Iravi's Travelogue

In this installment, we pick back up with Leotie and Kiravi making a visit to the Palace of Tebis, and Serina visiting a temple of a different pantheon of the gods in an attempt to understand her curse and her gifts!

Earlier, we promised that this chapter would have more action and erotica and less plot. We have both told the truth, and also lied. This is an absolute monster of a chapter, with ALL the plot but also ALL the fighting and ALL the fucking.

CW: gratuitous violence

"What in the Akagi's hells is an Old Noble?" I repeated impatiently to the scribe.

He looked confused for a moment before subtly glancing at the nearest group of guards and making a small gesture with his hands. They began to circle closer around the two of us, slowly hefting spears or resting hands on the hilts of long knives. Leotie tensed, fingering her own blade, and I bristled as well.

"You carry one of the swords of Old Seleyo," the scribe said, matter-of-fact. "Are you not one of the Mayors of the towns in the Seleyo valley?"

We were wholly encircled now, but the hard-faced guards hadn't rushed us yet. "I...took this, in the Ketza, from Kuva's Mayor."

"Took...ah, I see," the scribe said lowly before his face softened and his eyebrows went up. "The matter of treason that you spoke of?"

Leotie snarled, "Why are we talking in circles? Sata al-Kuv attacked dozens of other travelers and us, and Kiravi killed him and took his sword. That's all!"

The scribe shifted his gaze between the two of us, "This is true?" I nodded, and he looked me over, "And you are nobility yourself?"

"Al-Kiral, of the Nekoar."

"I understand," he made another gesture, and the guards backed slowly away. "I think it might be best if you ask those questions of the Mayor. Please, follow me." He turned quickly on sandaled feet and hustled away through the dust. Only slightly more relaxed, Leotie and I trotted after him.

He hurried through one of the many doors. The interior was pleasantly cool, touched by a constant and gentle breeze generated by some vaguery of architecture I didn't understand at that time. Stone lamps burned fish oil or tallow, mixing their animal stink with the other aromas I'd noticed outside. The smells tugged at my conduit, triggered half-remembered lectures about potions and enchantments. Otherwise, as we wound through one cool, mud-brick corridor after another, it resembled any other grand palace or temple I'd spent my younger years visiting.

Armed guards — still mostly Bhakhuri — stood at windows and doors, an anxious tension in their stances. More scribes bustled past us, clay tablets bundled in thin or flabby arms, and disappeared into deeper and gloomier chambers. The same feeling of simmering unease filled me, but I said nothing to our guide.

We turned the last corner and crashed into a wall of aromas. Roasting sweet potatoes and cassava, grilled camel meat, drying pemmican, boiling sunflower porridge, and under all of it the harsh and acrid stink of at least two dozen different potions brewing. Perfumes and incense swirled in the air, so cloying that my eyes burned.

The scribe escorting us cleared his throat, "Kiravi al-Kiral of the Nekoar, may I present you to Qusirlay, Mayor of Tebis, Governor of all —"

"Oh shut up, will you?" A rich contralto female voice called from within the haze of incense and steam, "Bring them in, bring them in!" There was a pause, and we moved forward into the brightly lit but misty space. "It will certainly be the highlight of my winter to hear how an eastern noble arrives in Tebis with a favored symbol of the so-called 'Old Nobles.'" Those last two words were spoken with an annoyed, exasperated drawl.

The chamber was less of a room and more an open space surrounded on four sides by wooden verandas encrusted with creepers and vines. Translucent awnings flapped lazily high above, keeping the worst of the high sun from the space but letting fresh air and warm golden light spill into the open courtyard. Along the edges, scribes furiously pressed the complex symbols of our language into tacky mud slabs, bedecked in brightly dyed robes out of place with their station. Other attendant figures rested on plump cushions, tending to boiling clay pots or the meals that made my stomach do flips. I hadn't realized how tired I was of pemmican, dough, and warm beer.

At the center of all of it, fanned by two attendants with cotton fans intricately woven to look like plant fronds, was what I could only assume was the Mayor.

She rested on a small mountain of cushions, surrounded by steaming platters of food, one short arm gently stirring a large bronze cauldron of...something. Despite my stomach's desire to plow into the nigh irresistible spread of food, and my mind's want to settle this whole treason and 'Old Noble' business, I checked my stride in mild surprise. The Mayor -- and the Grand Alchemist, it seemed -- was a Hazuba. Maybe two hands shorter than the already diminutive Serina, Qusirlay was about average in height for one of her curious race but had the prodigious bulk only obscene wealth could bring.

"Well, don't just stand there, you strapping young man you," she called again, voice as honeyed as the roasted nuts she languidly popped into her mouth with her free hand. "Come, come, sit down. Sup with me, it's not an easy journey from that dreadful place up north." Her voice had an air of easy, effortless command, and I had no reason not to comply. We picked our way forward, the incense thankfully masking the traveling stink we carried, Leotie still close behind me. "You didn't tell me our guest was such a delectable specimen, Kuzo," she called to the scribe.

"My apologies, mistress," he responded with the calm of a long-suffering aide.

"Oh, off with you," she laughed, waving a hand at him encrusted with bronze and copper rings, each one set with polished stones. Qusirlay turned her aging but curious face towards us. Bright and large amber-colored eyes studied me intently from underneath a slightly pronounced brow. Silver streaked through her rich brown hair, and wrinkles collected around her large eyes and plump lips, but nothing about her seemed frail. The proportions of her limbs, torso, and head, like all Hazuba, were closer to that of an Enges than a Man, just shrunken to the size of a large child.

"Well, are you going to sit or not, you beautiful man?" She smirked at me, gesturing to empty cushions. "You flatter me with your lingering gaze."

Dear readers, I won't lie and say I didn't feel the heat rise in my cheeks at the brazen forwardness of this powerful woman. I sat, limbs aching, and reminded myself proper etiquette was to not immediately reach for the steaming delights around me. Leotie had no such qualms and immediately snatched up roasted river trout, splitting the succulent fish with a purring Niknik. I nudged her insistently, unsure how to proceed and wrong-footed by being on the receiving end of such an openly leering gaze.

"I, that is to say, we, graciously accept your hospitality, mistress Mayor," I clasped my hands in front of me and bowed slightly, trying to remember etiquette lessons from over a decade earlier.

"Kiravi al-Kiral," she chuckled again, "My hospitality would be given, gladly, if you had merely been passing through my great city on normal business," her eyes glimmered at me, and she slowly, purposefully, licked her lips. Was that a growl I heard from Leotie? Probably just Niknik eagerly devouring his meal. "Such a fine man is always welcome in my palace and, I sense, a wielder of magic as well?" I nodded, and she beamed, the genuine joy on her face shaving off a decade or two, "But you come bearing ill news, and the proof is in your very hands. So, please, eat, and tell me how you came into possession of that sword." She gestured at an attendant who took over stirring the cauldron and sat back on her throne of cushions, cradling a short staff of polished redwood.

Leotie and I both heaped bowls and platters with the fantastic spread of food, base instincts overriding other concerns for the moment. As the two of us, and Niknik, feasted, and before I could stop her, Leotie blurted out, "You still haven't told us, um, mistress, what an Old Noble is."

If Qusirlay was annoyed, she didn't show it. "She went to respond but instead leaned forward, red robes rustling, and pulled my traveling shirt from my chest with the end of her staff. "Shouldn't a man bearing the mark of a Kazmari Qhatuq know that?" Her voice had changed in a moment from lecherous noblewoman to disappointed Academy headmatron. She saw me catch the shift and winked slyly.

"I only received the mark a few days ago," I said, blushing again.

"Ah," she leaned back, "I suppose this will help your tale make more sense," a dark look crossed her small face, aging her once again. "Wait," she smiled again, this time at Leotie, and her voice was that of a stern matron again. "Kiravi, you haven't introduced your companion! Your wife, perhaps?"

Leotie grumbled, "I am Leotie, of the Rocksplitter Tribe, east of the Nekoar. And I am not his wife."

Qusirlay pressed on, "You may not be, but I suspect he bought you that absolutely lovely breastplate!" She nodded begrudgingly, "You must tell me later where to find one of my own, Kiravi," she batted eyelashes at me, "Or perhaps you'd want to give me a gift as fine as that one?"

I blushed again, embarrassed both by her blatant suggestion and the lack of any gift to give our hostess. Etiquette, my dear readers, was never my strongest subject. "I regret that I have nothing to offer you, mistress."

She waved a hand and laughed, "You needn't feel ashamed, Kiravi; your tale of treason will be gift enough. "She paused, "Ah, yes, the Old Nobles." She sighed, sipped on a cup that had appeared from somewhere in the endless cushions and blankets around her, "You certainly know, and you should as well, mistress Leotie, that the Empire is young. There are a few who still live that fought in the war, either for or against the Emperor, and many more had fathers fall in the bloody conflict." She smirked at me, "I suppose I am about to answer another question of yours as well; why is the Grand Alchemist also the Mayor of Tebis and Governor of Seleyo?" She turned to look at Leotie. "Would you trust the elite of a defeated army to simply go back to ruling their little palaces in your name with nary a problem, just after you'd conquered them?"

Leotie shook her head sharply, braids flying. "Of course not. They would try to betray me."

"Just so. The first Emperor couldn't just put Seleyo's nobles to death -- he needed their might and skill to conquer and pacify Niza -- but he couldn't let them remain in power, either. Oh yes, they kept their palaces and lands beyond Tebis but lost the palace here. We Alchemists were already here, had ties to the very Academy where you trained, Kiravi, so we were the natural choice, I suppose." She sighed, "So, the Alchemists took Tebis, the Grand Alchemist is always the Mayor and the Governor, the Emperor's representative, and those nobles that still hold title beyond the city became the 'Old Nobles.'" She gestured lazily at me, as if already tired of telling the story, "The Old King gave his Mayors the swords as the symbols of their office," she shrugged, "Hence the confusion I'm sure you've been experiencing all day."

So that explained it then. The people in this city were torn between the chariot-riding nobles who wielded force and the power of tradition and the legal instruments of the Emperor's rule delivered through the Alchemists. Judging by the reaction of the Bhakhuri and the Mayor's staff, that tension was only growing. Then, dear readers, I remembered the fresh, grisly sacrifice on the river.

"Those Old Nobles have started something, haven't they?" I asked quietly, unconsciously putting a hand on Leotie's leg. "We saw a...sacrifice on the river."

The last of the carefree joy drained from Qusirlay's face. "This drought shows no signs of ending. To the people, the new ways have caused new pain. Anghoret and the Emperor, even the fact that the city has turned from the Kwarzi to worship the distant gods: they blame change for their suffering. The Old Nobles see this and twist the old ways and conflate them with the time when they ruled the valley."

"Why children," Leotie growled quietly, "Why

Bhakhuri

children?"

"Because the Old Nobles always hated the tribes. Because the tribes joined the Emperor and embraced the Alchemists' rule. Because it is always easy to claim a Bhakhuri is consorting with its distant, evil ancestor. Take your pick, I'm afraid." She frowned, found another handful of glazed nuts, and popped them into her mouth. "But that is my problem, not yours. Please, please, keep eating. You must still tell me how you gained that sword, Kiravi al-Kiral. Treason is never a simple matter."

So, dear readers, we spoke about Kapak — she knew his name, which didn't surprise me — and his journey through the Ketza. Leotie spoke up a bit more as well, confirming to Qusirlay that the Bhakhuri following Sata were not tribesmen and that Sata must've turned the entirety of Kuva against the lawful rule of the Empire. Qusirlay nodded, deep in thought, as we explained the funeral and the purposeful desecration of the traitor's body. She sighed, thinking of the starvation and magical addiction Sata and his men had suffered through because of it.

The tale had taken us through the Mayor's languid lunch hour, but the attendants continued to bring refreshments as the sun passed noontide and began its trek west. Water, delicious and ice-cold water, filled our cups, and brisk, sweet tea flowed in never-ending abundance. Qusirlay sighed, looking as though she felt the weight of her years, but a small smile returned, and her eyes twinkled.

"You told me how you handled the traitor and how you've just recently received the qhatuq's mark, but why were you on the track in the first place, young Kiravi?"

Shame bloomed inside me like the fire in a coppersmith's forge. "I hesitate to say in the presence of one as...studied and powerful as you, mistress."

She grinned, earlier melancholy forgotten, "A beautiful man like you? Plant your seed in the wrong place, hmm?"

Who knew, maybe she was right? But you know, dear readers, why I'd left home, "No, mistress. I was...asked to be a Magus by my father and the Academy."

Her expression changed to one of appraisal, "Ah, I see. Well," she clapped small, meaty hands together, making her plump face jiggle slightly. "You clearly had enough mastery of the Eldritch Art to battle a caster like Sata and emerge victoriously," she reached out with her staff, prodding the strangely scarred veins on my left arm. "Though not wholly intact." She sat back and smiled, goading me, "Never did care much for those Nekoar wizard types. Too busy stroking their over-developed intellects."

I grinned back at her, "I can't say that I disagree, mistress. But, beyond my duty to report Sata's treason, I do still have my mission to one day return knowledge to the Academy in Anghu."

Our appetites sated, and our throats wetted by an endless rotation of fantastic tea, water, and beer, Qusirlay and I slowly descended into an ever-more esoteric discussion of the different ways our two schools harnessed the Eldritch River. Nearly every spell I'd ever learned -- at least the ones I still remembered, anyways -- focused on drawing magic through my conduit to produce some external effect. Qusirlay and her Alchemists, though focused their power internally and inwards, altering and enhancing their bodies or enchanting and imbuing objects or elixirs with magical energy.

Of course, a master like Qusirlay could still easily pull magic through herself and into a flashy external effect, as she readily demonstrated with a snap of her fingers. To her, the brute strength of the Imperial Eldritch Corps was blunt and inelegant, a misuse of the gifts we mortals had taught ourselves. To me -- though I kept my opinion mute -- Tebis' Alchemy added too many steps to the simple process of hurling magic at a problem until it went away.

Qusirlay's passion for her craft was evident, and she was so animated her face seemed to shed twenty years. I was fascinated, if overwhelmed, by her wandering and arcane explanations of Alchemy, waiting to shame myself more by begging for a token or scrap of knowledge from her prodigious library. But, throughout our frantic back and forth, I couldn't help but notice Leotie shrinking further and further into herself.

I frowned, realizing how foolish I was. Leotie had no understanding of the decades of training both of us had been subjected to. She stared at -- or through -- the wall, absently scratching Niknik's head, and I suddenly felt foolish for not realizing how bored she must have been. Leotie was at once detached and tense, the fingers of her other hand frantically drumming on her hide-covered leg, her feet twitching under her. Her eyes vacantly stared, but her teeth ground together, and the muscles of her jaw clenched and unclenched continuously.

"Mistress," I interjected as Qusirlay described a method for binding Eldritch energy into an elixir to mend wounds and increase vigor. "I would feel remiss if I didn't ask you about Kuva's fate, with its Mayor dead and treason revealed?"

"Ah, yes." She paused to sip some sort of sweet wine. "I suppose I need to speak more often these days as the Mayor and Governor and not as the Grand Alchemist." She gestured widely, plump body moving long after her arm stopped waving. "The law is unclear here, other than the fact that it is my decision as to the disposition of the village." She sighed and rolled her eyes back before closing them. "Just like the Old Nobles, master Kiravi, old laws persist here as well, fighting the code that the Emperor brought with the blade and the chariot. Under old Seleyo law, the lands and titles would revert to you since you killed the traitor. Under the Imperial Code, the land and title would revert, most likely, to the Atala Mayor. It is the closest city, and the Emperor wants the rural palaces linked to the cities. But, treason is handled by the Imperial court directly, or by the Governors," she bowed her head with a flourish and a devious smile. "So, me. I can do whatever I want with what's left of the town after you lot killed all of their warriors."

Leotie shuddered -- why, I didn't know -- and seemed to shrink further into herself.

"So I ask you, Kiravi," Qusirlay continued, "what would you like me to do? Do you fancy being the Mayor of a hamlet in the Ketza? Sell flint to the Empire for a living and stop your wanderings? Or would you prefer to return home, let another take the lands and title? You would be compensated, of course."

My mind reeled, even as I tried to understand why Leotie was growing even more concerned. I'd been sent -- cast out, really -- into the world to gain knowledge and power for my family and the Academy. But, in actuality, it was a mission to scrub away the dishonor of failure. What was more honorable than becoming a Mayor in my own right, a third son and failed wizard, no matter how small the holdings?

Leotie shrugged my hand away from her thigh, jaw set angrily, eyes clenched so tightly tears were gathering at their corners. I tried to reassure her again, my heavy hand reaching for her, but she shrugged further away. The glare she skewered me with cut straight through me made me physically recoil.

"We are in the city for several days at least, Mistress Mayor. May we return tomorrow with a decision?" I dissembled, trying to buy myself time to understand just what to do and why Leotie seemed ready to disembowel me.

Qusirlay beamed, "Of course! Of course. Another opportunity to discuss our different schools of the Eldritch Art!" She looked me up and down again, leering hungrily, "And another chance to drink in that golden body of yours." I was quickly realizing I was one of the Grand Alchemist's favorite new playthings. "And one more thing, Kiravi? I wouldn't let too many people see that new sword of yours. They might get the wrong idea about who you are."