"Yes, he did." the innkeeper replied, worried. "He didn't look like any of the sort your kind would be concerned about."
The man in red flipped the coin back at the innkeeper, who caught it after nearly dropping it twice. "We aren't concerned about him. A client is." He stood and sidled up to the door leading out the back. "Keep us informed of his movements, nothing more. Then you can keep what he gave you." He walked out the back of the inn, whistling a merry tune and tipping his hat to a young woman who passed by. She blushed and didn't notice him lift the jeweled bracelet from her wrist as he brushed past her.
The bracelet vanished into his coat as he turned a corner and was gone from sight.
The innkeeper swallowed, and closed the door before his wife came back and wondered what he was up to. He eyed the gold coin and sighed. He had hoped that he could finally make a profit without Zadrah getting his fingers into his business again. But the infamous 'Baron of the Back Alleys' was again aware of things happening as if he were there.
The man went into the kitchens to tell his wife of the new tenant's meal, and to take a mug of ale for himself. The next two weeks were going to be a hassle.
Chapter 11
Joven rode his horse up the crest of the hill that night. The walls of Ironsoul gleamed in the moonlight, its appearance of fortitude assured safety to those who lived within. To Joven, it represented a tactical challenge. Many times the warlords of Balator had tried their mettle against the walls of Ironsoul, and as many times they had failed. Though recent treaties with Ironsoul has ceased such attacks, and removed their presence with the ivory satrap, Joven still considered the walls with the same respect one gave a lifelong rival worthy of his skill.
The moonlight caressed the bare skin of his heavily muscled arms as he gripped the reins loosely. He wore leather armor over his torso, sleeveless so he would be unhindered in a fight.
Across his chest were several straps, and upon them several sheaths and scabbards were woven into or tied upon them. Two short swords crossed his shoulder blades, their handles where he could reach them easily. On his back was slung a greatsword of black steel, its surface drinking up the moonlight and giving nothing in return.
Under his arms on his flanks were four knives at each side, where he could quickly draw them and throw, or palm them if his arms were crossed. A battle axe was strapped to his hip with a leather thong, also crafted of black steel. A dagger was securely sheathed at the sides of his hips, strapped onto the hide pants he wore. Pairs of long thin blades were sheathed in scabbards built into the leatherwork of his boots. Several throwing axes were stowed along the saddle of his horse, just in case he needed just one more weapon. He had further tricks concealed should it become truly necessary.
His blonde hair was long but held back by a steel circlet, keeping it out of his face. His visage was impressive. A man of strong cheekbones, jaw line and cleft of chin. He had shaved a few days before, and had a shadow of hair across his face. His nose was slightly crooked, like it had been broken a few times before and was never set properly. His brows were thick and the slope of his forehead gave his blue eyes a stalwart appearance, but there was an intelligent glimmer of something more behind those eyes than just the desire for violence.
He kicked in his stirrups, and his horse bolted forward. A strong beast, the horse he rode was by all considerations a massive warhorse. White hide gleamed in the night, and the black paint handprint across his face and the paint markings across its haunches made it as intimidating as the barbarian that rode it.
The cities gates were still a few hours ride away. He would have to slow down and approach carefully, lest the men on guard think he was charging on the attack. He felt no fear for such an encounter, but slugging his way through a cadre of city guards and its inevitable ending would be bad for Balator's budding relationship with Ironsoul. That and he wouldn't be able to find the Spengur if he were dead, an obvious risk when taking on a capitol city by oneself.
Joven rode on in the night, and hoped he wouldn't have too much difficulty finding the man. He had been given a description of him, and told he would be meeting him in the city, but little else. It wouldn't be hard to find someone like him in the city. His bloodline has been bodyguard to the Spengur for generations.
Each generation taught the one before it, with word of mouth and flash of steel. Taught with hard earned lessons of blood, broken bones and bruises. Each father teaches the son of sacrifice, and of devotion. Each generation is required to set aside their lives within Balator and swear new allegiance to their Spengur.
Though only one of each generation must serve, their family is required to have many sons. While Spengur can be hired with little impact on honor, there was only their bloodline to guard him. If they die out or allow the Spengur to die their tradition ends, and the Spengur would be left all the more vulnerable.
As the night rushed by Joven felt a twinge of remorse, but shoved it aside. The last Spengur was now gone, as was the ones who followed and protected him. There was nothing he could do about it. There was only one bloodline left to watch over them.
The ten men on guard at the stone gates that night had the door closed as he approached. They came to full alertness when they spotted him riding up. They rushed a few dozen feet from the gates and formed a line with their lances drawn.
Joven stopped his steed thirty yards away, and dismounted. He walked his horse up to the line of men and stopped just out of jabbing range of the lances. His face was expressionless as he took in the ten men's postures and equipment.
The men were decently trained, but had not seen real combat. Their weapons only showed the wear of being carried around and none from striking or being struck. Joven smirked; if he had been on the offensive, the men would be felled before they could mount a solid defense.
A rattle drew his attention upwards. Four more men with longbows perched upon the outer wall, their bladed arrowheads visible in the moon's light. Well, they weren't entirely incompetent, he reconsidered.
Joven's smirk expanded into a smile. He raised his arms from his sides, showing he held only his horses' reins.
"Men." Joven stated, his voice firm, but he could not keep the amusement out of his voice. "I bring you no harm, yet. I seek entrance into the city."
The closest guard stammered in response. "Well... well you can't."
Joven's smile faded. "Why not?"
"City's closed." the man responded with a little more backbone. "Come back in the morning."
Joven scowled at the guardsman. "What's the problem?"
"Nothing." the man almost shouted back. "Just come back in the morning. We open the gates at suns-rise."
Joven stared at the man, the frown upon his face as hard as if carved in stone. The guardsman gulped.
In a whirl, Joven turned and led his horse to the side, off the road. He stuck a small stick into the dirt along the side of the road, and loosely looped his reins over the stick. His horse began grazing nearby, but never let the reigns draw tight. He sat down on a grassy patch and crossed his legs, placing his hands on his knees. He would wait, and he knew his presence would bother the guards but not be a nuisance enough to attack.
He had one other trick up his sleeve he planned on using. While the guards had to remain alert and attentive, warily watching the barbarian at the gate, he would be able to rest. Joven knew how to sleep while sitting up.
Endrance woke up the next day later than he was expecting to. The combination of a month's long walk, the loss of time and the warm meal he had consumed when the innkeeper's wife had delivered it had ensured he remained unconscious. The bed being of superior quality to anything he'd ever slept in very likely had a lot to do with it.
The first hours of day he spent sitting on the windowsill, watching the gate. Nobody stood out that passed through, and he was starting to get worried by the passing of the day. Perhaps waiting and watching wouldn't be enough. He should also put himself out into the city where his guide could find
him while he looked for his guide.
He thought about what he could do to pass the time, and he realized that since the task was passed through the proper channels, he should be able to find the information at the tower he saw coming in. Someone there might be able to direct him to the right person, or at least tell him who or where to look.
So his next goal would be to finding help at the tower. Then he could work on finding the guide.
In a nearby tavern, Joven asked the fourth person that hour about the man he was seeking. No one had recalled having seen him yet, and so Joven settled down to a drink. His horse was stabled at a nearby inn, and he had traded in enough furs he collected along his trip to Ironsoul to earn the silver these people wanted so badly. He could trade those for what he needed until he found his charge.
Something tapped his shoulder, and Joven glanced at the source of his irritation. A large man in ratty clothing with a large gut and holding a repurposed chair leg stood behind him. Four other smaller men stood behind him, each with an improvised weapon of some sort.
Joven's right hand slid off his tankard and towards his belt. He stopped when he felt the strip of red cloth that was tied over the axe and the loop it was hooked on. All of the visible weapons he had were tied off with a strip of red cloth, to show he didn't intend on using them during his time inside the walls. They eventually ran out of cloth strips, and told him he got the idea.
He had sworn not to use his weapons on citizens of Ironsoul while he was looking for the Spengur. So he turned to the overweight man and smiled. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Hello! My name's Joven!" he waved to the bartender, who was trying to be inconspicuously as far away from him as possible. "Please, have a drink!"
The man scowled at him. "Look here, barbarian. Jus' cause you signed those treaties don't mean we don't remember the people your kind killed." he tightened his grip on the club. "We're gonna remind you you aint welcome here."
Joven reached up and casually caught the chair leg as the man swung it down on him. He looked over to the barkeep.
"Uh," the barbarian began, pushing back and letting go of the leg, causing the assailant to stumble back into his fellows. "Sorry if something gets broke, 'kay?" he asked. The barkeep sighed and nodded.
Endrance walked down the street, looking for someone who would be able to help guide him to the Cathedral. He passed by a tavern, and considered going in to ask the owner. He had heard from Ethan that bartenders had a wealth of information.
The door to the tavern cracked as he approached it, the wood splintering. A man on the other side screamed in pain. He heard another man yell, and the window beside the door exploded outwards. A greasy, overweight man clutching the shattered remains of a chair leg rolled across the ground to stop at his feet, unconscious.
Endrance decided to look elsewhere. That place was busy.
Joven followed the last of the hooligans out of the tavern, shaking his fist and yelling at them. He chased the remaining ones away from him, and they smartly decided to take their boss and drag him off. The passersby in the streets had barely paused in their daily routine to observe, and were already going back to business.
Just another thing Joven disliked about the people of Ironsoul. No social niceties. Any real man would have gotten up after a brawl like that and have more respect for him instead of scrambling away like a beaten dog. They maybe would even buy him a drink, or a complement on his punch. Either way, more friends had been made in Balator with means that ended with missing teeth than handshakes and fake smiles.
Joven was just turning to go back to his drink when he thought he saw a glimpse of light blonde hair on an almost womanly figure down the road. He blinked his eyes a few times to help adjust to the light and leaned out into the road. The clothes style and body size fit the description of his charge. The hair was almost exactly what the letter described. He saw the figure turn his head to smile at another traveler, and he knew for sure that he was his charge. The subject had incredibly bright emerald colored eyes.
“Fate is kind.” He said to himself and tossed a silver piece at the barkeep that caught it with a sigh as he surveyed the damage the barbarian had caused.
He started out into the street when he met a wall of men. Five of the city guard stood in front of him, their faces grim. "Sir, please step back into the bar. We will have to sort this out.” The lead guardsman said coolly, his hand on the scabbard at his waist. “Or are you going to continue this rampage?” The other four men watched him warily.
Joven sighed. He held his hands out to his side and slowly backed into the tavern, keeping his eyes on his charge for as long as he could. “Perhaps I spoke to soon.” He muttered.
The young man continued on his way, unknowing that his guide was within sight of him. Joven’s mouth twitched as the door to the tavern swung closed, cutting off his vision. He turned to the five guardsmen and had to make himself smile. If he finished this quickly, he might be able to catch up to the young man.
“Now, what is the problem?” Joven asked, attempting to sound pleasant. The barkeep flinched. The five men looked around the room as their eyes adjusted to the lighting. The head guardsman sniffed and nudged a fragment of table with a boot.
“Let’s start with this.” He said. “And then we’ll talk about the assaults.”
Joven knew that it wasn’t going to get finished quickly.
Zadrah watched the kid go about his business. He walked among the other people bustling to and fro, scurrying about their lives. The kid had an air about him; one that screamed to Zadrah’s experienced senses that he would be a fairly easy mark. His build, demeanor, and his eyes wide with awe at the city about him made the thief label him a kid more than any factor of age.
Though he seemed a country bumpkin, something about him bothered the thief. He couldn’t quite place it, but his instincts warned him to leave the kid alone for now. He wasn’t wearing any city colors or iconography that would warn the thief that his mark was a city official or mage, but nonetheless he had this nagging feeling that something was amiss with him. Perhaps he would have to delegate some of the job to lackeys after all.
Zadrah leaned back against the wall of a clothier’s shop and just watched the mark for a time. He studied the kid intently, though to the casual observer, he looked to be doing nothing of the sort. He was just a man sweet talking a beautiful young lady in the semi-privacy of a dark alcove. The woman he was playing with was flattered at the wonderful bracelet he gifted her. He was able to sift through most of the bland conversation while he worked; only responding when it was needed to keep her talking with him for the moment.
Eventually the kid wandered out of sight, heading towards the gleaming tower to the east. He disengaged from the conversation with the lass using sweet promises of a wonderful night’s passion, and glided after the kid. Along the way he would change his disguise, one of many tricks he used to follow targets. By the time night had fallen, they would have everything they needed to roll the kid for all he was worth, and then some.
The Sha’hdi paid in good coin. In old coin, enough so that Zadrah himself felt compelled to handle the job personally. Even though the kid was just a whelp barely out from under his father’s shadow. He wasn’t sure how much esteem the client felt for the mark, but they were surely overpaying him to interfere. He didn’t mind that so much. He was already planning to see just how much profit he could eke out of the situation, regardless of the matter. After all, to him women couldn’t get his heart racing nearly as well as profit did.
Chapter 12
The tower was far more magnificent when Endrance stood within its gates and under its shadow. Easily large enough to house his entire village on one floor, the tower was of nearly unbelievable proportions before considering its height. If turned on its side, he would spend the better part of an hour treading its length just from one end to the other. It couldn’t possibly have been constructed in any normal fashion. It couldn’t even stay standing as tall as it was and yet it d
oes.
The polished alabaster stone walls cast a shadow over Ironsoul like a sundial of the gods. He could see the walls, corners, and settings for the door had elaborate script inlaid in gold along geometric patterns. They lent a scintillating effect to the already warm glow of the polished stone. Banners of the wizard who owned the tower hung from the walls surrounding the tower’s courtyard. Bright white cotton cloth stitched with a gold eye upon it. The iris of the eye was a golden sunburst.
Endrance remembered the sigil from his studies of historical figures. It was the symbol of house sunseer, a family lineage of powerful wizards. His books even suggested that the Sunseer lineage predated the kingdom itself. He knew that the current head of the sunseer household was the Archmagus, Talos. Though he didn’t know much about him, Kaelob told him that since the death of Archmagus Valeria, Talos had proven an adept leader.
Once within the gates into the publicly available courtyard, he saw no security measures. No guards, no warding sigils, he didn’t even sense any active spells as he walked the flagstones leading up to the doors.
- - -
Of all the potential guests he had seen so far today, the young man standing in the courtyard was the first to catch his eye. Talos rose from the low slung couch he had been scrying from and sought to get a closer look. Something about the boy caught his eye. His scrying spells had revealed a modicum of magical power, but the part that really interested him was the blatantly obvious spellwork on his aura. He reconsidered. It wouldn’t be blatant to anyone who didn’t have the same condition himself.
- - -
Endrance hadn’t even heard the man approach. He had been too distracted by the door that wasn’t a door. Before him was a dome of gold, ten feet across. It’s convex surface smooth and reflective. He had just been about to reach out and touch it when he realized there was someone in the reflection near him. Startled, he looked to his right. Leaning against the wall next to the dome was a man so peculiar Endrance shouldn’t have missed seeing him.
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