Valkyrie's Shadow

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 8, Chapter 1

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 8, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

18th Day, Middle Water Month, 0CE

Saraca wasn’t sure if he would meet Rana Saj again, but they had a lot of Rol’en’gorek to cover. Beyond its western border was the Draconic Kingdom, which he was also keenly interested in paying a visit to.

Including the stops that they made at the settlements along the way, their journey down the river took three weeks to travel the six hundred kilometres between Ki’ra and the central regions of the country. Needless to say, Devi made full use of their vessels, filling them with city-manufactured goods to trade in the towns along the way and exchanging them for raw materials to trade in the cities. It was an oddly-comforting process to experience, probably because she did it everywhere they went.

As for the impact of the magically-induced storms on the Jorgulan border, they grew less and less pronounced the wider the river became. The dry season did periodically experience downpours, so none of the locals seemed to attach any significance to the event.

“I know this should be expected,” Mitra said, “but doesn’t it seem a bit sad?”

“Hm?”

Saraca turned his gaze from the shore to his first wife, who was sitting beside him on the central barge in Devi’s ‘merchant fleet’.

“There’s no change at all in the attitude of the people we’ve seen,” she said. “Those living in one part of the country have no idea what’s going on in another.”

“I don’t see anything especially sad about that,” Girika said. “It’s the same in the Confederacy. A disaster could hit one side of it and the other wouldn’t know.”

“At least we have officially-circulated news,” Mitra said. “It’s important for people to have a sense that they’re part of something greater than themselves. Here, you just have Tribesperson A from Tribe B of Clan C. It probably doesn’t even go that far for most. A neighbouring tribe could be wiped out and one wouldn’t have any clue about it until someone just happened to trip over their remains.”

That much appeared to be true. Rol’en’gorek was a confederation in the most basic way – it was an association of thousands of tribes under hundreds of clans loosely acting as a single political entity. Rigid laws and a massive economy bound them domestically, but their regional projection was a mere fraction of a proper nation-state of the same size.

Additionally, the behaviour of Gor’lior’s defenders toward Devi suggested that the warrior caste kept its business strictly to itself. As a result, people only knew what they were supposed to know, which only included their own business and a very limited sense of events beyond their homes.

“That Rana Dratha fellow seems to know what he’s doing,” Saraca said. “We see criers promoting his – well, let’s just call it a venture – in every major holding.”

“Bulking up,” Girika said. “Nothing more. They need to attract migrants to do whatever they want them to do like a company starved for labour.”

“Hmm…”

Since the Inquisitor framed it that way, Saraca detached his idea of how a colonial company in the Confederacy operated from whatever Rana Dratha was doing and thought about the scenario again. Rol’en’gorek’s western neighbour was styled a ‘kingdom’, but the Human countries that he knew of were at best minor polities that were part of a greater hegemony.

Still, those countries were usually around twenty to one hundred thousand square kilometres in area. The largest one that he knew of was around three hundred thousand, but it was essentially a massive ranch operated by pastoralist humanoid tribes who exported meat and dairy products to their neighbours.

“Karuvaki,” he said. “If this ‘Draconic Kingdom’ was about as large as the minor humanoid states that we know of, how many migrants do you think this Rana Dratha should be aiming for?”

“With Rol’en’gorek’s industrial capabilities?” Karuvaki looked down at her open paw, “Well, that would depend on a number of things. First of all, I can’t imagine that these Humans live in a jungle. They tend to form communities on open plains.”

“Which is excellent for raising livestock.”

“One would have to have livestock suitable for raising in that environment. From what I’ve seen so far, the Beastmen here don’t have any. Trying to raise the same Nugs that they ranch in the jungle in an environment ideal for Humans would fail. The more likely strategy is integrating the Humans after a new colonial government has been established.”

“Do they even call them colonies here?” Girika asked.

“That’s beside the point,” Karuvaki said. “It’s one sociopolitical entity incorporating a foreign land and its inhabitants under their geoeconomic oversight. The Humans of the Draconic Kingdom will have industries of their own, so this Rana Dratha should be taking advantage of that.”

Girika made a derisive noise. They turned to look over at where he and Kasturi were seated behind them.

“You’re giving them too much credit,” he said. “You were there with the rest of us when those eastern Ranas were discussing the topic. They’re ‘conquering’ those Human lands and aim to replace them with the jungles that their industries work in. That doesn’t sound like ‘integration’ to me.”

Saraca and Karuvaki shared a look over the Inquisitor’s assertion.

“That would be a colossal waste,” Saraca said. “The objective of any productive conquest should be to capture as much territory, its residents and industries intact as possible. Rol’en’gorek has neither the resources nor time to restructure everything to their liking, nor should they.”

“Like I said,” Girika crossed his arms, “you’re giving them too much credit. Since no one can hear us in the middle of the river, I won’t mince words. These guys are primitives: their calculations aren’t so ‘high level’. You present anyone with something and they act according to what they know…and these guys don’t know much. I’ll bet you a platinum trade coin that they’re mostly just eating Humans and occupying the land like, well, tribes.”

Devi twisted in her seat with a horrified expression.

“But…but that’s a waste. Do you know how much potential productivity a single Human represents in their lifetime?”

“Not really, no.” Girika replied, “But I at least know that they’re worth more than their value in meat, even if you sell it to a Minotaur. That’s us talking about it, though – not these local Beastmen. We’re almost to their capital now, so we’ll see soon enough.”

“What do you think about this, Mitra?” Devi asked.

“Well, I didn’t want to be premature,” Mitra answered, “but I think Girika has the right idea. Ghrkhor’storof’hekheralhr probably absorbs all of the goods from the Draconic Kingdom that make it this far upriver, so there will be plenty of things that we haven’t seen or heard of before.”

It wasn’t the official capital – there wasn’t one at all – but Ghrkhor’storof’hekheralhr was the political and economic centre of the Confederation of Rol’en’gorek according to everyone they had spoken to.

Early in the morning of their twenty-second day out of Ki’ra, the densely-forested shores of the Rol’en’gorek widened dramatically to join a large lake. The body of water was vast enough that it stretched out to the horizon, though the peaks of distant mountain ranges to every side could still be seen. Their small fleet of barges followed the steady flow of traffic that rounded the lake’s western shore, which eventually brought them into view of a metropolis sprawled over several dozen square kilometres of hilly terrain.

“Oh hey,” Girika said, “an actual city. Well, at least it’s as big as a proper city.”

“The people who have actually been here kept on about how huge it is,” Devi said, “but I wasn’t sure whether to believe them or not. Maybe they’ll have something worth our time here.”

“Or we can wallow in the collective squalor of a quarter million Beastmen,” Kasturi’s nose twitched. “You’ve seen how their other cities are designed.”

Maybe a part of it was the Gladestalker’s preference for nature, but her point couldn’t be ignored. Rol’en’gorek’s civil engineering was rudimentary at best. Saraca rose from his seat as the barges paddled closer, trying to make sense of the city’s layout.

“This looks indefensible,” he said. “Though I can’t imagine any wilderness tribes attacking this place. I see fortified holdings on top of every hill, but it doesn’t look like there are any towers in the cityscape between them.”

“You’d think with what’s on their eastern border,” Girika said, “that’d be one of the first problems they’d address. A dozen Green Dragons could gas this entire city overnight.”

“Well, as you’ve noted,” Saraca said, “they’re a civilization that hasn’t developed an appreciation for more complex concepts yet. That includes aerial warfare.”

Honestly, they were not alone in that respect. Predatory races naturally saw Magical Beasts as competition rather than potentially exploitable assets. By the time their tribal societies had advanced to a point where they thought about using the local wildlife as mounts, creatures like Griffons, Wyverns, Giant Owls and other candidates for air cavalry would already be wiped out or driven away. Ones like Pegasi were considered food and would be long gone, as well.

“How do we find a berth here…”

“The Merchants from our last stop said that there’s some sort of system in place,” Devi said. “There are sixty different wharves along the shore. The ones marked with red flags are full.”

“Alright,” Saraca said, “and then what?”

“Then we pick out a pier.”

Saraca looked at the barges to the front and rear. Devi’s fleet had grown to a dozen ships nearly filled to the waterline with goods. He hoped there would be space for all of them.

A swarm of hawkers pressed in as their vessels bumped up against the wharf. Woven baskets of preserved meats, jugs of fresh water and all manner of simple goods were held out towards them. Despite the crudeness of it all, Devi’s eyes scanned their offerings with an interest absent when they were presented with the martial dealings of the east.

“It’s more chaotic here,” Devi said, “but I don’t hate it…”

“We should have changed,” Girika grumbled. “Our outfits are attracting these buggers like flies to raw meat.”

“I guarantee that you’d have lost that battle,” Saraca told him. “Still, they could have organised this port better…”

No matter where one was, they carried their instincts with them. This translated oddly sometimes, especially in societies as primitive as Rol’en’gorek. In the teeming cities, it became a case where the weak regularly hunted the strong: the powerful had the most resources, turning them into prey for the citizens selling goods and services.

As members of the civilian castes had not yet appeared to master their instincts, this, in turn, led to instinctual reciprocation. Hawkers focused on one target at a time. Their unfortunate targets could sometimes be beset by three to five hawkers at once, leaving them thoroughly confused or even causing them to flee. Needless to say, it took a while to sort things out whenever he saw it happen.

A young Gao nearly stabbed him in the nose with a skewer of fish. Girika’s growl warned the young Merchant away. Saraca idly wondered if the canine Beastmen in Rol’en’gorek had an advantage over their felid counterparts, as they didn’t share the same set of instincts.

“Let’s get out of here,” Girika said.

“It isn’t as if someone could hurt us in this crowd,” Mitra said. “Stop scaring the locals.”

The Inquisitor sighed. As one of Saraca’s bodyguards, the fact that so many potential Assassins were allowed to come so close probably didn’t sit well with him.

Over the din of the crowd, the sound of one of Rana Dratha's criers drew Saraca’s attention. Much like the first city that they had visited, young Beastmen gathered to listen intently to the message of opportunity waiting to be seized. Something he had taken for granted before the battles in the east crossed his mind.

“Mitra.”

“Hm?”

“That’s a performance, right?”

“Yes, ji.”

Does that make this crier a Bard? Or have they managed to develop some specialised vocation out of this sort of thing?

‘Performance’ was a blanket definition for all manner of supernatural abilities that revolved around the arts, oration and even combat. It was difficult for most to separate it from the mundane actions of everyday people, but once one learned how to identify it, one’s guard was constantly raised against its use.

Most who possessed the ability often did so unknowingly, but that didn’t change the fact that it was being used. While most of it was benign enough, it could still sway minds and even coerce others into doing what they otherwise wouldn’t do.

“Are you implying that these ‘criers’ are doing more than they should be?” Girika asked.

Performances had many grey areas, but acts of coercion and brainwashing were strictly illegal in the Beastman Confederacy. Since Rol’en’gorek almost certainly didn’t know what was going on behind a Bard’s presentation, there were likely no laws to discourage them from employing its more insidious effects.

“That would depend on how they’re paid,” Saraca said. “If there’s some sort of quota for recruitment, I wouldn’t put it past at least a few. Especially since the concept of oversight in this field is nonexistent.”

“It doesn’t have to be a selfish motive, either,” Karuvaki said. “Those acting out of self-interest usually have some sense that what they are doing is wrong and are wary of the repercussions, but those who believe that what they are doing is right will have few reservations.”

Saraca nodded in agreement. Karuvaki’s activism often brought her into contact with that sort. Many a charismatic figure and overenthusiastic thug used their abilities to further what they believed was a just cause, but the ability to twist the free will of others more often than not led to reprehensible actions.

They eventually squeezed their way out of the crowded waterfront. If a city in Rol’en’gorek was simply a larger town, then the ‘capital’ was a larger version of the cities. As Mitra feared, the realities that came with it were not all pleasant. His third wife held a paw to her nose as they entered a squalid pauper’s district just beyond the wharf.

“I hate how you pick these routes on purpose,” she said.

“It wouldn’t be much of an assessment if we only associated with their elites,” Saraca told her.

“Yes, yes.” Mitra snidely intoned, “‘The people that stand to benefit the most from a relationship with us are those of the common castes’ – you say that every time. And every time, the smell doesn’t change.”

“Well, it’s especially important to see what’s going on in the capital of a country, yes?”

Capital cities were a showcase of what a country and its people aspired to – and how those who failed in their aspirations ended up. The struggles and broken dreams of the common folk in the slums were just as important, if not more so, than any grand monuments, palatial estates or high-class districts.

“You’re probably thinking of something outrageously imperialistic,” Girika said.

“Can you blame me?” Saraca replied, “Especially when the difference is so great. By the way, how do you think we should go about this?”

“Dress down, for one thing,” Girika said. “Then pick a different district. We’ve already been marked in this one.”

As Mitra’s complaints implied, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t done it before. The difference was that Rol’en’gorek was much larger than any other country they had visited in the lands beyond, and its capital was reflective of that. Most countries had capitals the size of Ki’ra or smaller.

“Lead the way,” Saraca said. “Mitra will tear you apart if you dump us in a hut surrounded by refuse piles, though.”

They continued through the district under the pretence that they were visitors who didn’t know their way around. The poorly-constructed hovels of clay and cast-off timber created narrow alleys where the locals peeked out at them from the shadows of their homes. Saraca breathed a sigh of relief when they finally crossed into the next district. He was used to commanding the attention of tens of thousands, but the sort of attention he received from the impoverished residents wasn’t something he enjoyed. Their looks of need and longing were something he could do little to remedy in the long term without the approval of his government.

“I like what the Druids are doing back there,” Karuvaki said.

“There are Druids?” Saraca looked over his shoulder.

“You could see their influence. I’m sure we’ll get another look.”

Unlike Mitra, Karuvaki actively sought out the places where she felt that she could do the most good. He wondered what her reports to the Ashta Pradhan would look like.

“How do you feel about tree branches?” Girika asked.

“No,” Mitra said.

“No,” Devi joined in.

“No,” Karuvaki told him.

The Inquisitor grumbled under his breath as he led them up the valley. They ascended to a higher elevation, and thus a higher class district.

“I didn’t think the places back there were all that bad,” Saraca said.

“And I guarantee you that your opinion doesn’t matter,” Girika replied. “How about up there?”

Saraca followed Girika’s gaze to an exposed cliff face overlooking a small river. While it wasn’t a towering butte, It had a similar feel to Gor’lior. Several stairways were carved out of the dark basalt, leading to entrances pockmarking the stone. They looked at Saraca's three wives.

“Let’s see what the rooms look like, first,” Devi said.

The establishment was what looked like a mid-to-upper-class inn in the city. Its proprietor took one look at them before scrambling over and leaping down from ten metres above to offer his greetings.

It looks like this Ocelo race has innate acrobatic abilities…

Acrobatics was another passive ability that people commonly mistook as mundane. In part, it was, but eliminating damage from a fall was more than simply landing the right way.

Certain felid Beastmen had plenty of it, but others had none at all. The difference was in how they naturally hunted their prey. In the Beastman Confederacy, there was a somewhat similar race called the Tenduah, though they were smaller than the Ocelo and had different patterns to their rosettes. They also possessed high acrobatic abilities, which stemmed from their natural instinct to frequent the branches of trees.

“Welcome, good Lord,” the Ocelo innkeeper bobbed his head repeatedly. “I am called Itzli, the proprietor of the Cuorocos Cliffs.”

“My staff and I will be staying in the city for a while,” Devi said to the side. “Do you have vacancies for everyone? Or are reservations required?”

“…res…reservations?”

Despite running an inn, the Ocelo had no idea what a reservation was. Even knowing what Rol’en’gorek was like, many things that Saraca and his entourage took for granted were still assumed.

“Never mind,” Devi said. “May we take a look at your rooms before deciding?”

“Of course! Please, this way.”

The accommodations were similar to those that Saraca had seen in Gor’lior, which made him wonder whether the architects of the fortress were Ocelo. Each room had wooden furnishings and space enough for six. Devi hired rooms for each pair in their entourage, which pleased the proprietor to no end. Saraca and his wives took a larger suite on the highest level.

He quickly changed into some of the local garb he had picked up at one of the holds along the Rol’en’gorek. It was a simple outfit of Nug leather, over which he kept his belt and pouches.

“Alright, let’s get go…”

He turned to find that his wives were still fully dressed in their usual equipment. Their heads were close together as they talked about something in low voices.

“What are you three doing?” Saraca said.

“Strategising,” Mitra replied.

“Strategising…”

“You can wait for us outside, ji.”

‘Can’ in this case was ‘will’, so Saraca wordlessly left the room. He found Girika and Kasturi waiting on the walkway outside.

“Where are the other three?” Girika asked.

“‘Strategising’, apparently. You’re lucky Kasturi doesn’t–”

Kasturi entered Saraca’s suite. They waited for a few minutes, but she didn’t reappear with the others. Girika heaved a sigh.

“How many hours is this going to take?”

“Who knows?” Saraca replied, “It’s local common garb so it shouldn’t…well, no, never mind. Let’s see what there is to see nearby.”

They descended to river level, where the Ocelo innkeeper was sweeping the boardwalk with a long bundle of leaves. He looked up and visibly hesitated upon taking in their new appearance.

“Heading out to see the common districts?” Itzli asked.

“We thought it best to not draw attention to ourselves if we wanted an authentic experience,” Saraca explained.

The innkeeper nodded.

“That seems wise, but it depends on where you plan on going. The appearance of wealth can be as much a shield as it can be a target here. Your entire group carries themselves with a dignified air, so none would accuse you of acting above your station should you dress according to it.”

“I’m afraid we don’t know much of what the big city is like,” Saraca said. “Are Lords received in some special way here?”

“Hmm…that must mean you’re from a warrior clan? From the east, perhaps?”

He frowned inwardly at the pointed distinctions being made, thinking back to what he had observed of the land and its people thus far.

“That’s right,” Saraca replied. “We arrived from Ki’ra. Before that, we were on the northern Jorgulan Frontier. This place is very different from what we know.”

“I see,” the Ocelo innkeeper said. “Just as you warriors have your hierarchies of prestige, so do those of the other castes. Honestly, if you carry yourselves as warriors, I think people would mostly leave you alone.”

“That’s the opposite of what we want. We’d like to experience the city and all that it has to offer without being shunned or treated strangely.”

The innkeeper’s tail moved curiously, and Saraca cringed internally. He was terrible at acting the part of a tourist…or maybe tourism was simply a foreign concept in Rol’en’gorek.

“The markets, perhaps?” The innkeeper scratched his chin, “No, it must be the fighting pits.”

Saraca blinked at the unexpected tangent, but he went with it anyway.

“Where’s the closest one?”

“Not far from here. If you follow this river downstream, there will be another river that joins it about five hundred metres from here. Follow that river upstream and you’ll eventually see it on the left side.”

He thanked the innkeeper and wandered further down the boardwalk. His eyes scanned the stilted dwellings along the banks of the river, trying to make sense of the city.

His line of questioning had been carelessly presumptive. Usually, when one appeared as a tourist in more civilised parts of the world, an innkeeper would either direct them to local establishments and industries that they were particularly proud of, or the appropriate tourist traps. The options in Ghrkhor’storof’hekheralhr’s common districts, however, were limited to either the markets or whatever the fighting pits were. Given the apparent development of Rol’en’gorek, he should have expected nothing in terms of sights for their nonexistent tourists to see.

So entertainment is limited to fighting, experiencing the markets and…what? Maybe the upper-class districts have something more.

The innkeeper hadn’t even mentioned any temples that they might want to visit. Overall, spirituality appeared to be weak in Rol’en’gorek, with no true organised religions to speak of. Worship was either personal or limited to major events.

“See anything interesting in those slums we passed through?” Saraca asked.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Girika answered with a flick of his ear. “Why does the fact that I grew up in the slums make me some sort of connoisseur of them?”

“You do prefer cities.”

“Sure,” the Inquisitor said, “But it’s not as if I pine for the squalor of home like Kasturi pines for pristine natural environments.”

“I still have no idea how you two got together.”

“Me neither. Not that I’m complaining about it.”

Devi appeared with the other wives in tow forty minutes later. For all of the time they took to prepare, Saraca couldn’t figure out what was so special about their appearance. They were dressed in the same type of Nug leather garb as the other females he had seen in the capital, which only consisted of a few more articles of clothing than everywhere else they had been in Rol’en’gorek.

“So,” Mitra elegantly twirled in place, “how do we look?”

“Fine.”

His three wives flattened their ears at his response.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing,” Mitra answered.

Having multiple wives provided him with absolutely no advantage in interpreting females over those with none. He turned to exchange a look with Girika, except Girika had prudently stalked off ahead somewhere to avoid the same fate.

“Well,” Saraca forced some enthusiasm into his voice, “we have a lot to see. I hope everyone likes fighting pits.”

For some reason, his three wives grew even more sullen.