Chương 165: BECMI Chapter 164 – Over Roads, Past the Dales, as We Head for the Bleaklands Trails…

There was only one main trade route coming into Zanzyr. It came up from Absoglor in Federyn, a fairly perilous overland trail through the Bleaklands regularly raided by the nifloid races of orcs, goblins, hobgoblins, gnolls, trolls, and ogres who lived in the area. Too uncivilized, violent, and dull-witted to build themselves up or trade, the road was still highly traveled and actually fairly well-defended by magic, caravans, and patrols from both Federyn and Zanzyr riding up and down the length of the route.

The nifloids attacked, took their tolls in blood and theft, and retreated, like a violently imposed tax on the mercantile traffic there. The caravan road paralleled the River Wynxais, a broad and deep body of water that basically drained all the rivers from the mountain valleys that comprised Zanzyr and sent it all down south through the middle of the Bleaklands.

One would think that such a river would be the foundation for living in the Bleaklands, but the river was basically carving through stone, and the water didn't get up over the stone and to making viable earth for farming, agriculture, or much growing stuff at all.

The locals did do some fishing on the river, but were happy to raid one another for any pretext, and so villages and fishing outposts were always very temporary things that were invaded if the next hungry tribe that came along that was just a little bit bigger… The Principality of Erendyl had the unique love/hate relationship of being the only Principality that was literally right up against the southern Bleaklands, and the trade route that ran right along the river was on the wrong side, in Colorajo territory.

When the fair-skinned Sidhe elves had split from the darker-skinned flamenco elves from the south, the river Wynxias had become the border, and the Colorajo had been able to keep the northern side, the caravan traffic coming from the south, and the trade village of Tantrin, along with Fort Montenegra that guarded it.

However, they were hot-blooded idiots, and never actually developed the caravan stop to the point that they should have, choosing instead to make it more a fortified point against invaders coming from the Bleaklands, taking advantage of the pass coming through there to easily defend it against assault, while across the river, the elves of Erendyl had to put up with only rolling hills and forests to defend their eastern border, and as a consequence were raided far more often. It annoyed the Sidhe elves a great deal.

They didn't have to put up with the headaches of dealing with so many gold-hungry grasping humans, but all the potential income and revenue, along with access to trade, was passing them by.

In addition, the Colorajo often brazenly and randomly instituted random taxes, unseemly cargo inspections, and general harassment of Sidhe merchants and trade traffic coming across the river from Erendyl with their goods, pure vindictiveness for escaping the domination of the Zorozo princely family and establishing their own principality. Well, that had been an issue.

The last three times it was tried, the guards and officers were petrified, dressed up in lacy pink frocks, and put on display next to the bridge by some random unknown parties. Not having the elven wizardry Tradition, the very embarrassed Colorajo elves had to pay for a human Wizard to come down from Zanzyr City and free them up one by one. The price of paying for the spells wiped out about four years worth of the extra taxes and was considerably more humiliating than ordering inconveniences to Sidhe elves.

Those responsible were never caught, Don Hernando de Zorozo found the entire kennel of his favorite hounds petrified as a warning that he might be next, and the harassment faded, if not the foul tempers involved. Any political fallout ran into support from both Iendyl and Fuireze, whose merchants were plenty happy not to have to put up with that idiocy clogging up the trade road.

Erendyl was just down the river from Zanzyr City, which was built on the confluence of the Atoile and the Wynxais rivers which basically defined the valleys that made up the nation. The trade roads followed the rivers where they could, with most of the rivers being extremely navigable for much of their lengths, not the least from efforts of generations of wizards to smooth away any rapids and dangerous areas in their dominions.

Thus, it was with much cheerful fanfare that we departed for Federyn out of Zanzyr, heading on a big school trip to Siricil with fully a dozen people, students of the School and their bodyguards, all eager to see the distant Empire of Siricil. I didn't pop my Wings, instead mostly relying on Primus' power allowing me to Fly without spending any power of my own. Yes, it showed it was a valuable item, but that was par for the course, and it didn't appear THAT valuable.

Also, there was the giant Bat that was my Familiar flying along above, giving people second thoughts about making an attempt for a new magic item. Everyone coming along was at least a Four, rates of advancement in the School being highly irregular and nothing like 'classes' or a more rigid curriculum in place. While certain classes were offered every semester by the school, the only measure of advancement was actually gaining Levels, something easily measurable and noted down.

Wizards were supposed to be smart enough to determine what and how they wanted to study, and if you couldn't apply your intellect, well, the cost of training was high enough that your money was just going down a black hole if you wanted to fritter your time away and not apply yourself to your studies. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

It was a very different and rather chaotic way of training students, but it seemed to work, as the drive to prove their brainpower and shine brighter than the next person was all part of the School atmosphere. Zanzyr placed inordinate pride in being THE place of magical innovation and training on the whole continent, after all, and many natives had the attitude to go with that, magocracy and all.

We were going to travel first to the plutocratic nation of Federyn, whose noble houses and rulers were determined by the wealth they commanded; turn down into the Seven Shires of the hyn, then head west into the Archduchy of Warsherz. From there it was onto the Siricilan border provinces, and eventually the capital city, the beating heart of an Empire famous for its scoundrels, military legions, underhanded dealings, and incredible pride in themselves.

Well, Zanzyran wizards had their own attitudes, just not as much cunning treachery and casual backstabbing that seemed to be core to a Siricilan heritage. It was so bad I'd actually brought in three different merchants of Zanzyr who dealt with Siricil in either political or mercantile dealings. Their tales of ruthless mercantile dealings, backstabbings, poisonings, and up-front civility while gutting their enemies read like a backstory for the Principality of Fuireze, as Nico was ruefully happy to confirm for us.

The Guilimani who ruled there members of a noble family who still had relatives and influence back in Siricil… and were often suspected of being shills for Siricil by their political opponents. Wary but doubtless still overconfident. So be it. As long as they made it out alive, it would be a learning experience.

"Wow, this really is pretty fast, m'lady!" the Mick said from just behind me. I was skimming six inches above the surface of the Wynxais trade road, hands clasped behind me as I concentrated on speed… which with even a basic unboosted Fly spell, was about three times faster than a normal man, and about twice as fast as a good sprinter. Thirty mph was slow to me, but was about the speed of a galloping horse to anyone in this era, which was plenty fast to most of them.

"Not used to Disk rides, McMikal?" I asked him casually. He had his Claymore sitting beside him on the concave Disk of black Force. It was wound about with red roses and black skulls he had inspected carefully the first couple of times he had seen them, and then basically ignored them with the attitude of someone who came from a people who lived with ghosts and too many undead about.

"Well, nay, m'Lady. Whipping up such things to help non-Casters just isn't done, y'see."

"Ah, of course." Primus bent the air around me, visible against the surface of the road beneath me with a low wake of dust, basically allowing two parallel rows of Disks behind me to carry everyone and our supplies for the trip, including more than a few boxes and crates and trunks of things we were meant to sell. Of course, parting the air was relative.

Naturally my waist-length hair was swirling like a raven-black scarlet-tipped shroud, my half-cloak billowed gently and continually in shimmering red and black silk, and my skirts, lace, and sleeves ruffled and rippled constantly if gently. However, the hat on my head, a stylized narrow Stetson design, remained as immovable, feather and all, as the prow of a ship.

"If I may inquire, what are you going to be dealing in, McMikal?" I inquired of him calmly. A lot of the crates back there held current fashion styles from several major designers in Zanzyr, eager to show off their chops in Siricil, which was known to devour new and trendy designs from neighboring nations… and what could be more trendy than silken garments woven by wizards, of course?

"Well, given weight were not a problem, only volume, I did order me some Colorajo silversteel ingots from Don Ernesto's forges, and however many ornate rapiers he had lying about, as they be quite the stylish thing for the rakes and dandies o' Siricil, if the layabouts and twats of Fuireze attempting to puff themselves up are any measure. They be waiting at the receiver in Ryna to pick up." I'd given him two hundred crowns to play with.

He should be able to make at least four times the money on the steel and artistic blades, the Colorajo elves basically having a near-monopoly on better metals since there was little to no trade with Rukheim. Even Erendyl acknowledged that the Colorajo elves were superior working with metal… and basically reluctantly traded them fine bows and arrows in return for forge ingots of silversteel and truesteel. They had no fascination with rapiers at all, of course, preferring their own classic arming/longswords instead.

"What do you intend to be bringing back?" I inquired of him. He glanced over his shoulder at the strong, silent, white-and brown checkered muzzle of the lupin (dog-man) Chekwort, a Zanzyran Mountaire who had been hired by Laurentine to look after her needs. In short, the lupin looked like a big humanoid St. Bernard… with a rather big mace in his huge hands.

"Pierro wines, m'Lady. Chekwort there raves about them, and has quite the nose for them," he said in a low voice.

"He's sure that if he gets to pick them out, we can make ten times the price bringing them to Zanzyr. They never make it past Federyn normally before the nobles snatch them up."

"Pierro? Indeed." It was one of the distant Siricilan 'colonies' on what was called the Raker's Coast, the southernmost border of the Empire's reach. The relatively new nation was dominated by lupins who had developed an obsessive interest in wines, and its leaders were actually chosen by the families who developed the finest wines, remarkably enough. I knew little beyond that. Lupins, wine-lovers, famous for their wines.

"Astute. I imagine the best wines never leave their borders in normal circumstances, if the vintners of Verdain are any example." The Mick smacked his lips at the thought of some of the finer Verdain wines he'd gotten to sample recently.

"If that be true, an' half of what Chekwort be raving about be true, then we need to go to Pierro at some point, m'Lady," he suggested.

"This whole trip is all about making connections so that we can walk from one end of the world to another with a step, McMikal." Technically I could shortcut all of this just by using the Mirror of Mental Prowess set up on the grounds of my Innspot, since it was only limited by its ability to Scry, but establishing a Lived-Line still meant traveling the classic way to get the advantages of range and accuracy involved.