Chapter 32

In the end, they have to settle for a spot near the outer edge, as openings in the interior of the mess are taken as soon as their previous occupants leave. Sales are slow and the opportunity to observe the people is less.

The next day, Morgan proposes a new plan. They'd split the beads and she'd take some into the center of the market, maybe dangling off of a stick or something, and hawk them to passerby. Gryppen would remain with the tent and blankets, maybe engaging incoming Northern merchants in conversation to learn what they knew of Ehosian customs. The next day, they'd switch roles.

"We'll probably pick up on different things," Morgan explains her reasoning. "We can keep that up until we think we have enough to create disguises that will get us through the interior Ehosian cities. I'm thinking of also hiring a young boy or girl to stay here at the tent, to teach us some basic Ehosian phrases."

Gryppen nods slowly, agreeing... she knew the landscape, not he. "Perhaps making illusions as lepers would have been better", he comments dryly. "Yes. Lepers with their tongues missing. Well, if you think it's for the best, then perhaps we should begin?"

"Hmm!" Morgan sounds intrigued with the leper idea. "That would make not knowing the language less obvious. But," she frowns, "I doubt they'd let us through the gates. Spreading disease and such. But maybe mute beggars..." She grins. "Maybe one city wouldn't mind sending its poor huddled masses to another. We can try and find out what sort of restrictions they've got on those things."

"well," Gryppen says, sitting down on a another rock, "my bones are weary, daughter. I leave the city footwork to you." He eased himself down with a grunt. "Unless you think we're safer in a pair?"

Morgan paused again. They were almost certainly safer as a pair. The question was, how much risk was there involved in separating? "I think," she finally says slowly, "that things should be safe during the daylight. With all the merchants here, there must be guards to keep ruffians from accosting the water-sellers and other small-time operators. Just keep an eye - or better, a hand - on your purse."

"You seem hesitant to part," Gryppen notes, rising again. "And since you are the leader of our little operation here, I feel I should follow your instincts." He shoulders his pack. "So, lead on, dear daughter!", he smiles.

The day is hot, although a continual breeze makes things a bit more bearable. The market is a raucous, squawking place, where Northern merchants, Ehosian traders, and nomadic steppe horsemen gather to trade and barter goods. There is the occassional gnome or dwarf spotted in the crowd, selling, more often than not, some sort of fine metalwork for extremely outrageous prices.

Morgan plays the wide-eyed novice merchant, eager to parlay her small stake of beads into something bigger. It gives her leave to ask all sorts of questions which would seem idiotic coming from a more experienced trader.

"Can I go inside the city gates?"
"What about the ley gates? Do we get to use those, too?"
"Really! You have official papers? From the Patriarch! Do you think I could... gosh! Gold ink! That's mighty impressive, sir!"
"I haven't seen any beggars around. Isn't that odd?"
"What are those bells? Why are all those fellows kneeling? Oh, noon prayer. I see."

By sundown, repeated questioning and simple observation have taught the pair a lot. Retreating to the edge of the baazar, Morgan prepares a simple dinner for the pair as they mull over their findings. "The ley gates are inside the city walls. Only the few, the proud, the obscenely rich are let inside, generally. And it sounds like nobody but those with special permission and the natives get to use those gates. I wonder what sorts of special permission there are?"

Gryppen scratched his chin and pondered their predicament for a few moments. He looked up at her. "I assume you don't have the ability to activate it yourself," he said slowly, "but someone must. We shall have to find such a person, and gain their acquiesence. Precisely how, however, remains to be seen."

The bells toll for sunset prayers. A hush falls over the entire marketplace as the Ehosians kneel to pray, and their guests hold their peace out of respect.

Morgan watches the scene with interest. "Pilgrims, maybe? Northerners converted to the Light of Eho? How could they keep us away from the holy shrines and whatnot?"

"This definitely bears some investigation," Gryppen answers. "I can cast a spell to blur an image, or blend with an environment, but I cannot make us invisible. It is your world," Gryppn shrugs. "I must defer to your suggestions."

"I suggest we spend at least another day investigating. There has to be some sort of shrine or temple or something where they can try and convert all us heathen out here. Maybe we can find out a little bit about Eho and what rights, if any, we might gain via conversion." Morgan sits carefully, steeples her fingers, and smiles at them. The sensation was sort of vague and ghostly, but damn it, it was there. "Might also be able to get a lift from some group that does have permission to go into Ehosia. Sign on as guards or something. As long as they're going to Shariz, we're good. Although getting out might be more of a problem, depending... hm."

She leans back and lays down, happily knitting her fingers together behind her head. She shifted a little, making sure her right hand took most of the weight. "We'd get more freedom of movement, I suspect, as independent pilgrims. As long as we're not struck down by Eho for our masquerade." She frowns. The chances of a god noticing two tiny mortals... just on the near side of impossible. Right?

"This 'Eho'," Grypen says, speaking around a piece of apple in his mouth now, and waving the rest of it on the end of a knife in his hand, "he -- or she -- interferes directly at times? What do we know about this person?" He munches, looking eager to learn.

"Not much," Morgan comments, making a face. "Not too many of his (I think) followers up my way. But I bet it wouldn't be hard to find out around here."

"What we do know, or maybe more accurately, what we think we know: Eho's a sun god. His followers have a big grudge against elves. I've heard they think elves are undead or something, which doesn't make sense. They also cause trouble when the travel, since they believe any magic that doesn't come from Eho comes from devils. They'll harass whatever local clergy or wizards they run across. Apparently, *their* wizards are part of their sacred hierarchy, so that's all right." She rolls her eyes.

"Gods in general... well, I'm no priestess. You get rumors and legends of gods coming down in mortal form, or as twenty foot tall giants, or just smiting something as lightening out of a clear sky. I've never seen anything like that, and no reliable witness that I know can attest to it, either. As far as I know, the gods generally seem content to stay wherever it is that they live, and act through their followers or other agents. I have know priests who thought they were getting a direct line of communication from their god, though. Dreams, visions, that sort of thing." She shrugs. "I don't know if it's true or if it's wishful thinking."

"Other agents, though... Let's say you have a ship of sailors that doesn't pay homage to the sea goddess. Let's say their ship is wrecked in a great storm. Bad luck or divine interference?" She shrugs again. "I know what the sea-priests would want you to think. Most folks consider it better safe than sorry and appease whatever diety watches over whatever they're doing at the moment."

The old half-elf nods. "So," he surmises, "on the whole, absolutely no different than my world. I, too, have never seen a God, but I do believe in the power of faith... and where the faith is strong, like here, there is always something to be careful of. I suppose in the end that it doesn't matter whether or not this Eho intervenes -- his followers surely will, on his behalf, if we are not careful." He offers her a large slice of his apple. "You say we must travel through this gate. But what of merchants from abroad, of foreign dignataries, or travellers in general? Surely this land is not self-sufficient."

"Thank you." Morgan accepts the apple slice and munches. "Those that get in get these special letters from their Grand Poo-Bah. I think, from what we heard in the market today, that all of the external trade is done here, and the goods moved internally through the gates to the rest of Ehosia.

"Really, it's almost more like a giant city than a country. Once you're in one city, you can use the gates to travel to certain other cities, and so on. I got the idea that they're worried that free travel opens them up to invasion or infiltration by us northern heathens. The longest path is from here to Shariz, and that's only... hmm..." She consults her copy of Gryppen's map. "Looks like five gates in between. Not all that long to get from the outskirts of their nation to its capital, considering."

She sits up, pondering. "Well, we could try to forge papers, if I could get a longer look at one. Or maybe sign on to some group that's already got one."

"Now that sounds like a good idea," Gryppen says, having just thought of the idea as she spoke it. "It certainly beats sleeping nervously and being constantly wary of religious and ethnic persecution." He looks about. "Where shall we look?"

Morgan yawns. "Not sure," she admits. "Maybe some of the caravans or costers carrying rarer stuff. Diplomatic parties. Couriers... we can try and zero in on someone tomorrow. Might need to change the disguises, depending."

"Ahh, good." Gryppen relaxes, and stretches out his feet. "Caravans are a wonderful tool for the traveller," he smiles at her. "Services provided, for a free ride. Let me tell you a story, however." He puts his foodstuffs away.

"I was unlucky enough, once, to join the service of a caravan that -- for reasons unknown to my friends at the time -- must never stop moving, under penalty of death, until it's destination was reached. We travelled in winter, across high hills and perilous crags, all the time wondering what was in the wagon that was in the center, containing who knew what..."

Morgan listens attentively to Gryppen's story.

Gryppen's story is an interesting one. As said, he served as a sword some years back aboard a caravan bound to a distant place -- a caravan that must never stop moving, under the penalty of death to those who drove it.

They slept in shifts, he and his companions; horses were changed "on the fly" and their predecessors left for dead. It was a bitter winter, with perilous terrain, and they were never to look inside the wagon at the center of the caravan.

Along the way, they were attacked by many strange creatures. First, the Yetimen, who with giant-like strangth threw heavy boulders down upon the caravan from the snowy peaks above. Later, mercenaries from the House of Kilkarven attacked, dressed as mercenaries and wielding flaming arrows. On the other side of the mountains, near the sea, the very waves themselves seemed to leap from the shoreline and try to swamp them. Strange magics and a dark enemy surely was behind it all.

Most interestingly, the warlord Okanwae -- a Guildmaster assassin of the land -- was revealed to be among the protectors of the caravan. He was a phenomenal killer, according to Gryppen, who had none his peer. In the end, this fantastic, unmatched man was decapitated, his head placed before a cave in where the caravan finally rested.

As it turned out, they had delivered an evil wizard to his place of power without their knowledge, and the forces that had worked against the were the opposing mages of the realm -- a force of good. Okanwae was killed by their passenger, his mistake realized too late. The wizard entered the cave, and Gryppen followed...

The old half- man emptied his pipe and smiled, producing a new packet. "But this is a tale for old men to tell one another around the tavern fire, as they dry their bones. And like them, I have a tendency to prattle."

"Not fair!" Morgan protests. "You can't stop the story just when it's getting good!"

The old elf chuckled. "Well, get us safely out of here, and I'll tell you the rest," he teased her. "This inactivity is killing me."