Tuesday 9 April 2019

24. Wildday/ Death Week to Godday/ Death Week, Fire Season, 1618

Leaving the gates and their Lunar guards behind them, the adventurers finally entered Boldhome. Boldhome! Only Terrastal had been within its high walls before, and the rest of the heroes were awed by its sheer scale. Before them was a wide valley that split into two, an imposing peak dominating the approaches to both. Atop this vast rampart was the Royal Palace, where of old the Orlanthi rulers of Sartar had held sway, keeping faith with both men and Gods. Just below the palace was the place where the Royal Flame had been kindled and burnt undimmed through the long years of Sartarite independence. Yet when the Lunars had taken Boldhome the flame had been doused and now it was a sign of Orlanthi bondage.

As the heroes walked towards the right-hand valley, they were surrounded by a throng of people moving towards and away from the city. Although many of them were of Orlanthi stock and from a range of different tribes, there were also large numbers of beings from far and wide. Here was a Praxian tribesman, staring ahead moodily as his huge rhino mount rumbled onwards. Yrsa stared open-mouthed at the sight, kindling a small, secret desire to perhaps have such a mount herself one day. Behind him were a line of miserable humans bearing more strange Praxian tribal markings, united only by the slave chains that looped from neck to neck. Still further back, an inhuman morocanth was carried aloft on a palanquin borne by herd men, drawing dark glances and mutters from the surrounding humans. Bofrost found it impossible to tear his gaze away from these new sights and sounds, until the morocanth trader noticed his stare and gestured angrily with a set of wicked bronze claws.

As they approached the cluster of buildings ahead, Randel felt in need of a drink to wash the trail dust from their throats. With the unerring nose for commerce of a true son of Issaries, he led them down a series of winding alleys between tall, orderly buildings until finally they emerged into a bustling market. Strange sounds and smells assaulted their senses, leaving them dumbstruck until Randel led them into a tavern marked out by an image of a green humanoid amphibian with lumpy skin: ‘The Warty Newtling’. Although the name was not promising, the tavern proved to be well-kept and clean, with friendly staff. As the heroes slaked their thirst and picked over a highly-spiced stew, they took care to listen to the chatter of the locals, to see if there was any mention of the Red Hands or a way to get into the palace. It was plain that the local Orlanthi bore no love for the Lunar overlords, or for the puppet prince they’d placed on the throne, Temertain. However, although Terrastal probed carefully for those with rebel sympathies, for the most part people were more interested in their own affairs than those of whoever ruled them. Whilst Randel noted the local fashions and possible future trading opportunities, Sandene found her gaze drawn to a group of priests moving quietly through the crowded market outside. Wherever they walked, parted respectfully and, although they wore their purses in plain sight none of the lurking urchins made any move to steal them. As they drew closer, Sandene saw that they bore the runes of Harmony and Life, marking them out as servants of Chalana Arroy. Touching the livid scars that marred the side of her face, Sandene resolved to visit the House of the Healers. As her spirit had begun the process of healing since joining her comrades, perhaps now it was time for her body to begin to heal also.

Having quenched their thirst and rested their weary limbs, the band decided to seek out the tribal manor of the Colymar, where they could be assured of a safe, cheap bed for the night. Also, they still needed to find out more about the local situation before they could even begin to devise a plan to liberate Hofstaring’s Hands.  As they made their way further along the valley, Yelms’ Orb dipped below the peaks of the surrounding Quivin Mountains, plunging the city into darkness whilst the bowl of the sky remained a deep blue. It was yet another of Boldhome’s contradictions, that lamps were lit beneath a blue summer sky.

Eventually, they reached the Colymar Tribal Manor. It was an impressive two-storey building of Mostali style, as were all of the city’s oldest buildings. Despite this, the Colymar banner flew proudly overhead, and familiar songs and voices could be heard within. As the heroes entered, they found a well-appointed room within. Almost every clan of the Colymar tribe was present; warriors, traders and travellers. Moving here and there was a bear-like man with an impressive beard, talking easily with each group, by turn laughing loudly or listening to worries with a solemn expression. Seeing the newcomers, the man greeted them heartily. ‘Welcome, friends! I see by your clothes and your marks that you are of the Ernaldori, so again welcome.’ To Sandene, the man inclined his head and welcomed her in accented Tarshite. ‘I am Farnan of the Ernaldori, keeper of this house and I demand a gift of wealth, song or service, as is my right. Who will pay the due?’ he said expectantly, looking from face to face. Without hesitation, Terrastal stepped forward, hooked his thumbs into his belt and related the story of the Battle of the Broken Tower. Behind him, Bofrost clapped and stamped his foot in time to the rhythm of the words, and at the end of the story appreciative applause spread through the room.

As the applause died down and conversation resumed, the companions questioned Farnan regarding the situation in Boldhome, the Red Hands and the Royal Palace. In common with most others in the city, Farnan had no love for Temertain but thought him no worse than any other ruler. The real power in the city was the Lunar Governor, Fazzur Wideread. Indeed, it had been Fazzur who had cast Hofstaring Treeleaper into a Lunar Hell, removing his hands to prevent him escaping. It was he who had given the Hands to Temertain as a gift, that he might display them at state occasions to show the fate of those who stood against the Red Goddess. In fact, there was due to be a week of celebrations to mark the end of Starbrow’s rebellion, when it was likely the Red Hands might be on display. But if they wished to know more about the lore of the city, Farnan suggested they speak to a local storyteller named Old Andrin. He always seemed to know what was happening, where and why, and spent his days moving between the taverns of the city, exchanging stories for coin.

Looking around, Bofrost noted a group of Konthassos clansmen sitting close by who seemed to be very interested in what was being said. Engaging them in conversation, he learned that they were looking for an opportunity to petition Temertain to rule on a land dispute in their favour. Unfortunately, such an opportunity had proved difficult to come by and they’d wasted time and much of their money in bribes to gain access to the Prince. Now, however, they were hopeful that the upcoming celebrations would give them the opportunity they needed. The leader of the group, a well-dressed man of middle years named Roganvarth, noted Bofrost’s interest in the detail of their claim and set out the legal arguments they would use. Seeing Bofrost deep in conversation, the rest of the heroes joined the group as Bofrost pointed out a flaw in their argument that would have lost the petition, as well as some suggested improvements. Roganvarth was overjoyed and angry; overjoyed at Bofrost’s skill and angry that his own companions had missed such an error. When Terrastal suggested that the heroes might be able to accompany the petitioners into the palace to help with their case, Roganvarth promised to bear his offer in mind.

The following day, the companions set out to explore the city and see what other opportunities might present themselves. Heading towards the temple district that lay beneath the Royal Palace, the heroes crossed a great bridge spanning a broad river that split the city, flowing from the mountains above. From ancient times, God-Talkers, prophets and holy madmen of every type had been able to preach without restraint by royal decree. Temertain had allowed this custom to continue, although those speaking against the Lunar occupation tended to visit only once. As they crossed the bridge, an old, toothless woman wearing filthy clothes fixed them with a milk-eyed stare. As they passed where she slumped against the bridge wall, the woman rose to her feet and began to speak in clear words, a prophecy of a White Bear and Dragons leading to the Hero Wars and the fall of the Lunars. As soon as she finished, she looked about herself in confusion and pulled at her rags, clearly confused. Further along the bridge, two Lunar guards could be seen jogging through the crowd. ‘Bolka! We warned you! Once more, we said, and it’d be the cells for you!’ Quickly, the heroes blocked their way, complimenting them on the cut of their uniforms and trying to engage them in conversation. By the time the Lunars had rid themselves of these annoying bumpkins, all that could be seen was Sandene moving quickly across the bridge, her arm around a short figure wearing a colourful cloak that had last been seen on Randel’s back. Looking around once more for the old woman, the Lunars shrugged and went about their business, resolving to beat her the next time they saw her for sure.

At the temple district end of the bridge, the band came together once more, doubled with laughter at their small victory over the Lunar oppressors. Recovering themselves, they headed further into the jumble of temples towards an airy, open building staffed by white-robed Healers. Giving over Bolka into the care of the initiates, Sandene begged them to care for the old woman as she seemed to be god-touched. The initiates knew Bolka well, but were puzzled by Sandene’s words as to this point her words had been mere gibberish.

At this point, the heroes parted ways for a time. Whilst Sandene remained at the House of the Healers and Yrsa and Randel visited the shrines of their gods, Bofrost and Terrastal set off for the foot of the Royal peak. Here was the Royal Library, a great centre of learning and a temple to Lhankor Mhy. Once within, a wide-eyed Bofrost was overawed by the vast number of scrolls and parchments crowding the library’s shelves. Surely here would be the knowledge he sought regarding the Red Hands, and much more besides. Within moments, he was deep in conversation with fellow Sages and disappeared into the recesses of the library.

For a while, Terrastal kicked his heels outside the library, watching the grey-clad Sages trooping back and forth with initiates trailing behind, weighed down with scrolls. But quickly, he became bored and set off to explore the People’s Square. On their journey, he’d heard Bofrost talking of it as a place where free Orlanthi had been able to speak out on any subject without fear of censure from the King or the Royal Household. Yet, since the Lunar conquest, the place had fallen out of favour, with those daring to speak out meeting with imprisonment or worse. Entering the empty square, Terrastal struck up a conversation with an impoverished local and his daughter, but when the conversation turned to the Lunar conquerors the locals left hurriedly. Dissatisfied, Terrastal climbed up onto one of the stone blocks from which speakers at one time would address any who would listen. As he did so, two Lunar soldiers approached him and mocked him. Terrastal had a choice; sensibly step down and walk away, or confront the Lunars and cause a fight. Of course, Terrastal chose to fight. Within moments, one of Terrastal’s summoned Skull-Beast was fighting one Lunar, whilst the other lay on the sand, expiring noisily whilst Terrastal pulled his axe from his chest. Seeing the alarm being raised, Terrastal ran for his life, hoping to find somewhere to hide...

As Bofrost emerged from the Library, he was greeted by the sight of Lunar soldiers running here and there in alarm, with two hardened warriors leaping astride a pair of horses. Momentarily at a loss, Bofrost then noticed that Terrastal was nowhere to be seen, and his heart sank with certain knowledge that, somehow, this was Terrastal’s doing. Sighing, he gathered the hem of his robes and began to jog towards where the commotion and screaming was loudest...

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