The Journal of Thakan Londaralson of Clan Enhyli

Warrior and scholar, initiate of Elmal and Lhankor-Mhy

Part 01

Which begins with Thakan meeting an old school chum and ends with a battle against a cliff toad…

Wildday, Movementweek, Earthseason, 1614 TA

It’s quite a trek from Jonstown to Pavis, especially if you must walk all the way. I know my studies have made me neglect my horsemanship (mother despairs of me) but any thoughts I had of righting this were dashed when Tosti, while agreeing that the ruined Dragon Temple in Pavis is worthy of investigation, told me the local tribes hate and fear horses, to the extent of killing and eating them on sight! He told me zebras were the commonest mounts – but what is a zebra, pray, but a horse with stripes?

So I get in to New Pavis somewhat footsore, rather than saddle-sore. I’m making the Knowledge Temple my new home until I can find something better, which I hope is soon, because it’s irking to have to share my place of worship with the Lunar cult of Irripi-Ontor. If there was an Elmal temple in New Pavis, I’d be there.

But while making devotion to Lhankor-Mhy, I saw the familiar face I’d been hoping for, my soon-to-be brother-in-law, Ormiston Entratarson. Mirry had told me he’d been exiled for political reasons by the current lunar puppet that calls himself King of the Colymar. I recall him from our years of servitude behind the pen, a student of law, as opposed to my somewhat alternative subject. He’d never understood my fascination for dragonkind, which is understandable. But we are both diligent scholars and, hopefully, soon I will love him as family when Mirry makes him my brother.

Ormiston is not alone in his exile. As Mirry’s outlined in her letters, several of his cousins are out here with him and he takes me to meet a couple of them. One is his bondsman, Torvald, a trickster and bit of a black-sheep but a cousin for all that. Another is Claig ‘One-Chop’ Torkani, an Humakti, complete with greatsword, and as deadly a warrior as you would expect of Humakt.

The three, with some Red-Cow cousins, have been working for a sorcerer named Watu, working out of a tower reclaimed from the Rubble. Seeing as I’m here in Pavis with no real income and just fifteen lunars to my name, they suggest I join them in whatever work brings in money. As long as I have time for my researches, I have no objection – in fact I’m eager for a bit of adventure. (I’ll be honest, Mirry’s reports of their adventures are captivating, if a little light on detail – but then Mirry says Ormiston doesn’t write often enough.)

Apparently they have a meeting with a possible patron in Badside in two day’s time. I promise to be there.

Freezeday, Stasisweek, Earthseason, 1614 TA

So we meet for our noon meal at the Butchered Bison in Badside. The décor is shambolic, the food and drink indifferent (but cheap). The air reeks of stale beer and sweat, overlaid with the stench of offal from the butchering grounds, which hangs over all of Badside.

We’re here to meet a fellow called Nesiotes as part of a complex deal between him and their patron, Watu. Watu has actually contracted them as mercenaries for a year and has offered their pre-paid services for a certain venture as part payment for his deal over something that doesn’t concern us.

Actually, I’m not contracted to Watu, in fact I’ve never met the man, but I do need wages so why not show willing?

When he arrives, as we nurse beer as weak as dishwater, Nesiotes proves to be a tall, gangling man, dressed in leathers, cut with a certain style. He swans in, waves to the barman, calling for beer for himself and some lads by the door and then comes across to us. He dresses like a businessman but his hands have seen hard, manual labour.

He greets us, asks if we’re the people sent by Watu, but I think he may already have my companions’ descriptions from their patron. He doesn’t look askance at me, but I do get the feeling he was expecting there to be more of us.

His beer arrives and he gets down to business – and his business is looting Old Pavis – though he ardently insists he is not a looter, but a licensed salvager of building materials. What Nesiotes does is obtain building materials on commission from clients – he locates, reclaims, cleans and delivers his commissions – all for a fee, of course.

He needs guards for an imminent trip into the Rubble. He confesses that three other teams who normally do things like this have let him down.

When he started his business the work was pretty straightforward but, since the Lunars invaded (Nesiotes says ‘liberated’, but I can hear the quotes round the word), he’s been forced to pay taxes, purchase licenses and bribe officials, all of which have made things more difficult and eaten into his profit margins.

Recently, the Lunar Empire has reorganised the Rubble, dividing it into zones and parcelling them out to their cronies. Nesiotes currently holds a valid license but this expires in a few days and it will not be renewed any time soon, so he wants to mount one last lucrative venture before the Lunars put him out of business.

Now he knows ‘we’ are contracted to Watu but he believes all who work for him should be paid so he offers each of us 25 Lunars plus 10% of the profits when he sells the salvaged materials. On top of this, he will provide food, drink and tents for an overnight camp. He also says that in the event of violence, any prisoners we take or any salvage from miscreants we kill or capture, are ours.

He has three teams each of six men plus a team-leader, all under a foreman plus a master mason, a scribe and a quartermaster. He himself will not be going in. Transport into the Rubble will be by boats piloted by Newtlings, from which the expedition will travel overland to what was once a grain mill, where Nesiotes hopes we will recover three intact millstones. The last such he recovered brought in 500 Lunars, which I think is meant to entice us with possible riches.

He wants us at the Rivergate moorings at first light tomorrow. We’ll be camping at least one but no more than two nights and definitely coming out no later than Fireday because that’s when Nesiotes’ license expires. Our job is to ensure the reclamation work is uninterrupted by anything untoward. He leaves it to us how we do that – watches, patrols, etc, he leaves in our hands.

I’m happy to sign up, for no other reason than to get my first close-up view of Old Pavis. Once Nesiotes has gone I ask Ormiston, Torvald and Claig how well they know the place. They tell me the Rubble is big and they’ve barely touched it. Ormiston asks what I’m looking for so I tell them – the old Dragon Temple – yes, I know it’s probably been looted but there’s carvings on the stonework and it’s an obvious place to focus research. They all tell me I should speak to Watu.

They want to go shopping. There’s a moderate list of stuff I could do with – a zebra, a bow and quiver, possibly more robust armour, should violence become too prevalent. But for now I lack the funds to pay for any of this. I say I’ll see them by the river at dawn tomorrow.

Waterday, Stasisweek, Earthseason, 1614 TA – dawn

I make my way to the Rivergate moorings as a truly marvellous sunrise spreads from the East. It promises to be a beautiful day, wonderfully bright and not too hot, since it’s Earthseason. A most auspicious day for any Elmali. I give a short prayer to Elmal on my first glimpse of his disc. “Our thanks for your first light, oh gracious Lord; may your radiance light up our endeavours this day.”

I join up with Claig, Torvald and Ormiston to view the expedition loading onto dozens of Newtling reed boats, each between three and six yards long, some of which have been lashed together to create something rather larger – doubtless there’s a name for it in the Newtling tongue.

We shouldn’t be shocked to find the six men in each salvage team are all chained slaves – the practise is legal, after all, though we, the Colymari, find the practise distasteful. None of them have any markings betraying clan origins so they are probably from outside Sartar or else bred as slaves. It is, of course, another way to limit overheads in Nesiotes’ core business. At least they look healthy and well fed but we cannot expect any help from them in repelling unpleasantness of any nature but their overseers are three large, well-muscled men with whips.

The equipment being stowed includes cooking and camping gear, food and drink, tools for digging, ropes, etc, etc, and three low sledges on which to carry it all.

As we gaze over all the activity a man steps up from supervising the loading, offering his hand to Ormiston. Having introduced himself as Scopas, Nesiotes’ foreman for the venture, he says something strange, about being used to being captain of such ventures but that he gets a special ‘kick’ out of being in charge of soldiers!

Well, I wouldn’t exactly call myself a soldier, but I can’t help muttering under my breath, “I’m sure it can be arranged”.

As we go down, the Newtlings seem to ignore me but I notice they treat Ormiston, Claig and Torvald with marked reverence – I catch the title ‘River Voices’ being used about them. I seem to recall Mirry mentioning something about a river action in her letters.

The chief Newtling is called Longtail. As we’re looking for our boat, he accosts us, saying we’re carrying too much and he wants each of us to shed something. This is absurd, are we supposed to just leave a heap on the quay? I’m wearing protective gear and carry weapons because I’ve been hired to, if necessary, fight. I carry a backpack with my writing gear because, despite the weapons, I’m a scholar, and I’m not about to just abandon anything on the quay, where I’m sure it will be stolen as soon as we round the first bend. Torvald observes that these boats will be returning with three millstones so they cannot possibly be overloaded.

I bluntly refuse Longtail’s request and the others do the same. But then Scopas smooths things over, saying that Longtail was merely trying to ensure that the security team’s fighting efficiency is not impaired by being over-encumbered. Yeah, right! Somehow I feel the reverence for ‘River Voices’ doesn’t extend all that far.

Scopas introduces us to Pluron, the expedition’s scribe, busily making notes on a wax tablet. After giving him our names, Scopas asks how long it will take us to reach the destination. Pluron consults his tablet, his response is fussily precise – he’s that sort of a man – half an hour by boat, then another half hour overland, but his estimates are in minutes (he shows Ormiston and I his tablet when he learns we too are scholars).

I don’t hear any estimation of offloading times and we are, let’s face it, heading into ruins known to be infested with all manner of feral Chaos critters, so I would expect these times to slip. But Pluron assures us that the overland route from here would take upward of two and a half hours.

There’s no sign of the mason, possibly he’s already gone ahead with the advance party.

We settle into one of the boats. Newtlings check everything is stowed and I see Scopas raking the bank for anything overlooked. Then all the boats are pushed off the quay by the powerful legs of swimming Newtlings who board once we’re in midstream, effortlessly swarming up and into the boats with hardly a ripple.

Once we’re moving, Pluron shouts across from his boat to Ormiston and I – he’s heard ‘we’ fought an infamous Giant Gorp in the Zola Fel river (I recall Mirry mentioning something about this). I shout back that I wasn’t involved in that but Ormiston and the others were. Ormiston relates the story and I confess to being as enraptured as Pluron, for the first time hearing it first hand.

We pass Old Pavis wall, which was legendarily built by giants – it’s a shame and truly shocking that Trolls could bring about the downfall of such a powerful city. The river has mostly steep embankments but there are a few points here and there where we can disembark. We pass an old canal, now hopelessly choked with masonry.

Then we’re approaching Zebra Bridge – a brilliant white band across the river. The Newtlings are suddenly animate – apparently these waters are not as placid as those behind us. Pluron seems to trust the Newtlings. A child waves from the bridge as we pass under – I wave back.

Past Zebra Bridge the ruins to the right peter out. A Newtling calls out and Scopas observes that we’re approaching the entrance to Puzzle Canal and we should hunker down but, “at least the cliff toads have gone”. Well that’s reassuring – I have no idea how we’d stop cliff toads just picking us off with their tongues.

Scopas shouts out that Puzzle Canal is reputed to hold great treasures but I for one don’t intend to plumb its depths – if the Newtlings aren’t willing to risk it, neither am I, who lack their obvious advantages. The canal entrance once had a bronze grating but that’s long gone – bronze is highly valuable so doubtless Nesiotes or someone like him looted it. What’s left looks like the maw of some chthonic monster out of legend. I’m very happy when the Newtlings pole us over to the opposite bank, giving it a wide birth.

Just as Pluron estimated, our boat trip reaches our destination within the half hour with Elmal still barely clear of the horizon. The banks of the Zola Fel rise up, almost sheer, but there’s a notch in the walls to the left with a jetty jutting out into the water. The harbour here must once have been very busy but now it’s badly silted up with thick reeds choking the marina, but the quay at least looks serviceable for our needs.

From the quay a stair is cut into the wall, following the outside for a few yards up to a small mezzanine from which another stair heads straight up and into the wall. The river here is more of a canal, the course having been cut deeply into the rock, hence the steep escarpments to either side. Along both banks, once desirable residences were built along the top with lower stories dug directly into the rock below, as revealed by gaping windows in the rock walls either side of the stair. I have no idea what they must be like inside. Old Pavis has been ruined for centuries.

It all looks quiet but it’s our job to see it stays that way so we’re first out to secure the top of the stair while the slaves start unloading behind us. The quay has obviously been cleared of all debris recently – seemingly pushed to the end of the quay on the right, away from the stair. No doubt the work of Nesiotes’ advance party.

Claig is the first to reach the mezzanine and look up the main stair, where he finds a blockage – a decorative column has fallen from a wall on the right, by the looks of it. The rest of the stair looks clean so this must have happened very recently, possibly overnight. Torvald is immediately suspicious, thinking ambushers may lie in wait behind it or at the top of the stairs, but no one shoots at us as we stand there. It looks heavy but Scopas has the manpower to shift it. Our job to ensure he doesn’t lose slaves doing that.

We Elmalis are trained in military architecture, it’s part of our culture. While I’m not sure these works were built as fortifications, nonetheless I should be able to see signs if ambushers are using them as impromptu defences. I take a step back and cast my gaze over the broken column and upward, seeking its origin.

To my eye, it looks like it fell carelessly, dislodged as part of some other activity. Above our heads, two doors open surprisingly on to what once were balconies, now long gone. This column came from near the right-hand opening, that shows signs of damage to either side, as if something large clambered in or out, casually breaking the pillar in its passing. I step back and look up and I glimpse something lurking within – something huge. Then Claig joins me and his more experienced eye identifies it as a cliff toad!

Well, we need to deal with this, it’s exactly what we’ve been hired for. Unfortunately, the height impairs the use of my javelins, though a couple of the others have bows.

Then Claig says he’s going to use runemagic given by his God – nothing less than Sever Spirit! I stand in awe as he closes his eyes to meditate upon an appropriate rune, (presumably Death). Then he opens his eyes and invokes Humakt’s most dread spell upon this hideous Chaos!

Actually, the result is more than a little disappointing. Instead of a scream of agony and a dead body slumping out the opening, the thing just sort of grunts and shuffles back, out of sight. Claig claims to have hurt it but it’s still up there and we have to find a better way to deal with it.

Torvald and I take advantage of the thing’s retreat. He climbs nimbly up the left wall to a similar door across from the cliff toad’s lair, while I simply scurry up the right side of the stair – the critter will have to lean out and look down to attack me so I’m relatively safe. As I go up I ready a javelin, casting Speedart – if it sticks it’s head out, which it must to attack, I will be in a position to take advantage. Meanwhile Ormiston and Claig prepare their bows.

As I go up, Ormiston opens with more runemagic, calling lightning to strike the critter, which squeals. Claig shoots his bow but the arrow flies high and is lost in the ruins. Torvald hits with a clear shot, but his arrow bounces off the thing’s snout. Then Ormiston’s arrow also misses.

I take a brief look round at the top because I don’t like unpleasant surprises, but all seems quiet. Then, I turn back to see the toad is leaning out of the doorway – may Elmal strike me blind, but it’s huge! As I cast Strength to augment my prowess, the tongue lashes out, missing Ormiston by a whisker. He and Claig have dropped their bows and are reaching for weapons.

I cast my javelin, which flies true, narrowly passing the nearside door jamb, hitting the cliff toad in its hindquarters – I’m sure that hurt but I’ve no idea how much. Torvald and Gehyra also use their Disrupts and Gehyra is sure hers hits.

Torwald Disrupts it again as I prepare another javelin. Casting Speedart, my throw flies true, this time hitting the thing’s head. Again its tongue lashes out, this time at Claig, who nonchalantly steps aside and slices the end off with his greatsword. Then, abruptly, the thing slumps in death.

Ormiston joins me at the top of the stairs while Claig starts climbing the wall to the monster and Torvald effortlessly leaps across to the other door. There they examine the evil thing. Torvald detects no magic, but he even slices it open with a flint knife, in case it’s swallowed anything valuable. But all he finds is noisome stomach contents – highly corrosive – anything valuable in that wouldn’t last long. The fact that there’s no recent prey suggests it was hungry.

Meanwhile, I recover and clean my javelins. The slaves clear the broken pillar and the severed tongue. Half an hour later all the kit is loaded on the three sledges at the top of the stairs. Scopal is very disappointed to find the advance party has made no attempt to clear the street – he obviously thought it would be as clean as the stairs. To be fair, that would have been a massive task. Scopal thinks the overland trip will take two hours rather than the 30-40 minutes estimated by Pluron.

It’s time to set off – I hope there’s no more cliff toads.