Send a spelling or grammar correction to: Tracy Johnson
Back to Empire on the HPe3000 Home Page
"Hey! Ragnar!" a young voice shouted across the muddy market street of Hochoch.
It was midmorning and the frozen ground had thawed, turning the rutted oerthen roadway into a slippery mire. Wooden planks had been placed along the sides of the road as a walkway, but crossing the street required entering a treacherous no-mans land of ankle-deep mud.
The early rising merchants, tradesmen, and travellers had churned the mud into a viscous goo that both gripped feet in mid stride with an adhesive suction and formed a tractionless layer beneath the surface. Those who braved the crossing of Hochoch's market street found themselves in a losing struggle for balance.
The results were many and spectacular, much to the enjoyment of the merchants in their stalls and those travellers lucky enough to have avoided such a fate, as well as the unlucky but glad to see someone else share the misfortune. Misery might, or might not love company, but everyone watching enjoyed seeing someone else fall in the mud.
At the sound of his name, Ragnar turned from the leather worker's table where he had been haggling over the price of a finely tooled sheath for his axe-blade and carry strap to sling the axe over his back. The merchant, taking advantage of Ragnar's momentary distraction, plucked the three large silver coins from his startled grasp.
He loudly exclaimed "Deal!" and slapped the sheath and strap into Ragnar's now empty hand.
"What!" Ragnar bellowed at the merchant, but the man merely smiled and began haggling with another customer.
"Ragnar!" The voice called again urgently.
"Belsimioth!" Ragnar turned to face the opposite side of the street and yelled back. "Vatun's frozen beard!"
"The Master's sent word for you!" Belsimioth the Page shouted, breaking into a screech.
"All right, all right." Ragnar replied, his voice lowered to a mutter. He glanced quickly back at the merchant, who ignored him, then without a second thought stepped off the wooden plank and into the sea of mud that was Hochoch's Market Street.
* * *
Kerim Tannner watched the large barbarian step into the muddy street with a smile of amusement. He patted his coin pouch, feeling the shape of the three newly minted silver eagles, and thanked Istus for putting them in his hands. The two other customers at his table had both turned away to watch the barbarian as well. Travellers on the street had become wary and it had been some little time since anyone had ventured across and chanced their footing against the mud.
With surprising grace, Ragnar slid more than walked across the width of the street. He kept his balance admirably well. No sudden stops, no flailing of limbs, a great disappointment to spectators.
"Belsimioth." Ragnar said with exasperation as he reached the planking on the far side. He reached out and steadied himself on the boy's shoulder and stepped from the slick pulling mud and onto the wooden planking. "You've cost me some silver lad. Now whats so urgent that Master Talberth sent you out to find me?"
"I know not, Ragnar Sir." the boy said. "Master said find you quick, said you'd be here." and with a side long glance finished quietly. "Must have cast a spell."
"Or talked with Emiel and found out I had business with Tanner." Ragnar shook his head. "Talberth saves his magic for paying customers. Well... come then." he gave Belsimioth's shoulder a pull "If it's urgent." and started down the street, the page in tow behind him.
The crowded walkway found room for the barbarian as he made his way down its length. Ragnar seemed oblivious to the muffled cries of protest as startled shoppers had to lean into merchant's tables or step off the planking into the mire.
Belsimioth grimaced at the looks being sent their way, but he could barely keep pace, let alone restrain Ragnar from simply barreling through. He was thankful that the corner was not far and his master's dwelling only a short way down the side street.
They turned the corner, leaving the Market street and entering Arcane Way, home to the few sages, soothsayers and hedge wizards that Hochoch could boast. Master Talberth was part of a new breed, coming to the town which was becoming a city, following the retinue of the Duke and the occupying force of Gran March. Many had come to the retaken town and taking up residence during the rebiulding, but none so mighty as Belsimioth's master.
Poor Hochoch. Little except foundation stones were kept of the old town. It had been a prosperous city on the eastern border of the Duchy, but the giants and their minions had burnt, broken or fouled every inch of it.
When the Knights of the Watch and the soldiers of Gran March finally broke its defenses, surprisingly sturdy and laced with traps which many felt beyond the ken of giants, they were sickened by what they found.
No human town, no Hochoch of distant memory, but a warren of filthy dens. Only the Mayor's House and the City Hall bore any resemblance to what they had once been. These the giants had taken for themselves. They'd torn out the upper floors, creating a long hall, making them as close to their mountain steadings as possible. The cellars had been packed with debris so the floors could bear their weight, but the outer shells remained whole.
It was at the City Hall that Lassar the hill giant chief and his warriors fell. They defended the hall to the last, and before they died a great fire sprang up around them. Matholwch, a Knight of the Watch, son of a Geoff noble, wounded the chief, but he in turn was beaten to the ground by a tree-sized club and pulled from the fight by a Gran March soldier. The men-at-arms from Gran March were resolute but suffered terribly beneath the fists and clubs of the giants. Two score lay dead inside the hall, one blow, one flung stone from a giant that a siege engine might have thrown, where they struck, they killed.
Lassar had pulled himself up and cursed at the soldiers surrounding him. He towered over those who faced him, surrounded by a wall of dead. Giant, ogre, orc and man. Blood poured from a wound which laid his face open to the bone and two hill giants stood beside him.
"Little ones." he called. "You wish to play!" and he laughed. It shook the very walls, and then beyond his laughter there came a rumble, then a roar. From the back of the hall, which still bore doors and rooms of human size, a flame appeared. It spread across the walls and up over the roof. It played across the bodies of the dead and around Lassar. It swept toward the knights and soldiers, and they fled.
As they ran from the hall they could hear Lassar's mocking laughter following them.
The building shook, and then with a crash it fell in on itself. The ground trembled and the burning rubble sank a man's length into the ground, as if some open place beneath the Oerth had swallowed it.
City Hall became a pyre for all the monstrous dead. The fire burned for days, fed by the bodies of orcs and goblin-kind, carcases of ogres, and pieces of trolls still wriggling on the end of swords and spears. The once well crafted and cared for buildings of Hochoch were added. The monsters had fouled them beyond re-use. Not even the walls around the town were spared, though they had been built higher and stronger than before the coming of the giants.
The dead of the Watch and of Gran March were placed in a great barrow outside the town. It formed a hill, so high was the Oerth piled.
Then began the great rebuilding. Once the town had been scoured and every trace of the monstrous occupation erased, then came the builders, then tradesmen, tavern keepers and whores. Priests and clerics of most faiths, Geoffites returning to a small fraction of their homeland. The Duke came and a residence was built where the mayors home once stood. The town filled out and began to grow. A call went out from the Duke, a call to arms for the future of Geoff and it brought patriots, mercenaries, adventurers and fools. It brought Ragnar, and it brought others, like Master Talberth who came for his own reasons. He built a great house alongside the humbler dwellings of Arcane Way.
All this went through Belsimioth's head as he ran after Ragnar down the street to his master's dwelling.
* * *
(To Be Continued)