The Road To Sevendor - A Spellmonger Anthology by Terry Mancour Page B
Authors: Terry Mancour
Ads: Link
Pearwoods envious.
While the advantages of having a colony of River Folk near your village were clear, since they were such ideal smallholders and consistently produced large surpluses, the disadvantages were fairly clear as well: left to their own devices, they usually became purveyors of liquor, wine and beer, and could leave a human peasant village thoroughly bankrupt and demoralized.
Worse, they bred like the rabbits they kept in such abundance. River Folk mature into adulthood early, compared to humans, in a mere ten years (although they are not considered ‘mature’, socially, for another ten). They also produce multiple births at an alarming rate when there is a sufficient food supply. It seems cruel, but the only way to keep them at a reasonable population is by curtailing their victuals.
If they bred faster than goblins, they were also longer-lived than the gurvani. Instead of a mere forty years before dotage, they could go twice that or more.
The Riverlords of Alshar and western Castal loved the huge surpluses the River Folk brought to them in tribute, but they hated the problems implicit with taking them on as vassals. You couldn’t conscript the River Folk, for instance, like you could a human peasant. You could put a sword in their hand (a very small one), but their stature, slowness and their short limbs made them easy targets in battle against humans.
At most they could use small bows, or man crossbows or man fire-duty stations in a siege, but even that was against their generally-peaceful nature. That meant that in inter-fief wars the River Folk were often the first raided and slaughtered, and rarely was any thought given to their defense – if even a few survived, then they would be back to productive levels in just a few years.
Affairs between them and their lords were handled communally, with a single representative (sometimes misleadingly called a River Folk Lord) handling the negotiations for the whole burrow. When the population in a burrow gets too large – over a hundred, say – then it splits off and forms a new burrow. If it is allowed to settle too closely nearby, then rivalries inevitably begin between the two.
While open warfare between burrows is almost unheard of in civilized parts, their intricate codes of family honor and filial responsibilities permit some pretty nasty duels, and property damage in fights is always a problem. There are even occasional riots. Human lords largely leave such matters to the burrow’s leadership to deal with, unless it involves a human subject.
There were places in the Riverlands where human lords had devoted large areas to River Folk cultivation – but they also had to devote a significant amount of time and energy in managing the colonies, or risk almost continual chaos. It takes a strong hand and a fair nature, for the little people have a very distinct sense of justice, but if you had the temperament for it, landing the River Folk could be a profitable enterprise for a lord.
I’d seen a few of their villages in my travels. Their burrows are great, circular structures, often built partially up against a south-facing hill or even deep into it, depending upon the size and age of the colony. There is almost always a courtyard in the center, often with a spring, well, tree, or rock formation forming the center-point.
This was the communal gathering place for the entire colony, a kind of nonstop marketplace and tavern. Each family held a section of wall, apportioned by lot or vote or consensus, depending on the local culture, and was responsible for both developing it and maintaining it. As their families grew with new litters, they would expand outward and down, into the earth.
The burrows themselves were constructed with cunningly-woven strips of bark through an elaborate and geometrically intriguing wooden structure, the entire thing covered with a layer of thick clay or mortar. Then it was
While the advantages of having a colony of River Folk near your village were clear, since they were such ideal smallholders and consistently produced large surpluses, the disadvantages were fairly clear as well: left to their own devices, they usually became purveyors of liquor, wine and beer, and could leave a human peasant village thoroughly bankrupt and demoralized.
Worse, they bred like the rabbits they kept in such abundance. River Folk mature into adulthood early, compared to humans, in a mere ten years (although they are not considered ‘mature’, socially, for another ten). They also produce multiple births at an alarming rate when there is a sufficient food supply. It seems cruel, but the only way to keep them at a reasonable population is by curtailing their victuals.
If they bred faster than goblins, they were also longer-lived than the gurvani. Instead of a mere forty years before dotage, they could go twice that or more.
The Riverlords of Alshar and western Castal loved the huge surpluses the River Folk brought to them in tribute, but they hated the problems implicit with taking them on as vassals. You couldn’t conscript the River Folk, for instance, like you could a human peasant. You could put a sword in their hand (a very small one), but their stature, slowness and their short limbs made them easy targets in battle against humans.
At most they could use small bows, or man crossbows or man fire-duty stations in a siege, but even that was against their generally-peaceful nature. That meant that in inter-fief wars the River Folk were often the first raided and slaughtered, and rarely was any thought given to their defense – if even a few survived, then they would be back to productive levels in just a few years.
Affairs between them and their lords were handled communally, with a single representative (sometimes misleadingly called a River Folk Lord) handling the negotiations for the whole burrow. When the population in a burrow gets too large – over a hundred, say – then it splits off and forms a new burrow. If it is allowed to settle too closely nearby, then rivalries inevitably begin between the two.
While open warfare between burrows is almost unheard of in civilized parts, their intricate codes of family honor and filial responsibilities permit some pretty nasty duels, and property damage in fights is always a problem. There are even occasional riots. Human lords largely leave such matters to the burrow’s leadership to deal with, unless it involves a human subject.
There were places in the Riverlands where human lords had devoted large areas to River Folk cultivation – but they also had to devote a significant amount of time and energy in managing the colonies, or risk almost continual chaos. It takes a strong hand and a fair nature, for the little people have a very distinct sense of justice, but if you had the temperament for it, landing the River Folk could be a profitable enterprise for a lord.
I’d seen a few of their villages in my travels. Their burrows are great, circular structures, often built partially up against a south-facing hill or even deep into it, depending upon the size and age of the colony. There is almost always a courtyard in the center, often with a spring, well, tree, or rock formation forming the center-point.
This was the communal gathering place for the entire colony, a kind of nonstop marketplace and tavern. Each family held a section of wall, apportioned by lot or vote or consensus, depending on the local culture, and was responsible for both developing it and maintaining it. As their families grew with new litters, they would expand outward and down, into the earth.
The burrows themselves were constructed with cunningly-woven strips of bark through an elaborate and geometrically intriguing wooden structure, the entire thing covered with a layer of thick clay or mortar. Then it was
Similar Books
