The Great Silk Road
Nothing but Emptiness
Far to the west of Naressina and the old kingdom of Annaen, across many leagues of ocean, lie the lands of the Dragon Empire. Much of the coast line is deserted, a dry no man’s land of grey-white salt flats, rocks, thorn bushes and brown emptiness that stretches unto the horizon. Towards the south, past the great bight of Aldakar and its salt gardens, the coastline begins to rise until green mountains tower over the sea behind the city of Esperek.
Once, her master Kyashâr had explained, the town of Imla had been the capital of a small independent kingdom. Until the emperor had sent his dragons.
Jasmine & Crimson
The Esperekki are corsairs, raiding across the Wildwaters and along the Dragon Coast, and they have a reputation for spitting in the emperor’s eye. As yet, the great distance to the capital Golden City has prevented the emperor from sending his dragons to reduce these insolent Southerners to a pile of smouldering rubble, but this disloyalty will not be tolerated forever.
The reason why traders from half a world away come to this inhospitable land perpetually teetering on the brink of open war? Two reasons, in fact: Silk, and incense. Three, if the legendary wealth of the capital to afford any luxury counts as well.
Moklea, gateway to Ehâla
“Four hundred and fifty in silver… for each bolt?”
— unknown silk buyer in Naressina.
Black Silk
The port town of Moklea, on the northern Dragon Coast, glitters lika
a diamond among ashes. Moklea is the port of call for traders from
Annaen and the north, and considered the ‘Jewel of the Dragon
Coast’. Inside its high, thick walls, a lively city welcomes
travellers from all over the world. The bazaars are famous for
selling everything that can be had in the Dragon Empire, and
anything else that can be brought there, and for those seeking
entertainment and rest after sampling the merchandise, there are tea
parlours, public baths and theatres. Not to forget the lavish
‘rest houses’, where a long, slow pipe of Moklea’s
tobacco can be enjoyed on soft cushions scattered around the low
tables.
As the twin suns sink, the night markets open, offering, some say,
everything that is best kept away from too much light, as well as
some of the best story telling,music and dance performances in the
empire.
The governor of Moklea rules this sleepless, vibrant city with an
eye to making business easy and profitable, knowing that with a
steady flow of taxes, the emperor will be happy and keep his
attention on the troublemakers in the south.
Humans and the tentacled, cat eared ‘Night's Children’,
known as zereshi in Annaen, live in Moklea in separate quarters, as
is the law in the lands Overseas. But although walls and gates
separate them, in Moklea both species mingle freely in the bazaars,
public places and at the night markets, and it is not unusual for
customers to seek out craftsmen in the respective other quarter.
Marîq Baz, considered by many to be the finest armourer and
bladesmith not only in Moklea but in all the empire, is human, but
his customers are warriors of both kinds. And some say that he
enjoys a reputation among a certain select few of his non-human
customers that require very special attention. The kind given by one
master to another, and no questions asked.
Journey through the sands
From the joyful celebration of everything good in life that is Moklea, the Silk Road runs westward towards the city of Kyassa, where it crosses the caravan route that leads south to Aldakar and on into the Eternal Desert. Along it move creaking waggon trains drawn by sturdy humped buffalos and caravans of nidjin, the horned, shaggy, long-legged pack and riding beasts of the desert, bound for waggons cannot go.
In silent procession, they set out again, guides in front, Gizal's armed men at the rear. The nidjin carried their heads low, beginning to bend under their load and ever increasing thirst, and they grew increasingly vicious. They snapped and kicked with little provocation. Even the gentle Peach curled her lip at Kyashâr, and when Erreth mounted the spitting eviltempered bull that had been assigned to her, the animal narrowly missed taking a chunk of flesh out of her arm. He tore a large piece out of her cloak and ate it with a savage deliberance. But the bull had an unholy strength.
“That fiend will walk out of here alive, that much is certain.” Kandil muttered. “Hell will not take him back!”
The large beast rolled up his lip at this and treated Kandil to a stare of pure yellow-eyed malevolence. But the bull walked.— Jasmine & Crimson
As the road continues westward, the long-necked nidjin have it all
to themselves. ‘Ugly as a niddjin’, ‘stubborn as a
nidjin’ and ‘cunning as a nidjin’ are phrases used
all along the Silk Road to describe these enduring beasts, without
whom crossing the desert would be impossible.
Without the much
cursed, much admired nidjin the Dragon Empire would collapse, and
the evil smelling beasts with their prehensile black tongues know
it.
They also have cruel teeth, sharp horns and a well deserved
reputation for survival. They can go without water longer than any
other living member of the caravan, and they know this, too. They
can also eat anything from thorny shrubs, grass and dry rations to
carrion. As the saying goes, there is very little a nidjin cannot
eat, and less it won’t try. They also never give up, never
forget, and their yellow eyes gleam with intelligence, and some say,
sheer, undiluted malice.
The Forsaken Quarter
If there is one journey that even the desert tribes do not like to consider, it is this: South from Ehâla, away from the well-travelled Silk Road, which is never far from an oasis, through the lifeless hot sands that are the Eternal Desert proper, straight on for what feels like an eternity of silence. Many travellers on this route never reach Birri, the first stop. Those who do, water the niddjin and set out further into death, praying to the gods that the local guides they took on in Birri will not lead them into the wastes to rob and kill them. With luck, the majority of the caravan that set out from the Golden City of Ehâla will live to smell the perfume of Shirma… the end of the Incense Trail.
Here, their zereshi guides — humans are a rarity in the Forsaken Quarter — will bow their leave and vanish back into the emptiness under the stars, making for the mountains where their flocks of niddjin and their families wait for their safe return. The traders from Ehâla count themselves blessed and hurry towards the beautiful green valley of the incense trees, which have been tended by the people of Shirma for a thousand years, if the tales are true. White, snakelike dragons nest among the branches, attracted by the heavy scent that fills the air, and sometimes lapping from the precious sap that is collected from the trees and dried. What passes through the dragons’ digestive tract is also collected and dried, and sold as ‘white incense’ for twice its weight in gold. The dragons also make for excellent guardians of the trees, as they do not allow strangers too close to their nests.
Incense from Shirma is traded to Ehâla and from there to everywhere in the world, where it is a luxury for kings and emperors. Finely ground incense is also used as a medicine and spice, and the dried petals of the trees can also be made into a tea, which is said to cause vivid dreams. The people of Shirma consider the trees to be holy, sprung from the footsteps of Lhaarasha, goddess of night, and say that the tea opens the gates to paradise — to which the Esperekki say, that if drunk in certain company, it undoubtedly will. Both figuratively, and rather literally, considering that this is, after all, Shirma. The largest oasis in the Forsaken Quarter. And the traders from Ehâla look over their shoulders as they walk from the friendly welcome given to them by the baz of Shirma, back to their lodgings in the guest house, as darkness grows about them and the shadows lengthen. Hundreds of leagues of open desert lie between them and the safety of their home. Hundreds of empty leagues, and at one point the Incense Trail draws close to that region known as the Maw of the Beast. A lonely part of this sea of sand, marked by strange rock formations. But the teeth the traders are thinking of are not of stone.
A taste of blood
Many things are considered unlucky Overseas, like turning your shoes towards the sunset (where the dead go), but few have the sinister connotation of the Maw of the Beast. The storyteller at the Grand Bazaar in Moklea has heard a thing or two, and for more than the usual fee, the old man beckons his listeners closer when the children have been shooed away… Have you never noticed, he asks, that no one wears the true crimson? It is an unlucky colour, you say, the colour of blood and death. He nods, and adds: So it is, and because of Them.
“It is not for us to question the emperor's deeds, but to deliver his rightful vengeance.”
Jasmine & Crimson
‘They’ come from the Maw of the Beast. ‘They’ come unseen in the night to kill those who have somehow made a powerful enemy, to tear their throats and drink their blood. ‘They’ are the stuff of legends, a secret organisation which recruits zereshi from the Forsaken Quarter's best hunters and warriors, and trains them to become dealers in death.