by Han Yang
The three of them walked through the bank’s courtyard. The area held marble statues, intricate water fountains, fancy cobbler stones, and minimal people in lavish clothing.
They paused at the double gate that led out of the banking district. Outside the gate, the bustle of the city roared loudly with the street jammed with people.
Asha paused and said, “I value my friends not being at each other’s throats.”
“Again, our family affairs do not affect you. When you and Yermica take a spare to your bed or join an orgy, you don’t hear me pestering you,” Bell said.
“I don’t hide, deceive, or alter appearances. Big difference,” Asha said with a sigh, “but I am in the wrong. I thought Tarla didn’t know.
Charlie laughed at this. Bell smirked. “Look who’s on my side. I’m apologizing for your concern, but fret not, my friend.”
Asha grumbled but accepted this as enough for the moment. The gates squeaked as the guards opened them. The trio entered the throng of Pherr citizens.
The trip towards the smithing guild left Asha missing the forest. At least Damien had added trees in his city and outside of it. Here, the four-story buildings reflected the sunlight with their white sheen.
The structures served a purpose that gave them a life of their own. They passed bars with working girls on balconies, general merchants, and vendors around waterfall intersections. The light rain didn’t deter anyone from their daily activities, and Danbei hummed a happy tune.
The tall buildings shifted toward immense warehouses. The clang of blacksmiths crafting their work rang loud through this part of the city. Danbei tied Charlie to a hitching post and Bell stayed in the saddle, not wanting to get down.
Danbei led Asha into a warehouse with a rusty sign that read - trading post. Guards kept the poor out while letting them in without a second glance. Inside, he saw four rows of tellers, one for each side wall and two in the middle back-to-back.
The busy atmosphere created a roaring echo of small talk. Tellers talked prices with customers while managers approved transactions through a ledger system. Asha waited in a queue for a few minutes, deciding to avoid conversations with his miscee guide.
She was friendly but rather dull. If he had to guess, it was a defense mechanism to ward off suitors. When the time came to pester the cage attendant about ore, a manager occupied her spot.
The fellow stood a head taller than Asha, and his formal suit didn’t help the rancid stench of onions on his breath.
“Hey, Danbei. What’s this one need?” the manager asked, not speaking to Asha directly.
He knew better than to stomp his foot or complain. This wasn’t a negotiation, merely a transaction.
“Ore, metal ingots, tools, weapons, and fishing supplies,” Danbei said in a pleasant tone.
The man licked his thumb and index finger, flipping through a large ledger on the desk. He stopped flipping the pages, glancing up to lock eyes with Danbei.
“Yes to the ore at an ogre’s weight, and yes to a hundred bars. The tools I can do a wagon load of random types. The fishing supplies don’t exist here. For the weapons, you’ll need to visit the armory, but I can tell you not to bother. We’re entering a war footing at the moment, so crafted steel for killing is spoken for,” the manager said.
Danbei walked forward to loom over the book. The manager turned it for her, and she said, “Two ogre weights, two hundred bars, and two wagons of tools. They will pay the ten percent premium.”
Asha bit his inner cheek to keep back his reply. He would pay a premium and had said as much to the teller at the banking guild. However, hearing it out loud bothered him.
The manager snapped the book shut and said, “A pleasure doing business with you, Danbei. Good luck, wayward traveler.”
Danbei led him outside until he reached Bell. The woman doted on Charlie, ignoring their arrival.
Danbei said, “At this time tomorrow, the wagons will be at your portal, assuming the scouts clear the route. Do you want to withdraw your excess or spend the rest?”
“Spend. We have plenty of gems and gold we can bring over. Since you’re going to war here soon, maybe you have slaves you can sell instead of mercenaries?” Asha asked.
“There are three groups. Those in the fighting pits and be warned, because Pitmaster Oreng hates selling his fighters and the Emperor relies on the income. For the right price sure, but you have to understand, we don’t use those troops and neither should you.
“Then there are the aggressive species for sale that we capture. They are used for hard labor, fetishes, and underground arenas. Finally, we have the docile species; the goblins, miscee, korb, and more,” Danbei said.
“And the limits on acquisition?” Bell asked.
“With the coming war, none. We need the Zorta more than the gold or gems, but the latter can be used to buy Zorta as the fighting season starts. We use portals and collect species as we go, hence the wide selection.
“We have some rather unique species nearby. For the most part, our military captures the pandree and bellonix during the summer. Both species like to raid our farming outposts. The skirmishes last until the snows fall, and then we return to rebuild all over again. Are you familiar with those species?” Danbei asked.
Asha was familiar. He had studied them both.
Bell said, “I am not. However, our portal can only accept two hundred more. So, we would want the best, and if this… Pitmaster is not amenable, we can maybe use the workers from Ostriva. Not ideal, but it would free up laborers to fight our spring and summer fights. Tell me more about these workers and this pitmaster.”
Danbei blinked repeatedly, calculating how to reply. “The pandree are furred humanoids that stand shoulder high to an average human. They excel with dart slingers. Their fawn fur comes in many pattern variances, and the ones who surrender turn docile. The key is to keep them away from the bellonix.
“The bellonix are a hunchback species that stand half as tall as an ogre. They have a single club fist and another for common tasks. Their thick hide makes them great for melee combat in close quarters.
“Both species work for their cyclops overlords. We tend to rarely fight the cyclops who ‘throne it up’ in their forest cities. That brings us to the pitmaster. We take good care of our fighters. Some cities let them die and stay dead. We always revive them. The winners have a grand life while the losers eventually get cycled out to do labor jobs.”
Asha smiled and said, “May we visit Pitmaster Oreng?”
“He won’t like you, but yes,” Danbei said. “Luckily, it’s not too far from here and next to the servant market for once things turn sour.”
She led them down a side alley, through a park where children played, and by a lake where fishermen tried their luck. The city birds darted between trees, and when they returned to the busy streets, Asha could see the arena looming large in the distance.
The light rain faded with the sun glistening off small puddles. They walked in silence, and Asha noted quite a few miscee carrying out errands for their masters. The society here was relaxed on the inclusion of non-humans. Trolls, korb, and goblins worked on their tasks.
More than a few goblins arched noses into the air, catching a whiff of our goblin scent.
Soldiers in heavy armor clanked from their precision marching, moving along any who tried to stop and clog the road. Light armor-wearing constables patrolled the alleys, keeping the beggars to that zone.
Danbei entered a channel of alleyways, knowing exactly where to go.
The bridging between buildings cast dark shadows while obstructing his view, leaving Asha frustrated. The dim lighting, refuse in piles, and homeless begging for handouts concerned him. Were they about to walk into a trap?
He stayed on edge until they arrived under a grand entrance. Danbei led them through a tunnel and down two sets of stairs until they finally could see the sands of the arena.
“Again,” a voice snapped.
The grit crunched
underfoot, and Asha smelled a foul odor. He instantly recognized the stench – the grime of a cyclops.
“Halt,” the voice commanded. “Stand at the ready. We have unexpected guests. Get the door, Lotus, my dear.”
They waited at a metal door with gaps to let air flow through. A goblin finagled with the interior lock while Asha stole peeks into the arena, seeing an assortment of Ostriva species mixed with humans in neat formations meant for training.
Asha frowned, not finding the cyclops.
When the door creaked open with a groan, he stepped onto the stands. Sitting in the bleachers rested the largest cyclops he’d ever seen. This one was a full head taller than even Sprinkles.
It took a moment, but even Bell caught on that the cyclops had called the female goblin ‘dear’.
“Welcome to my arena, human in disguise, and… interesting. Forgive my manners, I’m Oreng. These are my latest trainees, and you met my wife... who is acting odd around you,” Oreng said.
Lotus sniffed Bell’s leg with eyes flared wide. She quickly turned to the cyclops using hand signals to talk to him.
Danbei said, “Rude. We hate it when you two do that.”
“Sheesh. Not like you care, pawn of the banks. Lotus, are you sure?” Oreng asked.
Lotus nodded emphatically.
“What is going on?” Bell asked.
“I’d like to know too,” Danbei said.
Oreng stood, looming over the group, and boomed, “Dismissed.”
When the trainees exited through side doors, the big cyclops plopped down into the middle of the arena. Lotus ran over and climbed up his sweat stained clothing to perch on his shoulder.
Asha said, “He is a wise and calculating cyclops. He likely deduced we are friendly with a neighboring unit of cyclops.”
“Interesting. And yes, he is indeed cunning,” Danbei said.
“Not cunning enough to escape capture,” Bell scoffed.
Asha frowned at her. Her lack of tact aside, she had a point. This cyclops would predate the cataclysm by a few thousand years, meaning he was not a fool and shouldn’t be there.
“I traded myself for twenty of my kind to be released. I swore an oath and signed a contract for ten years of teaching while managing the arena. That contract ended twenty years ago. I never had anywhere else to go, until now,” Oreng said.
Asha tapped a foot in confusion. “Why? And how are you worth twenty cyclops?”
“Direct and to the point. I like it. My three sons went to rescue a lost friend of theirs, falling victim to a well-orchestrated trap. That year the war was exceedingly brutal, and I was the opposing general. Twenty cyclops for me, my skills, and a year of peace. The caveat was that I could never go home to potentially take up arms against the Pherr Empire again,” Oreng said with a grunt.
“He tells the truth. I expected him to hate you and send you away, just like he does with all the humans who try to barter with him. You said he was in disguise, how so?” Danbei asked.
“I can lie, but I won’t. He is a master with a sword. He may look like a trader or a diplomat, but the truth is that he moves and smells like an assassin,” Oreng said, telling the truth without revealing his identity.
Asha smirked and said, “I have no qualms with your people and merely wish to trade.”
“And the leg sniffing?” Danbei asked.
“Goblin ogre,” Bell said.
Danbei rolled her eyes. “What a waste. If you do it, the goblins flock to your area until enough die unhappily to wash the stench away. I know this because we had a noble upgrade of their goblins and it caused a shit storm in the city.” The miscee used an unusual amount of sass. She tossed her hands on her hips and said, “Are you sure, Oreng? The Emperor will be upset at your loss.”
“He has no choice. I will go to the labor camps to pick those who follow me. Send the word,” Oreng commanded.
“I don’t take orders from a cyclops. I’m going to deliver your request to the Emperor and await his judgement,” Danbie said.
They watched her stomp out of the arena. Bell went to talk, but Lotus shushed her loudly.
“Not here, not now. You have room for how many in the portal?” Oreng asked.
“Two hundred and fifty, but we like to keep it closer to two hundred. Be forewarned; where we go there is war, death, and destruction,” Asha said.
“Good thing I’m a general then, isn’t it?” Oreng asked. “Don’t expect me to do much more than manage troops, though. My magic is voice enhancement.”
“Indeed, it is. I sense the start of a great friendship. We have many folks at home who will be eager to meet you,” Asha said with a grin.
Intermission 2
Freninick Xastriban
Wurm Labirnyth - Satyr Floor
Freninick rode in silence, allowing the jostle of the rhino to help his thoughts process. He worried about Damien. His friend had lied to him, but he wasn’t sure if it was unwittingly or intentional.
If an outright lie, it would be a first, but still, a lie that he could have avoided in the company of others.
The question running through his mind was whether he would have done the same thing.
The answer kept coming back to yes. The trolls were a liability, and he saw that the more he mulled over the conversation.
The stone bridge ended, and a descending tunnel began for the thirteen riders and fourteen mounts. A dry heat blew over his fur, giving him a reprieve from the humid matogator floor. If the whole thing was a trap, it was one of the times he expected his escort to try to turn on him.
“Why follow the human?” Demtrion asked.
Demtrion had introduced himself earlier and was the only one who had said anything on the ride to this point. Freninick towered over them all, likely angering the other minotaurs. The friendly tone told him his hand could come off his dagger’s hilt.
Freninick snorted and said, “I follow Mezonia and her golden tits.”
“Ha! I see you are a minotaur of culture and taste. I bet -”
Demtrion’s playful banter stopped when a minotaur from ahead glared back and said, “He is a thrall to a demon, De. A human one at that. Try not to befriend our enemy.”
“Enemy?” Freninick questioned.
The rider tossed a hand in the air, beyond frustrated and done with the conversation.
“His brother is among the missing,” Demtrion said sadly. “That and he is low on the aging list. That taur used to be bigger than most of the captains. The last day has been a lot for most of us to accept.”
Freninick didn’t respond. Nothing he said could help. This did tell him that the minotaur in front of him was a veteran, meaning they had sent a warrior instead of a diplomat which didn’t bode well.
“So, why do you serve the necromancer?” Demtrion prodded.
He shook his head, not exactly wanting to get into a morality debate with another minotaur. These magical sun lovers served wurm lords. While not insane, it did bring doubt to Freninick’s mind.
He also sensed he was being pumped for information.
“The necromancer is gifted. He learns and adapts. More importantly, he wins. I grew a full foot during the Battle of the Snowy Den,” Freninick said with a grunt.
“Killing ogres,” the warrior ahead scoffed.
“Yes, killing ogres. You judge me, but you had a civil war during the battle, killing minotaurs,” Freninick countered.
“Ignore him and his sour attitude. Like I said, he’s bitter, and we will all grow back in time. Does his goddess give you boons?” Demtrion asked, his tone containing a smidge of nervousness.
“Why are you pestering me?” Freninick replied.
“We are about to enter satyr lands, and talking in these large tunnels helps pass the darkness. Merely curious, that’s all,” Demtrion said. He pointed a nub at the staff Damien handed to him. “How does that summon your boss?”
“I can tell you lack the knowledge of champions. Champions are rare and also almost everywhere.
It is prudent to study them, document their time upon Nordan, and learn what you can. A wise minotaur would understand this,” Freninick said.
“Sure, sure, but why not just study King Hartinger?” Demtrion asked.
Freninick let out a mirthful laugh. “I see you possess some knowledge at least. King Hartinger is the largest minotaur I know, growing every year that passes by challenging his battle prowess. One simply does not study such a great and mighty being. King Hartinger would be greatly disheartened to know your people are used as fodder to slow the advances of others. Even the satyr have a deeper floor.”
“On that, we can agree. Too much infighting and not enough stability. That will change now that Bearouth is in charge. The grandson was always the reasonable one. He removed the heads of two factions, and there is only him now.
“He is a wise and cunning leader,” Demtrion said. The tunnel stopped descending and a bright desert sunshine blasted illumination into the big tunnel. “Ah, see, conversation always helps the transition.”
“Do not leave the rhino,” the warrior said.
Freninick didn’t respond, but he did ready a dagger. The tunnel’s exit was a chokepoint. All tactical books said to set ambushes at chokepoint, so he ensured he was ready.
The dagger he clenched belonged to an elf. It was actually a fancy short sword that he repurposed. Since he had met Damien, his size had continued to grow. Even Baroi went from placating him to respecting him. Freninick understood the dynamic he and his friend had was mutually beneficial.
The rhinos trotted toward the opening where a savannah landscape rested. Shin-high golden grass dominated the area with a few animals grazing in the distance. Nothing was near the exit, and the silence from the wildlife gave him all the warning he needed.
He plucked out a few more daggers and readied them in his left palm. The other minotaurs tensed, drawing weapons to the ready. The warrior ushered the spare rhino forward to clear the opening first.
“Get it!” a snarling voice belted out.
Pink goop coated the mount in seconds, locking it into place.
Hooved goatmen stomped forward, casting nets over the rhino. They celebrated for about three seconds until one of them saw the rest of the team.