Valkyrie's Shadow

Chapter 2

26th Day, Lower Earth Month, 0 CE

“Go west, young hunter, go west!”

The ardent voice of a crier greeted Saraca as he stepped onto the wharf of Kanyo, the first city on their journey through Rol’en’gorek. A crowd of Singh gathered around the crier as he continued his spiel.

“Away from the worn trails of the old jungle. Away from the teeming cities filled with idlers and imbeciles! A vast Savannah awaits – a land of tall grass and prey aplenty. Go forth, young hunter – pounce upon the future!”

Mitra’s sigh rose from beside him. His paw came up to scratch his third wife between the ears.

“Think you can do better?” He asked.

“Of course, I can,” She answered. “Not that I would. I was just thinking that no matter where we go, propaganda exists.”

“And it seems to be just as effective,” Girika noted from nearby. “The boats heading downriver are filled with eager youths.”

If their garb wasn’t so different, they could have been mistaken for migrants heading to the colonies. From a distance, at least.

The Confederacy was no stranger to the challenges of a burgeoning population. Intrepid companies spearheaded several dozen colonial ventures, and the crier’s message was similar in tone and measure to what one might hear in the cities of Saraca’s distant homeland.

“A-are you going west, sir?”

Saraca looked over at the voice, finding a Baagh youth standing down the wharf. He had come as far as Girika allowed him and raised his voice to compensate for the distance.

“What makes you think that?” Saraca asked.

“You look new here,” the youth answered. “Maybe from some other part of the country? You have so many ships…you look really prepared. Your equipment…”

Looking for a Lord, huh…

The order of things was a bit strange, but the process was fundamentally the same. One did not simply migrate to a new land on their own. Lords were required to organise the lead tribes in their quest for new territory. Trying to go as a solitary hunter was generally doomed to achieve little, as the efforts of pack and pride would outcompete them.

In the Confederacy, the companies had recruitment offices where prospective pioneers were screened. The colonies had a reputation for only taking the best and brightest of each caste, and they were often the first choice for young men and women confident that they could make more of themselves on the frontier than in the saturated cities of home. As such, there was no shortage of talented applicants.

Saraca’s eyes crossed over the crowd. In Rol’en’gorek, the process appeared to be completely informal. For the most part, youths were banding together into small groups. Those groups then went around, scrutinising the leaders of migrating tribes trying to attract a following.

His gaze returned to the Baagh youth who had addressed him.

“Are you alone?” Saraca asked.

The youth hesitated for a moment before answering.

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because most of the people here are a burden,” the youth replied. “They band together to raise their value.”

And I am good enough alone, was the unspoken implication.

His assessment suggested much about his character, but whether it was truth or boast was yet to be seen.

“Mitra,” Saraca said, “can you use him?”

The Chaara separated from his side. The youth’s eyes grew wide at the beautiful white tigress’ approach. He straightened as she came to stand before him.

“Were you born in this city, boy?” She asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Can you open this for me?”

Mitra presented a palm-sized box to the youth. He grew tentative at the unexpected request, but eventually took the container. After several attempts, he managed to open the device, revealing a silver trade coin inside. Mitra looked over her shoulder at Saraca.

A Rogue or Bard…probably a Rogue: he doesn’t have a Bard’s demeanour.

The box was a cleverly-designed test. It was impossible for anyone who didn’t have the skill to manipulate certain devices to accomplish anything with it. Scout-types like Rangers could detect and disarm the ‘traps’ – which would otherwise trigger to emit harmless flashes of light – but be unable to open the locks. Mechanically-inclined types could tinker the box open, but not detect the traps. Thief types like Rogues and Bards could both disarm the traps and release the locking mechanisms.

Possessing certain vocations also meant that one inherently possessed certain skillsets. As a Thuggee – no, probably just a plain Rogue – who grew up in the cities of Rol’en’gorek, the boy would have insight into various aspects of the country that less shady types would not.

“We’re actually a Merchant Company from abroad,” Saraca told him. “My wife could make use of someone possessed of your talents while we’re here.”

Mitra gently pressed the coin into the youth’s paw. She offered him a dazzling smile.

“Will you help me?”

The hapless youth nodded vigorously. Girika turned away to hide his laughter.

“Then, can you show us a good place to stay? One with nice rooms and few troubles.”

The youth led Mitra away. Saraca gestured for two Gladestalkers from his house guard to discreetly accompany them.

“Alright,” Devi appeared from out of the crowd, “I secured a market plot over at…where’d Mitra go?”

“She found a guide for this city,” Saraca said. “They’re taking a look at a decent inn.”

“I hope so,” Devi said. “We’ve been sleeping on branches for over a week. This ‘city’ just looks like a bigger ‘town’.”

The Merchant’s daughter was a city girl through and through. She was thoroughly devastated upon finding that the towns and cities of Rol’en’gorek were a far cry from those of the Confederacy.

In a word, they were primitive. It was as if they had stepped into a history book detailing the lands of what would be the Beastman Confederacy eight hundred years ago.

Rol’en’gorek was inhabited by thousands of tribes, which, over time, had organised into clans. Clanholds formed, serving as centres of political power and meeting places for the clan’s constituent tribes. As more time passed, power was consolidated and Rajas unified their local collection of minor clans. Each Raja moved their seat of power to the major local economic centre, resulting in the development of cities.

The reason why the independent states that formed in the river basin confederated was still unknown. Though he had harboured concerns over security when they crossed the border, no threats had presented themselves to suggest an external threat that necessitated it.

“Accommodations aside,” Saraca said, “what do you think so far?”

“Basic,” Devi replied. “Barter has a charm of its own, but it’s nearly all barter here. Coin is scarce, but they at least know what trade coins are. Kanyo is a bustling city, yet it doesn’t have a Merchant Guild. Actually, I haven’t seen anything like a guild at all.”

“How do they regulate anything?”

“They have a rudimentary caste system. Each caste in each tribe answers to their respective Lord.”

“Oof.”

“No kidding,” Devi said. “We may as well have travelled back to antiquity.”

Since it was usually part of the natural development of societies around the world, the importance of the caste system was often taken for granted. The most frequent violation of the system’s functioning was when those in power tried to micromanage the affairs of the various castes under their rule. A little bit of knowledge often led to leaders thinking that they could take a caste’s matters into their own hands, which in turn led to less than optimal results, to put it lightly.

“How much influence does the ruling caste have?” Saraca asked.

“Too much, as you can see,” Devi answered. “Innovation is suppressed and artifice is scarce. The roads in the city are glorified clay trails and we haven’t seen a single bridge beyond logs and planks laid over minor waterways. The tribes are nomadic, moving around their territories from season to season, hunting, gathering and tending to their herds.”

“Well, that’s just taking things at face value,” Saraca said. “How do you think they’re doing relative to what we know of their history?”

“If they essentially started from scratch two hundred years ago…no, we’ll have to see what their neighbours are like, first. Stormport is part of the Sapphire Coast, so all of their ideas and technologies should have spread here through trade…”

“Except the fact that their Merchants don’t come here,” Girika noted. “There is probably a reason for that.”

“But we saw some of their people in Great Tear,” Saraca replied.

“And the locals there don’t think very highly of them. This all points in a bad direction. A backwards one.”

The scathing assessment might have been premature. Rol’en’gorek was large enough that one couldn’t get a read on the entire country by visiting one city.

“Karuvaki should have more information when she comes back,” Saraca said. “Mitra will quickly get a feel for the cultural side of things now that we’re here amongst them. As for myself…Ki’ra is the next city over.”

“That friend of your father?” Girika asked.

“Yeah,” Saraca answered with a nod. “We should get a good idea of any real threats to the country if we speak to the warrior clans. The perspective of the people here seems to be very narrow.”

Mitra appeared out of the crowd, returning with the youth in tow. A low growl filled Saraca’s throat and Devi’s eyes widened.

“Is that blood?” Devi gasped.

“Yes.”

The Chaaran licked a paw. She seemed entirely at ease.

“What happened?” Saraca asked.

“Some eager young ‘Lords’ made unwelcome advances. On the bright side, the inn has vacancies aplenty now.”

“Are you alright?”

Mitra’s crystal voice turned derisive.

“They couldn’t lay a single claw on me. I may as well have been thrashing Goblin Fungus Farmers.”

“I hope this doesn’t land us into trouble with the authorities…”

“Doubtful,” Mitra replied. “I have a good sense of this place now. It’s utterly savage. Might makes right. Law that cannot be enforced is no law at all.”

“Technically, that’s how most of the world works,” Girika pointed out.

“It’s beyond that. You’ve seen plenty of this place already. It is not explicitly adharma, but it is…raw. This country exists in a state before enlightened order. People just do whatever their base urges demand of them to the detriment of all.”

“I hope Karuvaki doesn’t level this city,” Saraca said.

“More like stay here forever trying to ‘fix’ it,” Girika muttered.

That was more probable. At least at the beginning. Karuvaki would act as a missionary and try to set them on the right path, but Saraca was certain that this sort of tangled culture was easier to tear apart and rebuild than peacefully reform. Rol’en’gorek was only the most recent in a long line of similar societies that they had seen in their travels, and they were likely to see plenty more.

They boarded their ships and paddled over to Devi’s berth at the Kanyo water market. It wasn’t long before they were swarmed by local traders. As suggested by the Merchant in Great Tear, most offered leather and leather goods for salt. Others offered cured and dried meats. A few proffered tools and trinkets fashioned from ivory and bone. Devi stepped out of her boat and faced them with a ‘do your worst!’ sort of expression.

“She’s going to be stuck here until she’s sick of trading,” Girika said.

“She never gets sick of trading,” Saraca replied.

“At least we won’t be lugging all of this salt around anymore,” the Inquisitor scratched his notched ear as they watched the swarm of frenzied Merchants. “We won’t be tethered to the river and we’ll be able to get around quickly if necessary.”

“You assume that she can exchange her goods for coin. We’re going to go from a load of salt to a much larger load of leather.”

“Argh…”

“You’d think with all this leather available,” Mitra wrapped a paw around Saraca’s arm, “there’d be a flourishing fashion industry here.”

“Maybe there is,” Saraca said, “but not in this city.”

The local garb was simple and utilitarian if one were to be kind about it. Everyone had a leather belt and a loincloth. Everything else was a luxury. With how rough the citizens seemed to live, anything beyond that may have been considered wasteful as it wouldn’t keep in the humid conditions.

“Well,” Saraca stepped off of his boat and looked around. “We should take this chance to look around. Markets always have something for everyone.”

Markets also offered a good sense of the local industries and lifestyle of the people. The goods in Kanyo, however, were not much different from that of the towns they had come through. In addition to products derived from hunting and ranching, there were a few related to forestry and fishing.

“What do you see, Kasturi?”

“Predatory beasts are heavily suppressed,” the Gladestalker replied. “Nug ranching is prevalent. It’s essentially the same as what we saw in the towns so far. There are a few plant and animal species that I haven’t seen before, but…are there different markets?”

“I don’t think Devi mentioned anything about that. Why?”

“Everything here is ‘common’. Tools are fashioned from wood, stone and bone. There are no goods from Magical Beasts or any luxury items aside from simple ivory jewellery. I thought the lack of them was reasonable enough in the towns, but a city should be where one would find them. There should be an ‘upper market’ if this is the ‘lower market’.”

“Or shops,” Girika said.

“Or that.”

Saraca scanned the buildings along the wharf. Most were simple dwellings raised between the extensive root systems of the city’s trees. His gaze passed over those, looking for anything that might be a workshop.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “Even if you say that they’re mostly isolated, mere exposure to new ideas and technology should change a society if the practical benefits are evident. How could they overlook everything?”

“They probably don’t ‘overlook’ everything,” Mitra said. “Some of it might be impractical. Ironwork would rust away here and the agriculture in the Tears of Lut uses hardy desert crops that probably don’t do well in the jungle. There’s a world of difference between seeing something and making it work. All you know is that it’s possible, but the requisite knowledge or insights required to emulate what one sees may not exist.”

That was especially true for industries that relied on the existence of other industries. Rol’en’gorek, however, did not need to aim that high to make leaps and bounds in economic and industrial progress.

“But as Devi would say,” Saraca replied, “it’s an unexploited opportunity. What stops, say, a Farmer from migrating here and clearing land for paddies?”

“Well, they’re all carnivores here for one thing. If you offered to clear a piece of tribal land to grow fodder for their nug herds, they’d turn around and ask you what the point is in that because the nugs already graze that land. Jungle soil like this can’t support industrial-scale agriculture without assistance from Druids, anyway. You’d just ruin their land if you don’t have everything lined up just right.”

“A closed society like this tends to resist new ideas,” Karuvaki said.

They turned at the priestess’ voice.

“You found us,” Saraca said.

“Where else would Devi drag you?” Karuvaki replied.

“I take it you encountered ‘resistance’?”

“Not as such. You can tell, though. I think there are several unrelated things going on at once combining to create what we see here. We can talk about it when we’re all together in our accommodations. Who is that boy, by the way?”

She gestured to the Baagh youth, who was still following Mitra around.

“This is, er…”

“Aat,” Mitra filled in for him. “He’s a local Rogue.”

“Rogue as in ‘thief catcher’ or Rogue as in ‘thief’?”

The youth took a step back at her sharp tone. Mitra placed a paw over his shoulder.

“Don’t scare the poor guy,” she said. “The latter, by the way. He was looking for a tribe to join for this westward migration of theirs, so who knows what he might become.”

“Speaking of which,” Saraca said, “did you find out anything about that?”

“I did,” Karuvaki replied. “They’re conquering their western neighbour. A country called the ‘Draconic Kingdom’.”

“Hey now,” Girika’s notched ear twitched. “No one in their right mind touches anything that remotely sounds like ‘Draconic Kingdom’. You’d think that these people would understand that with the draconic empire on their southern border.”

“Maybe we should leave,” Mitra came over to clutch at Saraca’s arm. “I don’t want to be anywhere near this country when it gets levelled.”

Saraca silently waited for Karuvaki’s reply. There had to be some explanation for what would otherwise be considered insanity.

“It’s the work of a certain Rana Dratha Torokgha, a Baagh Warmaster.”

“A Warmaster?” Saraca’s ears perked up, “Here?”

“That’s the claim,” Karuvaki said. “His local title and caste are in line with that notion. The Warmaster apparently did his research, testing the opposition for some decades.”

How a Dragon reacted to their domain being violated depended heavily on the species of Dragon. Blue Dragons, for instance, were both orderly and social. Their domains tended to incorporate the mortals living within it into some sort of state or at least loose associations of tribal tributaries. Challenges to their order were met with swift and deadly force.

As Girika pointed out, with that sort of example nearby, the tribes of Rol’en’gorek should consider challenging a ‘Draconic Kingdom’ as a form of mass suicide.

No, that Laerti Merchant mentioned them killing Green Dragons.

“What sort of Dragon rules in the ‘Draconic Kingdom’?” Saraca asked, “Or is it a coalition of younger Dragons that they believe can be overcome?”

“There is no Dragon in the Draconic Kingdom,” Aat piped up.

All eyes went to the Baagh youth, whose ears went flat at their attention.

“We won’t bite,” Mitra reassured him. “Tell us what you know.”

“We…we thought the same as you for the longest time,” Aat said. “The western tribes raided them lightly for as long as anyone can remember. The Humans that live there are strong enough to defeat large-scale attacks, so we thought the Dragon considered our affairs beneath it. Or maybe we were a convenient way to cull the Human population. Rana Dratha thought otherwise.”

“I see,” Saraca rubbed his jaw. “So he went to prove his suspicions.”

“Yes,” Aat replied. “He sent raids all the way to the mouth of the Rol’en’gorek. No Dragons appeared – there were only ever Humans.”

Mitra let out a laugh.

“So they merely claimed to be a Draconic Kingdom? How long have they been there for?”

“For as long as we have,” Aat looked down.

“That’s brilliant!” The Chaara’s eyes glittered with glee, “A two-hundred-year-long deception – has anyone ever heard of such a thing? Truly, the most fantastic of tales do not hold a candle to reality.”

“That would explain all of these…advertisements from the criers,” Saraca said.

“The criers do not lie,” Aat said. “There is plenty of land for everyone, but it must still be won from the Humans.”

He couldn’t imagine that the Humans would last very long against Rol’en’gorek. Though the tribes here were primitive, they were many and the average Human was no match for the average Beastman.

“I want to see them,” Mitra said.

“Hm?”

“The Humans. They’re ‘feral’ Humans, right? I want to see what they’re like. Have you seen them before, Aat?”

Aat shook his head.

“It is over a thousand kilometres to the Human country,” he said. “I’ve never seen a Human before.”

“Well,” Saraca said, “we’re here to see the entire country. If they successfully conquer the ‘Draconic Kingdom’ – and I don’t see why they wouldn’t – we’ll get around to it eventually.”

He, too, was curious about the Humans of the region. More precisely, he was curious about a nation solely composed of Humans.

While certain tribes of Humans were known to be strong, the broad Human population tended to be weak. To say that maintaining sovereignty as a Human state was a tenuous prospect was a colossal understatement. The vast majority of Humans existed as some form of slave, citizen, or as part of the countless tribal communities within the spheres of stronger nation-states.

Evening fell, and they went to their inn without any success in their search for anything that might be considered an ‘upper market’. As far as advanced industries went, they predictably revolved around processing the goods produced by the local primary industries. The absence of metalwork suggested that there was nothing like a mining region, as goods produced by industries in that region would have surely been conveyed throughout the country via trade.

The air stilled as they entered the tavern of their inn. All eyes went to Mitra, following her as she went by with an unconcerned air. Empty spaces around the floor where stools and other furniture should have been present were the only sign of the Chaara’s handiwork.

“Just how much stuff did you break?” Girika eyed the tavern’s patrons.

“I didn’t break anything,” Mitra replied. “It was all the work of those ruffians landing on the furniture.”

“Why do I feel like we’re going to get caught up in an attempt at vengeance?” The Inquisitor said.

“That would imply that they have someone stronger to turn to,” Mitra said. “They were those would-be Lords heading west with their goons. I doubt that they’d have any tangible ties to powerful locals. If anything, their position has been weakened because they were thrashed so soundly.”

Saraca shook his head. If they were in the Confederacy, the local authorities would have detained them. Here, however, there had been no sign of anyone coming to even question Saraca and his entourage as they looked around the city.

Their accommodations turned out to be a purposely-cultivated grove. A thick tangle of thorny brush separated them from other ‘rooms’. The jungle floor was dry and clear of any refuse.

“Cute, right?” Mitra turned and held out her arms with a grin, “I hired out the entire inn for us! The proprietor was more than happy for our patronage since the old guests weren’t able to pay.”

“Did he ask you to get rid of them?” Karuvaki peered at the Chaara.

“No, but I could tell that he wished they would move on. This disorganised migration is causing all sorts of problems. All of the territories that they journey through have to deal with the burdens that they bring.”

Karuvaki set her things down at the base of one of the trees, taking a seat beside them.

“It’s a horrible way to go about things,” she said. “Instead of intrepid pioneers, they’re like ravening locusts. There must be better methods available.”

“There probably are,” Mitra said. “But I don’t think anyone cares. You can see it in how the locals behave. The migrants are just invisible to the eyes of those in power. The warriors policing the streets ignore them unless they cause damage to the city. The entire city has this atmosphere that silently says ‘go away, already’. The migrants are only tolerated because they will move on sooner or later, and their work in the west will eventually add to the power of Rol’en’gorek. Until then, they are an unwelcome burden on their ‘hosts’.”

The appalling treatment of undesirables wasn’t unique to Rol’en’gorek, but it didn’t make it any less offensive to Saraca’s sensibilities. It spoke of a lack of awareness at all levels of society; of a willingness to ignore fundamental issues and push problems onto others.

“What did you find out from this place, Karuvaki?” He asked, “Something positive would be nice.”

“The problems that they face are simple ones,” his second wife answered. “They are not insurmountable. If they are willing to accept our guidance, I see them being solidly on the right path in a generation or two.”

“So long?”

“It’s a big country,” Karuvaki told him, “and highly decentralised. Their confederation exists as much for regulating internal disputes as it is for collective protection against external threats.”

“What external threats do they face?” Saraca asked, “Things seem pretty peaceful where we passed through.”

“They’re not,” Karuvaki said. “It just happened to be uneventful for us. The Singh of the southern ranges contend with the tribes all along the border. That is probably the least intense of the conflicts, limited to conventional raiding. The true problems are to the north and the east.”

Saraca wished that they had a map. Devi procured something for Merchants, but it was difficult to get a sense of much when it only showed centres of trade and merchant routes.

“What do they have in the north?”

“The Worldspine,” Karuvaki said.

“I see. How bad is it compared to our side?”

“From what I’ve been able to gather, the Worldspine is considered impassable due to the natives. Raiding and small-scale warfare are incessant and the frontier remains roughly static. To the east is an even larger problem: an alliance of minor powers called the Jorgulan Commonwealth. The majority of Rol’en’gorek’s forces are committed to defending themselves against them.”

“The equally hopeless…” Saraca murmured.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ah, just something that Laerti Merchant in Great Tear told me. The Confederation of Rol’en’gorek, the Jorgulan Commonwealth and some sort of league are all seen as similarly savage places. I assume that the league borders the Great Lut to the east beyond the Commonwealth.”

They turned at the sound of someone coming through the brush at the entrance of the suite.

“Devi,” Saraca said. “I expected you to be out until late.”

In response, the Baagh Magnate tossed a dozen pouches onto the round table in the centre of the room.

“I finished early,” Devi said. “And I think I’ve answered one of the big questions that have been stumping us.”

Girika walked over and picked up one of the pouches, undoing the rawhide thong holding it shut. The Inquisitor snorted before emptying the contents onto the table. A myriad of raw gemstones and precious ores clattered across its wooden surface.

“The curse of wealth,” Saraca breathed.

Indeed, it did explain much.

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