by A. C. Cobble
“What can we do?” wondered Ben through the thought meld.
“There is only one thing to do,” responded Jasper. “We have to find help. We need allies. We need someone or something that can stand against that monster.”
“Do you think the arch-demon has talent?” asked Towaal.
“That would be unique,” responded Jasper. “I’ve never heard of a demon able to manipulate energy, but…” His thoughts trailed off. They’d all seen the creature look up at him. If it didn’t have talent, how could it sense the far-seeing?
“Did you get the object we spoke about?” asked Ben.
“I did,” responded Jasper.
A new image, one of silver, full-plate armor was revealed. Prem gasped.
“The armor from the Purple’s watchtower in the Wilds. Let me tell you, getting there through these demon swarms was one of the most harrowing experiences of my life. The bards could sing about that one for ages, but, if we can make use of it, it will be worth it. I’ve been studying the armor. There is more to this set than I originally thought. I believe in addition to exceptional protection, it will imbue incredible speed on the wearer.” His thoughts continued, sounding frustrated, “The problem is, the wearer must also power the armor. It will take strength of will and not inconsiderable strength of arm to operate it. Whoever crafted this plate mail did it for a true warrior-mage.”
“So,” thought Ben. “We need to find someone who can harness their will and knows how to swing a sword.”
“Before you ask,” responded Jasper, “I have the will, but I’d be like a slow-moving turtle. This armor weighs more than I do. None of my companions are likely to fit in it. We need someone about my height with significantly more muscle mass. While we can certainly find plenty of warriors with the physical characteristics, I don’t think any of them would also have talent to harness their will.”
“I know someone,” responded Ben, “if we can get him to do it.”
He raised his eyes from the thought meld and met Prem’s gaze.
“He’ll do it.”
The next evening, they approached the outskirts of the City. They were coming in over the hills, far away from the well-traveled roads. Not because they thought someone would be watching for them, but because there was only one road that led out of Akew Woods, and the node gate was several leagues away from it.
“We’re sure no one will be watching?” asked Amelie.
“If the Veil somehow got word of what happened to Eldred,” answered Towaal, “she wouldn’t expect us for another week or two. Even if we left the day we killed that thing, we still wouldn’t be here yet.”
“Edlred had a key to the node gates,” reminded Ben. “The Veil must know about that, so maybe she’d know we could travel the node lines as well.”
Towaal shrugged.
She was right. There was nothing they could do about that.
They crested a low hill and started down. The City spread out below them like a brilliant candle cupped in a crystal bowl. Lantern lights were springing alight on the island that housed the City proper, and around it, lights reflected back off the water and the settlements that rang the river basin. In the early evening, the roads and docks around the City were still filled with people rushing to make it inside or depart before full dark set. Thousands of people were coming and going in a steady stream. Dozens of docks stood out from the island. Scores of roads extended out like strands in a spider web. With any luck, the Sanctuary couldn’t be watching all of the entry points.
Ben sighed. Looking at the expanse below, he realized it would take more than a little luck to catch Milo before he arrived. They didn’t have a fraction of the manpower the Veil could command. If they could slip in unnoticed, then Milo could as well. Ben began to wonder if it was even worth trying to intercept the young man.
Rhys, seeming to read his thoughts, suggested, “We could start down the road back into the forest and meet him there.”
Ben shook his head. “It is possible Milo had a node key too, or maybe he went cross country, or maybe he’s traveling with mages. There are too many unknowns to try finding him in the forest. If he did get by us somehow, we’d have no way of knowing. Those woods extend for a month’s walk. We could spend our lives searching in there. And as much as we need to confront Milo, we also need to begin laying the groundwork to overthrow Lady Coatney. We can’t do that from the forest.”
“Waiting until he’s in the city is risky,” advised Rhys.
Ben shrugged helplessly.
They continued down the gentle, grassy slope of the hill until they approached the outskirts of a town. Like all of the towns that surrounded the City, it had run together into one contiguous mass with the ones next to it. Whatever name it once held was lost.
“I hate to say this,” started Ben, “but we need to find a rundown dive that’s as far away from the main roads as we can be. A place with a busy tavern would be good. We need to find Renfro’s men, and that’s where they’ll be.”
Amelie groaned.
Prem chirped, “We’re going to go to a tavern? I’ve never been to one.”
Rhys wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “I know a place near here. I think you’re going to enjoy it.”
“Of course he knows a place,” muttered Amelie under her breath.
They followed Rhys through filthy backstreets and behind the ramshackle buildings that clung to the outskirts of the City. In the early evening, few people were about, but soon, they started to hear the din of busy streets, and Rhys led them into more populated areas.
After several blocks, he paused and whispered, “Hold on. I have an idea.”
Ben frowned. The rogue’s ideas could go either way.
Rhys stepped up to a meat pie seller and began negotiating with him.
Amelie caught Ben’s eyes and mock-gagged, clearly not interested in meat a man on the side of the street was selling in that part of town. Ben grinned and set his back against the wall of a building. Around them, people walked about, returning from work, running last errands before dinner, heading to the taverns.
Rhys began loudly complaining to the meat pie man about making change. The vendor started barking back, and Ben was surprised to see the rogue with a fistful of gold in his hand. He was waving it angrily in the vendor’s face, and the man was protesting, claiming he couldn’t make change for the heavy gold coins. Finally, Rhys spun on his heel and stalked off, waving for his companions to follow. He shoved the coins into his belt pouch and Ben watched it bounce along at the end of a long thong.
“What was that about?” asked Amelie.
Rhys eyed her out of the corner of his eye. “You wanted one of those pies, I thought. The man couldn’t make change.”
Amelie rolled her eyes.
“You put on that show for someone specific or just fishing?” asked Ben.
The rogue winked at him and then pointed to a dark alley. Loudly, he declared, “We should find the tavern through here. Trust me. It’s a short cut.”
Amelie sighed skeptically and followed the rogue into the dark alley. As they entered the narrow confines between the buildings, Ben advised Prem to watch where she stepped.
“Cities are,” the girl paused, sniffing at something she stepped in, “rather dirty.”
“It gets better,” consoled Ben. “Rhys is purposefully leading us through the worst of it.”
“Why?” asked the girl.
“Fair question,” responded Ben, grinning. “Just wait.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Rhys took several turns, leading them deeper and deeper into a warren of confusing streets and cul-de-sacs.
“The shortcut is through here somewhere. I’m sure of it,” he claimed, his voice echoing in the empty streets. “We’ll find somewhere to eat that can take good gold coin.”
Ben casually pushed his cloak back from his longsword and let his eyes dart back and forth, checking every dark doorway, every cross street. Finally, they entered
a courtyard and found a slender man waiting for them.
“Y’all lost?” he asked.
Rhys set his fists on his hips. “No, we’re just, ah, turned around.”
The man smiled, showing more missing teeth than whole ones. Behind them, someone cleared their throat. Ben turned to see three thugs spreading out, closing off any avenue of escape. They held a collection of heavy clubs and knives. Ben smiled, remembering the last time he’d been ambushed by a thug in an abandoned street in the City. That time, he’d been scared, worried the heavy clubs would shatter his bones and nervous for what would happen to his friends.
“It looks like you need help making change, stranger,” cackled one of the men. A boy, Ben corrected. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen summers.
Rhys cracked his knuckles but made no move toward his longsword or long knives.
“Don’t think about drawing steel,” growled another of the thugs.
“I wouldn’t think of it,” replied Rhys calmly, “but if you want my gold, you’re going to have to come take it.”
“Fine by me,” snarled the first thug, and he gestured to his companions. Without word, they charged.
Ben almost felt sorry for them. Almost. He stepped forward and intercepted one of the thugs headed toward Rhys. He swept out his arm and brought it across the attacker’s chest. The man flipped into the air and crashed down on the ground. Ben knelt and pounded his fist into the man’s head for good measure.
He glanced up in time to see Rhys swing one of the men by his arm and then lash out with a foot, tripping the man and hurling him head first into the side of a building. An audible crack brought a wince to Ben’s face, and the unfortunate man’s neck twisted disturbingly to the side.
“Damnit,” muttered Rhys, eyeing the corpse in dismay.
Prem was standing over another, her knives dripping with his blood.
“You didn’t have to kill him,” complained Rhys.
“He was trying to rob us,” responded Prem, confused. “Besides, you killed yours.”
Rhys nudged his first victim with his toe. “I just killed one of them. This one will wake up, I’m pretty sure.”
“I left mine alive,” said Ben. He looked down at the fallen man. “Sorry about this.”
He pulled his water skin off his belt and unstoppered it. He dumped the contents on the unconscious thug’s head.
“Wha…” spluttered the man before scrambling away from Ben.
“You tried to rob us,” reminded Ben.
The man glanced around wildly, first seeing the bloody corpse by Prem, then the other that Rhys had accidentally killed by the side of the building.
“You killed them!” accused the thug.
Ben scratched at his head. He was ready for a bath, but first things first. “Like I said, you were trying to rob us.”
The man rose unsteadily to his feet, feeling at his swollen temple where Ben had punched him.
“You should put some ice on that,” suggested Ben, “and then, rethink your life. If you try to attack and rob someone, sometimes, they might fight back. I’m sorry your friends were killed, but they would have done worse to us for the gold in our pouches. We’ve got a fortune of coin and small valuables on us. It’s too much to let the likes of you walk away with it.”
The man glared at them balefully, memorizing their faces, Ben was sure. Then, he turned and bolted.
“That should do it,” said Rhys cheerfully. “Time for a drink.”
“What just happened?” wondered Prem, wiping the blood off her long knives and then sliding them into their sheathes.
“Sending a message to an old friend,” said Ben. “Either he’ll hear about this, or someone who knows him will.”
“Or someone who knows someone who knows him,” added Rhys.
“Something like that,” agreed Ben. “Eventually, one of these thieves will lead us to Renfro.”
Four bells later, they sat at an uneven table in the back of a ramshackle tavern. They’d found lodging across a narrow street, but even Rhys balked at drinking in the place once he’d smelled what passed for food.
“Quality has slipped since you’ve been gone,” assessed Rhys as he took a deep pull from a sour mug of ale.
“I’m not sure a place like this ever carried my stuff,” said Ben. He looked around. “This place is rather empty, isn’t it?”
“The ale is driving everyone away,” guessed Amelie.
“It’s not bad after the fourth or fifth one,” claimed Rhys. “It’s like anything. It requires dedication, persistence…”
The rogue trailed off. The half-empty common room was entirely empty now. A loose door banged shut as the last patron scurried away.
“How does everyone always know to leave the room before the thieves arrive?” wondered Amelie.
“This happens to you often?” questioned Prem.
“More than you’d expect,” admitted Ben.
Cloaked and hooded figures began to stream into the room, edging along the walls, surrounding Ben and his companions.
“Their presentation isn’t bad,” observed Rhys. “They certainly brought enough guys, though, displaying a few weapons would be more menacing. With all of that fabric, this could be the clothier’s guild.”
“Small-time crooks,” guessed Ben. “I think we’re going to have to go through another layer.”
“You’ve made a grave error,” began one of the cloaked figures, his voice booming in the empty tavern.
Rhys cut him off, waving a hand to silence him.
“We’re looking for someone,” he interjected. “I was hoping you could help.”
“We…” the figure turned and looked at a companion, spoiling the act. Then, apparently with reassurance, he turned back to Rhys. “You assaulted members of our guild, and for that, you owe us. We’ll be taking your gold and your weapons now.”
Rhys snorted.
“They attacked us,” said Ben. “Look, let’s just talk about this. Killing your men was more or less an accident, and no one else needs to die.”
The thieves stirred, likely gripping weapons under the cloaks, but none of them appeared to have crossbows or anything else that would make Ben nervous. If they weren’t any more skilled than the ones he and his friends fought outside, even a dozen of the thieves would be no problem. The speaker’s cloak parted, and a short sword rose from within the folds of fabric.
“We should just injure them?” asked Prem, shifting to clear space to use her knives.
“We only need a few,” advised Rhys. “You can kill the rest.”
The rogue stood. In one smooth motion, he grabbed his chair and hurled it across the room at the cloaked speaker. The man was shocked and didn’t get his sword up in time to stop the wooden chair from crashing into his face. With a surprised grunt, he went flailing to the floor.
A surge of cloaked men rushed forward, only to quickly begin retreating.
Prem had jumped onto their table, nearly toppling the fragile thing in the process, and launched herself into a crowd of the attackers. Her knives flashed. Screams and blood followed. The thieves were used to intimidation. If that didn’t work, they’d bust a head in a dark alley from behind. They had no idea that the little girl had been alive for one hundred years or that she’d been training with her knives that entire time. She’d fought goblins, demons, and even wyverns. A couple of toughs in a tavern was nothing to her. Not to mention Rhys, who’d probably brawled in the first ever tavern.
Ben sighed and picked up a chair. He charged as well, laying about and smashing the thing into kindling over men’s heads. When the chair was nothing more than broken sticks, he snatched an arms-length club out of one of the surprised men’s hands. Their assailants were thieves who intended to harm them, but Ben felt a mild twinge of guilt that they’d lured them into this trap. He tried not to kill any of them as he whirled with the club, striking arms and legs, breaking them in two, or pounding the end of the club into midsections, sending the thie
ves flopping down, wheezing, breathless and unable to continue the fight. In a moment, the scuffle was over. Towaal and Amelie still sat calmly at the table.
“Nice work,” complimented Amelie, clapping her hands together slowly.
Ben grinned at her. Around him, injured thieves groaned and attempted to crawl away.
“Which one of you was the leader?” asked Rhys.
Only pained moans answered him.
The rogue sighed and slipped a long knife out of the sheath. “Okay, I’ll start cutting throats until there is only one left, and that one will be the leader. I don’t want to harm any more of you than I have to, but there’s a message I need delivered.”
“Him,” muttered one of the fallen men, pointing to a figure lying flat on its back.
Rhys went to stand over the purported leader and nudged him with his foot until the man awoke. He cried out, startled to see the rogue looming above him, and tried to scramble back on his heels and elbows. Rhys stomped a foot down on the man’s cloak, preventing him from scooting any further away.
“Do you know Renfro?” he asked.
The man’s mouth opened and closed, either unsure of the answer or unwilling to give it.
“He’s small, looks like a rat,” added Ben.
The man shook his head, his eyes wide with fear.
Ben sighed. “Look, you don’t have to take us to him or anything like that. Just go tell him or someone that knows how to reach him that Ben is here, and we need to talk.”
“Ben?” asked the thief.
“That’s all,” answered Ben with what he hoped was a comforting smile.
“We’ll be waiting,” responded Rhys.
He sat down at the table and glanced over to where Prem was still standing in a pile of dead thieves.
“Ah,” added Rhys, looking back at the leader, “before you and the boys go, can you drag these bodies away? The watch may have questions if they stumble into here, and I haven’t finished my ale yet.”
Two bells later, they followed a furtive figure through the streets. It wore a cloak like the other thieves, but this one didn’t speak. It only gestured with small, glove-covered hands. Ben wondered if it was a child or maybe a woman. The figure led them to the waterfront, where the island of the City proper rose in front of them like a shining torch in the night. There was a long, narrow boat tied to an abandoned dock. In the shadows, two dozen paces away, Ben saw more cloaked figures lurking, trying to stay out of sight.