Slithering Maze 7: Sweetbread Diplomacy

Basysus, 23, 1278: Any plan you can walk away from? Well, let’s go with that…

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.

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Previously: A simple stop at a checkpoint with an irritating Jata official turned nasty when a massive beast from the Deeplands erupts to the surface. Panic ensues, as the Trade-Wardens try to do their job but are impossibly outmatched. Not quite, but almost as if they are wielding toothpicks against a dragon. But Kiyosi remembers something he read about threadmarrow basilisks and their habits, which Tela quickly shapes into a desperate plan. One that she hopes will corral the thing before it causes any more trouble…

Basysus, 23, 1278: Any plan you can walk away from? Well, let’s go with that…

The plan mostly ran like clockwork until it didn’t. Luckily, we didn’t have to throw away the plan.

Mikasi strapped together a noisemaker made from parts he had from an old music box. Why he had those on him, I had no idea, and didn’t really want to ask.

Quick as a wink, the halfling inventor sprinted down the white stone Ancient Order road. With a bright grin, he shouted, waving the nightmarish, oversized bee-shaped combination of cogs, springs, and a turn crank in the air. A misbegotten tune of battered notes mugged the air.

Kiyosi ran up to us with a full canvas bag. It practically dripped with the lovely smell of baked goods and blueberries. He glanced at me, pointing at Mikasi.

“Wait, where did he get those…?”

I waved a hand to interrupt him.

“No, don’t even ask. Some things are better left a mystery. Let the genius work.”

Six eyes or not, threadmarrow basilisks don’t see well, but they have fantastic hearing. Already irritated by the Trade-Wardens and Auditor Elkerton, the basilisk charged right for Mikasi.

We backed away from the road, out of the way as the basilisk tore by us. It rapidly gained on the inventor, letting out an odd sound between a growl and a deep chitter. A few steps before it stepped on him, Mikasi yanked a small cord on the side of his device.

It spouted small wings, then leaped up like a drunken bee in a flurry of jangled springs. The flying musical abomination whirred off the road to the right. Mikasi ran left, sweat pouring from his dark-gray hair over his face, shrieking like a giggling banshee.

“Skarri! Now!”

I yelled the temple guard’s name as loud as I dared, jumping up and down, waving my hands. All three of my black braids threatened to slap me in the face.

But Skarri was already on the move. She knew her part in this lunatic dance I dreamed up.

As Mikasi ran off the road, the temple guard scooped him up in her arms. The curly haired halfling was quick, but his legs only reached so far. Skarri? Well, viprin slithered scary fast when motivated. The pair bolted off through the tall prairie grass.

The massive threadmarrow galloped to a teeth-rattling stop. Dry, bitter clouds of grassy dirt boiled up around the beast, washing over it like a brownish-tan tide of loose sand. Those clouds swelled, rose, then settled on it like a dry, gritty veil.

For a second, its broad, scaled face pulled into a confused frown. The basilisk glanced at the noises to the left, then right. It even gave me a suspicious look. That frown pinched tighter before it blew out a guttural, ragged growl that ended with a frustrated huff. It stamped its left clawed foot against the road in a cloud of dust.

Past the creature’s armored rear, I saw four Trade-Wardens easing forward with lowered spears. None of them looked the least bit happy about this. The only person who looked even close to excited was Auditor Elkerton, who trotted behind them, growling orders. I frantically tried to wave them off, since poking the basilisk was such a bad idea.

The group mostly ignored me, but one Trade-Warden shook his head with a withering look back at Elkerton. I rolled my eyes, grabbing Kiyosi’s arm.

“We need to hurry. Elkerton’s coming to stick his hooves in this again.”

I pointed at the small cluster of centaurs behind the threadmarrow.

“Wonderful,” Kiyosi lamented, shoulders slumping. “All right, now remember, Tela. We walk up nice and slow. No sudden moves and no loud shouting.”

He shook the tan canvas bag open, raising his eyebrows at me while his tail whipped behind him like a pendulum.

“We give it some muffins, then lure it back to the hole. It’ll leave on its own.”

“Right,” I nodded, then took a deep breath.

Kiyosi walked ahead while I trailed a little behind and to the right in an honor guard position. The bag with our offerings of baked goods was kept out in front. That way, the heavenly sweet scent of cooked blueberries would precede us. A gentle breeze stirred behind us, pushing the smell forward. It was almost as if the Saint of Tides himself thought this lunacy of mine had merit and sent a soft tailwind to help.

“Saint of Tides protects children, sailors, and Windtracers with wild ideas,” I murmured ruefully.

Kiyosi didn’t reply, but that smirk on his face said everything.

I tried to ignore the Trade-Wardens and the Auditor, but it was hard. This had to be the slowest, most terrifying race I’d ever been in.

Slowly, we eased forward. Kiyosi held the bag while I just kept my hands a little out in front and down by my waist. A pose that I hoped didn’t look threatening.

The threadmarrow basilisk opened those wide nostrils and inhaled once, then twice. All six eyes narrowed again, but this time I swore they looked both brighter or even curious. I’d take curious any day over ‘upset and stomp everything flat’.

We were four steps away from the building-sized beast when sunlight glinted off a part of its scales. Just a small part at its neck on the right side.

“Ki, hold up,” I whispered, pointing at the glimmer.

It took a moment to make out what it was. The mineral ‘crust’ or deposits on a threadmarrow’s scales reflected a little sunlight, but that was closer to crudely polished, dirty gemstone flakes. This was metal. Worked metal attached to chestnut stained wood.

Specifically, it was a broken pole complete with a dirty, torn, rich purple battle standard for Herd Tolvana. That very same merchant herd Auditor Elkerton was from. I seethed at the ram’s head with golden wings emblem on the cloth. A dozen really fun curses ran through my mind as my mouth pulled into a complicated line.

“Those people are getting real close to stomping on my very last shred of patience,” I grumbled.

Kiyosi sighed softly, but I heard a brittle edge to it that suggested he agreed.

“All right,” he breathed. “That explains some of why it’s up here. Still, focus. We’re just calm and harmless.”

“Speak for yourself, Ki,” I hissed back, pulling a pleasant smile back over my face.

He rolled his eyes before we got back to the ‘life or squished’ matter at hand.

“That’s it,” Kiyosi soothed in a low, soft voice to the basilisk. “It’s all right. We’ve some really nice muffins. Take a sniff. They’re all for you.”

Suddenly, the threadmarrow tilted that massive, wagon-sized head to the right, letting out a tiny mew. A little sound that belonged to something more me-sized than what stared down at us. It opened its beak, which felt like I was looking into a huge cavern with a tongue.

“This is the strangest day, Ki,” I lamented.

“Shush,” Ki hissed, pushing two muffins into my hands. “I think it’s working.”

Kiyosi and I tossed muffins into the basilisk’s mouth and it chewed with a sound that was either muffled rock-grinding or a purr. The animal’s expression soothed slightly, and it opened its mouth again.

Everything was working until we suddenly had help.

“That beast is mine!” Auditor Elkerton shouted triumphantly. “For Herd Tolvana!”

“By the Lady Deep, no!” I hissed frantically, wide-eyed.

Elkerton shoved past the four nervous Trade-Wardens, pulling magic threads from the sunlight in front of him. Before anyone could stop him, he wove those threads into an enchanted rope that came to life.

The glowing magical rope leaped forward, lassoing the basilisk’s head and beak.

Really, on anything smaller, that might have worked. But this? It was like trying to lasso a walking mountain. The threadmarrow basilisk whimpered in shock, then snarled. One second, the rope was mostly around its beak, in the next, the beast caught it in its mouth. The threadmarrow latched down and pulled with frantic strength. Elkerton was lifted into the air, then pitched forward at the ground as if launched from a pumpkin catapult on Harvest Day.

Before the auditor could scramble onto his hooves, the threadmarrow scooped him up with its prehensile tail, then squeezed. The auditor turned about as purple as his tunic.

“Why are we saving that ass from himself?” I complained under my breath. “Ki! Muffins! Now! You’ll know better than me what stupid bone the basilisk has broken in Elkerton!”

Kiyosi glared at the auditor. Quickly, he tossed me the bag, then ran for the basilisk’s tail. The four Trade-Wardens also rushed for the auditor, but they looked like they didn’t even have bad ideas about what to do over this.

I yanked the canvas bag open, hoping to release all that wonderful, calming aroma.

“Hey,” I said in my most soothing voice. “Hungry?”

That got the basilisk’s attention. The threadmarrow sniffed the air, turning its head to look at me. Those six small, cloudy eyes squinted suspiciously. I couldn’t rub my own eyes in frustration since I had to wear goggles as protection against the sunlight, so I rubbed my forehead, trying to gather my nerves.

Blue-white, almost silver glowing strands stretched out between my fingers and forehead.

Those were magic threads. Mind magic threads. I nearly screamed.

It was the very thing I swore to never use again. Especially given what happened in the ruins below the Great Chasm.

“No, damn it! Not now!”

I sputtered, stammered, then frantically wiggled my hand, trying to shake the terrifying silver magic threads off my fingers. But magic threads can be sticky, like fresh cookie dough or slime from a crypt. The basilisk tilted its head at me like I’d lost my mind. Finally, the glowing silver threads slid off my fingers, then splattered against the basilisk’s nose.

An overwhelming sense of curiosity, hunger, and suspicion crowded my mind. It wasn’t thoughts, but emotion, and certainly not mine. I knew exactly where all that came from. The magic made sure I knew.

“Oh, by the Lady Deep, this is really not funny.” I drew in a deep breath, waving the bag. “Yes, I shot at you with a crossbow before. But you don’t need to go eating that arrogant centaur man. He’s rotten and will make your tummy hurt.”

The basilisk slowly wagged its tail, which shook Elkerton hard enough he looked sick. Suddenly, the beast nudged me with its beak, which was like being cuddled by a boulder. I tossed it a few more muffins, then eyed that broken pole.

“So, new plan,” I said soothingly to the threadmarrow. “You have some muffins, and Auntie Tela will pull out the nasty pole those irritating people stuck in your hide.”

I tossed more muffins into that impossibly large maw, then stepped over to grab the pole in both hands.

The animal shuddered, sensing through the magic between us what I was about to do. I leaned a bit against the leathery, mineral-encrusted hide, then pulled. Nearby, I heard Elkerton yelling. Silently, I hoped the threadmarrow had walloped some sense into him using the ground.

That pole slid free, banner and all, with a metallic snap and a puff of brown, displaced dust. The threadmarrow let out a hard cough, followed by a whimper. Fortunately, there wasn’t any blood. The pole had only been stuck under the beast’s scales, leaving nothing more than a patch of irritating skin.

I gently patted the threadmarrow basilisk, who tolerated the attention, sighing like a dozen blacksmith bellows. A wave of relief and joy flooded through our magical connection. The basilisk let go of Elkerton, who was quickly dragged to safety.

“Of all the irresponsible things,” I snarled in a hard voice, shaking the torn banner slightly.

“Tela!”

Mikasi raced up, stopping several healthy paces away from the threadmarrow’s beak of doom, waving what looked like a scroll.

“Found it! Elkerton’s authorization!” he exclaimed, throwing the basilisk an uneasy glance. “It fell out of his robes.”

The threadmarrow didn’t notice or care. Instead, it nudged me again. To spare myself a full-body bruise, I fed it more muffins.

“I’m positive it’s fake,” he continued.

Nearby, two battered and bloody Trade-Wardens glowered at Auditor Elkerton, who was too busy to notice. He was occupied berating Kiyosi about having poor healing skills that were not up to Jata kingdom standards.

“Come again? Forgery?” I asked in a brittle voice.

“May I see that?” the nearest Trade-Warden asked.

Mikasi unrolled it, tapping both wording and signatures before handing it over.

“Yes! Look there. The seal looks valid enough, but the stamp from the merchant herd looks altered. Also, I think the number of signatures is off.”

The Trade-Warden read over the scroll, eyes narrowed, before he glowered at Elkerton.

“You’re right. The Warden Chief’s signature is wrong, and his personal seal is missing,” the centaur explained. “It’s well made, but this has been forged. No wonder we weren’t allowed to take a close look at it.”

“Oh?” I replied icily.

A dark smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth while I stalked to the rear of the threadmarrow basilisk, broken pole in hand.

Nurkes was right. There really were many definitions of ‘peace’ and ‘confrontation’. But there really was only one way to define ‘out of patience’.

Elkerton never saw me coming.

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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.