by RW Krpoun
When the meal was complete the women left the area and more beer was brought out. “You have no fear for the Horde?” Sanobi asked Shad. “Most of the settled avoid them.”
“We know caution, not fear,” Shad said carefully. “This engagement was more a chance occurrence amidst buffalo.”
Sanobi grinned. “Uttle told of a great battle.”
“Uttle was wrapped up in a buffalo hide until some time had passed after the last exchange of blows,” Shad grinned back. “His gratitude is greater than the facts.”
The clan chief nodded. “Still, the Horde are grim fighters, and they do not forget a slight. You are bound for Bloodseep?”
“The town? Yes.”
“We have just returned from trading there,” Sanobi waved towards the ox-carts. “We trade hides and dried meat, stone and herbs for spearheads, iron, wire, the grinding of grain, and other things of use. It went well; the black-coats are hard traders but honest in measure and quality.”
Jeff eased into the conversation and Shad gratefully eased out, happy to let the glib Shop teacher handle the social interaction. As soon as was polite the Shootist excused himself to take to his bedroll. While the class skills that let him ride as if he knew what he was doing had also saved him from the stiffness and soreness of a novice rider, he had learned that while it was easier than walking with a pack, riding twenty-five miles a day for days on end was not easy.
The morning dawned cool and overcast; the Black Talons rolled out of bed while the sky was more black than gray and ate jerky in the saddle. The Green Wave camp was just stirring as they guided their horses onto the road, Uttle sound asleep atop the pack saddle. Jeff asked the sentry nearest the road to convey their thanks to Sanobi.
“So what did you learn?” Shad asked when they were out of rifle shot of the camp.
“Their beer isn’t bad, but it has a pretty awful aftertaste when you burp,” Fred raised up in his saddle to wetly break wind.
“Man, just wipe and call it a dump,” Shad guided Buttercup away from the Scout/Hunter.
“I picked up quite a bit, actually,” Jeff used his hat to fan the air between himself and Fred. “The term ‘Celt’ means Human groups whose primary occupation is hunting bison, much like the Plains Indians. Some are ethnically based, like the Waves, some are pan-ethnic, and not all are friendly with outsiders. Or each other. The Wave clans are pretty large; what we met last night was just a trade group. Their clan plants various crops in the spring as they follow the herd, and they harvest them when they come back in the fall, a pattern most follow.”
“How do they hunt bison without horses?” Shad shook his head as Fred released another eruption.
“On foot with those long spears. Only the Wave clans hunt on foot, the rest use horses. From what I could learn the Celts include Africans, Asians, Whites, and American Indians; the latter are universally acclaimed as the toughest of the lot, probably because they had a big head start, culturally speaking.”
“It’s nice that they got a break for a change,” Derek observed.
“True,” Shad nodded. “Well, I guess it’s obvious that the supply of bison would impact the cultures around it. Without a massive industrial population or rail lines there’s no economic model calling for bulk slaughter. Where do the Celts fall within the bigger power structure?”
“They all hate the Tek, and nearly all hate the Horde. I didn’t get much about the Sivlic, as they keep to themselves and are pretty non-violent. The Celts call the two Human nations ‘the settled’ or ‘landsmen’. There’s two major powers, but Sanobi only knows of the smaller nation, the Protectorate of Tauni, whom Sanobi calls ‘the black coats’ for their manner of dress.”
“So we’ve got the Tek and the Horde, each pretty much against everyone else,” Shad mused. “Against all but a few Celts and two Human realms.”
“Yeah. The Humans have numbers and some have guns, but are fragmented, the Tek have better magic, unity, and the raptors, while the Horde has unity and a mobile society which makes ‘em hard to effectively hurt. A pretty thorough balance of power.”
“What about the Death Lords?”
“Sanobi has heard of ‘em but has no first-hand experience or knowledge.”
“Three power blocs who will never unite, and the largest, Humanity, is split into factions,” Derek shook his head. “Sitting ducks for the necromancers. No wonder a group is trying to attack the roads-that’s their only chance.”
“But the only worry Cecil has on his mind is the life of his beloved,” Shad rubbed his scar. “That does not sit well with me. The guy is a powerful magic-user so he has to have some intellectual voltage going, but in the early stages of a genocidal invasion all he can think about is his squeeze? And his go-to solution to this personal crisis is to blackmail us?”
“It doesn’t fit terribly well,” Jeff shrugged. “But that argues in its favor, doesn’t it? People don’t always make sense.”
“Never say never,” Shad conceded. “But he put us on the game board for a reason, and bitter experience tells me to be suspicious of that sort of thing.”
“Could be we’re not the only piece in play,” Fred muttered, then broke wind with a smile.
“True,” Derek fanned the air with his derby. “He could have locals or other outlanders looking for her.”
“We’re guessing at this point,” Shad shook his head. “But we better keep reviewing the topic as new information comes in-we have no friends here but ourselves.”
“And Uttle, who just fell off the pack pony,” Jeff observed, jerking his chin towards the boy, who was sprawled across the ruts looking very startled.
“Yeah, he’s an asset,” Shad rolled his eyes.
Chapter Four
“Huh,” Derek rolled his sleeve back down and buttoned it. “That’s odd.” The Black Talons were two days past their meeting with the Celts, still following the road.
“Thinking about your sex life?” Jeff asked without interest.
“Bite me. No, its noon…”
“Happens every day,” the Shop teacher observed.
“…and we just acquired XP.”
“What?”
“What do you mean, Derek?” Shad slowed Buttercup to fall in on the Scav/Alienist’s other side.
“See, I marked my forearm in ink where we started in experience, after the fight with the Hobgoblins, and so forth. We got a little bump after meeting the Celts, probably for learning stuff. Yesterday I marked it at high noon and today I’ve got a quarter-inch increase.” He tugged down his cuff. “See?”
Shad checked his own. “Yeah, I’m about where you are. What does that mean?”
“In the Prison when we found out what the line meant I started keeping an eye on it, and every day at noon we got a bump, about a quarter inch’s worth. Yesterday and today we got it as well.”
“In the Prison we got a daily boost just for staying alive-we had some heavy hitters after us. Here we’re on a straight rescue job.”
“Maybe the bonus is just for being outlanders,” Jeff suggested.
“No, it stopped when we went native in the Prison, remember? When we worked for the brewery. Not every day, but most days we didn’t get any, and Sam didn’t get any of the daily bumps until he hooked up with us.”
“So why are we getting increases now?” Fred mumbled.
“Because someone is looking for us,” Shad shook his head. “Because we have enemies, only this time we don’t know who.”
“Whom,” Jeff said.
Shad flipped off the Shop teacher. “Good work, Derek. At least we have a bit of warning.”
“So who is gunning for us?” Fred wondered. “Or whom. The Tek and the Horde are, but only in general. Who wants us dead specifically?”
“We’re four low-level outlanders,” Jeff shrugged. “We’re no threat to anyone, really.”
“No doubt we’ll find out the hard way,” Shad observed grimly. “Freakin’ Smaug is probably on our back trail.”
“Good,” Fred patted his Sharps. “We need dragon blood.”
“No point in worrying about it until it shows up,” Derek agreed.
“Yeah, that was the motto of the Infantry School, wasn’t it?” Shad snapped. “Keep it in mind-the sooner we figure out who is lusting after our chitlins the better chance we have of keeping body and soul co-joined.”
“And the sooner we can look into dropping a hammer on whoever it is,” Jeff agreed. “I’m getting tired of being caught up in other people’s wars.”
Since mid-morning the Black Talons had been passing fields fenced with field stone walls, various crops growing from the furrows, although none of the four could accurately guess what the crops were. That deficiency was simply because none of the four knew anything about farming anywhere. Young trees were planted as windbreaks in long double rows stretching for miles, and in the distance they could see farm villages, the buildings made of field stone and muddy-brown brick, and roofed in fired-clay tiles, grouped closely together.
“Notice the lack of windows facing out?” Shad jerked his head towards one such village. “Its too far to see, but I bet they have firing ports on that side.”
“They won’t burn, and they’re pulled in tight together,” Jeff agreed. “It would be murder getting to them, and a shooting galley once you got inside the village.”
“Even muzzle-loaders would raise the butcher’s bill beyond what the place would be worth.”
The clouds overhead began sprinkling rain not long after noon, and the Talons donned their ponchos. Derek offered his to Uttle, but the boy waved it away and sat bare-chest in the rain, grinning.
“Agreeable little guy,” Jeff observed to Shad.
“Yeah,” the Shootist glanced back at the boy. “I hope there’s some of his kind at Bloodseep so we can unload him.”
“You got something on your mind?”
Shad shrugged. “Trying to wrap my mind around this place. The first time I ran on shock and Iraq reflexes, but this time is different. The Prison was small-time, just unmotivated people going about their lives. Here we’re got pretty sizeable tribal structures, organized nations, whatever the Tek are, plus a necromantic invasion. This is way above my pay grade.”
“This run does feel different,” Jeff sighed. “In the Prison I think I didn’t really accept that I wasn’t dreaming until I had been wounded the first time. Coming here awake…I don’t know, it really has changed the personal dynamic. This is a deadly serious business, and I thought I was done with anything more dangerous than teenagers learning how to use a table saw.”
“At least Amid let slip that we can still short out our wards, although we’ll need a new recipe,” Shad adjusted his hat. “That’s good news.”
“I wish we had Sam again. He had a handy skill-set.”
“Its true, I never took Bards seriously before then,” Shad agreed.
Bloodseep came into view late in the afternoon, a town of around eight thousand people situated a hundred yards north of the road, which continued on past. The town was neatly laid out in a grid of streets oriented with the compass, and filled with one and two-story brick buildings with tiled roofs. Timber watch towers rose on all four sides of the town, and a blockhouse stood where the lane that connected the town with the road entered the city proper.
“Looks like they take security seriously enough,” Jeff observed. “What’s the plan?”
“Hot meals, real beds, and a bath to start,” Shad flicked his hat to the side to get rid of water. “Get information, sell our loot, secure a pack mule and some more gear, and look for a job. We need to increase our resources, knowledge, and level before we can think about making a move.”
There were guards at the blockhouse watching the sparse traffic, men in gray tunics and light blue trousers armed with what looked to Shad to be Enfield Pattern 1853 muzzle-loading rifles with fixed bayonets.
Fred was in the lead as the Talons came abreast of the blockhouse; a smartly-turned-out young man stepped into the roadway and held the barrel of his rifle at an angle, blocking Fred’s passage without appearing threatening. “What is your business in Bloodseep, sir?”
Fred stared at the soldier. “Ahhhhhh….”
Jeff urged Dancer forward. “Shelter, food, trade, and returning this young lad to his people,” he gestured back towards Uttle, who grinned and waved.
The soldier looked from Fred to Jeff and back again. “Anything to declare, sir?”
“He is not a Scav,” Fred pointed at Derek.
The soldier glanced at a somewhat older soldier with chevrons on his sleeve who was standing in the blockhouse’s door, and then stepped back. “Enjoy your stay, gentlefolk.”
“Thank you,” Jeff smiled and nodded. When they were safely past the blockhouse he leaned over to the Scout/Hunter. “What the hell? ‘Hookers and beer’ would have sufficed,” he hissed.
“Way to sell me out, asshole,” Derek agreed.
“He caught me off guard,” Fred shrugged.
Shad shook his head. “We’ve been riding to this place for days, and you choked? Stay in the back of the group from now on. Uttle could have done a better job.”
Fred broke wind by way of a response.
Bloodseep boasted cobblestone streets and actual sidewalks, most of which were just planks but a growing number of which were rough-sided brick. Thanks to the rain there were few people moving about, and those who were outdoors stayed mindful of their own business.
“Hence the name Sanobi used,” Jeff jerked his chin at the passers-by: the men wore severely-cut black coats, black breeches, black stockings, white shirts, and black shoes or boots, the whole topped with what Jeff would have called a flat-topped newsboy’s or golfing cap, in black. Women wore long-skirted open-front black dresses and a white blouse or shirt, and a black hat that was reminiscent of a fedora. Children dressed like their elders, except boys did without the coat and both youthful genders went bareheaded or wore undyed straw hats.
“Fun-looking bunch,” Shad muttered, donning his vest and knotting his string tie under his poncho.
“Like a city-wide funeral,” Derek agreed.
“Mostly White folks, some Asian,” Jeff observed quietly as they rode deeper into town. “Excuse me, sir, could I trouble you for directions to an inn or boarding house?”
A husky young man paused, glanced over the little group, and pointed. “Take yon left, and you’ll soon see the lights.”
“Thank you, sir. Would you happen to know if there are any Sivlic in town?”
“Continue straight, third left takes you to the square; there were some trading there this morn,” the man’s voice had a touch of an accent about it, a bit like Irish perhaps. “Where did you encounter the lad?”
“We ended up with him after a scrap with Hobgoblins,” Jeff said truthfully. “We captured the pack pony and found him trussed up like a prize calf.”
“Did you kill any of the beasties?”
“A few.”
“Good. A pleasant evening to you,” the young man tipped his hat.
“And to you.” Jeff waited until the man was out of earshot. “Some solid opinions, I see.”
“The only good one is a dead one,” Shad nodded. “Let’s check the square first. Uttle probably has people worried about him.”
“You just don’t want to buy him dinner,” Derek accused.
“I don’t want to buy you dinner, either.”
Despite the rain the town square was fairly busy, with farmers offering items of produce and meat, pushcart peddlers, and various traders. As the Black Talon rode along the flanking roadway they were startled by a sudden shriek and then a trio of Sivlic women were racing towards them. They were taller than Uttle but still short, perhaps five feet tall, wearing brightly colored and embroidered aprons around their waists and a strip of black cloth tied around their breasts. Uttle shouted excitedly in response and jumped off the pony to meet them, the four crashing into a multi-limbed embrace.
�
��Well, that was easy,” Derek observed.
“Here come the rest,” Jeff jerked his chin to indicate a half dozen adult Sivlic trotting over, five males and another female. Even the adult males were no more than five foot three.
After a few minutes of reunion one male with gray in his hair (all his visible hair) came over. “You are rescuers?” he said haltingly in the manner of one who knows some words of a foreign language but not too many, and not a lot of the business of formal sentence structure.
“We are the Black Talons,” Jeff tipped his hat. “We got him from a band of Hobgoblins.”
“Hobgoblins,” the male said grimly. “Bad.”
“The Hobs are liked by all, aren’t they?” Derek observed to Shad. “By the way: no horns.”
“Or pan flutes, so far.”
Finally a laughing Uttle led a female over to the Black Talons and chattered something at her. “Hello,” she said, from the waist up a pretty dark-haired woman of perhaps thirty. “I am Jedant, Uttle’s…mother’s sister.” She spoke the language better, but still had to think before putting words together. “We come with traders hoping…men with guns saw Uttle.”
“Soldiers,” Derek said quietly.
“We are very happy to be having him again. We are thanking you very-very much.”
“We were glad to be of service,” Jeff assured her. “He was a big help to us-we were lost and he showed us the way to this place.”
“We do not have…much money but…we wish to reward you.”
Jeff shook his head. “We do not need money. We like children and hate Hobgoblins. Uttle is very brave and a good companion.”
“What does he mean, we don’t want money?” Derek hissed to Shad.
“We could use friends more than pocket change,” the Shootist muttered back. “You never know when a good deed will come back on you.”