The Tunnels of Ancient Beletrain

Added 4.1 — 1m13s — 2021/10/26

Changed 4.1 — 2m22s — 2022/01/04

Polished 4.1, 4.2, and 4.3 — 56m43s — 2022/01/05

Polished 4.4, 4.5, and 4.6 — 1h20m31s — 2022/01/06

Polished. Adjust this chapter so Eikyale is still in Meu’s head at the end of it — 1h19m37s — 2022/01/07

Adjusted 4.6 so Eikyale is still in her head at the end of it — 34m47s — 2022/01/13

There is another side to things that is not often seen—and yet it always here with us. When one allows for ghosts and spirits and apparitions of all different sorts, then who is to say what is possible and what is not?

—On the Bloody Shores of Kundalie, Wybrow the Wanderer, p. 84

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

Meu sat a couple dozen yards into the underground city, just out of view, as she led the tanner through his tower 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 spirits in the bottle. Meu figured there was still a long day ahead of her, and if this place was as dangerous as she was led to believe, she’d undoubtedly need her wits about her.

The tower fantasy ended and Meu withdrew her thoughts from the tanner—though she could still hear him pleading in the back of her mind. Full of regrets, the tanner slowly closed the door to ol’ Beletrain, and locked the skin-walker in. Enveloped in deep shadow, Meu could not proceed. In human form, Meu suffered a human's senses, which were ill-equipped for such extreme darkness. She sluffed off her dress and shifted into her wyrm form. Her sensitivities became that of a wyrm, which were better suited to the darkness. After all, she was born among the high cliffs of the Spires of Gendalou; where the wyrm made their dens in cracks, crevices, and caves dug deep into the mountain.

Yet, Meu was slow to start, and for a time thought the maze might overwhelm her all the same. She could handle the dark—yet she could also smell a great deal of vitriol permeating the underground labyrinth. It was a hostile and brooding place with a long history of sharp and sudden violence. Daunted, Meu 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—eggs for a couple months already. Yet, she also wanted to see Wenifas and her children settled somewhere safe. There was also the shaman to consider. She wanted to say goodbye to him before she continued on her journey south, and in order to do that, she had to wait for him to wake.

As she wandered into the dark, Meu wondered what she might do for the priestess. Indeed, the last time Wenifas needed rescuing, Meu simply stared on in horror as the priestess spoke the shaman’s mind. Wenifas poked at Kezodel's delicate ego as hundreds of the judge’s men looked on. Chagrined, Kezodel stepped forward intent to handle the shaman’s insults on his own. He was 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 against the magical talents of a chimera?! If she'd acted against the beast, she'd be dead!

Thank the gods that the unthinkable happened. Somehow Krumpus knew when and where the meteor would strike. He’d goaded the judge, and Kezodel stepped forward to the very spot the roof would fall at the precise moment the meteor punctured the cupola—and that was that.

As Meu thought of the shaman, a face appeared in her mind. At first, she was frightened, and feared the visage, 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 among the heavenly council. Somehow, this creature was still in her mind.

Yes, the naga mage smiled. I knew you would want for a guide—and although I’m not altogether sure how I managed it—I was able to form a link between our minds. My name is Eikyale Libbetz. I live in Beletrain. Welcome to my home.

Thank you, Meu replied. How do you know the shaman?

I have never met the man, Eikyale admitted. I felt the presence of a bright light that sputtered and begged for assistance. In my astral form, I traveled to his side—only to find so many others already there. Ahh, but that is not where our attention should dwell. Your friend is well attended and quite safe. I think it is much better for you to keep your senses locked on the labyrinth before you, he urged. There are many dangers here, especially near the surface.

Meu thought that was wise. Through the eyes of Eikyale, she saw Beletrain as an ancient and immense underground palace; one that stretched in every direction, with a hundred ways leading back to the surface, and a thousand ways down into the deep. She began to take closer notice of the place and realized the floor was tiled with a faint and intricate pattern that spoke of a precision and skill she did not expect. Through the eyes of Wenifas, Beletrain seemed filthy and rough. Viewed with the fine senses of a wyrm, Beletrain was obviously crafted with intent—though it struck her as foreign and frightening. With Eikyale to guide her, the catacombs reflected a rich history of untold generations. The builders of the grand passages were artisans of high skill. Admittedly, there was dust and dross accumulated in the corners—especially in the 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.

Despite the filth and funk in many corners, there were clear paths worn in every direction. Meu could tell where humans frequented these passages—and also where serpents crept about. 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, and weighty magics of the naga. She was reminded that her place was above the surface, lighting among the treetops and clouds, while these shiftless catacombs were the strange home of a cold and dark people. Her shelter might be a slight cavern, worn smooth with centuries of use, but Beletrain was a metropolis, carved from the rock with patience and determination.

In various areas, large courtyards of rough native cave opened up. Streams often brought water. Aqueducts were also frequent, and the quality of water varied greatly in both. 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 this engineering, unable to make much sense of it.

Eikyale chuckled at her puzzled fascination. Water is life, and we are masters of water, he told her—though he could explain little of the intricate works before her. Many of his people could build, operate, and repair the maddening array of technical wizardry—but he was not one of them. My talents lay among the mystical arts, a path open to all sentient beings—though few care to trudge it, he smiled. Indeed, I can sense that you’ve mastered some parts of this path yourself.

Meu smiled.

Along with the waterworks, there were also spikes, pits, traps, and other dangers. A tinge of dread caught at Meu each time she sensed these obstacles—as they often appeared from out of the shadows rather abruptly. Each time this occurred she bolstered herself by remembering not only Wenifas, but also Derris. After all, it was the ill-fated lover that introduced them—even though it was the priestess alone that harbored the wounded wyrm when she needed a safe place to recuperate. She’d meant to save the kind soldier from the crush of the Waokie war, but there seemed to be no end to her numerous failures. Meu cast those thoughts aside and focused on how she might succeed this time.

If only she’d never left the side of her friend! She never would have left the priestess if she was not so distracted in the ruined court of Kezodel—but what a distraction it was! The very angels of heaven! And the things they revealed! Meu had 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 certainly deserved it, the brute! Yet, shed deftly turned his violence aside. Would she be able to do so yet again should she be attacked, the way Wenifas was attacked? Why was there such hostility between human and naga anyway?

The war has raged since before I was born, Eikyale replied. 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.

Meu smiled at the naga in her head. He was kind, observant, and had already saved her from a half dozen missteps. Indeed, he was far more useful than the bedeviled tanner—who’s petulance and discontent seeped into her views. She could still hear the gruff man as he picked through the mess that overwhelmed his shop; intent on regaining his life despite a mountain of resistance. She wondered how long that might last, and encouraged his resolution, as she heaped goodwill upon the brute—though she did so in a secretive manner. Eikyale chuckled as he witnessed this curious interaction, only intruding when the wyrm failed to spot some lurking danger. In this fashion, Meu searched the dark of Beletrain; alone, and yet accompanied by the cordial naga and the repentant tanner. She noted a great number of lines that ran through barricaded doors, attached to bells and gongs on the other side so those that held the entrance might let their countrymen out. Most would demand payment. Meu wondered what she might give to escape Beletrain—an escape that she would have to make naked. That would be problematic, especially since she was also quite low on venom. There was enough to force one more human to do her bidding. Yet, this was not the time for considering her exit. She wasn't trying to get out just yet. First, she had to see about a woman, lost somewhere in this massive maze. Despite the helpful company of Eikyale, Meu could do little but wander the long tunnels of Beletrain and hope that she crossed the priestess’s path. To her chagrin, the underground city kept getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger…

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

Meriona stared across the opulent office of the High Commander, Gliedian. “I do not wish to go east!” she snapped at the General. “I want to go home, to Tikatis!" she glared.

Jaw set, Gliedian stared back and replied slowly. “Without Celesi you have no reason to go west at all—not even to Falderfallen’s Hovey. 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 upon it. “This is in regards to the duke,” she speculated as she took the envelope. “Am I to be punished for your failure?”

Gliedian ignored the insult. “The duke did not appear at the Lady Yandira’s like we’d hoped. It was only the lover, and a few incidental others, though your priestess was there.”

“The priestess. To think that even she should escape us,” Meriona muttered. “Yet, these failures are not mine. You, yourself, went to Lady Yandira—and how can I be blamed for Kezodel’s failure?” she asked as she opened the letter.

“It is not a question of blame,” Gliedian noted. “We do as we must. At least you have a choice. You can go south and do the Empress’s bidding among the Noeth, 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 the south?!" Meriona waved the curt letter.

“Go to High Plains. Keep your eyes on our enemies,” Gliedian began.

“Why are we continuing with any of this?!” Meriona huffed. “Kezodel is dead! The forts are destroyed! Indeed, it remains to be seen if the Degorouth can keep this city at all! From where I stand, it appears that the Trohl lands are lost to us! Do you really think the Empress will continue this campaign once she discovers all that has happened?!”

“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?!“

“It is not just the legions, for behind them is a building wave of settlers!” Gliedian chortled. “And what sort of reports are you receiving from your spies? Have you heard nothing of our efforts in the Noeth?”

“I’ve heard of merchant investors,” the Jay shrugged.

“Yes! But have you considered their numbers?”

“Their numbers?” Meriona blinked. “What of their numbers?”

Gliedian snorted. He knew the Jay was privy to much information. Was she really so bad at analyzing it, or was she simply not paying any attention? Either way, he would explain it to her. “We have nearly a thousand spies working to meet our ends,” he scoffed. “We already have two legions in Rynth Falls, and twice as many persuaded Trohls. Can you not guess to what purpose?”

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

Gliedian shook his head. “We continue our slow work against the Trohls—that has not changed. Yet, the Empress has come to an understanding with Gred duReb and the Dunkels. Soon we will be lighting fires in Gaurring, and it is to be a quick and bloody affair!”

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.

Meriona blanched. “We’ve turned over our holdings in Borzia? Why would the Empress do this? What do we get for it?”

“We get the Noeth,” Gliedian smiled. “From there we will stage our attacks on Gaurring and also increase the corruption we pour into Trohl lands.”

“The Noeth,” Meriona shook her head. “But why?”

“Because it is close to home and ripe for the taking,” Gliedian noted. “Are you really so taken with the jungles of Borzia, or would you prefer a civilized land that is close to home?”

“But the Noeth has a modern army. Will they submit to our authority?”

Gliedian nodded. “Drefford and the Dunkels know that the Empire is the true power on this continent—and the other nobles of the Noeth will not survive the trade—for although King Gred duReb gives us the Noeth, our Empress is intent on taking it.”

Meriona stared at the High Commander, astounded that so much occurred right under her nose—and yet she had not noticed.

“Did you not feel the shifting of the winds?” Gliedian mocked her. “The Empress turns her head! She eyes opportunities closer to home! What you thought was just a passing fancy is suddenly a great wave of interest! Did you think we merely loot and riot among these natives?” The High Commander smirked. “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 the western wilds; Salyst and a little Bouge territory?” He shook his head. “There are eight other tribes to subvert—and we cannot expect some duped berserkers to take on 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 fifty legions in Borzia.”

Gliedian nodded. “More than half go to Hof Hebrin—to subdue the uprising—but as this trade proceeds, I am assured of at least twenty. With the armies of the Noeth at our disposal, and Gred duReb’s troops attacking in the south, I think Gaurring shall have a hard time resisting us,” he bragged. "So what say you? Will you go to Land's End and work toward the invasion of Gaurring, or do you after this duke to make sure he never goes home?"

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," she nodded, as she thought of Celesi and Wenifas.

"Very well,” Gliedian nodded. “Alise shall go to High Plains. We leave Karamina in Falderfallen’s Hovey to watch after our interests there—and she will be thankful for that opportunity after her failure.”

“How did she fail you, my lord?”

“She was meant to get pregnant by the duke,” Gliedian snorted. “Can you imagine all the ways such a child might be used? But no. The tart could not handle even a little bit of seduction.”

Meriona shook her head.

“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?!" Meriona complained. “Once again, the duke travels with over a dozen guards!"

“There are others intent on making sure the duke never leaves these lands. There are thousands among the watch, actively seeking him,” Gliedian assured. “But these four are not just any men. They 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 as the vicious men approached.

Gliedian nodded. “They have their own connections, informants and finks. They are perfect for this work. Just remember; it is the duke that concerns us. The Empress cares nothing about these others.”

Meriona gave a slow nod, though her own plans for the priestess and her former apprentice 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 his body.”

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

“I do as I always do,” Gliedian said. “I go to make war.”

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

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

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

Toar shrugged, uninterested in offering any concrete assurances. As far as he was concerned, this would take as long as it took, and no less. He knocked on the door.

The door opened immediately. A young face, maybe six or seven, gazed up at the assembled lot. “Hello, strange sirs,” she began. “Please state your business or be off,” she said, quite serious for one so young. Several other faces appeared around the door jam, some older, but all young. They were curious, bored, suspicious.

“We seek Hazle,” Toar began with a gentle smile. “Is she home?”

“Might I ask who is calling?” the girl questioned.

“I am Toar,” he bowed. “I am an old friend from Woodring, recently come to town.”

“Woodring?!” The children turned and stared at each other, astonishment on their faces. “They’ve come!” one of them said, and the rest giggled to each other. They pushed the door wide open, then retreated into the house. “Gran! It is your people!” they giggled. “They are finally here!”

Unsure what to make of this, Toar stepped into in the house, 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. Sounds came from every direction. There seemed to be a hundred people in the house!

“Are you sure we should be here?” Andrus asked, feeling uneasy.

Now numbering twice as many, the children returned with a withered old woman in tow. “Toar?!” The wizened crone called from the hall, stooped by innumerable years, leaning on her ears, and ignoring her eyes. She approached slowly as the children laughed and skipped around her. “Miracles never cease,” she cackled, as she searched the dim faces before her. “You bring friends,” the half-blind woman noted. “But not ones that I know.”

“Hello Hazle,” Toar bowed, a deep and formal greeting. He took her hand and kissed it.

The children giggled to see him act so proper. “Oh, enough of that!” the old lady frowned as she stepped close. “Get over here, and give an old lady a hug!” she commanded 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, an affectionate smile slowly melted his serious demeanor.

“Ooohh!” she cooed. “I hadn’t expected to see you again—certainly not in a few short months!” She laughed as 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 Andrus and Apulton. The pretty one is Celesi,” he said of his companions.

“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 gave a sideways glance to Celesi, then backed away, unsure how to address such a charge.

“There is plenty of that going around,” ” Hazle chuckled, then turned and wrapped Andrus in a similar fashion. She held his hand long after their embrace was finished. “Unknown even to his own,” she tsked and shook her head. “There’s power in you, power you’ve yet to find!” she snorted. “You should be careful!”

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

“And you!” Hazle gasped. “Ah, you are a sight to see! Why, I should think that Toar has brought me an angel—with the fetter just removed—I see!”

Celesi blushed, curious to hear such a compliment melded to her newfound independence. “It is a pleasure to meet you too,” 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 not come here to have your fortune told! Of the lot, you are most certain where your future lies!” the old lady chuckled and shook her head. Still holding Celesi’s hand, Hazle turned on the children. “See our new friends to the kitchen. See them refreshed while I have a talk with Toar, please.”

“Yes’m,” several of the children called, then took the hands of Andrus, Apulton, and Celesi. They pulled the visitors to another room as one of the younger ones spoke. “Momma said we’d have visitors today!”

“She prepared several sweet breads!” another added. “Would you prefer milk or lemonade to go with ‘em?”

Toar turned to Hazle, a glad smile on his face. Her expression was no longer jovial, but was quite serious instead. “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 and pointed the way.

Slowly, step after plodding step, Toar led the bent woman to the back of the house. She remained silent, and Toar decided to leave his questions be for the moment. She’d speak in her own time, as she always did.

The door swung open with a creak. The insects and wind sung their gentle song to the odd couple. Hazle breathed in deep, “Can you smell them?” she beamed. “I may not be able to see much of them anymore, but I can tell that the flowers are magnificent!” she said and tapped her beak.

“They are,” Toar smiled as he led her down the narrow garden path.

They came to a bench, and Hazle sat. She tapped the bench next to her, signaling that Toar should join her. She stared toward his face with her cloudy eyes full of concern. “I must say, I am quite surprised to see you, my young friend. I expected you’d be among the Salystians, learning the great magics you’d always hoped to know,” she frowned.

“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 shrugged. “I made it to the edge of Salystian lands only to find them teeming with bugbear,” he shook his head. “How could I proceed?” he asked.

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

“But where are they?” Toar asked. “I’ve heard that some have gone beyond the Red Desert—but how am I to get there when the west is increasingly filled with Ministrians and bugbear?”

“This is not all of it,” Hazle shook her head. “Something else has brought you back.”

“I was close,” Toar replied. “I was a few days from the city—but it did not call to me. Instead, I met a foreign noble. He was poisoned and needed my guidance. 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?”

Hazle clucked. “Do you think the poor and powerless can teach you the magics you hope to know? I assure you, when the time comes, it will be one of station and wealth that will finally help you heal your heart!”

“It shall not happen soon,” Toar speculated. “For none of my current company seems up to the task,” he complained. “Not even the shaman—though he has some power about him.”

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

“I know,” Toar said as he wiped his eyes. “I know, but I am overcome with sadness.”

“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?”

“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 a thing. Hazle shrugged, then pulled away from the young man. “Your path has not changed. The people of Salyst still call to you.”

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

Hazle shook her head. “Do not seek the straight road,” she chastised. “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.”

“I’ve heard that some Salystians are harbored among the other tribes,” Toar noted. “Am I to find them in the eastern lands, among one of the other Trohl nations?” he asked.

“It is not a thing I can see,” Hazle revealed. “Trust that you go where you need to go, and you will learn what you need to learn. You must be patient!”

“Then I 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 to!”

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

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! 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. I just—I find the road to be so long!”

“One foot after the last,” Hazle smiled. “Go with your new friends. Help them in their efforts. Enjoy their company. 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. “Some days the pain is unbearable,” he said as he bent over the old lady and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Say nothing of it, my blessed boy. Do you not see all that I have?” Hazle 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 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.”

“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, their wives, and so many wonderful grandchildren,” Hazle beamed. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “And soon I shall also have my apprentice,” she revealed. “I shall also have a number of neighbors from the old town!”

Toar frowned, for he knew that her people were lost. He realized that she must soon die, for that was the only way that she could return to her friends.

Hazle snorted, “Oh, ye of little faith! Now go to your companions and be about your business! Indeed, 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 have so much to give! I’d be remiss if I did not help such a beautiful and gentle creature as you!”

Toar hugged the old woman once more, kissed her on the cheek, then turned and walked back into the house, as Hazle stayed in her garden. He found his friends in the kitchen, chatting and laughing with the children as they enjoyed an assortment of pastries with milk. Several of the girls were just about finished entwining flowers in Celesi’s hair.

“We are set,” Toar smiled as he helped himself to several cookies. “Let’s be on our way.”

The children complained as they wrapped the visitors in hugs and stuffed treats in their pockets. Slowly, Andrus untangled himself, while Celesi curtsied and thanked the girls. “Are we leaving so soon?” Apulton complained, as he was pushed and pulled to the door by a dozen small hands.

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

Carringten scanned the flickering shadows of ancient Beletrain and began to wonder if they’d ever 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 were creatures all around them, secretive, cloaked in shadow, seeming to follow.

“WHO GOES!?” a strange voice roared from out of the darkness and broke the monotony.

The Jindleyaks snuffed their torches and pressed themselves closed to the walls. Carringten put himself between Creigal and the voice. He reached for Bence’s short sword, glared into the darkness, and gulped at the stale air.

“It is I, Traust of the Wooden Hound!” replied their escort. “Who is it that stands in our way?!”

“We are the Pan Iskaer, and there is a price for passing through our tunnels!” the voice called back.

“HUAH!” A number of voices called from all around the group.

Carringten realized they were pinched and outnumbered. If it came to a fight, they’d be attacked on all sides—but as the duke’s body guard prepared for a desperate fight, the Jindleyak around him relaxed.

“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. “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. They grinned at the Jindleyak and clapped hands. They stared at Carringten’s dark complexion, then offered their open hands all the same.

“Come on then,” Squirrel smiled, the smallest among them—perhaps as small as Toar, though he was a good deal older. “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 passed a series of barricades and a number of other warriors.

Carringten glanced up at the unusually high ceiling and noticed once more the thinness of the tunnels. Duboha had said the dimensions of the tunnels were a reflection of their naga builders, who were quite slender and tall. It was said they could stand nearly ten feet on the edge of their tales.

Light appeared from around a corner, and just like that, Carringten could see their escape. Convinced he might yet make it back out into the open air, his breathing eased, as 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 the walls, armed to the teeth, and somewhat bored. Three walls had identical thick wooden doors, while the fourth housed the ramp that led back the way they came.

“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.”

With a nod, one of the guard disappeared. Traust pulled a purse from his pocket and poked about the coins. After a few moments, the voice of a woman materialized, seeming to lecture someone as it huffed and struggled up the stairs. Her face and half her body appeared over the rim of the 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, you 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 asked to pay up here, since it’s such poor light below.”

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

Traust smiled and bowed to the woman. “Beg your pardon, my lady, but the price is always changing.”

“There is that,” she admitted. As she counted the men, she scowled at the comatose form of Krumpus, but decided against saying anything about it. “Well then, five moons,” she tallied.

“Five moons,” Traust agreed and pulled several coins from his purse. He offered the money directly, but she waved him away. Squirrel took 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 a few at a time,” Traust stated.

“Do as you like, so long as I can get back to my baking,” she waved and began down the stairs. “All you boys acting like there’s nothing else to do with the day but play in the dirt,” her words trailed off after her.

The door to their left opened and Squirrel waved them through with a nod. “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.

With a knowing smile, Traust leaned close. “It is a narrow corridor that goes nowhere. There is a semblance of a door at the far end, just to get one to enter, though it is only painted bricks. Two dozen men can fit in that hallway, and above them twice as many,” Traust noted.

Squirrel put a finger to his lips, but proceeded to add a bit, since the secret was already known. “It is for those that must pay the blood price,” he said in a hush. “Farewell, men of the Wooden Hound,” he added, then turned and went back down the ramp into Beletrain.

Carringten turned and followed Traust and Creigal through the door and into the shop; which was full of various breads, pastries, buns, rolls, cookies, cakes, and all sorts of other baked delicacies. Realizing he was famished, the guard selected several meat pies and a couple sweet pieces that were bursting with fruits and nuts. He placed several coins on the counter, then proceeded to enjoy himself while he waited for the signal from Traust. He smiled at Creigal and Baet as they enjoyed their own.

With his men in position, Traust signaled to Aim and the foreigners. Carringten stepped into the fading light of the sun. The crowd was slight, and carried about its business. A few glanced at him, curious to see a man colored like the shadows, but left him alone. He proceeded as if everyone was always staring, which was often the case, as he was a constant companion of the duke—but few of these people even bothered to note his lord.

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 Creigal. They passed a few quiet words about the right proper job their escort was doing.

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

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 several encounters, she decided to abandon the areas controlled by men altogether. She slipped through a corridor riddled with traps and 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 Eikyale to bolster her senses and ease her suspicions. Eikyale thought it might be better if she entered naga territory proper, instead of skittering back and forth, passing precariously between traps and heavy barricades. Meu agreed. She descended. The dinge of no-mans-land diminished then disappeared altogether.

Although barricades and elaborate traps no longer barred her, 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 tighter 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 these gates.

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 to each other, Eikyale noted. Is it possible for such different peoples to ever get along? he wondered.

I think so, Meu replied. We are equally different to the humans, and yet we manage to coexist. Indeed, there is a small band that lives about the Spires of Gendalou.

But is it just a few? Eikyale asked.

A couple hundred, mostly survivors from Salyst, Meu clarified. Initially they were refugees, cut off from their own people, but now they are well established. We often trade and entertain each other. Indeed, there are celebrations in the name of our friendship. Our southern cousins are said to have a similar understanding with men, though in the south it is said that the the humans are beyond count.

Perhaps, if there was a shake-up, if we were forced to look at our similarities and to forget our differences, Eikyale replied. But there is so much blood and anger on both sides—some of it deservedly so. It would take a good deal of compromise and compassion to bring us together.

Or some great calamity, Meu suggested.

I shudder to think, Eikyale replied.

Does neither side weary of the war? Meu asked.

Our hatred for each other is often renewed with slights, Eikyale noted. There are some among us that long for peace—and I suspect there are those among the humans that want the same—but 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. Eikyale 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.

Despite such close proximity to a number of their homes, Meu had yet to see any of the beasts—and then she saw one slither toward her. This naga was much tidier than Meu had imagined; lean and muscular in his sleeveless shirt. He had a spear, some ten feet long, and the blade at his hip was either a long knife or a short sword. 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—though he slowed and glanced up at her—undoubtedly curious to see such a stone figure above a door he must have frequently passed. It was good he passed without any trouble, since this naga did not appear friendly whatsoever. As it continued on its way, Meu wondered if it wasn’t a sourpuss even by naga standards.

After this first naga, she began 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 of 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, and tails. She was surprised to hear the naga speak Trohl, though they mostly spoke their own language, with an inordinate among of clicks and hisses. Eikyale translated some of the small bits Meu heard, though none of it was germane to her mission.

Meu continued on. The naga thinned and for long stretches disappeared altogether. Muffled conversation drifted on the air. 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 this 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 mesh over it. Beyond this gate the tunnel angled down into the earth. This tunnel was not long and there was a dim steady light at the end of it. What is this? she asked her guide.

These are the vents, to carry away smoke and bad air, Eikyale told her. You must be above one of the markets, likely Ancore.

Ancore, Meu repeated, and sniffed the air. It was rich, mostly pleasant, and spoke of a large gathering below her. She stared at the grate, fascinated by the idea of a naga market. The bars would not keep her out.

If I should take a look, do you think anyone might notice? she asked her naga guide.

You will be quite high up, and mostly out of view, Eikyale began. Perhaps your friends are below, on the floor of the market—though, if that is the case, our troubles are severely compounded.

Meu couldn’t resist. Wings tucked close, she slipped through the grate and slithered down the tunnel. The tunnel was well kept, lacking any cracks or seeming wear. How is this so? she wondered.

There are ways to meld the rock, Eikyale confided. It is ancient naga magic and understood by a number of our master masons. I am not one of them. I could possibly 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.

The whispers of the naga below grew into a cacophony of sounds as Meu approached the end of the tunnel. 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 Eikyale experienced the height with her.

On the floor of the cavern, far below, was the naga market. It was several hundred feet to the floor of the cavern. The market was lit in many ways, though the sources were dim by human standards—but after the pitch black of the upper levels, this giant cavern almost seemed sunny. There were balconies on every wall that often crowded in on each other. Some were so distant they were hard to see. Most were furnished and decorated. 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 halfway to the chimneys, before it dissipated. There was a great crowd about the pool; wading, swimming, relaxing. Meu couldn’t see the far edge of the pool. Eikyale confirmed that it extended under the wall into a low cavern. It was a famous bath, and quite large and luxurious.

So this is the market of Beletrain, Meu wondered, as she stared down at a thousand naga in the grand space below, with plenty of room for a few thousand more.

Eikyale chuckled. It is not the market of Beletrain—but simply a market of Beletrain.

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

There are half a dozen bigger than this, Eikyale told her. Ancore is a fair size, with a good amount of traffic, bigger than Hekate Square for sure, but a dim glimmer compared to the Shore Rows. Indeed, this market is newly expanded. For a long time, it was little more than a neighborhood bath—back before the Rotunda fell to the militias.

The Rotunda? Meu asked.

Another market, closer to the surface, Eikyale said. it is no more.

Meu gasped. Are you saying the humans sacked one of your markets?! She said as she imagined the tragedy.

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

Meu gaped at the crowd of naga below. There are so many of them. To think that this is only one market.

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

How deep do the tunnels run? Meu asked.

Very, Eikyale confirmed. Indeed, they are endless. At a hundred different points the city simply ceases and becomes natural caverns—or just as often, older passages, carved by the gods only know. These abandoned and unexplored areas we call the deep, and 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.

Agreed, though I imagine it seems quite endless to most, Eikyale replied. My people have 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. Eikyale 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 had expected nothing but dirt! Stunned and wordless, she simply gaped at the majesty of the market below her.

As she studied the melee, Meu realized it wasn’t just naga on the floor. There were humans too. Indeed, there was a knot of fifty or sixty people, of varying ages, that stood to one side. People! Meu breathed, then noticed the leashes about their necks.

Slaves, Eikyale confirmed. Taken, stolen, kidnapped from the surface and sold in these markets. 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 the 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.

As she studied the humans, a slow uncomfortable suspicion crept over her. A shiver rose up her spine. She felt eyes upon her. 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.

A Veracote, Eikyale hissed. Do not trifle with that one.

Still, there was nothing this veracote could do to her from so far away—or so she hoped. For a time, they simply stared at each other.

Ever so slowly, the Veracote pulled from view. Meu glared back at the beast as it disappeared behind the edge of a wall. She knew it was up to no good. If she should wait, if she should stay, it would likely spring upon her, to capture or kill.

You should go, and quickly. Eikyale agreed.

Meu glanced once more at the slaves. If Wenifas or any of the others were in the crowd below, well; 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 and flew from the chimney. Some among the crowd below noticed her flying form. Several gasps and a pause in conversation followed as Meu darted toward a wide open balcony with a grand and empty room beyond. It took mere seconds to cover a couple hundred feet—still—fingers pointed, and several more sentries made for the exits.

The chase was on. Meu moved quick and often took ramps and passages that led closer to the surface. Thankfully, she ran into no one, as she outpaced her pursuers. 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.

Eikyale commended her efforts—but his words were not all optimism and encouragement. You’ll have to go be careful. My people do not take kindly to intruders. Those Vericote is not likely to forget you soon.

How long do you think they will search for me?

Actively? Likely hours, though I imagine the thought of you will bother them for weeks, the naga mage speculated.

Will they search here, among the tunnels of men?

Possibly a few of them, Eikyale said. I imagine most will stick to our own territories. My people may claim all the tunnels under the earth, but only the most brave and foolhardy cross into the tunnels of men, he continued. You’ve seen the traps.

I have indeed, and if I could not fly I would be very slow to cross no-mans-land, Meu confirmed.

Feeling relatively safe, Meu wandered slowly through corridors that stank of men, and considered her course. 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. Did she dare sleep in this place? She considered the surface.

As she traveled, a familiar scent caught in her maw. Meu paused. For a second, she thought it was a trick as she immediately lost the scent. She turned back and caught the smell again, as she hovered near the edge of an aqueduct. By some miracle, the familiar scent of Claiten stuck to the side of the water. Meu moved to the left, then to the right, then forward and back—but the smell was only in this one spot. 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.

Eikyale came to the same conclusion.

Meu realized 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. If she wanted to follow the scent of the boy, she needed to take a bath.

Meu decided to take the hard path and swim upstream first, that way if she had to reverse and come back the other way, at least it would be easy. 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 rested often. Eventually, 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 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—no smell of the boy at all.

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.

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—and after the boy.

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

The house sat on a large lot, among few neighbors, with plenty of space, and tall trees all about. 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, but that one is known and will certainly be watched. 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 Duboha 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 a bit 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 decent 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.”

Duboha and and Aim went back out into the city, while the others took their meal on the porch, overlooking the garden, and whittled away the hours with pleasant conversation. The shadows stretched and deepened. Desert sat lingering. Suddenly, Creigal saw Aim and Duboha strolling up the drive, accompanied by Toar, Celesi, Andrus, and Apulton. 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. Some stayed to hear of what happened, while others went inside to squirrel away their prizes. Conversation was crisp, as the day’s unbelievable events were rehashed yet again.

They 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.

“What?!” Apulton snapped, as his loaded fork drifted back to his plate. “Why didn’t you tell us?!”

“I am telling you,” Duboha replied. “Word is, Degorouth arrested her. When Elpis and the others arrived, a fight broke out. Our cousins were 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. We thought we should bring them in first.”

Traust shook his head. “Changes nothing for us. Neither Yandira nor any of her people knew of this place.”

“And if they get their hands on Elpis?” Apulton asked.

Traust stared at the man. He turned to Duboha. “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 of our less partisan cousins. Give our condolences and see if we might be of any assistance,” Traust said, then 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 really gotta be shook is still out there.”

“You speak of Elpis,” Creigal said.

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 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 are seen together—like today—I’m just another lump with a blade, hangin’ about the edges. It is the same with Aim and Apulton. We’re just there when he needs to show a little extra muscle,” he explained. “You see, this is my city, my neighborhood, my home. Traust is a visitor. He’s a diplomat, representing the interests of our family, back east. He’s here to treat with our enemies and friends alike, in a formal capacity. But not me,” Duboha grinned. “I’m here to lurk about in the shadows, so why might know what’s really going on.” Having said his peace, Duboha, finished his food, then went back out into the city with Aim, and Apulton.