Chapter 15–Approaching Stovologard (5524)(DRAFT)

Chapter 15–Approaching Stovologard (5524)

The next day Roztov flew down into the gently rolling hills that surrounded the city to explore the numerous towns and villages that dwelt in the shadow of Stovologard. He returned in the afternoon and reported that he had found a small town that would be a good place to travel to the next day.

‘It’s nice countryside too,’ he told them. ‘Good farm land. They keep their vegetains in orchards. The beasts hang around in the trees grazing. When summer comes these lands will be most verdant.’

‘And the town you found?’ prompted Meggelaine.

‘Oh yes,’ continued Roztov. ‘It should be big enough for us to hide in without looking too outlandish to the locals. It’s rather like Tunde was, but not all the buildings are of the tall wooden variety. You’ll see when we get there.’

They arrived at the town wall the next evening, having walked through the surrounding fields and vegetain orchards. After checking they were unobserved the druids dug a tunnel under the wall that surfaced behind a grain warehouse.

‘There is a good inn over there,’ said Roztov pointing, ‘and an eatery over there. I’ve not been in, but whatever they are cooking smells wonderful.’

‘Want to try it tonight?’ asked Meggelaine thinking of her tummy.

‘Let’s get rooms sorted out first.’

Floran, in his more or less disguise as a local, spread some gold around and got them a large external hut in the compound of the inn. It was a wooden building on five foot tall stilts, open on one side with enough mats on the floor to sleep ten. The open wall could be closed off with sliding shutters and besides the mats the only other furniture was a small stove with a kettle on it and a long low table.

As they got settled in Floran told them, ‘I think they think I am a mixed blood. That’s what the landlord said anyway. Half a pint of milk and half a pint of chocolate.’

‘They have chocolate here?’ said Meggelaine with sudden great interest, but Floran merely shrugged. ‘I was translating, he used a courser term than that to denote the colour.’

‘I’ll never get used to sitting on the floor,’ Meggelaine sighed as she sat at the table. Four serving girls were bringing in tea and a large selection of food.

‘Don’t speak Enttish in front of the natives,’ whispered Roztov in her ear as he sat down beside her.

She nodded and put her finger to her lips, but still said, ‘thank you dear,’ as a serving girl put a cup of tea on the table beside her.

‘Oops, sorry!’ she croaked. Roztov rolled his eyes.

Once they were alone, eating happily together, they started talking again.

‘From what I gather,’ lectured Roztov, ‘there are more than one ethnic group living in this region. You have the dark skinned people like the ones in Tunde, but then also the taller, fairer people. They seem to be favoured for work as guards or soldiers.’

Meggelaine was tucking into a dish of roasted vegetables and strips of beef and not paying much attention. ‘This stuff is lovely. Can we try that restaurant tomorrow Roz?’

Ghene sighed. ‘Honestly, you two sound like tourists. This isn’t a holiday to Boreland, Meg.’

‘Please Ghene, after all we’ve been through, we may as well make the most of it, because who knows where we’ll be next?’

‘Fill your belly for a long sea journey’, said Roztov quoting an old axiom from the coast of Styke.

‘The more you eat, the more you earn,’ piped up Broddor through mouthfuls of heavily seasoned vegetain meat, a common dwarven miners saying.

Although the inn appeared to be safe enough, they set a watch, old habits dying hard.

The next day most of them rested in the inn, keeping to their room, while Floran and Roztov explored the town. They took a small portion of the gold with them.

‘How is the money holding out?’ asked Ghene.

‘Still loads left,’ replied Meggelaine who was doing an inventory of their bags. ‘Enough to last for months. Whatever bank Roz robbed is missing a fortune.’

When the men returned, a few hours later, they learned that it was safe enough for everyone else to go about too.

‘This region, between the city to the north and the countryside to the south, is a bit of a melting pot,’ said Roztov. ‘As long as Ghene hides his ears and we maintain the pretence that Meg is a child it should be fine. Oh, and don’t speak any Nillamandorian language in public.’

‘What about me?’ asked Broddor.

‘Oh, wear a hood and pretend to be a wizened old man.’

The dwarf snorted, but was interrupted by Meggelaine. ‘Yes, yes. Can we eat out tonight then?’

And so, that evening they ate at the “Happy Vegetain”. Floran paid well for a nice table in a hut at the back of the restaurant’s compound. The compound itself was full of fruit trees, more of an orchard. None were in season, but presumably later in the summer their produce would serve as part of the menu.

‘This place is great,’ declared Meggelaine as she started digging into a big bowl of yellow rice. There were dozens of different dishes laid out on the table, as well as several jugs of wine and cold sweetened tea.

Roztov mussed up her hair, but turned to Ghene. They were already deep in discussion, cataloguing all the information they had gathered about the place so far.

‘Humans of all shapes and sizes,’ remarked Ghene.

‘Yes,’ agreed Roztov. ‘I see two main ethnicities. The dark short ones and the tall fair ones.’

‘There is a war, and yet life goes on. I suppose it has not reached this far north yet. We observed plenty of activity in the sky above the inn today while you were out.’

‘Aye. Me and Floran saw soldiers martialling up to go south. We’ve not seen any refugees though. It may be that these sorts of wars are not uncommon and the people have learned to live with it.’

‘I’m going for a wee,’ said Meggelaine, both knees cracking as she got up from the floor.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Roztov.

‘Why?’

‘You are meant to be my daughter, remember?’

Meggelaine looked at him for a moment, then realised he was joking. She waved him away dismissively as she left.

Servants arrived to light the stove to keep the cold at bay and to warm up a large pot of fresh tea. Once they had left Ghene continued their conversation. ‘Notice how gracious they are. Always bowing, always respectful.’

‘Indeed,’ agreed Roztov as he edged closer to the stove. ‘They seem to be doing well despite the war. There is plenty enough food to go around, this place is a bread basket.’

They watched as two servants walked past to another hut where a group of young men were celebrating something, toasting each other with cups of wine. The serving women wore their hair in tight buns, but all the men were tonsured, the backs of their head shaven. All wore tight, embroidered coats when they were outside. Underneath the servants wore cheap linen shirts, but the richer guests wore silk, died extravagant colours.

‘They seem a happy lot anyway,’ said Roztov referring to the young men.

Down at the other end of the table Tankle and Arrin were talking quietly together.

‘They have forgotten Sal,’ said Tankle. ‘See how the druid’s laugh and joke as they always do.’

‘I think they do it in order to prevent brooding,’ said Arrin, leaning in.

Broddor was stumbling about the hut pretending to be a drunk old man, asking if anyone had seen his walking stick.

‘Every time I look at him with all that soot on his face, I can’t help it!’ cackled Meggelaine with a fit of the giggles. The one glass of wine she had drunk had already gone to her head.

‘Merriment does nothing other than pain my heart,’ said Tankle. ‘Sal’s death has affected me deeply. More so than I realised until now.’

‘It’s understandable. We are still in great danger. Do you not get any solace from your boyfriend?’ asked Arrin with a smile.

Tankle gave him a look. ‘Floran is charming when alone, but when he is with his friends he ignores me.’

‘You could do worse.’

‘The wreck was such a shock, too big a shock, I can’t think about it. But Sal, he’d survived with us for so long. I thought, surely, we three, would survive to tell this tale. Now I don’t know anything. They never looked for his body, although I’m sure they could use their magic to do so. They’ve said nothing... oh.’

Broddor had stopped his clowning and had sat down beside them, having overheard Tankle’s last few words. ‘We have all of us,’ he said gesturing to his friends while looking Tankle in the eye earnestly, ‘lost more comrades than we can count, and yes, that may sometimes make us appear cold. For that I apologise.’

Broddor was already moderately drunk. He took a full bottle of wine and filled everyone’s cup. Raising his, he toasted the memory of Salveri in dwarfish, then translated it into Enttish for everyone else. ‘Lo, I see my father. Lo, I see my mother. Lo, I see my brothers and sisters. Lo, I see a line of dwarves back unto the beginning. I go to take my place among them, in the halls of Orenkring where the brave live forever.’

Broddor then sat and looked into his empty cup for a few minutes as the others kept a respectful silence. It wasn’t long before another wine jug was summoned and the merry chatter began again.

They were thinking of returning to their inn when a commotion broke out at the hut across the way from them. A dozen or so town guards, dressed in armour similar to that of the manhunters, arrived and arrested one of the young men. He was led away, leaving the others in a daze.

‘Go ask the landlord what just happened, Tup,’ said Ghene.

Floran got up from the floor and went over to the reception area. When he returned he passed on what he had found out. ‘I had to loosen his tongue with a few coins, but apparently the fellow that was taken away is a dissident. An enemy of the state.’

They all mulled this information over for a while. Roztov was the first to speak.

‘I’m going to spring him,’ he said standing up. ‘Ghene, meet me back at the mine. Everyone else just meet me back at the inn.’

Then, after making sure none of the locals were looking he turned into a sparrowhawk and flew off.

Ghene waited at the cave until it was near midnight. A dark shape flew down from the sky and landed at the entrance. A confused young man leapt down from the hippogriff and fell to his knees. Ghene offered a hand and pulled him to his feet.

Roztov turned back into a man and gently pushed them all into the mine.

‘How did you do it?’ asked Ghene.

‘Sniffed about as a rock lizard. There is only one dungeon here. Tunnelled down to him, he took a bit of convincing, but I persuaded him to follow me out. Then flew here.’

Ghene had lit a fire further back in the mine and Roztov gestured for the young man to warm himself up by it. He warily sat down and held his hands out to the flames.

Roztov and then after a moment’s hesitation, Ghene, turned into rock lizards. They scampered up onto rocks beside the camp fire.

‘Can you understand me, lizard Ghene?’ asked Roztov.

‘Yesssss, garg. Ug,’ replied the other lizard who then began coughing. He tried again, but it was nonsense.

‘You are trying to speak Enttish, but it’s coming out as gobbledygook. Don’t think about it. Talk elvish. It will come out as draconic. It’s like when we turn into wolves and our speech turns into growls and barks. Let the shapeshifting magic handle it.’

Ghene coughed some more.

‘Right, I think I’ve got it,’ said Ghene the rock lizard. ‘Ak. Woof woof, bark bark. Got it.’

Both lizards then turned to the young man, who looked startled at their sudden attention.

‘Relax,’ said the black and white coloured lizard that was Roztov. ‘What is your name?’

‘Ah, my name is Honni, of the Beri clan.’

‘Why did the guards take you?’ asked the pale blue lizard that was Ghene.

‘I was arrested for complaining about the gendarmes.’

‘You mean the guards? The men in black armour that took you away?’

‘Yes.’

‘And it was for just complaining?’

‘Well yes,’ nodded the young man, still in a somewhat stunned state from his recent experiences. ‘We live in fear of the gendarmes, they have the power of life and death over everyone. Yet, there are some of us that speak against them.’

‘You are organised?’ asked Roztov with interest. ‘You conspire against the dragons also?’

Honni seemed shocked. ‘I would never plot against our lords the dragons. But, yes, there are some of us, though not many, that seek to lift the yoke of oppression. The gendarmes arrest us and steal our belongings. When someone goes to the prisons to seek the release of a loved one then they too are likely arrested. Very few are ever seen again. It is a great injustice.’

‘I see,’ said Ghene. Then pondering the fact that the gendarmes were mainly fair skinned he asked, ‘Tell us about why there are dark skinned people and light skinned people.’

‘Oh well, the pale skinned people are called bullays. The bullays, the teachers say, they arrived five hundred years ago, in long boats from the east. I have several bullay friends, they are nice people, but the dragons favour them for the army and gendarmerie.The army are brave against the vile and treacherous attacks of the Chasm, but the gendarmes are terrible, a law unto themselves and very corrupt. I honour and respect our mighty dragon overlords of course, ah...’

Honni’s fast paced chatter petered off into confused silence.

Roztov and Ghene mulled this information over, then Roztov returned to something the young man had said at the beginning.

‘And so the Beri clan are the dark skinned, shorter ethnic group?’

‘You misunderstand, oh mighty wizard. The Beri clan, we are one of the clans of the Sunda. We are called the people of the Golden Kingdom. We are the aboriginals of Tanud. After us came the Jetta, then the Yat, and then the Bullays. Only the Bullays are fair of skin.’

Honni looked around the mine tunnel at the flickering shadows. He was wide-eyed and dazed, like someone in a dream. He was used to talking lizards, but shapeshifting was something unknown to the people of Tanud.

‘Oh mighty wizards, are you men that can turn into lizards or lizards that can turn into men?’

‘Men,’ answered Roztov.

Honni did not seem entirely convinced.

‘We are not Spire dragons if that’s what you’re thinking,’ said Ghene trying to be helpful.

‘Outlanders?’

‘That’s right, from the east. We want to get off this island. Does Stovologard have docks? Ocean going ships?’ continued the pale blue lizard.

‘There are docks. There are ships. Where in the east?’

‘Very far away. Where there are kingdoms of men. Where the dragons do not rule.’

‘Truly?’ Honni was agape.

‘I’d leave that sort of stuff for now, Ghene,’ said Roztov. ‘You’ll confuse the poor fellow.’

‘Right,’ conceded Ghene. ‘You are free to do as you please now, friend Honni, but perhaps you can help us?’

Honni bowed.

Roztov and Ghene then turned into their own forms and conversed in Enttish.

‘Interesting that he is annoyed at the guards, but not at the dragons,’ observed Roztov.

‘Possibly he considers taking them on an impossible task.’

‘Or maybe they are all happy enough being lorded over by dragons. Particularly if the dragons are using other humans to do all their dirty work.’

‘It’s possible. Or perhaps he thinks we are shape shifting dragons and does not wish to offend us,’ replied Ghene as he took a wicker basket of food out of a bag and passed it round. Leftovers from the Happy Vegetain. ‘The Golden Kingdom. I wonder what that was.’

‘I can only think of the ruins in the Chasm. Perhaps men were here before the dragons. The frescos that I saw depicted a large civilisation.  The Sunda could be descended from them.’

They talked for several more hours, comparing notes, changing back to lizards to converse further with Honni.

Eventually a goshawk flew into the cave and turned into Meggelaine.

‘Are you two ever coming back to the inn?’ she asked tersely.

Roztov stood up and stretched his legs. ‘I think Honni here can help us get to the docks and maybe even help buy a ship. It would be better than stealing one.’

‘We can buy a ship?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he mused. ‘The idea of this closed off island having ocean going vessels seems unlikely to me. What would they use them for? Any fishing boats they have would be small. Either Honni is just over promising to try and be helpful or he has no idea what size ships are.’

‘So that’s all sorted then?’ asked Meggelaine impatiently. ‘What are we all waiting for? Floran has wondered off with Tankle and Arrin has gone to bed. Broddor is flat out on the floor, dead drunk. I need help moving him, if he spends the night like that he’ll be as stiff as a board in the morning the silly old bastard.’

The next day Honni lead them to another small town that was only a couple of miles away from the city of Stovologard. The central tower loomed above them, casting a smoky pall over the landscape. With a few gold coins he was able to allay any suspicions that the gendarmes may have had about such an odd group of travellers. Growing in confidence he then led them to an inn, of which he knew the proprietor, and installed them all in a tall wooden house at the back of the compound. He then went to arrange passage to the docks.

‘Can we trust this man?’ asked Broddor when they were alone.

‘He seems nice,’ said Meggelaine.

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Roztov. ‘I’m not sure of any other way to go about this. We’ll need to go to the docks anyway, to see what floats down there.’

‘Want me to fly over there?’ asked Ghene.

‘I’m not sure,’ replied Roztov, riddled with indecision. ‘There is smoke everywhere. I’ve not seen a single bird since we left the last town. Nothing flies around here except dragons. Scouting would be done better on foot, maybe as a lizard.’

‘Yes, you seem to make a better lizard than me…’

‘In the name of Aerekrig,’ cursed Broddor as he interrupted them. ‘I like this place, the dragons are impressive, the food is good and the wine is passable, but stop pussy-footing around. If we are going, then let’s go! The city is two miles away, the docks can only be another mile away at the most. We fly down there, hippogriffs and bees, steal a boat and sail off into the sunset. Job done!’

Roztov gave his friend a long look then spoke. ‘And then what? We would have literally a hundred dragons breathing down our neck. Breathing fire down our neck. We need to steal or buy a boat and then get away without the dragons noticing.’

‘Och,’ grunted Broddor with a dismissive gesture.

‘We need to see what comes in and out of the port. We need to see what the mist barrier is like here. We need our friends Arrin and Tankle to give their expert opinions on the situation as the only two sailors in our group. There are a lot of things to consider.’

‘You always over-complicate things.’

‘We are really close,’ put in Meggelaine. ‘Roztov is right. Now that we are so close, let’s not act in haste.’

Broddor folded his arms, sighed, shrugged, then lifted up a jug of wine and poured himself a cup.

The others settled in to wait as well, still happy to rest. Any day when they were not being chased by dragons or battling trolls felt like a good day.

From the south facing top window of the hut they were in they could see the jagged tops of the mountains in the distance to the south. It was reached by a ladder and had a balcony that wrapped all the way around the inner eves of the roof.

‘So now that we have seen them all, what do you make of those mountains?’ asked Roztov of Ghene.

‘They are interesting. I have observed their unusualness. They are a strange mixture of young and old peaks. The Chasm is the result of some ancient upheaval. A massive earthquake that must have struck the island in two, thousands of years ago. Before then though, these mountains we have just left would have formed, but they are an interesting jumble of old and new peaks.’

‘Yes, yes,’ agreed Roztov, sharing his friend’s love of geography. ‘The rounded ones were first obviously. They are similar to the mountains of Boreland, ancient things,’ he raised a finger, ‘but then something happened that pushed the whole north of the island upwards. You have all these jagged peaks and hanging valleys.’

‘Reminiscent of the Moon Marshes in some ways. Elevated lands. I would dearly love to survey the whole island,’ sighed Roztov.

They walked around the balcony to the north facing window of the building.

‘Content yourself with what you have already learned,’ said Ghene as they walked. ‘You’ll give your society a whole new branch of research when you return.’

‘If I return.’

‘And what do you make of that?’ asked Ghene with a wry smile, gesturing at the tower of Stovologard.

‘It’s a nightmare,’ replied Roztov, looking up at it from the window. ‘Must be half a mile high. It wouldn’t surprise me if its origins were magical.’

‘See how it drips ash? See how black it is? There, and there, flashes of flame through the smoke. What goes on in there?’

‘Dragon business, I suppose.’

Ghene shuddered and stepped back. ‘To live your life in the shadow of such a hellish… what would you call it Roztov?’

‘The sailors called their topmost sails skyscrapers. That’s what that is. A skyscraper.’

‘Right, and how many dragons are in there?’

They watched for a while, as black shapes flew into and out of the smoke, constantly wheeling around, like a giant rookery.

‘Hundreds? Thousands?’

‘Think of it Roz, and all of the humanity that live in this land exist to serve them. Initially I thought that it maybe wasn’t such a bad deal for the people here. They are well fed, they are protected. But look yonder, at the houses of men that are of the city proper.’

‘Aye, slums, worse than anything I’ve ever seen in Styke, worse than Millwood. Buildings eight or more stories high, probably with hundreds of people in them. Living in that constant fug of smoke.’

‘And kept in line by their own kind,’ mused Ghene.

‘By my estimation there are more people in the city than inhabit the rest of the island,’ said Roztov as he counted the buildings. ‘A million maybe? Etruna save us, a million people living like that? It defies reason.’

Ghene turned and leaned over the bannister, looking down at the others as they sat and talked at the table. ‘I suppose we’ll have to go through it to get to the coast.’

‘I think so,’ replied Roztov as he too turned away. ‘It will be best to get lost in the crowd, the fog, the smoke. I look forward to it no more than you do.’

In the afternoon Honni arrived back at the inn, entering their rented house with a bow. He told them that it would be best for them to wait at the inn until tomorrow and he could make more arrangements.

Roztov, as a rock lizard said, ‘I’m going to take a look around.’

‘That would be very unwise, oh great and powerful wizard,’ cautioned Honni. ‘It is safest here.’

Roztov ignored the warning and scampered up the nearest tree then out over the compound wall.

‘Never mind,’ said Ghene. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. I have been thinking about what you said about your people once being part of a “Golden Kingdom”. Tell me, what do you know of the Chasm?’

‘Very little, most honoured lord. Only that they are enemies and evil in every way.’

‘Do you know anything at all about it being where the Golden Kingdom was?’

‘I have never heard that, but I am no scholar. I was a poor student when I was young.’

A look came over Honni’s face that Roztov would have recognised as guile. Ghene was not as good at reading people as Roztov though.

‘You are not from here,’ said the young man. ‘At first I thought you were all Bullays, but you are not. Meggelaine is not a child, even a magical one. Broddor is not even a man, neither are you.’

‘What of it?’

‘Nothing my lord,’ said Honni. ‘You should take care though. The people here are most superstitious. They will think you are devils. If they find you they will take you to the gendarmes, who will take you to the dragons. Then who knows what happens?’

‘All we want to do is leave.’

‘Until I met you all I never realised there was anywhere else to go. It is most confusing.’

Meanwhile, Roztov was having a fine time, scampering around the streets and markets of the town. It was not a big place, but it was crowded, being a suburb of the main city. The inn where they were staying was on the southern edge of the town and sheltered from the smoke, but in the towns centre there was a distinct fug in the air and when the currents were wrong, a downdraft would blow a big cloud of the stuff down into the streets and alleys. The people coughed covered their faces with handkerchiefs and got on with their lives.The exterior walls of the buildings were dirty with soot. Any building that was more than a year old, whether it was made from stone or wood was as black as coal. The thatched rooves of the stone buildings were like a chimney sweeps brush.

Lizards would usually be kicked out of a house if they were not known, as Roztov discovered when a charwoman hit him in the backside with a broom.

‘Get out of here you!’

‘Watch it, lady!’ hissed Roztov as he shot out the door and into the garden.

He learned though that the children liked to play with or torment the lizards depending on their moods and he could gain access to their dwellings that way. By this method he explored the tall wooden houses of the dark skinned people, built in the same fashion as the ones back in Tunde, and the low stone buildings that the Bullays built.

The wooden buildings in the centre of this town were built three or four stories high, so from their roofs he could get a better view of the city and the tower of Stovologard. Through the swirling smoke he watched again the dragons wheeling around the top of the skyscraper and wondering at how the humans in the city could live beneath it. Layer after layer of sooty clouds descended on the tenements below, a poisonous fog the he thought must surely be killing the people beneath.Out here in the suburbs, it was bad enough, what must it be like directly under the tower he wondered. Worse than the iron works in Millwood, or the foundries of a dwarven fortress.

As the evening wore on he climbed a tree on a busy intersection and watched the people go by. They were mix of the finely dressed all the way down to people dressed in rags. There were miners, their skin and clothes red from the soil they worked with, there were men pushing hand carts, driving goats, there were clerks, scribes and messengers, all going about their daily business. Richly dressed women, escorted by guards who wore red feathers or other tokens in their helmets, bought treats and sweetmeats for their children from other women who sold foodstuffs from trays for a few leaves of script. Children, rich and poor, ran about, playing with the lizards or throwing stones at them or playing their own games, games that Roztov would have easily recognised in the streets of Timu. Another thing that he recognised was how the guards behaved towards the commoners. They were rough, insulting and answerable to no one. They stole from the vendors and if anyone spoke up they were pushed to the ground and kicked. Wherever he travelled, Roztov always saw the strong bullying the weak. On the streets of Timu the town guard were reasonable fellows on the whole, but since the assent of King Woad to the throne, his palace guards had become as big a pack of vicious bastards as you could ever hope to meet. Roztov watched as three gendarmes push over a street vendors cart and the food scattered everywhere. As the poor man bent to pick everything up one of the gendarmes kicked him in the backside and sent him sprawling into the black mud of the street. They three guards then walked away laughing. As Roztov watched the vendor pick up his cart and try to salvage his livelihood Roztov reflected that he should count himself lucky. The Timu palace guards would have stuck a knife in him, then stolen the cart and sold it.

The three gendarmes had been bullays, dressed in black armour and animal headed helmets, but there were other bullays around too, attired the same way as everyone else. The place was a real mix of cultures, the bullays wore the traditional looking local dress as often as not, but with patterns and designs on the fabric that were vaguely reminiscent of those found in the streets and square of Ixnay and the other towns of Vegas back on Nillamandor.

Roztov arrived back at the inn after midnight. Only Ghene and Meggelaine were awake, keeping watch while the others slept. He took a glass of wine with them before going to bed.

‘So what did you learn, lizard Roztov?’ asked Ghene with a smile.

‘It’s an interesting place. The dragons seem to stay out of human affairs. They rely on the gendarmes to keep order.’

‘It’s most strange, I admit,’ said Ghene. ‘The humans are not put upon slaves, at least not in this town, or the others we have seen. They seem to accept the dragons as we back on Nillamandor accept the gods.’

‘There is mining here,’ said Roztov as he continued to relay his findings. ‘They mine precious metals and stones that are fashioned into treasures for the dragons. I’ve seen hematite being carried towards the tower by hand cart, there must be iron and steel works in the city.’

‘Interesting as new cultures and their economies are, I admit I can’t wait to leave,’ said Ghene. ‘This place has little use for nature, little use for druids.’

Meggelaine went inside to get a blanket.

Roztov checked over his shoulder to see that she wasn’t listening. ‘One or both of us is going to have to get inside that skyscraper.’

Ghene shuddered. ‘I know. If nothing else to see what is going on with Dreggen and old You-know-who.’

Meggelaine returned and Ghene changed the subject. ‘I can’t make out the difference between the Sunda, the Jetta, and the Yat.’

‘Really?’ replied Roztov raising an eyebrow.

‘Me either,’ admitted Meggelaine.

‘Honesty, we all look the same to you?’ he said with an amused sigh. ‘Well, the Sunda are the lightest of skin. They are like the people we met in Tunde. The Jetta are the shortest and the Yat are the darkest. It seems clear to me.’

‘Listen to him,’ said Meggelaine. ‘Like you are not just as bad. What’s the difference between a fraskan and a fressle then?’

‘There is none,’ replied Roztov without hesitation.

‘We dress differently. Fraskan ladies wear those weird tasselled skirts.’

Roztov laughed then rubbed his eyes. ‘You torms, fraskans and fressles. You are the same or different depending on what side of the argument you are on.’

Meggelaine snuggled up to him in her blanket. ‘Yes, yes. Just stay where you are. I’m going to rest my eyes for a moment.’

She was soon asleep, leaving the other two druids to talk and make their plans.