I’ve found that keeping finger like claws on the end of my wings to be incredibly helpful. Particularly in moments like this. While one of my talons is busy holding my bag and spear, I have both wing-tip digits dug into Grímr’s feathers. I might be a bit hot for him too; the metal warps beneath my claws.
I should have killed them all when I had the chance. Why did I have to crumble at the thought of making Grímr disappointed?
We wade through the last of the water before the tower, but much of it flows down into the chasm below now that there are no walls in the way.
The centzon trio lead us to a platform beneath the tower with a worryingly lively gait. Neither the centzon looking down from above nor the ones waiting on the platform seem angered. Curiosity and confusion they have in excess, but not a single one seems even annoyed that their assailant is now being welcomed into their home.
Once we are all positioned on the metal-rimmed stone platform, one of the centzon off to the side turns a valve. Now that I’m looking, there are several valves and levers arrayed along each section of stone within reach… and some sections that aren’t.
Before I can look further up the interior of the tower, Grímr jerks beneath me. I grasp his feathers tight and look around, ready to strike at these creatures if they lead us into another trap.
None of them act as if anything is wrong. Nor do they look at us with hostility. Instead, I notice the source of Grímr’s movement.
Our platform is falling.
Not fast. No, we are being lowered by another of these centzon’s contraptions. As our stone ground lowers below the stone floor of the tower, I realise there’s nothing underneath. The major pillars of the tower connect to a massive brace that locks into the wall of the canyon.
More of their city — their regna, as they call it — comes into view as we lower. It is unlike anything I’ve seen. Their metal and stone contraptions cover everything in the canyon. When I say everything, I mean it. All three hundred metres down to the water below and spreading wide to both sides is their artificial creation.
I don’t think there is a single portion of the wall that hasn’t been replaced or improved.
The most common structures are enormous, spanning platforms holding entire streets of buildings and homes suspended hundreds of metres in the air. There are regular bridges and the occasional larger building that span the entirely of the canyon cavity.
I nervously tighten my grip at the sight of water dropping along the wall from above. It trickles more than a few metres away, but it’s still enough to keep me tense.
“So what brings you to our regna?” The centzon asks as the platform clanks to a stop.
He steps down to the wide bridge and directs us to the far side of the canyon.
“We are mostly here to discuss the merminea,” Grímr says.
I’m surprised we have no issues walking. Grímr isn’t exactly small or weightless, yet the bridge doesn’t budge under his heft, nor do we face any issues when the centzon lead us into an enclosed area carved in the rock-face.
It’s concerning to enter, but enough of one wall is exposed to open air that I don’t consider it entrapping. I can only thank the changes to the knot for that.
“The yoe? What about them?” The centzon slide their log-like weapons into a slot in the wall and twist them into place. Now that I’m looking, there are a hundred of the things along the wall we just passed. At first glance, they didn’t seem any different from the number of other contraptions around.
They lead us across the space to several long tables. The centzon that has led the conversation till now takes the head of the central table. He invites us to sit, which in Grímr’s case means sliding a few of the chairs out of the way. I remain on his back for now.
There are a lot of curious gazes following us. As soon as we’ve settled in, the rest of the tables immediately fill with the other centzon that can’t help their wandering eyes.
“First, I’d like to ask your opinion of them.”
“What’s there to say?” the centzon shrugs. “The animals are good for their fur, something indispensable for us hunters, but I can’t say I care for them in one way or the other.”
A loud clang echoes through the alcove and the centzon looks up in delight.
“Ah, it looks like the cooks are just as interested as everyone else in our guests. I assume you have the same diet as a normal alicanto?” At Grímr’s nod, he turns to me. “And you… uh, firewood?” he guesses.
“Anything,” I say, trying my hardest not to snarl.
I hate this. They actually seem like nice, welcoming people. I hope they prove otherwise, then I can slaughter them all without issue. Why is it I’m never just given the freedom to punish those who do me wrong?
No. I got my vengeance on Gloria, the general, and the mill owner, so I guess I can’t say never. But I hate facing problems I can’t just incinerate.
Several centzon enter the large hall. Unlike those I’ve seen until now, these seem far shorter and less muscled. They are far closer to a mermineae in proportions than the rest sitting in this hall.
They bring out platters and place them before each sitting centzon. The one that has been doing most of the talking so far is the first to be served. The massive head of some bird I’m unfamiliar with now taking up a good chunk of the table width. Each of the centzon on our table gets an avian head, but none as large as the head of the table.
On the surrounding tables, there are other cuts of bird meat and some fish heads. Is there some relevance to who gets what? Maybe it’s decided by rank. In that case, the one we’ve been talking to must be their leader. Or at the very least, the highest in this room.
Those serving us can’t hide their curious glances our way. I guess they don’t get guests here often.
Grímr and I soon get our own plates. My mount getting a pile of that unique metal of theirs and I… get a bunch of different things. They’ve filled my plate with fish, bird, tinder, metal, and a bunch of random stuff that I’d assume they just picked off the ground if not for the ornate presentation. They’ve somehow even made rock look appetising.
“Well, I think introductions are in order,” the centzon leader announces. “I am Tzilac, Celotl Hunter.” He waves a hand over the rest of the centzon. “And these are my hunters.”
A short, unified shout from each startles me as they respond to his acknowledgement. I quickly clamp down on the flare I almost snap out at them. Now is not the time.
“I am Grímr, mercenary of the Order guarding the nations of the pact.” He motions his beak back at me. “This is Solvei. Though never officially inducted into the Order, she is undeniably an important part of my team.”
With that, Tzilac gestures for our plates and moves to start his own. I hop down to my meal, not about to miss a free feast. Before I start though, I realise none of the centzon in the hall have begun eating themselves. They all wait for Tzilac.
Their leader grabs some strange-looking utensil, obviously another of their contraptions. He positions it over the skull before him and, with a clench of his fist, a loud crack rings through the room. A series of similar snaps follow it as the rest of the centzon on our table crack their own birds’ heads.
With another utensil that looks like a scoop with a clamp, he picks up a section of the cooked brain within. He raises it in a toast before bringing it to his mouth and swallowing whole.
A cacophony of slurping rings through the hall as everyone digs in.
I pick up the sample of their metal they’ve given me. I’ve already melted through and eaten plenty of it back when I destroyed their traps, but eating metal directly is always pleasant. Not exactly necessary, as I get all the taste and nutrition through my inner flame. Maybe it’s the extra texture I can feel on my tongue, but it’s always nice to eat directly now and then.
I leave the stone and fish untouched. Stone is… not disgusting, maybe bland. I don’t really get all that much energy from it either. Fish I’ve found tastes good, but I can never get my mind off the fact they come from water to ever not feel nervous when eating. Doesn’t matter how dry it looks.
“So…” Tzilac starts, and I take a moment to realise he’s addressing me, not Grímr. “That weapon and cloth of yours… do you mind if I see them?”
I really don’t want to, but as I turn back at Grímr, he’s giving me a pleading gaze. Ugh, fine. But it’s not because you want me to.
With a physical flame, I send them over to Tzilac, ignoring the fact that I do this entirely because Grímr wants me to.
The centzon inspects my spear first. “Hmm, sloppy metalwork and rough craftsmanship.”
I almost lash out at him. How dare he criticise Bunny’s work? But it isn’t even my self-restraint that holds me back. It’s the sudden, unnerving silence around us.
Each centzon has stopped eating. They each look our way with blank, unblinking stares. Without the curious looks they’ve all had till now, it comes across as incredibly creepy.
“It was all she could make out here without her equipment,” I defend Bunny’s skill. There is no change in the hundred motionless gazes.
“But this cloth…” Tzilac continues. “Is incredible! How are they able to make the threads so tiny? And each is perfectly sewn without flaw.” He throws my spear back at me. I catch it with ease, too tense to let something like that surprise me.
“I would love to learn this! The girls on the lower platforms will do amazing work if they could replicate this.”
Almost as if it was all my imagination, the centzon around us return to their meals. Those looking our way — which is still most of them — are as curious as they were before.
Did I… just miss an opportunity to get them to attack me again?
Wait, no. Stop thinking about that initial trapping. If I hold my frustrations, I’ll never be able to move forward. Plus, they’ve shown they can pump water to the plateau above. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume they can do that anywhere.
I nervously glance around for any vents I might have missed.
“Alright then, let’s get back on topic. What exactly was it you wanted to talk about the yoe?”
“There soon won’t be any more in the Euroclydon’s Hunting Grounds.”
His immediate reaction is surprise, but that quickly morphs into confusion. “What exactly do you mean? The yoe are as numerous as blades of grass. I can’t hardly imagine them all disappearing.”
“They’ve discovered the path through the Alps. Right now, they are all trying to make their way across.”
Tzilac’s eyes flicker between the two of us. “You can’t stop them, can you?”
Grímr flinches, and I can’t help but sigh at my friend. Did he really have to make the answer so obvious?
“We don’t know for sure. The mermineae have control of the tunnel entrance, so we can’t return.”
Tzilac nods. “Alright, we will help you. We hunters have a rather important reason to keep them around ourselves.”
My gaze drops to the thick coat hanging over his shoulders. It’s strange they are immediately willing to help us. I mean, they are known to skin the mermineae alive, so I wouldn’t say they are all too good friends with them. But again, they skin people alive… why are they willing to help us when they treat them like that?
“But in return, I want a free trade of technological secrets and research between us and your home.”
“I can definitely try to get that, but I’m not an official diplomat, so I can’t make any promises,” Grímr hedges.
“Hmm… in that case, lead a group of centzon observers that I will provide through these nations of yours. We can discuss trade deals with the relevant people then.” Tzilac places his hands on the table and rises to his feet before pausing. “Your people honour favours, correct?”
Grímr nods with ease, but I can’t help but think back to Imiha breaking the deal with her team. Well, it’s not like I’ll be telling them about that. But to assume anyone will hold their honour when strained, I can’t help but feel is foolish.
“Come, I’ll introduce you to Eztli before I organise some things. She’ll give you a tour of our regna.”
This all went far too well for me to be comfortable with. Grímr seems satisfied and rises to follow the centzon, but I can’t help but be suspicious. Maybe I’m paranoid, or maybe it’s because I still hate them for trying to trap me.
Regardless of whether my distrust is valid or not, I’m going to keep my guard up and eyes open.
I’ve found that keeping finger like claws on the end of my wings to be incredibly helpful. Particularly in moments like this. While one of my talons is busy holding my bag and spear, I have both wing-tip digits dug into Grímr’s feathers. I might be a bit hot for him too; the metal warps beneath my claws.
I should have killed them all when I had the chance. Why did I have to crumble at the thought of making Grímr disappointed?
We wade through the last of the water before the tower, but much of it flows down into the chasm below now that there are no walls in the way.
The centzon trio lead us to a platform beneath the tower with a worryingly lively gait. Neither the centzon looking down from above nor the ones waiting on the platform seem angered. Curiosity and confusion they have in excess, but not a single one seems even annoyed that their assailant is now being welcomed into their home.
Once we are all positioned on the metal-rimmed stone platform, one of the centzon off to the side turns a valve. Now that I’m looking, there are several valves and levers arrayed along each section of stone within reach… and some sections that aren’t.
Before I can look further up the interior of the tower, Grímr jerks beneath me. I grasp his feathers tight and look around, ready to strike at these creatures if they lead us into another trap.
None of them act as if anything is wrong. Nor do they look at us with hostility. Instead, I notice the source of Grímr’s movement.
Our platform is falling.
Not fast. No, we are being lowered by another of these centzon’s contraptions. As our stone ground lowers below the stone floor of the tower, I realise there’s nothing underneath. The major pillars of the tower connect to a massive brace that locks into the wall of the canyon.
More of their city — their regna, as they call it — comes into view as we lower. It is unlike anything I’ve seen. Their metal and stone contraptions cover everything in the canyon. When I say everything, I mean it. All three hundred metres down to the water below and spreading wide to both sides is their artificial creation.
I don’t think there is a single portion of the wall that hasn’t been replaced or improved.
The most common structures are enormous, spanning platforms holding entire streets of buildings and homes suspended hundreds of metres in the air. There are regular bridges and the occasional larger building that span the entirely of the canyon cavity.
I nervously tighten my grip at the sight of water dropping along the wall from above. It trickles more than a few metres away, but it’s still enough to keep me tense.
“So what brings you to our regna?” The centzon asks as the platform clanks to a stop.
He steps down to the wide bridge and directs us to the far side of the canyon.
“We are mostly here to discuss the merminea,” Grímr says.
I’m surprised we have no issues walking. Grímr isn’t exactly small or weightless, yet the bridge doesn’t budge under his heft, nor do we face any issues when the centzon lead us into an enclosed area carved in the rock-face.
It’s concerning to enter, but enough of one wall is exposed to open air that I don’t consider it entrapping. I can only thank the changes to the knot for that.
“The yoe? What about them?” The centzon slide their log-like weapons into a slot in the wall and twist them into place. Now that I’m looking, there are a hundred of the things along the wall we just passed. At first glance, they didn’t seem any different from the number of other contraptions around.
They lead us across the space to several long tables. The centzon that has led the conversation till now takes the head of the central table. He invites us to sit, which in Grímr’s case means sliding a few of the chairs out of the way. I remain on his back for now.
There are a lot of curious gazes following us. As soon as we’ve settled in, the rest of the tables immediately fill with the other centzon that can’t help their wandering eyes.
“First, I’d like to ask your opinion of them.”
“What’s there to say?” the centzon shrugs. “The animals are good for their fur, something indispensable for us hunters, but I can’t say I care for them in one way or the other.”
A loud clang echoes through the alcove and the centzon looks up in delight.
“Ah, it looks like the cooks are just as interested as everyone else in our guests. I assume you have the same diet as a normal alicanto?” At Grímr’s nod, he turns to me. “And you… uh, firewood?” he guesses.
“Anything,” I say, trying my hardest not to snarl.
I hate this. They actually seem like nice, welcoming people. I hope they prove otherwise, then I can slaughter them all without issue. Why is it I’m never just given the freedom to punish those who do me wrong?
No. I got my vengeance on Gloria, the general, and the mill owner, so I guess I can’t say never. But I hate facing problems I can’t just incinerate.
Several centzon enter the large hall. Unlike those I’ve seen until now, these seem far shorter and less muscled. They are far closer to a mermineae in proportions than the rest sitting in this hall.
They bring out platters and place them before each sitting centzon. The one that has been doing most of the talking so far is the first to be served. The massive head of some bird I’m unfamiliar with now taking up a good chunk of the table width. Each of the centzon on our table gets an avian head, but none as large as the head of the table.
On the surrounding tables, there are other cuts of bird meat and some fish heads. Is there some relevance to who gets what? Maybe it’s decided by rank. In that case, the one we’ve been talking to must be their leader. Or at the very least, the highest in this room.
Those serving us can’t hide their curious glances our way. I guess they don’t get guests here often.
Grímr and I soon get our own plates. My mount getting a pile of that unique metal of theirs and I… get a bunch of different things. They’ve filled my plate with fish, bird, tinder, metal, and a bunch of random stuff that I’d assume they just picked off the ground if not for the ornate presentation. They’ve somehow even made rock look appetising.
“Well, I think introductions are in order,” the centzon leader announces. “I am Tzilac, Celotl Hunter.” He waves a hand over the rest of the centzon. “And these are my hunters.”
A short, unified shout from each startles me as they respond to his acknowledgement. I quickly clamp down on the flare I almost snap out at them. Now is not the time.
“I am Grímr, mercenary of the Order guarding the nations of the pact.” He motions his beak back at me. “This is Solvei. Though never officially inducted into the Order, she is undeniably an important part of my team.”
With that, Tzilac gestures for our plates and moves to start his own. I hop down to my meal, not about to miss a free feast. Before I start though, I realise none of the centzon in the hall have begun eating themselves. They all wait for Tzilac.
Their leader grabs some strange-looking utensil, obviously another of their contraptions. He positions it over the skull before him and, with a clench of his fist, a loud crack rings through the room. A series of similar snaps follow it as the rest of the centzon on our table crack their own birds’ heads.
With another utensil that looks like a scoop with a clamp, he picks up a section of the cooked brain within. He raises it in a toast before bringing it to his mouth and swallowing whole.
A cacophony of slurping rings through the hall as everyone digs in.
I pick up the sample of their metal they’ve given me. I’ve already melted through and eaten plenty of it back when I destroyed their traps, but eating metal directly is always pleasant. Not exactly necessary, as I get all the taste and nutrition through my inner flame. Maybe it’s the extra texture I can feel on my tongue, but it’s always nice to eat directly now and then.
I leave the stone and fish untouched. Stone is… not disgusting, maybe bland. I don’t really get all that much energy from it either. Fish I’ve found tastes good, but I can never get my mind off the fact they come from water to ever not feel nervous when eating. Doesn’t matter how dry it looks.
“So…” Tzilac starts, and I take a moment to realise he’s addressing me, not Grímr. “That weapon and cloth of yours… do you mind if I see them?”
I really don’t want to, but as I turn back at Grímr, he’s giving me a pleading gaze. Ugh, fine. But it’s not because you want me to.
With a physical flame, I send them over to Tzilac, ignoring the fact that I do this entirely because Grímr wants me to.
The centzon inspects my spear first. “Hmm, sloppy metalwork and rough craftsmanship.”
I almost lash out at him. How dare he criticise Bunny’s work? But it isn’t even my self-restraint that holds me back. It’s the sudden, unnerving silence around us.
Each centzon has stopped eating. They each look our way with blank, unblinking stares. Without the curious looks they’ve all had till now, it comes across as incredibly creepy.
“It was all she could make out here without her equipment,” I defend Bunny’s skill. There is no change in the hundred motionless gazes.
“But this cloth…” Tzilac continues. “Is incredible! How are they able to make the threads so tiny? And each is perfectly sewn without flaw.” He throws my spear back at me. I catch it with ease, too tense to let something like that surprise me.
“I would love to learn this! The girls on the lower platforms will do amazing work if they could replicate this.”
Almost as if it was all my imagination, the centzon around us return to their meals. Those looking our way — which is still most of them — are as curious as they were before.
Did I… just miss an opportunity to get them to attack me again?
Wait, no. Stop thinking about that initial trapping. If I hold my frustrations, I’ll never be able to move forward. Plus, they’ve shown they can pump water to the plateau above. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume they can do that anywhere.
I nervously glance around for any vents I might have missed.
“Alright then, let’s get back on topic. What exactly was it you wanted to talk about the yoe?”
“There soon won’t be any more in the Euroclydon’s Hunting Grounds.”
His immediate reaction is surprise, but that quickly morphs into confusion. “What exactly do you mean? The yoe are as numerous as blades of grass. I can’t hardly imagine them all disappearing.”
“They’ve discovered the path through the Alps. Right now, they are all trying to make their way across.”
Tzilac’s eyes flicker between the two of us. “You can’t stop them, can you?”
Grímr flinches, and I can’t help but sigh at my friend. Did he really have to make the answer so obvious?
“We don’t know for sure. The mermineae have control of the tunnel entrance, so we can’t return.”
Tzilac nods. “Alright, we will help you. We hunters have a rather important reason to keep them around ourselves.”
My gaze drops to the thick coat hanging over his shoulders. It’s strange they are immediately willing to help us. I mean, they are known to skin the mermineae alive, so I wouldn’t say they are all too good friends with them. But again, they skin people alive… why are they willing to help us when they treat them like that?
“But in return, I want a free trade of technological secrets and research between us and your home.”
“I can definitely try to get that, but I’m not an official diplomat, so I can’t make any promises,” Grímr hedges.
“Hmm… in that case, lead a group of centzon observers that I will provide through these nations of yours. We can discuss trade deals with the relevant people then.” Tzilac places his hands on the table and rises to his feet before pausing. “Your people honour favours, correct?”
Grímr nods with ease, but I can’t help but think back to Imiha breaking the deal with her team. Well, it’s not like I’ll be telling them about that. But to assume anyone will hold their honour when strained, I can’t help but feel is foolish.
“Come, I’ll introduce you to Eztli before I organise some things. She’ll give you a tour of our regna.”
This all went far too well for me to be comfortable with. Grímr seems satisfied and rises to follow the centzon, but I can’t help but be suspicious. Maybe I’m paranoid, or maybe it’s because I still hate them for trying to trap me.
Regardless of whether my distrust is valid or not, I’m going to keep my guard up and eyes open.
