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The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 7, Chapter 3
🕑 Added 2022-10-27 04:37:18 +0000 UTC
28th Day, Lower Earth Month, 0 CE
Following Devi’s discovery, Saraca shifted the focus of their analysis of Rol’en’gorek. As their findings continued to support the notion that the ‘curse of wealth’ gripped the primitive tribal confederation, a sense of anger started to simmer beneath his waking thoughts.
Hides. Timber. Medicinal herbs. Magical Beasts that their hunting parties capture. They probably have plenty more, but they’re too territorial to allow foreigners to survey their territories and prospect for wealth. Many a hopeful Merchant or Sage come here to make inroads to no avail.
The words of the Laerti Merchant in Great Tear were the truth, but the truth behind the truth had not been stated. Whether she was entirely earnest about what she said or an active participant in a greater conspiracy was unknown, but Saraca supposed that it didn’t matter.
A loose collection of notions rather than a genuine curse, the ‘curse of wealth’ asserted that, without careful management and the right development, countries sitting on vast reserves of valuable resources or ideal territory tended to stagnate and decay rather than prosper. It could even happen when new technologies and magic ‘boosted’ the economy by giving civilisations access to resources they could not exploit before. Dozens of reasons existed for the phenomenon, but it was usually a combination of both intentional and unintentional effects.
The first – and perhaps the most insidious – of those ‘effects’ that they encountered was in the Great Lut. There was strong evidence that the Merchant community or even the Storm Dragon Lord himself was intentionally keeping Rol’en’gorek at a low level of development so they could continue to extract cheap resources from it. As isolated as the jungle confederation was from the rest of the world, Stormport effectively had a monopoly on its exports.
Merchants from the Empire of the Storm Dragon Lord did not enter Rol’en’gorek. Tools and equipment could be sold to the Beastmen, but knowledge of trade skills was neither transferred nor imported. He wouldn’t be surprised if those who tried were disposed of in some way.
The presence of internal collaborators was unknown, but they weren’t necessary. Nug herding was the primary source of food, and intensive Nug herding needed more minerals than the rise and fall in a river’s water levels could provide. Beastmen got their salt from their food, but their livestock…
“Do you think someone introduced animal husbandry to Rol’en’gorek on purpose?” Saraca asked.
His wives stared at his sudden question. Devi was the first to realise what he was implying. Her expression grew horrified and she swatted him repeatedly.
“Hey, why are you hitting me?!”
“Why do you always have to come up with such horrible things?!” His first wife nearly screeched at him.
“Always?”
“Your campaigns are like that as well,” she said, “it’s never just beating up the enemy, you have to inflict the most cruel and unusual things upon them.”
“Th-that’s to minimise casualties on both sides,” Saraca grew defensive. “If I didn’t do what I do, the suffering and death would increase tenfold or more.”
A military career wouldn’t be much of one if one or two wars made Undead spring up everywhere. Campaigns had to be as brief and decisive as possible or little progress could be made.
“What are you two going on about?” Mitra asked.
“A trap,” Devi sighed. “Rol’en’gorek is certainly a lush and bountiful land, but hunting and gathering can only support a limited population. By introducing animal husbandry, they teach the people here how to herd Nug and the population that they can feed increases ten-fold. The problem is that the land has a limit on what it can support. In places like this, that limit is not available vegetation for livestock, but the minerals that livestock cannot get from regular grazing.
“Therefore, to maintain their gains, they have to trade with the Great Lut for those minerals. Demand for salt and other minerals going up goes hand in hand with transitioning to an agrarian economy. Here, it’s a trap that invariably leads to mass starvation, creating a dependency on certain imports. I doubt they realise what’s going on. The people here just export what they can to get their hands on what their herds need.”
The deal was so favourable for the Merchants of the Great Lut that salt was worth its weight in gold. Devi had exchanged her salt for precious gems instead to avoid encumbrance.
“What about Summon Spices?” Mitra asked, “Wouldn’t that fix the problem?”
“The magic caster ratio isn’t high enough for that,” Karuvaki said. “It’s fundamentally the same problem as food summoning.”
Conjuration magic for industrial applications was a major field pursued by any sufficiently advanced civilisation. From the ritual binding of Elementals to power Golems to summoning food to creating rare or even previously unknown materials, the possibilities offered by the conjuration school were theoretically limitless.
That being said, not only was the cost of research and development exorbitantly high, but it was also contingent on the power of a country’s magic casters. Furthermore, the efficiency of conjuration was not high enough that a population’s magic casters could provide for the entire population. The metrics tended to focus on how effectively conjuration could supplement existing industrial processes or produce otherwise unobtainable commodities.
“But it would help,” Saraca noted. “If we do choose to offer our guidance and gradually bring them into our hegemony, we need every trick in the book to wean them off of their dependency.”
“That assumes that they don’t already know the spell,” Girika said. “And it also assumes that Lut will release its stranglehold on their market here. Somehow, I doubt that.”
“He’s right, ji,” Mitra said. “It would be one thing if they were easily accessible, but we don’t have the power to wrest them free of Lut’s grip.”
The edge of the Beastman Confederacy’s sphere of influence was roughly five thousand kilometres away, so force was not an option. Stormport’s sovereign was not the average Dragon Lord, either, so casual heroics were out of the question.
“There may be other avenues,” Saraca said. “Answers to problems like this are usually never obvious.”
After spending another day in Kanyo, they bid farewell to Aat and travelled upriver to the next city, Ki’ra. The riverboats of Rol’en’gorek were propelled by paddlewheels driven by treadmills, making for a fairly quick journey given the strength of Saraca’s entourage. They stopped at the towns along the way, but found nothing new of note.
Ki’ra was twice as large as Kanyo, situated at the southeastern end of a long lake at the bottom of the jungle’s central valley. The bustling metropolis was primarily populated by Baagh, though the architecture was mostly the same as the Singh settlements. Still, there was a distinct difference in ‘flavour’ that greeted them before they arrived in port.
“This place feels different from the last city,” Devi sniffed at the air.
“Ki’ra is supposed to be a clan of the local warrior caste,” Saraca said. “I wouldn’t know what to say if it felt the same as Kanyo.”
The city’s sense of order was tangible, even from a distance. It gave rise to the hope that Mitra’s broad assessment of Rol’en’gorek so far was premature.
Their barge drifted into an open berth along one of the city’s many wharves. An official accompanied by two warriors arrived shortly after to collect their toll and berthing fees. Her eyes traced over their unfamiliar garb.
“You don’t look like you’re from around here,” the customs official said. “Or perhaps you’re from the west? We haven’t seen much in the way of spoils from the Draconic Kingdom yet.”
The local customs inspections did not employ divination magic to identify cargo and equipment, so the most she could probably sense was that their items were magical or valuable in some way.
“We came up from Stormport after sailing northwest along the Syrillian Way,” Devi replied. “I’m a Merchant who plies the lanes of trade around the world.”
“For a Merchant,” the official said, “you appear to be lacking wares.”
“A miscalculation,” Devi’s voice took on a self-deprecating tone. “I crossed the border with a caravan – ten wagons! – of salt. The people here cleaned me out by the time I left Kanyo. Something about a booming market for preserved meats and leather equipment because of the campaign in the Draconic Kingdom. Anyway, all that’s left for us is to see what Rol’en’gorek has to offer.”
“Is that so?” The official looked down at her clay tablet, “Well, foreign Merchants are nearly unheard of, so I hope you enjoy your stay.”
Interesting…
If someone was keeping Merchants from flowing into Rol’en’gorek, it certainly wasn’t the country itself. At least not this particular clan.
The customs official completed her inspection and went on her way. Saraca took in the scenery of the waterfront. Beyond the wooden planks of the wharf, timber trackways lined both sides of the earthen streets. A long queue of carts and wagons stretched into the distance, ending near other barges where sentries stood watch over the transfer of cargo.
“This isn’t part of the same migration, is it?” Karuvaki asked.
“I don’t hear any of those criers and their incessant propaganda here,” Mitra’s ears swivelled this way and that.
“It sounds like they’re army supplies,” Kasturi joined Mitra in listening in to the hubbub of the crowd. “Heading east with troops.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean we’re missing our guy,” Girika said.
“Only one way to find out,” Saraca looked around. “What are the chances that the big thing on the hill there is a palace?”
Mitra went over and asked one of the nearby warriors for directions. She lingered for much longer than it should have taken, but the warrior was plainly charmed. The Chaara returned with a pleased expression.
“What did you find out?” Saraca asked.
“Rana Saj Ki’ra is still here,” Mitra answered. “We arrived just in time. He’s leaving to command the army headed east tomorrow morning.”
“Who are they fighting?”
“That would be a foolish question,” the Chaara put on a coy expression. “We already appear as foreigners, but we should not appear to be nosy foreigners, yes?”
“Right.”
None of the entourage’s females wanted to strip down to match the appearance of the locals, so they settled on just keeping their heads down. At the same time, his wives took turns accosting him every time a local drew his gaze. What was the harm in looking, anyway?
“Who did you say we were, in that case?” Karuvaki asked.
“I didn’t claim to be anything,” Mitra answered with a smug look. “Bards are welcome everywhere, so why say anything else? An army on the march would surely appreciate my presence.”
Saraca chuckled at his wife’s confident reply. As far as their mission went, he believed that she was far more valuable for getting around smoothly than everyone else combined, including himself. Aside from Devi, the entourage probably only got in the way.
They made their way up the hill to the fortified complex of wooden structures overlooking the city. A warrior with a Captain’s demeanour stopped them as they neared the palisade gate.
“Declare yourselves,” he said.
“Good evening, my name is Devi. I’m a…”
Devi’s voice trailed off as Saraca stepped forward.
“Saraca,” he told the Captain, “Yuvraj of Gond. I’ve come on behalf of Maharana Amitrakhāda to see his old friend, Goro nar Ki’ra.”
The Captain fell silent for a moment after Saraca’s introduction. His gaze crossed over the Confederacy party before he turned and gestured to the gatehouse. Several warriors emerged and loped over.
“Forgive me,” the Captain said. “I know not who you are. My subordinates will accompany you to a guest house while I check with Rana Saj.”
“Of course,” Saraca replied. “We came without forewarning, after all.”
A handful of warriors brought them into the gate and up a long flight of stairs carved into the hill’s basalt cliffs. They entered another gate and stepped into a lush courtyard ringed by stilted buildings. Thick vines dangled from the dense canopy overhead.
“This way, please,” one of the warriors motioned towards one of the buildings.
The first floor of the guesthouse was a wide open hall that was sparse in decoration, but it did offer a view of the city and lake stretching out beyond it. A long convoy of river barges was already making its way up the Rol’en’gorek. Saraca silently counted the fleet’s numbers, trying to estimate the size of the army.
“How many soldiers per barge, do you think?”
“I’d say around two hundred,” Kasturi said. “They may have more marching overland, but I can’t see anything through the trees.”
He continued counting as more and more transports slowly made their way up the river. Other barges were making their way to the city from the lake. Though it was not an army of his country, Saraca’s blood still stirred at the sight of the purposeful mobilisation.
An hour later, several Baagh warriors entered the building. They were adorned in leather armour fashioned out of charcoal-black basilisk scale. Two pairs of them made their way around the floor before taking up positions at each corner of the hall. The rest lined themselves along the walls.
Once they assumed they settled into place, a three-metre-tall Baagh Lord entered the building, accompanied by four mystics. He, too, was adorned in leather armour, but it was fashioned out of enchanted green dragonscale. The rest of his equipment was similarly enchanted, forming a panoply that would not be out of place for an elite warrior of the Confederacy.
His silver eyes scanned the hall’s occupants before settling on Saraca. His deep voice reverberated off of the walls as he introduced himself.
“I am Rana Saj, Lord of Clan Ki’ra. You have our welcome, esteemed guests from the Beastman Confederacy, and our apologies for the lack of hospitality – we were just on our way out.”
“Thank you for your welcome, Rana Saj,” Saraca replied. “We didn’t mean to impose on you during such a busy time. I am Saraca, son of Amitrakhāda. We came to pay our respects to my father’s friend, Goro.”
“My father is out west in the Draconic Kingdom,” Rana Saj explained. “I’m afraid he won’t be back until the conquest is complete and the new tribes have settled. That aside, I assume you have not travelled a third of the way across the continent just to deliver your greetings?”
Straight to the point. Better than going in polite circles.
“We came because the formation of new tribal confederations is rare,” Saraca told him. “It is a mark of societal development that merits an investigation of your country and its potential as an ally.”
Rana Saj remained silent, appearing to weigh Saraca’s words. Several moments passed before he spoke again.
“In that case, would you like to accompany us on our campaign? I cannot speak for the other castes, but I would at least like the opportunity to properly represent the warrior clans.”
“We would appreciate that,” Saraca nodded. “To be honest, we’ve only been trying to get a feel for this country so far through passive observation. It’s about time we had a deeper look.”
The next morning, they joined Rana Saj aboard his personal river barge, which was not much different from the rest of the army’s vessels save for its covered observation deck. After taking its place in the convoy headed east up the Rol’en’gorek, everyone settled down for a morning meal of freshly slaughtered Nug. Saraca eyed the long procession of vessels steadily making their way between the towering walls of vegetation.
“How long has this mobilisation gone on for?” He asked.
“Four days, now,” Rana Saj answered. “Thirty thousand warriors from Clan Ki’ra alone.”
“…does that mean others are on their way?”
“Others are on their way; others are already there. The dry season marks the time we advance the front and raid the lands of Erelesa. We’re gathering for our big push now.”
Rain incessantly pattered over the deck and into the river around them, creating a cacophony that drowned out the world beyond the railing of the ship. A peal of thunder occasionally filtered down from the overgrown cliffs above. Though it was the dry season, that didn’t mean there was no rain at all. This was especially the case in large jungle areas.
“Do the Jorgulans conduct their counter-offensives during the wet season, then?”
“That’s right,” Rana Saj nodded. “We push during the dry. They, during the wet. We’ve been locked in a stalemate for generations.”
That the Jorgulan Commonwealth attacked during the wet season suggested that their member states were populated by races more suited to muddy or even flooded conditions. It wasn’t ideal for the types of Beastmen that they had seen so far in Rol’en’gorek.
“How wide is the front?”
“Four hundred kilometres. Our army will be gathering at the great mountain fortress of Gor’lior in the northernmost pass of the Jorgulan Frontier.”
If that was the case, the conflict was relatively light. Thirty thousand was what a country normally stationed at a major pass, but a large-scale conflict would have the numbers swell into the hundreds of thousands. The way that the warriors carried themselves also suggested that it was a routine affair.
That wasn’t to say that their efforts were trivial: disruptions in border security could rapidly spiral out of control, inviting full-scale invasions.
“Does the whole of Rol’en’gorek participate on the Jorgulan Front?” Saraca asked.
“They do,” Rana Saj held up a claw in answer. “The warrior clans have two primary duties. First is the defence of their respective territories from border raids by the local wilderness tribes. The second is contributing to the Jorgulan Front.”
“What are casualties like?”
“Light along the southern border. Heavy in the north – especially as one gets further east. What happens on the Jorgulan front is dependent on who participates. Preventing the generation of negative energy pools is also a careful balancing act.”
Pools, eh…I suppose they might be visualised that way in this mountainous terrain.
The accumulation of negative energy was an ever-present concern for anyone pursuing conflict beyond competitive raiding. Many aspects of warfare resulted in a burden on the land. Strife, suffering and death were no exception. If belligerents were careless, accumulated negative energy could overwhelm a battlefield’s capability to counteract it. At a certain point, it would lead to the manifestation of Undead beings. If things became especially bad, the land itself would be corrupted.
No accurate measure for negative energy existed, so it was always a guessing game as to how much fighting one area could see before the phenomena of Undead genesis took root. Certain locales were particularly difficult to manage. Passes were one of the more common culprits. Combatants would be funnelled into a relatively small area and tens of millions could die over time. Eventually, said passes would go from being guarded by armies of staunch warriors to hordes of the Undead.
A simple and commonly-practised answer to the problem was to spread battles out across a theatre. It was the prevailing paradigm of strategic planning around most of the world. Strategists continually calculated the probable extent to which an army could conduct a campaign and carefully chose where they would fight. Major battles would never use the same battlefields if it could be helped. ‘Campaign seasons’ were as much scheduled around the recovery of the land as they were on weather and economic cycles.
“What are the main obstacles to a major breakthrough?” Saraca asked.
“There are three,” Rana Saj answered. “The first comes from seasonal cycles. The latter half of the dry season here is also prime raiding time for all of our tribal neighbours. Maintaining the overall integrity of our borders is the primary concern of the warrior clans, so the majority of our forces are held in reserve. The Jorgulans likely do the same.”
“That sounds straightforward enough,” Saraca nodded. “What are the two others?”
“The second obstacle is the terrain of the Jorgulan Commonwealth. Unlike the valley of Rol’en’gorek, which is mountainous, the Jorgula River’s course runs through a rainforest that’s flooded for the majority of the year. It’s next to unassailable for us.”
“So any ‘successful’ conquest would involve taking their highlands and slowly squeezing them out of their lowland strongholds.”
“That’s the general idea,” Rana Saj said, “but we still haven’t figured out an effective way to do it without putting in a lot of work. In the past, we diverted their rivers and dried out swathes of the lowlands for conquest.”
It would be a colossal engineering project; one next to impossible to complete in the midst of a war that constantly called its soldiers back to defend other frontiers. If they could somehow maintain the front year-round, however, it might be possible to achieve a slow, but steady, advance that way.
“The third obstacle must be ridiculous if you’re saving its mention for last,” Saraca said.
“You might say that,” the Rana’s tone turned dry. “The final obstacle comes in the form of the masters of the Jorgulan Commonwealth.”
“They all have powerful Lords ruling over them?”
“That’s not incorrect, from a certain point of view,” Rana Saj gestured to his equipment. “Green Dragons are the true overlords of Jorgulan Reach.”
“…I think those other two obstacles you mentioned don’t matter as long as you have this last one. Still, you’re lucky that they’re Greens.”
Green Dragons were notorious for their propensity for betrayal, backbiting and generally toxic belligerence. An ‘alliance’ of Green Dragons was likely ninety per cent focused on guarding against every single other Green Dragon while plotting their downfall. The remaining ten per cent would be devoted to having their respective domains participate in a proxy competition for prestige. Rol’en’gorek’s war with the Commonwealth was likely one aspect of this.
“Oh, don’t we know it,” Rana Saj chuckled. “The main objective of our current grand strategy is putting Erelesa in a weak enough position that the other countries in the Commonwealth are tempted into attacking it instead of us. We’ll snap up as much as we can while that happens.”
“Would that work? I’d think that whoever wins Erelesa would just turn around and chase everyone out of their ‘rightful territory’.”
“It’s a strong possibility,” Rana Saj admitted. “Ultimately, it’s a gamble. The best-case scenario is that the first bout of infighting weakens the participants enough that it leads to more infighting. A rival taking serious injuries is an exceedingly rare opportunity that other Green Dragons might seize. A whole chain of fortunate events could lead to their position being eroded enough for us to make permanent gains without taking crippling losses ourselves.”
Strategically, his rationale was sound. Dragons invested little in the world beyond their domains, so the worst that would happen was that Rol’en’gorek would lose the forces holding their positions in Erelesa. Even if it didn’t take years for the Commonwealth to restabilise, semi-aquatic races would have a hard time breaking through the mountainous frontier. Rol’en’gorek had reached a state where overpopulation was becoming a concern, so they could afford the losses.
No, not only is it sound, but it’s the only way forward on this front…
Fighting Dragons was a race against time. The more time passed, the stronger a Dragon became. If too much time passed, they would become too strong to challenge for the vast majority of countries. The Great Lut was effectively a permanent political and economic entity because the Storm Dragon Lord could not be defeated unless another Dragon Lord ousted him or the Cycle dropped some cosmic horror onto his scaly blue head.
That being said, Blue Dragons, while by nature evil, maintained domains that were conducive to orderly and prosperous civilisation. Its probable relationship with its neighbours aside, Stormport’s existence was a benefit to the world at large rather than a detriment. Other types of Dragons, however, could be insufferable and outright destructive.
“How many Dragons can you handle?”
“It depends on how they fight,” Rana Saj scratched his cheek. “Green Dragons aren’t exactly the stupid sort, but if they humoured us by fighting on the ground and staying there, we could kill dozens of Adult Dragons a season. More realistically, we’ve trained Dragonslayer squads with green dragonscale armour and all manner of specialised equipment for fighting Green Dragons. The more Green Dragons we kill, the more squads we can equip to confront them whenever they appear.”
“That’s a fine line to tread,” Saraca said. “There aren’t any older Dragons in Jorgula?”
“If the theories are correct, the worst we should see are Old Dragons.”
“What theory is that?”
“Two hundred years ago,” Rana Saj said, “a great calamity struck these lands. No one was spared – even Dragons.”
“So you’re working with the assumption that any Dragons in existence in the region are less than two hundred years old.”
“That’s right.”
“But as you’ve noted, Green Dragons aren’t stupid. They can just fly away and come back.”
“Well, that’s the other side of the argument, but nothing of what we’ve seen so far suggests that it’s the case. Not a single Dragon that might have aged past Adult has appeared in our history of conflict with Jorgula.”
Saraca hoped that Rana Saj was right, for Rol’en’gorek’s sake. With Rana Dratha’s ongoing conquest of the ‘Draconic Kingdom’ proving their claim to have a Dragon Lord to be a hoax, the citizens of the tribal confederation were unlikely to humour any suppositions about powerful Dragons lurking about without hard evidence. It would be too late for them if they actually provoked one.
“Speaking of powerful Dragons,” Saraca said. “How do you feel about Rana Dratha’s campaign in the west?”
“I think our world will change if he succeeds,” Rana Saj replied.
“Are those your own thoughts,” Saraca asked, “or those of Rana Dratha? We’ve encountered criers aplenty on the way to your city making hope-filled declarations.”
Rana Saj set down his wooden cup. His claws tapped against his armrest as he gave Saraca a long look.
“I know that we may seem primitive compared to your Confederacy, Saraca of Gond. The gods know how much my father goes on about it in his praises of your civilisation. But we are not ignorant of our plight. By conquering the Draconic Kingdom, we will gain access to the sea. With ports of our own, we will be able to throw off much of our dependency on Stormport. Our expansion will support more warrior clans, which will tip the balance of our war with the Commonwealth in our favour. The conquest of the west is the key to our destiny.”
Comments
Seri
Saracas tactics sounds like how ludmilla conducts her battles
RedFaux
If he succeeds. Ha. Man, a world without instant communication can be weird. The man's campaign has been basically defeated for weeks. Thanks for the chapter btw!
