Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Lliferock (13 page)

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Pabl went directly to their table. “My Elder has called a council,” he said. “Miners have desecrated the tepuis. They killed one of my brothers and have refused to stop the digging.

They have an entire ork cavalry, well-armed and strong. They did not listen to our pleas.”

Celagri looked up, and for the first time Pabl noticed that she was dressed in full traveling gear, hair pulled into a tight black knot. “I saw the mining camp,” she said. “And I saw most of the battle. I’ve told Jan everything.”

“My Elder wants you to come to our council,” Pabl said.

“We might need help.”

Jan looked up, giving an exaggerated yawn. “I will come, and I’ll tell Abrin — my friend on the village assembly. He’s the one who tried to convince Pontin Nemish to clean up his shantytown. Abrin might be able to get the assembly to help you. I know they are still cursing the ork cavalry for the mess it made.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Yes,” Jan said. “I’ve known him since I was a child.”

“Good. Hurry and get ready; I will explain the situation as we climb.”

Celagri spoke, “I’m ready.”

“I’ll go get Abrin.” Jan stood and walked out of the tavern.

Pabl and Celagri waited in the center square. Abrin and Jan returned a short time later, with three other dwarfs following. Abrin approached Pabl. “I am sorry to hear your news,”

he said. “We will do what we can to help.” He turned towards the three other dwarfs. “This is Pontin Nemish, illusionist and leader of the village assembly. Pontin, this is Pabl Evr of Tepuis Garen.”

A red bearded dwarf stepped forward and bowed low. “I wish our meeting were under better circumstances,” he said.

“On behalf of the township of Rabneth, I would like to offer our aid to the Garen Brotherhood. May we join your council?”

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So you are the slum monger who runs Pontintown, eh?

“You may climb with us,” Pabl said, “though I cannot guaran-tee my Elder will allow you to participate in the council. Have you climbed the tepuis before? The trip up is quite rugged.”

“No, but we are ready.”

Pabl nodded, then turned and led the way out of the village, heading along the west road, toward the trail of the First Merge. Pontin walked next to Pabl and spoke of his plans to refurbish his tenements by the stream. Pontin apologized for offending Pabl, assuring him that no disrespect toward the Garen Brotherhood was intended. The shantytown’s dilapi-dated condition was merely an oversight which he planned to remedy shortly.

Pabl listened to this diplomacy with growing indifference.

He did not like this Pontin Nemish. Too much talk. Words did not matter; only deeds would convince him. His lack of response eventually shut Pontin up.

The trail of the First Merge rose up the rock on their left, cut and bolstered into the side of the cliff. The tepuis sloped more gently on this side, but even so the path proved a difficult climb in the dim light of the stars.

They climbed for many hours, drinking from a narrow rivulet which ran along the path for a short distance before plummeting over the edge. The trail was haphazard and difficult. In some places, the path simply disappeared into the un-yielding face of the rock, only to start up again forty or fifty feet straight above.

The sky lightened in the east as they neared the point where the path left the cliff face. The trail angled up through a deep, rocky crevice that cut toward the top of the mesa, cold and dark and wet in the pre-dawn hours.

They spoke rarely, Pabl preferring to listen to the wind and the waking of the rock. Mountain tigers and Crojen often made their lairs in the pockets and caves; it was best to be This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 

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alert. As the sun rose, hot in the clear sky, the sounds of the tepuis came to life — high screeches of birds and the throaty rhythms of iguanas and skinks.

Two and half hours later, the group had made its way through the Dance of Stones to the temple above the riflev waterfall. They were the last to arrive, though Gvint gave them time to clean off and change clothes before calling the council to assemble.

The whole brotherhood was there, faces grave and solemn.

Wennith Nar’s body lay next to the Alqarat, his chest and legs draped with a funeral covering — a heavy blanket of gray and brown. Pictures embroidered on the blanket told the legends of The Valley of the Elders, of the Council of Four and how each element — Air, Fire, Earth and Water — would reclaim part of the dead body. How the spirit would rejoin the liferock.

Gvint stood over Wennith’s corpse and placed a horkla on the head of the dead obsidiman. “The circumstances of our gathering are familiar to all of us,” he said. “Ganwetrammus is threatened by the mining camp. One of the brotherhood has been killed. We must decide what to do.”

“Why do we allow these dwarfs and this elf at our council?”

It was Chaiel’s voice.

Pabl stood and addressed his brothers. “The dwarfs represent the village of Rabneth; they support us against the miners. And the elf is my friend. True, they are not of our brotherhood, but they want to help us.”

“They are energy-wasters. They share heritage and race with our enemies. When has friendship ever come before kin-ship?” There were murmurs of assent from the others. Even Pabl didn’t put his friendship with Jan, which was closer than any he had, above the concerns of his brothers and Ganwetrammus.

“Chaiel,” Pabl said, “Do you condemn all members of a race This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 

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for the actions of a few of its members?”

Chaiel was not going to be so easily calmed. “No, of course not. But this matter is for the Brothers of Tepuis Garen. Out-siders, regardless of their loyalties, are not invited.”

Gvint interrupted. “We don’t have time for this,” he said.

“We are in a dire situation and can use all the help and input we can get. I see no reason to exclude them from this council.

They can stay.”

“But Elder —”

Gvint silenced Chaiel with a look.

Pabl sat down, as did Chaiel.

“We have a choice to make. Peace or war. Diplomacy has failed and I do not think it has a chance for success. Their leader, Sarbeneck Haspain is a salesman, not a negotiator. He cannot be trusted. His anger at Chaiel’s attack will fade in time, but his unwillingness to stop mining will not. Unless we can pay him enough.”

“How much does he ask?” Ywerk Fri said from where he stood in a full-length black robe.

“Too much,” Gvint said. “When Pabl offered him gems worth ten thousand silver, he scoffed at us. Money means a great deal to him. Besides, I would be hesitant to pay it anyway. He has no right to be here.” The Elder sighed. “Which brings us to war.”

Gvint paused for heartbeat and a slow breath. Then, “Unless there are serious objections, I propose that we attack the mining camp.”

A rumbling murmur passed through the temple, but no one spoke.

Gvint continued, “The attack should try to cripple their mining operation. We will ambush them at night, and will target the elementals and the Horror spawn. We do not want to kill the miners or cavalrymen if we can help it, but we will if it is necessary to accomplish our goals. We need to disable This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 

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their ability to mine. Do you all agree?”

The temple chamber was mostly silent, but Pabl felt the consensus was with Gvint. He was their Elder and he knew what was best. Even the dwarfs from Rabneth did not speak out against him.

Tidre Ghi stood. “I agree that we should try to disable them. But their mercenary force is strong, and they will be expecting an attack. What happens if we fail to stop them?”

Chaiel got to his feet. “We cannot fail. If this attack doesn’t discourage them, we will try again, and again until they get the message. But I think we’ll succeed.”

“Ywerk and Tidre will plan the attack,” said Gvint, raising his arms. “Chaiel, Pabl and I will provide you with any information we can about the layout of the camp. The ambassa-dors from Rabneth should discuss their role in this with Ywerk and Tidre. Perhaps some of the villagers can provide a diversion. Now, we prepare for battle.”

Chaiel spoke. “We need to teach them to respect liferocks.

They didn’t understand us when we spoke of the spirit force inside Tepuis Garen.” He walked up next to Wennith’s dead body. “I want payback for Wennith’s death.”

Shouts of approval rose from the brotherhood. And the shouts grew into a cheer, getting louder and louder until the entire brotherhood stood. Soon the cheer became a chant in the long syllables of the obsidiman language. They sang, “Victory. Respect. Death to the miners.” The brothers followed Ywerk and Tidre outside into the clear afternoon.

Pabl asked Jan and Celagri to take Abrin and Pontin outside with the rest of the brotherhood while he remained behind inside the temple for a minute. After they had left, Pabl approached Gvint. “Elder, there is still another, more drastic option that we might be forced to embrace.”

“Yes, young one?”

“The Ritual of Protection.”

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“Ah, that.”

“I know it has been a long time since it was last performed, and —”

“More than five hundred years ago, yes,” Gvint said. “When I was not much older than you are now. It is risky and dangerous, and its performance requires both Elders.”

“That’s why I want to continue my search for Reid Quo.”

“Still anxious to be Named, young one?”

“The liferock needs two Elders.”

“Yes, but not right away. I can’t let you go now. We need everyone for the attack.”

“Yes, but —”

“The solution you propose is drastic,” said Gvint, walking towards the verandah. “I have considered it, and you are right; it has merit. But the risks of searching for Reid are far greater than attacking the miners. Concentrate on the battle ahead, young one. We may discuss this again after.” They had reached the entrance to the temple and looked out at the clearing next to the Mynbruje statue.

Celagri and the dwarfs looked on, slack-jawed, as the troubadour, Hagnit Ye, led the brotherhood in a undulating dance. Drums rolled deep as obsidimen chanted, “Victory.

Respect. Death to the miners.” Many of the brothers had removed their clothing and painted their skin with colored chalk paste. Red and greens across the chest, blue and black swirls along the arms and legs. Their heads were individual-ized in orange and yellow patterns.

“Try to enjoy yourselves while there is time,” Pabl told Jan and Celagri. “We will discuss specifics of the attack in a few hours, after the dance.”

The chalk patterns gyrated and roiled with the movement of the brothers, giving them the appearance of a living mural as they danced. Their movements were heavy and slow, but graceful. Then, as Hagnit increased the tempo, the motion This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 

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grew light and agile.

Pabl felt the magic of the music stir something deep down inside him. And he gave into the feeling — an instinctive violence toward anyone and anything that threatened the rock.

He wanted to lash out and destroy them. Now. Kill them.

Watch their puny bodies bend and crumble under the onslaught.

He savored the sensation. Relished it, for the moment, because he knew they would need all their cunning, all their instinct, to defeat the ork and his cavalry. He pulled off his clothing to join his brotherhood, launching himself into the dance with abandon, his concerns about Reid Quo forgotten.

This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected])  Chapter Thirteen 

The cold shadow of evening hung over the caravan encampment like a damp shawl as Sarbeneck looked at the wounded Nuinouri. The tunneler lay on the floor of the green tent, brown dust rising around it. The fabric of the tent shimmered in the crystal light. The cloth was multi-layered, the outside woven from thick pine-colored thread.

The inside layer was a faint blue, almost clear. Sarbeneck could see the runes which were embroidered into the fabric of the intervening levels. The tent’s interior had been partitioned at one end to provide quarters for Nancri and the other magicians. The main area was vacant except for the wounded Nuinouri.

The elementals and the other tunnelers were at the mining site, carving away. And making good progress, if the reports were to be trusted.

“I think it will heal on its own,” Nancri said. She reached up the touch the claw-shaped clasp at her shoulder. The bird claw released, and Nancri let her brown cloak slide into her arms. “But it will take a while; the elemental water hurt it worse than I originally thought.”

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“How long?”

“At least a week in hibernation.”

Sarbeneck looked at the thing, a sleeping black worm, segmented skin dull in the artificial light of the tent’s interior. A week meant delays in the digging. Delays that he really couldn’t afford. “You have three days to get it back in the cave,” he said.

“That might kill it.”

“I don’t have a choice,” he said. “We can’t make enough progress without all three tunnelers.”

Nancri shrugged. “You’re in charge,” she said. Then, “Will we see any more of our obsidiman neighbors?”

“Undoubtedly,” he said. “I expect them to do something, probably at the tunnel. I’ve tightened security, and you should keep aware. They might target this tent when the Nuinouri are resting.”

Nancri smiled, the smoothness of her pale skin flushing with color. “They are powerful, but few in number,” she said.