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When we stopped for the evening, I asked if this could possibly be the main road south of the Divarae, and, forestalling the inevitable scoffing laughter, why we had not taken the main road south, after our detour to visit the colony of women in the forest north of us. Alvin, Marion, and now Gard and Tzika, had been following along with the rest, but I expected at least one of Jack, Leroy or Astrea to have a reasonable answer. As it happened, only Astrea had a reason. Jack and Leroy had not cared one way or the other, and had been enjoying the forest and the educational and entertaining conversations we had had along the way. Leroy had also been disinclined to drag Gard out onto a main road, being unsure how merchants, traders and farmers would react to even a small warg.
Astrea was taking the advice of Gabrielle. In addition to warning us about the wolves in the woods south of the colony, Gabrielle had warned us away from the main road between the Divarae and Bolport, our destination. Astrea had asked, after the warning about the wolves, the way to return to the main road without angling north and going backwards.
The area between the Divarae and Bolport included a large number of villages, some small towns, and at least one large town or small city, depending on one's perspective. Part of the area was more or less officially and actually controlled by the Divarae; similarly, another section was more or less officially and actually controlled by Bolport. A large section between the two was officially controlled by one, but actually controlled by the other, and which was which varied too often for mapmakers and guidebooks to keep up. Furthermore, that large town, or small city, either way, called Orena, made Axton look like the center of a high civilization. Where Axton chose to maintain an unenlightened attitude to non-humans, to fortify itself against such races infiltration, and to therefore suffer from bad food, poor plumbing and a generally low standard of life and sanitation as a result, Orena could be thought of a town of land pirates.
Orena did not recognize the rule of either Bolport or the Divarae, and so did not pay tribute to either, nor communicate with them, nor respect their laws and customs, nor sign treaties, etc. It also demanded tribute from the smaller towns surrounding it, and, when those towns refused, or also paid tribute to Bolport or the Divarae and requested assistance to repel the Orenans, it responded with armed attack. When Orena attacked a town or village, it did not limit itself to engagements between armed combatants. They burned fields, farmhouses, barns and outbuildings. They raped women, men, small children and innocent farm animals. They maimed. They tortured. They kidnaped. They took hostages. They murdered those who chose to surrender. They generally behaved in a heinous fashion, and were shunned by all sensible travelers. Astrea, not interested in looking for trouble, had decided to circle around Orena.
When Jack and Leroy found out why they'd stuck to back roads, they were incensed. These people needed assistance, they pointed out, which everyone agreed with, including Astrea. They needed fighters. They needed tacticians. They needed weapons. Alvin said they could use a dragon. We all looked at Alvin, who was not presently a dragon, and asked, almost in chorus, when he could transform himself back. His face took on a vacant look, and he backed away from all of us, further to the middle of the clearing we had made camp in. A moment later, the slightly built young man we'd grown accustomed to was gone, and a medium-sized adolescent dragon had taken his place.
After the three debated the severity of Astrea's error in failing to tell the rest of us what she had heard about Orena, Jack, Leroy and an apologetic, even contrite Astrea took up the question most prominent in the minds of the rest of the party: Should we turn towards Orena, and, if so, with what aim?
The information Astrea relayed from Gabrielle was questioned. The horrors described were almost comically extreme. Why rape farm animals? Another issue revolved around the notion that this town defied the efforts of Bolport and the Divarae to subdue it, and openly defied their claims over many other villages and towns as well. How could a small city, alone, at war with most of its neighbors, afford to defy two of the more powerful cities for many days' travel?
Tzika knew nothing about Orena. When last she had news of the Divarae and Bolport, Orena had been a small town, at the end of the region controlled by the Divarae. The border with the region controlled by Bolport was part of the town limits. I thought that piece of information, old as it was, telling. Might the town have grown over the border? Might it then have been part Divar, part Bol? If the Bol side grew faster, the town's government might have been dominated by the Bol contingent, over time.
Interesting as such speculation might be, it did not explain Orena's horrendous reputation. As a group, we agreed to turn towards Orena at the next crossroads. We would try to learn as much as we could about the local situation before traveling into the town itself. Some of us were curious; others wanted to help right a wrong; still others to make a gold piece or two off the adventures involved in aiding those suffering from misfortune. Whatever our collective goal might become, the first steps toward it were clear. We slept uneventfully, after establishing a watch, and broke camp in the morning.
At breakfast, Astrea offered Tzika a metal fork. Tzika had noticed us using them, although she herself had only a carved wooden spoon and a metal knife. She had inquired about the forks, and we realized the beginning of her exile predated the widespread use of the fork. She said she had seen them used occasionally before her exile, but they were still rare then, used primarily by parvenus and the overly dainty. Some cities still banned them back then under sumptuary laws. Tzika had watched us use them, and rapidly adapted to the new eating implement, thanking Astrea profusely. The incident made us wonder what other things might be new to Tzika, and old to the rest of us.
As we approached Orena during the course of the day, the truth of some of the rumors was impossible to deny. We encountered scorched fields on occasion, and ruined barns and sheds more often. Many of the farms were overgrown and abandoned. The ones which remained had little land under cultivation, but it was intensely planted, more like huge gardens than small farms. We were accustomed to seeing plantings like this in the immediate vicinity of towns and cities, market gardens which sold produce to the citizens of the town. Generally, however, they gave place to larger fields under cultivation, agriculture which would raise the grains and staple root crops which supported life during the winter and spring. We commented upon it, wondering where this town bought its grain, and how it could live. The land about the town suggested a town simultaneously wealthy, able to afford fresh vegetables on a regular basis, but also poor, unable to support a grain crop in its vicinity. Tzika suggested they must buy all their staples from further away. We gaped to think so. Even shipped on the Apha to the east would not be cheap, and this town did not lie on the Apha, but rather a day's slow mule ride away.
Inns and public houses were scarce. We stopped at the first we found, as it was well past noon. The barkeeper told us the inn no longer put up guests over night. Service was limited to food and drink. Spirits were available, as well as some wine, which was expensive, but no beers or ales. The fare was hearty, consisting mostly of game, poultry, fish and fresh vegetables. Bread, we were told, was not available at all, nor rice, or any form of noodle. The starch at the meal was a root vegetable, which we could have boiled, baked, grilled or fried. We noticed no livestock other than poultry on the bill of fare: no beef, mutton, lamb, veal or any pork. While cheese was available, like the wine, it was shockingly expensive. Whatever was going on at and around Orena, it was affecting all aspects of life in the area.
We thanked our host, who we concluded, after our meal, must surely be the least talkative barkeep or innkeeper any of us had ever encountered. We rendezvoused with Alvin, who met us in human form. Not the awkward youth we had traveled with in the forest, Alvin was now a fair-haired, strapping lad who exuded confidence and good nature. The time spent by necessity in human form had done him good. He now believed himself to be the youngest dragon ever able to select and maintain a shape at will. We kept our distance for the first hour, uncertain whether he actually had the control he claimed.
We continued along the road to Orena. Only a mile or two beyond the inn in which we had eaten our midday meal, we were set upon. It would be tempting to describe the crop of young men who waylaid us as bandits, but these were unlike any other bandits I have ever heard of. Several months of traveling with Jack, Leroy and Astrea lead me to believe I might know what a bandit is, and who isn't a bandit.
For example, a bandit is a person who will commit a recognized crime, one of the few enforced across borders, for personal gain. That suggests that a bandit will attack a weak party, compared to the bandit, and wealthy, compared to the bandit. We were not merchants or farmers. We travel light. We do not dress ostentatiously. The bandits who waylaid us were dressed in a uniform fashion, and their attire was in a better state of repair than our own. The bandits were armed, but so were we. While Gard is small for a warg, she is, nonetheless, still a warg.
The bandits we had met early in our journey, near Logwood, had concealed themselves above a well-traveled road, selectively preying on the unsuspecting and unprepared. Had we chosen to ignore them, they probably would have ignored us. These bandits saw us from a quarter of a mile away or more and chose to attack anyway.
Bandits can be stupid. The party of thieves we pressed into service in attacking Squiddie's temple, for example, was hardly made up of sages and wise men. Despite that, their instinct at every opportunity was to run away from present danger. Not this lot. Some of them had crossbows. A volley of bolts arced toward us, while we were still well out of range. We slowed, but continued our approach, halting at the extreme edge of their range, expecting them to halt, approach to shorten range, or approach to parley. Instead, they continued to fire, volley after volley, until their entire stock of bolts was exhausted. We waited, collecting the bolts. After several minutes, they rushed us, running headlong down the road, weapons drawn. It was inevitable, from their lack of formation and the speed of their approach, that an accident would occur. Several did.
One we discovered later. An unusually inept warrior, even for this group, had shot a comrade in the back and himself in the foot. We found both dead later in the day. Neither had the sense to push the bolt through or stop the bleeding. They both bled to death as the fight continued without them. I find it difficult to believe the world suffered in general or in specific from the loss of such foolish creatures.
While they lay dying, we stood agape and aghast as the rest of the warriors charged. One in front tripped, and was trampled by those hard on his heels. Later, we found him dead from internal injuries. A pair in the middle stabbed each other, through running and jostling each other with weapons drawn. They had the sense to drop back and bind their wounds. They then fought over again, dueling to their mutual deaths.
When we were confronted by the remaining dozen or so, we belatedly pulled our weapons, preparing to defend ourselves by counter attack. Gard, Marion and Alvin, however, took matters and men into their own claws, rending, kicking and flaming their way through the melee. In the end, none were left to answer our questions. We resorted to searching what was left of the bodies. Little could be learned from their pockets, pouches and backpacks. They carried nothing to identify them individually. What little money they carried was a mix of Divar and Bol coinage. Their clothing and other supplies were uniform in nature, and gave us no indication of their origin.
We continued down the road, mystified by the encounter. We kept a close eye out for further attackers, and rotated point to be sure that whoever was watching out front could be as alert as possible. The area provided too much cover to justify risking Alvin aloft. Jack and Leroy repeatedly emphasized the importance of leaving at least one person alive long enough to answer questions.
Our precautions were justified. Several miles down the road, before we were ready to halt for the evening, a slightly more sophisticated crew of not-quite bandits waylaid us. This crowd held their crossbow bolts until we were within range. Fortunately for us, and indicating a sad shortfall of forethought on their part, their aim was poor. None of us were hit in any of the many volleys, and the shooters at no point paused to wait for us to approach and perhaps improve their chances. Again, after only the briefest of pauses, a charge followed the end of the volleys of crossbow bolts. Unlike the previous group, this crowd dog-trotted in formation, rather than madly running at us. No one stumbled, and weapons were not drawn until they slowed to a walk and spread out to attack us.
This group, like the previous crowd, was dressed in a uniform manner, but in a slightly different style. Both wore dark colors. They were dressed simply in shirts, pants, boots and jackets, wearing backpacks, and with various utilitarian and martial items attached to their packs and belts. In point of fact, they clanked as they moved, which we had not noticed in the previous lot, probably because of the noise of drawn weapons, labored breathing and the ensuing struggle. Despite the additional degree of organization and discipline, these fighters were no match for us. Their skill with sword and dagger was as limited as their ability with the crossbow. Even if they had been more able, they would have fallen to the combined attack of Marion, Gard and Alvin.
No organized surrender was made, but as even the slowest of our opponents came to realize the inevitability of their complete defeat, most turned and ran, counting on their more foolish comrades to cover their departure. For most, it worked. We stopped fighting, and grabbed the last few fighters, to guarantee some source of information, if only about names, political affiliations, and previous activities. We got three, and let the rest run.
We had not planned our interrogation of our prisoners. In the natural course of things, it was run by Jack and Astrea, with Leroy lurking in the background, periodically pointing out an inconsistency or asking a particularly insightful question. The three prisoners were initially mulish, refusing to answer any questions. One claimed he'd take any torture or punishment devised by us, without telling us so much as the name of his grandmother. While Jack and Astrea debated where to start, I took a moment to describe in some detail (more than I have included here) what had been done to the high priest of Squiddie. We shortly discovered that, not only was the young man's grandmother named Anna, a matter of no particular interest to us, but that he and the rest of the group were natives of Divar, mostly from small, outlying towns. They had been offered jobs, including the clothes they wore, the weapons they bore, and the equipment they carried. They were to come to Orena and reestablish control of the town by the Divarae. As the most reliable, and largest amount of money and resources they'd ever seen, the farmers had happily taken the job. One of the other three piped up to say he wished they never had. Jack invited him to elaborate, and we all offered him our ears.
The job had been simple. Learn how to use a sword and dagger. Get used to three large meals a day. Walk a few miles a day in the only shoes they'd ever had. Carry a lighter pack than any they'd ever lugged to market in the cold of a predawn morning. They collected their pay, and spent it in the pleasure districts of the Divarae, and toasted an amiable future, putting the evil Bol to run at swords' point. They'd taken a barge south on the Apha, and marched inland to Orena. Upon arriving, they found their training at odds with the reality in Orena.
For one thing, the town was an orderly one. Business was good. The farms prospered. Not like now, we were told. Back then, at the beginning of their tour of duty, fields were shoulder high with grain. Fresh bread was cheap, plentiful and good. Ale and beer were pushed upon visitors, more often free than not. The area boasted a particular style of cooking: little packages of cheese, or ground meats, or chopped vegetables, or some combination, wrapped in noodles, sealed and then boiled. Served with a cheese, oil or tomato sauce, hot or cold, it was food to make a peasant happy. That was all gone now.
They began by attending the local meetings of the town government. They had been told that thugs from Bolport were controlling these meetings, and had received rudimentary training in disrupting these meetings. They first watched, and could detect no hand of Bolport in the proceedings. Many of the proceedings did revolve around Bol and Divar. Both cities claimed tribute from the town, since it had grown over the border into Bol, and thrived there. The town's solution was to pay tribute to both, proportionate to how much of the town lived and worked on each side of the border. It was an amicable, peaceable solution, to the minds of those sent by the Divarae. Surely, an error had been made.
But when they sent a message back to their superiors in the Divarae, the reply had come in the form of a new commander, who insisted they follow their initial instructions. They were berated, called bumpkins who couldn't tell when the wool was being pulled over their eyes, easily taken in by any who crossed their path. The commander sure pulled the wool over their eyes, because they followed him back into those meetings, and did exactly what they were told.
When armed outsiders occupy a political meeting, stomping their feet, clapping their hands, and hooting at the top of their lungs, it is difficult to know how to proceed. I gathered that secret meetings were held, which the soldiers did not learn of. The decision reached at those meetings must have been an easy one to reach: if the power to the north proves difficult to deal with, call in a friendlier neighbor to the south. A message of some sort was sent south to Bolport. In response, Bolport sent the group we had encountered earlier. Both groups, our informant told us, had originally been much larger. Over time, they had whittled each other down, and many had deserted. The earliest deserters had returned home, only to be returned forcibly to Orena. Later deserters had attempted to defect to the opposing side. They too had been returned forcibly to Orena, this time fighting against their fellow citizens. Others had tried to travel beyond the borders of one land or the other, but they had not been heard from, and the rest had stayed in Orena, not willing to risk an uncertain fate, despite the increasing hardships they faced.
Over the course of many months, the beer and ale which had flowed so plentifully in the lands around Orena dried up. It was poured out in the heat of battle, hidden away by locals, carted away by those frantic to escape the increasing chaos surrounding them. The fields, high with grain, burned quickly in the summer sun. Vegetable crops fared better, and for the most part had a shorter growing season. Livestock ran away from farms abandoned when the locals died or moved to more stable areas. Inns ceased to do business, and only the hardiest of souls, not to mention the most skilled with arms and armor, dared remain to serve the needs of the unproductive soldiers overrunning the town and villages.
Leroy pointed out that we were still miles from Orena. Why were the soldiers so far from the town? The reply, when it came, was almost spat out by the soldier.
The soldiers from Divar, the first to arrive, had controlled the town at first and, in a show of civility or civilization, continued the town government at least in form. When the soldiers from Bol arrived, they gained the upper hand, with the collusion of many of Orena's most prominent citizens. Elections were staged, and the representatives from Divar not only lost the elections, but the Bol soldiers succeeded in routing those from Divar, exiling them to the countryside. Once there, the Divar, glum at their setback, had taken to torching fields, hoping to convince Orena to give in and give up.
Orena might have, but not the Bol party. After several weeks, and much destruction, a delegation from Orena secretly met with the Divar commander. Arrangements were made for another series of elections, and the Bol soldiers were evicted, replaced once again with the Divar. Our informant had, at that point, had hopes of being posted back home, to return to that way of life that had once seemed so important to escape, but which now seemed more desirable than any he could imagine. The commander, however, had made promises he had no intention of keeping. Furious, the group in Orena which had been instrumental in brining him back into the city, subverted the defenses constructed hastily by the Divar, then the Bol, and again the Divar, permitting the Bol back into the city. A battle ensued. The town was reduced to approximately the level of the surrounding area. More soldiers died. Still more citizens were killed.
And then something happened.
Someone in Orena had summoned a demon. The instructions received by the demon involved restoring order to the town. Its first act, upon arrival, had been the murder of the commanders of both the Bol and the Divar contingents. That action had been universally popular, with the possible exception of the commanders themselves. The demon's second act was the banishment of all remaining soldiers, and all citizens who had had dealings with them, from Orena town limits. Our informant and his comrades were vague on how this was accomplished. After discussion, Tzika concluded that a magical compulsion was placed over the town. The soldiers were relieved to hear this explanation. All they knew was they'd left town in a disorderly rush. While they could work up a desire to return when outside the town limits by a mile or more, all efforts to approach the town ended in fruitless wandering. Also, those who paid travelers or the few remaining farmers to carry their unconscious bodies into town and leave them there were maddened upon awakening. Depending on the length of their stay, some had recovered. The rest did not, or, at least, not before their berserk behavior was ended by their own hand or another's.
The soldiers, thwarted in their mission, without leaders, fearing to defect or to return home, continued to wander the area around Orena. Dependent now upon its produce, they were far less random in their violence. Messengers continued to bring pay packets and supplies that could not be purchased locally. Until someone new arrived, the situation had been static.
We pondered our informant's tale. It explained the anomalous absence of beer, ale, bread, livestock and grain. It even explained the revival of a limited form of farming. We asked about the game at the tavern, and learned that the better shots among the soldiers hunted for the taverns and their own supply of meat. We asked about the outrageous rumors we had heard, the raping of men, women and beasts. Our informant said that those who left Orena early on had to explain their cowardice. Then, too, each side made up tales about the other, to rouse those still neutral to action in the struggle. Those rendered insane by being brought back into Orena might be capable of anything.
We pressed on to more interesting questions: what of Orena itself? Did the demon continue to walk? Who had summoned it? Were any citizens of Orena still alive within the town limits or had all, soon or late, conspired with an outsider?
They had no answers for us. Now that they were compelled to stay away from the city, they had no way to learn. If we wanted answers, we would have to continue to Orena in search of them. How badly did we want to know? Did we think there was anyone left in the town to assist? Assuming there was, did we think we could help them, in the face of the supernatural?
Tzika was dismissive of the threat posed by the demon. She felt that the failure of the demon to leave the town meant it was either too weak to be a threat, or it wasn't even on this plane anymore. Jack, Leroy and Astrea knew what she meant by that statement, and agreed with it. I, however, did not, and said as much. Tzika's reply was patronizing: everyone knew, she said, that the more powerful a demon was, the more difficult it was to control, the more tricks it had up whatever it was demons had to hide tricks in, the more readily it could find a loophole or weak point to escape through. If the demon had not left town, it was either so weak the summoner had successfully controlled it, or it had already broken its bonds, and returned to wherever it came from, or gone to wherever it wanted to go. Its failure to rampage the countryside was prima facie evidence for this argument.
I didn't believe it. First, how did we know that the more dire rumors weren't describing the activities of the demon? It could be walking the countryside even as we sat here, interrogating guilty bystanders. Second, perhaps the demon had not left the town because it was still having a lot of fun tormenting the inhabitants of the town. Third, for all we knew, the summoner had enough skill to control the demon, in which case we might well be walking into Orena to meet a demon of unknown ability, a summoner with still more ability, and a populace much, much the worse for wear.
The response of the rest of the group was unusual. They didn't laugh at me. Then again, they didn't believe me, either. They chose instead to simply ignore my points, and proceed with planning our approach to the town. A lively debate followed. The first issue raised concerned whether to approach the town together or separately. Sending one, or perhaps a few ahead of the rest of us might conceal our numbers. However, the most likely outcome of appearing weaker than we were would be the capture of the advance party. Since we would then go in to retrieve them (him, her), we concluded we might just as well all saunter in together. The second issue raised involved whether to approach in a covert or overt manner. Our gaze collectively turned to Gard, and we unanimously concluded that attempts to hide even a 400 pound warg were futile. A night time approach might have worked, but the town guard was said to be very touchy about visitors after dark, adopting a pour-boiling-oil-first-ask-questions-later attitude. The third issue raised was the matter of what we would tell anyone who might care to ask what our business was in Orena and its immediate environs. The truth was an option, but of course this group never felt limited to that choice. After considering the possibility of masquerading as a delegation from Bol, or Divar, or some third power, we debated the merits of presenting ourselves as merchants, traders, immigrant farmers, or something along those lines. Our lack of any relevant merchandise or agricultural implements and the difficulty of acquiring same imposed an barrier to that plan. Tzika claimed she could create either the illusions of appropriate baggage, or the temporary reality. The latter would require existing examples; the former only the knowledge of what they looked like. Despite this offer, we concluded that telling a limited form of the truth would be best. We would be adventurers who heard of chaos in Orena and the surrounding area, looking to help the locals and possibly turn over a gold piece or three as well. Jack, Leroy and Astrea had a long history of similar activities to support this story. Our longer journey to, and more recently from, the Divarae would not be mentioned, nor would be our destination of Bolport.
We made camp for the evening, during our long discussion, and ate. We discussed what to do with the remaining soldiers, and decided to release them the next day. Tzika would impose a temporary compulsion on them to travel away from us, which should be simple, and work well, as it would reinforce the compulsion to stay away from Orena, our destination. We trussed them for the night, and put them within the light of a torch. We posted a double watch through the night. The soldiers slept soundly, snoring loudly, which helped keep the watch wide awake. Unfortunately, few of those not on watch slept well either.
They were happy to leave us the next morning, grateful to be alive, and claiming to have slept better the previous night than they had since arriving in Orena. Leroy drew them a map to Lytton, and instructions in how to go about finding employment once they arrived. We gave them all the coins and equipment we'd removed from the dead of both groups of soldiers, and sent them on their way. Just before they left, we asked if there were any other soldiers wandering the countryside. As one might have expected, with the leaders dead, and so many attempts to leave, no one was sure how many soldiers remained. In theory, there might be as many as a hundred still living off the land around Orena. In practice, the number might be as low as a dozen.
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Copyright Rebecca Allen, 1999.
Created: July 8, 2012 Updated: July 8, 2012