Post by Sire Halfblack on Aug 4, 2014 20:58:52 GMT
Jurrle IM 1004
Deci was not Halgar and it did not explode when the constraints of civilisation left it. Deci was not Eartholme where the Guilds, or Keys the Merchants, would assume control or the ‘rest where it’s leaders would be tried as criminals. The idea of civilisation is all that often holds a city together, each example of which being an oasis amongst the wilds that made up much of the Empire. The territories that were Deci were rocky, hilly and hard and as with most places on Primus the people reflected the land about them most acutely.
There was food in the city but not enough to go round. In Alguz long queues might have formed wherever rumour grew or where, most likely, the citizens actually acted for the best for all. In Deci the people took a step backwards, then another with each passing week as the mores of civilisation strained about them. City life, family and employ, even Guilded status, were the trappings of maturity in Deci and a surprisingly large number had grown up in Cheapside where your family was your gang, your parents the pack. The people of Deci were notorious for their capacity to ignore their offspring, ‘the streets were good enough for the likes of us’, and so when food was short even the stoutest of Masters reverted to the safety of their early years.
The city had never been especially bloated with food of course, the Deci diet being either fresh and very plain or ‘nicely ripe’ and thus extremely spicy. People wanted bread and fiery dishes. Even bellies made small by culture and climate protested at the days that might go without food other than the occasional egg or bowl of buttermilk from the people’s scrawny animals. A few even killed and ate their chickens, bladder goats and gussup’s but they were wretched things at best and thereafter such people were even less happy and the next day more hungry as they had not even a weekly egg to look forward to. Many compromised and for a week or two there seemed to be a lot of animals with one less leg than they had once boasted but these tended to sicken and die in turn anyway.
Guilds did not shut their doors but many of the members took to staying in the Halls overnight. People broke apart and fell into gangs new ones based on tenement, slum street, Guild or employ. And as the nights grew subtly longer the fighting began, snippy little skirmishes and dirty little scraps that caused a few deaths but mostly maimed or left suppurating wounds.
As the month wore the Guilded gangs began to use nets and clubs rather than blades and spikes and they at least began to look better fed as the days progressed.
It would not be accurate to say the city fell, the scribes still worked, the Guilds would still build, the caravans still formed and the Watch, actually the Watch guarded its Houses and refused to patrol but that was scarce noticed anyway as they weren’t given to poking their noses much out in public anyway. Especially now when it might get eaten.
The fighting was careful and began to grow along territorial lines but mobs did not roam the streets. The gangs were too small for that and the citizens had nothing to directly protest about. Rather they did but they’d heard that the Clothstreet Dozen had a side of ham and there was some sneaking to be done, threats to call and perhaps, probably, some rusty knife work to complete.
That which most approached a pause came when the Guilds spoke to some who passed word to others that spread gossip to still more. In small knots and in the height of day, an unofficial time of truce, some of the leaders-that-were-not-leaders, Masters and gang reeves gathered in the lopsided Darkly Drinking Square. Over the course of an hour it became quite crowded, those there having to stand closer together in the sloped square that was formed mostly of narrow townhouses. The architecture of the Heights was such that in another city each of thee buildings would have been considered the Quarters haunted house. Old slate crowded above walls dark with leaded paint and barred windows.
A dog barked. It was rapidly hunted down and by the time a narrow figure stepped atop an empty crate it was already being butchered for scraps. Anath did not look nervous, he had in fact practised not looking nervous for a good hour in front of the worn, dull mirror that hung across the entire wall of Council chamber in the Citadel. He held one hand at shoulder height to gain a little silence.
“Let’s talk food,” he began. He was well versed in the nature of the city and well knew it was not the time for florid speaking or high language.
*
Tossing what looked to be a stone from one hand to the other Jander stared at the tall figure before him. In the hills the heat was hardly what it was further south in the Empire and Deci was never very hot anyway so it had been easy travelling. As a city, Deci was disproportionately given to its urban population but there were still many thousands of people who lived in the lands that were taken to be Deci territory. Most lived in scattered crofts, nursing the thin land. They knew enough to feed themselves and Jander had been enough of a curiosity that all had stopped to watch him wander past.
Another man might have gained more detail from the dirty countryfolk through guile or personality but Jander gleaned sufficient from them to learn that there had been handfuls of elves seen in a number of places, all of them heading ever further south. Those that had been causing the most trouble the Governor already knew about.
Stopping for the longest in Wuther Tithing, Jander had spent the night in a hut made from the stones of long-since fallen houses all about. The turf on the huts roof had been placed there so long ago that its grass was as tall and thick as that founds anywhere else hereabouts. Twelve people lived there, all with the same family name of Hitock and with about three different faces between them. Clearly the area had once, long ago been a more populous place though most of the old buildings had fallen and were now hidden, overgrown. Jander had found something there though that had made him pause and even as he looked at the taller elf he subconsciously rubbed the stone he had brought with him from that croft.
In counter to Jander’s passivity, Jaraxle looked set to explode. His mouth hung slightly open, turned sharply at the edges and fierce eyes glared at the elf. At the bottom of the hill the best part of a hundred citizens, the Height’s Militia, looked guardedly at the three-dozen warriors that eyed them with less curiosity. The former stood in a lose triple line with shields locked, the latter adopted a more spread formation. It was anybody’s fight since the inexperience of the militia was countered by their solid wall and numbers, whilst the warrior soul and skill of the elves made up for their more open order and numerical disadvantage. There had been a series of clashes further south and to the east. Originally the Cheapside Militia had come out with Jaraxle but they had been so bloodied by the fighting against the elves that the Commisent had sent them back with orders to raise the Heights.
Jaraxle had seen the problem and it was one of experience. Normally the militia did not have to fight, the show of force was enough to deter brigands or the tribes, the elves though had suffered badly at Ikhala’s hands and were going to take no chances. Neither were they prepared to suffer any slight to their courage in the wake of their defeat.
For weeks the fights had gone on, or rather a few brief hours scattered through such time of walking, camping and flurried fighting. Small groups of elves had been killed. It did not help that they were not from the Empire and so to them Jaraxle’s heritage was the lowest possible. But their ravaging had been halted and now Edrachen A’Storm had come to speak with the Sunstar. He was one of the few surviving Alithanti and feeling his people’s fight had sought out Jaraxle who had in turn reluctantly reported such to Jander.
“What need we of these vagabond sleeperson’s, Baron Sunstar?” The Commisent used Jander’s city-title purposefully, his tone deferential to show the importance of the Governor before such as he saw.
Edrachen was taller than either of them, his skin a pale blue shot through with veins of darker stuff and softly moving crackles of sharp lightning. He wore a rich robe but his hands were gloved and. He seemed to be weaponless. The elves at the hills foundation were dressed like the tribes but their weapons were very well made and, Jander could tell, very old indeed.
The Governor listened to what the Alithanti had to say, playing things calmly whilst Jaraxle jibed his insults. The wild elves were passing through to the Broken Land, seemingly between Bildteve and Sellaville. They had been attacked and they would fight if they had to. His people would not allow themselves to die without glory or food. There were many such groups but it was a big land and most passed unheard or unfelt in the city other than in the blank perceptions of the scribes and their quills.
“We wish you gone.” The Sunstar declared.
“They will be gone in the time it takes to travel.”
“You will water the land with your essence,” Jaraxle spat.
“My folk will pass, most have gone further already and move down your coast. We cannot go to Averlaeren, we cannot stay in the North, the Broken Land is all that remains to us.”
“You will not winter here,” Jander stated. The elves were nothing but trouble and there was nothing in them that would help his city. Jaraxle had dug out most of those who would have remained but he would be well served by keeping up the priority on the raiders and the tribes just to keep the Militia patrolling aggressively. The Commisent was staring at the Alithanti even as the elf drifted down towards the group of his people. As they moved off he heard a hundred citizens let out their breath all in one go.
*
Having formalised some of what he had seen at Two Sanders with a herb, Llewellyn set about arranging for a cart to collect some of the Ralynwort each month for delivery to the city where it would presumably be dried and prepared by a Herb Mill. The druid’s intention to have food taken out was impossible at the present time however but a tools, amps and other manufactured items filled half the cities storehouses and it was easy to have a bundle of them taken to the curious rural hillside.
As the month wore on though it was clear that it would need more than just a cart to do the work and Llewellyn had to send a caravan to do the trip and bring back the bundles of Ralynwort, which would be stored in the new storehouses till they could be used. The druid though was not long in Deci as he tried to do what he could for the ‘Wort farmers. His healing helped a little but of course what they wanted was a series of solid, square meals. Didn’t everyone though frankly?
Still, the herb had been hunted down and was being brought into the city. After the current crop was brought in then the normal carts would manage. Not a few people seeing the bundled plants brought in to the city wondered how edible such could be? It looked rather like troll-cabbage after all but taller and thickly stalked…
*
“It would be a union of Great Houses.”
“Yes I see that. But you have to see things from my position Troy,” the young Noblewoman leant forward, “you don’t have a title, you’re not even the Governor.”
Tryo sighed. He had feared it would be the hardest thing he had ever done but the evening had gone well as he had wined and charmed Lady Hadensford in the Poison Club’s finest chambers and plied her with all the trappings of wealth that he felt he would need. He was dealing with the Nobles after all so his position would no doubt cover the cost. If not, then he felt sure Don Argoth would treat the matter of an unpaid bill as being of little importance.
“That is something I have already arranged to speak with Lord Marston about. So, my darling Belinda, will you marry me?”
The moment stretched out for an eternity. Troy would always remember the candlelight, the scents of rare woods and the taste of now extinct beasts. The Lady stared back at him with surprise before answering him in the sweetest of tones.
“Berina, my name is Berina. Who is this ‘Belinda’?”
*
“I’ve trawled, called in favours and most importantly offered lots of treasure to people that can bring us all some food. It’s a bad time of year of course.” Anath held up his hands meekly at the expected boo’s and mutterings, waiting for them to drop a little before continuing. “Harvest being close but not here, so really as far away as it can be. But as you know, so much of our food is brought here by traders that I’ve pointed out the sort of prices we’re offering. We’re not the only city like this of course and unlike Keys we do get some food locally!”
The crowd actually laughed a little at that.
“But we’ve got some on its ways from Eartholme and hopefully Halgar. There’s a lot of hard cheese and salted meat been unearthed by the traders and some local citizens have done fine things with fresh meat. With the harvest I’ll store up as much as I can from the Heartlands. That’s the bad news.”
The crowd muttered a bit then as it had sounded quite like good news to them.
“The good news is that we will reduce your taxes by one part to nine parts!”
The crowd grinned, clapped for a short while then headed off to tell their respective people. Within the week the traders began to arrive with everything they could get from every peddler, farm or village. They had cleared out near forgotten food between the city, Eartholme and Alguz and if the larder really was bare now then at least it had done so for a worthy profit. It would all depend on the harvest hereafter…
*
It had not been a relaxing week. The journey to Deci itself had taken them nearly a month to complete even with the advantage of carriage and horses that Sire Clasp possessed. The distance was still great however as the road snaked past first Gothiel and then Eartholme. The horses had been set to run only once and that was when they had escaped a bunch on unruly vagabonds that had set upon them one morning. Brigands had twice attacked otherwise but each time they had been seen off by Smog without any real danger to himself or his employer.
Once in Deci though the fun had begun. Every night of course there had been the usual local fun with young men on rooftops, suspiciously nimble chambermaids and one occasion a falling statue but each time Smog had dealt with the threats, having already predicted them long before. He had taken now to escorting Sire Clasp to any number of tiny Inns and rude eateries where Smog had watched the pauper cooks turn out meals for both of them. Clasp, surprisingly, had not objected at all to the frugal fair and smacked his lips at each example of thin barley soup, dust bread and nasty-meat broth that was placed before him.
And he had gone to see various figures, clearly done deals and then overseen the transfer of bundled goods arriving on his own caravan to places seemingly obscure. The city starved but at least with the arrival of the caravan Smog and Sire Clasp had access to their own supplies.
It was that night tough that things went bad but Smog had accepted that it would at some point given the paucity of talent that had so far been sent against them. He was there indeed when a plainly dressed, somewhat old man had come to see them at the Wethered Hare, the tavern whose five rooms they had taken over for themselves.
“My Lord has decided that you have used information to your advantage.” The old man had declared.
“That is of course why I am an Merchant, friend.” Sire Clasp pointed out in return.
“It would be wise if you were to return the money paid to you.”
“Alas, it has already gone,” Clasp said. It was true, Smog had himself seen the two small chests loaded on a skiff and sent away on the River Spit to Eartholme. The old man had sniffed at that, turned and left.
An hour later and Smog was leading his employer through the streets. “We should leave now.” He pointed out, but Sire Clasp shook his head.
“I understand your concern but I still have business here. With the greatest respect, until that is done you are protecting me and it is because of that I have come here at all. Whatever happens we shall survive, complete our business and then leave. How you do that I am happy to take your advice but it must be done otherwise I might as well have paid you to keep me at home.”
“That is true. I had to say it though.”
They were crossing a crooked square when Smog’s instincts had him sweep the Merchant from his feet and across to the sturdiest wall. There were shapes on the roofs and from within one of three passageways that lead into the small square. He saw upon one the brief flash of a mask and then it was hidden within a black cloak. The figures moved… very well.
“We are the Deci Hunt!” Called a cultured voice. “Welcome our given prey…”
Smog knew that he had second to decide upon what to do. He had to stay out of the air, had to avoid being a target. If he fought against one group then an arrow or knife would surely find its way to Sire Clasp. The man was at least relatively fit though he was no great master with the narrow sword he carried. Of the two other exist from the square one lead into the streets and then up to the Heights about the Citadel. The other directly into the ramshackle mess of Cheapside.
“Do what I say.” He hissed to Clasp who nodded with admirable calmless in return. The man’s mouth was very tight though, clearly he was scared but this was something he was keeping under check.
By Alan Morgan (CI6V6)