Chapter 1: Kab'neth
By Gila Monster, February 8th, 1999
Slanting light rebounded from mirrored rooftops, green with ivy and envy at the same time. Gwynn hopped along the crystalline pathways that joined the shining high-rises and low-rises (it depended on which side you stood) of Kab'neth , and wove her wearied way closer to the shops in the center of town. Right about now would be when she could usually sniff the elusive headiness of the flower-stands with their rows upon rows of transparent-glass sugar-spun flowers.
Usually.
Gwynn stopped, and looked around. The city shone and sang and shone as it usually did on Market-day afternoons, yet somehow today it was colder, and not nearly so bright. She shivered, sending a tinkling through her own rosy-transparent body, and wiped a glittering diamond of nervousness from her brow. The Order was the Order, small chunks of pattern that fitted together perfectly in the vast external chaos. The Lattice was strong, the Order stable. She flicked the translucent white cube in the edifice next to her, and let the shining pinnnnnnnnnnnnnng tone soothe her troubled thoughts.
She skipped left along a side-lane and danced to the trochaic beat of the roads (rest, two-three-four, rest, two-three four; the stones always kept the same rythm in this edge of the city).
Then she stopped again. There was no question about it - something was definitely not resounding right. It should have been "REST-two-three-four," but her foot has stumbled on a protruding paving stone, and the beat suddenly became "ONE-two-half/half-four". The buildings about her resonated disharmoniously, and a few crystalline people parted their beaded curtains to see what had caused the bad vibrations. Nothing should have been out of place to interrupt the trochee in the first place.
Gwynn turned around.
Oh.
Behind her, a large, earth-colored alien with crystal writing embedded in it appeared. Its arrival had displaced the harmonics in this alley, causing the paving stone to work its way free of its place.
She couldn't read the writing.
People gathered in the alley about her, giving the
alien presence as wide a berth as they could. Gwynn
rubbed at the chip in her foot where she'd kicked the
protruding paving stone, but she didn't think of what
it would cost her to have the flaw polished away.
She could feel the alien radiate a sort of light,
invisible light. It didn't reflect much at all, as
if it could absorb light and store it. Everyone knew
light passed through everything, but this thing let
fall a shadow. Darkness was virtually unknown in
Kab'neth, except in the cores of the largest
high-rises, where the walls were so thick most of the
light had been refracted away. Most. For something
so thin to cast such a deep shadow was unheard of.
*Is it alive?* someone asked.
*What is it?* toned the aquamarine woman next to her.
*It is not a slab,* a rose quartz announced. *See
how it is irregularly shaped.*
Gwynn reached out to touch it. It didn't ping!.
She tapped it harder with one of her sharp, pointed
fingers, and to everyone's surprise and consternation,
it stuck with a dull thock! She pulled her
hand back with some difficulty, and brushed at the
debris clinging to her polished tip.
*And it is not entirely solid,* Gwynn remarked, with
a jarred under-harmony to emphasize her own
nervousness.
*Yet it won't pass light,* the aquamarine observed.
*Perhaps we should bring the Orb to see. His wisdom
can...*
She didn't get to finish. The object began to move,
to swing on a hinge, like the very joints of the
crystalline people. Those in front could not see
those behind as the flat alien pivoted, creating a
darkened hole in the air before them.
"I never thought I'd get that door to open!"
All of the crystalline people backed away hastily,
suddenly overcome with fear. The alley tinkled and
glittered with falling diamonds, beading off the
faces of the transparent Kab'nethites. The sounds
issuing from the passage -- obviously a door -- were
like wet wind.
"Would you look at that! There's diamonds everywhere,
just like you promised! C'mon, Agranor, let's get to
work!"
From the dark passage stepped a creature shaped only
nominally like the Kab'nethites -- a gruesome
caricature of their light and purity, irregular of
feature, unpredictable of movement. Things
grew out of its face, if it could be called a "face".
They froze in fear. It appeared to have a flaccid
crest of the same growth, lending it the appearance
of an urchin-crystal. A hand scooped up the shining
pebbles. A hand that smelled like the land far below
the floating Kab'neth.
The aquamarine woman nearest the alien creature
quivered and hummed like a tuning fork, and small
cracks threaded their way through her transparent
structure. The hum grew louder and louder as her
terror echoed back in the narrow alley, feeding the
tone and amplfying it.
*Hrimm, be still! Be still!* Gwynn warned her, the
vibrations already jarring her own head painfully.
Hrimm shattered, and the vibration mercifully
dissipated. The grotesque copy of the Kab'nethites
began to scoop the aquamarine into a fantastically
flexible container, made of the same substance draped
about its body.
"I think that's enough for today," it said in that
wet-wind sound. It retreated back through the door.
A different hand reached out to grasp the shining hoop
and pull the door shut, releasing the petrified
crystalline people.
*Hrimm!* another aquamarine cried, gathering the
small leftover fragments in his hands and letting
them tinkle through his fingers. *The Chaos has
taken you! The Order is unbalanced! How can we
restore it, how?*
Over the next few days, the chaos worsened.
The strange, alien doorways appeared all across the
crystalline city, first singly, then in groups. Each
time, the gelatinous invaders would walk out onto
Kab'neth's streets, bold as a zircon, and scoop up
the glittering remnants of the Kab'nethites' terror.
And as the fear took root in the gemfolk, so more and
more of them succumbed to the disharmony, the chaos
-- and so they cracked and crumbled...
And the invaders took them, too.
Kab'neth had never seen the like. Nobody in Kab'neth
had an explanation for the eldritch invasion; nobody,
not even the oldest and wisest of the ruby minds,
could identify these pulpy prospectors. Neither could
they guess their motives; their lust for the trifles
left by the Kab'nethites; their joy at the chaos they
spread and the existences shattered.
The harmonious city, though still soaring gloriously
above the base clays below, became a place of fear.
*But we cannot fight them!* chimed chalcedony Be'lith,
diamonds coruscating along his brow and tinkling off
the quartz slab before him. *They have no order, no
logic, no... no lattice!* The facets of his eyes
seemed to strike sparks, as his panic resonated
through his structure.
*Calm yourself, Be'lith,* belled Syxtreii, her
sapphire crest bobbing in sympathy as she attempted
to soothe the young shard. A chord, low and sweet,
hummed through the packed chamber as her mood found
echoes in the gemfolk. *This excited state can only
cause us harm. I say they came from nowhere, and to
nowhere they will return. Our only response is to do
nothing. The doors will stop coming and we will
endure.*
Be'lith made to reply, but strange vibrations had
begun to ripple through the quartz slab. Unnatural...
the familiar crystal, so unyielding, so perfect,
seemed to flow. The gemfolk edged back, disharmony
creeping into their chordal moan. The crystal seemed
to retreat, darkness at its centre swirling and
swelling and seeming to coalesce into a larger shape
than the dreaded doors - arched, seemingly regular,
but formed of many thick strands of some strange
stuff; hard like the Kab'nethites, unyielding like
them, but without their regularity, their angles...
flowing like water from the sky... and rising into a
pair of thin, flattened forms, pierced and terrible,
that towered over the cringing forms below.
Letters, as unreadable as ever, glowed on the faces of
the shapes.
With a terrible grinding that instantly shattered five
of the nearest Kab'nethites, the shapes swung apart to
reveal a swirling fog behind them. And out of the fog
marched dozens of the invaders. Yet these were more
orderly than the ones from before. Covered in the
same material as the shapes through which they had
issued, the creatures seemed to be formed into a
lattice themselves, each marking a vertex in some
unfathomable structure. Their feet struck the ground
in a terrible unison. Their heads were crested, like
the Kab'nethites', but with fine filaments of ruby
colour, yet of an opacity unknown by any.
Into the heart of Kab'neth itself, the strange
company walked...
...and at its head, one more magnificently arrayed
than the others, whose body seemed grotesquely
encrusted with tears and fragments of the
Kab'nethites' fellows, stopped and surveyed the
scene.
"We claim this place," came the now-familiar damp
whistling, "in the name of King Belthuz, Lord over
Mori-Mori!"
Vanny wiped the top of the bar diligently, and
completely unnecessarily. Business was slow this
time of year. Farmers toiled in the fields around
Stone
Ring Capital, desperately digging rimeberry canes
out of the softened snowdrifts piled up about the
stone rings scattered across the plains. Often they
were too tired to come into town for a social evening.
It was vital to expose the canes to frost
before they quickened so last year's skin
would crack and peel off, allowing the runny sap to
flow freely in warmer weather along the surface to
create a new skin. It was equally vital to not dig
them out too early and fatally freeze them solid.
Once a rare delicacy of high mountain passes, local
plains farmers had put the new stone rings dotting
their fields to good work. Fantastically sweet
rimeberries fetched high prices in the southern
provinces, although the Stone Ring price had dropped
considerably when they were in season. They made
pretty decent brandies, too.
Few mercenaries visited Stone Ring these days, and for
that the elfin innkeep was somewhat grateful. They
bought her liquor freely, true, but they tended to
smash the furniture. High summer usually pulled them
away from the southern climes. Most of the few
wizards left in FayryLand had migrated south for the
winter, not due back for about a week from the Agatlar
and Mori-Mori. Those who maintained a permanent
residence in Stone Ring tended to be scholars and
teetotalers. Merchants traded south in the winter,
thieves followed the purses, and beggars couldn't
afford to pay.
"It's not too cold for a dip in the Jacuzzi," Lady
Vanilla Javken said brightly to herself. "It can't
get much slower in here."
She scurried upstairs to her room to change into a
bathrobe, and had just scurried back down to place a
four-fingered, green hand on the hidden alcove door
when one of her Guards ducked his head into the common
room.
"Milady!"
"You guys never miss a cue," she grumbled fondly as
she gathered the red robe about her more closely to
ward off the pre-spring chill creeping up her green
legs.
"My pardon, Lady, but we have a problem in the Market
with some Southern merchants."
"They're early this year?" She frowned and tucked
some brown hair behind an enormous, high-pointed green
ear.
"It would seem so. I wouldn't have bothered you, but
Major Hibbert said there was something unright
about them. I shall wait here while Milady dresses
for the outdoors."
Vanny took the hint and returned upstairs for her
clothes.
Unright, she pondered, scrambling into her
serviceable brown dress. Not necessarily wrong,
but certainly not right. What southerlies blow ill
our way?
She'd have to check the Landright tonight, she
decided, hastily knotting her hair back and ramming
two steel pins through the bun to hold it in place.
Unright meant she probably wouldn't get a good
reading of the Land's health through the sun's
interference. Outright wrong would have been
an easier read, but then she'd already know about it
without scrying.
"Lead the way, Seargent Gluscow," she directed him as
she hopped across the common room floor into her
shoes. She shored up her Lady's dignity the moment
she stepped outside the Wench, and strode with
purpose, somehow growing into her larger role without
actually changing her diminutive size.
"Your coat, Milady," Gluscow offered her as they
crossed the southeast corner of the Market Square
toward the South Gate. Without stopping, Lady Javken
pulled the fine red wool over her shoulders. She
felt in the pockets for her silver-leaf earrings, and
clipped them on as they approached the glittering
merchant caravan. Persona complete.
Glittering?! Gems from the South?
From the South? "Unright" indeed! Where
would they get that many gems, and more importantly,
why would they sell them?
"Milady Javken," Major Hibbert greeted her in naked
relief. "These Southern merchants are giving us a
difficult time with their Customs papers."
"What sort of difficulties?" she inquired coolly,
casting a reassuring smile at the belligerent
merchants. They weren't the usual faces of the
Agatlar and Beltric nations, trading between the
Highlands and the tropics. They were creamy-brown
Morian faces, seldom seen outside the kingdom of Mori-Mori.
"They don't have Customs papers," Major Hibbert
replied.
"Well, let's get this sorted out as quickly as
possible, so these merchants can get their busy day
started!" she declared brightly. "Merchant Captain,
I am Lady Vanilla Javken, sovereign of these
Highlands and FayryLand's Highlady."
Her introduction was unnecessary: she was the only
photosynthetic mammal in all of FayryLand.
"Lady Javken, at last," the captain growled. "I am
Merker, merchant master under King Belthuz' direction.
He wishes to pay his tithes to the Highlady in
timely fashion."
"A pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Merker. We see
so few Morians in Stone Ring these days, probably
because of the snow. Please, join me at the High
Castle for dinner, and we'll get your caravan
manifests sorted out. What are you carrying, by the
way? We didn't expect the Southern wagons to arrive
so quickly this year."
"They're carrying gems, Milady," Major Hibbert
supplied before Mr. Merker could even think about
lying. "Only gems."
"Major, please conduct Mr. Merker's caravan to the
Market stables and warehouses, and don't touch their
cargo until you have my order to do so. I will
oversee the Customs procedures myself. After dinner,
report to High Council," she added sternly, promising
an official reprimand in private.
Major Hibbert nodded curtly, touched his left hand to
his leather breastplate, and directed two Guards to
accompany the Highlady and the reluctant Morian
merchant to the High Castle.
Lady Javken kept her face shallow and conversation
inconsequential. She'd seen a perfectly-formed
crystal hand sticking out from under the
canvas on one of the wagons. She didn't know how,
probably through the Landright magick, but she knew
that aquamarine hand had once lived.
Gwynn sat. And sat... and sat.
High up in her crystal city, she sat. With so many
invaders, Kab'neth itself had begun to break apart.
The Orb in his wisdom had ordered that no Kab'nethite
shall move, on peril of Sharding.
So she sat. What else could she do, but sit or fall
to pieces or sit some more?
Or...
Gwynn stood. An army of "flesh" (so they had learned
to call it) thundered by. Gwynn barely noticed the
painful resounding tremor in her knees. If they sat,
the invaders would shatter them all anyway. She had
an idea.
Normally, had her iono-siblings seen the brightening
glimmer in Gwynn's eyes, they would have immediately
clung to her, in an attempt to slow quickening hum of
her "softheaded" ideas. Up until now they always had;
but they were all hiding inside their shining nucleii,
clinging to each other to stop the dreadful pounding,
shaking, blistering echo of the opaque beasts as their
every movement threated to send fissures down
translucent fingers.
So Gwynn stood, alone, glowing brighter, humming
louder.
And then she stepped forward. No one moved these
days, no one dared risk increasing the perilously
shrill quavering of Kab'neth.
Gwynn's crystal feet vibrated with every contact on
the perilously pitted and excavated roads, setting
her beaded crest abuzz. She needed one of those
doors of the not-solid opacity. She found one not
far from her home, and scrabbled at it with her glass
fingers. It moved toward her, and she leaped to the
side, and behind it - as she had seen the aggressors
do many times.
Only never before had she witnessed what became of
them after they dissolved behind walls of dark.
"It's a simple question I'm asking you, Swayles."
Turbit
Swayles nodded desperately and blinked into the
light, uncomfortably aware of the sweat trickling
into his beard.
"My lord, I swear I have no idea! I'm but a simple
jeweller..."
A large and lichen-encrusted hand silenced him
effectively by gripping his shoulder, none too
gently. Swayles couldn't help but notice the word
"Mum" carved into it.
"You are very far from a simple jeweller, Swayles. I
know these things." The voice behind the flickering
light, issuing from the dimly-glimpsed but huge carved
chair, was polite and cultured but underscored with
a threatening rasp of brutality.
This, Swayles reflected, was not one of the better
days of his life. He'd left the mountain mines of
his family to come to Stone Ring Capital to escape
the confined spaces and rockfalls that had terrified
him for years, and to escape the shame of being the
only claustrophobic dwarf in living memory. His
little jeweller's shop in Hodgkin Alley had proved a
pofitable little business - and he'd though that his
little sideline dagger, poignards and assorted
bodkins had escaped the notice of the
Big Man.
In fact, like most of the population of the
Stone Ring, he'd thought that the shadowy head of the
Thieves'
Guild was a myth.
He should have known better. This was Fayryland, and
here, myths had a nasty habit of coming true.
Swyales squirmed in his low seat under the grip of
the troll. The room was large and airy, but he was
finding it more than a little hard to breathe.
Filling his vision was an intense, flickering light,
generated by three sprites sitting within
highly-polished bowls which had been propped up on
the desk facing him. The dazzle obscured the figure
sitting behind the desk - the Big Man himself.
He was honored, he knew. Even the Lady Javken had
never met the Big Man. He sincerely hoped he'd get
to tell his grandchildren about it.
"That'll be enough, Wayne," said the Big Man, and the
rocky pressure on Swayles' shoulder eased.
"This morning, Swayles, you had a pair of kippers for
breakfast, while your wife Drusilla and your lovely
daughter Hildy had oatmeal. You took your daughter to
school - she's doing very well, isn't she? Although
her history essays leave a little to be desired - and
repaired to your workshop, where you finished a
consignment of lock-picking tools which were collected
by the unfortunate Lopsided Nigel... show him,
Aloysius..."
A large, scarred human brought a boot out from behind
his back and handed it to Swayles. It was unusually
heavy, thought the dwarf. The he realized it still
had a foot in it.
"...then you took your teabreak, after which you took
another delivery of a sack of these gems which have
been arriving in the city. And at that point, as you
know, Algernon here paid you a visit. I regret that
he was forced to render you unconscious for your
journey, by the way. As Algernon regrets that you
see fit to wear your helmet at work."
Algernon, a scarred figure almost indistinguishable
from Aloysius, nodded and cradled his bandaged hand.
"As you can see, Swayles," the voice continued
urbanely, "there is very little that happens in Stone
Ring that escapes my notice. Our viridian Highlady
may have her magic, but magic can be fooled and
twisted by the wise and the crafty - some of whom, I
need hardly add, are in my pay. But I have my people,
Swayles. I have eyes on every street corner, in every
alehouse, and frequently looking up from every gutter. And my sources do not twist the information they give me, on pain of... well, of pain. Do you understand me, Swayles?"
The dwarf nodded with alacrity.
"But, Swayles, what I don't know - and what I very
much want to know - is where these gems have come
from. The market is flooded and my profits are
tumbling. How can a thief make an honest profit in
this climate, Swayles? My margins are depressed,
Swayles, and when my margins are depressed, I am
depressed. This, for example," and a tray was pushed
across the desk, containing a cloak clasp in the
shape of an emerald hand, "this, Swayles, was bought
from Hodgkin Alley this morning. A lovely piece of
work. Your work. And none of the revenue came to
me."
The voice seemed to come from closer to Swayles, as
though the Big Man had leant forward.
"I know stolen property when I handle it, Swayles.
It calls to me. It sings a song of gains ill-gotten.
And this is stolen, make no doublt about it. And,"
the previously confident voice hesitated, "and it
makes me uneasy as well. Something has been stolen
from the gems. There is something wrong about
them.
"It galls me that I do not know where these gems are
from, Swayles. It worries me that I do not know
their origin. And it angers me that I cannot earn my
rightful cut from them. You will find the
information I require, Swayles. You owe me a favor."
"A favor, my lor... sir?" quavered Swayles.
"You are alive, are you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you will continue to be so as long as you are
useful, Swayles. Now, Algernon will convey you to
your workshop via the Thieves' Highway, and I will
expect your first report within the week."
"Yes, sir," Swayles mumbled unhappily.
"Or I'll have your balls on toast."
Algernon, Aloysius and Wayne lifted the shuddering
Swayles from the stool and carried him to the hatchway
that led to the sewers. The three sprites ceased their
flickering, and the soft light of leaded lanterns
returned to the room.
The Big Man smiled grimly and stood, stretching. A
job well done, he reflected.
Vanilla Javken's eyes widened in mild surprise as she
eavesdropped on the Big Man's conversations from the
Alcove. The bribe she'd paid his pet illusionist
for the chink in the Big Man's headquarters'
protection spells had just paid off. She splashed a
green hand in the churning water of the Jacuzzi, and
banished the image in the mist before her. Where the
elements ran, so did the Highlady.
She relaxed back against the edge of the small pool,
almost saturated, and sipped her chilled peachwine
thoughtfully. She'd expected the Big Man to be
taller.
Much taller.
Chapter 2: The Door
By Elfie, February 8th, 1999
Chapter 3: Conquest
By Stuart Nathan, February 10th, 1999
Chapter 4: Lands Troubled
By Elfie, February 15th, 1999
Chapter 5: Destinies Forged
By Gila Monster, February 17th, 1999
Chapter 6: Orders
By Stuart Nathan, February 18th, 1999
In the Drunken Wench Inn, Beebalm covered the common
room with her usual efficient buzzing. Patrons served
themselves beer, and the pixie
made sure they left the appropriate amount in the
changebowl. Vanny's clientele was basically honest,
and those who weren't knew they couldn't cheat the
Lady of the Land and get away with it: they always
ended up paying a prorated tax bill.
Return to the Land of the Blue Sheep
Read the Glossary of Characters