The Heavenly Host (Demons of Astlan Book 2) (73 page)

It seemed like a pretty good deal to Gastropé, albeit a bit odd. Seamach had talked about his contacts in the alvaren intelligence community, but they were not being particularly circumspect. True, there were plenty of alvar in town, so that was not unusual, as well as a fair number of dwarves, heartheans and other races compared to Freehold or most of Turelane, for that matter. However, the only aetós in town were the ones with them, and that did attract quite a bit of attention. Tall, extremely attractive humans with large, colorful feathered wings and wild hairdos were not common anywhere that Gastropé had ever heard of. Most thought the aetós to be creatures of myth and legend. He felt rather sorry for their discomfort. In the more crowded areas people, especially children, would just randomly reach out to touch their wings. Gastropé had to imagine it felt rather awkward to be continually groped and touched like that. However, Danfaêr and Treyfoêr seemed to maintain a pleasant demeanor.

Eventually they were able to see the sign for the apothecary. They had a list of chemical and alchemical ingredients they needed to pick up for the ship; ingredients that helped keep the air fresh when it had to be recycled at high altitude, along with items to keep the stored water pure. Apparently, there was what Gnorbert called a
sophisticated life support system
onboard the cloud, and it was rather high-maintenance. While all the organic components were generally available in the grove, there were some elements that were easier and cheaper to obtain in Murgandy and a few other areas.

After awkwardly crossing the crowded square, Treyfoêr opened the entrance to the store. He ducked at the waist and tightened his wings close together to squeeze through the door. Gastropé noted the door was a bit larger than a normal human door, but still a bit tight for the winged warrior.

Jenn followed Treyfoêr and then Gastropé entered, with Danfaêr bringing up the rear. As she entered, Jenn drew a soft but sharp breath. He glanced ahead to see what had caused her reaction and blinked at the sight of an extremely ugly fellow behind the counter. His skin was green and pockmarked all over. He was balding with greenish black hair streaked with white. His nose was rather snout-like and his mouth sported a set of huge bottom teeth and two rather large tusks.

An orc, Gastropé realized in surprise. His first thought was that the orc had broken in and killed the apothecary; but then he realized the orc was wearing a white lab coat. This was quite unusual. He, and he was sure Jenn, had never encountered an orc actually engaged in legal behavior.

To be fair, he had only encountered orcs infrequently in Exador’s army, so technically he had only experienced them as part of an Army of Evil, of which he himself had been a member. As of the time they had left Freehold, the Council still had not ruled on Exador vs Lenamare, so in theory that might have been a legal activity, except for Exador being an archdemon. Which, he was pretty sure, was illegal in most regions.

“Yeah?” the orc behind the counter grumped at them. He seemed none too pleased to have customers.

“Uhm, yeah… we need to purchase some items?” Jenn asked rather hesitantly as she unfolded the list.

The orc gestured for her to hand him her list. “It’s in Noralese, do you read Noralese?”

The orc looked at her as if she was insane. “I speaking it now! What you think, I stupid?”

“No, not at all,” Jenn said. “I’m sorry.”

“Would be shitty business orc if I not speak and read Noralese and Etonese. I also good in Gnomish Prime and can talk Mogradin if have to. No read stupid runes. Who put words as pictures? Dumbies, that who! No alvaren, any kind. Crappy language, too complicated to bother. Don’t speak wingdings either.” He pointed to the aetós.

Danfaêr and Treyfoêr looked at each other in puzzlement; they had no idea what “wingdings” was. Treyfoêr had told Gastropé that the aetós generally spoke either Noralese or Etonese, depending on where they lived. The actual aetóên language was only spoken in High Council, ceremonies and when privacy among other races was essential.

“I apologize; can we please get what’s on the list?” Jenn said.

The orc gave her a stare, nodded and looked at the list. “Lot of weird dung here.” He glanced up at the two aetós. “Must be Grove business, those crazy always do weird dung.” He shook his head. “Need half candle to put together.” He gestured to a candle that was lit on his counter, even though most of the room was lit by lanterns. Some merchants used candles as an indicator of time, Gastropé remembered his father saying.

~

“I am getting spoiled in Tierhallon,” Hilda told Stevos as they entered Murgatroy. Beragamos had asked her to introduce Stevos to their new tactic of using “on-the-ground intel.” He had mentioned that everyone had been so pleased with her quick success, they were going to be doing a lot more on-the-ground work and that if she was interested after this was over, she would be a huge asset to the new team.

Hilda has smiled graciously and replied that it was a huge honor. She had left it at that. She really had not been sure how much she wanted to have a job that required a lot of travel. Although, if her expense account continued at the current level, that would more than compensate. At least, that’s how she felt until she and Stevos arrived in Murgatroy.
Ugh!

Muddy, dung-filled streets with no sidewalks other than a few wooden planks here and there. Rough wooden buildings right up alongside poorly constructed stone buildings. The smell? Horrible. The town was overrun with animals and some odd beasts of burden. And there were orcs. Lots of orcs. Quite a number of alvar as well.

Truly amazing that the city was still standing with both alvar and orcs in it. It had been her understanding that the two races frequently clashed, even in non-wartime situations. If alcohol was involved, it was considered guaranteed. Yet there was no question that there was alcohol in this town. Bad alcohol, vinegary and nasty, mixed with the smell of vomit and urine. Every alleyway they passed was an assault on her nostrils. Seriously, the damn wards around Freehold had been less of an assault on her person than the stench from some of these alleys.

Fortunately, she was not in her saintly attire. Since they were undercover, she was dressed in leather breeches and sturdy leather boots. Hidden beneath her rather large leather coat, she had a knit shirt and silk undergarments, fortunately. Otherwise, there would be no question of chafing in the stifling heat of this city. The humidity was quite atrocious. Her hair was apparently on strike and curling in random directions.

Stevos was dressed similarly and appeared quite happy to be out of saintly attire. Even as she was thinking this, he spoke up. “It’s really nice to be back in normal clothes.”

Hilda grinned at him. “
You
think it’s nice? Try walking through the mud in slippers and a white gown with gossamer lacing along the bottom trim.”

He shuddered and grinned back. “Yeah, women saints have it far worse, I agree with that.”

“At least those of us from the Sisterhood. The women Rod members have a better getup,” Hilda noted.

“Yeah, but think of the knightly saints; they have to wander around in full armor all the time.”

“How is that different than how most of them lived their entire lives? How often have you seen a Knight Rampant or a Paladin not in armor?”

Stevos grinned at her. “Point taken. Although, in my defense, we did not get a whole lot of knight anythings down here. Mainly Brothers and Sisters, along with priests and an occasional Rod detachment.”

“Given what I’ve seen so far, it is probably a good idea to keep the knights away,” commented Hilda. “There are too many suspicious characters here, most almost certainly up to no good. Plus all the orcs, goblins and other unsavory types would probably distract them and cause all sorts of unwanted political issues.”

Stevos nodded. “The Church keeps a much lower profile down here. We also interact more with the churches of the Holy Siblings than in other parts of Norelon.”

“And probably in Eton,” Hilda said. “I lived in Eton and while we saw Sibling church members, we had very little interaction with them. Rather odd, I always thought, but who was I to say?”

“Do you ever encounter any avatars from the Sibling Hosts?” Stevos asked.

“Only at official dinners. They will show up to those, but they generally only interact with the highest ranking avatars on our side.” She paused. “Where does this illuminary of yours, Teragdor, live?” she asked, adjusting the subject to their current business.

“ ‘Around’ is about the best I can say, unfortunately.” Stevos said with a grimace.

“Around?”

“He’s itinerant and travels the area around Murgatroy and many of the deeper villages of Murgandy,” Stevos said. “He just happened to be in Murgatroy when the D’Orcs came to town.”

“He is still here?” Hilda asked.

Stevos shrugged. “I would think so; it was just last night that he contacted me. If he’s not still in the city, he is going to be close by.”

“Very well, then. Can you follow your illumination line to him?” Hilda asked.

“I should be able to. I have never really had to do it from the Planes of Men before. Normally I’m doing it from Tierhallon and so—”

“I know.” Hilda beamed at him and gave him a small pat on the shoulder. “It is trickier here because everything is close and the lines tangle. From up there, the lines spread out over all of Astlan so they become easier to track. Down here, it is like being in a bowl full of noodles trying to follow a single noodle!”

“Exactly. Let me try.” Stevos stepped up against a nearby wall and closed his eyes.

Hilda waited patiently while he worked to trace the illumination line. She looked around at the Stone Age village they were in. The best buildings were crudely carved stone; many were of fieldstone and a fair number were timber of various sorts. As she was looking around, she noted a beggar surreptitiously heading their way. Hilda softly chanted a ritual to distract his attention elsewhere, quickly making the semantic gestures inside her sleeves.

The beggar suddenly looked to his right and started scuttling to his left. Hilda smiled; she was not up for starting any more beggar battles. Freehold had been enough for her; she would leave well enough alone down here. For one thing, she thought with a grimace, there appeared to be a lot more people, all of various races, missing limbs or with scars, so the beggar pool was potentially far larger here.

“Got him!” Stevos said, opening his eyes. “He’s that way, near the city wall.” He pointed around the corner to their right.

“Lead on, my dear. Lead on!” Hilda encouraged him.

Stevos followed the illumination line through the crowded streets, around several corners and between a couple of buildings. Finally, they came upon a smithy, where an individual in priestly robes with the symbol of Tiernon emblazoned on the back was bent over, healing someone.

As they came up, they could see he was tending a young girl in a smith’s apron who had apparently burned herself. The smith, presumably her father, was hovering over her. Stevos and Hilda waited quietly for the priest to finish his healing. After another minute, the priest stopped praying and stood up.

“How does that feel?” he asked the girl.

“Much better, Teragdor! Thank you.” She gave the hooded priest a hug. The smith nodded and reached out to shake the priest’s hand. Hilda noted a small silver coin donation in his hand. Very good, she thought, nodding in appreciation.

“Good day, Master Sorensen!” The priest nodded, turned to leave and saw the two of them standing there watching him. Hilda got a good look at him. Mmm. Ugly young man. He appeared to be in his twenties, with a large jaw and mouth. Oversize teeth, but no tusks. Large eyes with a vertical irises, like a cat. His skull was rather large and square, somewhat out of proportion to his large-boned, yet very thin frame and his large, bony hands.

He nodded at the two humans staring at him. “Good day. May the peace of Tiernon be upon you,” he said in the traditional greeting, preparing to move past them. As he did so, Stevos put out a hand.

“The peace of Tiernon be with you as well, Teragdor. Might we speak with you somewhere private?” Stevos asked gently as Hilda gave the man one of her bright smiles.

Teragdor looked at them suspiciously. “Have we met?”

An oddly suspicious reaction for a priest, but Hilda assumed that being a half-orc priest of Tiernon was not always easy. Nor would being a priest of Tiernon of any sort in this region.

“Not directly.” Stevos smiled.

“Not directly? How do you know my name?” Teragdor asked.

“Your patient spoke your name.” Hilda grinned at him, trying to relax the young priest.

“What is this about?” Teragdor asked.

“Events that occurred here yesterday that you reported last night,” Stevos said with a grin and a flash of his eyebrows.

The priest got a shocked look on his face. “The missives I sent to the Father Abbot could not possibly have reached anyone yet. It would take a solid day for my crow to get there.”

Stevos chuckled. “Not that missive; the other one that you sent to me.”

“We really should go somewhere a bit more private,” Hilda said, taking one of the priest’s elbows. “Do you by any chance have a room at a local inn?”