Slithering Maze 9: Just Another Day in Prayogar

Basysus, 27, 1278: Arth Prayogar. Getting the runaround in more ways than one…

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: All is well as Tela and the crew arrive in Arth Prayogar. But there are a few loose ends to settle up and untie. Gathering at a local inn, provided graciously by the Council of Seven, Tela and the others recount what happened and if anything might be off. Which, of course, might be a lot…

Basysus, 27, 1278: Arth Prayogar. Getting the runaround in more ways than one…

“A scribe error?” I threw my hands in the air, furious. “They let Elkerton go with a fine, calling it all a ‘scribe error’?”

It was a long, livid walk back from the Prayogar Council Chamber in the cool afternoon. Not a single step soothed my temper.

The cathedral-like building was dominated by a wide round tower that encompassed most of the structure. It rose five stories up with a bronze dome on top. Altogether, the Council Chamber towered over both the Prayogar city center and Arth Prayogar itself.

All in all, the thing looked like a giant bronzed egg in a cup to me. Almost like the Jatans dared anyone to break it and make the world’s biggest omelet.

On the other hand, I also considered it the city’s biggest mortar and pestle in a way.

Anything that mattered to people got dumped into those halls. It didn’t matter what. From discussions about whether to help a farming town recover from a magic storm to the odd crime, they all went in. Then the Council of Seven ground them down into a fine, inoffensive, discardable powder.

But at that moment, I had a bad urge to be a really offensive powder just to see what I could rub raw.

“They didn’t even bar him from doing that again!” I snapped, each word hotter than the last. “You just know he’ll do this again.”

Kiyosi let out a long-suffering sigh.

“He will. This wasn’t for justice, Tela. It was all for protocol. Make the right noises, shuffle a little parchment, and then go on with the day. Elkerton was probably a source of money for Herd Tolvana.”

“Toll fees?” Skarri asked quietly.

“Bribery,” Mikasi replied with a resigned shrug.

Kiyosi shook his head slowly, as if life at that moment was a little too inevitable. All the while, his tail curled into an angry question mark.

“I mean, what did any of us think would happen?”

“The right thing?” Mikasi quipped with a sour expression. “But really this is just blaming the forger, not the one using the forgery.”

Skarri’s normally calm scaled face was pulled tight with hard lines by her snake eyes.

“Samal Liru has complained a little about that,” she said in what seemed to be her usual soft, calm tone. The words of a practiced peacemaker. “It’s part and parcel of what he’s facing. Dizzying diplomacy until it’s a dust devil of not much being done.”

I glowered into the middle space in front of me while I stalked onward.

“All I know is that if one more Jatan official calls me a ‘friend of the court’, I’ll strangle them with their own robes.”

“Tela…” Skarri stopped the sentence short and just gave me a worried look. Her forked tongue tasted the air, then she sighed.

“They urged us to refrain from reporting more complaints against Herd Tolvana.” The temple guard sighed with a small shrug. “Which… I agree? It would make life twice as complicated for the Samal when they hear his petition this week.”

I almost stomped a furrow in the tan sandstone-paved road while we walked the length of Market Street. On either side of the road, merchants hawked their wares, such as fruits, wooden carved figures, baskets and more.

Most along the way didn’t pay us much attention, though a few tried real hard to act like they weren’t staring. Dust clung to my boots, which matched the gritty ambiance and my mood.

We passed a side street that opened onto a public garden and a small teahouse near a long, block-shaped building. A stone-carved sign out front read ‘Koriss Grand Archive’. It was something to remember for later.

The conversation, and my frustration, still held my attention. I glowered at nothing, but wanted to vent at anything.

This was one of the many reasons I chose to be a mercenary-archaeologist. An allergy to over-bloated, if not self-serving, bureaucracy.

“All right, fine,” I said but didn’t entirely mean it.

Silence chased us on the dusty walk back to the Court of Lemongrass Inn. Twice I almost talked about our plan, distracting the Council, and more, but decided against it.

That wasn’t the time or place. There were just too many eyes and ears. Especially since Mikasi had heard someone asking about Windtracers being in Arth Prayogar. That had set off all my alarm bells.

I had a little note that’d been slipped to me in the city council chambers. It didn’t have much more than hastily drawn alleys of the city’s Old Quarter with cryptic notes. But it wasn’t anything I wanted to flash around. At the moment, it needed to stay in my shoulder bag.

Scents of spices, flowers, and cooking food soothed my frustration while we walked. A gentle prairie wind blew through the street, carrying bits of conversation along the air like scattered leaves.

Normally that would’ve been soothing. It wasn’t. Right then, my thoughts itched by the time we reached the inn. I wanted to crack open that odd note. It had most of my attention.

I almost tripped when Mikasi stopped dead in front of me outside the main doors to the inn.

“Tela? Did you leave your balcony open?” he asked as he pointed to the wide, sandstone balcony.

My eyes snapped up to the balcony. Sure enough, one of the doors was ajar. A slightly sheer white linen curtain fluttered lazily through the opening, tugged by a light breeze.

Then a shadow ghosted behind the curtains. It had my backpack with the rest of my notes.

“No, I didn’t!” I said in a tumble of words. “Someone’s up there!”

Realization hit me like a slap of cold water. Skarri tensed. Kiyosi and Mikasi bolted.

I ran for the front door of the inn.

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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.