Across the ocean Book 1: On the run

Chapter Eleven : A Relative Named Soren

It took them another two days before they could reach the city, and still they had one last night to spend outside for the gates were certainly close if an agglomeration of tents waited outside near the road. For a Sunday evening, it was a most peculiar one to say the least due to two Orcs. One was named Thoragamon, and of all the paths he could have taken, his was of the wandering priest of the Kastosian's Church. The other was Ossacar and claimed to be the older brother of Thoragamon. Everyone seated in a wide circle around the bone fire, all humans without exception, made it such a strange service.

Thoragamon's sermon was a testimony of how he had come to trust in the God of the Kastosians on a dreadful night when a child of a noble family had been kidnapped. He had prayed to every god he knew but claimed only this one had answered his desperate plea to find the poor girl before even a ransom could be demanded from her parents. He then proceeded to show his scars on the olive-green skin of his shoulder, wounds he had received in exchange of rescuing the poor girl. Many details of the story made it clear that Thoragamon had not been a pure altruistic man, that there were clear incentives to succeed in retrieving the hostage. Still, Mayen was shocked to listen to the story of an Orc who did not brag about himself as stories often portrayed them, but who spoke as if he had been any other priest.

When Ossacar came and sat next to the two wayside peasants, it was to offer each of them a bowl of oatmeal. Before this evening, Mayen would have projected himself being served by a scantily dressed tavern wrench before even conceiving of an Orc—someone with two big teeth jutting out from the lower jaw—serving him food with a smile—a smile which still had two big teeth. It was not that Mayen thought he would one day see scantily dressed serving girls in a questionable place where people got drunk, but stories had depicted such scenes. Had there ever been a story he heard where there was an Orc priest and another who gave two Kastosian travellers food? None. The shock alone engraved the names of Thoragamon and Ossacar in his memory.

That night, Mulette once more slept with them both for the trip so far had forced them to bet used to her presence more than they had anticipated the day before they left Gimvault.

In the morning, the sound of bells informed those who waited outside of the opening of the gates. With daylight, though still shy at such an early hour, Mayen had finally a better sight of Mildoyest's walls and fortifications. Stone and mortar gave an impression of being more physically present within reality, than the now simple in comparison wooden wall protecting Gimvault. Entire sections had hoardings built out of timber. Towers with loopholes at strategic locations, though seemingly random for one such as him who knew nothing about architecture, and even less so for war purposes.

Mulette was a bit grumpy this morning which made leading her by a leash much more difficult. She, before both of her temporary owners, could smell the unclean water which filled the trench around the walls. Although sewers did exist, hygiene alone could not provide strong enough arguments to change some quite effective strategies, and filthy water was a good way to prevent sappers from breaching a wall. Of course, enemies could simply just decide to dig a tunnel and go deep enough underground to vertically go around the wet moat and lay some explosive kegs to make the walls crumble, or simply to resurface within enemy territory and strike.

What Mayen directed his father's attention at was a deep and wide trench where water could be found, but one which warned not to swim in it. Wet moats were used to prevent enemies from reaching the walls of a fortified place, but should the water in it be drinkable, then it would only be a matter of time before the besiegers would outlast the besieged in vital supply. Throughout its history, the Kastosian Empire had had many occasions to perfect their tactics in both attacking and defending fortified locations. Of course, people living together were no more attracted by the idea of living with the stench of sewage as those living in smaller settlements, so the primary source of dissuasiveness against drinking was not in the dumping of excrements. No, what warned people from drinking it was in the stagnancy of its surface and the recognizable odour of algae.