ROLLENSPIEL

I've been climbing for hours. Now that I can finally settle down, I have to go back to that evening spent with the Marauders, the last one before my climb. It was a shock, one can say so. The group I had accompanied until then had to settle in one of these semi-permanent camps I had been told about. I was invited to share a meal and to sleep there before my departure the next day.

We had gathered in a kind of particularly gigantic cave to which one reached after having followed many tunnels dug in the cliff. The entry in the cave was through a narrow tunnel after the climbing of a tumulus blocking the entry. It was explained to me that the entrance was once much larger, but a landslide had been deliberately set off to block the entrance during an epic battle against the kitins. It was while telling me about this battle that I heard for the second time, after Barmie Dingle, about the Flamings. Contrary to what I had believed, not all Flamings were kitins of the kipesta species. In fact, this name "Flamings" is given to the whole new generation of red kitins that appeared in the desert, and it is the term "red dragons" that specifically designates the kipestas among Flamings, for their fire is particularly destructive and their abdomen bristled with spines. During the said battle, many Marauders had perished trying to defend the entrance to the cave where many of them had taken refuge. Since then, the cave has become a symbol for many. The Flamings had continued to multiply, making access to the desert almost inaccessible. The Marauders said that the Karavan was hunting them down and targeting them first.

Inside the cave was a huge camp, visibly less rustic than the previous ones. There was a sort of infirmary in a tent, a kitchen area stocked with enough food to feed an entire regiment, a stable full of mektoubs, hundreds of beds dug into the walls and even some sort of tubs filled with water for washing. Here and there, a few devices and tools reminded me that the Marauders had mastered a rather advanced technology, linked in some way to the Powers.

High on the walls, one could see several holes connected by walkways. There must have been other rooms behind the walls and on several floors. It was a real miniature city, lit by the glowing of gigantic braziers. One of the Marauds of the company, probably a little too talkative, explained to me that there was also an armory, laboratories and a library somewhere, hidden in this maze of tunnels connecting them to the cave, which served as the main reception hall.

But what surprised me the most were the children. Until then I had imagined The Citadel as a huge battlefield, and yet here I found children, old people, a whole bunch of homins that I had not expected to find here.

Finally, I understood that this cave was used as a resting place, but also as a research area and a place to fall back in case of massive attacks, as it happened sometimes. These few spaces were in fact the only stable areas of The Citadel. The nerve centers of this movable city, reconfigured with defeats and victories. However, there was no guarantee that the kitins would not succeed in taking these places, as had already occurred a few times. Everything was designed to be easily moved, as evidenced by the shape of the furniture and the many mektoubs equipped as if they were on departure.

The evening was enriching, especially on a cultural level. As I watched them laughing with their loved ones, talking about their last day, helping each other with daily duties, playing music and dancing, I realized that these Marauders did not fit our idea of them. Their ability to create moments of life for themselves, while a few dozen kilometers to the east, a gigantic swarm of kitins threatened to swoop on the Oflovak Road, generated in me confused emotions. Respect, but also a strange sense of pride. As I watched these Marauders, I remembered that the first of them were Fyros. Fyros who decided not to flee from the kitins, but to fight to keep their homes, and who were still fighting today. I even felt some anger at the Empire of the time of Cerakos II, which had abandoned its people to flee from the kitins.

To my surprise, that evening, many of them shared moments with me. Their friendliness surprised me. Of course, they considered me as a stranger, and kindly told me not to insist, when I asked them about their links with the Powers and if I could consult the books in the library... For the rest, they seemed happy to share this evening with someone coming from so far away, and asked me a number of questions. Especially since this time the stranger was not a Ranger! I was a stranger among strangers. I also believe that they respected me very much for undertaking such a dangerous journey to carry out my research. As in Fyros society, Courage, Honor and Truth were strong concepts in Marauder society.

Yet, several hundred kilometers to the west, Akilia was waging a dirty war against the nations of the New Lands, not hesitating to recruit criminals and commit terrorist acts. Why such a difference? I dared to ask the question to one of my hosts who expressly ordered me, in a low voice, to change the subject. A Fyros who was passing by our group at that moment heard my question and launched into a violent monologue defending Akilia's policy. Then, raising his head towards a footbridge above him, he turned around and walked away while mumbling. I raised my head and saw that some guards had stopped up there to watch us. So, from what I could see, at The Citadel pro- and anti-Akilia people stand alongside. Though, probably, many don't take sides. Like my hosts who, visibly uncomfortable, hastened to change subject.

A Tryker told me later, under the tone of confidence, that if the pro Akilia were present in minority in The Citadel, and frawned upon by many—because suspected of fomenting conspiracies—they were nevertheless admitted in these places. First, because many of them were members of the oldest clans, from the Melkiar era, and were among the most powerful and feared Marauders. Second, because conflicts between the various clans had always been commonplace, and it was implicitly understood that no dissension should ever endanger Marauder society. Thirdly, because The Citadel was the home of all Marauders, and to be permanently banished from it was the heaviest punishment of all... The Tryker added, however, that what was most important, and what everyone agreed on, was the fight for survival and against the kitins. To imagine that the Marauder society owes its cohesion, and thus its existence, to the presence of a monstrous swarm at the gates of The Citadel, seemed sadly ironic...

Finally, I ended my evening by telling some children the History of the Cult of the Great Dragon. It was a real delight to see their eyes both amazed and terrified at the adventures of Liriope. I never thought I would find children here, so close to danger. I thought they would all be in Sentinel, but that was a mistake. The Citadel was the heart of the Marauder people, the place where life was beating. And when I saw these Marauders children, I thought of my own...

Azazor gave me back my logbook. And saved me.
This isn't the first time I've written this, but I had given up hope of writing here again. And once again, we made it through. You have to believe that something is watching over my old skin. A Power? Or just plain luck. Just like when you spin the wheel of good old Brotherhood of the always more Fortunate Gubani.

So the Marauders gave him back my writings. That is to say that they trusted him. Not like they did with me. And because of me, we find ourselves like fugitives, on top of this mountain.

He no doubt read.

But I'm going to rewrite from the beginning, from when we arrived at Sentinel.
We were stopped by the Marauders, numerous and heavily armed. Separated, deprived of our belongings. It seems to me that they treated Azazor better than me very quickly... And they asked me stupid questions. What clan I belong to. Then I realized that my crystal was a problem. What I am doing here. I thought I could play the smartest with them. But I was not able to get any information about the Horizon Surveyors clan. As a result, they transferred me to The Citadel, tied up, with the convoy that was taking Azazor away. As for him untied and free. When I got over there, they hung me up by my feet in a broom closet. If I'd had an axe at hand, I'd have made you a Marauder's mash... upside down, I don't know how long. A few hours, a few days? They finally took me away to be questioned by several Marauders. Probably high-ranking, maybe even the homina who runs the Citadel, the Regent, as they call her. But I wondered why they were so interested in my case. It seems that the Marauders are spying on each other, and the clans are stabbing each other in the back to gain some power, to make their opinions known. Maybe they thought I was one of those spies. There, with them, I played it straight, and told the whole truth. I will never know if it worked, if they would have released me or killed me. From what I understood later, I would probably have been left in a cell until I starved to death, the Marauders having other kitins to worry about.

And it actually happened what I didn't expect, but then not at all...
I thought maybe Azazor, having arranged things for me, would show up with guards to free me before I set off again. Chained as I was, I saw no other possible way out. But it was Arid who arrived. A helmeted homin, alone. I understood later that he had not acted alone, but I have not had no contact with anyone else. He knocked out a guard, opened the door, freed me. I could have fallen in love, if he was not a Matis, and not so young. But I was not at the end of my surprises. He told me he knew my name, my taste for shookie—he even offered me one. I didn't even have the presence of mind to ask where it came from, but I understood that it was something rather rare in The Citadel. It's quite conceivable that this skill has come back from the New Lands, and that they produce some of it, somewhere in a camp in the Scaterred Desert.

Arid, Rapid Arma, Marauder and Seeker of Elias, exiled in the Old Lands for some twenty Jena years. He showed me his face, something Trytonists normally don't do back in New Lands. He didn't tell me his real name, and I wouldn't have asked anyway. So he knew me when I was a young legionnary who had doubts and had just turned his back on the Kamis. He especially knew Lopyrèch... Icus, my mentor, my friend. The one who made me a seeker of truth, the one who made me open my eyes to so many mysteries, to all that the Powers hide from us... The only other Fyros, with Azazor, to whom I gave myself up... Once, thanks to alcohol. One more thing I didn't tell to almost anyone, here... And ramèch, this is the result. A Fyrossa who abandons her kids and lies like she breathes. Lopy... If you were still alive, you'd slap me a lot worse than Azazor wants to slap me every day. And you'd be right. Or you would just tell me to hide the truth more intelligently... I realize that if it was useful in the New Lands, where the Powers are hunting us down, where we make such a fuss about the insipid power games between nations, it is something totally stupid and useless here, in the absence of the Powers and the political powers. But when I think about what I can answer to a question, only the most improbable and untruthful option comes out of my mouth... I have to change that.

So I owe my freedom to this Matis. He even took the time to get my belongings, and to provide me with another blue Marauder armor. The one I had on when I arrived would have attracted too much attention. He gave me a pike and a shield, in addition to my hatchet and my amplifiers that he had been able to recover. A pike! The only weapon effective against some kitins. I'd broken the last one in I don't know what fight. Food, enough to last a few days. He didn't ask for anything in exchange, I couldn't have offered him much. Except to keep alive the belief of a freed hominity. We left in the early morning from the cache where he had brought me and resumed this game of hide-and-seek with kitins' and Marauders' patrols. I didn't expect this from The Citadel. It's not a city, it's a battlefield, where a constant war with the kitins is going on. The Marauders here are almost like the Rangers back home, minus the "I love everybody" aspect. Here, it's sink or swim, it's the door that holds the next swarming of hell behind the mountains. Well, I shouldn't exaggerate either. He also told me that The Citadel is full of places to live: inns, schools, training facilities, armories... They live here, but everything has been designed over time to be moved around easily and to stay safe from the Kitins. I wasn't offered a tour, I replied, laughing.

Before leaving, he also told me about his journey to get here. About the same as we did, but with a larger group with quite disparate origins. This did not prevent him from seeing several of his companions fall, especially during the crossing of the Sea of Wood. When he arrived, the former Subject of the Kingdom that he was had to serve several years at the Cloudy Cliff Outpost before he could be considered trustworthy and allowed to join their ranks. After that, he was finally able to join The Citadel. Some of his companions are still here, some, especially the older ones at the time, remained on the island of Oflovak.

I also learned something very interesting. I had understood that Marauders use Karavan items, looted from abandoned cruisers for example, to power their own technology. How, that remains to be seen, but the contact I had with them is not going to help me find out more. On the other hand, what I didn't know is that the Karavan is still present in the area, in some way. Not much on the ground, but mostly in the sky. Arid explained to me that sometimes Karavan ships attack the kitins. They call it a "strike" here. Powerful spells, sent from their ships, presumably above the Canopy. Probably when the kitins are too concentrated in one place, sometimes right outside the gates of The Citadel. Or, more often, directed against certain specimens in particular, those famous flaming ones we had heard about.

No Kami in the area, on the other hand, Arid told me. At least, not that he knows of. It is said that in the time of Melkiar, some clan leaders had contact with them, but it has become almost a legend nowadays. Not this surprises me, in fact it confirms a lot of old theories. But that the Karavan, along with the Marauders, is still trying to contain the kitins is astonishing information. He told me that Karavan agents are sometimes seen at The Citadel, during important meetings, usually reserved for clan leaders. No one knows, except for these clan leaders, whether these ambassadors remain permanently at The Citadel. He also let me know, without wanting to say more, that the technology of the Marauders was partly linked to that of the Karavan.

So I asked... If the Karavan wasn't here, would the Marauders be able to hold the kitins back? Do they really work together? It seemed to me that his vision of the Karavan was no longer the one we Seekers of Elias might have in the New Lands. But Arid couldn't really tell me much more than that, as we were already late for be present at Azazor's departure.

Then something probably went wrong. His plan was to follow Azazor's convoy, and give him a few hours head start. As Arid had planned, the guards who had accompanied Azazor to that steep path had stayed there for a while after the Fyros had left, and when he was no longer in sight, they scattered into the crevices of the canyon. After a few seconds, from the watching point where Arid and I were positioned, it was impossible to detect the presence of a single homin. The Matis seemed tense. We waited again, and then he showed me the way, telling me that he was going to follow me at a distance. Being careful not to let anyone see me. "If anything goes wrong for me, hide, and let me handle it. We'll only get through this if I'm not seen with you. If you're spotted...run. I'll see what I can do." I asked him to leave from now, to teleport if he could. He had taken enough risks. He nodded without really saying what he was going to do. I hope he didn't get in trouble. Then after thanking him one last time, I headed off in the direction he had pointed me.

After a few minutes, just as I was about to cross a relatively uncovered area, a hubbub began to be heard, similar to the one caused by the swarm of kitins I had crossed a few days earlier. I hid as best I could in a crevice of sawdust, and waited a good while, trying not to panic, for the commotion to pass. It lasted, and I got lost in my thoughts... What if my release compromised the safety of the Trytonists of The Citadel? What if, because of me, attention was focused on them, to the point that they were incriminated? When I came out of my thoughts, the noise had stopped.

As I emerged from my hiding place, despite my cautions, I came face to face with a Marauder, alone, and armed with a spear. My clan, what am I doing here? I didn't lie, and told him I was hiding from the kitins, picking up my spear and pretending to put it back on my back. With a quick movement, I stuck it under his helmet, right into his neck. A sharp, fatal blow, for a homin who wasn't expecting it. "With Akilia's regards." I said while striking, without really thinking. His body dematerialized. Toub de toub... At the time, I had found nothing better to divert their attention. If they think that I am a spy of the Ashes Clan, they will perhaps forget about the Trytonists.

It took me several hours of climbing before I could see Azazor from a distance. The damn guy is doing pretty well, I must say. He's in much better shape than at the beginning of our trip. I stayed at a distance, so he wouldn't see me. Not yet. I had to give him a day or two head start. Luckily, he seemed not to look back. When he set up camp for the night, I tried to sleep on the sawdust in a crevice of the cliff, thinking about how to get in front of him.. What could I say to him... To play it down, now that The Citadel was behind us, I thought... "Aza! 'ren pyr, how's the climbing going? Hey, it's invigorating here. Shall we throw down knocks to each other now or save that for later?"

I guess I always succeed in my arrivals. The next day, he took a break after his hazardous crossing on a rope bridge. I waited on the other side until he wanted to resume his walking, again to give him a head start. It was then that I realized, by chance because I was trying to hide from him, that some Marauders, below, were climbing up pursuing me. They had seen me, and were hoping to get to me noiselessly. I had no chance to hide from neither one nor the others. Fighting was not a good idea, so I dashed across the bridge with my stuff on my back. Azazor was surprised, I thought he was going to send me into the chasm. But he waited for me to cross, then gave a great blow with his axe on the bridge ropes to cut it.

He no doubt read.

I told Azazor everything. No more lies. Anyway, I have nothing to hide from him anymore… I don't have much left. They took everything. All the experiments I had planned, no longer possible. No more poison, to test if kitins' reactions are here the same as they are in the New Lands. No more goo, no more filtering helmet, and it's not here that I'll manage to make some. No more empty vials, I won't be able to bring back fragile samples either… Forget about poisons and secretions of local kitins, or other residues I might find in Coriolis. Anyway, I'll decide, when the time comes… It will take a lot of courage to carry something more, with no mektoub…
It's a miracle that I still can write, and that I've got my notebooks returned to me. The Marauders took a copy of them, according to Azazor. At this point, everything could have been worse.

I didn't even ask Azazor why he didn't say or do anything to get me out of this ramèch situation. I owe him that much. He had his reasons, which I respect. I screwed up. Maybe I shouldn't have listened to Mazé'Yum, but if it wasn't for him, if it wasn't for that crystal, I really would have ended up in the belly of a monster from the Wide Puddle. Maybe I should have just told him. Who's right, who's wrong… We are both doing well to put aside what has rotted our relationship since Azazor discovered that vial of poison so long ago.

Who said going up the ridge would be fun? The path we took to get to the top was certainly shaped by homins in the past. But when we reached the top, almost nothing left. We progress as we can, avoiding the crevasses, sometimes compelled to make a detour of a few kilometers to cross. And sometimes, a staircase or a ladder has been installed. Perhaps we are simply losing track of the few arrangements that have been made, as the path is so little used. I especially hope they haven't set up a Zinuakeen further down the path we're following. The Marauders could simply be waiting for us, weapons in hand… Azazor seems to have heard that only a few red dragons hunters and a few Rangers still venture in this direction… They probably have something else to do than chasing us. I guess we are not that important to them.

According to the indications Azazor received, we have a few weeks of walking to do before reaching Coriolis. We are walking on the lookout for any game, any edible plant. When we will be in Coriolis, we will have to find a way to go down the ridge, very carefully. Avoid falling, and avoid being spotted by the kitins. Who knows what we'll find… Maybe nothing, maybe the answer to so many questions.
If we don't starve to death by then.

Below, we can see the hell that has invaded the desert of our ancestors. When we're not walking, the view we get of the kitins' movement is impressive. But the farther we get from The Citadel, the more we can see that they don't cover the whole area, far from that. They move in groups, much larger groups than the ones we can see in our New Lands. But some areas seem to contain fewer kitins, or none at all. Perhaps these are areas devoid of game or food? Or are they areas that kitins avoid for other reasons? Do they move from area to area, depending on the season? Or depending on the food they find? It seems to me that despite their distinct group movements, some kitin herds tend to move closer to the ridge during the day, and further away in the evening. Maybe to find the coolness? We will see, but we may have to go down to Coriolis at night. The desert stretches as far as the eye can see, and we can only see a small part of it, so it would take us a few more days watching these same areas to determine if they are the same groups, or if larger movements are taking place. From here, it is also relatively difficult to distinguish which species are involved, nor to get an idea of the size of these areas. We are so far from the ground, so close to the canopy, without it being accessible. To see the world from so high gives a mixed sensation, between victory, vertigo and infinite anguish. And the more we advance towards Coriolis, the more our impatience turns into feverishness.

Coriolis, the land of our ancestors, where, while digging, they awakened the kitins' swarming. Or Fyrak, perhaps… Perhaps the place where the Powers hide their most terrible secrets.