The Oak and Beast

Polished — 31m52s — 2023/12/10

Baet stared at the meteor in his hand, astonished by what he’d witnessed. The cavernous courtroom was no longer as it had first appeared, but was now a wreck of tumbled stone and dusty air. The meticulous splendor and sagacity of the room which had so intimidated the guard when he first entered was now a smoldering mess. The few remaining attendees tiptoed about, as if they expected another shock at any moment.

Baet looked up at the hole in the dome, then back down at the crushed form of Kezodel—half buried in marble—and wondered at the momentous turn of events. He wondered if anything could stand against them so long as Krumpus was about; then—remembering the shaman—he turned to find the man lying on his back, a thin wire of smoke drifting from his form. The shaman’s face and chest smoldered from where the lightning struck. His burnt skin reeked. He lay slumped in his sister’s lap. Baet wondered if he was dead and thought perhaps their luck wouldn’t last after all.

Meu approached and leaned over the unconscious form of the shaman. While the others might wonder, she knew he wasn’t dead. Her thoughts were still connected to his, since he was still under the influence of her venom—only now his mind was in a world of dreams, rich and wondrous. For a second, she thought she might try to pull him back to the real world, but found herself distracted by the glory of his vision. Astounded by what she saw—and not wanting Krumpus to slip her bond—Meu licked venom onto her lips and kissed the shaman. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, to make sure that her mind melding toxin was ingested—which didn’t please the sister at all.

“Hey!” Scurra shouted as she pushed the skin-walker away. “None of that hanky!”

With an apologetic smile, Meu retreated. She was closer than the sister could possibly know, as she peeked into the shaman’s mind, distracted by what she saw—oh so distracted!

"How did he do that?" Celesi whispered to Toar as she edged in a bit closer. "How did he summon the stone?”

"He didn't," Wenifas stated with a far-away look. "He simply sensed it. He's touched by the gods," she said.

Scurra turned on the priestess. "What do you know of it?!" she snapped.

"Did you not hear?” Wenifas replied. “He did not want the judge to die—as corrupt as he was. Indeed, he called the man to repentance, that he might be saved."

"And how is it that you know what he meant to say?!" Scurra asked. "You do not speak Tallian Hand! Indeed, you do not speak Trohl at all!”

Wenifas shook her head and turned away with a shrug. "Some secrets are not mine to share,” she replied with a sideways glance at Meu.

Scurra huffed as she wrapped her arms protectively around her brother. Who were these strange women and what did they have to do with Krumpus?

“He is alive?” Traust asked.

Scurra gave a nod. “He may be out, but his breathing is even. His heart is strong.”

“Good,” Traust said as he stared about the ruined room. “We are not safe here, not even in this city. I think it is best if we return to our own people.”

“Where are your own people?” Creigal asked.

“Hearthstone,” Traust answered. “A good week to the east.”

“I also travel east,” Creigal said. “I track a thief and believe he is in Land's End.”

“Land’s End is only a few days south of Hearthstone,” Traust gave a nod. “You are welcome to join us. Any friend of the shaman is a friend of ours.”

“I should like that,” Creigal replied with a smile. “And I thank you. These are my men: Carringten, Baetolamew, and Toar.”

“And these others?” Traust asked.

Carringten answered, since the duke did not really know them. “This is Meu, constant companion of the shaman, and just as quiet. The young one is Celesi, until most recently, an apprentice Jay. The last is Wenifas, priestess of the Eternal Song; along with her progeny, Claiten and Evereste,” he said with a nod. “I say we let them go where they please, in the company they wish to keep," he said to his duke, and also the foreign captain.

Wenifas stared at the dark man, surprised by this endorsement. Although she spent a week in close proximity to the foreigner, she spoke less than a dozen words to the man. In fact, she hated him for the part he played in the murder of Derris—but there’d been a truce of sorts, and she felt at this point there may be safety in numbers—especially since she was banished from her own country!

“And do they also wish to journey to Hearthstone?” Traust looked to the ladies.

Wenifas glanced at Meu and decided to follow her lead, but the serpent lady was distracted by the shaman’s visions. Instead, it was Celesi that chose their fate. “We would go with you even to Hearthstone,” she smiled at the duke—with a sideways glance at Toar. “My people lived in the west, and they are all gone; dead or slaves themselves. I have nothing here,” she explained.

“Well then, now that we know you, let us introduce ourselves,” Traust nodded. “These are my men: Apulton, Elpis, Andrus, Saleos, Aim, the brothers Homoth and Komotz. This is my second, Duboha; and this is our cousin, the lady Scurra, sister of the shaman. We are members of the Oak and Beast,” he bowed.

“The Oak and Beast?” Celesi repeated.

“The finest militia in the Freelands,” Apulton said with a grin.

Toar leaned close to the girl, “all the militias say this.”

Apulton gave a nod as he leaned in on Toar. “We just happen to be right,” he said with a wink.

“It’s a pleasure,” Creigal said and shook hands with the men, one after another. Carringten, Baet, and the ladies all followed his example—and Toar too—though grudgingly so.

“Now that formalities are out of the way, I suggest we abandon this place,” Traust began. “Aim, do us a favor and bring the shaman along,” he said as he turned toward the door.

Aim was a mountain of a man and the largest of the Jindleyak by a good hand. The sheer size of him reminded Creigal of his dead guard, Vearing. The glaring difference between the two was Aim's unassuming demeanor, which was quite unlike the snarl-toothed swagger of the dead guard. “Excuse me, sister,” Aim said to Scurra as he gently collected Krumpus and cradled the small shaman in his massive arms.

They all started moving out of the room. Meu took Wenifas by the hand, her face bewildered and far away. I must go, Meu spoke in the woman's mind. I am... distracted.

“Stay with us!” Wenifas pleaded and tried to pull Meu after the others. “I am lost without you!”

These others shall protect you. Meu leaned close and kissed the priestess, with more toxin on her lips. Do not fear; I am never far!

Wenifas frowned, but the others were leaving the chamber, and Meu was still in her mind. Celesi took Wenifas by the hand and pulled her along, as Claiten clung to his mother's dress.

“Is she not coming with us?” Elpis asked the priestess.

Wenifas shook her head. “She’ll find us later.”

Elpis shook his head. “That’ll be a trick…” he muttered as he brought up the rear. “We do intend to go unnoticed.”

“Leave her to it,” Wenifas replied. “She will find us.”

Meu watched the party go. With the Jindleyak delegation to keep them, Wenifas and the shaman should be safe; and since she was mostly alone, it was time for Meu to be her true self. She summoned the darkness and shifted into her serpent form.

There were still several others shuffling among the ruins of the room as Meu shifted. One gasped to see her transform. “Chimera!” he pointed—though he was wrong. Meu was merely a skin-walker wyrm. The others still about the room turned and stared at the great winged serpent, but Meu paid them no mind as she launched herself at the jagged hole in the dome and surged upward into the sky.

Although she felt the worry of Wenifas in her mind, Meu concentrated on the thoughts of Krumpus and his dreams of epic splendor. Ethereal beasts of incredible magic and power counseled the shaman. Connected to his thoughts through the venom of her tooth, Meu was exposed to the light magics they weaved in the dream world. She spun upward and rolled in the warm rays of the sun as an incredible peace washed over her. She'd never felt so loved—or so powerful!

Below, the others stepped through a long hall and pushed aside anyone that stood in their way—though most of the court was empty. Traust shouted at the remaining few as they passed, and the Degorouth wisely stood aside. The few Ministrians they saw scurried away as quickly and quietly as possible, still quite frightened by the sudden death of the Muaha Kezodel.

Having taken many meetings in numerous nooks and corners of the court, Traust knew the building quite well. He led the group into a small walled garden and quickly made his way down a side path. The party stopped before a small gate in the garden wall, as several guards barred the way.

The guards looked bored and unconcerned. Somehow they knew nothing of the day’s troubles. They stood tall and straight as they noted the approaching militia and held up their hands in order to stop the Jindleyaks—but the members of the Oak and Beast only glared as they proceeded. Worry played over the faces of the guards as they noticed the grim and serious manner of the Jindleyak militia, and also the figure of the shaman slumped over Aim’s large shoulder. “And where do you think you’re going?!” the sergeant asked as he stepped in their way.

Traust put one hand out, and the other on the wolf’s head hilt of his sword. He stood strong and tall as he glared at the sergeant. “You can let us out, or we can let us out,” he began. “Either way, we are going through that gate.”

As one, the Jindleyak militia checked their weapons.

Heavily outnumbered, the Degorouth watchmen put up their hands and backed away from the gate, to show they were not looking for a fight. Their sergeant muttered curses under his breath as he fumbled among his keys. For his own sake, he could not open the gate fast enough. “Kezodel’s going to hear of this,” the sergeant managed with a glare—but the threat was roundly ignored.

Away from the Great Court, the company continued for several blocks. Traust led them into a tight alley, then stopped, since there were no other people about. He turned to his men. “Pack it up,” he said as he pulled off his own tabard, to reveal the gleam of his armor beneath. The militia men stripped off their tabards, rings, necklaces: anything that marked their affiliation with the Oak and Beast. They stuffed these items into their bags and pockets. With a shrewd eye, Traust appraised the gathered crowd as he devised his plan. “We need volunteers to go to Edgewater,” he began.

“I'll go,” Apulton said.

“Give me one more,” he looked among his men.

“I’ll go,” Toar said and stepped forward—but it seemed as if Traust didn’t hear him. “I’ll go,” he repeated, but the foreign captain continued to look to his own.

With a scowl, Duboha pushed Andrus forward. “Are you training to be a sneak or not?!” he whispered to the young cousin. Andrus blinked and stepped forward with a contrite glance at Duboha.

“Good,” Traust said. “In my apartment, in the top drawer of my dresser, you’ll find a brass case. Bring it to me,” he ordered and gave a key to Apulton.

“What's in it?” Apulton asked.

“Coin, correspondence, personal affects I do not wish to leave," he said and turned to his other men. "If anyone else wants items from the house in Edgewater, now is the time to confide in your friends. Otherwise, we go to Duboha’s.”

Homoth and Komotz turned to each other and grinned. Neither had ever been to the sneak’s own home. Along with the others, the brothers pressed on Apulton and Andrus, to ask them to retrieve a thing or two. The list of requests continued to grow, and caused Andrus to complain. “There is too much! We shall need another body just to carry it all!”

“I'll go,” Toar repeated. “I have an acquaintance in Edgewater that I should like to see, if only for a few minutes.”

Traust frowned as he measured the young man. “This is not a time for calling on friends,” he noted.

“I vouch for his loyalty and intelligence,” Creigal said. “He has no love for Kezodel or his Degorouth, and will do nothing to jeopardize us. If he wishes to stop in Edgewater, I beg that you let him.”

Traust shook his head as he glanced among the others. “If no one else is willing to go…” He turned to Apulton. “Take the young Bouge with you. The estate is invariably watched, so use the shanty tunnel—and stay away from any open windows. Meet us at the House of Leaves—and don't dally—or you can make your own way to Hearthstone.”

Celesi grabbed Toar by the hand. “I go with them!”

With a sigh, Traust agreed. “So be it. Anyone else have a burning desire to go to Edgewater?”

Wenifas frowned though she bit her lip. She knew Celesi didn't mean to abandon her. The apprentice Jay only meant to stay near Toar. For her own sake, and for the sake of her children, Wenifas decided it might be best to stay among the bulk of the men—though they made her increasingly uneasy. At least the shaman was still with her.

Apulton, Andrus, Toar, and Celesi left the others.

“Sir,” Elpis began.

“Yes,” Traust turned to his cousin and nodded. “Take the Ministrian and her children to your Lady Yandira,” he said. “Scurra, you will go with them.”

“What of my brother?” Scurra asked.

“We take him into the caverns of Beletrain,” Traust answered. “Him and the foreigners. It is the best way to sneak them through the city.”

“I have no fear of the old tunnels,” Scurra replied a bit stiff. She was actually quite terrified of the dark—but was unwilling to make any sort of confession.

“I do not ask you to go for your own comfort,” Traust noted. “I ask for the sake of the priestess, that I do not send her with Elpis alone. I would have asked the Bouge girl to go with you too, but it appears she does not want to be separated from her man.”

Scurra considered his words and let them convince her. With a nod she waved to Wenifas, “Okay then. Let's go.”

The priestess shook her head. “I stay with the shaman,” she insisted as she stepped closer to Krumpus. He was the only one left that she still trusted among this strange crew, and although he was unconscious, she meant to keep with someone familiar.

Traust shook his head. “I will not bring children into Beletrain. What if the babe should fuss? It is risky enough with so many capable men,” he noted. “Besides, we need to warn the Lady Yandira of what has transpired—and if we cannot bring the shaman out of his stupor, we will need her connections to move him beyond the gates of the city.” He leaned close to the priestess. “You will have less trouble and more luxury with the Lady Yandira. Believe me, Beletrain is not a place you want to go.”

Scurra took Wenifas by the hand. “So long as I live, I promise you will see my brother again,” she assured. “Now come along. I wish to be rid of this place.”

A sense of dread and urgency welled up in the priestess. She grabbed hold of the unconscious shaman and pulled against his hand in hopes that he might wake. “No!” she cried—then flinched as a strange electricity passed through his hand and into her own.

A flash of insight caught in her brain—as if the shaman was speaking to her—but it was not through Meu, nor was he awake. It was as if he was talking to her from the future. He said she must go with his sister—but not yet.

Wenifas took hold of the shaman’s cloak. “If I must travel the streets, give me his coat, that I might not look like such a foreigner," she said, and thought to herself, I will take his cloak or I will perish!

Scurra frowned and shook her head. She opened her mouth, about to speak.

Wenifas cut off her protests. “I promise surety for it!” She said as she dug in one of the purses stolen from Fedring. She pulled out a gold sol and offered the massive coin to the woman.

For a long second, Scurra stared at the metal round. So did everyone else. They all had the same question. Where does a lowly priestess get such a heavy coin?!

“If his cloak is so valuable, do you not want it with you?” Wenifas asked as she waved the gold round at the shaman’s sister. “As he is, your brother cannot protect it.”

Scurra gave a slow nod to Wenifas as she took the gold sol. “Okay then,” she began as she held up the coin. “I hold this against its return.”

Wenifas unbuckled the cloak and put it upon her own shoulders, then turned and followed Scurra and Elpis. She thought she'd be excited to finally be away from Derris’s murderers—but she wasn’t. She was nervous—and she regretted showing such money among them. They all noticed the gold sol. How many of them noted the hefty purse that it came from? She clutched Claiten’s hand as she carried Evereste with the other.

“Well then,” Traust turned. “Let us make for the serpent’s den,“ he said as he walked.

“The serpent’s den?” Creigal repeated.

Traust nodded. “Below us is an ancient underground city, built by naga. It is a nest of tunnels, a labyrinth that runs further and deeper than any man knows.”

“There are tunnels that run all the way to the mountains,” Duboha added. “Some say they go all the way to the center of the earth and out the other side.”

Baet snorted. "I think we can take that for exaggeration.”

“Perhaps,” Duboha shrugged. “Needless to say, it is not without risk.”

“Naga…” Creigal began. “I’ve only ever heard rumor of such beasts.”

Traust nodded. “Serpents with arms like a man, intelligent and dangerous. Ebertin is built over one of their great cities.”

“You know the history well?” Creigal asked.

“Not half as well as Duboha,” Traust noted. “He’s been here half his life.”

“It is a fascinating history,” Duboha claimed. “Hearthstone is staid in comparison; nothing but farm lands and festivals as far as the eye can see.”

“I would call it idyllic,” Traust stated. “Who in their right mind wishes to live above a naga city?”

“Much of it taken from the naga,” Duboha argued. “Paid in blood.”

Traust shook his head. “We do not know how much of it men possess. The war has never ended. The way I hear, the war has been at a standstill almost since it began—some two hundred years ago.”

“And we mean to enter these tunnels?” Carringten asked, uninterested in leaving the light of day for tight quarters under the earth. “Is there not a better path?”

Traust shook his head. “We are a formidable lot. There are routes, corridors, entire sections of the underground city controlled by the various militias. Indeed, it’s a point of pride among the militias of Ebertin to have a constant presence in Beletrain. We are unlikely to see any naga. The beasts prefer to stay deep in the earth.”

“Even underground, it is rare to run into naga,” Duboha agreed. “Especially during the day. I cannot count how many times I have been in the tunnels, but I rarely seen the beasts. It is maybe once or twice a year, and then they are usually captured, or dead, caught in some trap.”

“Indeed, even in the tunnels, our biggest worry will be other humans,” Traust stated. “The Ministrians are known to go underground among unfriendly militias.”

“Sounds dubious,” Carringten noted. “Perhaps we should just stick to the streets.”

Traust shook his head. “It is still the best way to sneak notable foreigners and a comatose man through the city. If we should come across a few naga, we are a good number and quite dangerous ourselves. If we stay in the streets, if we run into a troop of Degorouth in the open, we will be sorely outnumbered. Indeed, the longer we dally, the worse it will be for us. I suspect as soon as the shock wears off, the city will be thick with our enemies. At least the naga care nothing for our politics. It is unlikely they will be out in numbers.”

“Let us not dawdle,” Homoth complained. “If we mean to do this, let us do it. I'd prefer to be back above ground before the sun sets.”

Traust gave a nod and led the troop down several dingy back streets. They came to an old stone building with a tavern on its first floor. "Meet us around back,” Traust said to Duboha. With a nod, Duboha stepped into the establishment and approached the bar, as Traust took the others around the back of the building.

The bartender turned to the new arrival. “What can I get ya?” he asked.

Duboha leaned in close. “I’d like down into Beletrain,” he said in a low voice.

The barkeep leaned forward and locked eyes with the militiaman, “It costs a pretty bone to get into that den of snakes.”

“I have no chabling, and not enough chits,” Duboha replied. “Any chance you'll take metal?”

The barkeep's face lit up, “Keep your lousy dragon bone and curse the Minist traitor that gave it to you!” he said in a harsh whisper. “Only fools decline good metal coin!”

Duboha knew the man in passing, and had expected such an answer. Still, he smiled and clapped the barkeep on the shoulder, as he passed him several heavy pieces of silver.

“That’s a hefty price,” the bartender noted. “You wish to bring an army with you?” He asked with a wry smile. He dropped the coins in his pocket and led Duboha from the bar.

“The others at your back door—and we’re hoping you’ll keep our passing to yourself.”

“Can’t see it being anybody else’s business,” the barkeep nodded as they stepped through the kitchen and down a long hall. He opened the back door and let the others in, then pointed down a side passage. “This is the way your lookin' to go.”

The Jindleyak piled in and took an immediate left. There was a small room with half burned torches all about a table. Each man took a torch as the barkeep unlocked a heavy metal door with a good number of stops and catches on it. Slowly, he pulled open the heavy door and revealed a thin spiral ramp beyond.

“Why not stairs?” Carringten asked as he followed several of the Jindleyak down.

“And why would snakes build stairs?” Duboha replied.

The ramp opened into a large cavern which, to Carringten’s comfort, was not rough at all. The walls and ceiling were bricked. Despite heavy wear, they looked to be quite solid.

Down the length of the long room ran a wide aqueduct. The room narrowed into corridors at the east and west ends, then proceeded into darkness. There was little to hear besides the slushing of water, the burning of torches, and the shuffle of their own feet. Looking closer at the stone, Baet noted glyphs and symbols all about the passage. “What is this?” he whispered.

“Naga tongue,” Duboha said of the characters carved into the stone. He shook his head. “Can't read a lick of that.” Further along the wall were more characters of a different nature, scrawled in red paint. “This is Trohl,” he smiled as he pointed at the rough painted letters.

“What does it say?” Baet asked.

“Danger,” Duboha shrugged. “Like we wouldn't know... And this here is the glyph of the Gray Sons.”

“Another militia?” Baet asked.

Duboha nodded. “The Gray Sons have been openly critical of Kezodel and his Degorouth for years. We are unlikely to meet with any Ministrians in their tunnels,” he said.

“The water seems drinkable,” Creigal noted.

“It varies,” Duboha replied. “Some of the streams and aqueducts are pure as rain. Some only look as pure as rain, and some are outright sewers. Indeed, the waterworks of Beletrain are quite the marvel. During the war, the Bouge poisoned several of these aqueducts,” the Second continued. “It didn't bother the naga—but the poison killed a great many people. Indeed, the poison did far more damage to Ebertin than Beletrain. Some say it almost caused the Bouge to lose their own city.”

“Some plan,” Baet snorted, as Creigal stepped away from the water.

Duboha shrugged. “The men that did the poisoning were hanged for the troubles they caused. Needless to say, don’t bother trying to poison a naga.”

Creigal was about to make some comment about the luxury of being immune to poisons and how he could have used such an ability all too recently—but Traust came down the ramp. “Let's go,” Traust said as he started forward, “and let's be quiet,” he added as the others followed.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

At the front of the Great Court, members of the Gray Sons Militia dragged the corpse of the chimera, Kezodel, onto the steps for anyone to see. “People of Ebertin! Look and hear what has become of our fearless leader!” Hopur Dalyth, a captain of the Gray Sons, sneered. “See what hubris and pride have caused for this great man!”

A crowd gathered and Hopur Dalyth told the story of what he witnessed in the Muaha’s court—then told it again as more people gathered. For nearly an hour, he shouted and denounced Kezodel to any man that listened.

The common people of Ebertin gawked and gossiped about the dead chimera with his great, twisted, hairy physique; his strange leathery wings, and long claws. They poked, pinched, and prodded the corpse as Hopur Dalyth continued his diatribe.

Eventually, word came of Degorouth and Ministrians approaching en masse. Hopur Dalyth kicked and cursed the dead corpse of the chimera several more times, then disappeared into the crowd, with his men in tow.

Eventually, several of Kezodel’s more ambitious lieutenants gathered the men and gumption needed to chase off the curious locals. They scattered the gawkers, then took the body of their fallen leader to a secure setting, in hopes of saving some scrap of the dead judge’s dignity. Yet, several thousand commoners had already shuffled past and witnessed both the judge’s weirdness and the sordid story of his demise. They heard talk of a defiant shaman that caused the collapse of the dome, and also of birds that harried anyone that stood against the holy man. Though it traveled in hushed whispers and hurried assertions, the news of the Muaha’s death spread like wildfire upon a parched and thirsting landscape, and although there was no end to the arguments about what would eventually come of it, all the talkers agreed that the immediate effect would be a great deal of trouble.

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