Book 2: Chapter 20: Explanations

Book 2: Chapter 20: Explanations

Floating on high, a heart blossoming on the breeze, my tears too far to fall.

- From the diary of Lady Aelayah of House Salahaem.

Despite their fearsome appearance, in terms of raw statistics, the twins were a joke in comparable power. The brother had only ten more points of Health than his mother and a small bump in his Stamina. It was either they were weak, or I had started to grow into a monster. Truly, my decision to spend all my ‘free’ points on Constitution was beginning to return dividends. Not only had it probably saved my life in the mines, but it had allowed me to train longer and fight harder, which, in turn, had boosted my secondary attributes.

This was certainly something to keep in mind in my further dealings with them. It really came back down to the good old adage of never judging a book by its cover.

With Larynda trailing once more behind me, we found our way to our wagon. Once there, I informed Kidu about our encounter and that we were going with Larynda to have a quick talk with Laes. Since I could not see people’s attributes directly, I assumed that she must have a relatively-high Charisma to have opened up the recalcitrant twins. Her tagging along would probably be useful.

Locking up our wagon, we found our driver, Ables, hitching up a pair of Ruar to the vehicle. The beasts, despite their rather fearsome appearance, were docile and accepted his calm yet firm instruction as they placidly allowed him to attach their harnesses.

Noticing our presence, he greeted us with a small bow of the head before continuing with his work. I sidled up to him to engage him in a quick conversation.

“A good morning to you, Ables,” I began with a smile.

“An’ a good one to you sir,” he replied, barely meeting my eyes, as he was busy with his work.

“Just a quick question, my good man, and we’ll leave you to your work,” I started, politely waiting for him to finish tying a stubborn knot. “Where can I find Master Harevor at this hour?” It was a question I probably knew the answer to, but it behooved me to be polite to the help. If I kept at this for long enough, I might even be able to get a point in my Charisma.

“The master be at and about his business, I am guessing. Best bet though, be in his tally wagon at this hour,” he said noncommittally, his entire focus on his morning task.

Mumbling thanks, we made our way to find Harevor. On the way, we passed what could only be an old tinker or a smith mending an even older iron pot that had seen better days. Should we need to, my little group could probably get some simple repairs done from him. Perhaps they could even acquire some new equipment. It reminded me that I would probably have to do something about getting new pouches or bags at some point in the future.

We made a small detour to check on Patches. As always, shes was the very picture of equine gentleness. She gave Larynda a slobbering lick after she fed the donkey a small biscuit from one of her pockets.

Twenty or so minutes later, we arrived at the tally wagon. We soon heard the sound of Laes’ commanding voice cutting through the din of the camp, and alerting us to his presence. He was shouting orders to his crew, praising and haranguing them when necessary, all in an effort to squeeze some more efficiency from them.

“Master Harevor!” I called out and grabbed his attention.

“What is it, Gilgamesh?” he replied quickly, before giving a few quick instructions to another worker.

“I have a few questions...” I began, almost feeling a little guilty for getting in the way and taking up some of his precious time.

“I will answer them once we are on the move. Wait in my wagon, I must see to the day’s preparations,” he replied firmly, already moving on to his next task. When he saw that I was making no move to leave, he quickly added, “Which should be in about half a turn of the glass. If these shiftless layabouts get moving!” he shouted the last without any true venom, getting a few knowing grins from his workers.

I felt that I had been summarily dismissed, like a child from the principal’s office. Turning to my companions, I searched their faces for their reaction.

With that in mind, Kidu and I continued to question him about the journey, and it was enlightening, to say the least. The wild man was more interested in the beasts that populated the Whispering Wastes. How the desperate things could sense the presence of moisture or how they hunted by the feel of vibrations through the shifting sands. Laes, eager to educate, named many animals that made the deep Wastes their home, beasts great and small preying upon each other, and the desperate caravans that made to cross out of season.

Laes once again talked of the great worms, the ‘Guardians’ of the desert Wastes that limited travel to the city of Al-Lazar. Though many did try to brave the Wastes throughout the year, lured by the promise of easy gold, every crossing was a gamble. The worms, although rare in the vast expanse, fear only one thing - running water, an almost non-existent commodity in the desert, except for one time of the year after the Weeping.

“...with the birth of the river, worm attacks are rare but they still do happen. To date, no one has divined the rhyme or reason as to why they attack, only that the water of the Green Road acts as a sort of deterrent. Some of the rare few who survive such attacks claim that they were as large as ships, and other more fanciful accounts say that they dwarf whole cities. What was common, by all accounts, was they were spined and spiked along their humongous, segmented bodies. The Guardians of the deep places of the Wastes can launch their very spines, like ballista bolts, a great distance at the trespassers of their realm. Very few who encounter the worms survive. I will say again, a journey such as this is nothing more than a gamble. A good gamble, with better odds than any other time of the year, but still a gamble nonetheless,” he confessed to us.

Unlike Kidu, who asked almost exclusively about the wildlife we might encounter, I focused my questions on Al-Lazar, on its language, customs, and history. Thankfully, I would not have to learn yet another language, as the locals there spoke the common Lingua Franca, alongside the local language of High Quassian. The caravan master’s explanation was brief, more in the line of general knowledge and experience rather than a scholarly understanding of the city. Still, Laes, being a well-traveled and educated man, was a treasure trove of information.

The city of Al-Lazar was the home of a great Alchemical industry, centered around the harvest of Dust, the pollen harvested from the fleshy blooms of the large indigenous plants that grew only along the shoreline near the city. The plant itself was, according to Laes, a sort of terrestrial seaweed, having roots in the saltwater, but its leaves and flowers on the desert shore. Attempts had been made in the past, at great cost by rival cities and envious merchants, to transplant the plants, but all had met with failure.

Dust itself, when taken in its purest and most refined form, was a soporific drug that gave the user lucid long dreams that they could fully control. Immediately, I could see the allure of such a potent narcotic. For a narcotic it was, and I imagined it to be a form of virtual reality, far removed from the technical limitations of my own world. According to the caravan master, in time one would grow both a crippling physical and psychological dependency on the substance. Users of the drug would soon find the appeal of the real world altogether dull in comparison to the given dreams, in which one could live out their ultimate fantasies.

Some of the richest in the city had lived their whole lives only in their own minds, their sleeping bodies attended to by mages and alchemists. It is said one of the richest patriarchs of one of the mercantile houses, upon waking from a Dust dream, had cried tears of loss. So desperate was he to enter once more into the realm of dreams, that he screamed at his attendants, threatening to have them all hanged if they did not bring him more of the substance, even as his once-proud house was ground into dust by his feckless heirs.

The workers of the Dust fields, sickly things responsible for the harvest, were paid next to nothing. They were willing to work long hours for just a chance to catch a fleeting dream when they turned in to rest. A parting gift from a whiff of unrefined pollen.

The governance of the city itself was ruled over by a council made from the heads of the eight mercantile houses that had founded the city. These eight houses had grown Al-Lazar from its humble beginnings as a small port into one the greatest trading destinations in the world. There was a legend that the founding members of the merchant houses had originally been a group of slaves, fleeing from their masters across the Wastes. It was said, for this reason, that slavery was banned and their new home was declared a ‘Free City.’

The crime of bringing a slave within the walls was punishable by death.

In the past, great armies had tried to cross the Whispering Wastes, to conquer the city of the fabled Dust. They left great water caches in the desert, building upon them with each passing year, penetrating a little further into the Wastes, at exorbitant cost to the colleges of magic. They had all been met by the great worms. Negotiating for rights of passage with the Tides, small armies had even tried to make their way along the green road, a river that cut through the desert to the city Al-Lazar, which appears only once a year. They, too, had fallen prey to the great worms, their presence an affront to the monsters who usually feared running water.

The powers outside of the Whispering Wastes had to resort to simple infiltration, corruption, and bribery, as they sought to influence the decisions and governance of the eight houses. This was no easy thing, as the city spent an exorbitant amount of money on its own security, embroiled as they were in a different sort of war. The war against the sea.

It was said in the ancient texts that Al-Lazar once enjoyed peace with the sea, for indeed that was how it had initially grown into a port city. However, for reasons unknown, the armies of the eight houses of Al-Lazar have fought a perennial war against the Mer, the people of the deep places, for many generations. With the Mer blocking the access to the port, no ships have sailed to Al-Lazar now for nearly a decade.

Yet this has only slowed, not stopped, trade to Al-Lazar. Lured by the promise of the Dust, small parties still cross the dangerous wastes, gambling that they will not draw the notice of the colossal desert worms. After the Weeping and the appearance of the green road, a stream of caravans flows every year into the city, eager to make a profit.

Despite the people of the sands and the sea being in a state of perpetual war with each other, the city still maintains all the trappings and luxuries of a large population center. Various guilds have based themselves in Al-Lazar, and it is a flourishing center of culture for the continent. Many of the greatest musicians, artists, authors, poets, and philosophers have made Al-Lazar their home, for all of them draw upon the inspiration that only Dust can give. For Dust also grants gifts of insight to the magically-inclined, and many of the new spells and ways of harnessing Mana have come from the city of Dust.

The coastal city has high walls to protect its citizens from the amphibious raids of the Mer. Stationed upon these walls are some of the best mercenaries and seasoned guards that the promise of gold can buy. To add to these formidable defenses, both the Adventurer’s Guild and the Mercenaries Guild have a rival presence within the city, and regularly take contracts and requests to deal with the Mer.

However, it is when the tides ebb at their lowest that the aggression of the Mer reaches a frenzied crescendo. The shallow waters of the sea recede to reveal the remains of an ancient underwater city, which is their spawning ground. It is then that the eight houses are finally able to strike back, but always they are met with the berserker rage of the sea folk, for this is when they are at their most dangerous.

It was a lot of information to digest, and I had to pause many times to confirm a point or to ask for extra detail. Thankfully, Laes was all too accommodating, though he could not answer all of my questions. Kidu, too, was unnaturally vocal, his eyes lighting up whenever Laes described a new animal, and his questions usually focused on how to hunt such a creature. Larynda, on the other hand, was subdued, the mention of her former master Hamsa casting a pall over her spirits.

Suddenly the wagon stopped, and Laes cried out, asking what had happened. Once he received his answer, he shouted back to the driver through the open window, before looking at me and smiling.

“It seems that fortune has favored our journey. Perhaps one of you has brought a little luck with them! We are about to witness an auspicious and lucky sign,” he cried out, his face creating a rough facsimile of childish glee.

Despite his obvious joy, I found my hand reaching for the heavy flail at my hip.