by A. C. Cobble
“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.”
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, which 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 wer
e 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.
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.