Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Longing Ring

by kubasik

  The dwarven Kingdom of Throal.

  J'role did not know any longer which mattered more. Rescuing Parlainth or reaching the mountain kingdom across the Serpent.

  I could do both, he thought, and smiled.

  Laughing, Releana said, "Grim is happy again. I'm going to have to get him another name."

  J'role grinned back. Another day, a day only two weeks ago, he would have become angry. Her teasing would have made him afraid, and his fear would have aroused the need to stay separate and become indignant. But not now.

  "Son," his father said abruptly, "where is your mother?" Bevarden looked around as if she might just have wandered off for a moment.

  An echo of loneliness passed through J'role's heart, and he saw the smile quickly leave the face of his companion. Releana had asked about his mother the other day, and he had communicated that she was dead.

  He took his father's hand in his, and felt it shaking. A tremor of fear crawled up his own flesh, and he wondered how much of his life would be taken up sharing the loss of his mother with his father. Grim his name would remain for some time.

  The valley's side was steep in spots, but many trees grew from the sloped ground. They traveled with relative ease by sliding down from one tree to the next. Bevarden was often afraid to rush down to the next tree, but Releana gently coaxed him down the slope.

  J'role knew he could have used the magic to move with greater ease. It would surely be easier to climb down a slope than to climb up a vertical pit with writhing roots. But he knew the magic would draw him away from the others. And even in his silence, he enjoyed being with them.

  Soon the work of getting down the hill had him sweating and breathing faster. Focusing his mind on getting from tree to tree, he turned the work into a game. With the thorn man's magic spear held at his side, J'role raced down to the next tree with Releana to prepare to catch Bevarden. Soon they were nearly slamming into the trees in their efforts.

  Releana laughed out loud; J'role, for fear of- releasing the creature, did not, but smiled broadly. Once more his despairing thoughts left him, shunted out by physical concerns, and he remembered that back in his village he used run to feel better.

  Motion was his ever-present friend.

  After half an hour the slope of the valley became gentle. Slowing their pace, both J'role and Releana began to limp, the effects of their wounds taking a toll after their spirited exertions.

  From beyond the trees they heard the continuous running of the river. They walked on for another twenty minutes, the water getting louder, becoming something just under a roar.

  Then J'role heard voices in the distance. He raised his hand for the group to stop. Releana did so, taking Bevarden's hand to keep him calm in the face of whatever would happen next.

  20

  His mother cried softly. Charneale closed his eyes and said, "I've suspected for some time that something had entered the kaer. You are to be respected, Bevarden Storyteller, for your attempts to protect the woman you love. But that is not who she is anymore. Or at least, that is what I suspect. We will take her and examine her."

  The woman holding J'role thought he was being very brave in the face of all the noise and screaming- and the dagger. It had look as if the mother had actually intended to actually kill her own son. J'role was stiff and lifeless and very well-behaved.

  All the while his impulses were telling him to squirm his way out of the woman's arm and somehow protest his mother's innocence. It was all his fault, that much he knew.

  But he was so frightened. He really did not want to die.

  J'role, spear in hand, moved forward silently toward the voices. The trees at the base of the river valley provided excellent cover, but he let the magic seep through his muscles and bone anyway. Within seconds the feeling of closeness he had shared with Releana dissolved, and he wondered for a moment why he had indulged in it. The strength that came from the magic, the knowledge that he would be safe as long he looked after only himself, far outweighed any benefit he gained from being with her. Though he might travel with her as it suited his need, he saw no reason to let her matter to him beyond that.

  He moved forward, his senses once again reaching out into the world. His feet intuitively stepped over twigs and around rocks and he made not a sound. Working his way through the bushes, J'role noiselessly pushed them out of the way.

  After traveling a bit he came to a wide brown road. One way led down to the river, for he could clearly see the Serpent framed by the trees, the sunlight shimmering off the swift-running water. The other way led through the trees, and J'role assumed the road worked its way up to the valley's top in an easier fashion than the route he had taken to get down.

  Up the road, away from the water, he saw a group of six people walking toward him. The first three wore no more than rags. Around their necks were collars of leather, and their arms were held behind their backs; most likely tied to their collars. They bent heads low, and their feet barely shuffled over the ground as they walked.

  Behind them ...

  Behind them walked Mordom, Phlaren, and Slinsk. Phlaren looked serious as she held the leashes of the three bound prisoners. Mordom's spirits seemed high.

  "No, it doesn't matter where they're going," Mordom said, his eyes white and blind, his hand raised high so he could walk safely. "They were heading south. They'll have to get across the Serpent, and so will we."

  "How much do you think we'll get for them?" asked Slinsk.

  "At least passage across. Maybe some food."

  "That would be good," said Phlaren.

  They were only a few feet away now, and J'role tucked himself under a bush and stayed out of sight as they passed.

  Slinsk asked, "What about Garlthik?"

  Mordom answered, "What about him?"

  “I want another stab at him"

  "He's clever, that ork. Cleverer than I would have guessed. I don't think he's worth my trouble. And I suggest you think the same thing. He's gone now."

  Phlaren said, "He keeps turning up."

  "No more," Mordom said with certainty. "He's halfway out of Barsaive by now. He didn't speak with the elf queen. Has no idea which way the brat went.''

  Their voices became softer and softer as they moved on. Slinsk said, "All right. I just want that ring back. Wearing that ring is even better than thinking about shredding Garlthik's flesh with my blade."

  “I still think that elf was lying ...” began Phlaren.

  ''The elf queen would not lie to me. If she said the boy stole it back, then he stole it back."

  Slinsk and Phlaren exchanged looks behind the magician's back. Then Slinsk asked,

  "What makes you so certain?”

  Mordom shrugged. “I have my reasons.”

  "You have some secret to tell her in that private meeting you had with her," said Slinsk.

  J'role could not hear Mordom's reply.

  When they had gone too far to hear, he crept back to the others. When Releana asked what he had seen, J'role raised his hand and pointed to the center of his palm. "Oh," she said.

  J'role pointed to himself, then indicated the direction in which Mordom and the others had gone. Then he pointed to them and pointed to himself. Without waiting another moment, he started back for the road, hearing Releana gasp, "What?"

  When he reached the roads J'role moved cautiously, but fast enough that he would catch up with Mordom. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Releana and his father following.

  Releana kept her pace slow, and J'role knew she had figured out what he'd meant—he would follow Mordom, and they would follow him.

  Coming to a bend in the road he slowed down, raising his hand for the others to stop.

  When he had made the turn and saw Mordom and the others still far ahead, he signaled his companions to continue. Then he moved along the roadside, ducking in and out of bushes.

  The road ahead dipped down, and Mordom's group vanished from sight as they reached the Serpent's edge. J'role ran qu
ickly. When he reached the top of the dip he saw that the road led down to a wooden dock painted bright green, purple, and red. He wondered if the colors referred to the ships, and if a huge green, purple, and red ship owned the dock.

  Mordom's group reached the dock, where many other people waited. Most of them were human except for a few orks. Some had carts loaded with goods, others stood beside large boxes, which J'role assumed had been delivered by carts that had already come and gone.

  J'role had enough time to take in this impression of the scene when behind him he heard footsteps. He turned to find Releana and his father, whom he motioned into the shelter of the trees and bushes to the right of the road. They made Bevarden sit down against a tree a few yards back. The man was pale and almost skeletal, his breathing shallow, his body shaking as if very, very cold. It occurred to J'role that his father was dying. Dying quickly. It wasn't just the wounds and the exertion of running and the lack of food. It was the drinking, and the lack of it. It was his life.

  J'role started to feel very bad, and discovered he didn't want to. The thief magic offered him a choice. He took it. He closed off all his feeling for his father. He turned and headed back toward the slope to see what Mordom was up to. Releana followed.

  Even hidden behind some bushes they had a clear view of the dock. J'role noticed that the other travelers and merchants had moved away from Mordom and his companions and the three prisoners on Phlaren’s leashes.

  A single, loud note carried over the waters of the Serpent, and J'role raised his gaze to see the blue and green riverboat approaching. The people on the dock began to bustle-about, preparing themselves and their wares. Mordom, however, stood placidly, almost like a ruler of the land, his body straight, but unconcerned.

  Within a few minutes the riverboat docked, and a dozen t'skrang men and women dressed in outlandishly gaudy colors swung down to the docks on the ropes that hung about the ship. On their hips they wore scabbards with thin swords. The sailors cheered and cried out in excitement, as if they loved nothing more in life than docking ships. They grabbed lines and tied them to the dock's pylons; they prepared the entrance ramp to the ship's belly; they danced a little.

  Seen closer now, the strange bodies of the creatures disturbed J'role. Their long, thin tails twitched back and forth, and he was keenly aware of the long row of bones that must extend from the sailors' spines down to the tips of the tails. Their large eyes moved independently of each other, taking in details from all over the dock. And as they stood stock-still in neat rows, the jerky, segmented movements of their hands, necks, and arms were boldly accentuated.

  Mordom stood unimpressed during the whole proceeding. One man, his cart stacked with goods, and two orks, greeted several sailors with handshakes, receiving big smiles in return. The reptilian features of the t'skrang looked friendly somehow. They had large eyes, like a child's, and their snouts were rather cute.

  As soon as they had secured the riverboat at the dock, the sailors suddenly leaped around and did handsprings and backflips, eventually forming up into two neat rows running the length of the dock. At one end of the rows stood all the merchants and traders and potential passengers. The rows led to a Ramp that had extended out from the ship and now rested on the dock.

  Without warning the sailors whipped out their swords and cried, "Ah-ha!"

  Everyone on the dock jumped except the merchant with the cart, the two orks, and Mordom, presumably because the first three had seen the display before and because little could startle Mordom. All the sailors looked up, and everyone followed their gaze.

  Standing atop the highest point on the ship—a pole towering above all the others on the uppermost deck—was a female t'skrang wearing at huge hat with green flowers attached to one side. She was dressed in garments of bright purple and green, with big, puff sleeves and leggings. With sword upraised in one hand, she took the end of a rope in her other and jumped off the pole.

  She plummeted down, arcing her back and curving away from the pole until the rope snapped taut. Then she swung back up. When the rope was almost horizontal, she let go and flew through the air, her arms swept back, suddenly as elegant as a sparrow. Her hat, tied with a string under her chin, fluttered wildly behind her head. She caught another rope, and swung around again. Then another and another. Her motions caught everyone who watched her off guard. Just when everyone was sure she would continue to swing left, she would grab hold of a rope and toss herself around to the right. When they thought she was about tot drop fifty feet to her doom, she startled by suddenly grabbing a rope and swinging up higher than she'd been before. J’role became dizzy watching her, but the site was so exhilarating. Motion was hers to command.

  She caught the end of one rope and suddenly careened toward the docking swinging in so low that J'role was convinced she would slam into the deck. But she scrambled up a few feet along the rope as she swung down, rushing in between the two rows of sailors, all of whom stood at rigid attention. They did not so much as flinch as her feet ran along the deck and her momentum carried her into two forward flips and finally an astounding double roll, her sword tucked in tight across her stomach. She landed on her feet with perfect balance, raised her sword high, and shouted, "Ah-ha!" with tremendous mirth.

  Around her the other sailors echoed her cry.

  "Greetings, fellow travelers," she said in dwarven, her accent strange to J'role's ear. "I am Captain Patrochian, and this is my ship, the Breeton. With proper passage you will be lucky enough to sail aboard her!"

  She greeted the man with the cart warmly, then the two orks the same way. All of them paid her coins, which the captain dropped into a sack held by a sailor to her right. J'role heard snippets of the conversations, in which the captain asked the passengers what they carried and then set a price. One person after another paid the captain, and then walked up between the double rows of sailors, some carrying their cargo by themselves, others getting help from the sailors who dropped down from the ship.

  Mordom and his party were last, and J'role saw the captain's body stiffen as Phlaren approached with his prisoners.

  "What cargo have you?" asked the captain.

  "None but ourselves," said Mordom. "That is, me and my two companions, Phlaren and Slinsk Gore."

  "And these three?" she asked.

  "These are our payment. We are currently short on funds ..."

  A tremor ran down the length of the two rows of sailors, like wind traveling through rice stalks.

  ”They are slaves?" The question was uttered so softly that J'role barely heard it.

  Mordom paused, as if confused by the question. "Yes. Slaves. They are in excellent condition, I assure you."

  J'role remembered hearing about slavery from his father and the others while he lived in the kaer. The thought of slavery had always terrified him. Being trapped by another.

  "There is no slavery in Barsaive," said Captain Patrochian. "You have made a mistake.

  Release these people at once." She did not move, and neither did her crew. It was a test, J'role knew immediately. She wanted to see what Mordom would do. The slaves themselves turned their heads cautiously toward Mordom.

  "I ... ," Mordom began slowly. "It is not my place to correct you. But Theran law is explicit on the issue of slavery. It is allowed. It is common."

  Thera! J'role had not given the old empire much thought since the days of his father's stories back in the kaer. The Theran Empire had extended over the entire world. It was the Therans who had encouraged local trade, and thus made the dwarven tongue the common language of the land. But when the Scourge ended and everyone emerged from their shelters, no word came of the Empire. Years passed, and everyone eventually came to assume that the core of the Theran Empire, far to the south, had fallen prey to the Horrors. It was sad, for the Therans had spread the glory of art and architecture throughout the world. But it was also a relief, J’role remembered, for the issue of slavery did not sit well with many of the people of his land. But now Mordom
called upon Theran law to justify his actions. Was the Empire really gone?

  The captain cocked her head to one side, examining Mordom carefully with her large blue eyes. "Strange that you should cite Theran law. There is no Theran law in Barsaive.

  The dwarfs rule this land, and they have declared slavery an offense punishable by death.

  Free these people."