Harin patted down the woman’s baggy robes for weapons before ordering his Guardsmen to step aside.
“You are the mayor here?”
The woman met Adriel’s eyes with a discerning gaze. “You are Adriel Ivanne, no?” Her wrinkles deepened with a thoughtful frown. “We’ve heard rumors of you. We assumed they were just stories.”
“I bring real hope. Not just stories.” Adriel dismounted and placed her hands on the woman’s shoulders. “We’re here to free Kaanos.”
The mayor smiled. “You are kind, but you are also young. The war is over. It’s time to accept that.”
“It’s not over, so long as there are those of us willing to fight.”
“Kaanos is as good as theirs. They control most of the country, not to mention Dun Ara. They have the king as well, and the few resistance fighters are scattered to the winds. There’s no use fighting a losing battle, child.”
Adriel crossed her arms. “How much are they paying you?”
“They pay us well for our goods and don’t take anything without coin or trade. Does it really matter who we pay our taxes to or who sits on the throne so as long as our bellies are full and our children are safe?”
Adriel waved for Silas. He reined his horse over to the two women, every eye in the village watching him. “This is Silas Valfalas. He’s a Warrior and Outrider. He fights for your country’s freedom, and when we are victorious, you will have him to thank. Not yourself.”
Adriel swung back into her saddle and scanned the crowd. “My troops will make camp here. You will sell your goods to us and no one else. Anyone who wants to fight the Acedens is welcome to join us. Otherwise, do not get in our way.”
With that, she turned and led her retinue back toward their camp, leaving the mayor frowning at their backs.
Silas cantered up to Adriel’s side. “I don’t think she liked that very much.”
“Good. We’re here to liberate her country and she obviously has no intention of making it any easier for us.” She turned to Shara. “General Dralmond, keep a perimeter around Hearthill, I want to know everyone who comes in and out. Question the villagers and find out what you can about the Acedens as well; we need to know when their trade runs and patrols come through. Kari, take two companies of scouts to Dun Ara.”
Silas grinned. “Does that mean we’re finally marching on the capital?”
“No, that’d be too dangerous. We’ve got the numbers, but most of our soldiers are too green to face the Acedens. Not to mention we don’t have siege equipment.”
“So… what are we going to do then?”
Adriel smiled. “We attack from inside.”
Isroc adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, grumbling at the climbing sun behind him. How long had he been waiting here?
He gazed up the line, and not for the first time. Hundreds of farmers and merchants waited just as impatiently, forming a long chain of people that stretched from Dun Ara’s gate into the surrounding fields.
This was an absolutely idiotic idea. He would have sworn that it had been Cain’s plan if he hadn’t heard it from Adriel’s own mouth. She was as much a brazen fool as Cain was. Of course, he wasn’t much better, seeing as he’d agreed to the plan.
All he had to do was pretend to be a merchant and determine the state of the city and report back to Adriel if an assault from within was possible. All he had to do…
Isroc sighed and shuffled forward a few feet. The line dwindled and he at last stepped into Dun Ara’s mighty hills. He had to admit the place was impressive. Seven towering hills formed the capital, each lined with tall timber walls and towers that formed an intricate defensive network. A deep gulley cut between two of the outer hills to create a narrow chokepoint that the line now funneled through. Eventually, he reached the main gates.
Acedens guarded the entrance, inspecting the carts and wagons of the waiting visitors. Others stood nearby, hands on spears and mistrusting eyes scanning the crowd.
Isroc frowned at the banners of Iscarius snapping in the warm wind.
Something about Silas’ harsh words the other day had helped snap pieces of his mind back together. His call to take charge had spurred him to try and talk to Kari. He’d felt his heart doing jumping jacks in his chest; he hadn’t felt that alive in years!
He wanted to feel that way again. He wanted more than the cold loneliness that he’d shielded himself with these past few months. Perhaps that was why he’d accepted this mission.
Isroc had lost everything he cared about. But he still had his friends, and they still had Kaanos. Well, he refused to let Kaanos fall, if only for them. He would not fail this time.
One guard stepped forward to pat down Isroc’s roughspun robes while the other rifled through his hand cart. The man searching him paused at his belt and produced his knife. He shook his head and handed it off to his superior before nudging him toward a desk just inside the gateway.
“Name?” the official-looking man behind the desk asked.
“Hargus Defall. Merchant from Erias?”
The man jotted down something in a large book before setting down his quill to study him. “Is that supposed to be a question?”
“I’m a merchant from Erias.”
“I thought most of the merchants were women in Erias, same as here.”
“They are. My wife is dead, so I figured I’d take up her mantle. Times are hard, you see.”
“You’re a long way from home, friend, it’s a shame you couldn’t have seen this grand place in happier times.”
Isroc contemplated the man’s words. He was clearly Kaanosi and seemed familiar with the city. Was he Aceden or merely forced to work for them?
“I don’t have you in my ledgers,” the recordkeeper continued. “Do you have a license?”
License? No one told him he needed a damned license! “No, I’m afraid I do not.”
“That’ll be twenty marks for the license to sell your wares, or ten for a partial payment with the rest paid by the end of the fortnight with interest. No leaving the city until you’ve paid in full.”
That sounded like a lot of money. Wait… he had no idea how much anything cost! And he was supposed to be a merchant!
Fortunately, Adriel had given him a substantial purse of coins, and so Isroc fished through the coppers and irons in search of the silvers he hoped were marks. Too few were silver. He cleared his throat, glancing at the impatient line of traders behind him.
“I don’t have ten marks,” he said, desperately hoping he’d smoothed the panic from his voice. He silently berated himself for forgetting to ask Adriel about Kaanos’ currency.
The recordkeeper studied him again, then made another note in his book. “Five marks up front, with twenty-five paid in full by the end of the week, and you will not be able to leave the city until you pay.” He held out his hand. “There will not be a better offer.”
Isroc placed his silvers in the recordkeeper’s palm, and the man dropped them into a nearby strongbox before stamping a scrap of paper. He handed Isroc the license and shooed him away.
Isroc gulped with relief and pulled his hand cart away from the gate and into the entrance court. People flooded the city, a mix from all over the world. Isroc had been to many of the world’s great cities but even those paled beneath the sheer variety of people that filled Dun Ara’s streets. Eriasans in their stiff, utilitarian cuts. Meresi in their flowing, colorful robes and dresses. Charunite and Kaanosi in simple linens. There were even a few Inveirans wearing their dark, almost uniform-like coats.
Perhaps many of them had heard the same rumors: that Kaanos was the last haven from the Acedens. And now they were trapped here in the clutches of the enemy they’d sought to escape.
Dun Ara was indeed grand with its tall buildings, yellow cobbled roads, and expansive markets. It was likely a marvel of construction, though everything was dwarfed in the shadow of Morven.
Isroc didn’t spend much time soaking in the sights. How was he expected to be a merchan
t, to buy and sell wares and gather information if he didn’t even know how much to sell a damn peach for? If he ever made it out of here alive, he’d have to make sure he gave Adriel a piece of his mind for allowing such a colossal idiot to carry out what was likely the most important mission they’d ever undergone.
He supposed he understood why it had to be him. Silas would have been too easily recognized in his home city, as would Adriel. Sure, pretty much any of the Vilant could have done the job, but most were too green to rely on for such an important mission. That left him, with his stupid forgetfulness and his—
“How much?” A voice stirred him from his internal reprimand, and he turned to see an Aceden soldier peering into his hand cart. The man plucked a peach from a bucket, eyeing it like a fine jewel. “Not a whole lot of fruit to be had around here,” he continued. “How much for the peach?”
“Um…” Shit. “One mark?”
“One mark? Are you bloody serious?” The man half-coughed, half-laughed as he dropped the peach back into Isroc’s cart.
“One… not mark?”
“Wait, really?” The soldier fumbled for a pouch at his side and practically dumped its contents of iron coins into Isroc’s hands. He then snatched the bucket of peaches and before Isroc could say anything, had disappeared into the crowd.
Isroc grumbled, thumbing through his wares. He hadn’t even made it to the market and he was already botching the whole thing.
Before he could walk five feet, another Aceden approached him. “You the guy? You have any apples?” The soldier began to dig through Isroc’s cart. “How much for them?”
“Two?”
Same shit. The Aceden practically threw his money at Isroc and ran off with another bucket of fruit.
Isroc cursed and trundled his cart down the road to the nearest market. Here, several more Acedens gathered around him, leading a growing group of civilians. The crowd pressed around him, shouting and pushing to reach him as they waved their coin purses. Isroc pushed back, trying to shout over the ever-growing throng, but it was useless. It was the strangest robbery he’d ever seen; almost all his goods gone in moments with a pile of irons and coppers left in their place.
Isroc sank back against a wall and beat his head against one of his now empty barrels. Should he try to leave while he still had some wares left? He couldn’t afford to lose all his goods, not when this one cart had been all they’d managed to gather. Besides, the recordkeeper wouldn’t let him leave until he’d paid back the license.
He was certainly in a bind. No, he couldn’t allow himself to give into despair, not again. And so, he plotted, thinking of his next course of action while he watched the bustling crowd.
It was a clashing, dizzying mix of people and colors. Even the smells overwhelmed his senses—the sweets of northerner pastries mixed with the spice of Meresi dishes. It seemed to him like any other city, lively and prosperous. At first glance, anyway.
That’s when he saw it. The fear in many of their eyes. Desperation. Hunger. A sadness that followed even the youngest child. Some even openly wept. Nearby, an elderly man sat alone in a tobacco cart crying over a child’s hat.
The all too often Aceden patrols further drove into him that all was not as it should be. They cut paths everywhere they went like oil through water as people shied away. The market drew a little quieter when they passed, and every back grew rigid. Whispers and curses followed in their wake.
This place was ready to catch fire with the slightest spark. And here he was trapped in the middle of it all, separated from his army and unable to fix a damn thing.
How could this get any worse?
Someone cleared their throat, breaking Isroc from his ever-darkening thoughts. He glanced up to see a large man staring down at him, arms crossed. He wore the drab linens of a commoner, but he had the look and build of a seasoned soldier. Was this an Aceden?
“You the idiot who’s been giving away his wares?”
Isroc shrugged. “Come to make me feel worse about it?”
“I’ve come to get you out of here. The Acedens are onto you.”
Isroc thought on this for a moment. Could he trust this man? This could just be an Aceden trying to trick him into slipping up. “Who are you?”
“Let’s just say I’m a friend of a friend. I’ll explain, but not here.”
Isroc stood and met the man’s gaze. “Why would the Acedens be onto me? I haven’t done anything.”
The big man chuckled. “Anyone selling food for dirt in the middle of crippling inflation is going to draw attention. Come on, there’s someone who wants to see you.”
Isroc made to follow but paused. “How can I trust you?”
The soldier turned back with a growl. “Because it’s either that or wait for a squad of Acedens to show up and ask you their ‘questions’.”
That was enough of an argument for him. He followed the stranger across the market, leaving behind his nearly empty hand cart. A group of filthy beggars immediately swooped in and pilfered the remainder of his fruits.
He’d been lost in thought for far longer than he realized—it was evening now and most of the shops and stalls were closing. Shop owners boarded their windows and cast glares at anyone who neared. Few people wandered the roads, bustling about their last-minute activities.
The soldier led Isroc down twisting roads and side streets, constantly doubling back or taking seemingly random turns. Isroc found himself glancing over his shoulder for signs of anyone following, but the streets were empty. A bell tolled from somewhere, sounding curfew. Still, the two continued through the maze of alleys to the shadow of a large building near the inner keep and palace.
The stranger moved down the wall toward a full rain barrel and heaved it aside. Isroc approached, curious. “False bottom,” the man whispered before vanishing.
Where’d he go? Isroc jumped around the barrel, blinking into the dark. “Down here,” the man’s voice called from below.
A tunnel! Isroc squeezed into the cramped opening and felt his way down, scraping and bumping as he went. A few more feet and the tunnel sloped up toward a dim light. The soldier reached down for him and hoisted him up into a dark room.
A handful of candles illuminated the place, their soft glow bathing kegs and barrels and dusty bottles. Blankets and bedrolls filled the room along with stacks of crates and racks of weapons. Motes of dust stirred as several figures stepped into the candlelight.
“It’s been awhile, my friend,” greeted one of the men.
That voice… “Armeth!”
Armeth’s plate armor was dented and scarred in places, and he moved with a pained limp. He seemed haggard and worn, a stark contrast from the lively and powerful man Isroc remembered from Morven. Despite his tired and bloodshot eyes, the king’s advisor still managed to smile his warm smile as he shook Isroc’s hand.
“How are things here?” Isroc asked. “From what I’ve seen, it doesn’t look good.”
“Little better than the outside, I fear,” Armeth replied. “The rebellion had already broken out by the time our army returned home from Morven. The Acedens had taken much of Kaanos before we could mount a counter offensive. Fortunately, they weren’t near as organized as they were in other countries, or so our reports suggest. We nearly had them routed until they gathered reinforcements from Charun. They took Dun Ara all too easily after that…”
“That’s why I’m here. We’re going to fight back.”
“I don’t know how much good you and your Warriors could do here. There’s thousands of Acedens.”
“Not just us. We brought reinforcements.”
Armeth perked up at this. “Reinforcements… from where? How many?”
“They’re Vilant. Fifty thousand fighting men and women, all ready to march for Dun Ara at a moment’s notice. They’re in Hearthill, just a few days north from here.”
Armeth nodded, a smile pulling at his weathered face. The other men in the room—likely all soldiers—whispered among the
mselves at this. “This is the opportunity we were hoping for,” Armeth continued. “The chance we thought might never come.” He stood a little straighter, eyes a little brighter. “Now is our time. We will take back our city!” The soldiers gave a quiet cheer.
“Where is the king?” Isroc asked. “Adriel will want to know.”
“Adriel! She is well?”
Isroc chuckled. “Yes, I’d say so; she’s been busy. She’s leader of the Vilant and she’s also somehow become the queen of Charun.”
“How am I not surprised? The traitorous bastard is dead then, eh? I never did know what Ethebriel saw in Vanthe, though the two were fast friends. But Ethebriel… he was captured by the Acedens during the siege. They’ve had him locked away in the palace ever since; Iscarius didn’t want what happened to King Darius and King Cradoc to happen to him as well. He let Ethebriel keep his crown, but that’s all just for show—the real power has been given to a warden of Iscarius named Demorne.”
“Iscarius isn’t here then?” So much for hoping Cain would show up.
“No. Whether that’s good or bad, I couldn’t say.” Armeth turned and limped toward a nearby shelf before sitting and stretching out his wounded leg. “My informants report that he left a few weeks ago, headed toward Andaurel or somewhere farther east.”
“But Ethebriel is a prisoner here? We’ll need to find a way to infiltrate the dungeons during our attack on the city.”
“He’s being held in the palace for some reason. My boys and I have been working on finding a way in, but the place is heavily guarded. But with Adriel’s soldiers we should be strong enough to outright siege the city.”
“A siege would be too risky, especially with so many innocent people caught in the middle. Adriel wanted me to find out if we could smuggle men inside, but with you and your soldiers already here, we can attack from within. If we can take the inner and outer gates, then we should be able to hold them long enough for Adriel’s Vilant to move in and rout the Acedens.”
Armeth nodded in contemplation. “Very well, that may be our best option. I’ll send word to my men, they’ll be eager for a fight after all these months spent in hiding.”
The Shadow of War Page 32