They arrived at the campsite just as Anh was finishing a chapter in “Pigeon Mating Rituals”. A short position, written by Donagal of Weidana, a member of this very rare breed of hoomin who actually could write something a tanai would enjoy. Or at least that’s what the “Tanais Digestvm (im Vhirs Excellsio), vol. 1541b” boldly claimed in last year’s issue. Halfway through the read, Anh had to concur with this claim, albeit with a dose of professional reluctance. The author skillfully captured both the style and substance of a typical tanaian volume. There were tables, there were annotations and Mr. Donagal reserved no less than fifteen pages for description of his process. Rows of numbers were even arranged in an aesthetically pleasing manner and in concordance with the newest trends.
The only nitpick the hexergist could find was the title itself - spelled in Cammona and without the customary I.V.E. add-on. This and perhaps the length. At only hundred pages or so, the publication could be considered very short, but a treat nonetheless, like a light dessert after a filling meal. Anh enjoyed it thoroughly, cover to cover.
Or, at least, he would have enjoyed it cover to cover if it wasn’t for Beorg, who, without any respect for science, loudly informed him that they were nearing their destination, just as he was getting to the last ten pages. Thus Anh felt obliged to his kin to merely skim through to the end in haste.
The coach was stopped and checked twice before they reached the camp proper, a sure sign that things were working as intended. Then, just as the tanai slammed the folio shut, the vehicle stopped for the third and final time.
The aberrants disembarked, and looked around curiously. Well, at least Anh did. It was hard to ascertain whether Beorg was even still capable of such emotion. It neared midnight, and yet the camp was still quite a lively place. Everywhere they looked there were tents, fires by the tents and men sitting by the fires, chatting, laughing, singing and playing dice.
But it wasn't quite as uniform as Anh had expected from, let's be honest, a military installation.
The camp was clearly divided into three distinct areas with an emergent border of "no-man's-land" between them. First, there was the Tevros militia, in three long, triangular tents, arranged around a single, large bonfire. Two large cauldrons full of some sort of stew were positioned over the fire. Several soldiers were either milling about, tending the food or simply sitting on the ground. One of them held a stringed instrument with a long neck fitted with a multitude of tuning pegs, singing a melancholic song about a girl who didn’t want to marry a soldier or some sort of other triviality.
Men from Steland pitched their camp some distance away. It was quite a different place altogether. Several small fires were set up, but islanders seemed to prefer a roast instead of stew. Their tents were both more numerous and much less uniform in appearance than the one in Tevrosi camp - a chaotic amalgamation of what merchants in Tevros had on offer, clearly bought solely for this one job.
Islanders were also much more jovial as attested by bashful, lively music and song coming from their camp. There were drums, there were rattling instruments, there were guitars. Most were also passing along a pipe, filling their camp with a strong, sweet smell of herbs.
The third part, if it could be called that at all, was located almost at the mouth of the cavern where the digging was taking place only a few days earlier. This one consisted of only two people, sitting by a small fire and chatting. There was no tent there, being replaced by a couple of bedrolls next to a messy heap of cutlery and bowls. It was this 'camp' that the nord directed his steps towards, but Anh stopped him almost immediately.
-”Beorg. Before you go to do your...” - the tanai suspended his voice, searching among his subservients for a good word. It was obvious that the sight of the camp unsettled him - “...uh, things. Which is what you intend to do no doubt. We need to inquire.”
-”Yes?”
-”We admit. We know very little about the minutiae of hoomin murdering each other over trivialities, and this looks to me like a prelude to such joys and activities. But shouldn’t there be some sort of defences set up?” - the tanai gestured, unusually this time by physically moving his hand, to the flat arid lands surrounding the camp and currently hidden in the darkness of the night. - “A wall? A palisade? A moat? A cannon? Or five? A trebuchet at least?”
-”Trebuchets have not been deployed in combat since the siege of Korima in 1482. They would also be completely useless here.”
-”I am certain this information is true, but it doesn't quell our innate fear of finding ourselves between two groups of burly men in foul moods and brandishing pointy, edgy or shooty things.”
Beorg's tone changed to a more reassuring one, at the speed of a tectonic plate.
-”There are patrols around the perimeter and there are agents further afield. Unless there is someone wanting to kill yous in particular, which is highly unlikely since no one is aware yous are here, we are as safe as we can be in these circumstances.”
-”We are going to believe you” - Anh started in the direction of the space between the two soldier camps. His sizable luggage followed him with a silent squeak. Once he arrived, he shouted back, in the general direction of where the nord still stood - “We are going to settle over here, in this perfectly safe spot, patrolled by patrols and agented by agents and await further developments!”
-”Fine” - Beorg indifferently confirmed this piece of information, and then casually walked towards the two lonely silhouettes by the small campfire. They stopped chatting, which from this distance looked more like arguing, and turned their heads as he approached. One of them stood up and touched his forehead whilst bowing slightly, the other remained seated and just nodded. The nord, however, didn’t seem to consider any niceties on his side to be necessary, and so he just sat next to the agents and asked in a flat tone.
- “Any changes to the situation?”
One of the people, the one still sitting was Martina, currently gnawing at the end of a pipe and, every so often, puffing a cloud of a thick, sweet smelling smoke. The other was a young man with a short and well-tended black beard and a tired look in his equally black eyes. Only up close and by a source of light these details were visible, as from afar they were almost indistinguishable from each other, both being dressed in cotton grey abayas, wide, ornate belts and dark turbans.
-”Nothing out of the ordinary.” - she replied in a cleanly spoken Cammona - “Novikovs dug themselves deep into the hideout, preparing for an all-out assault. By us, I reckon. And...” - she took a long whiff from the pipe - “...considering the forces gathered here, I’m not surprised. But as Khaleen here...“ - she pointed her pipe at the man opposite - “...will attest, there is something weird in this behaviour.”
-”Elaborate. Please." - prompted Beorg, while the bearded man sat down, moving aside some of the leftover dishes.
-”They are getting their forces in, but they are moving stuff out of the place." - the woman gesticulated with her pipe, first pointing it, mouthpiece first, towards the fire, then away from it in one smooth motion - "They have men, they have longarms, pistols and gunpowder. We have confirmed at least two swivel guns as well. And yet they don’t seem to expect a long siege or even any prolonged operation.”
-"Martina is right. They have been organising caravans out of the place in several directions.” - added Khaleen quietly. He had a pleasant and melodic voice and also spoke Cammona without a distinctive accent - “We have mapped them to six different hideouts in the ten kimer radius, and judging from the amount of traffic the goods are spread fairly uniformly.”
-”Yes. Precisely.” - added the woman between puffs from her pipe.
-”This is a ruse.” - said Beorg in an assertive tone - “Novikovs want us to assault their main base, win easily, loot it, get some worthless trinkets, see there is nothing left to do and go home, content with the achievement.”
-”... or pretty annoyed with the cost. Those chunky boys over there for example.”- the woman pointed at the islander camp -”That must have been pretty expensive.”
-”It was." - said the nord flatly - "When did Maanica and Niven leave?”
-”A candle or so ago. She was not happy about it. Both were working their asses off to secure the dig site and were pretty knackered. Niven practically collapsed. Honestly, I wonder how many daemons Maluk invoked in that woman, because one would not keep her going for this long.”
Beorg acknowledged his agents with a nod, but did not answer, staring into the fire for some time. Finally he just absentmindedly announced.
-”Things have been set in motion. Now we just wait.”
But then, as if awoken from a stupor, the nord stirred and glanced in the direction of the dish heap.
-"Have we got anything left to eat?"
They arrived at the campsite just as Anh was finishing a chapter in “Pigeon Mating Rituals”. A short position, written by Donagal of Weidana, a member of this very rare breed of hoomin who actually could write something a tanai would enjoy. Or at least that’s what the “Tanais Digestvm (im Vhirs Excellsio), vol. 1541b” boldly claimed in last year’s issue. Halfway through the read, Anh had to concur with this claim, albeit with a dose of professional reluctance. The author skillfully captured both the style and substance of a typical tanaian volume. There were tables, there were annotations and Mr. Donagal reserved no less than fifteen pages for description of his process. Rows of numbers were even arranged in an aesthetically pleasing manner and in concordance with the newest trends.
The only nitpick the hexergist could find was the title itself - spelled in Cammona and without the customary I.V.E. add-on. This and perhaps the length. At only hundred pages or so, the publication could be considered very short, but a treat nonetheless, like a light dessert after a filling meal. Anh enjoyed it thoroughly, cover to cover.
Or, at least, he would have enjoyed it cover to cover if it wasn’t for Beorg, who, without any respect for science, loudly informed him that they were nearing their destination, just as he was getting to the last ten pages. Thus Anh felt obliged to his kin to merely skim through to the end in haste.
The coach was stopped and checked twice before they reached the camp proper, a sure sign that things were working as intended. Then, just as the tanai slammed the folio shut, the vehicle stopped for the third and final time.
The aberrants disembarked, and looked around curiously. Well, at least Anh did. It was hard to ascertain whether Beorg was even still capable of such emotion. It neared midnight, and yet the camp was still quite a lively place. Everywhere they looked there were tents, fires by the tents and men sitting by the fires, chatting, laughing, singing and playing dice.
But it wasn't quite as uniform as Anh had expected from, let's be honest, a military installation.
The camp was clearly divided into three distinct areas with an emergent border of "no-man's-land" between them. First, there was the Tevros militia, in three long, triangular tents, arranged around a single, large bonfire. Two large cauldrons full of some sort of stew were positioned over the fire. Several soldiers were either milling about, tending the food or simply sitting on the ground. One of them held a stringed instrument with a long neck fitted with a multitude of tuning pegs, singing a melancholic song about a girl who didn’t want to marry a soldier or some sort of other triviality.
Men from Steland pitched their camp some distance away. It was quite a different place altogether. Several small fires were set up, but islanders seemed to prefer a roast instead of stew. Their tents were both more numerous and much less uniform in appearance than the one in Tevrosi camp - a chaotic amalgamation of what merchants in Tevros had on offer, clearly bought solely for this one job.
Islanders were also much more jovial as attested by bashful, lively music and song coming from their camp. There were drums, there were rattling instruments, there were guitars. Most were also passing along a pipe, filling their camp with a strong, sweet smell of herbs.
The third part, if it could be called that at all, was located almost at the mouth of the cavern where the digging was taking place only a few days earlier. This one consisted of only two people, sitting by a small fire and chatting. There was no tent there, being replaced by a couple of bedrolls next to a messy heap of cutlery and bowls. It was this 'camp' that the nord directed his steps towards, but Anh stopped him almost immediately.
-”Beorg. Before you go to do your...” - the tanai suspended his voice, searching among his subservients for a good word. It was obvious that the sight of the camp unsettled him - “...uh, things. Which is what you intend to do no doubt. We need to inquire.”
-”Yes?”
-”We admit. We know very little about the minutiae of hoomin murdering each other over trivialities, and this looks to me like a prelude to such joys and activities. But shouldn’t there be some sort of defences set up?” - the tanai gestured, unusually this time by physically moving his hand, to the flat arid lands surrounding the camp and currently hidden in the darkness of the night. - “A wall? A palisade? A moat? A cannon? Or five? A trebuchet at least?”
-”Trebuchets have not been deployed in combat since the siege of Korima in 1482. They would also be completely useless here.”
-”I am certain this information is true, but it doesn't quell our innate fear of finding ourselves between two groups of burly men in foul moods and brandishing pointy, edgy or shooty things.”
Beorg's tone changed to a more reassuring one, at the speed of a tectonic plate.
-”There are patrols around the perimeter and there are agents further afield. Unless there is someone wanting to kill yous in particular, which is highly unlikely since no one is aware yous are here, we are as safe as we can be in these circumstances.”
-”We are going to believe you” - Anh started in the direction of the space between the two soldier camps. His sizable luggage followed him with a silent squeak. Once he arrived, he shouted back, in the general direction of where the nord still stood - “We are going to settle over here, in this perfectly safe spot, patrolled by patrols and agented by agents and await further developments!”
-”Fine” - Beorg indifferently confirmed this piece of information, and then casually walked towards the two lonely silhouettes by the small campfire. They stopped chatting, which from this distance looked more like arguing, and turned their heads as he approached. One of them stood up and touched his forehead whilst bowing slightly, the other remained seated and just nodded. The nord, however, didn’t seem to consider any niceties on his side to be necessary, and so he just sat next to the agents and asked in a flat tone.
- “Any changes to the situation?”
One of the people, the one still sitting was Martina, currently gnawing at the end of a pipe and, every so often, puffing a cloud of a thick, sweet smelling smoke. The other was a young man with a short and well-tended black beard and a tired look in his equally black eyes. Only up close and by a source of light these details were visible, as from afar they were almost indistinguishable from each other, both being dressed in cotton grey abayas, wide, ornate belts and dark turbans.
-”Nothing out of the ordinary.” - she replied in a cleanly spoken Cammona - “Novikovs dug themselves deep into the hideout, preparing for an all-out assault. By us, I reckon. And...” - she took a long whiff from the pipe - “...considering the forces gathered here, I’m not surprised. But as Khaleen here...“ - she pointed her pipe at the man opposite - “...will attest, there is something weird in this behaviour.”
-”Elaborate. Please." - prompted Beorg, while the bearded man sat down, moving aside some of the leftover dishes.
-”They are getting their forces in, but they are moving stuff out of the place." - the woman gesticulated with her pipe, first pointing it, mouthpiece first, towards the fire, then away from it in one smooth motion - "They have men, they have longarms, pistols and gunpowder. We have confirmed at least two swivel guns as well. And yet they don’t seem to expect a long siege or even any prolonged operation.”
-"Martina is right. They have been organising caravans out of the place in several directions.” - added Khaleen quietly. He had a pleasant and melodic voice and also spoke Cammona without a distinctive accent - “We have mapped them to six different hideouts in the ten kimer radius, and judging from the amount of traffic the goods are spread fairly uniformly.”
-”Yes. Precisely.” - added the woman between puffs from her pipe.
-”This is a ruse.” - said Beorg in an assertive tone - “Novikovs want us to assault their main base, win easily, loot it, get some worthless trinkets, see there is nothing left to do and go home, content with the achievement.”
-”... or pretty annoyed with the cost. Those chunky boys over there for example.”- the woman pointed at the islander camp -”That must have been pretty expensive.”
-”It was." - said the nord flatly - "When did Maanica and Niven leave?”
-”A candle or so ago. She was not happy about it. Both were working their asses off to secure the dig site and were pretty knackered. Niven practically collapsed. Honestly, I wonder how many daemons Maluk invoked in that woman, because one would not keep her going for this long.”
Beorg acknowledged his agents with a nod, but did not answer, staring into the fire for some time. Finally he just absentmindedly announced.
-”Things have been set in motion. Now we just wait.”
But then, as if awoken from a stupor, the nord stirred and glanced in the direction of the dish heap.
-"Have we got anything left to eat?"
