Stone and Blood: Act 3, Chapter 4

Stone and Blood: Act 3, Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“Boss, something’s happening.”

Falagrim looked up from his reading, tilting his head slightly to look out of the entrance of the pavilion. The owner of the voice didn’t appear, and neither did it look like preparations were being made to receive anyone. He set down the papers in his hand before reaching out to grab his helmet. A minute later, he strode out into the night, finding the Dwarf that had spoken standing at the campfire nearby.

“Where?” Falagrim asked.

“At the harbour,” the Dwarf answered. “That woman’s brought in a bunch of seals from the coast.”

“What are they doing?”

“Dunno. Something.”Neew updates at novel/bin(.)com

Something.

Normally, he’d beat him bloody for being so unspecific. Here, however, it was always ‘something’.

The Human woman and her Undead minions were always up to one stupid thing or another. He stopped trying to figure out why days ago. There were a few things that he could immediately understand, such as restarting trade, upgrading security procedures, and establishing rule of law. Other things, such as cultivating understanding, promoting trust and goodwill, laying the foundations for a harmonious society and ensuring that people were happy didn’t make a lick of sense.

All that mattered was crime and punishment. Anyone that didn’t toe the line volunteered to serve as an example to the rest.

His guards fell into step behind him and walked out of the camp. On the way, he sneered at what he saw from his people. This was the longest that they had been in any given place at one time. Everyone was getting too comfortable. Life as an exile was supposed to be penance for one’s crimes. He needed to devise something to improve the quality of suffering.

Falagrim made his way past the outer security perimeter of the Dale of Defiance, heading straight toward the riverbank and through the ongoing construction of the Human’s proposed market. Several dozen buildings had already been completed, including shaded sections for stalls that filled the three terraces cut out of the slope.

A few fountains had also been raised – a ‘convenience’ that was offered free of charge to visitors – which were fed by simple magic items. The overflow trickled into channels that wound down through the market sections and eventually spilt into the harbour. Now, the Human was trying to add greenery and flowers to the market rows because she thought it would make the place nicer.

The tread of his ironshod boots echoed off of the sensible Dwarven architecture that was slated to be ruined by the woman’s nonsensical sensibilities. At the end of the market’s central lane was the harbour – which wouldn’t work, but that wasn’t any of his business – and there he found a pod of Monachini in the water, their heads bobbing up and down as they looked up attentively at the Human. At the Human’s feet was a small chest of gold coins.

Falagrim joined Agni, who was standing a short distance away with a pair of his Merchants.

“What’s going on?”

“Sounds like the problem the seals were having with the Merfolk was resolved,” Agni said. “They came to offer tribute, but that woman paid them for it instead.”

“Hah? What are those damned seals going to do with a bunch of coins?”

“She’s trying to get them on board with her market idea,” one of the Merchants said. “But it’s going as well as you’d think.”

That much was obvious. The Demihumans didn’t have a single Merchant among them. What the Demihumans once traded with the Dark Dwarves for was the means to survive against their neighbours. Now that the Sorcerous Kingdom had enforced its arbitrary, unnatural peace upon the Abelion Hills, the tribes saw no need for trade. The most ridiculous part was that the Human could easily get the tribes to participate in trade, but she refused to use the full extent of her powers to do so.

After observing her actions at the border of the Holy Kingdom, he was finally able to figure out what she was. The Human woman was a diplomancer: an extremely troublesome type of person that could get whatever she wanted by simply speaking to others. Since diplomancy was oratory in nature, things like magic resistance or immunity to mind-affecting abilities didn’t work against it. All that mattered was how believable they were and whether the people listening to them knew what was going on. The latter only mattered if the listener was strong enough to do something about it.

The Human also demonstrated the ability to use her powers in a command-like way. This either meant that she had the raw power to force others to listen to her, or was skilled enough to efficiently harness the limited power that she possessed.

With all that in mind, her mostly mundane efforts with the tribes of the Abelion Hills could only be considered a foolish waste of time.

“The hell would they bring to trade, anyway?” Falagrim muttered.

“Well, it isn’t as if they don’t have anything to sell at all,” the Merchant said. “Fish and such would just rot on the way, of course, but the tribute that they delivered was filled with things that the tribes could use to make trinkets. The problem’s that it’s not a huge market. Demand for trinkets is nowhere near what demand for equipment used to be.”

Falagrim snorted, looking over his shoulder at the overambitious expanse of the market. It would look wretched indeed if only three per cent of the place could be filled.

“Our Merchants will be working here, as well,” Agni noted. “The Demihumans might try to pawn that stuff off on us for tools and such. Baerwynn didn’t send us anyone that can fashion jewellery.”

“Would it be possible to have some join us from home?” The Merchant asked.

“We can only fabricate so many crimes before arousing suspicion,” Falagrim said.

The latest set of exiles delivered to them not only contained genuine exiles, but several artisans sent to help establish an economic foothold on the surface. Before that point, Falagrim’s company consisted of criminals, the wardens sent to ensure that the criminals remained where they were supposed to be, and Merchants to work the slave trade.

It had barely been a week since they started construction in the Dale of Defiance, so not much had been done about getting the market going. To make it worse, the Human woman insisted on creating her jolly little ‘community’ in the Abelion Wilderness. Trade with other regions would be restricted until she got the locals on their feet. Supposedly, this was to prevent the poor, ignorant locals from being ‘exploited’ by foreign Merchants.

All Falagrim could do was play along. She was the one with the army, after all.

“What do you mean the harbour won’t work?” The Human’s voice came from the wharf, “Is there something you don’t like about it?”

“It’s not a matter of like,” one of the Monachini replied. “The Abelion River is shallow for most of the year. If the ships you speak of are similar to the ones that the Humans in the west use, they will get stuck.”

“I planned on having channels made for the cataracts and other shallow parts of the river,” the Human said.

“...but that does not change the volume of water that flows down the river,” the Monachini told her. “If you dig channels, then the river will flow into those channels and not run its regular course. You will destroy that which so many rely on to live.”

The Human released a disappointed sigh. Falagrim was hoping her delusion would go on for long enough to see her try sending ships downriver.

“In that case,” the Human said, “what about the harbour itself? Is it suitable for use by aquatic Demihumans when they come and visit the market?”

“It is much better than what we were accustomed to when we came here in the past. However, if you want many to dwell in this place, it will have to be much bigger...or perhaps different ones could be fashioned. You desire the people of this land to coexist, but it is not simply a matter of saying so. Prey species will not feel safe around predators. Predators cannot tolerate the presence of their rivals. It is instinct.”

“But if that’s true,” the Human said, “how is it that many races can coexist elsewhere? Predators and prey alike.”

“We do not know these places of which you speak, so we cannot–”

Falagrim tensed as an unsettling feeling swept over him. The Monachini in the harbour submerged as one in a collective panic, splashing the Human with water. Falagrim’s Merchants and labourers fled as a huge shadow crossed over the harbour and the world itself seemed to whisper their coming demise as it passed.

The shadow crossed over them two more times before a Frost Dragon alighted beside the Human, sending a cloud of dust over the wharf. The Human looked up at it with a cross look.

“Kilistran,” she said, “you’re not supposed to do that.”

“Do what?” The Dragon asked.

“Scaring people like that!” The soaked Human answered.

“Oh. Sorry. I’m used to landing over at the cargo lot.”

“I believe that you would know better than I as to what the people here use outside of warfare,” the Human said as she came to join them. “Have you gone through the list of surviving tribes?”

“Yeah,” Falagrim replied, “and most of our biggest customers aren’t on it. Not that it matters with your ban on raiding. I don’t know how it hasn’t sunk into that gilded head of yours yet, but we’re talking about Demihumans here. They’re born naturally equipped to deal with everything that ‘everyday life’ demands of them. The tribes don’t do anything advanced enough to require tools from us.”

The Human crossed her arms under her breasts, casting a glance at the Merchants.

“But don’t you think it’s the perfect opportunity to help them?”

“Huh? Help?”

“Humans and Dwarves aren’t born with powerful natural weapons and armour,” the Human said. “Thus, we are driven to innovate solutions – to fashion tools and other equipment. What we must do in order to survive serves as a gateway to industry and economy. Demihuman tribes, on the other hand, are much less likely to develop in that direction because, as you say, they don’t need to. They’re stuck doing what they’re doing because what they are born with precludes the need to do anything else.”

“With how protective you are about their way of life,” Falagrim noted, “I figured you’d think they’re happy as they are.”

“I have no right to decide whether they’re happy or not. But I do know that there are plenty of Demihuman races out there that do not lead lives of tribal subsistence. The people here should at least be informed of their options.”

“Options, huh. Well, it’s your country. Let’s go and get your new equipment moved over.”

A group of Undead joined them on their way out to Falagrim’s camp. Whipcracks echoed through the glade as the Deepwardens on watch duty roused the labourers lounging about. Within a minute, Dwarves were unloading the pallets of equipment, handing them off to the Undead.

“Is there really a need for that?”

“For what?” Falagrim didn’t look at the Human.

“Whipping people like that,” the Human said. “You could have just said something.”

“We did,” Falagrim replied. “After we whipped ‘em. The wardens are doing their job, girl. That’s right – I said ‘wardens’. As in people that oversee criminals. You think this pile of scum is out here for a frolic in the woods?”

“Do you believe that they’ll take any steps toward reform if you treat them like that?”

“They’re not expected to achieve reform. They’re here to suffer a life of hard labour and we’re here to make sure that those lives go on for as long as possible.”

“That’s terrible!”

“That’s the point.”

He wasn’t sure what her problem was. Especially considering the fact that anyone who committed the same crimes in the Sorcerous Kingdom would find posthumous employment as a Skeleton.

The Human flinched as one of the exiles was struck directly in front of her. The Dwarf woman grimaced, but she trudged on with her burden, bleeding from her gashed shoulder. After a few steps, however, she stopped.

A familiar sensation washed over Falagrim as the Dwarf woman’s expression twisted. The Human let out a shriek as a hand erupted from the labourer’s chest in a spray of blood. The hand was followed by an arm, which was followed by a whole Dwarf who somehow stepped out of the now-thoroughly-dead labourer. A scratching sound filled the silence following the newcomer’s emergence as the Elder Lich at the Human’s shoulder took notes.

“Velgath,” a furrow clove Falagrim’s brow. “What are you doing here?”

His daughter turned at the sound of his voice. She paid no mind to her mess as she ran forward and genuflected before him.

“Father,” Velgath said. “We need help.”

“What happened?”

“I...I’m not sure. Everything was going according to plan. We retook the mines, repelled the initial retaliation, and cut ourselves off from Khazanar. Then mother went to secure Hardar while we fortified Felhammer. After that...I’m not sure what happened. It was quiet for a day or so. The council armies were just everywhere. They came from every direction conceivable.”

“How many were there?”

“Too many. The General said a half-million as a conservative estimate.”

Falagrim looked down silently at his daughter’s blood-soaked head. Since when was Khazanar that strong? A half-million was possible if every principality deployed all of their fighting forces, but none of them would do any such thing. They were as much at each other’s throats as they were at Clan Felhammers, so every clan would prudently withhold enough of its strength to defend against any treachery.

“Baerwynn never suggested that they would face anything remotely like this,” Agni said. “She said that the council would be willing to commit a quarter of that number, at most.”

“Did you get a good measure of the battle slaves?” Falagrim asked.

“I did,” Velgath answered with a nod. “It’s the usual mix, just more than we expected. Far more. But our spies never even got a whiff of them before this.”

Going by that, it sounded like the council had stationed them outside of Khazanar. The underground was so expansive that one could hide an army of millions without anyone noticing. What they were doing with such a huge force on hand was the real question. It couldn’t have possibly been raised just to deal with Clan Felhammer.

“Is Khazanar being attacked by outsiders?” He asked.

“Not that I know of,” his daughter answered.

“Then what do you know?”

Velgath removed her leather gauntlets, shaking the blood off of them. Agni pointed a finger at her, removing the mess covering the girl with a Clean spell.

“Thanks, Aunt Agni,” Velgath nodded, then turned back to him. “Our spies started reporting that the other clans were up to something just over a month ago. Stockpiling provisions and equipment. Acting all suspicious-like.”

“Which coincided with when we first learned that the war in Roble was over,” Agni said. “Baerwynn figured that it was spies planted in our company that reported the coming change.”

“Yeah, so we planned accordingly,” Velgath said. “The council was keeping us out of their meetings and everything, but why would they do that if we were being attacked by outsiders?”

It didn’t make any sense to him, either. He could follow his wife’s line of reasoning, but the council’s unprecedented retaliation threw everything off.

“Did the council armies say anything when they came for us?”

“Aside from the stuff that you’d expect to hear, no. They were furious that we did what we did and just wanted us dead.”

“How far have they advanced?”

“They were breaching the city when Uldun told me to go to you. At their current rate, it’ll take a few days for the fighting to reach the citadel.”

Falagrim stroked his beard in thought. By now, a small crowd had gathered around them. Exile and guard alike spoke in low tones between themselves.

Since unreasonably massive armies didn’t just appear out of nothing for no reason, Falagrim was reasonably certain that there was something else going on. The entire chain of events may have been an extraordinarily unfortunate coincidence, but what was done was done. No matter the circumstances, the council wouldn’t forgive Clan Felhammer for its actions. What he needed to do now was devise a way to secure his home and take advantage of whatever else was happening.

His eyes went to the Human, who looked especially pale standing a few metres away from the pile of gore that was the former exile.

“Well, then,” he told her. “It looks like your Undead will have a chance to strut their stuff, after all. I’ll be right back with the forms.”