Fighting Them There

###Fighting Them There: Chapter Twenty-Six###

###Fighting Them There: Chapter Twenty-Six###

Originally the grounds where multiple tribes came together at season changes for trade, High Market had grown into one of the largest cities on Nurn. According to the promotional materials they'd been given, it had become a permanent settlement centuries ago as the caravans became large enough to justify year-round occupation and had become enlarged in size and importance several times. At this point it was the location of the continent's most significant rail hub, stock exchange, and deliberative bodies. The fourth train station on the planet was built in High Market, and it had been expanded several times. The city had experienced several major changes over the centuries, but its increasing importance since Earth contact had caused it to swell by an order of magnitude. Most of the buildings had been built in the last thirty years, and access to power, water, and sanitation was nothing like uniform. Some of the neighborhoods and shanty towns were places that off-worlders were strongly encouraged to avoid, as much because the local authorities found them a source of embarrassment as to be truly unsafe. Max doubted there were a lot of places on any planet that a group of hunters would actually be endangered by the local criminals.

Perhaps the most important, and certainly most famous part of High Market was the titular market. A vast flagstoned parade grounds that hosted merchants both local and from all over the world. Some had their goods in carts or stalls, some had them laid out on the ground or held on their own bodies. It was like a flea market or a holiday market, or perhaps a county fair. And it was in continuous operation whether the sun was in the sky or not. There were clock marks when the market was busier, but it truly never closed. Any merchant who packed up and left would soon be replaced with another. If there was any grid that vendors were supposed to adhere to, they did not do so very well. The market was a maze, a circus of sights and sounds - and smells that were completely new to all the off-worlders, and even quite unfamiliar to Ulzhari. "Market piers in Bladereach are... different. Smaller." Was all she'd said about the subject when she pled helplessness in navigating them through the market.

A group of armed hunters was reasonably safe from molestation by criminals on every planet, but they'd been advised to keep a close eye on the contents of their pockets. Especially around women. As female thieves weren't executed,pickpocketwas a very gendered occupation in High Market. Of course, even without resorting to theft, many of the merchants assumed that Max and his associates had money they could be parted with, and so buskers and callers shouted at them hawking goods and services using words that Max understood only as intent to sell. Exactlywhatthey were selling, he hadn't a clue. A merchant gestured at a woman and shouted, but was he attempting to sell her jacket? Her hat? The bag she was carrying? Perhaps even the woman herself? He trusted that Ulzhari would know, but he couldn't ask her to translate every utterance. Max looked at arrays of tools and toys that he couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of, his ears blistering from the incomprehensible bellowing intended to urge him to purchase.

They were correct in a sense. Max did have money in his pocket that was valid in High Market, and he intended to spend some of it. If he went to a distant planet and came back withoutsomekind of souvenir for Michelle and his parents, he might literally be disowned. Picking something out was difficult. His personal luggage was limited by both volume and mass, so any of the larger items were right out. Restrictions on invasive species were quite strict, so no living things could be brought across without permits Max could not hope to acquire before it was time to leave. And he had to go back through Camp Acheron, meaning that he couldn't take anything that was made out of bones. That last caveat was a bigger issue than he'd thought it would be, as many objects incorporated carved bones and teeth as part of their decorations. Some of them were carved enough that they didn't look like bones at all, but if a jacket had white beads on it that were some kind of ivory rather than clay, it would be confiscated before he was allowed to leave the planet.

Reflecting that he'd need to have a discussion with Ulzhari about what a reasonable set of souvenirs might be and how much they should cost, Max accepted that his quest for presents would likely have to wait for another day. That left his trip to the market a sightseeing expedition, but also a music hearing expedition and ultimately a food finding expedition as well. Practically a town's size by itself, the market area had its own food courts, drinking establishments, and music venues. Some of these were combined. He thought about what an outdoor fair would have where he was from, and was disappointed by the lack of chili. Max would expect the waft of spices along with the sear of meats. The smells coming to his nose were much simpler than that. Open fires were scorching sugared pastries and chunks of meat. Tempting in its way, but he suspected that he'd go mad if he had to live there and never got any peppers.

Flame roasted meat was on the menu, and then it was in their hands. The original animal was doubtlessly some alien thing, but it turned out that chunks of meat roasted on a skewer was a galactic constant. Again, he would have expected that the meat be soaked in a spiced marinade, but it was still delicious despite being tough and bland compared to what he was used to.

They were able to share a table with seats high enough that Max's feet didn't touch the ground. While they ate, they watched a performance of dance and music. It was chaotic and probably not at the level that one might expect at one of the major venues that the city supported. The musicians beat their drums and plucked the strings of their instruments that were neither guitars nor banjos. The dancers shook and stomped, and sometimes members of the audience would join in and stomp around like Tokyo had offended them once again. It wasn't as expensive looking as the dinner hosted by the Blood Fang Clan, but it was fun. Many suggested that Max or Ulzhari go dance, but neither wanted that kind of attention.

When the meat was finished, they got pastries. They turned out to be much like cinnamon rolls, only without the cinnamon. They were greasy and sweet, and that made them delicious on any planet, cinnamon or no. Roll in hand, Max put his other arm around Ulzhari's shoulder and pulled her ear toward him. "You should get a rope while we're here," he told her, "something that I can tie you up with. Something that I can suspend your arms above your head with." He gave her ear a nibble. "You'll need to get your training in tonight, and I have some ways I want to advance your binding seal." She oinked in nervous anticipation. Later on, when they found some cords made out of a kelp-like material, Ulzhari bought them. Items to take home would have to be found on another trip to the market.

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The streets of High Market were an eclectic mix of paving theories, incorporating dirt trails and concrete and many other materials besides. The technological know how to make streets that Max was familiar with had made its way to Nurn, but the resources to fully modernize all the streets in any kind of hurry did not exist. Fortunately, the carriage he was in had quite a bit of work put into its suspension. He imagined that it was probably rated for quite a bit more weight than his party. Well more than the half of his party that was in it with him. "Apparently Peppa Grinda and Sidewinder Kate released a single together." He said it to the carriage as a whole, but he was mostly relaying this information to Fiona, because the Vietnamese American kept in touch with Monique, AKA Peppa Grinda, AKA slave Fifi. Also, she was seated on his lap due to limited carriage space.

"Oh yes," she said, as if it was news both good and old, "Slave Fifi told me. It's calledCrawl 4 U, and the video is intended to entice you to train them... thoroughly... when you're next on Earth." The words would have been plenty suggestive just in an email, but she made absolutely sure that he didn't miss any of the innuendo. A little rub of her butt into his lap was unnecessary, but welcomed by his dick all the same. He honestly wasn't sure whether he was looking forward to seeing the video or not. They could watch it on their phones, he supposed. Somehow he suspected that it was intended to be watched on a larger screen, which would have to wait until they got back to Camp Acheron.

It made him feel guilty. He had enjoyed their live concerts well enough, but he couldn't pretend that they were really his kind of music. He preferred light metal like Ostemperon, Issyk, or even Wyvern Tears. Many metal fans pretended to be above liking Wyvern Tears, and Max was not among them. Monique and Katherine had decided to go all slave mode and make a song just for him, and he didn't know what to do. He was almost certainly going to watch it and be like 'yeah, that's alright,' and what the hell kind of response wasthatfor such a gesture? It filled him with apprehension, so he did his best to push it from his mind.

Ensconced in what passed for luxurious transport on Nurn, the journey back to the Blood Fang Clan estate was a comfortable one. They were arriving earlier than they had previously, so they were able to see the building and the gardens in the reddish light of the evening sun. The estate had gardens surrounded by a wall, and had seemed more vast and imposing at night. Hedges and bushes lined pebbled paths with trees arranged at strategic intervals. There was no lawn to be seen, which was incongruous with how the rest of the garden felt. The building looked like a McMansion from Back East, and in their original context such buildings almost always incorporated areas with green grass cover whether that made sense in the local climate or not. It was a signifier of wealth, and it was also proof that the estate had been designed and built in the last thirty years. Max wasn't an expert on orcish architecture from before the Great Alignment, but he knew it didn't look like the eclectic mix of Earth periods favored by Americans with more money than taste.

Their carriages pulled up to a circular area framing the front door. Technically they only needed Max and Kwrtzl for the mission, but he wanted everyone present and no one wanted to be left behind. That was why they'd had to come in two carriages, and if they had been a less friendly group they'd have needed three. A herald met them when the carriage door opened. Once he'd been handed the guest list that custom demanded, he strode purposefully into the house to announce their arrival. It was then permitted for Max and his companions to file up the grand stairs to the entranceway. Max hoped they had wheelchair accessibility somewhere, because the front entrance was built to be imposing rather than practical.

The foyer was a very different place bathed in the red natural light of the windows rather than illuminated with a hodgepodge of electric lights and fires. It seemed healthier, but also more sinister, at least to Max. He doubted that orcs felt that a room bathed in a red glow from sunlight felt sinister at all. The matron came to meet him with an honor guard of four men armed with poleaxes. There were elaborate rules of etiquette that governed how many armed men was permitted or demanded for a member of clan leadership to be accompanied by. As Max understood such things, the woman was probably part of her own harem, and he wondered why he was negotiating with just her and not her husband or any of his other harem-wives. It wasn't a question that he thought he could ask politely, so he figured that he'd just go on not knowing.

Three other clan representatives had come to the meeting, though each of them was accompanied by three men with prominent weapons. Fog Hunters, Iron Claws, Hammer Shells. It seemed that he hadn't made a good impression on the Burrow Beetles or Lamplighters. Or perhaps they had no armory of captured invader equipment to debate handing over to Kwrtzl for evaluation. From what he gathered, those clans had moved up in the worlds very recently, so it was entirely possible that they had nothing that merited such evaluation. Max hoped that many more clans would find ways to wealth that had nothing to do with fighting monsters.

A scarred and weary looking man represented the Fog Hunters, and he groinked out some words that set faces to scowls. Max couldn't understand any of the words, but from Ulzhari's expression he suspected some of the words to have been somewhat rude. One of his armed men kind of translated to English. "We spill blood. Get thing Invaders. Now you give thing. Give thing Invaders. Bad." Max had to admit that it was a pretty good argument.

"Quirky isn't an invader anymore," Max said as diplomatically as he could, "she works for me." The reactions he got were mixed, even after some translation had smoothed it over.

The matron of the estate clapped her hands. She spoke first in a local language, and only when the visiting clans had started shuffling did she repeat an abbreviated version in English. "Invader equipment in study room. We meet there." Her English wasn't polished, but she managed to be elegant and imperious all the same.

While the foyer had great windows to collect natural light from the sun, the study room had no windows at all. Every wall was internal, not even a fireplace to connect to the outside world. This was a place for secrets, where things could be read and discussed without exposure to prying eyes and careless tongues. Light came from glass orbs containing brilliant filaments. These light globes were surprisingly warm and the light they cast was rich and orange. They were much more similar to torches than the white LEDs that illuminated Camp Acheron or his own family home.

Most importantly of all, there were chests. Great iron-bound trunks that looked like they had been old since before Max was young. Whether their age was to be measured in decades or centuries, Max had no way of knowing. One by one the chests were opened with resounding ka-chunk sounds as the bolts were withdrawn and the latches disengaged. What was inside were the trophies of hundreds of battles. Generations of invasions of Nurn, repulsed at times at horrendous cost, had left corpses and equipment on battlefields across the planet. In many cases, the Blood Fang Clan had been there to lay claim to trophies based on the honor of their contributions or their strength in the aftermath. Many orcs had strong opinions about whether this or that treasure should properly belong to one clan or another. Many thought that various treasures belonged to the people of an area who had been devastated by a dungeon break. Max didn't know enough about the cultures or the history involved to have an informed opinion, so he tried to have no opinion at all. On the other hand, he was hoping that he would be able to put some to actual use in battle, which seemed a higher calling to him than sitting in iron-bound trunks to be gloated over by prestigious families.

The first thing that became apparent was that many of the items had no pretense of being dungeon equipment at all. Some were just body parts that had been mummified or in some other way preserved. Trophies in the big game hunting sense, Max supposed. Knowing that a dried ear or severed hand had come from a Tartarian or Jotunheimer didn't make it better. They wereenemies, but they were stillpeople. Turning their bodies into trophies to brag about wasn't a lot better than what some of the invaders did to the corpses of their victims. It was troubling from a moral standpoint, but also Max wasn't there to litigate the moral choices of orcish planetary defenders from centuries past. He supposed that in the ages before photographs,provingthat monsters from a dungeon break had been dealt with was a more hands-on task.

Even the stuff that looked like it could plausibly be dungeon equipment, a lot of it wasn't. It seemed that invaders had armor and weapons, as well as jewelry, that hadn't come from dungeon chests. The Alliance dungeon raiders didn't have that option, but of course the monsters obviously did. Some items were works of art in their own right that had presumably been crafted by an artisan on a Nemesis world rather than gifted by the Ancients. Max could see why some of them were chosen, the current practices of analyzing everything from dungeon breaks for hyperspectral anomalies had only been standardized a few years before, and some of the items justlookedlike they were magic. The Blood Fang matron was expectedly disappointed when a gauntlet that was gilt and gem encrusted was dismissed by Kwrtzl as fake.

But some of the goods... were pretty good. The clan had been keen on collecting weapons, the items most readily identifiable as dungeon equipment. Also the items most likely to be given by dungeon chests if one was to open one without any equipment. Generations of invaders and most of their "conquerors" had magic weapons, it was no wonder that the Blood Fang Clan had collected a lot of them. Not nearly as many magical casting implements, which Max chalked up to them being harder to recognize as important. Many a wand looked like nothing so much as a plain old stick, and could easily end up in a landfill alongside magical belts and boots. Most of the weapons were things that probably came out of iron, brass, or even lead sigiled chests. With the way the Space Force made sure that silver sigil weapons remained available, such weapons were useless to Max's party. There was a ranseur that seemed to be made of yellow brass, and it was very strong. It became more powerful as it inflicted damage on enemies, and it became more powerful as the user took damage. Kwrtzl described the weapon as being essentiallyjealous, whatever that meant. Three blades, with the ones on either side bent forward as two halves of a crescent moon and the middle a double-edged spear tip. All implausibly sharp for an object that had apparently been in storage for generations. Functional as a weapon, if quite heavy for a human hand. Quite heavy even fortwohuman hands. The brass was quite a bit denser than steel, and the pole of the polearm was metal all the way along its length. If they were to use it in battle, Chloe would want to wield it in one hand so that she could continue using her shield in the other. Initial testing showed that she did have the physical strength to use it effectively, a reminder that she benefited from Max's seals and her physical strength was magically enhanced even relative to other D-tier defenders.

"Obviously," Max told the assembled orcs, "we need to test this one."

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The most important test unfortunately required the use of the bathroom. The toilet was large and made of heavy glazed clay and thick metal fittings, but it seemed like a normal Earth toilet. It didn't have low and high flush levers, but it worked pretty much exactly the way Max expected a flush toilet to. Toilets hadn't changed that much on Earth over the previous couple centuries, and the ones on Nurn seemed to be being brought to Earth standards much faster than the lighting and heat.

They needed it because they needed to confirm that Chloe could actually take it with her when she went into the dungeon. For most that would mean touching a column at the Camp Acheron dungeon gate and hoping for the best, but Max could test it in relative safety by putting Chloe in storage while she was holding it. Showing the process to the clans might convince them of the possibility, but it would also show them the contents of Chloe's stomach when she vanished. Somehow, Max didn't think that would go over well, which was why they did it over the toilet.