The Wandering Inn_Volume 1, page 619
Her eyes travelled down. Headscratcher was very naked. Erin raised her voice.
“Drassi? Go into the city and buy some pants, would you? I think the Goblins need extra pairs. Their loincloths are, um, bloodstained.”
“What? Pan—”
Drassi poked her head out of the kitchen and stared before screaming. Headscratcher shuffled down the trapdoor, looking very embarrassed. Erin turned away and heard the trap door open and close. She hesitated, and then went into the kitchen to calm Drassi.
When that was over, Erin laughed to herself. Silly Goblins. For some reason that reassured her. If you could be silly, if you could be embarrassed, you weren’t a monster, right? You were only a monster if people called you that.
Her eyes travelled back across her empty room. Yes, the word had spread. Now everyone in both cities knew. She had Goblins. Erin laughed. So what? They weren’t evil, she was sure.
And this time, Erin swore, she’d treat them better. As Drassi hurried out of the inn, Erin found the sign that had been buried all winter in the snow. She eyed it, dug it out of the frozen ground after much swearing, and replanted it. Right in front of her inn, by the door. For the world to see.
“This is my inn. Mine.”
Erin spoke to the warming world, into the darkness. She rested a hand on the cold wood. Yes, this was who she was. What her inn was.
The Wandering Inn. It had one rule. No killing Goblins. Erin smiled to herself. Yes. This time she’d do it right. She’d be better. And show them—show everyone—there were some Goblins who weren’t evil.
She turned and froze. Headscratcher, Badarrow, and Shorthilt all froze as they crept through the snow. They were all naked, and all, apparently, in dire need of the outhouse. She stared, and then shouted.
“Put some pants on!”
4.35 E
Day 72
In this world, the main method of transportation between settlements is with wagons. True, you could argue that Runners and magic play their own roles, but the price for such deliveries is usually out of reach for the common villager. They might be able to afford a letter in a bulk delivery or a trinket to send to a loved one or relative, but as regular, reliable transportation? Never.
Indeed, you could say that Runners are by and large more useful for their discretion and ability to deliver messages and items without fear of interception. The best Runners in the world deliver for [Lords] and [Kings], after all. Whereas magic trivializes the issue of sending letters between two [Mages]—but at a higher cost. Accordingly, sending a small package instantly from one spot to a point across the world is possible, but the cost is beyond prohibitive.
So wagons rule, at least for bulk deliveries. Or, at least, they would if bags of holding hadn’t been invented. Give a Runner one of those and they can deliver goods faster and more reliably than a caravan. So extremely rich cities with powerful Runner’s Guilds like Invrisil can actually out-muscle the local Merchant’s Guild. But bags of holding are very expensive, so wagons rule in low-income areas with less substantial urban development.
The point I’m making with all of this is that wagons are important, so roads are important. Keeping a road maintained and free of monsters or bandits is crucial to a small town or village’s survival. The problem is that the said bandits and monsters know it.
The Goblin raiding force hit the caravan of [Traders] just past dawn. They streamed out of a cave where they had been lurking for the last few hours or so and charged down the hill towards the wagons and armed guards. The Humans, lone Gnoll and two half-Elves screamed and tried to form a circle with the wagons, but the Goblins were too quick.
The raiding force met the few caravan guards hard, killing two of the armed warriors in the first clash. Three Hobs lead the lesser Goblins, smashing aside warriors. The [Traders] fought back with their guards, but they were outmatched. They hadn’t brought enough guards for a long trip; they’d trusted to speed to get them from one town to another. They could make the journey in an hour or two. Less, with Skills.
But that window was all the time the Goblins needed. They only needed ten minutes, in fact. Away from any kind of large militia or the walls of a city, they could raid and be gone too quick for pursuit. And the [Traders] could hardly afford Silver-rank teams to protect them, could they? And if they could…three Hobs were more than a match for a single team.
A flawless strategy. Or rather, it had been flawless until now. Because despite all their preparations, the way the Goblins had carefully snuck into the cave through a back entrance and their [Stalkers] had crept along the road, out of view, they had still been seen. And preparation was everything.
“Are we too late to save the caravan?”
I’m miles away from the stretch of road, too far away to see the desperate fighting among the wagons or the way the blood mixes with the mud and snow on the ground. Too far to see with my eyes, that is. But my [Emperor] senses can see the Goblins—thirty or so—pushing forwards, shouting wordlessly. And I can also sense the second force, not [Traders] or Goblins, approaching at speed out of the woods.
In the silence of my mind, I can see a figure racing ahead of the group, see him put a horn to his lips and blow. There is no sound in the vision in my head, but I can see the Goblins turning, reacting to the horn call. I smile. Hello, Goblins. Allow me to introduce myself.
I’m Laken. An [Emperor], ruler of Riverfarm, Protector of Durene’s Cottage, and now sovereign lord of Windrest, Tunslaven, Kiquel, and the surrounding areas. Some call my territory the Unseen Empire, but I think that’s a bit too arrogant. Anyways, I may be blind, but I saw you coming. And this is my army.
The Goblins brought thirty, so I sent sixty. Simple math and it’s pretty much our entire force, so I don’t feel worried about leaving people behind. Not that there’s much danger; I can sense any threat coming and react accordingly. Like this. And my army has fought Goblins before.
This is how it goes down. The Goblins are still reacting, still turning to see the force of armed warriors on foot racing out of the woods when Beniar’s [Cavalry], [Riders], and lone [Cataphract] crash into them from the side. They actually take down one of the Hobs in the first clash; a lance straight through the armpit. I wince as I sit in Prost’s house. Nasty.
The riders fight for a second and the Goblins, used to battle, turn on them, trying to swarm the riders off the mounts. But Beniar’s already pulling back, circling for another charge. He’s timed it well or Wiskeria has; the infantry crash into the other side of the Goblins in tight formation. Leading the charge is a tall half-Troll I watch with anxiety and pride alike.
Durene. She’s still not wearing armor because none fits her, and her club’s still made of wood, but her shield is better than the old door she used to use. She shouts a word as she leads the assault on the Goblins’ rear. I sense her body begin to glow and Goblins shrinking back, shouting wordlessly.
Now, what would she be shouting? Probably the Skill. [Radiant Courage]! Durene’s body is shining with light, but the glow doesn’t bother the soldiers around her. They charge, shields raised, into the Goblins and reap the benefits of their enemy’s sudden blindness. Durene smashes two Goblins with her club like a hammer. Her Skill is devastating in group fights like this, where she can blind her enemies while keeping her allies safe. Now Durene charges forwards at the closest Hob.
He’s dangerous. This Hob has a battleaxe and he turns, the sharp blade dripping with blood, towards Durene. And he seems less affected by the light she emits. He lashes out with his axe and she raises her shield. I see Durene shouting again. Now her shield glows. The Goblins and Hob around Durene stumble back as a wall blocks them from swarming my beloved [Paladin]. Durene grits her teeth. I see her plant her feet in the mud, raise her shield and shove. Goblins go flying through the air and the Hob stumbles back.
[Shield of Valor]. It’s a Skill that [Knights] and other classes learn; a powerful tool for holding back the enemy or, it seems, creating an opening. The Hob loses his footing and Durene capitalizes on it. She swings her club up and down—
I shift my vision away, although part of me sees the splatter. The battle’s over. The remaining Hob is smart enough to try to run, but he and the Goblins are boxed in now by their greed. Beniar runs down stragglers and the soldiers finish off the remaining Goblins, fighting defensively, wearing out their opponents rather than taking a risk. That’s thanks to their leader, who calmly sits atop a horse from the back and blasts the Hob with small jolts of lightning until she—the Hob is female—drops with two swords in her belly.
It’s over. I see Durene turning, wiping sweat with one hand as she rests her club against a wagon and the frightened [Traders] rushing towards my little army, waving their hands, shouting their relief no doubt. There’s no need to watch the rest; Wiskeria knows what to do.
I probably didn’t need to watch after the second Hob went down, in point of fact. But I do worry. Whenever Durene fights I can’t help but watch over her. That and make sure each battle is one stacked as heavily in her favor as possible.
That’s all I can do. I sigh, and get up from the table I’m sitting at. It takes me a moment to center myself. Suddenly I’m not on the muddy road, but many, many miles east of there. I’m standing in Prost’s house in a village known as Riverfarm, and I can hear the shouts and voices of countless people in the distance around me.
“That went well.”
Slowly, I make my way towards the door and pause with my hand on the doorknob. I wait, and then open it slowly. Outside, I sense a man turning towards me and nod.
“Mister Prost? The battle is over.”
“Over? That’s quick, your majesty!”
“Yes, well, the Goblins attacked a bit sooner than Wiskeria thought. We were almost too late getting into position so there were a few casualties among the caravan. However, no one else died.”
Prost’s sigh of relief is huge. I nod towards him as I step out into the street. My feet slip a bit and Prost catches me before I can slip onto the ground. I steady myself and thank him as he lets go quickly. It wouldn’t do for an [Emperor] to fall on his face now, would it?
Even though I can sense mud and other debris underfoot, I can’t always predict what will happen. Plus, I’m bad about watching where I step when I use my [Emperor] senses. For a blind man, there’s probably nothing more ironic.
“Thank you, Prost. Please let everyone know what’s happened. I’m sure Tessia will be relieved to know Gamel’s alright.”
“I will let her know directly, your majesty. Do you believe the caravan will continue onwards?”
I pause for a moment and cast my senses east again.
“I believe so. Yes, the wagons are already moving. Sensible of Wiskeria. They’ll get to Trottvisk within the hour, I think. Which will help immensely when we begin our negotiations with them.”
“I should imagine so, sire.”
Prost steps with me out of the muddy street, and I frown as I notice how much snow’s already melted. Not that we get as much snow as some places on the continent, but it certainly makes for bad footing. There’s mud everywhere, but ahead of me the ground feels…firmer for some reason. I frown as I try to make out what I’m sensing. Not dirt, but something else. Wood? What is it?
“I know we agreed that you should be the one to talk with them, Prost, but perhaps we should leave that to Wiskeria? I could alert her with a [Message] spell and I really can’t afford for you to go even for a day. We have so much to do—and I’m adding a paved street to our lists. This mud is too dangerous, and the last thing we need is for someone to slip and break something.”
I can sense the man nodding. My [Steward] leads me onto a dryer patch of ground. Oh! Sawdust! That’s what I was sensing. How sensible, and so much easier than digging up the entire street. Prost’s ahead of me as usual.
“Yes, sire. I will make plans directly—we have a good deal of stone from the quarry we’ve set up, and I’m sure one of our [Diggers] has a stone-related skill. If not, there’s always mallets…but on the topic of sending someone to Trottvisk, your majesty, wouldn’t it be more appropriate for them to come to you?”
I pause and rub my chin.
“Perhaps. But I’d like to talk with them sooner rather than later. We could use a steady supply of goods, and if we wait for them to make the first move—”
Prost coughs gently and I break off. It’s interesting how we’ve developed a system already. He would never interrupt his own [Emperor], and yet, he does just that by coughing or making some other sound when I’m being an idiot. So I wait and let him speak.
“I think, sire, that it would be simplest to send a messenger requesting them to come here. You are an [Emperor], your majesty.”
“I—do you think they’d really come?”
“Certainly. [Lords] and [Ladies] do the same, and it would spare us having to send a party ourselves…”
“…And we get to negotiate on our own ground. Excellent idea, Prost.”
“I’ll see to it at once, your majesty.”
“Good. Now, we’ve now expanded the totems to the roads between Trottvisk and Acran, but I’m still not sure about our northern borders. Obviously we don’t want to annex other villages, but can you have someone replant the markers down the…oh, the forked road just past Kiquel?”
I scratch my head.
“I can’t tell what’s at the crossroads there and it’s making me uneasy. And I know Jelov’s overworked, but I could really use another marker around that pond we found north of here. It gets fuzzy if they’re too far apart, and I could swear something is living down there…”
Prost follows along as I walk and talk. Around me, people call out, waving, speaking my name. Houses are going up, men and women are carrying wood and stone to new foundations, and in the distance, a group of [Farmers] is breaking new ground for fields. They want to plant now, and spring is only a month or so away by their reckoning.
I take it all in, part of me still amazed everything is happening. This is my empire. And it’s growing. Three villages are already pledged to me including Riverfarm, and we’re building new houses as fast as we can to keep everyone under a roof. And if a town decides to join, well—
I’m lucky I like to stay busy.
Day 73
There is a dignity to being an [Emperor], but naturally that dignity is compromised according to each situation. I’m aware of the sins of hubris, and so I try to tell people that I’m as much of a man as I am a leader. With that said, I know the people of my village cherish my reputation, so I try to be dignified as well.
It’s debatable how well I do. For instance, I still live in Durene’s cottage because I love it there, and Durene and I need…special time now and then. The village is not a good place for privacy. Everyone wants to live near me, and though Kiquel and Tunslaven are still standing, people keep coming here. Because they feel safe.
I’m going to have to do something about that. I’ve already made plans with Prost to expand both villages when we have time. There are good pastures in Kiquel and Tunslaven is too nice to abandon. However, it might be that Riverfarm eventually gets so big that both of the other villages become districts that are only a stone’s throw away from the main empire. Now that’s an intimidating thought.
Nevertheless, where was I? Intimacy. Right. Prost goes over every architectural decision with me and since I have a view of my entire kingdom in my head, I can organize the upcoming houses, fields, barns and so on in a very efficient manner. I can also make it so that no new expansions are being built in the direction of Durene’s cottage. That can stay as it is, thanks.
And yet, in public it’s still on me to preserve my image as an [Emperor]. I can’t walk around inspecting spots forever; I need a throne. Everyone says so, from Durene to Wiskeria to Gamel. Beniar doesn’t, but he thinks I should have a chariot. I was against a throne since I want to be active, but we all found an…unusual compromise.
“Good morning, Emperor Laken!”
“Good day, sire!”
“Hello, Cinney. Good morning Siccy. Why is there an egg in your pockets?”
The young boy turns guiltily to me as I move through the village on my throne. He shuffles and clears his throat.
“It’s a snack, sire! My ma boiled it and I was going to eat it, but I forgot—I’m sorry.”
I smile at him.
“Ah. I see. Never mind then, I was just curious. Your mother’s quite smart—boiled eggs are a favorite snack of mine.”
“I’ll tell her you said so!”
Siccy’s bright voice makes me smile as I ride on. I can sense him watching me as I continue sitting on my throne. Yes, it’s certainly impressive. Eye-catching? Most definitely. Comfortable…not exactly.
I shift, and my ‘throne’ grunts a bit. It plods down the street and the villagers give it a respectful distance, but they’re used to the Mossbear enough by now to call out greetings to me as I pass by. One daring girl even offers my mobile throne a piece of dried jerky, giggling as it snuffs and licks her fingers. Her father scolds her for getting in my way, and I smile and wave.
Yeah. I ride the Mossbear around from time to time. It’s…regal? I’d grant that it’s impressive, but I personally feel like I’m in some kind of satire of a certain world leader each time I sit on the Mossbear. At least my bear is docile; I’d hate to try and ride him when he’s running about.
It’s thanks to my [Beast Tamer] class that I can have a bear as a throne, anyways. Or maybe my [Emperor] class and my [Beast Tamer] class? I can’t help but feel like a Level 9 [Beast Tamer] is a bit too low-level to have forged a bond with a bear already. But hey, what do I know? And speaking of animals with bonds—
“Frostwing!”
I raise my arm and call out. I sense a shape diving towards my arm and I’m glad Frostwing decides to land on the leather armguard rather than my shoulder this time. The large and, apparently, blue bird preens herself as I stroke her head.
“You’re learning to fly really well, aren’t you? Good job! Maybe now you’ll be able to feed yourself, rather than gobble meat all day. Would you like that? I can tell you’re going to poop now. Don’t do it on me, please, or the bear.”
