by Kris Kramer
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Iago wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his wool cloak. He wanted to take it off, so he could cool down, but he knew he was too easily recognizable in these parts, so he kept the cloak on with the hood up over his head. The mild heat combined with the constant walking made him sweat like a stallion, but he ignored it and moved on. He would have to see about getting a Liren cloak in town, though. They were much thinner and lighter than this one, and much more comfortable. Although, he didn’t look forward to dealing with Liren merchants.
The dry, cracked ground and the long tufts of greenish-brown grass that stretched endlessly to the north and east gave no doubt as to their location. They were in the Halaraan Steppes now, one of the more arable areas, too, seeing as they weren’t far from the river. Most of the land here was cultivated for wheat farming, and sometimes corn, but as you traveled away from the river, the land became hard and dry, poor for grazing and impossible for farming.
Iago decided to take their path closer to the river, intending to follow it northwest straight to Tyr, which sat on the east bank. They would see more people coming this way, and pass some small outposts and patrols, but that was no worry. This close to town they looked like nothing more than travelers seeking a place to stay, and if asked, they could simply claim they were refugees from the Outerlands, and no one would think twice. They still had a long day left before they actually reached the city or its outskirts, however. Iago figured that if their water held out and they ran into no trouble on the way, they would reach Tyr by evening, so they had to brave the perils of the steppes until then. He wasn’t worried. They were getting close to the lands patrolled by the guards, and in the steppes, he would rather take his chances talking his way past curious soldiers than running from roving thugs working for bandit-kings in the area.
The first signs of settlements came shortly after midday. They passed a small collection of tents, home to roughly two dozen people herding a small pack of sheep and goats. A few chickens clucked in a pen, and two herding dogs ran around the camp’s edge, chased by four children wearing nothing more than rags for clothing. None of these people were Anzarin, though, and the adults looked tired and haggard, even scared, as the group passed by. When asked about it afterwards, Iago said that they were Outerland refugees, called kirfalla by the locals, escaping to the Lore Valley after losing their homes to the White Horsemen. He guessed that this group came from Neratos, or maybe Aberohn, but he couldn’t be sure. A short time later they saw another camp, farther in the distance this time. It seemed to be set up the same as the first one, only twice as large.
Later that afternoon, they spotted a half-dozen riders on horseback, a guard patrol, Iago thought, headed south at a fast clip. Iago’s heartbeat picked up when he first saw them on the horizon directly ahead, but they angled to the right and passed by, completely uninterested in them. Iago let out the breath he’d been holding, and as he did, he saw the same look of frantic relief on the face of everyone else in the group. Iago just raised his eyebrows, smiled weakly and kept walking.
After another half hour of staring aimlessly at the ground in front of him, Iago stopped when he noticed that the others in the group had slowed down. He glanced back to see everyone’s gaze fixed on something off in the distance, and he turned to finally see the dark outline of the massive city ahead. Tyr, where tens of thousands of people dwelled, worked, slaved and fought. Iago frowned at the four, dark-brown spikes jutting up from the center, just barely visible over the walls - the towers of Ocasha Etyr, the Grand Palace of the Clerics. Just next to them, the reflection of the afternoon sun gleamed from the bronze dome of the Tyran Library. Those were the only structures in the city taller than the outer walls, which were said to be the height of twenty men. With Tyr finally in sight, each of the six men stared, either in awe at the great structure, or in fear of what would befall them inside. Iago felt his nervous energy, which came on shortly after midday, shoot up now that he could actually see the city. He looked at the others, who seemed to be waiting for him to make the first move. Saalis and Jonir had grim looks on their faces, while Galen and Margis gaped wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Hal, though, just looked sad. Iago took a deep breath, trying his best to quell the apprehension in his stomach.
An hour of walking brought them almost upon the great city, which now stretched across the plains before them. Already the largest city in the known world, Tyr had become even more so with the recent influx of refugees. The walls were originally built to protect the city from the Galatae, fierce barbarians from the eastern hills who once roamed the steppes in large numbers. But, the increasing patrols of Tyran guards, and the rise of bandit-kings in the vast stretches between the cities had kept the Galatae from mounting any large scale raids near Tyr in almost a hundred years. As a result of the increased safety near the walls, small towns and villages had popped up all around, the best example being Harbortown.
Harbortown was the name for the collection of warehouses and inns that sprung up around the docks on the banks of the Mirken, just outside the city. Most of the main buildings had originally been guard towers and barracks, built to protect the merchants and shippers when loading or unloading their wares. Once the threat of the Galatae became almost non-existent, though, all the guard barracks were turned into inns and taverns, and houses and huts appeared in between, behind or on top of the existing buildings, stretching from the docks all the way back to the main gates of Tyr.
The group reached the southern edge of Harbortown first, and they stayed near the river bank, moving between the docks on their left and the taverns and warehouses on their right. Very few people were out. A small group of sailors had gathered on the dock next to their ship, while a half-dozen more walked the road just ahead of the group, probably headed to the city. This late in the day, the taverns were already filling up, and the sound of laughing, shouting and music echoed through the thin walls of Harbortown's buildings. Eventually, they reached a cross road that turned to the right, back to Tyr. After passing by two stables, a smithy, and several plain, wooden warehouses, they reached the open area just in front of the city entrance.
Two massive, metal-framed, wooden doors stood before them, half the height of the walls, and easily an arm’s length in thickness. The doors were open, sticking straight out from the walls. Iago led them just past the edge of the right door, and as he did he looked down at the ground in front of it. Leaning up against the outside bottom edge of the huge door, near the back where it connected to the walls, were several large rocks. He never knew how they came to be there but every time he came to this city those rocks sat there, unmoving and untouched, signs that these doors had not moved in a very long time. They would be safe from external threats here, but those weren’t the threats Iago worried about in this place.
Dozens of red and brown-clad members of the Tyran Guard could be seen wandering back and forth along the walls, watching the steady stream of people coming into and out of the city below them, or just chatting with the other guards nearby. Tyr had not been attacked by an army in decades, the last being a weak attempt by Otaro to show it wasn’t afraid of its giant neighbor, so members of the Guard typically had little to do when manning the walls or guard posts around the city other than talk or look bored.
Just through the doors, on either side of the main road into the city, were four-story tall guard towers. The walled ground floor of each tower doubled as a barracks and guard station. On the roof of the barracks, a wide, wooden staircase extended up to the top of the walls, allowing guards to move up and down easily. These were the two biggest guard stations outside the Old City so guards constantly scurried in and out of the barracks, or up and down the stairs. A full squad of eight guardsmen stood lazily outside the ground entrance to the right side guard station.
Iago led the group through the doors and between the two towers, waiting the entire time for a pack of guards to swoop down and arrest them. That was paranoid thinking, he kne
w, but he couldn’t help it as his heart seemed to be beating about ten times louder than normal. They passed without any notice from the guards, who all seemed more interested in their own conversation, and Iago allowed himself to breathe a cautious sigh of relief as they slowly disappeared into the crowd on the streets.
They’d done it. They’d reached Tyr, the grand city of the Anzarins, and the home of their enemies.
Now, all they had to do was get back out.