The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 8, Chapter 7
Chapter 7
5th Day, Lower Water Month, 0 CE
“Keep going,” the Baagh official said. “The lands here have already been claimed.”
“I see. Thank you.”
Saraca pushed off from the wharf and returned to his seat. The wind and the steady splashing of the barge’s paddlewheels were the only sounds that accompanied them as they left yet another town on their journey down the Rol’en’gorek. They were now roughly sixty kilometres west of Eastwatch, but their situation as ‘migrants’ hadn’t changed.
What did change, however, was the scenery. The uncultivated meadows along the border gave way to fields, vineyards and orchards that stretched out around them as far as the eye could see.
“Human lands are weird,” Xoc said. “Why is everything so straight? Their trails are straight and all of the buildings have straight edges. This valley is filled with straight rows of plants and trees. What are those, anyway?”
“It’s agriculture,” Saraca replied. “The Humans here are not pastoral, but agrarian. Their tribes have settled permanently in favour of a more stable source of food that can support a larger population.”
“So like what Elder Patli is doing? Growing fungus in the city.”
“In essence, yes,” Saraca nodded. “Transitioning to this sort of lifestyle brings many changes. Territory becomes easier to defend. Resources and energy that pastoralism demands of a people can be invested in other things. Productivity and prosperity increase and the resulting innovations bring further change.”
“But even after all that,” Xoc said, “they still lost.”
Saraca chuffed in amusement.
“Yes, they still lost,” he said. “While it isn’t everything, strength is required to protect what one builds. Without it, others can simply steal it away, just like you see here. The Humans here have more knowledge than your people, but knowledge is not power. Knowing what the problem is doesn’t mean that one can come up with an answer, and, even if one knows the answer, it doesn’t mean that they can enact it.”
He looked out at the untended landscape. The fields were fallow and the vineyards were growing wild, though the orchards needed little prompting to display their spring blossoms.
“In the case of the Draconic Kingdom,” he continued, “Rol’en’gorek is simply too huge to fight. Even with the warrior clans focused on the defence of other frontiers, the excess population being sent west was more than enough to overwhelm the Human defenders.”
“If this ‘agriculture’ will make us as weak as these Humans,” Xoc said, “then I should stop what Elder Patli is doing. There’s no point to it if others will just steal what we have or destroy it.”
“Well, that’s why I advised you to do those other things alongside your agricultural development. Your civilian castes will probably end up physically weaker than they are now because they can focus entirely on their civilian vocations, but your warrior and mystic castes will become much stronger when they no longer have to rely on hunting and daily responsibilities for training.”
“So we’ll become stronger than the other warrior clans?”
“Hmm, how should I put it? Within the same race, Clans that see intense fighting are generally much stronger than ones that only rely on training, but attrition rates are high and much is lost along the way. Clans that see lighter conflict tend to be weaker than one that constantly trains. Clans that have the opportunity to formally train their warriors, put that training to the test and constantly incorporate their experiences into their training end up with strong, well-developed forces. The difference between them and other Clans can be stark.
“Your warrior caste has a system where the warrior clans of the interior participate in a rotation that helps out with border security. Volunteering to join them once your clan grows strong enough should allow you to make good use of your training in the city and further build up your clan’s strength.”
Xoc nodded thoughtfully. She probably understood what she needed to do for her clan’s survival until then.
If her clan could grow strong enough to assume border defence duties, one of the major obstacles facing them would likely be addressed. They would go from an upstart clan using dubious methods to gain economic advantages to an officially recognised warrior clan contributing to the collective security of Rol’en’gorek. Their greatest political threat would flip to become a group of allies. With what was going on in the east, the rise of a powerful warrior clan was something that would be sorely needed and openly welcomed.
“Shouldn’t the Humans know about all of that?” Xoc asked, “It’s one thing to not know because I’ve never seen anything like it before, but they’ve been doing it for at least as long as it takes to create all this ‘agriculture’ around us. You say that Humans are like the monkeys that we hunt above the city, except they don’t have tails. Those monkeys can be pretty strong. Some of them even cast magic…”
“Er, well, I didn’t intend to make a serious comparison between Humans and those monkeys that your people hunt. It was just a rough reference for their appearance. Humans aren’t like Beasts, never mind Magical Beasts. Even after they mature to adulthood, they’re weak and don’t usually get much stronger, but they’re a very versatile race as a whole. Especially when it comes to civilian vocations and fields of magic.”
“So you have Humans in the Beastman Confederacy?”
“While we’re called that, the Beastman Confederacy hasn’t been exclusively Beastmen for centuries. Humans are part of the population too, of course. Like most civilised places, one has the protection of the laws that they are entitled to so long as one obeys the law.”
“Hm…”
Xoc fell into deep thought, remaining silent as they continued down the river. The new sights and possibilities that they represented would give her much to consider, which was a major part of the reason why Saraca invited her to join them. Her clan’s efforts in the city would yield excess resources that would best be put to use pursuing productive ends, and the Draconic Kingdom conveniently provided instructive examples that she could see in person.
He didn’t expect her to blindly embrace everything that she was exposed to, but he hoped that time would see Xoc and her clan act as a force that helped to drag Rol’en’gorek out of the primitive quagmire it was stuck in.
The next pair of towns straddled the mouth of the river as it widened into a modest lake. Several other rivers fed into the body of water, which looked less than ten kilometres wide.
“I see a city on the horizon in the west,” Kasturi shaded her eyes with a paw. “Twenty kilometres distant.”
Saraca eyed the two towns. They didn’t look much different from the previous ones, so there probably wasn’t much to see.
“Let’s head straight there,” he said. “The residents of these towns aren’t very forthcoming with information, not to mention they’re occupied with Beastmen who have no idea what they’re sitting on.”
While the broken dam in Xoc’s territory was a sign of the tragedy that had befallen her people, seeing Rol’en’gorek’s migrants blithely squatting on the Draconic Kingdom’s infrastructure and industry was just annoying.
As the vague outline of the city resolved into walls, towers and numerous buildings raised on a rugged hill near the shore, he noted that the river traffic didn’t grow crowded as it had with Eastwatch.
“It looks like this city’s a major port,” Saraca said. “Maybe things will be a bit less chaotic.”
“I don’t see many barges heading further down the river,” Kasturi said.
“Rana Dratha’s headquarters?” Devi said, “The criers back before Eastwatch said they had conquered the lands around eight cities so far, and this is only number two.”
“It’s a reasonable guess,” Saraca replied.
Xoc rose to her feet, peering intently at the city as if Rana Dratha might conveniently appear. Saraca smiled to himself. The Baagh Warmaster was essentially a celebrity to the people of Rol’en’gorek, and he supposed that popular figures drew the same types of attention no matter where one was.
Even if the city was Rana Dratha’s headquarters, however, Saraca doubted they’d find him there. Warmasters led their campaigns on or near the front lines, so it was likely that he was off conquering the rest of the Draconic Kingdom and not lounging about.
That being said, the city did have the look of being a ‘headquarters’. The officials looked two or three degrees more officious, groups of warriors walked proudly up and down the wharf, and the people generally carried themselves with an air of importance.
“Huh,” Girika said. “I guess we know where all the loot is ending up.”
“Ugh,” a look of horror crossed Devi’s face, “that Baagh looks like a Quillbeast got lost in my wardrobe.”
“It’s, uh…fashion, I guess?” Mitra said.
A chuckle escaped Saraca’s throat when he finally spotted the individual in question. A female Baagh had adorned herself in seven colours of silk, but she clearly had no idea how to wear them. They weren’t even tailored: they were whole bolts wrapped around her figure. The wind from the shore teased the strips of diaphanous fabric, making her look like a Mummy that had rampaged through a dye factory.
“I think it looks pretty,” Xoc said.
Heads turned to level somewhat disgusted looks at the young Ocelo, who cringed at the sudden attention. It seemed that savagery came in all forms.
The wharves of the city were organised using the same system as Ghrkhor’storof’hekheralhr, and they quickly located a berth. An official arrived just as they finished disembarking.
“A barge of that class costs two silver per day to moor here,” she said. “Can you afford that?”
While the ‘welcome’ sounded rude, the official didn’t carry an air of hostility. The rate was also fairly cheap. With so many migrants coming in with nothing to their name, however, those unable to pay for harbour fees were probably common.
Devi came forward and produced two silver trade coins, handing them over to the official.
“It’s our first time here,” Devi said. “Where might we be able to find accommodations?”
“Most Merchants stay in the groves outside of the city walls,” the official said. “Visiting Lords can state their business with the city administration inside the second wall. If you have any migrants amongst your passengers, the next city is where they’ll receive their instructions. Except for the Con. We’re redirecting any Con migrants south, so there’s a place on the other side of this city for them to stay until then.”
The official went through a well-worn list of additional points before proceeding to the next berth.
“When she said ‘groves’,” Devi’s ear twitched, “she meant copses, right?”
“What’s a copse?” Xoc asked.
“They’re those stands of trees you’ve seen dotting the countryside,” Karuvaki answered. “Many races cultivate them to provide fuel for fires or materials for carpentry and construction.”
“She told me to go sleep in a woodlot,” Devi said sourly.
“If Xoc doesn’t know what it is,” Saraca said, “chances are that the official didn’t, either. Besides, it’s the closest thing to home that they have.”
His reasoning did little to mollify Devi, who stalked her way off of the pier. Arriving at a city and then being told to sleep in the trees outside was not something he could say had happened to them before.
“I wasn’t certain about it in Eastwatch,” Mitra said as they joined the flow of foot traffic on the wharf, “but the architecture here is definitely influenced by the Sapphire Coast.”
While not exactly the same and mixed with other styles, the buildings did display the angular motifs and vaulted architecture of the Sapphire Coast. The walls of more substantial structures were not left bare, instead displaying a vivid variety of frescoes, carvings and mosaics. The largest buildings in the city were domed, creating the telltale skyline of the cities lining the Syrillian Way.
“So did the Human population migrate here after the Demon Gods and bring civilisation along with them?”
“Some sort of archive or library might be able to answer that,” Mitra said, “but since these guys don’t seem to have any idea of what anything here is, I’m half afraid Girika was right about them burning books as fuel.”
They followed the city’s main thoroughfare straight to the gates of the second wall. The warriors along the way sent curious looks at what must have been the odd combination of different individuals in Saraca’s party, but they were clearly hesitant to question two Lords with a full escort of warriors. After crossing under the iron portcullis of the gatehouse, he looked around for something that might be an administrative office.
“The clans usually do all their desk work in their holds right?”
“I think so,” Karuvaki said. “I’ve never seen anything like an office building in any of Rol’en’gorek’s cities.”
“Then I guess it should be that citadel? Or am I overlooking something again…”
It was the closest thing to the clanholds in the jungle cities. He stopped to ask one of the sentries along the way, who confirmed that a building in the front of the citadel complex was where they were supposed to be going. Just before they reached their destination, however, someone called out from the side.
“You!”
A brusque, female, voice pierced the air, one that lent an air of someone who cared little about who else might notice them. The warriors in the street reacted to the voice, but then quickly turned their attention elsewhere.
Uh oh. Please don’t be me.
Going by how everyone else behaved, it was someone annoying, but somehow immune to any consequences of their behaviour. Saraca picked up his pace. The voice sounded from closer behind him.
“You’re not from Rol’en’gorek, are you?”
[email protected]#*%#(!
Saraca didn’t break stride, but the warriors nearby moved to intercept them. With an exasperated sigh, he turned to the source of the voice, finding a smallish Baagh female with the same pattern of stripes as the warriors in the city. She stopped and leaned forward to scrutinise him.
“Yes…yes…you and your companions are from elsewhere. Where might that be?”
“How do you know we’re from elsewhere?”
The female scoffed.
“I have travelled the length and breadth of Rol’en’gorek, and the patterns of your coats do not match any clan in the east or west or otherwise. Now, tell me: who are you?”
“Did your parents not teach you any manners?”
“Manners are irrelevant. Answer the question.”
He eyed the warriors that had surrounded them. His gaze rested on the most powerful-looking of the lot.
“Who is this person?” He pointed a claw at the annoying female.
“Who am I?” The female let out a laugh, “I am the guru Khhschlr!”
“Never heard of you.”
“Of course you wouldn’t have.”
“That’s the point,” Saraca turned to address the warriors again. “Is she always like this?”
The warriors around them didn’t answer, but their reactions were clear enough.
“Are travellers unwelcome in Rol’en’gorek?” Saraca asked.
“Of course not!” Khhschlr answered, “They are most welcome. But we don’t get very many…or any.”
“Probably because you surround them like some sort of intruder the moment you notice. If you must know, we arrived from across the Great Lut.”
“Stormport? I’ve been there. Baagh don’t live there. So that means…further? South? Southeast? From beyond the Syrillian Way?”
“Sure, let’s say that.”
“So evasive…does that mean you’re from the Confederacy? It must!”
Khhschlr brightened immensely and rushed forward.
“Leave,” Mitra said.
Khhschlr turned around and left.
“That is not a Baagh,” the Chaaran muttered. “That is a thing that makes inconvenient noises.”
Mitra narrowed her eyes at the surrounding warriors, who prudently made themselves scarce.
“Let’s get going before she comes back,” Saraca said. “Have you heard of that person before, Xoc?”
“No,” the Ocelo replied. “I only know about Rana Dratha. It’s probably a good thing they don’t talk about Khhschlr.”
“Probably?”
The guru was so annoying that Saraca debated leaving the city behind without further investigation. Ultimately, however, his duties came first. He needed to develop a proper picture of what was going on in Rol’en’gorek, which included what they were doing in the Draconic Kingdom. The easiest way to get a sense of that was to observe the city that acted as Rana Dratha’s ‘clanhold’.
“You…you…what did you do?”
After three blocks, Saraca released another exasperated sigh.
“Was it a Skill?” Khhschlr asked, “An Ability? It probably wasn’t magic.”
“It was your terrible manners,” Mitra said. “Go away.”
Peace fell over them again as the guru wandered away. It was a nice city, really.
A third wall, roughly six metres high, ringed the plateau at the top of the hill. The layout of the city suggested that, like many Human cities, it was originally a fortified holding for a prominent tribe. Being placed in a strategically significant position also meant that it was in a logistically significant position. Thus, the local population grew around it for both security and economic advantage.
Clan Torokgha’s warriors grew more numerous the closer to the citadel they came, replacing the Human defenders that likely manned the stronghold in the past. A pair of those warriors stopped them a block from the massive gate.
“What's your business here?”
“An official at the wharf directed us to see the local administration.”
“Our leaders are busy at the moment,” he said. “You’ll have to come back another day. Please feel free to enjoy the rest of the city during your stay.”
The warriors promptly returned to their posts.
“Not much for bureaucracy, I guess.”
“Oh, you know what ‘bureaucracy’ is!”
Annoyed growls filled two dozen throats. The warriors from before looked the other way.
Better us than them, eh…
It was evident that the guru wouldn’t leave them alone and the local law enforcement wouldn’t chase her off, so Saraca decided to make use of her.
“So there’s nothing like that at all here?” He asked.
“Not really, no,” Khhschlr answered. “The leadership comes up with instructions, and the people are expected to follow them. The rulers make up the rules for the ruled, and the warriors enforce the rules. The ruler is a warrior, by the way.”
Saraca wasn’t sure if she was trying to be helpful or annoying, but there was little to be gained from lashing out in irritation.
“But what if there are disputes or issues to be amended?”
“The Lords handle that directly.”
“But the Lords can’t handle everything. Not with an entire country to run.”
As much as bureaucrats were disparaged worldwide, they were essential to any civilisation past a certain stage of development.
“That’s what I told them!” The guru cried, “What I told him! But they saw no reason to change it. Too busy to unbusy themselves.”
“Who is ‘him’?”
“Why, the mighty Warmaster, of course!”
“…I still don't know who you are. Relative to everyone else.”
The guru stared at him for a long moment.
“Ah,” realisation dawned upon her. “I am the guru Khhschlr, personal advisor to Maharana Dratha.”
Maharana, eh…I guess what’s going on there is pretty clear.
“I am also occasionally his mate and an advisor to both the clan at large and the migrant population. But I am not also occasionally their mate. That would be in–”
“I get it,” Saraca said. “In that case, would it be possible for us to see Ra–er, Maharana Dratha?”
“One does not simply see the Warmaster,” Khhschlr replied. “He’s not even here. Was there anything in particular that you wanted to see him about?”
Saraca considered his response, fearing that the wrong answer would permanently glue Khhschlr to his entourage.
“We came to see what the people in this part of the world were doing. How they live; what they’ve discovered, that sort of thing. We went to take a look at the east first, now we’re here.”
“The east, huh…a terrible business, that.”
His gaze sharpened at her response.
“Wait, you know what happened?”
“The thing with the new Yeti Lord and the Jorgulans?” Khhschlr replied, “Of course I know. A decent Con hunter from the warrior clans can cross all of Rol’en’gorek in less than two weeks.”
“But it took much longer for information about Maharana Dratha’s progress in the Draconic Kingdom to make it to the east.”
“That’s something else entirely,” the guru waved a paw dismissively. “Spectacle for the masses. Emergencies are treated differently.”
And without the slightest ripple in their civilian population.
The separation between the warrior caste and everyone else was more substantial than he had initially thought. Not even rumours leaked out.
“But the developments in the east only mean that we here in the west must work harder for the sake of our confederation,” Khhschlr’s voice firmed with conviction. “We still have time to turn things around.”
“Turn things around…”
Did that mean something more had happened since they left the Jorgulan Frontier?
“Since you’re here to observe,” the guru continued, “was there anything I could show you? We have made many great strides in the Draconic Kingdom.”
“Anything?”
“Well, perhaps not anything, but there is much that I’d be proud to display. New ideas; new technology and spellcraft – that’s what you’re here for, yes? After my own experiences, I’ve developed a keen appreciation for that sort of thinking.”
Saraca exchanged looks with his three wives.
“Since there is much we wish to see,” Devi said. “Let us start with the market. If we see something of interest, we can go from there.”
“A natural approach, I see, I see…” Khhschlr stroked her jowls, “I don’t dislike that. Very well: to the markets!”
The guru spun on her heel, pointed a claw back down the hill, and strode off with her tail raised proudly. She stopped when she realised no one was following her.
“Is something the matter?”
“N-nothing,” Saraca said. “Lead the way.”
They traced their path back through the city. Thankfully, Khhschlr’s arm grew weary after a few blocks and she stopped pointing the way forward. Several minutes after leaving the main thoroughfare, the scents in the air indicated a nearby market.
“So do all of the spoils of the conquest go through this city?” Saraca asked.
“All of the spoils to be shipped east, yes. It would be impossible to collect tribute otherwise.”
“What percentage does your clan lay claim to?”
“Early on,” Khhschlr replied, “nearly all of it. We did all of the fighting back then, after all. After the Draconic Kingdom’s warrior and mystic castes were broken, we lowered the rates to a third and let the migrants carve out their new territories with our assistance where it was warranted.”
“Do the migrants even know what’s valuable and what isn’t here?”
“We have a trick for that,” Khhschlr replied. “Rather than educating every single migrant about the value of Human goods, I instructed them to rely on Merchants to appraise their plunder.”
There were always Merchants around, so it felt like a good, practical solution in their circumstances. Provided the Merchants didn’t cheat the tribes, of course.
“How do you deal with smuggling?” Girika asked.
“What’s that?” Khhschlr asked back.
“…never mind. Forget I mentioned it.”
With the rigid tribal customs of Rol’en’gorek, smuggling may have genuinely been unthinkable.
The street opened up into a stone plaza filled with colourful Merchant stands. Judging by the merchandise on display, Khhschlr had chosen an upper-class location.
“Many of the goods on display here aren’t exported to Rol’en’gorek,” Devi noted.
“The Merchants sort everything out,” the guru replied. “If I have it right, they consider Stormport to be the more lucrative market for the Draconic Kingdom’s goods. The missing goods you’ve noted are shipped there directly. It will take time for the people back home to develop an appreciation for what we find here.”
“Wouldn’t there be a demand for tools?” Devi asked, “Many of them can be used in Rol’en’gorek’s industries.”
“The tools are needed here. We have a limited supply of them, after all.”
Saraca’s brow furrowed as he examined a table arrayed with curved swords. Did that mean the Draconic Kingdom imported its metalwork from elsewhere? That didn’t seem right, given what they had seen of the urban centres thus far.
Halfway across the plaza, the old scent of Humans turned into a fresh one. He stopped before they reached the opposite end.
“Mommy, I want that one!”
“Another young female? You’re getting so spoiled…we’ll take that one.”
Two Baagh went to pick up a wooden cage from a long row of identical ones. Within each cage was a Human lacking in any adornment or care.
“No,” the Human clutched the bars of her cage. “No, no, no, no, no! Let me go! I don’t want this! Please!”
The Baagh cub’s delighted laughter followed the woman’s increasingly terrified shrieks, which could be heard long after the family left the market.
“You’re interested in the Humans, I see,” Khhschlr said. “Well, they do say that good cuisine knows no borders. Very well: I will show you how the product goes from farm to market.”
Saraca sighed as he dropped a platinum trade coin into Girika’s waiting paw.
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