by AC Cobble
With a crash, the cart tipped over and landed hard on its wheels.
In the cold rain, Ben could still feel sweat pouring down his back. He looked around. All four of his friends had wet hair plastered to their heads. Mud covered them from the waist down where they’d slipped and slid, and even Towaal was bent over, hands on her knees, breathing heavily. Two dead bodies lay a dozen paces away. Their wagon was dripping sloppy wet mud down one side. A mage, a long-lived, two highborn ladies, and himself, all a complete mess.
Ben started to laugh.
They looked at him strangely at first. Then Amelie was infected and joined him. Soon, all five of them were laughing, which just made it more absurd. Ben couldn’t stop. For minutes, they stood there in the rain, laughing.
“This is ridiculous,” muttered Corinne finally, a broad grin splitting her face. “I was comfortable in Northport before you all showed up.”
“I was pretty happy in Farview,” said Ben. “Walking in the woods, hunting small game with my friend Serrot, and brewing beer.”
“I was a lady in Issen.” Amelie chuckled. “I spent my days learning to ride and being taught by the finest tutors my father could find. The kitchen hand-delivered every one of my meals.”
“I worked for the Sanctuary. I hunted and killed people who defied the Veil,” chimed in Rhys.
They all looked at him blankly.
“I think you’re missing the point,” suggested Ben.
Rhys grinned back at him.
Towaal undid her sopping wet bun, shook her hair loose, and then started gathering it again to retie the bun.
“I’ve never seen your hair down,” remarked Ben.
“I never let it down,” murmured Towaal. “Let’s get moving again. I want to find a good campsite or an inn tonight, somewhere dry.”
Two bells later, they rolled toward a small village. Three-dozen moss-covered buildings straddled the main road. An ancient three-story inn stood in the center. It wasn’t much to look at, but since there wasn’t room in the small cart for all of them to lie down, it was better than sleeping in the rain. Rhys steered the cart toward the building and took them around back.
A young boy appeared at the entrance to an open stable. Rhys parked the wagon and the boy reluctantly came out to assist. Rhys tossed him a copper coin which vanished inside a dirty tunic. The boy unhitched the donkey and led it into the stable. Rhys, Ben, and the girls dashed across the flooded yard to the back entrance of the inn. Shaking cloaks and wringing water out of their hair, they clustered inside the door.
A short, pudgy innkeeper waddled over to them. “Welcome to the Dirty Goose!” he exclaimed.
Ben caught Amelie’s gaze. She raised an eyebrow at the name of the inn. Ben smiled back at her. He was happy to see the portly innkeeper. In his experience, skinny innkeepers were untrustworthy. If a man didn’t eat enough of the cooking to gain a belly, then Ben didn’t want to eat it either.
“Rooms and a hot bath,” said Towaal. “A very hot bath.”
The short man, almost ball-shaped, waved for a helper to show them rooms and take them to the baths. He promised a feast as soon as they were finished.
In the bathing chamber, Ben sank down into the hot water, feeling the heat soak into his bones.
“I don’t know the last time I’ve been warm,” he said to Rhys. “This feels good.”
The rogue was lying back, head resting on the rim of his tub with his eyes closed. He limply lifted a hand to acknowledge Ben.
“Is that ale?” asked Ben.
Rhys’ eyes flicked open, his gaze darting around the room. “That’s not right,” grumbled the rogue, disappointed when he realized Ben was joking.
“I actually did see some down in the common room,” offered Ben. “We could hurry the bath and go down there.”
Rhys’ eyes drooped shut again. “You know I’ve never been one to turn down ale, but damn, you are right. This feels good.”
Half a bell later, they finally dragged themselves down to the common room. The ladies had not arrived.
“I suspect we’ve got some time on our hands,” remarked Rhys. He waved to a passing serving man. “A round of your best ale.”
“We only got one kinda ale,” drawled the man, staring slack-jawed at the rogue.
Rhys sighed. “That should make it easy then, shouldn’t it?”
The man shuffled off and Rhys directed them to a table near the hearth.
“I like the road,” said Ben, holding his hands out to the fire, “but I’m ready to sit still for a bit and relax.”
“I’m not sure how relaxing Irrefort will be,” replied Rhys. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s a large city with all of the amenities you’d expect, but finding the Purple and figuring out what to do about the demons is not going to be easy.”
Ben sighed.
“You’ve got Amelie to worry about too,” added Rhys.
Ben looked at him. “How do you mean?”
“Her mother,” reminded Rhys.
Ben frowned.
“When we retrieved her from Issen, it was obvious Amelie was close to her father,” said the rogue. “Much closer than she ever was with her mother. She’ll want to know what happened, to find out if her mother really did betray her father, and why. Did the woman do it in some twisted way to save her people from the siege? Did she do it to marry Lord Jason and become queen of the Coalition? You know Amelie. She’ll want to know. If she goes near her mother, everything we’ve done so far is at risk.”
Ben sat back in his chair.
Rhys continued, “Towaal and I will follow the two of you, but…”
Ben nodded. “I understand. I’ll talk to her.”
14
Irrefort
Irrefort was built into the side of a mountain. The city rose in tiers, buildings stacked on buildings. Roads snaked upward like vines climbing the trunk of a tree. From half a day away, it could be seen through breaks in the surrounding forest. Dark grey granite towered above the budding branches.
As they drew closer, Ben could see the city was split in two. Through the middle was a deep crevasse which appeared to mark a mighty river. Behind the city, a wall of green forest rose, capped with dark, jagged mountains. The place was massive, at least the size of Whitehall, maybe larger.
“How are we going to find the Purple in all of that?” asked Ben.
Rhys suggested, “We could open a rift in the middle of the city. See who comes running.”
Ben glanced at his friend. He wasn’t sure if he was serious.
They kept on in silence until they pulled under the massive, black iron gates of Irrefort. The gates rose the height of a five-story building and were stained with crimson rust that ran down them like blood.
“Grim place,” muttered Ben. “Have you ever been here?”
“Long ago,” answered the rogue. “Irrefort is old, but much of what you see is new. When the Coalition Council took power, oh, maybe two or three hundred years ago, they began to build. Before then, the city had been neglected. The previous rulers collected the gold for themselves and let Irrefort fall into ruin. When the Coalition took over, they poured money into public projects like reservoirs, sewer systems, and universities. Over time though, they ran out of necessary projects. Since then, they’ve repaved the roads every few years, built shelters for the impoverished, and built more universities. Irrefort is the most educated city in the world, they say. Not that it does them a bit of good.”
“I don’t understand,” said Ben. “I’ve always been told the Coalition is bad, that they control everything and are a blight on the people. The things you describe don’t sound so bad.”
“Who do you think pays for all of that?” asked Rhys. “Initially, taxes were high to improve the city. Now, they are high, and the Council spends their time dreaming up creative ways to spend it. The government controls almost every institution in Irrefort. The people pay for it, whether they want to or not. There are taxes on everything. More smugglers too, w
hich is why I’ve been here before, but that is another story.”
They quieted down as the wagon pulled in front of a stern-looking guard. They were in a wide square just beyond the gate. All around them, wagons, carts, and individuals were pulled over and in deep discussion with guards. Their man wore a tunic with the drab grey of the Coalition. His expression was just as banal.
“Number of passengers?” asked the guard.
“Us,” said Rhys, jerking his head toward Ben, “and three women in the back.”
“Cargo?”
“Personal items, a few home goods we couldn’t unload in the small towns,” answered Rhys.
“Are the women professionals?” asked the guard.
Rhys shook his head. “No, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask that.”
The guard stared blank-faced at Rhys. “Everyone gets asked. Nothing personal. If they are professionals, it’s a silver now or a gold later if they get caught on the streets without a stamp. If you can’t pay the gold, you spend four weeks in the labor camp to work it off.”
Rhys responded sharply, “They’re not professionals.”
The guard nodded. “Very well. I’ll need to inspect the back.”
Rhys hopped off the wagon and opened the door for the guard to peer inside. He didn’t just give a cursory glance like Ben was used to. The man asked the ladies to step out and inspected all of the items that had been part of Samuel’s stock. The guard paused when he opened a box full of sparkling jewels. Rhys shot Ben a quick, concerned glance.
“What is this?” demanded the guard.
“They’re fakes,” explained Ben.
“Fakes?” asked the guard.
“Costume jewelry,” added Rhys quickly. “For stage actors.”
The guard frowned then gestured to one of his fellows to come over.
“Let me show you,” offered Rhys. He snatched a sparkling red gem from the box and dropped it on the cobblestones. Drawing his long knife, he knelt and smashed the hilt down on the gem. It shattered in a hail of red glass.
The guard held up a hand to wave off his partner then tossed the box down on the back of the wagon.
“Total custom is four silvers and seven copper,” announced the guard.
Rhys grimaced, making a show of it. He dug into his belt pouch, finally pulling out the required coins and passing them to the guard. The man waved them away and stalked toward a new wagon that was just coming to a stop in the square.
“See what I mean,” muttered Rhys. “This city is a smuggler’s dream.”
“What did he mean about the ladies being professionals?” asked Ben.
Rhys winked at him. “I’ll show you later.”
Corinne coughed from behind the rogue.
Rhys, for the first time Ben had ever seen, flushed. The rogue quickly spun to face her. “Just joking with the boy,” he hastily explained before rushing off to climb back on the cart.
Corinne winked at Ben and clambered inside behind Towaal and Amelie. Ben climbed up as well. They started moving again, heading into Irrefort, the heart of the Coalition.
Near the base of the city, Rhys found a wagon yard where they parked the cart. They continued on foot, a crowd of young street urchins following them until Rhys shooed them off.
The sun sank behind them as they climbed the winding streets. The city faced west, so it was bathed in sunlight in the evening. In the morning, it would be shrouded in darkness, the sun blocked by the mountains behind it. Halfway up the slope of Irrefort, they came upon a large crowd of people blocking half the street. In front of the group was a curtained stage. Ben saw flashes of color pop up then sink back below the crowd.
“A puppet show,” guessed Corinne.
Amelie looped her arm through Ben’s. “I used to love these as a child. Gunver battling the wyvern was my favorite. Let’s get closer and see what they’re putting on.”
They joined the crowd, slipping between people to the front where they could see the show. Ben had never seen a puppet show. He was surprised to see they were intricately-stitched cloth figures. The puppets bobbed back and forth on slim wooden sticks, the masters were hiding below a black curtain in front of the stage.
High pitched voices emanated from below and the puppets danced about wildly. The crowd laughed as a grey-clad puppet thrust forward in a series of lewd motions toward two others that wore pale blue.
Ben glanced out of the corner of his eye at Amelie to see if she was picking up on the obscene nature of the puppet’s activity.
Her lips were pursed in a tight frown.
Ben looked back to the show.
One of the blue puppets seemed to smack the other on the back of the head knocking it down. The grey one danced in glee at the other side of the stage.
Ben’s eye was drawn to the blue pair when one of them ducked below stage then came back up holding a wooden sword.
In a flash, the puppet swung its little sword down onto its fallen companion. The head of the fallen puppet shot out toward the crowd, bright red streamers trailing behind it. The crowd roared in delight.
The blue puppet bounced over to the grey-clad one and knelt before it.
“My gates are always open for you, milord,” called a thin voice from behind the curtain.
Amelie, white faced, turned and whispered, “I think I’ve seen enough.”
The next day, Ben and Amelie pushed their way through busy streets. Irrefort was crowded with people in town for the coronation. It was to be celebrated with a fireworks show and a grand ball. Excitement was high. To Ben, it was simply annoying. The streets were clogged with revelers. Finding the Purple was going to be a difficult job, and so many people wasn’t making it any easier.
“I’m still not entirely sure what we’re supposed to be doing,” grumbled Amelie.
“We’re looking for,” Ben started and then lowered his voice. “You know what we’re looking for.”
“Are we supposed to just bump into them?” protested Amelie.
“Yes,” declared Ben emphatically. “If we’re in the right place, we can find them. Unless you have a better idea,” he challenged.
Amelie shook her head. Ben was slightly sympathetic, but it was the third time she’d brought it up that afternoon, and she didn’t have a better idea.
In Northport, the Purple had been located in a library. Ben figured that checking the library in Irrefort was the first logical step. Unfortunately, it turned out Irrefort had more than one library. In fact, Irrefort had a lot of libraries. There were a dozen universities they’d been able to identify so far, and each had a library. The largest had five of them.
When Ben described the plan the night before, it sounded reasonable. Now, trying to walk up and down the steep, winding streets of Irrefort to visit two score buildings to see if anyone appeared to be an ancient, secretive mage, he was having his doubts. He didn’t want to tell that to Amelie though, not yet. Admitting they didn’t have a plan sounded too close to giving up. They hadn’t hiked all the way from Northport to give up.
“Maybe Towaal found something,” Amelie offered.
Ben nodded. “Maybe.”
Lady Towaal, despite Rhys’ blunt suggestion, had not started opening rifts throughout the city to flush out the Purple. She also wasn’t setting subtle wards about the streets, which was her plan. Ben warned her that Jasper said the Council was full of mages so she had dropped that quickly. Instead, she had hung the rift key around her neck and was parading around town with it. She hoped the council mages wouldn’t recognize it for what it was, but the Purple surely would.
Ben thought that plan was too risky. The Librarian in Northport had only helped at the end to prevent the destruction of Northport, and they’d met him. The Purple in Irrefort may not be as friendly to strangers if they weren’t approached properly. And that was making the generous assumption that the council mages really wouldn’t recognize the key.
Ben and Amelie searched the rest of the day, poking their heads into
libraries, wandering around, sometimes getting kicked out. Nowhere they looked appeared to be the lair of an ancient order of mages. Nowhere they looked appeared to be anything other than exactly what it was, a library. At some of them, they weren’t even allowed in.
One taciturn clerk stared at them blankly. “If you’re not students, you can’t go in.”
“We’re interested in attending here,” replied Amelie with a smile.
“When you do, I’ll let you in,” responded the clerk.
“Can we get just a peek?” begged Ben. “We won’t touch any of the books.”
“Why do you want to go into a library without reading the books?” grumbled the clerk.
“We…” Ben was at a loss.
One last look at the clerk and they turned and left.
“I don’t think the Purple was there,” declared Ben.
“Probably not,” agreed Amelie.
When night fell across the streets of the city, they turned back to the inn, exhausted and frustrated.
“We’ve got to come up with a better plan,” groaned Ben.
Amelie, walking beside him, didn’t comment.
When they made it to the inn, they found the others had already returned. By their faces, Ben didn’t have to ask if they’d found anything. Rhys was emptying a pitcher of ale, and Corinne was dispiritedly poking at a lump of what Ben hoped was meat floating in her stew. Towaal was thumbing through a black-bound book with a purple emblem embossed on the front, the one she’d given them just before they fled Northport. They had explained to her what Jasper said about it, but she couldn’t add anymore. She didn’t understand the language any better than Amelie did. The copper rift key still hung around her neck.
“Well, if any of them walk in here, they’ll definitely spot you,” Ben remarked as he scooted back a chair for Amelie then took his own.
Rhys shoved an empty mug his way and tipped the pitcher into it.
“Not much ambiance here, but the ale is decent,” declared the rogue.