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18. Intelligence
🕑 Added 2024-07-17 06:02:19 +0000 UTCThe intelligence test went about as good as one would have expected. Most of the ferals were comparable to modern children. No—that was unfair to the children. They had never been to school or studied. For most of them, the closest thing to an education was listening to yarn weavers tell stories. That, and whatever their parents had taught them. Most ferals could tell you what mushrooms were safe to eat. How to find rigar bark. How to skin a corpse. And so on. Just don’t ask them to read or solve a puzzle.
There was one exception—the old feral who wore iron rings. His name was Venjimin. The man was lanky with a belly. He had grayish-white curls with remnants of brown fading out. And deep creases lined his eyes and forehead.
After talking for a few minutes, they discovered that Venjimin was from the Frontier’s most prominent temple. While many barbarians and ferals were mostly concerned with survival, and prayer was often reduced to carrying trinkets, they did have a few standing temples scattered around. Especially where bigger, more established clans were. And the biggest of them all was the Temple of Samuuda—The Wind God. This was where Venjimin was a priest until a little over a year ago.
The way he told it. The clan chiefs had banished or killed many of the priests and their underlings to make way for their own clan members. Apparently, it was part of a consolidation of power. Something the warlord who acted as a quasi-king of the barbarians had used to gather the clans under his reign. It was a form of power trading. For example, you swear allegiance to me, and I’ll enshrine you and your family members to powerful positions within this new nation we’re building.
The priest explained how he had joined the temple as a child and was taught to reason and read Calé—the text used by the few barbarians who could speak—and even some Vane, or Imperial text, as most people called it.
Banished to the cold wilderness of the Frontier, Venjimin fled the region surrounding the temple, not wanting to risk their continued leniency regarding his life. And it hadn’t taken him long to meet his new wife.
Having spent his life hidden behind the temple walls, the man was no doubt lacking in a lot of skills most ferals possessed, but there were plenty of skills he did have. He explained how he got his hands on a balancing scale and provided his services to other ferals trading with one another. It made him useful and somewhat wealthy for a poor, hut-dwelling feral. Which in turn grabbed the attention of his younger wife.
As Venjimin told his story, he pointed out his wife, who must have been only in her mid-twenties and held a small baby to her chest.
He went on to explain how temple priests had long been the only educated people within the Frontier, save the Imperials. Adding that, there were three main groups of people whom the Imperials referred to as barbarians. The Dhamajiri, the Cassundri, and the Igmani. The south was predominantly populated by the Cassundri, making them the largest of the groups by population—since the south was the only region of the Frontier with proper towns and not shrouded by perma frost and freezing winds year-round.
Then there was the Dhamajiri—which made up most of those around Fort Winterclaw—and stretched over the largest geographical region. They made up the majority of ferals and barbarian clans throughout the heavily forested central and northern regions. In contrast, the Igmani hailed from the western highlands. There were dozens of other smaller groups scattered across the Frontier. Still, Venjimin estimated that the three main races—as he called them—represented as much as ninety percent of all men in the Frontier. This estimate was based on the clans, towns, and villages recorded by the temple. Apparently, they had books recording the number of homes in every recorded village, which they used to estimate the population. And even a rough idea of how many feral huts were scattered around each region.
Mark found himself engrossed, listening to the man—while Elowen furiously transcribed. He got the impression that the Imperials, for all the technological advantages, didn’t know that much about the barbarian people.
“So, what do you think,” Mark said as they finished with the last of them.
“Unfortunately, most of their intelligence ratings will do little to affect their overall score. Except for the priest. I have him tied with Trumus—the swordsman—now.”
“I suspected you might. He was quite interesting, don’t you think?”
“I would say so. Unfortunately, I’ve never been able to step foot into the Imperial Library since I’m only an acolyte. So, I can’t verify most of what he says. However, I have never heard of such detailed written knowledge of the Frontier. And that’s just what he stores in his head. And his mention of stone tablets… That was most intriguing. I wonder what the extent of their knowledge is—if they still have them in the temple.”
“And to think it’s probably going to waste now.”
“My thoughts exactly. If they really have cleared the temple out of its wise men, perhaps there’s an opportunity to get our hands on that knowledge. I doubt they appreciate its value.”
Mark nodded. She was right. But he doubted they would be in a position to trade with the barbarian alliance anytime soon. Even if they could, items like bows would likely be preferred.
Mira sent Erald with tea as Elowen finished her notes. They needed a bit of a pick-me-up before the final tests, and he wanted to give the young acolyte a break anyway, as she had been pausing to stretch her fingers every few minutes. Still, she protested. Elowen didn’t seem like the kind of person to want to leave a job half done, even if it was just for a short break. But Mark, being from the twenty-first century, meant that he had knowledge about things like RSI and carpal tunnel. And the last thing he wanted was to burn his only scribe out.
Tapping the butt of her quill against the table, Elowen’s peered from the corner of her eye at Mark—her gaze evasively darting away as he looked at her.
“Take it easy. We’ll start soon. How are your hands feeling?”
“They’re fine,” she turned to him with a smile.
“Then why are you stretching your fingers?”
Elowen looked down at her woven, outstretched fingers. “No reason.”
“It’s okay to get tired, Acolyte.”
“I’m not tired. It’s just my fingers—probably the cold.”
“Sure,” Mark rolled his eyes. “Take a deep breath, finish your tea. And then we can continue. Okay?”
“Fine,” Elowen sucked in a big breath, blew out, grabbed her cup, and gulped it down. All within a couple of seconds. “Ready.”
“I should have seen that coming,” Mark groaned. “Alright, whatever,” he raised a hand and waved the candidates over.
The personality tests were a bit of a mixed bag. Trumus, who had been sitting at the top of the list, was not just short with words but gave off an uncomfortable vibe, which was worsened by the fact that he kept looking at Elowen in an unsavory way. And Mark just didn’t like his smile—it sent chills down his spine.
Once again, Venjimin overperformed. His family was young—a single baby daughter—the one he had with his wife after leaving the temple. He spoke of virtues and morals in a way few others could understand within the Frontier, giving off a cozy, nurturing, older-man vibe.
Reida was an interesting character. Her husband had died two years ago, and so had her sister’s. And now they raised their children together—her sister taking on a more motherly role while she hunted and guarded the family of six. And as expected, they were from a clan. A quite famous clan. She had been scarce with the details, and Mark wondered if it was related to their husband's deaths. The clan was known for its archery prowess, and its bows were said to be the best in the world—not that the barbarians knew anything beyond the Frontier.
Jaryox was scruffy-looking, even for a feral. His beard was patchy, and he had hair just about everywhere but the crown of his head. But he seemed genuine. His answers often trailed back to his family. And whenever they paused to check their notes, Mark caught him looking back at the spectating ferals, trying to catch his children’s eyes.
Trayox fell in a similar bag. The man was short-worded and appeared uninterested and sometimes even disgruntled when talking to them, although it was obvious that it was only partially personality, and there was an undeniable language barrier. But he was Igmani, meaning he was from the far west. People out there rarely learned the Imperium’s language of Vane-Impora or Vanish Imperial.
Even though Mark struggled to learn much about the man, the fact that he was foreign to this land interested him. From his basic understanding, it was mostly the Dhamajiri that had allegiances with the cultists, and to some degree, the Cassundri. And If his goal was to maintain safety in the fort, then recruiting ferals that were not loyal to his enemies was far more important than anything else.
Once they had finished the interviews, Mark reviewed Elowen’s notes again. He was continuously surprised by the girl's intellect, especially since she had yet to reach her seventeenth birthday.
“You thought Trayox was concealing something? You don’t think it’s possible that it was just the language barrier?”
“I marked both down as being potential reasons for his elusiveness.”
“I see that. But don’t you think they could be related? What if he just comes off like that because of the language barrier?”
“Sure. That might be the answer,” Elowen shrugged. “But it’s not just what he said. He held his arms crossed, avoided eye contact, and on more than one occasion appeared agitated by your questions.”
Mark had noted the same. But meeting and reading people had been a significant part of his career, not to mention the countless videos he had watched on body language and similar topics. For a teenager to make such astute observations was seriously impressive.
“I agree,” Mark frowned. “I still like him, though.”
“Right. He’s a westerner. Unlikely that he has links to the cultists. And even less likely he trusts them,” Elowen paused. “I agree, he’s a good candidate.”
“And Trumus?”
Elowen’s gaze fell for the first time.
“So, he did make you feel uncomfortable. That’s understandable.”
Elowen nodded. “But that doesn’t mean he’s a bad candidate. Reida and Venjimin took the lead by my score, but I still have him placed third.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little risky having him instructing ferals? What if his…you know—values—rub off on them.”
“I sense concern in your voice, Imperator. And I appreciate it. But these are ferals we’re talking about. I’m more surprised we found so many good recruit choices than we found a few questionable ones. More importantly, I don’t think we have the luxury to be picky about it.”
She was right again, Mark mused. Even if he was a bit of a creeper, he had valuable skills they could use. If the man could get the ferals trained up enough to be somewhat useful in a fight, they might yet survive what was coming.
“You’re right about that,” Mark sighed.
