are almost directly under the center of Ebertin, Ancore is quite on the outskirts of Beletrain, he told her. It is, however, quite a large market.

It is but one? Meu marveled. And how many are there?

When does a market go from major to minor? Libbetz shrugged. There are six or seven bigger than this. Ancore is a fair size, with a good amount of traffic, bigger than Hekote Square for sure, but a dim glimmer compared to the Shore Roses.

Meu stared at the grate, fascinated by the idea of a naga market. The bars would not keep her out. f I should take a look, do you think anyone might notice? she asked her naga guard.

You will be quite high up, and mostly out of view, Libbetz began. Indeed, I can think of few reasons for you not to go, and can think of many for why you should.

Meu quivered with excitement and uneasiness.

Libbetz continued. It will give you far more options for your path forward, that is, if your friends aren’t somewhere below, on the floor of the market.

With that, Meu couldn’t resist. Wings tucked close, she slipped through the grate and slithered down the tunnel. This tunnel is so well kept, lacking any cracks or seeming wear, even where the metal loops are drilled in. How is this so? she wondered.

There are ways to meld the rock, Libbets confided. It is ancient naga magic and understood by a number of our masters. I am not one of them. I can make the slurry that helps fuse the rock—but the method of application is tedious just to think about, and how it all works is quite beyond me.

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

The Rotund? Meu asked.

Another market, the original in this area, Libbets said.

Are you saying 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.

The whispers of the naga below grew into a cacophony of sounds as Meu approached the distant opening of the tunnel. Do you know this market well?

Not especially, Libbets admitted. It is hours from my home, so my visits are infrequent—but the baths are among my favorite, so I do try to visit whenever it is convenient. You will see, he smiled.

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. For her, with wings at her side, it was not that daunting to go from one to the next, but she could sense a tinge of dread as Libbetz experienced the height with her. But she paid little attention to all that. Instead, she gaped at the spectacle below her.

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 below, 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 every wall, and often seemed to be crowding in on each other. All were decorated and most were furnished. Some held naga, as they lounged and mingled one with another. On the floor of the cavern, at one of its corners was a large bath. The smooth walls suddenly gave way to a jagged natural section of cave, where steam lifted from the water and drifted slowly for the chimneys. There was a great crowd about about the pool; wading, swimming, relaxing. Meu could not see the entire pool, but believed she only saw a small part of it. Libbets confirmed that it extended under the wall and was only one of several pools, though it was the largest.

There are so many of them, Meu noted, as she gaped at the crowd of naga. To think this is only one market.

Libbetz chuckled. We are plentiful here, deep in the earth.

Is Beletrain larger than Ebertin?

Physically it is much larger, Libbets affirmed. But down here things are a bit more distanced. One needs increasingly heavy walls as one descends, in order to support the weight above. As for the people? Who is to say who has more? Personally, I think it is rather close. Many say it is the largest colony of naga in the world, though some argue it is in Najoria, or perhaps Hof Hebrin…

How deep do the tunnels run? Meu asked.

Very, Libbets confirmed. Indeed, they are endless, as the city simply ceases at a hundred different points and becomes natural caverns—or just as often old passages, built by even older peoples. These areas are collectively called the deep, and though we explore it, everyone agrees that the deep has no end.

Meu could not believe it. There is no end to it? But the earth is only so big…

Not that we’ve managed to map, Libbets confirmed. And we’ve come out of these caves at a thousand different places, sometimes in jungles, or deserts. There are exits near beaches, as well as atop mountains. Of course, there are parts of this underground that 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. He shook his head. There is much in the earth, and although we don’t care to admit it, there is much we don’t know.

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! Stunned and wordless, she simply gaped at the majesty of the market below her; and as she studied the melee, she realized it wasn’t just naga on the floor. There were humans too. Indeed, there was a knot of fifty or sixty people, varying ages, that stood to one side

People! Meu breathed, then noticed the leashes about their necks. Ohhh… she moaned as she realized what they must be.

Slaves, Libbets nodded. Taken, stolen, kidnapped from the surface and sold in these markets. Most have been down here for a majority of their lives, though some won’t live more than a few days. Most are brought as children, though adults are captured from time to time. Adults are harder to train—harder to break—but then, some like a challenge...

A few of the humans called and cried, their voices weak and long defeated. Meu searched them for faces she might know, but none of them seemed familiar. A bit longer, and she grew bored and once more turned her attention to the market at large. For quite a time, she felt at her leisure, as she watched and studied the crowd below her. The naga appeared 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. then, as she wondered about the lives of the creatures below, a slow uncomfortable suspicion crept over her, as she began to feel eyes upon her.

Distraught, and with slivers climbing up her back, Meu 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 as she felt a menace and calculation in the creature’s gaze.

Libbetz hissed. A Veracote, he noted. Do not trifle with that one.

Still, this Veracote was a good distance away. There was nothing he could do to her from so far—or so she hoped. They stared at each other, and Meu decided she would let the Veracote act first.

For several seconds, it seemed as if the Veracote would not move. Then, she noticed that it was slowly pulling from view. She glared back at the beast as it disappeared behind the edge of a wall, and she knew it was up to no good. If she should wait, if she should stay, it would spring upon her, and capture or kill her.

This is so, Libbets agreed. You should go and quickly.

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?

Having been discovered, Meu decided to be bold. She unfurled her wings, flew from the chimney, under the arching rings of metal that connected one chimney with the next. Some among the crowd below noticed her flying form. Several gasps and a pause in conversation followed as Meu darted across the meager distance to a chimney at the far end of the market. It only took her a couple seconds to cover several hundred feet—still, fingers pointed, and a number of sentries made for the exits, with more Veracote among them. The chase was on. Meu moved quick and often took ramps and passages that led up and closer to the surface. Thankfully, she ran into no one, as she outpaced even the naga. After several levels, she had to move slow to safely navigate the various traps set by the underground beasts. She didn’t stop until she was through another patch of no-man’s-land, then back into 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 was always about how long the venom lasted, 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’s been my pleasure, the naga mage smiled as it’s consciousness hazed and slowly evaporated. Know that you have seen what few foreign souls have ever seen.

Now, truly alone in a dark and dangerous place, Meu wandered slowly through corridors that stank of men, and considered her course. She’d grown accustomed to to the treachery of Beletrain, and yet, there was still an edge to the place that made her uneasy. She had no idea how long she’d been underground, and wondered how much longer she could stay. Hunger and fatigue were creeping upon her. For a time, she considered the surface. Then, all at once, 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. 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 the one spot, right next to the water. It took her a minute to realize the boy must have come out of the aqueduct, laid for a time, then got back into the water. But why? She wondered. Why should he be in the water at all?

Unless he was pulled 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 of the boy, 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 an easier path to follow. 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. They were built for the air and only ever tolerated the stream. A couple of the tunnels were dangerously long and tested her ability to hold her breath.

She came to a brick and mortar room full of smoke, 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. Excited that she’d finally found them, she 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.

All at once, 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 thought—then realized that 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 to venture deep into Beletrain once more. There were too many naga, 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 back under the brick of the wall, into the meandering caves and caverns beyond, back into the depths of the naga city.

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

The house sat on a large lot, among a few neighbors, all with plenty of space and tall trees for privacy. It was quiet, an affluent part of town, with wide lawns and gardens; perfect for seclusion in the city. "This, my good man, is the House of Leaves," Traust said with a satisfied smile.

Creigal grinned and gave a nod, happy with the look of the place. “It belongs to you?”

“It belongs to the family,” Traust smiled. “A cousin of mine, removed a handful of times. I shall introduce you.”

Creigal frowned. “We are not putting him out, are we?”

“Oh no,” Traust assured him. “We have a nicer house, among the Apricot Hills, near the east gate—but that one is known. This one is quiet, in a roundabout neighborhood, and closer to the gate. Indeed, I have only been here once, when I first arrived, that I might at least know the safe house by sight.”

“And how many people know we are staying here?” Creigal asked.

“None that will talk,” Traust smiled and began up the drive. “The politics of this city have been deteriorating for years now. We’d be remiss if we did not make adequate plans—and we’re not the type to sacrifice comfort unnecessarily.”

They approached Aim as he waited on the porch. “We’re the first ones here,” he said to Traust. “Who do you think gets here next?”

“They return when they return,” Traust shrugged. “In the meantime, I’m feeling peckish. Let’s raid the kitchen and talk over what we might do next. Then we can see the duke supplied with any immediate needs: paper, pen, a blade if you would like. I know if I was in a foreign country and hunted by local authorities, I’d want a pig sticker…”

"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. “Come. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried some of the local delicacies.”

They took their meal on the porch, overlooking the garden, and whittled away the hours with pleasant conversation. The hours began to grow dark and long. Desert sat lingering. Suddenly, Creigal saw Toar and Celesi stolling up the drive, accompanied by Duboha, Aim, and the two Jindleyak that went to Edgewater. Creigal waved to his guide and the former Jay. Fresh succor was brought out for the new arrivals. Apulton and Andrus emptied their bags and fulfilled their obligation; then began to eat, as some stayed to hear of what happened, and others went inside to squirrel away their prizes. Conversation was crisp, as the day’s unbelievable events were rehashed yet again. The talked for some time before Creigal realized anything was wrong. He glanced at Duboha as the second half-heartedly mopped up streaks of some gravy with a thin crust of bread, and the duke realized something weighed on the man.

Creigal wasn’t the only one to notice. “What’s got your goat?” Traust interrupted Duboha’s mopish mopping.

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

Conversation stopped, and Homoth almost choked at the words. The Jindleyak turned on the man, eyes bugging. “What?!” Apulton said as his loaded fork drifted back to his plate. “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 was last seen running toward the slant streets with the priestess and her children in tow.”

“No other word?” Traust asked.

Duboha shook his head, then pointed a thumb at Apulton. “We were trying to dig up any other word when we found them and thought to bring them in first.”

Traust shook his head. “Changes nothing for us. Neither Yandira nor any of her people knew of this place, and even if they get their hands on Elpis, he won’t tell. Take Apulton and Aim, go out into the streets, do what you do.”

“Yes sir,” Duboha nodded.

“Send word to the Lady’s family through some less partisan cousins. Give our condolences, and see if we might be of any assistance,” Traust said.

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

“Can I go with you?” Komotz asked.

“I’m waiting,” Duboha replied.

Komotz turned and ran into the house.

Andrus perked up. “Do I get to go?”

Duboha shook his head.

“But you’re gonna let Komotz go?!” Andrus protested.

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

“I didn’t want to go anyway!” Andrus huffed, then turned and sulked away.

Duboha snorted.

“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 snickered.

Duboha snorted and shook his head, “Still not letting him off the hook for that one just yet. Last time I let him hitch along, he cost me a 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. “The one that’s gotta be shook is still out there,” he frowned.

“you speak of Elpis,” Creigal noted.

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, so he knows he can’t leave the property and do anything about all this—but me and the boys…” he grinned.

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

“You know me as his second,” Duboha answered pointedly. “Among our enemies, Saleos is his right hand man. On the odd occasions when we’re seen together—like today—I’m just another lump with a blade, hangin’ about the edges. I’m just there when he needs to show a little extra muscle,” Doboha explained. “You see, this is my city, my neighborhood. This is my home. Traust is a visitor. He’s a diplomat for our family back east, here to treat with our enemies, while I operate among our friends.”