Slithering Maze 5: Proper Etiquette with a Crossbow

Basysus, 23, 1278: On a white cobblestone, Ancient Order road to Arth Prayogar. Who am I kidding? It’s the middle of nowhere.

Author’s Note: Kingdom of the Slithering Maze is a serialized fiction story that is a part of a collection called the Windtracer Tales. It follows the adventures of Tela Kioni and her crew dealing with expeditions in and around the world of Awldor. There they hunt down lost, and possibly lethal, relics of the Ancient Order, a near-mythical kingdom lost to the centuries old cataclysm, the Great Collapse.

This will be released a chapter every other week on Wednesdays!

Missed a chapter? (or ‘Episode’ if you like!) Well, I’ve got you covered! Jump on over to the Chapter (ok, Episode) list here!

Previously: On the travel north, Ki and Tela discuss both the assignment to help the viprin shaman, but also the deeper problem of being in the Jata kingdom. Specifically, Jata’s low opinion of tieflings and how that might cause them trouble. Trouble that might be about to rear it’s ugly head when the windwagon is stopped at a checkpoint to be searched by none other than Trade-Wardens from the Jata kingdom… and one other problem…

Basysus, 23, 1278: On a white cobblestone, Ancient Order road to Arth Prayogar. Who am I kidding? It’s the middle of nowhere.

“Damn it,” I swore with a soft sigh, eyeing the centaur crossbowmen.

I’ve never known what to do with my hands when someone pointed a crossbow at me.

Do I hold them up? Maybe wiggle or something? Keep them at my sides? That last seemed silly, since that let me reach my daggers and whip.

Which, out of all that, looked the least suspicious? It always felt like there was some special social etiquette around this that no one ever told me about.

Since I wasn’t that good at social etiquette anyway, I kept my hands down by my sides. That way, my arms wouldn’t get tired. Also, I wouldn’t feel like I was trying to give the world a free dance show, or something else equally stupid.

“Well, this trip is starting off just great,” I murmured sardonically. “Maybe I shouldn’t have tossed out that ‘hold your horses’ remark so fast.”

A few paces away, two of the Trade-Wardens with the aforementioned crossbows kept a wary eye on us. But they also just looked generally unhappy at the whole situation. This wasn’t, after all, the most comfortable place to conduct business.

It was oppressively hot under the blue, cloudless sky. The kind where dust seemed to bake, then smell a little like overcooked breadcrumbs. I glanced up with a silent litany to the Lady Deep and all her waterlogged children for at least a little rain.

Mildly bored, and desperate to avoid delinquency, I glanced over at the paved Ancient Order roadway. It was hard and marble white, almost a little too straight. But the edges were lined in lichen and stubborn, wind-warped prairie grass that extended to the horizon.

Along a few of those practically flat cobblestones, I saw the faint whorls of glyphs. Even a few repeating patterns. To me, they were a little like tiny, ancient bloodshot eyes, lining one of the roads used in the Upheaval Crusades. A small reminder of ambition and fighting a thousand years past, still stuck in the stones.

“I can’t believe the road’s staring at me,” I complained quietly as I adjusted the goggles over my eyes.

After a small shudder, I glanced over at our current tangible problem, which really wasn’t the crossbow-wielding centaurs.

It was, in all honesty, probably the source of why the Trade-Wardens’ expressions had settled somewhere between irate and constipated.

In other words, the sandy-haired centaur in the ornate purple tabard and robes. A man trying to impress his importance on Liru, who actually didn’t seem all that impressed.

“Auditor, we were given safe passage along the Thetari Trade Road.”

Liru’s voice was calm, like he had just ordered a cup of orange tea. Viprin diplomacy at its finest. The shaman gestured with the bound scroll at the irate, purple-garbed auditor, as if he might swat him with it.

“This was signed by your own Council of Seven and marked with their official seal. Are you saying this wasn’t true?”

It really is something else to watch a centaur fidget. In a way, it was as if the paved road under the auditor’s hooves were suddenly too warm to stand on.

Auditor Gregori Elkerton’s expressions went through a complicated set of contortions while he looked for a safe way to reply. His mouth pulled into a tight, thin smile.

“Honored Samal,” the Auditor said after a quick glance at Liru’s facial tattoos. “I’m never one to contradict the wisdom of the Seven.”

Elkerton’s words were a little arrogant, but also uncomfortably smooth, like they’d been dipped in grease. Then a brittle tone snuck in behind his words.

“But your holiness, please… my orders are quite explicit. We’re to track down and expose ruin runners with stolen artifacts. Root out corruption before it spreads. Surely you, of anyone, would understand protecting the moral fiber of the masses?”

I swapped a long suffering look with Ki. Unfortunately, Elkerton noticed, and shot me a brief but nasty look in my direction. I tried to parry that by raising my eyebrows with a thin smile. A passable attempt to look angelic.

Well, an angelic carrying around daggers and a whip, anyway.

Then I noticed two of the Trade-Wardens looked a bit more uncomfortable over the whole ‘root out corruption’ comment. I tucked that idea away for later.

Liru gestured with the scroll in his claws like a baton, lightly shaking it at Elkerton.

“Auditor, I understand. You may take only two of your Trade-Wardens to search my windwagon. But,” he gestured lightly with the scroll again, “we’re carrying fragile goods that are an offering to the Seven. If they’re broken, we’ll have to explain that.”

The auditor’s upper lip curled like he’d tasted something bitter. Then he bowed.

“Of course, Honored Samal.” Elkerton inclined his head slightly, with a vague gesture toward Liru. “Thank you for your… indulgence.”

I squinted while I chewed a little on my lower lip. Something about all that from the auditor just bothered me. It looked like each word had been pulled out of Elkerton with a pair of hot blacksmith tongs. I glanced between Ki and Mikasi, noticing that they caught whatever that was, too.

Without another word, Auditor Elkerton waved to a pair of nearby Trade-Wardens, then stomped toward the gangplank into the windwagon. Sadly, that left the crossbowmen and other centaur guards to keep us company. But those looked more bored, or mildly exasperated, rather than dedicated to Elkerton’s ‘noble cause’.

“You buying any of that?” I asked Kiyosi and Mikasi quietly when they walked over to join me.

“No,” Kiyosi replied with a frown over his customary uneasy tone. The cobalt blue skin of his face looked like a thundercloud.

“Auditors are responsible for overseeing trade checkpoints, but those are much closer to the Jata cities. This? Out here? It doesn’t seem right.”

Mikasi scrunched his nose at the remaining Trade-Wardens. Then he glanced back at the ramp where Elkerton had vanished inside with two other centaurs.

“I remember that, too, from the last time I was in Arth Prayogar,” he said. “But that was some years back. Each of the Merchant Herds maintains a handful of auditors. About ten, I think. None of them ever got along.”

“Merchant Herds or the auditors?” I asked dryly.

“Both,” Mikasi replied with a smirk.

Crossing his arms, Mikasi frowned while he tapped a finger on his chin.

“Now, he should have shown Liru a scroll signed by the Jata council about all that nonsense over thieves. At least, that’s what I remember. It’s a letter of authorization to prove they can search wagons.”

Suddenly, Elkerton’s attitude made a devious kind of sense.

“Oh, that would explain it,” I muttered. “The way he acted? I bet he already knows what he wants to find.”

Ki’s eyes flicked over to the ramp where the auditor and his guards entered the windwagon, then back to me.

“Which?” he asked in a hushed voice. “The Iraxi? Or us?”

I pursed my lips. Now, I’m not a paranoid person. It’s just that being a little paranoid has kept me alive. Sadly, it’s never done a thing to keep me out of trouble. At least, that’s what my friends have told me.

“I’m not sure,” I replied slowly.

Not a single thought that sprinted through my mind felt safe or casual. So, I grabbed the mildly dangerous one, then ran it to ground. I adjusted my goggles, then rubbed my hands with a smile like a madwoman that made Ki flinch.

“All right,” I said, squinting at Ki and Mikasi. “So, if auditors are supposed to have a scroll, and this one didn’t show it off like he’d won a race? I’m thinking he’s really looking to steal something in the name of ‘rooting out corruption’.”

Mikasi’s eyes darted to the windwagon, then snapped to the bored Trade-Wardens with the crossbows outside.

“Do you think they’ll ransack the wagon?”

I gave that question all the consideration it deserved. Which wasn’t much, other than considering it an invitation to solve an Auditor-shaped problem. Ki beat me to any sort of reply, though.

“Probably,” he replied with a light scowl. “Search it and break things. Probably mine, since I’m the only tiefling here.” His words held a bitter note to them. “Then they’ll claim it was ‘open in plain sight’.”

“My journals and notes are right here,” I declared, patting my tan canvas shoulder bag. “Anyone else got anything on board worth losing?”

Ki just shook his head.

“I can replace whatever they break in my healer’s kit.”

“The device I was working on,” Mikasi offered, gesturing at the windwagon. “The one to use with the Iraxi.”

I nodded, hands on hips, or really one hand on my hip and the other on my whip. Then I gave them both a lopsided grin.

“This means we need to get Elkerton out of our hair, and fast. I’ll go distract him.”

“Audit the Auditor?” Ki asked with a thin, wry grin.

“Bet your ass I will. I’m very distracting,” I replied, then scratched at the side of my goggles. “Besides, we’ve a job to do.”

“Please don’t start a confrontation,” Liru asked in a calm, quiet voice the moment I took a step toward the windwagon ramp.

We missed hearing the viprin shaman slither up to us until he was right behind Ki. Nurkes, the temple guard I met in Ishnanor, slithered behind and to the shaman’s right like before.

Liru sighed, as if spending a valuable amount of patience.

“I’m sworn to follow the peaceful route, Tela. Please. It’s part of the arrangement with the Council of Seven.”

“There are many definitions of ‘peace’ and ‘confrontation’,” Nurkes deadpanned in a low rumble that rose from somewhere in his armored chest.

I suddenly started to like Nurkes a little bit more. He had promise.

Liru pinched the bridge of his cobra-like snout, letting out another sigh, or maybe offering a prayer. I wasn’t sure.

Distracting the auditor aside, Liru was in charge here, and I didn’t want to give the shaman a headache.

“As long as he keeps his hooves off my journals, nobody draws back a nub.” I raised my right hand, wiggling my fingers over my bag in a sign of devious but limited mischief. “Also, no touching Mikasi’s inventions and Ki’s healer kit.”

Liru’s next sigh was obvious, silent relief.

So, we waited.

Stalks of prairie grass rippled in the wind like a green sea. Every so often, there were bright, cobalt-blue windflutes hovering with arm-length wings outstretched. The grass predator birds with iron-black beaks dove when the prairie grass shivered the wrong way with a promise of dinner.

It felt a little like foreshadowing.

Sounds were muffled from inside the windwagon. There was the occasional voice, then an ominous ‘spoing’ sound, followed by sharp hissing. Lots of cursing came after that.

“Sounds like they found your gear,” I told Mikasi.

He gave us a sheepish, wincing grin while fidgeting with his fingertips.

Roughly five minutes later, Elkerton clomped down the windwagon’s gangplank. Face all sharp angles with a stern line at his mouth. His pair of Trade-Warden guards followed behind, silently rolling their eyes. The auditor didn’t look even mussed after the searching, which left me a little disappointed.

Then, just a step behind them, Nicodemus, Mikasi’s smoke cheetah, was now lounging atop the ramp. The big cat looked almost proud over something.

“We have found,” Elkerton paused dramatically, “nothing. But I need to advise whomever is building the spring device to include a warning sign.”

“Also,” he added. “I must remind all of you that theft of sacred relics or property from any Jata citizens carries the penalty of arrest and incarceration. This includes obscure or minor objects.”

For some reason, he stared at me. I tried that angelic look once more, but it didn’t work. This was just part and parcel of being a Windtracer.

“Regulations are regulations,” I offered with a dismissive shrug. “Thanks for your quick and thorough inspection, Auditor.”

That earned me a curled upper lip, which I decided to cherish for later.

Elkerton bowed stiffly to Liru, then left us with one last comment.

“Good journey to Arth Prayogar. We will be patrolling the road, so we shall see you again.”

Ki let out a low, hissing sigh.

“Was that a farewell or a threat?” he whispered.

No one answered as the prairie went still.

“That’s never good,” I murmured.

Suddenly, the glyphs on the cobblestones glowed a sharp, bright blue. Ki’s eyes went wide while Mikasi backed up in alarm. A low rumble shook us while the dirt boiled next to the road.

“Get off the…” Nurkes warned.

He never finished, as a giant, buffalo-sized, sandstone-colored beak next to us broke open the ground. Everyone scattered, and I snatched up a discarded crossbow.

This might sting a little.

For more about Windtracer Tales, Hoist the Colors, or any of my other works, please consider subscribing as I would really appreciate the support, sometimes I post behind the scenes on writing, worldbuilding and more. If you’re wanting a deeper look at Hoist the Colors, take the plunge here at the link: Hoist the Colors, for Windtracer Tales and the world of Awldor, take take the leap at the link here: Windtracer.

Windtracer Tales is a work of pure, unashamed fiction. In fact, it considers itself rather fancy and quite proud of itself. Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.

Also! Windtracer Tales and Windtracer: Adventures in Awldor is written with much respect to Starfarertheta and their work on the other half of Awldor.