by AC Cobble
Ben’s eyes flicked open.
The beat was steady, martial. A flute joined the drum, a harp danced around the notes, and a woman’s sweet voice laid a melody on top of it. It was a marching tune, promising victory and glory, but one shadowed by a sense of loss and regret. Upstairs, in the warmth of his bed, Ben couldn’t hear the words the woman was singing, but he understood the tone. She was singing about what it was like when her man marched to war, what it was like to stay behind.
Beside him, Amelie stirred in the bed. She grinned at him. “We haven’t been in a bed together since Morwith.”
“There was no space for privacy in that little peddler’s cart. Next time, we’ll have to steal a bigger one.” Ben sighed dramatically. “The others will be expecting us at dinner soon.”
“Did that music just start?”
“It did,” responded Ben. A smile split his face.
“Then it may be a bell before they start serving. I think we have a little time,” suggested Amelie.
Ben bent down and his lips met hers. They stayed in bed for longer than a bell, much longer, but it was worth it. Elated and exhausted, he was a little unsteady on his feet by the time they made their way downstairs.
In the common room, they spotted Rhys and the others at a table in the far corner. When they got close, Rhys pushed out two chairs and gestured to two empty mugs. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sorry,” mumbled Ben. “I guess we were worn out from last night.”
“Getting worn out is more like it,” muttered Rhys under his breath.
Corinne slapped him on the arm. “We’re not in a rush. Besides, sometimes it’s worth celebrating just being alive. We assaulted Irrefort’s keep last night. We lived through a battle of the city’s thieves and assassin’s guilds. We fought a couple of mages, and our friends here survived the most dangerous swordsman in Alcott. I think we can wait while they have a celebration.”
“We celebrated twice,” mumbled Amelie, hiding a grin behind her hand.
Rhys guffawed. “Twice, huh? That is something to celebrate.” The rogue filled up the empty mugs and stood, raising his. “I propose a toast,” he called loudly to the room.
Corinne’s elbow dug into his hip and the rogue sat back down grinning.
Amelie raised her mug, “How about this one? To good friends.”
Everyone raised their mug, even Lady Towaal.
“To good friends.”
Half a bell later, the librarian’s assistant sheepishly arrived at their table. He was a young man, approximately Ben’s age and about the same size. He walked with his shoulders hunched over though, and had a timid demeanor that made him seem smaller than he was. His hair was shaggy curls and unkempt, falling over his eyes and hiding much of his expression. He was dressed plainly in a simple tunic, pants, and cloak. His boots were dirty but looked new. Ben suspected he had never worn them before he fled Northport.
“Milo,” he mumbled, sticking out a hand to Ben. “Sorry about running away. When I heard my master had been killed, I panicked.”
“I understand,” responded Ben, gripping Milo’s outstretched hand. “You didn’t know who we were.”
Milo sat down at the table and curled his hands around a full ale mug Rhys had sloshed in front of him. He didn’t take a drink.
“Milo,” Lady Towaal started, “has told us part of his story but not all. If it is okay with him, I will summarize for you so we can move on.”
Milo nodded.
“Milo is the son of a soldier in Rhymer’s guard. He had half a dozen older brothers. They took up an assortment of apprenticeships around Northport. When it came Milo’s turn, his father didn’t have coin to pay a craftsman to take him on so the boy joined the guard like his father. The guard,” Towaal said, glancing apologetically at the young man, “was not kind to Milo. He fared poorly amongst his rougher peers. Just over two years ago, his captain came to him and directed him to the library. There, the Librarian offered him an apprenticeship. He would serve as an assistant, and in time, if he showed himself capable, he would be trained as a librarian.”
“Did you prove capable?” asked Corinne.
Milo shifted in his seat. “He didn’t tell me everything, but the Librarian taught me a little,” responded Milo.
“Like what?” asked Amelie.
Milo held out his hand. Ben sipped his ale and watched. He nearly choked on it when a soft glow formed in Milo’s palm. Milo quickly closed his hand and extinguished the light.
“I think what is more relevant to you, the Librarian was concerned,” said Milo. “He was gravely concerned about the buildup of demons in the Wilds. He knew better than anyone that eventually the buildup would overwhelm Rhymer and his men. Northport would be lost. All of Alcott could be lost. He considered closing the Rift himself, but he deemed it too dangerous. One of his colleagues was murdered, and after that, the Librarian was the last of the Purple alive in Alcott. It’s why he brought me on, I think, to transfer the knowledge that only he knew. His hand was forced early though, when you destroyed the Rift. He thought there would be more time, more time to train me, more time to share his knowledge.”
Ben sat back, stunned at the revelation. Everything they had spent the last months working for was vanishing into the air.
“You are certain there are no more Purple left, no hidden repositories of information?” asked Towaal.
Milo shrank under her piercing gaze. “The Librarian was sure there were no more left alive in Alcott. They were old men, a dying breed.”
“What do you mean, left in Alcott?” asked Amelie softly.
Shrugging, Milo responded, “That is what the Librarian told me.”
“What were his exact words?” asked Towaal sharply.
Milo shrank into himself, cowering before their intense stares. “Those were his words,” he stated in a whisper.
Towaal drew the scroll and placed it on the table. Ben could see where the purple ties had been discarded. She’d studied the thing while they were sleeping.
“I was unsure of what to make of this at first, but with what you are telling us, I believe it makes sense when considered with what I learned in Northport’s library.” She unrolled the scroll. “There were two factions within the Purple. The first felt that the most effective way to combat the demons was to contain them and then systematically pick them off. They created the Rift, placed it in an area that was easily monitored, and then formed the system of hunters who were able to keep the population manageable. The second faction of the Purple felt a more permanent solution was necessary. They wanted to build a weapon that could, once and for all, eliminate the demon threat. The factions disagreed. The first said the weapon was too dangerous, too powerful if it fell in the wrong hands. The second wanted to proceed with their research.”
“The theory in the book about tapping the power between our world and the demon world, is that from the second faction?” guessed Ben.
Rhys gestured to a serving woman. “We’ll need more ale,” he said coarsely. “Bring pitchers. Keep them coming.”
Towaal waited for the woman to leave and then continued, “Yes, that could be the weapon. Their research was expensive and dangerous. They needed someone to fund them and ensure they’d have a safe place to work. The first faction, the Librarian’s faction, did not trust the second. They forced them to leave.”
Ben blinked. “The scroll says where they left to?”
Towaal touched a finger to the scroll. “This scroll is a message from the Librarian to the Coalition Council.”
Milo’s eyes flashed. He made as if to grab the document.
Towaal kept her hand on it. “It’s dated two and a half years ago, long before our adventure started. Even then, as Milo said, it appears the Librarian was worried about the increase in the demon population. Even then, he worried it would come to destroying the Rift. He said he was contacting the most powerful mages he could locate in Alcott, though, he only identifies himself as Rhymer’
s librarian. He says he wrote to the Sanctuary, the Coalition Council, someone named Gunther, and the previous Veil, Lady Avril.”
Ben blinked and looked at Amelie. She was listening, mouth hanging open.
“Two and a half years ago, when he wrote this,” Towaal continued stoically, “I was only aware of the mages within the Sanctuary. I didn’t know of the men on the Coalition Council or this Gunther, and I was under the impression Lady Avril was killed centuries ago. The Librarian not only suspected these people existed, but he knew how to contact them. Unfortunately, this is an individual letter. We don’t know anything about these people other than their names and that the Librarian attempted to reach them.”
“Did the Veil know about this?” exclaimed Amelie. “Did she do anything after getting her letter?”
Towaal shrugged. “I wish I could ask. As far as I know, she did nothing. That, though, is very unlike her. I worry she is playing a deeper game than we’re able to understand.”
“What did the Librarian want from them?” asked Ben.
“He wanted weapons and mages to use them,” responded Towaal. “He refers specifically to the Purple’s cache in Irrefort, the Sanctuary’s wyvern fire, and Gunther’s hammer.”
Ben snapped his fingers. “That could be how Councilman Rettor knew about the Purple!”
Amelie nodded. “Jason told us he ignored this scroll and let the other council members deal with it. That part makes sense now. Instead of helping the Purple use those weapons, Rettor murdered their mage in Irrefort and stole the cache. Gunther was mentioned by Jasper, I got the impression he’s another rogue mage who keeps to himself. Jasper wasn’t even sure the man still lived. What is the Sanctuary’s wyvern fire?”
Towaal took a long sip of ale. “Again, I wish I could ask the Veil. There are mysteries in the Sanctuary, knowledge that has been buried for centuries. I realize now that the Veil knows more about what is going on in this world than I ever expected. For years, she knew about the Rift and Northport’s difficulties stemming the tide of new demons.”
“Why didn’t she do anything about it?” demanded Amelie.
“That’s what worries me,” answered Towaal. “Maybe she was doing something.”
“What?” demanded Ben. “She didn’t send help to Rhymer. Lady Anne was in Northport and left! Who knows how many other mages over the years weren’t doing anything to fight the demons.”
“I think that’s what Towaal is worried about,” suggested Rhys. “The Veil is not one to sit by and twiddle her thumbs. She was up to something, trying to use this information somehow. If she wasn’t trying to stop the demons, was she trying to use them? I don’t know, but I think we all agree we can’t trust whatever machinations she’s trying to pull from within the shadows.”
Ben swallowed uncomfortably.
Corinne spoke up, startling everyone since she’d been so quiet so far. “How does this relate to Milo’s comment, the one about ‘left in Alcott’? You didn’t mention anything about some other faction of the Purple.”
Towaal answered, “The letter closes with the message that if the mages of Alcott cannot band together and defeat the demons, then, and I quote, ‘Qooten will rise. They will come out of hiding and unveil their terrible power. They will stop the demons, but we will all burn’. I thought that was referring to something else, but the Librarian’s statement to Milo implies there could be other Purple alive outside of Alcott.”
“Then it has to be them in Qooten!” interjected Ben. “They have a weapon that may be able to destroy the demons once and for all.”
Towaal nodded. “It seems the Librarian thought that power would destroy us too.”
“What do we do?” asked Amelie.
Towaal glanced at her. “I was going to ask you that. We’ve sworn to you, remember?”
Amelie looked to Ben. “What do you think?”
“There’s no choice, is there?” answered Ben. “Nothing has changed about the demon threat. Maybe this weapon is the solution, or maybe the surviving Purple can tell us more about the rift key. Either way, the demons are still there, still coming in uncontested. Entire towns are already overrun. If we do nothing, then Alcott is at risk. Everyone we know could be fodder for those evil creatures. We can’t turn to the Coalition. Lord Jason made that clear. We can’t go to the Sanctuary. The Librarian is dead…”
As Ben trailed off, Amelie said what everyone was thinking, “We go to Qooten.”
The next morning, the party shuffled out of the Hangman’s Noose. They had a three-day walk ahead of them to the port city of Hamruhg. From there, they hoped to gain passage across the South Sea and to Ooswam, where Saala was from. They would travel south through Ooswam to the desert nation of Qooten.
Ben found it difficult to keep his spirits up.
“What’s wrong?” asked Amelie.
Ben snorted. “What’s not wrong? We’re setting off again, hoping for a long shot answer to pay off. We still don’t really know what we’re doing and whether it can even help. Since we left the Sanctuary, it’s jumping from one dangerous mission to the next. We haven’t made any progress!”
Amelie walked close to him, letting her arm rub against his as they walked. “I think you’re looking at it the wrong way,” she suggested.
“How so?” asked Ben.
Amelie gestured to their companions, “We have a mage on our side, a long-lived assassin, a hunter, and, uh, a librarian’s apprentice. Saala I’m sure would support us if he knew where we were. We travelled with Jasper, an ancient battle mage, and he agreed to recruit his brethren and fight the demons. Lord Rhymer and even Lord Jason are aware of our cause. Don’t forget, they’ve both helped us in some way. We’re gaining allies, Ben, allies all over Alcott.”
“I’m not sure that is enough, Amelie,” argued Ben. “We’re too few. We’re not strong enough.”
“Remember what we told Jasper?” reminded Amelie. “It has to start somewhere, and it has to start with someone. It started with us, but it’s not just us now. There are others. Still few, but it’s spreading. Maybe when the time comes, we’ll find the support we need. Maybe it will be enough.”
Ben sighed. He knew she was right. He wasn’t a hero, but they’d found some. Towaal, Rhys, Corinne, Jasper, maybe even Lord Jason someday. It didn’t seem like a lot, but maybe it would be enough.
The city of Hamruhg was a sprawling mass of old red bricks. It predated the Coalition. The city sat on a broad river. Ten leagues south were the choppy waters of the South Sea. Rhys explained that in ancient times, Hamruhg survived because it was on the river and not the sea. It made defense easier. Towers were set up to alert the city of raiders. Anyone who did try to attack from the water had to deal with the catapults stationed in those towers.
When the Coalition came to power, Hamruhg was one of the first major cities to fall to Irrefort, though, reluctantly joined was probably a more apt description of what happened. Hamruhg, similar to Fabrizo, was ruled by merchants. Their might was economic and not political. As long as they could keep trading, they didn’t much care who was collecting the taxes. At least, they didn’t care until those taxes started to go up.
As the biggest port in the Coalition and the closest to Irrefort, the city was an easy source of wealth for the Coalition’s government. Between import duties, excise taxes, wharfage fees, and captains bonding drunken sailors out of the jail, the Coalition’s coffers were filled from Hamruhg’s success.
From a distance, Ben could spy bulky estates built from hulking stone instead of the red bricks that made up the rest of the city. The estates dominated the blocks they sat on like armored warriors crowding out the other drunks at the bar. The merchants may complain about the taxes, but it hadn’t put them out of business.
“After we find an inn,” said Rhys loudly so the entire party could hear, “I’ll find passage on a vessel and the rest of you can secure supplies. The sooner we leave, the better.”
Ben nodded. Lord Jason had let them go, but the
man could always have second thoughts. Ben didn’t relish the thought of facing him again. They also had Eldred to worry about. No one had heard anything from the dark mage since Towaal left Northport, but she was out there, somewhere.
“Have you been to Hamruhg?” Corinne asked Milo.
She, like the rest of them, had spent the last three days trying to draw the shy librarian’s apprentice out of his shell. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, and when he did, it was in a quiet voice that didn’t carry much further than the person he was directly addressing. He never spoke up in a group.
Milo shook his head.
Ben veered closer, straining to hear the conversation. He was curious about the boy. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure what the Librarian had seen in him.
“I’d never been out of the west until the trip to Irrefort,” answered the boy.
Corinne nodded, “Neither had I. Actually, unless you count the Wilds, I never left Northport until I fell in with this crowd.”
Milo ducked his head, nodding to the huntress.
“Milo, have you spent much time outside of Northport?” Ben asked.
“A little,” answered Milo.
Ben frowned. The conversation got him thinking. He didn’t know where Milo was actually from. Certainly not Northport, with his almost physical aversion to weapons and combat, but where? He was intending to probe deeper, but they reached the end of the muddy road they were following and found themselves standing in front of the gates of Hamruhg. The traffic was flowing in smoothly, but there was a long line of merchandise waiting to get out.
“Making sure they’ve got their customs chocks,” guessed Rhys.
Ben saw his friend was right. To exit the city, people were showing the guards marks on the sides of their wagons, or in the case of a large wagon train, pieces of parchment where the port officials must have collected the duties.
Amelie was watching closely, probably considering how the system affected the economics of the region, but Ben was only interested as far as they were able to enter easily with no fuss from the guards. After that, his concern was finding a tavern with cold ale, clean bedding, and, ideally, a secluded bed he and Amelie could share.