Valkyrie's Shadow

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 8, Chapter 9

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 8, Chapter 9

Chapter 9

8th Day, Lower Water Month, 0 CE

“Rana–er, Maharana Dratha sure is amazing…”

Great, even Xoc’s calling him that now.

“Is he?” Saraca asked.

The young Ocelo looked up at him, nose and whiskers twitching slightly.

“He’s not?”

After taking a look at all of the markets and speaking to the new residents around Corrin – that was what Mitra said the signs called the city, at least – for a couple of days, Saraca decided to head further downriver. According to Khhschlr, the closer to recently-conquered lands they got, the less ‘organised’ Clan Torokgha’s occupation became. With the state of the local Humans as miserable as it was, he could only keep going in hopes that he would find ones in a more regular state.

Their river barge drifted down the Rol’en’gorek at a leisurely pace, surrounded by the deceptively idyllic – to some races, at least – scenery of the occupied Human nation.

“Well,” Saraca asked, “what makes him so amazing, in your opinion?”

“He conquered so much new territory for everyone,” Xoc counted off the pink pads of her right paw. “Everyone seems to respect him and he has Ranas of every race under his banner. He’s pretty much conquered the Draconic Kingdom, but he’s still preparing for another conquest. We’re getting stronger all because of Maharana Dratha.”

To the people of Rol’en’gorek, it must have seemed that way. If they were lucky, it would work out the way that they hoped. Their problem now, however, lay not in the conquered states or any small countries that lay in their path. It was in whether their actions would upset the regional powers. Yet, recognition of that problem was entirely absent in the ranks of Clan Torokgha.

One might speculate that it was some form of ‘victory disease’ from their smooth and successful conquest of the Draconic Kingdom, but if Rana Dratha was truly a Warmaster, he should have been essentially immune to its effects. Another plausible line of thought was that, as with the rest of Rol’en’gorek’s population, Clan Torokgha was simply ignorant of the world beyond their jungle. Either way, the seemingly heedless decision to extend their conquest was further indication that the Warmaster was no Warmaster at all, and any early indications that he was was merely happenstance.

Not that I expected there to be a Warmaster here in the first place.

Then again, he might have just gotten carried away with his speculations, seeing things that weren’t actually there. ‘Warmaster’ may have simply been a title used by people who had no idea what it was, much like so many other things.

“You…you don’t think the same, do you?” Xoc asked him.

“The answer is more complicated than I can easily convey,” Saraca replied. “Tell me: is there anything you don’t like about how things are being handled here? Anything that you think you can do better?”

“Me?” The Ocelo’s eyes widened, “N-n-n-n-no way! I’m just a nobody. How could I come up with anything better? He’s a Warmaster and he has a guru and all those strong Ranas under him…”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t have your own thoughts about what’s going on,” Saraca told her. “Consider it a part of your instruction.”

Xoc fell deep into thought, staring past the starboard railing of their barge. As with the rest of the Rol’en’gorek, the settlements along the shores were cleared of Humans and groups of migrants followed the road west. All of the migrants they had spoken to were completely oblivious to the fact that the conquest of the Draconic Kingdom was almost complete and they would continue their migration beyond where they expected it to end.

“I don’t like that there’s not enough land for the migrants,” Xoc said, “but that can’t be helped, right? They thought the fighting would be harder, so they ended up with more people than they needed. They can’t just tell them to go home.”

“That’s true,” Saraca replied. “But just because something unexpected happens doesn’t mean that you’re absolved of all responsibility. As a Lord, you must lead to the best of your ability no matter what happens.”

“Then…why are they obsessed with raising Humans as livestock?”

?Wow, right to the main problem.?

“As you say, it appears to be some sort of obsession. It could also be something they decided was a good idea in advance and they’ve invested themselves into seeing it through. What would you do in their stead?”

“Raise better livestock. They said that it’s best to slaughter Humans before the age of thirty. That’s a long time. Even if they take care of themselves, they’re still taking up land. Nug are slaughtered after a year and they yield ten times the meat.”

“What if Nug can’t be raised in this environment?”

“The Humans have animals too. Or used to. You could smell where they used to keep them. They should be worth raising if the Humans are raising them for the same reason. Uh, Humans eat meat, right?”

“They can survive on a mix of things,” Saraca replied, “including meat.”

He breathed an internal sigh of relief. At least the type of thinking harboured by Clan Torokgha and the migrants to the Draconic Kingdom didn’t appear to be natural for the people of Rol’en’gorek as a whole. Or maybe Xoc followed different lines of thought because she had grown up in Ghrkhor’storof’hekheralhr.

The primitive tribal societies of many races raided their neighbours to secure resources in times of scarcity. It wouldn’t be unfair to say that raiding behaviour was one of the pillars of culture that evolved as a civilisation did. The thing was that raiding usually didn’t evolve into more raiding after a certain point. It tended to just become ‘working’.

Raiding was essentially importing resources from outside of one’s territory through forceful means. When new territories were acquired, one usually did not go from raiding the neighbours to ranching the neighbours because they were no longer neighbours consuming externally-sourced resources. They were taking up internal resources that could be more efficiently utilised doing other things, making them go from assets to liabilities depending on how they were employed.

“Then why didn’t you tell them that what they were doing was wrong?” Xoc said, “You didn’t like it, right? I thought you would get angry. I mean, you didn’t look mad, but I could tell you were mad. Mad without getting mad.”

?Grr…when did this girl become so attentive to you…?

Saraca winced as Mitra’s claws dug into his right arm. Why was he always the one getting hurt when others were the source of her jealousy?

“First of all,” Saraca replied, “my job out here doesn’t involve telling people what to do unless I see that it’s to my government’s advantage somehow. That includes the instruction that you’ve been receiving. Secondly, they wouldn’t listen anyway.”

“They wouldn’t? But that guru knows where you’re from.”

“They’re heavily invested in their ‘work’,” Saraca said. “It’s something that they’ve been planning for decades to accomplish. Furthermore, it’s an achievement – one that they’ve spilt blood over. Dissuading them from their path would be an exercise in futility. They have to come to their own realisations. As for getting angry…that would be hypocritical of me and perhaps harmful to them.”

“Why?”

He looked out over the carefully cultivated landscape of the Draconic Kingdom, trying to imagine what Clan Torokgha’s conquest had been like. It was often said that history repeated itself, and Saraca would be hard-pressed to deny the assertion.

“The Beastman Confederation is very old by the standards of most civilisations on the continent. We’ve done many things over the course of our development, and we rarely came up with the right answers the moment we decided to do something or were faced with a problem.”

“So you did Human ranching as well?”

“Among other things,” Saraca replied. “History is never only filled with things that one can be proud of, but learning from our mistakes is often more important than being told the right answers. If one never learns from their mistakes, they are doomed to repeat them, and if one is afraid to make mistakes, one will eventually get stuck. The mistakes that countries make have far greater consequences than personal ones, which is why countries are better off making those mistakes early on.”

“Some mistakes can just kill you,” Xoc said. “You’ll never get a chance to learn from those.”

“That’s true as well,” he admitted. “But mistakes that can destroy a country are usually part of a long line of mistakes. There are also mistakes such as getting on the bad side of Ancient Dragons and the like, but I think most races have a natural aversion to angering entities of that calibre. They cease to exist otherwise.”

“Then…are these Humans making a ‘mistake’ as well? One that they have to learn from?”

“We still know very little about the Humans living in this part of the world,” Saraca said. “Beyond that, there is never only one answer to a problem, and an answer that serves in one situation may not in another. That’s why my instruction is so vague: I can only guide you to an answer that works for you and your people, and coming to your own realisations will help you face future problems.”

Their next stop along the Rol’en’gorek was a city that looked slightly smaller than Corrin. A few kilometres from its walls, a Baagh official waved wildly at them from the northern shore. He shouted out to them as they drew close.

“Don’t bring your ship any further than this!”

“Did something happen?” Devi asked.

“It’s the end of the land managed by Clan Torokgha,” the official answered. “Past this point, migrants are responsible for their own security. Most boats going past the next city don’t survive, so it’s strongly suggested that you go by land from here.”

“They don’t survive?” Saraca furrowed his brow, “Do you mean they get attacked by Humans? Or is there a territorial tribe living in the water?”

“It’s the Humans. We can thrash them on land, but fighting them on the water is something else. Well, it’s not so much fighting as them ramming their ships into ours. It’s a waste of two good ships. Oh–if you’re leaving that boat for good, Clan Torokgha will purchase it from you.”

They moored their vessel under a willow tree that dangled over the water. The official gave Saraca and his entourage an appraising look.

“You’re a bit overequipped for the Draconic Kingdom,” he said.

“We didn’t know what to expect,” Devi said. “The criers upriver talk about land and opportunity, but little about what it costs to obtain.”

“That’s fair, I guess. Since you’ve gone to all that trouble to prepare, I’ll do you a favour and let you in on something…”

“What’s that?”

The official leaned forward with a conspiratory air.

“The Draconic Kingdom isn’t the end of our migration,” he said in a low voice. “We’re going to take the Human lands on the other side of the water, as well. Once the monsoon season is over, we’ll make the crossing.”

“The other migrants don’t know about this?”

“Clan Torokgha will let them know soon enough. For now, we’ve spread them out so they can feed on the Humans while they wait. Otherwise, they’d be crowding the shores to be the first ones across – some idiots may even try to make the crossing on their own and that’d warn the Humans on the other side.”

“I see. In that case, we’ll keep the information to ourselves. Thank you for letting us know.”

Even when they try to be ‘helpful’, they’re presumptuous…we didn’t even say that we were migrants.

It was another symptom of the so-called ‘victory disease’ he had noted since entering the Draconic Kingdom. The fruits of victory were tumbling into their paws too quickly, and a collective sense of power, control and destiny had fallen over the conquerors. Their words and actions were heedless and only saw their version of ‘reality’.

“Looks like we’re finally getting somewhere,” Girika said.

Saraca focused his gaze on the city skyline ahead.

“What do you mean?”

“That city still has Humans living in it,” the Inquisitor replied. “There’s too much smoke for it to be these local Beastmen.”

“…then where are the Beastmen?”

“There are a bunch running security on the city walls,” Girika said. “Pretty sure everyone else is ‘spread out’ like that pompous official said.”

“Are we going in?” Devi asked.

“This is exactly what we’re here for,” Saraca answered. “It’s more than we hoped for, even.”

The entrance of Rivergarden lay wide open – or rather, it had been broken open. Pieces of gate and portcullis lay scattered outside the walls. A few dozen Humans were active just inside, but they scattered at his entourage’s approach.

How do we begin…

There was no reason for the Humans to assume that they were anyone other than the Beastmen that were taking over their territory. Some things, however, didn’t require the cooperation of the locals.

“What do you think, Devi?”

“Assuming these Humans were subjected to the same calamity that befell Rol’en’gorek,” his first wife said, “they’ve recovered remarkably quickly. It’s nothing one would expect of a Human nation this far from the centres of civilisation.”

“Did they receive support, or is it simply the result of trade?”

“I couldn’t say until we have a better idea of the region.”

“Girika,” Saraca said. “See if you can’t acquire a map from the locals.”

“Sure thing.”

The Inquisitor entered a nearby alley and vanished. Mitra concealed herself as Saraca made his way further into the city. The Chaaran went ahead of them, peeking into the doors and windows of the buildings. She returned to his side when they reached the central plaza.

“It’s quiet,” she said, “but the workshops are still running, making what necessities they’re allowed to. The people here are hiding a lot of things from casual observation, though.”

“I wonder how many Beastmen get stabbed here,” Girika said as he appeared beside him. “I got your map.”

“Where did you find it?”

“An abandoned estate. The ‘conquerors’ took all the shinies away, but they left a lot of other goodies behind.”

After Saraca received the map, the Inquisitor produced several more articles. He held up a roll of vellum towards Mitra.

“Check this out.”

Mitra’s lips moved silently before she described the content aloud.

“This is…a futures contract? For twenty thousand barrels of wine. Delivery is due on…it looks like they use a run-of-the-mill elemental calendar, but I’m not sure how their dates line up with ours. They’re in the northern hemisphere, so it should be upside down?”

Devi leaned in to examine the parchment.

“It’s not in the script used by Merchants along the Sapphire Coast,” she said, “but the format is the same. How much more of this was there in that estate?”

“Who knows,” Girika replied. “It was all over the floor.”

The Merchant’s mouth fell open in horror. Rol’en’gorek’s victorious migrants had no idea that they had probably left tens of thousands of platinum trade coins on the floor, instead taking whatever pieces of art and metalwork they thought had value. The contracts had no intrinsic value on their own, so their Merchants wouldn’t be able to discern their worth.

“Well, it’s not as if the parties involved can complete the transaction now,” Mitra said with a shrug. “Gimme that map, ji.”

Saraca placed the map into Mitra’s grasping claws. Her eyes hungrily devoured the details inked upon it.

“Slane Theocracy…Kingdom of Re-Estize…Baharuth Empire…City State Alliance of Karnassus…oh, there’s the Great Northern Steppe.”

“Did you see any Minotaur technology while you were in there?” Saraca asked.

“I did, actually,” Girika replied. “They had a few fridges and freezers on the lowest floor. The things looked pretty out of place, so they were probably imported.”

Still, it confirmed trade links with the Minos League, and if there were trade links, there would also be intelligence agents. How safe would it be to head north? The presence of Confederacy delegates would likely spur the League’s Expeditionary Vanguard to drastically step up their operations in the region, and the Confederacy wasn’t ready to keep them in check.

“What are the distances marked on the map?”

“Mmh…” Mitra tilted her head sideways, “it’s a Merchant map, so it only shows route distances. Let’s see…the lake between the Draconic Kingdom and the Slane Theocracy is a hundred kilometres across at the most. There’s no direct route to the Baharuth Empire from the Draconic Kingdom. The only way north is from the Theocracy, going up this highway two hundred kilometres to a city called E-Rantel in the Kingdom of Re-Estize.”

Mitra wandered over to a nearby bench in the plaza, placing the map upon it. Everyone gathered around.

“The highway splits there,” she traced a road on the map with a claw, “going east to the Baharuth Empire, the City State Alliance and eventually to the Great Northern Steppe. It goes west through Re-Estize to this Holy Kingdom of Roble in the southwest and the Argland Confederation in the northwest. There’s a lot of stuff on this map, but it’s pretty small. Assuming these maritime routes mark the coastline accurately, it looks like you can squish everything west of the City State Alliance into Rol’en’gorek.”

Did that mean Clan Torokgha’s ambitions were actually feasible? If the region was broken up into many small states, they could each potentially be crushed by the weight of Rol’en’gorek’s migrants alone.

“Does it say anything about the races that live in the region?”

“No. Assuming that Khhschlr is correct about the Slane Theocracy, the fact that it has a trade route running north means that the Kingdom of Re-Estize is probably a Human state. Humans being Humans, I wouldn’t be surprised if this region was all Human.”

“Don’t forget about what Khhschlr said about the Draconic Kingdom’s northern border,” Karuvaki said.

“The persistent negative energy zone, huh,” Saraca’s eyes went to the blank space on the map that the trade routes circumvented. “Wait, isn’t this too big? I wouldn’t be surprised if Death Knights and Soul Eaters popped out of there.”

“They’re Humans,” Girika said offhandedly. “I bet you they’re dumping.”

Faces around the bench twisted in disgust.

“You can’t be serious!” Karuvaki said, “If they want to commit mass suicide, they can do it without involving everyone else.”

Negative energy dumping was a practice that was considered taboo around the world. Civilisations that cared little for the world beyond themselves would designate areas to settle their disputes through warfare, effectively ‘dumping’ negative energy. To them, negative energy zones were simply a convenience. They didn’t know or care that they were contributing to the growth of an unnatural blight.

Countries caught dumping negative energy were censured by the international community. If they persisted, they would be destroyed before their actions put the entire region at risk. Removing a negative energy zone once it became persistent was an expensive and time-consuming effort.

“Looking at it from another angle,” Saraca said. “It also means that the countries surrounding this negative energy zone have the means to destroy whatever comes out of it…or maybe they don’t.”

“Make up your damn mind,” Girika said. “What the hell does that last part mean?”

“Rana Dratha expected more substantial resistance from the Draconic Kingdom,” Saraca replied. “Since they didn’t encounter it, I was thinking that it had been coincidentally lost in a conflict with another country. But with this negative energy zone being as large as it is, they may have been lost fighting something powerful that spawned there.”

“These guys are in for a nice surprise if that’s the case.”

“There’s no sense of alarm from the Draconic Kingdom’s Humans related to anything like that,” Saraca said, “so a coalition of surrounding states may have taken care of the problem. At least I hope so.”

“Shouldn’t you let Clan Torokgha know about this?” Xoc asked, “The Undead are everyone’s enemy.”

“It’s a speculative warning at best, but we’ll let Khhschlr know on the way back through Corrin. The migrants are decentralised past this point, so anything insubstantial won’t get anywhere.”

Mitra packed away the map and Saraca looked around the plaza. Unfortunately, the Humans there had vacated the area so there was no one to speak to.

“A city centre should have some offices,” he said. “Does anyone see anything familiar?”

“There’s a Merchant Guild office over there,” Devi pointed to the western end of the plaza. “Would you like me to take a look? Actually, I needed a place to deposit everything I made from Rol’en’gorek.”

“…do you really think they’ll take your deposit?”

“Why not? The Merchant Guild is the Merchant Guild.”

They silently followed Devi across the plaza, leaving most of the house guard at the bottom of the office’s front stairs. Saraca and Mitra ducked to fit under the doorframe as they made their way inside. The building’s occupants scattered at their entry.

Undaunted, Devi walked up to the reception counter, ringing the service bell. Xoc jumped at the sound.

“What does that do?” She asked.

“It summons a friendly clerk from the Merchant Guild,” Devi said in a slightly loud voice. “The Merchant Guild is an international organisation that facilitates the business of its hundreds of millions of members.”

The Ocelo’s eyes grew wide.

“Hundreds of…is the world being taken over by Merchants?”

“That’s right,” Devi answered with a nod. “Merchants make the world go round.”

“While that last part might be metaphorically true,” Saraca said. “They’re only a small percentage of the world’s population.”

Devi rang the bell again. Frantic whispering rose from deeper within the office, followed by a resigned sigh. A balding Human in a familiar uniform rose from behind a desk, walking up on unsteady steps.

“The old and infirm sacrificing themselves,” Girika said, “karma ratings are through the roof.”

“We’re not here to eat them,” Devi shot the Inquisitor a sidelong glance. “I’m here to make a deposit.”

Devi produced heavy sacks of precious metals and gems, lining them up on the counter. The old clerk’s gaze crossed over them. He swallowed.

“The…the Merchant Guild reserves the right to refuse deposits of illegally-acquired assets.”

“They’re not illegal!” Devi growled, “I spent the last two months trading the length and breadth of Rol’en’gorek for this. They’re not familiar with the organisation, so there was nowhere to deposit my earnings.”

She fished out her account book and placed it on the counter, tapping it with a claw.

“I’m an upstanding member of the Guild. You can’t refuse me service.”

The clerk hesitantly reached out to take the account book. His eyes widened as he leafed through the pages. It was no small wonder: Devi was probably wealthy enough to buy the entire Draconic Kingdom – before it had been invaded – outright.

“Where did you last update this?” He asked.

“Stormport.”

“…please bear with us.”

After the clerk turned and disappeared into the office, Saraca let out a snort.

“I can’t believe that worked.”

“Of course it worked,” Devi furrowed her brow at him. “But the deposit won’t go through.”

“Why not?”

“Those Merchants that scattered,” Girika said. “They’re all using paper.”

“So it’s not safe to hold physical assets because the new management is stealing them.”

“Something like that.”

“Savages,” Devi muttered. “Never mind any regional threats: when the Guild hears about this, they’ll obliterate Rol’en’gorek.”

“They’re Merchants, right?” Xoc tucked her tail between her legs.

“Don’t look down on Merchants,” Devi told her. “Snuffing out lawless savages is all in a day’s work for those who maintain the financial and economic systems of the world.”

“So we’re doomed,” Xoc’s whiskers drooped.

“It’s something that would happen in stages,” Mitra said. “First, they’ll contain Rol’en’gorek, then engineer the downfall of the ruling castes. After that, they’ll replace them with new overlords that will enforce civilised conduct upon the native population!”

The Chaaran’s dramatic voice rose with every sentence, and she lifted her paws in a grandiose way at the last. Xoc visibly wilted, cringing behind Saraca.

“Stop scaring the poor girl,” he said.

“You think they wouldn’t finance a punitive expedition?” Devi said, “Hardly anyone would care about a country beyond the edge of nowhere being crushed. Especially one that crossed the Merchant Guild.”

The clerk returned with a binder in hand. As the Merchant Guild was an international organisation, it faced certain challenges from region to region. While the format of their documentation was standardised and numbers were easily decipherable, language barriers posed a problem and the guild had developed protocols for dealing with them.

“We’ve recognised your membership with the Guild,” the clerk said, “but we can’t take your deposit. Nothing against you in particular, of course – it’s just that the occupying forces have no respect for private property. Our branch was ransacked shortly after Rivergarden fell, so we can’t guarantee the security of your deposits.”

“I see,” Devi sighed. “Well, it was worth the attempt. I’ll just have to carry this all around until I return to the Sapphire Coast.”

“Since you’ll be headed that way,” the clerk produced a sealed envelope, “would you be so kind as to deliver this to the Stormport branch?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Devi replied. “Since we’re here, could you answer some questions we have about the Draconic Kingdom? About its industrial and economic situation in particular. Before this invasion, of course.”

The clerk, now more visibly relaxed, leaned against the counter and nodded.

“Sure, why not,” he said. “Those other Beastmen have been sizing us up recently, so I don’t know how much time we have left. But we’ll have to entertain you in the back. Can’t have what little business that remains frightened off.”