The Roadmaker

[roseembolism]

This is a silly little story set in my Under the Green Moon setting, in a small town far away from anything important. I hope you enjoy it.

ROADMAKER

And then there was the time the town of Singletree was attacked by a Roadmaker. Well, not attacked exactly; the Roadmaker had no intent to attack anything, and was simply inching its way along like a huge pill bug crossed with a slug, leaving a road of black stone behind. Unfortunately its route just happened to be on a line through the center of town, the water reservoir, and naturally, the tree. Of all these things they needed the tree the most, for it was the only tree within a week’s walk that produced medicinal liqueur. So, something needed to be done.

And in their defense, after a considerable amount of debate, the townspeople tried several somethings. They dug a pit - which it ignored, they built a wall - which it burst through, the city’s fireshaper (a man barely worthy of the designation) tried burning it - but succeeded in only producing a bad smell, and exhausting himself to the point where he had to lie down for several days. They tried hitting it with axes, hammers, spears, and rocks - all of which bounced off its segmented skin. Sharpened stakes were set in its path - and overrun as if they weren’t there. Pleas from a chorus of beautiful female virgins were ignored, as was a chorus of beautiful young male virgins. A message was even sent to the provincial capital pleading for help - which when it arrived was lost in a pile of other urgent correspondence.

Fortunately, when the Roadmaker was merely five days way from breaching the first building, a hero appeared, or to be precise, she was discovered in the inn. Her name was Geshava, and she was a mercenary tracker. A prime example of the Feralin breed, she was tall, well muscled, cat eyed with a dark brown mane over dear like ears. She was also at that time rip-roaringly drunk on medicinal liqueur. Wounded in a battle involving a caravan (whether she was defending or raiding the caravan is best left as an open question), she decided to recuperate at Lonetree, because it was relatively nearby, and if one is going to regrow parts of one’s intestines, doing so while drunk on a notably powerful alcohol seems like a reasonable choice.

Geshava had no idea that she was a hero, so when the Eldest Elder of the town (by election, if not age) accosted her in her bath, she assumed he had impertinent questions about the caravan. This is why the Eldest Elder found himself looking at a naked Geshava, holding a soapy sword which had been sharing her bath. It took considerable stammering and rapid explaining to convey the situation to Geshava (blame falls partially on the healing liqueur, as she was having trouble standing, much less listening) and even when she understood, she was unaccountably skeptical for a hero-to-be.

“I’m not some great sorcerer or scholar of an, anch…old history,” she muttered, sitting on the edge of the bath, now wrapped in a thick towel and sipping on restorative tea supplied by the innkeeper, who stood in the doorway to make sure there was no untoward activity, or at least be able to report on it if it happened anyway. “So… I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”
The Eldest Elder replied, “You are an outsider, are you not? A traveler? And a great warrior as well. You are our only hope.” He hoped medicinal liqueur made one susceptible to flattery, and so was gratified when she nodded her head in agreement. But then she continued, “But still, it’s an impossible task. And it’s not as though it’s going to destroy the inn.”
“It’s going to destroy the tree! It will be the death of our town!”

Geshava pursed her lips considering, and looked longingly at the bath while the medicinal liqueur and the restorative tea fought a pitched battle inside her. At last she sighed and said, “In that case, I may have a plan. But then, the question is,” and here she fixed the Eldest Elder with all the sobriety she could muster, “What’s it worth to me?”
At this, the Eldest Elder began listing the compensation the city was willing to part with. “For a start, we could pay for your inn stay and healing.”
“I had to pay in advance.” At this the Eldest Elder shot the innkeeper a furious look, who returned it with a phlegmatic look that said outsiders who come in out of nowhere looking for healing better pay in advance, lest they die before their bill is totaled up.
“We could pay an equivalent amount.”
“You don’t have money to pay me enough to tangle with a Roadmaker.”

At this the Eldest Elder, redfaced and embarrassed, tried subtly mentioning something about young attractive virgins- she cut him off with a flat look contempt, and a comment regarding the sexual skills of virgins, lack thereof. The Eldest Elder could say nothing to this, though the innkeeper guffawed, and he had the sinking feeling this part of the story would greet him when he reached home that night.
“Well there has to be something-- ANYTHING?” he asked desperately.

Geshava considered, then shrugged. “OK, I’ll do it, and you’ll know the payment afterwards.” The Eldest Elder began sagging in relief, when she added “BUT. In order to beat this thing, you need to give me anything I ask for, no questions asked.”
The eldest Elder began nodding his head, when the innkeeper asked sharply, “ANYTHING you ask for?”
Geshava stared flatly at the two of them. “Do you want it dealt with, or not?”
“Yes”, the Eldest Elder said, flustered, “anything you need, you’ll have.”

The next day Geshava appeared at the door of the inn as the noontime bell rang, and walked out to where the Roadmaker was creeping toward the town. She looked tiny beside its huge bulk, and a crowd gathered to see what form of attack she would make against the creature. She wore no armor, and carried nothing but her sword and a spear. She walked around the Roadmaker slowly, examining it from every angle. She prodded it with her spear, and the crowd gasped, expecting a pitched battle to egin, but instead she continued her slow circuit around the roadmaker. Lastly she climbed up on top of the creature at the rear end, and walked carefully up the length of the body, whilefor it's part, the beast ignored her. At the rounded front end, she knelt down, and seemed to be carefully searching around what passed for its head. After that, she nimbly leapt down, and made her way back to the inn where she spent the rest of the afternoon on the porch drinking medicinal liqueur and evidently engaging in deep intensive heroic planning, or so the young townspeople that took time from their duties supposed. Only the innkeeper heard the snoring, and was much less impressed. “I think you have a fraud,” she said to the Eldest Elder when he poked his head in to see how things were coming along in the way of monster disposal. “She’s going to drink my liqueur, and then run.”
“She’s really our only hope,” the Eldest Elder said, apologetically. Still, at dinner, the Eldest Elder made a point of approaching Geshava. “You know we have only three days left,” the Eldest Elder said.
“You might have four,” said Geshava, grinning. “It depends on how frisky it’s feeling.”
“Still, you mentioned something about a plan?”
“Yeah, yeah, a plan.” She scooped out the last of the lentil soup with a piece of flatbread. “I have one. It might work, too.”

The next day, at midmorning she turned to the Eldest Elder, who was anxiously hovering nearby, his other duties forgotten. “All right. Here’s what I will need for my plan. First: two large wagons, and glyps to drive them.” The elder was overjoyed to hear there WAS a plan, a joy that abruptly faded when she gave the second part of the plan. “And you need to fill the first cart full of medicinal liqueur.”
“A full cartload of medicinal liqueur? But that will be-“
“All of it. Fill that cart as full of medicinal liqueur as you can. Don’t stint on a single flask.”
The Eldest Elder was already calculating the sheer expense of such a thing, and the reactions of the younger elders (many of whom were older and cantankerous when it came to outlays). Geshava could guess from his expression at the turn his thoughts were taking, and elaborately shrugged, as if it was no account to her. “It’s your town.”
“Can’t some other alcohol be substituted for part-“
“Medicinal liqueur,” she stated flatly. “All of it. Though I guess we could wait a month or so for your elders to vote on it- “
“Done.” He sighed. “What else do you need?”
“Two more carts, filled with water barrels, and a long, wide bamboo trough.”

And so it went that the Eldest Elder persuaded the rather restive council of elders to accede to Geshava’s demands. It took the rest of the day to procure the carts, and fill them with the needed goods. The sun was just above the western mountains when Geshava appeared at the door to the inn, this time dressed in a good ceramic breastplate, bearing her weapons.
“How are you going to kill it?” the innkeeper asked, curious in spite of her anger over losing her public stock of medicinal liqueur (her private hidden stock she considered no business of anyone except her own) and her not-so-private doubts.
“Kill it?” Geshava laughed. “I’m not going to kill it; I’m going to MOVE it.”

She began busying herself with moving the carts into location, the one with the medicinal liqueur a few yards down the main road, and the barrels of water over to the left side of the Roadmaker, now only a couple feet from the outer building. The nervous glyps grunted at the sight of the Roadmaker, and bobbed their armored heads in alarm, but Geshava tersely ordered some commandeered virgins to make sure they stayed put, no matter what happened. Then she breached the first cask of water, and began running water down the bamboo chute and down the left side of the Roadmaker. She continued to pour water until that barrel was empty, then breached another, and another, repeating the process of pouring water down the side of the creature’s head.
“When are you going to use the medicinal liqueur?” asked the Eldest Elder, but Geshava merely shook her head grimly and continued pouring water. The shadows lengthened, and the sky darkened, and still she poured water. The innkeeper tugged on Eldest Elder’s arm. “I TOLD you she was a fraud!” she hissed not too quietly. “Now what are-“

“IT’S MOVING!” someone screamed, and there was a general rush backwards, even as people craned to have a better view. The blunt front end of the Roadmaker was turning, moving achingly slowly and grudgingly to the right. As it did so, Geshava followed it with the water, pouring it down the left side. Geshava followed the Roadmaker with the water, pouring constantly, until it had curved all the way to the right, and away from the city, except for some of the houses of the poorest and most inconsequential citizens. Then abruptly Geshava kicked the barrel over, and sprinted away over to the cart with the medicinal liqueur. Leaping into the bench, she snapped the reins on the glyps, stirring them into a shambling trot down the road.

Eldest Elder stared for a few minutes, confused, then shouted “Hey!” and sprinted for the cart. Stumbling alongside it in the near dark, he found himself ignored by Geshava. “Hey!” he said again. She looked at him indifferently. “What?”
Eldest Elder found himself at a loss for words, partially because he was unused to something as undignified as jogging. “Ha- how did you do it?” he finally managed to ask.
Geshava chuckled. “I remembered that Roadmakers never build their roads through lakes or rivers. So I figured if I soaked the air holes on one side, it would turn.”
Eldest elder digested this for a moment, stumbling along in the near dark. “But what about the medicinal liqueur? What was that for?”

Geshava’s grin was more like a snarl, exposing her fangs. “That was for me! The liqueur is mine. ALL THE LIQUEUR IS MINE!”
“But-“
“You said you’d pay me, and I took my payment before you could weasel out of it. It’s a fair bargain.”

At that, she cracked the reins again, and the glyps’ pace increased, leaving the Eldest Elder behind coughing at the dust the cart raised. He slowed to a walk, and watched as the cart faded into the shadows. He knew that if he went back to the town now, there would be many, many questions, and probably some recriminations from those who felt too high a price had been paid for the salvation of their town. No doubt some of the older and greedier elders could convince some of the younger and more hot-blooded folks to go negotiate a more reasonable payment, spears in hand. He rather doubted that they would find Geshava in the darkness, and frankly he hoped they didn’t-- she had looked frighteningly competent with her spear and sword, and they couldn’t afford to waste whatever supplies of healing liqueur the innkeeper had managed to hide away.

And anyway, the tree was safe, and there would be more years’ supply of medicinal liqueur. She had done her job after all. He waved to the retreating blur in the dusk that was the cart. “Gods and ancestors be with you, you animal-haired bitch!” he yelled. There was a response, but it was lost in the distance and the sounds of the oncoming night.