by AC Cobble
Ben nodded. The inn wasn’t a pretty place. It was narrow and dark. Only two doors led from the common room. One opened to the street, and the other led to the kitchen and the rooms upstairs. A small fire poured smoke into the space and there wasn’t enough airflow to clear it out. Still, Rhys was right. The ale was decent. Ben had been in worse taverns.
“We think we need a better plan,” said Ben. “Just being here is a risk. We suspect Eldred will know we came and there could be people in town from Issen for the coronation. They, Lord Jason, or any of the men who were with him may recognize Amelie.”
Corinne gave up on her stew and sat back in her chair. “What do you suggest?” she asked.
Ben sighed. “I don’t know. I just know this isn’t going to work. We’re relying on random chance, but we don’t have the luxury of time.”
Rhys added, “You’re right, Ben. On the streets, we heard a little town was overrun by demons. It is two weeks north of here so no threat to Irrefort yet, but the demons are spreading. If they’re already covering the entire span of the north, it’s just a matter of time before they move south. If anyone can do something about it, it’s the Purple. We’ve got to find them. We have to tell them about the Rift and figure out what to do next.”
Amelie grabbed Ben’s ale mug and took a deep drink.
Ben turned to Towaal. “Is there a way you can magically sense another mage?”
Towaal shook her head. “No, I’m not aware of any way to sense another mage, which has worked out for us rather well so far.”
Ben blushed. Of course she couldn’t sense someone. If she could, then they would have been found and captured by the Sanctuary months ago.
“Could we…” Amelie started a thought then trailed off. She evidently realized whatever she was suggesting wouldn’t work.
Ben emptied the rest of the ale pitcher into his mug. It was only half full.
“I’ll go get another pitcher.”
Ben stood and started to the back of the room. Then he paused. When they walked in, several tables in the narrow common room were occupied. Now, they were empty. Aside from his companions, the entire place was empty. Even the sounds from the kitchen had died down. Noticing his concern, Ben’s companions all stood, glancing around worriedly.
Rhys drew his long knives and instructed Ben, “Step back. Clear room for your sword.”
Ben did, but he didn’t know what the threat was. The rest of them drew their weapons as well, waiting.
They didn’t have to wait long.
Simultaneously, men started to pour in from the street and the kitchen, rough men, the kind of men Ben wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. There were a score of them in total, and they were armed with short swords, axes, clubs, and daggers. Small weapons, but deadly in an urban environment. They could swing and stab without having to worry about fouling their companion’s blades. Ben, with his longsword, needed space to fight. They had Lady Towaal with them, but in tight quarters, outnumbered four to one, Ben didn’t like the odds if it came to a fight.
A man shoved through his companions near the kitchen door. He had a shaven head and a thick, dark cloak that hung to the floor of the inn. Unlike his fellows, he didn’t have a visible weapon.
Ben’s companions stayed quiet. These men weren’t soldiers of the Coalition, and they didn’t appear to be hunters from the Sanctuary. Whatever they wanted, they would say it soon.
“Who are you?” asked the bald man.
“It’s polite to introduce yourself first,” countered Rhys.
“I’m not very polite,” answered the man. He was calm, like a snake coiling, preparing to strike.
Rhys stared back at him, not speaking.
“There is a cart that was parked at the foot of the city. I’m told it is yours,” said the man. His cloak hung motionless around him. He wasn’t holding a weapon, but anything could have been hidden underneath that fabric.
Towaal was edging toward the fire. Ben wasn’t sure if it held sufficient heat to send toward the men, but he resolved to duck if she tried something. Rhys looked at her then back at the man.
The bald-headed man’s gaze followed Rhys’ look to Towaal. His eyes widened. “In the spirit of being polite, I will tell you I know that is not your cart, but I have it on good authority you drove it here. Why is that?”
“We found it,” offered Rhys. “I’m not sure what happened to the owner.”
“I don’t believe you,” responded the man flatly. His gaze cut to Towaal again and his posture grew stiff. He shifted his arms underneath his bulky cloak. He had a weapon under there, Ben realized. Possibly a compact crossbow or something else he could attack with quickly. And he was nervous about Towaal. He recognized her or something about her.
Ben smiled. The rift key, they’d found someone who recognized it.
“You know what she’s capable of, don’t you?” asked Ben.
The man’s head snapped around to Ben. His companions shifted nervously, grips tightening on their weapons. They didn’t know what she could do.
“There is no need for this conversation to be so tense,” answered the man. “Just tell me what I want to know. I cannot let you leave here until I’ve learned the fate of the owner of that cart.”
Ben gambled. “He was stabbed to death.”
The man frowned. “By you?”
Ben shook his head. “We intended to travel with him, with Samuel. We drank with him one evening and agreed to accompany him here. He wasn’t at the inn the next morning so we went to his warehouse. We found him dead. I’m not sure who did it, and that is the honest truth. He was in a secret cellar, a bone-handled knife sticking out of his chest.”
The man’s eyebrows rose. The knife meant something to the man.
“Three parallel slashes marked the butt of the weapon.” Ben added. “I don’t know who killed him. After that, we borrowed his cart and brought it here. He didn’t need it anymore.”
“Why?” asked the man.
His men were restlessly shuffling. Several of them glanced to the doors which stood open behind them. They were nervous, but no longer about Ben and his companions.
“We needed to get to Irrefort. It was easier than walking,” snapped Ben.
“This is not a time for jesting,” snarled the bald man.
Ben could feel the tension in Rhys beside him. The rogue was ready to spring. Ben guessed he already knew which neck or eye his knives would end up in.
Ben shrugged, the tip of his sword rising and falling with his movement. “You asked where we got the cart, and I told you. I think it’s time for you to tell us what you’re looking for.”
The man smiled. “By my count, you’re outnumbered, boy. You’re not in a position to make demands of me.”
Ben nodded to Towaal. “Are you sure about that?”
The man grimaced.
“Give the signal, boss,” snarled a wide, bushy-bearded man.
Instead, the bald man held up a hand. “I feel we’ve started on the wrong foot. I don’t care about what happened to the peddler. I am only interested in two particular items he meant to sell me. A black glass scepter with silver caps on either end, and a dark green cloak with gold embroidery around the edge. Have you seen these things?”
Ben glanced at Amelie and she shifted nervously. Towaal looked at them. Ben whispered, “The scepter, the fireballs.”
“You have seen them!” accused the bald man.
“What good do you think it would have done you?” interjected Towaal. “Devices like that require knowledge and will to activate. They would only be useful to someone trained as a mage.”
Now the man shifted uncomfortably.
“You have some training, don’t you,” mused Towaal. “How?”
“That is my business,” declared the man.
Towaal pressed him, ignoring the menacing stares of his men, “Who trained you? Was it someone here in Irrefort?”
“Boss,” urged the bushy-bearded man. He was tightly gripp
ing a short sword. The men were done talking. Ben guessed they were used to sudden action.
Towaal held a hand in front of her, palm up. A ball of flame materialized, floating above her hand. She casually tossed it from hand to hand, the fire flickering with the motion, mesmerizing the room. “As you seem to have guessed, I have training as well.” Her eyes dipped to look at the flame. Then she met the bald man’s gaze again. “Can you do this?”
Towaal’s ball of flame flared higher. The thugs around the bald man stepped back. They may be violent men, but once Towaal revealed herself as a mage, they were less eager to attack.
The man’s face fell.
“Tell me,” demanded Towaal, “who trained you?”
No one answered.
Towaal’s expression grew dark. She stepped forward with obvious threat. The fire blazed higher in her hands. Suddenly, the doors to the room slammed shut, startling the thugs and Ben. Towaal’s eyes seemed to burn with the same fire she held in her hand. “If I need to, I can incinerate every one of you before you can react, but I won’t do that. I’ll start one by one until someone decides to talk.”
“A council member, a mage,” called one of the thugs from the back of the room. He was a big man, with thick, muscle-bound arms and scars crisscrossing his face. His boss turned to glare at him, but the thug continued, “The council member is mage training assassins.”
“Shut up!” shouted the bald man.
“You know the Thin Blades killed that peddler. What else did they take from him that they’ll use on us now? We’re in deep, Sander. Besides, she’s a mage, probably from the Sanctuary. I ain’t gonna take a fireball just so you can keep your secrets,” growled the thug. Turning to Towaal, he continued, “Lord Jason was the first to be trained. He couldn’t learn the art, but what he did learn was more than enough as the council found out. Sander came next, but he fled.” The thug cut his eyes to the leader, evidently Sander. “Now they’re training more.”
“What do they intend to do with these assassins?” asked Rhys.
“First, they’re going to kill us,” responded the thug. “After Sander fled and joined us, he started teaching things we could use, things the council doesn’t want us to know. They got angry and are planning to wipe us out. Sander had a plan though. If we could get the scepter and the cloak—”
“You’re the Quiet Men,” stated Rhys.
“What do you know about it?” snarled Sander, trying to reassert control.
“Quiet Men, members of Irrefort’s thieves guild, and you’re worried the Thin Blades, the assassin’s guild, will wipe you out. I know Lord Jason was a Thin Blade once, as you must have been, Sander.”
The room was silent, only the crackle of the fire audible.
Sander’s face fell. “I was, once,” he admitted. “How do you know about these things?”
“What were you going to do with the cloak and scepter?” asked Towaal. Her voice was hard as steel.
Sander wilted before her gaze. “I was going to finish it,” he croaked. “The cloak would make me impervious to the wards they’ve layered around themselves and the scepter is a powerful weapon. I was going to sneak in and blast Councilman Rettor right out of his tower. It’d serve the bastard right. Working for him was a one-way ticket to the grave so I quit and joined the thieves. I knew it wouldn’t be settled though. One day, one of us was going to end it. Without the cloak and without the weapon, he’ll be the one to end it.” He shrugged. It was obvious. Without the devices, he didn’t think he’d stand a chance against the mage and the Thin Blades. “If I coulda done it, there is stuff there, in Rettor’s chamber, items that woulda helped us finish off the rest of the assassins. Maybe even Lord Jason if he came after us.”
“What kinds of things?” demanded Towaal.
“Tell her,” called the scar-faced thug who’d spoken earlier. “If she’s from the Sanctuary, she ain’t on our side, but she ain’t on theirs either.”
Sander sighed, evidently giving up on keeping any of his secrets. “Two years back, Councilman Rettor found out about an old mage living in Irrefort, part of an ancient cabal called the Purple. He murdered the mage and took a trove of artifacts from him, powerful weapons and mage knowledge. He means to use it to solidify his power as Jason’s number two, maybe even supplant Jason some day for all I know. He thinks with the Thin Blades behind him, trained as mages, he could have the most powerful faction in Alcott. There’ll be nowhere for us to hide.”
“Where is this trove now?” pressed Towaal.
Sander glared at her then licked his lips nervously. “You help me get to it, and I’ll tell you where it is. Otherwise, I’ll die before I talk. Think about it. If he can defeat Jason and Argren with this stuff and his assassins, he can defeat you in the Sanctuary too.”
“I doubt it,” murmured Towaal, “but, maybe we can help each other. I need to talk with my companions. Take your men outside.”
“How do I know you won’t try to escape?” challenged the man.
“We either agree to help you, or we don’t,” responded Towaal. “Whether we escape or just say no, you are in the same position.”
“I’m not sure you can help me,” he complained.
“I’m not sure this trove of artifacts is really what you say it is,” replied Towaal flatly. “One thing that is certain. You’ll be found lying face down in some dark alley with a bone-handled knife in your back if you don’t get my help. Now, leave us.”
The man’s men made the decision for him. As a group, they turned and filed out into the street. They evidently decided that fighting a mage was going to get them killed sooner rather than later.
Grimacing, Sander said, “We’ll be waiting outside.” He scurried after his men.
“He’s a friendly sort,” muttered Rhys.
“Will we escape?” asked Corinne.
“That is up to Ben and Amelie,” responded Towaal. “Wherever this man will take us, it is bound to be dangerous. If what he said is true though, then this may be our only opportunity to learn more about the Purple.”
“It could be a trap,” muttered Corinne. “He wants us to help him, then he’ll slice our throats. Or he could be making the entire thing up. We don’t know this trove of the Purple’s artifacts even exists.”
“Does it matter if it’s a trap?” asked Ben. “We want to find the Purple, but we have no clue where to start. If the man’s story is true, then at least one member perished. We don’t know if there are others or what that man could have left behind. His artifacts could be useful to us. Even if the story is not true, I realized today that wandering around the city hoping to be found by the Purple is a foolish plan. I think we have to explore this. Besides, at the least, the man recognized something about the rift key. I’m convinced there is a kernel of truth to what he told us.”
Ben looked to Amelie and she nodded tersely.
“Like you say, does it matter if it’s a trap?”
“I hope you appreciate how dangerous this will be,” argued Rhys. “This man intends to rob a mage on the council, one who helped train Lord Jason. This could be as dangerous as breaking into the Sanctuary itself.”
Ben chuckled. “Well, I’ve already done that.”
Rhys coughed and sheathed his sword. “True enough. It sounds like you are decided.”
“What choice do we have?” said Ben. “We’re not going to quit and go home. Let’s tell the man and start to plan.”
The planning, it turned out, was rather quick.
“I believe the cache of weapons plus whatever books and scrolls he obtained is located in the keep, and we have to go tonight,” insisted Sander.
“The keep!” squeaked Amelie.
“Tonight!” exclaimed Corinne. “That’s crazy. We need time to prepare.”
Sander shook his head. “Surprise is the only advantage we have. If the Thin Blades find out Samuel’s cart is here, they will come for us immediately. Somehow, they found the man and assassinated him. I assume they watch t
he gates and like we do and it’s not a stretch to think they would recognize his cart. If we wait too long to play it, we may lose the only card we have.”
“Are you certain everything will be stored together in the keep?” challenged Ben.
Sander shrugged helplessly. “That’s where Rettor is. We will get what we can and hope it is enough.”
Just then, one of Sander’s men burst in. “Joshy is missing!”
Sander turned back to Ben and his companions.
Rhys took charge. “Very well. You were intending to sneak in there with the scepter and cloak. You must have had a plan. Tell us what you know about the keep, every detail.”
The Quiet Men fanned out across the city, collecting their fellows who were not at the inn and moving quickly through places they were known to inhabit. For two bells, Sander planned with Rhys, and for two bells, reports of missing Quiet Men filtered in. Everyone knew the Thin Blades were out there, and they must have realized something was going on. They were moving quickly to finish it.
It was a gang of assassins murdering a gang of thieves. They’d chosen the life, and Ben didn’t feel bad for them, but he couldn’t help noticing the grim faces and flashes of anguish every time a new name was mentioned. A dozen men were confirmed to be missing by the time they assembled behind the inn.
Ben’s gaze scanned the rooftops around them. If he was the leader of a vicious gang of assassins and was intent on murdering his rivals, he’d want to take advantage of them all being clustered together in a small courtyard that had few exits.
In the courtyard, there were three-dozen men along with Ben and his companions. Another score were scouting the streets on the way to the keep, ensuring the entire party didn’t get ambushed and wiped out before they even made it inside. Once inside, the Quiet Men hoped to be able to get to the cache and secure weapons to fight back against the Thin Blades. Ben and his friends hoped to find some intelligence leading them to the Purple.
After the initial showdown in the inn, the innkeeper and his staff had appeared briefly then vanished again. However this went, Ben was certain they wanted nothing to do with it.
“My men can get us in a side gate undetected,” started Sander. “Barring unfortunate luck, we shouldn’t have any problems up until that point. From there, we need to work our way up to the council’s chambers. I know the rough layout of the keep from years ago when I lived there. The council members reside in the north tower, twelve stories up. Once we get inside there, the inner sanctum, we’ll be on our own. I haven’t found anyone willing to tell me the layout for gold or threat. When I lived in the keep, I was never invited that deep inside.”