Towers of Redact

by RG Long

  Its metal construct glowed with magical energy as it fought off another burst of magic. No doubt the speakers enshrined in that tower were trying to undo it.

  The griffin rammed itself into the tower and then pulled away, leaving a massive hole and sending tremors through the earth.

  Sefen could hear screams from within the city as the mighty tower began to tilt and fall. When it did, the magical energy that had been flowing from the tower was extinguished.

  Commander Sefen smiled.

  Thousands upon thousands would die today. His men would march into the city victorious.

  And he, Commander Sefen, would continue his campaign until the continent of Redact was in ashes.

  28: Unexpected Interview

  Wisym and the others gathered into the small inn they had found on the edge of town and discovered that it was already quite busy.

  Whether that was because the miscreants and rejects of the city gathered here or because the inn was so cheap, Wisym didn’t know and at the moment, didn’t care.

  She was hungry and wanted any meal that could be found. Walking around with Holve all day talking to sailors and other people in the city had given her an appetite. Not only that, but it piqued her curiosity.

  From everything they could tell, the people of Darc wanted nothing more than to be left alone and excluded from most of the goings-on in the rest of the continent. They were mostly self-sustaining and only traded very little with other countries.

  Nearly everything about their culture reflected that. Nothing was sold that came from another country. There are no exotic vendors or merchants pushing wares that were from far off countries. And just about every product available was advertised as made in and produced by Darc. It was like a badge of honor.

  “Bah. They are a prideful bunch,” Gorplin said he settled up into a chair beside Wisym. “They don’t want anything to do with anybody else and just want to not worry about anything.”

  “Wouldn’t you if most of the rest of the continent was in turmoil?” Holve asked.

  “Bah,” Gorplin responded. “I wouldn’t let such atrocities go unspoken for.”

  “None of us would, ya know?” Trotta said. “But they don’t seem to be interested in justice.”

  “Justice doesn’t pay the bills,” a short, frazzled looking woman said as she walked up to them at the table. “And neither will you my husband tells me. Bunch of freeloaders.”

  Despite saying this, she put bowls of soup and bread in front of them.

  Wisym thanked her and began spooning the broth into her mouth as quickly as she could.

  “Your husband was very gracious,” Serinde said, looking at the woman appraisingly. “He said it was the least he could do for us clearing away some of the Blackthorn gang members from his brother’s... place.”

  “The brothel?” The lady huffed. “Serves him right for getting into such a business. No wonder gang members are around. You can wash up after yourselves and clean your dishes in the kitchen as well as all the other ones.”

  She walked away mumbling about not being a charity, and Wisym couldn’t help a bit feel bad that she had not even try to talk to the woman before she began eating. She really was hungry.

  “Don’t let it trouble you,” Holve said. “We’ll be in her good graces soon enough. Some contact is better than none. What I’m curious about though...”

  He looked over his shoulder quickly, and Wisym glanced over as well.

  Sitting in the corner was a group of three Skrilx, all in hoods and huddled together. The appeared to be talking in quiet whispers. The inn was full enough that Wisym couldn’t have heard them even if she wanted to. There were other patrons noisily eating their food and talking about their day. In all the commotion, the whispered conversation of the Skrilx was lost.

  “Did anyone else notice how many Skrilx are here and free?” Holve asked. “Rark and her friends on the Island had told us that many of them were forced into slavery in Rerial and wiped out in most of the other continent. Why are they here and Darc? What allowed them to continue?”

  “Lucky, I guess,” Silverwolf said as she wiped her face after setting the bowl down and smacking her lips. She looked longingly at Holve’s untouched soup Bowl. He put a hand on it and gave her a stern expression.

  “There’s more than luck at work here,” he said. “I need to figure out what.”

  “What about that man everyone keeps talking about?” Alma asked. “The king?”

  “Some ruler in a tower in the capital of Darc?” Silverwolf said. “I don’t know. Most rulers who aren’t ever seen by their people are either uncaring or dead. I overheard someone say they hadn’t seen the king in this city in a hundred years.”

  She shook her head.

  “Unless he’s an elf, he’s definitely dead, or some made-up somebody who the local rulers use to coerce people into doing what they want.”

  “There are statues of him everywhere,” Serinde offered.

  Wisym thought about it for a moment.

  “A king no one has seen, but everyone had statues of? Sounds more like a god other countries would worship rather than a man to rule.”

  “Maybe we should go check it out?” Alma asked. Wisym saw the look of adventure on the young girl’s face and smiled.

  “We need to get back to Ealrin,” Felecia said. “We’ve been separated too long, and I don’t like it.”

  “Are you concerned about Urt, too?” Wisym asked, genuinely.

  Felicia nodded but said nothing more.

  “I’m concerned for all of them,” Holve said. “That we haven’t heard from them or seen any airships coming our way exploring the places we could’ve been is worrying. But I guess that has to speak to the major concerns of the continent rather than just Ealrin.”

  “What concerns have you for the continent?” came a voice from just behind Wisym.

  Their party turned to see one of the Skrilx in a hood had come to observe the table.

  Whereas the atmosphere in the inn had been pleasant just moments ago, everything went quiet at the Skrilx’s question.

  “Oh, friend,” Holve said with what Wisym recognized as forced casualness. “We have friends who were concerned about Darc from areas outside your borders. We travel the world trying to seek peace for many beleaguered countries. This is no different. Redact appears to be on the precipice of war. It’s up within everyone’s best interest to have peace.”

  The Skrilx folded his arms across his chest.

  “Do you know what peace got from my kind?” he asked with furrowed brows.

  Wisym knew. They all had heard the stories from Rark at the island. The Skrilx of Redact had been killed to near extinction.

  Two of the Skrilx’s friends had stood and come over to join him at the table.

  Wisym put down her bowl of soup and reached for her waist carefully, putting her hand on her dagger. She looked over at Silverwolf, who also casually had her hands behind her head as if relaxing. Wisym knew better. The assassin had both her blades in her hands.

  “We would hear more of your quest for peace,” the first Skrilx said. “I think you may find it a tale worth telling.”

  “I don’t know if...”

  “These people bothering you, Hirgur?” the disgruntled wife of the inn owner said as she came back to the table, rubbing her hands on her apron.

  Wisym was about to answer her that they were fine when she realized she hadn’t said any of their names.

  “They’re fine,” the Skirlx replied, talking to the woman. “But I think they have a tale worth telling.”

  “Get talking,” she said, looking at them all. “If you’ve got something to say that these ones want to hear, you best explain.”

  Holve looked at Wisym, who looked back at him with doubt and worry written all over her face. She knew that this was not the quiet evening they were hoping to find at this inn.

  “It’s a long tale,” Holve began. Wisym could tell he was stalling for time.
r />   The Skrilx pulled up an empty chair that Wisym could have sworn wasn’t empty before he had put a hand on it.

  “We have all night,” he said as he sat down in it at the head of their table. His two companions did not sit, but rather flanked him and stared down at them. Wisym had seen Urt fight for several years. And these three would have made him, as big as he was, look small by comparison. She didn’t want to get into a fight here if they could avoid it.

  Neither, apparently, did Hove. He gave a soft chuckle as if realizing he was going to be here for a long time.

  “It starts with Good Harbor on Ruyn,” he said softly.

  Wisym listened intently but kept her hand on her dagger nonetheless.

  29: On Their Feet

  “What a night,” Gorplin said as he climbed into the bed that the innkeeper had provided for them. They had been granted two rooms, which was a far cry nicer than other back alley inns they had stayed. The walls were not filled with cobwebs and, besides the normal run of people who didn’t prefer to use the more well-known taverns, the inn was rather clean. Still, he was still forced to share his bed with Holve.

  Some things couldn’t be helped.

  Trotta, Wisym, Alma, Silverwolf, Felecia, and Serinde were all bunked up in the room beside theirs. It was connected by a small door that Gorplin could fit through comfortably, but everyone else had to stoop down in order to get through it.

  “Must be for the help,” Silverwolf said as she bent down to inspect it.

  “Familiar with having help, are ya?” Trotta asked.

  Silverwolf hadn’t answered. Instead, she went through the portal and disappeared into the room with two beds. Who would sleep where was a mystery to Gorplin, but he was sure the assassin would end up with a mattress under her if she could help it.

  She was used to roughing it, Gorplin knew. But he was also becoming familiar with the life she had lived before. That was another life.

  “The evening was not what I was expecting,” Holve answered as he sat in a chair, looking at a small fire that was glowing in the meager metal fire grate by the door. “Explaining our history as well as I could without getting us in more trouble than we might be in.”

  Gorplin grunted as he rolled over in bed.

  “Seems like they were satisfied,” Holve admitted. “But only after they asked a hundred questions.”

  “Nosey,” Gorplin admitted. “Left quick too.”

  He heard Holve sigh.

  “It just doesn’t make sense,” the older man said.

  “What’s that?” Gorplin asked, feeling himself ready to drift off to sleep but not quite understanding Holmes meeting.

  “Something is brewing on Redact,” Holve said. “But I just don’t understand. There’s no great underlying threat like in the last continents we’ve been to. No goblins or Wrents or crazed dictators wishing to take over the world. Least not that we’ve seen yet. But something is brewing. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

  Gorplin turned to look at Holve. He could see the frustration on his face and knew that he was perplexed by what he was seeing. Gorplin had known Holve long enough to understand that look.

  He also knew that any mystery Holve set out to find out more about didn’t stay in the dark for long. The old man had a knack for uncovering secret things.

  He was just about to say so when he heard a very loud knock on the door. Holve spun and stood to his feet, black fire poker in his hand as the door burst open. From the look of things, several city guards were standing just outside the hallway and in the door as they brandished their weapons.

  “Holve Bravestead and company,” the guard in front said with a sneer. “The High Council requests your presence.”

  “There had better be a good reason for getting us out of bed!” Gorplin heard Silverwolf shouting from the other room. “You don’t just wake up anyone without reason!”

  “We will come,” Holve said, placing down the fire poker and putting his hands where the guards could see them. “But I suggest you don’t anger the one with silver hair any more than necessary. She’s quite the skilled fighter.”

  Gorplin found himself complaining the whole time they were walking down to the down the street toward the house of the High Council.

  “If they had wanted us in for questioning they could’ve done it earlier. I thought we already spent time answering all of their questions? Why couldn’t they wait for the morning? And what’s with barging into our rooms with blades drawn? We’ve done no wrong.”

  “That will do friend,” Holve said, putting a hand on Gorplin’s shoulder.

  This didn’t do much to calm down the dwarf. Instead, he felt himself growing angrier with each passing moment.

  “Got to put up with a bunch of hot-headed irresponsible politicians again,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Listen to the old man bearded one,” one of the guards said. “It might go better for you when we get to the High Council.”

  The streets were bare. Not many people were moving from store to store at such a late hour. Instead, most of the street vendor stalls were packed up for the night, and many of the stores and shops were dark. Only a few lights illuminated their path. One of them was being carried by the guard in the front. Gorplin and Holve walked right behind him.

  The rest of their party followed behind, but Gorplin wasn’t concerned. At least not for the health of their friends. Silverwolf was in a terrible mood, and if anything, the guards who were escorting them did not realize just how close they were to losing their lives.

  The city of Paren did not seem as welcome and inviting at night as it had that morning, especially since they were passing the military section of town that was alive and moving despite the late hour.

  Gorplin noticed that several of the soldiers were very busy getting things in carts and preparing various barrels in the compound. While the rest of the city was sleeping, the military of Dark seemed awake and ready for whatever it was preparing for.

  “I didn’t think you all did war,” Gorplin mattered.

  “Hold your tongue dwarf,” the same guard threatened.

  Gorplin looked up at Holve, but he didn’t look down at the dwarf. He didn’t seem like this is the time for talking about what they assumed.

  It wasn’t long before they were standing in front of the house of the High Council again. This time the guards took them into the building and escorted them to the hall of the council. Torches were lit all along the walls as they made their way to the chamber in the middle.

  Gorplin guessed that this is where the high council normally conducted their business, as opposed to the front steps, where they had spoken with them last time.

  All five members of the high council sat in their chairs as the group was escorted inside and made to stand on the dais in the center of the room. More guards waited for them there, each armed and appearing very alert.

  Gorplin did not miss that the three Skrilx who they had met in the inn were also in the room. They weren’t standing down by the guards; rather, they stood in between the chairs of the council.

  “Good evening,” Holve said before any of the other council members could speak. “I wonder what you have to tell us at such a late hour that could not have been explained earlier?”

  Gorplin could hear the frustration in Holve’s voice, but he also knew the old man was much better at keeping it under wraps than he would be.

  “But I see you’ve gained several members since we last chatted,” Silverwolf said. Gorplin looked back and saw that she was glaring at the Skrilx’s who stood between the council members. One let out a snort, but other than that, they did not respond.

  A woman in the middle stood up and addressed them.

  “As chair of the High Council, I bring this meeting to order so that we may judge the actions of the accused. I, Madame...”

  “What a minute! What are we accused of?” Trotta interrupted as the woman who stood in the middle looked very irritated that she had been preve
nted from the formalities.

  “Madame Washburn presiding,” she said as if she had not been interrupted at all. "Madame Dunkin beside me, keeper of the notes. Master Zachard, inform her of the evidence presented. The High Council will deliver it once the evidence has been gathered and will determine a ruling immediately thereafter."

  “What are we accused of?” Trotta asked again.

  “The accused are hereby ordered to remain silent until the protocol has been followed,” the woman shouted. Madame Washburn did not seem like a woman who was easily trifled with, nor did she enjoy being interrupted.

  Gorplin was about to offer a cheeky remark, but again Holve stepped forward and held out his hands. The man said nothing, but Gorplin knew that his companions understood what he meant.

  Wait to act.

  Gorplin was sure that they had been in worse situations before. They certainly had been in similar situations before, but not worse.

  Madame Washburn sat down and addressed Holve directly.

  Hirgur tells me that your group has moved from continent to continent seeking peace. He also tells me that what you have found on each continent of Gillia is quite the opposite. You have found war, rebellion, pain, and strife. You have found some measure of that already on Redact, especially as it concerns the Court of Three and from what we understand, some of the members of the Skrilx race. Is this true?”

  Gorplin wanted to make a move forward but found Holve’s hand blocking his chest. A small voice by his side whispered into this ear.

  Holve wants information.

  Gorplin felt the blade turn icy cold and caused his bones to shiver. He took a step backward and adjusted himself.

  “Fine,” he grunted.

  Holve looked up at the group in front of them.

  “We are a group of many people from several continents,” he said. “And yes, the main point of our journey over those continents has been to find and encourage peace.”

  “But instead of this you have caused war?” one of the older men on Gorplin‘s right asked. The Skrilx beside him folded his arms.