Chapter 9 - Part 1

CHAPTER NINE – REUNIONS, HAPPY AND OTHERWISE
The 1st of Sypheros, 993 Y.K., in the northern area of the Eldeen Reaches

The worst of the summer heat was long gone, but it was not cold yet, even this far north in Khorvaire. The tall trees, so densely packed across the fertile plains and rolling hills, were a bright, brilliant cascade of gorgeous gold, yellow, red, and brown leaves. In every generation of visitors to and residents of the Eldeen Reaches, from the shifters and humans that were its current inhabitants all the way back to the orc druids and huntsmen that lived there in the times of the Dhakaani Empire, the middle of autumn was considered the most beautiful time of year. Stories persisted of travelers whose enjoyment and appreciation so touched their heart that they were brought to the plane of Thelanis, where the Faerie Queen would grant them their greatest desire.

The thickness of the trees began to thin out some as loggers, farmers, and other minor spots of civilization broke through the leaves in a bright spot of green grass marked by the sharp lines of cultivation. Rough trails connected the small pockets of people, and these sometimes became broader trails than linked up with the well-paved, well-maintained House Orien trade roads that connected the larger population centers. The Reaches had only one real city, but many inhabitants.

On the northern edge of the country, halfway between the Wynarn River to the southeast, and the Icehorn Mountains to the west and north, sprawled a small town by the name of Merylsward. Sitting at the terminus of a House Orien trade route, Merylsward would have been a loose collection of farms, fishing shacks, and trading posts in any other country on Khorvaire rather than a single town. Its roughly thirteen hundred inhabitants lived within an area some thirty miles across. Most were within the center of a natural bowl of land tending to crops, but some were to the west and south where the trees were still quick. About a tenth of the people were on the northern or eastern edges of the area, and some of the more ornery residents of the fishing shacks that clung to the sides of the high hills approaching the Eldeen Bay considered Merylsward to be “that far-away city.”

Merylsward was only a third human, and the rest were an eclectic bunch of races with no one group predominant. They all shared a fierce independence, and a loathing of Aundair. The overwhelming majority of them were combat veterans, and there was more than one widow whose husband had died by the Wynarn River repulsing the tyrannical wizard-kingdom. There had been a lull in the fighting over the summer, allowing many folk to come home and see their families, as Aundair focused on Thrane. The inhabitants of Merylsward, especially the shifters, fervently hoped that the Aundairians and the Thranes would kill each other to the last man.

Juzhe d’Sivis sighed as he leaned over the windowsill, smelling the bright morning air. He had been sent here by his House to conduct Sivis business some fifty years earlier and had since refused to leave. The city-born gnome had fallen in love with the Eldeen Reaches, and had married a local gnome carpenter’s daughter.

“Morning, Juzhe,” called a rough voice coming across the road. Mrask was almost seven feet in height, and possessed of great muscle. His skin was a green pigment with tan highlights, and he was covered in short, coarse, black body hair. The orc wore a wide straw hat to protect his eyes from the light, and no shirt with his rough-spun pants and hard leather boots. The only ornamentation on him was a gold cap on one of his jutting lower canines. Mrask typically started work at midnight, cutting wood until dawn with his race’s ability to see in the dark, even with no moon out. He had an impressive haul on the sledge he was dragging.

“Heading to my father-in-law?” Juzhe asked. “I know he wants some new spruce, he’s working on a clock.”

“Yah, me giving him first pick,” Mrask said. “Then central market. Then lunch and nap.”

“I’ve been smelling your second wife’s pie for the last half-hour,” the gnome told him. “Wow, that woman can cook!”

“Yah, me miss other wife, though,” Mrask said with worry in his voice. The orc’s first spouse was very good with a bow, and she spent a lot of time on the front with Aundair. She had killed twelve Aundairians in the month of Barrakas alone, including one wizard. Juzhe personally thought that a man should only have one wife, but the predominant feeling in the Reaches was that grown folks let other grown folks alone.

“She’ll be good, don’t worry, no one can mess with her!” Juzhe laughed.

“Me hopes,” the orc said. “Gots to go, be free!”

“Be free!” Juzhe responded. That ubiquitous greeting was one of the first things he had loved about the Reaches.

Juzhe looked down the road, wondering when the expected House Orien caravan would arrive. Juzhe’s wife had heard there would be some serious activity coming their way soon and the curious gnome rubbed his hands in expectation of who would be with the caravan. New information made the curious gnome happier than a dog with a fresh bone.