Book 2: Chapter 31: The Spoils of War

Book 2: Chapter 31: The Spoils of War

In the depths of the Whispering Wastes, where the sands dance and burn hot under the gaze of the sun, there lies the Straight River. It is said that after the rain falls, the river awakens from its slumber and flows with a fierce determination, carving an unbending path through the heart of the desert to the city of Al-Lazar.

Along the banks of this elusive river, there lurk creatures that have long haunted the dreams of weary travelers and poorly-guarded caravans. They are monstrous three-eyed frogs, Sandgorgers, whose skin glistens with a sickly green hue, and whose croaks echo with a haunting resonance.

These monstrous frogs are unlike any other in the world, for they only come to life after the rains. They emerge from their slumber in the sand, and begin their short-lived existence, their sole purpose to feed and breed before the river dries up once again.

Those who travel along the banks of the river are in grave danger, for the frogs are not to be trifled with. They attack with a fierce and unrelenting savagery, their three eyes glinting with an insatiable hunger.

Yet the frogs are not invincible. They have one weakness, one thing that they fear above all else: fire. The mere sight of a flame is enough to send them scurrying back into the sand, their haunting croaks replaced by the sound of their frantic retreat.

Such is the way of the monstrous three-eyed frogs of the Whispering Wastes. They are a peculiar and fearsome sight, a product of a land that is harsh and unforgiving. And though their existence is fleeting, their presence is felt by all who dare to travel the green road.This chapter made its debut appearance via N0v3lB1n.

- Monsters of the Mortal Realms by K. D. Fidditch.

Unwrapping the brown cloth of the package revealed a sword in a dark, utilitarian leather scabbard. Drawing the weapon from its sheath, I was struck by its ingenious construction, for the Azag-Gishban was a sight to behold. What truly set this blade apart was its crossguard. For it was not a simple piece of metal meant to protect the wielder's hand. No, the crossguard of the Azag-Gishban was formed in the shape of a hammer, with a blunt striking edge on one side and a sharp spike on the other.

The handle of the sword was thick and sturdy, ending in a large rounded leaden pommel. Its blade was single-edged, and measured around seventy or so centimeters in length and honed to a razor's sharpness. Three-quarters down the length of the blade was a hole rimmed with bronze, perfectly positioned for the wielder to grip the metal on the unsharpened edge. This was the handle when the weapon was to be used as a hammer, allowing for a powerful grip and maximum impact. True to the grizzled Guard Master’s word, the weapon before me could serve effectively as both a sword and a hammer. I had never seen its like before.

Out of habit, rather than any real curiosity, I used Identify on my new weapon.

Steel Sword-Hammer [Azag-Gishban]

Durability 207/225

Overall, very impressive, I thought to myself, as I attached the sword to my belt. A happier memory of a time long ago, of Elwin teaching me how to tie a sword to my hip, rose to the surface. A small sigh escaped my lips, and I wondered if using the thing would improve my Hammer’s skill or simply give me a new skill. Perhaps both? There was only one way to find out, but for the time being there was a distinct lack of enemies nearby, and I was not quite in the mood for a spot of cold-blooded murder. Perhaps I could ask one of my fellow guards later for some tips and instructions.

“Come now, Elwin and Kidu. I wish to see how Patches’s doing before we see to getting you some new equipment,” I said and rose to my feet.

We made our way to where the animals were hobbled for the evening. Lowing gently in the evening, the large Xaruar were unhitched from their wagons and tended to by their loving minders. I saw a boy of about eight cleaning between the spikes of one of the large saurians with a large brush, causing the creature to bellow in pleasure. Next to them were where the horses and other equines were kept.

An old hunched and bearded man sat before a fire on a small wooden stool, his face creased with wrinkles as he looked into the depths of the flame. At his side were a few baskets of feed, along with vegetable and fruit treats for the animals of the caravan. He was Abas Yar, the Beastmaster of the caravan, and responsible for the welfare of all the animals of the train. In short, he was a man of some importance.

“A fine evening to you, Honored One Gilgamesh,” he greeted me in a voice common to those who had grown tired of life. “Back has been giving me trouble again. I wonder how much a silver piece can go towards having the gods send some of their mercy my way. Heavens know I could be due some, after fifty years of prayer,” he said a little grouchily, leaving a silver piece on the lid of a basket.

To my right, I could see Kidu bristle slightly at the elderly man’s almost-sacrilegious words. In contrast, Elwin smiled a ghost of a grin. Putting on my best smile, I replied to his request, “I am sure the Church always welcomes the donations of the faithful.” It was fortunate that Cordelia was not in present company, I could almost picture her going into a religious apoplectic fit.

“Gil, at the risk of sounding like a fish wife that loves to repeat herself ‘cos she loves the sound of her own voice... That Cordelia person, as I said before - be careful of her is all I’m saying. For all of that, she is a nice piece, but I would not touch it with a ten-foot pole, and advise you to just stay away. I’ve seen her type before. They are the kind who are always a little too eager to be venting their religion on the ordinary folk. There is just something about her... something strange,” warned the Rogue, his voice unnaturally serious.

This drew a harrumph from Kidu, who decided to add his opinion to the matter, “The Cordelia of Aserac, I judge to be honorable. She is strong in battle, uncommon in the women of your soft lands. I do not see what it is that worries you so. Perhaps it is because you warm-landers feel that women should have no place of importance?”

The Rogue turned to him, his face momentarily worried before replying in an earnest voice, “Kidu, mate, there’s more to it. It’s more than just being strong or respecting womenfolk. I’ve seen women adventurers—rare, I might add—that can chew rocks, and they themselves have bigger stones than most men. Something’s just off about her... something I can’t put one of my grubby fingers on.”

Kidu frowned at this and looked like he was about to give a reply before I decided to end their discussion on Cordelia’s trustworthiness. Perhaps I could also give the Rogue some purpose at the same time, to get him out of his brooding state. The man went on like a woman sometimes, and cried like one, too. It unsettled me when a man could so readily lose control and unabashedly break down in tears in public.

“Elwin, if Kidu can welcome you back into our company with open arms, do you not think that Cordelia at least deserves to be treated with an open mind? She might be as dangerous as you say, or odd, but the gods have led her to me. It would be churlish to reject their gifts outright. At the very least, we can give the woman the benefit of the doubt. And if you doubt her so much, I am sure that you will keep an eye on her for me, won’t you?” I countered with a hesitant smile.

“If you say so, Gil, mate,” Elwin answered flatly.

Luckily, there was no more discussion as we soon found the caravan master in front of his wagon, inspecting some crates filled with the accouterments of war. It took me a few moments to realize that it was loot that the Ravens had gathered after our last encounter.

“Ah, there you are,” greeted the long-faced man. I was thinking that perhaps Laes would grow on me, but he is still as ugly as the day I had first met him. His eyes rose a little in surprise when he caught sight of the new sword at my hip, before he gave out a long-drawn sigh.

He cast another glance at me as he leafed through the worn ledger, shaking his head in exasperation. “So,” he continued, “it is true that Ubaid no longer has a taste to hold steel. I always knew it to be true, but Khalam, in his foolishness, would have it no other way. Fathers and their expectations. Now, then, if you could look over these items here and, as agreed, you may take what you need.” He paused for a moment, as if considering something, before reaching into the folds of his clothes and throwing a small cloth purse at me, “And this is your share of the monies collected from the recently-departed. Again, I must thank you for aid in our defense, regardless that you have been the primary cause of it,” he finished, with just the tiniest shade of irritation lacing his voice.

“No, caravan master, we are much obliged to you, and your generosity,” I replied, as courteously as I could, which resulted in a small nod of acknowledgement.

We took the time then to go over the loot. For the Rogue, we chose a thick linen gambeson with boiled leather plates, along with an assortment of knives and a no-nonsense shortsword. The armor was of little interest to Kidu, but a powerful composite horseman’s bow drew his eye, along with a few well-made arrows.

For myself, the armor before was a treasure trove and I selected a heavy steel plate harness that I judged to be close to my size. Ignoring the reddish stains, I opted for a linen and chainmail gambeson to complement the harness. To complete my panoply of war, I picked a new helm, fashioned in the likeness of a snarling, wolf-like creature. The visor of my new sallet was the tooth-filled maw of the beast, and it looked both intimidating and stylish.

Some of the pieces, like the vambraces, sabatons, and gambeson, would need a little adjustment. However, Laes assured me that it could be done by the caravan’s mobile smithy. However, I would have to wait until we stopped for the Weeping. Seeing the state of my garments, the caravan master recommended that I hand my robes over to one of the women for repairs. This, he assured me, would only cost a silver, which he could deduct from my wages if I so wished.

Alongside my new armor, I chose a wooden kite shield with what looked like a monstrous horse’s head design at its center. The boss and rim of the shield were made from solid iron or steel. The shield could be strapped on my forearm for ease of use, or gripped behind the center for more advanced deflection techniques.

Once the necessary fittings had been made, I would be turned into a veritable walking tank, all but invincible to the majority of blows. I promised myself that I would spend as much time as possible in the accouterments of war so that my armor would feel like a second skin.

“I would not presume but... deep in the Wastes, wearing such armor may well be... cumbersome. The days are as hot as an oven and the nights equally as cold. Much like my last wife... ha ha!” commented Laes, ending his weak joke, which drew nothing from me save for a weak smile.

“Indeed, but until such a time these will do me just fine, Master Laes,” I responded a little laconically.

“Of course, as you wish. Though I hope that the rest of the journey will be without issue, I pray that your sword arm remains strong for whatever trials lie ahead,” the caravan master intoned seriously. He quickly jotted something down in his ledger, his quill dancing swiftly across the parchment before ending with a flourish. “I will have one of the boys deliver your things later, I hear you have Ankhset wishing to see you next. Best not to keep that old witch waiting,” he finished, dismissing us as he continued to inventory the remaining items.