The crystal towers of Solveim gleamed in the afternoon sun as the group reached the edge of the woodlands. The royal city sprawled out before them. The Solan river coursed across the plains between the woodland the city, full of barges and small watercraft. The royal standard of King Seratus fluttered atop the highest towers, a golden shield on auburn.

Elas checked his gear. His body still hurt, but on closer inspection he had judged nothing was broken. Even if it was, there wasn’t much that could be done for a broken rib aside from dealing with the pain. Rost, Rex, and Daven each gnawed on trail rations, absently patting their own gear. Hoight and Sarma both stared wide-eyed at the city in the distance. Neither of the younger men had been outside the lands of Traerheim, let alone seen the royal city.

“The last report Captain Gorsch received said the package is still in the city. We’ll enter in pairs and meet at the Drakon’s Door at sundown. With any luck, we’ll get the prototype and be out of the city before anyone of import knows we were ever here.”

An hour later, Elas and Rost approached the gate. Guards flanked the gate, two units of six, along the edges of the road. Their short helmets tapered down the back and forward around their cheeks. Nose guards down to the chin protected the face while giving the helmets a distinctly skeletal appearance, one known the world over by anyone whose primary occupation was war.

“Varestan Skulls on gate duty,” Rost said. “I wonder who they pissed off to be stuck out here. If they got gate duty, that means the Varestans have the whole city under their heel.”

“All the better for us, their soldiers will be stretched further afield than we had anticipated,” Elas chuckled.

He and Rost slapped each other’s backs, as if sharing a joke, while they passed the group of guards to the right, heads together.

Two riflemen, one archer and three pike-and-swords, Elas observed. Those guns are at least three months behind our current standard issue. If that’s all they are turning out right now, we may still have a good advantage in the field.

“State your business in the royal city, sirs,” said one of the swordsmen, the sergeant of those on gate duty judging by the single iron stud on the collar of his tunic that showed just over the edge of his breastplate. Gunpowder warfare had changed the armor of choice for many soldiers, but many men were hesitant to give up all their protection, especially the older veterans. A lifetime being saved from sword slashes and arrows by chainmail and shields had bred a distrust of shedding that protection, even in the face of withering rifle fire.

“We seek berths for Southwarden or Freehaven,” Rost said.

“Mercenaries, then?” the guard sneered. “Don’t try anything funny inside these walls. The old King may have had a soft spot for criminals, but Lord Veras has different plans for the scum of this fine city. Get your berths and leave soonest. Now move along and get out of my sight.”

Elas and Rost pushed through the crowd onto the broad street beyond the walls. Thousands thronged the boulevard, the main avenue used by merchants to bring cargo into the city. The men moved out of the way of the gate traffic for a better view of their surroundings.

The two men passed a gap between two large buildings and stopped dead in their tracks. Two young women cowered against the wall of a building down the alley to their left. Six men, rough looking and mancing, surrounded them. One of the men, clearly the ringleader of the little posse, traced his finger down one of the women’s face to her collarbone and then around the curves of her breasts. She heaved a few breaths trying to keep from screaming as the polished blade of the man’s knife twinkled inches front of her right eye.

"So much for a quiet entrance," Rost said, already drawing the knife he sheathed above his right boot. "That said, I could do with a fight. I was starting to get bored."

"We take them fast and hard," Elas growled. "And try not to kill any of them, Rost. The last thing we need is to get involved with the city watch."

"For you, Captain, anything," Rost said in what could almost be called a sweet voice.

The two men strode down the alley, slowly enough as to not attract attention, but quickly enough to have some momentum when they hit. The first two thugs to turn were rewarded swift right hooks to their throats. The men stumbled back, one into a pile of boxes and the other into another of his friends, gasping for air bruised windpipes.

Elas lashed out with the butt of his knife and struck another man in the temple. He dropped like a very heavy sack of potatoes. Rost’s second opponent had the luck to duck his first strike and launched into the Sergeant’s midsection. They both fell to the ground in a tangle. Elas ended the struggle with a quick kick to the back of the thug’s head.

"Thanks for that, I told you I needed something to sharpen me up," Rost said as Elas pulled him to his feet.

They turned as one to face the remaining man. He stared in shock at his friends sprawled across the ground, all but one unconscious and he had clearly broken something when his companion collapsed on him. The man whimpered and clutched at his pinned leg.

"He’ll need to see a healer about that leg," Elas said. "You on the other hand, might want to give us an explanation before you join him on the list of injuries."

"We was just paying these fine lasses a call, they was offering for us to -"

The first woman silenced his babbling with a hard slap across the face. She grabbed a tuft of hair and yanked him toward her. He yelped, but kept his hands down at his sides.

"If you ever try to attack my sister or me again, I’ll not show the same restraint these good men did, do you understand?" she said with quiet menace.

"Yeah, you was doing so well before they showed up, weren’t you girl," the thug sneered despite the unrelenting grip on his hair.

"Next time I won’t wait to get backed into a corner and you won’t be in a fit to chase me either."

"Oh, and how’s that?"

The man screamed as she stamped down hard on the top of his foot. His soft boots collapsed under the force of her heel and Elas heard the faint pop of bones snapping. The man sobbed and collapsed as she released hold of his hair, pushing him down to the ground near his comrades.

"My name is Gemma. My sister and I thank you gentlemen," she said. 

Her sister smiled shyly and nodded. "Helena."

"You’re awfully trusting of two men who just took down six," Rost said, arms crossed over his chest.

"Our father served in the Legionary garrison at Southwarden when we were children," the woman named Gemma replied, her voice confident as she scrutinized Elas and Rost. "You may have fooled the guards into taking you for mere mercenaries, but only men who served in the Legion wrap their swords using a Seresian knot."

Elas glanced down at his and Rost’s belts. The knot was the finest in the world for keeping a sword belt secure in the heat of battle, yet still easily adjustable to allow for extra gear to be hooked onto or around it. She was right, it was a hallmark of the Legion, though something very few outside the brotherhood ever noticed.

"You’ve a sharp eye and a wit to match," Elas conceded, stepping aside to allow the women to pass. "Be careful. Not just around these, but among those in power here. The Varestans were not known for their love of the Legion and there is a reason the Royal Legionnaires were sent south before Veras took the city."

"If you should ever find yourselves in the city again, you will have friends," she said with a small wave and smile. Then the two women turned the corner and left Rost and Elas alone among the wounded gang.

"Well, that was fun," Rost said with a grin. "One more thing, though, if you’ll allow?"

Elas nodded and bowed with mock grace. Rost strode over to the man clutching his foot.

"This is warning for your own safety. That girl has family in the Legion and those of the Legion protect their own. For your own good, you would do well to leave them alone."

"Those whores are going to feel sorrow when I catch them and you bastards won’t be around to stop it."

Before Elas could do anything to stop him, Rost drew the man’s own knife from the sheath at his belt and stabbed it up under the his heart. The man’s eyes bulged and blood seeped from the sides of his mouth. 

"No, they won’t," Rost said quietly.

He slid the knife out of the man’s chest and placed it in the hand of one of his unconscious friends. Then he turned and walked past Elas without a word. Elas glanced at the scene one last time as the man slowly bled out, his blood running down the alley toward a drain at the next street, like a red creek babbling away his life.

“The city looks nearly the same as it did when I was a boy,” Rost said, masking his rage with a study of their surroundings. They passed out of the alley and then down a side street, off the main boulevard. “Perhaps the city center is a bit taller and the buildings near the walls a bit more dense, but much of this seems the same.”

Elas chose to leave what had happened unspoken. Sometimes men needed to be killed. That was the way of the world.

“The city is growing up, literally.” 

He pointed to construction on a three story building near the corner of a square as they walked by. A fourth floor and the beginnings of a fifth were going into place already, nearly as high was the wall surrounding the city. He swept his hand across the avenue to the walls, two miles down running parallel to the two men’s path. Those were being raised, with new palisades climbing higher on top of the existing structure.

“Those walls will be just as strong as the base, despite being half as thick,” Elas said, motioning to the crews at the base as they hoisted massive grey beams onto cranes headed for the top of the wall. “Steel bars laid into the top of the wall create a lattice inside the stone that reinforce it and distribute any force down into the main walls. I saw some of these plans a few years ago while visiting the royal engineering corps with the my father.”

“Our long guns might blast through it, but it will be expensive to storm the walls even if we reduce that top chunk to ruble,” Rost said, referencing the field gun being built back home. “Fancy weapons help, but men win the battles and we’ll be spending far too many taking this city, when it comes to it.”

“If it comes to it, Rost,” Elas said. “Come on, we’re just about there.”

The Drakon’s Door lay down an otherwise quiet side street, away from the hustle of the thronging masses. A few drunkards lay about in heaps near the door. One made a grab for Elas and received a firm boot to the stomach from Rost for it. The man coughed and then giggled with a few hiccups.

“Try to be kind to the drunks, Rost, I’ve seen you in worse shape than that before,” Elas said as he pulled open the heavy door to the inn.

“And as I recall, I received a firm boot to the gut from you, my esteemed friend,” Rost said, stifling a laugh with his fists.

The air inside the inn was warmer than outside on the street, though not much in the summer’s late afternoon heat. A low fire flickered in a large stone fireplace. A large bar ran the length of the room to their left and another, smaller one to their right separated the guests from the kitchen and stores. A dozen round tables were scattered across the room, only a few occupied.

“Welcome to the Drakon’s Door,” said the barkeep. “What’ll it be for you black hearts?”

“I’ve business with Wallace,” Elas replied.

“Aye, I’ll fetch him for you.”

“You know this innkeeper?” Rost asked as he studied the layout of the inn.

“Friend of my father’s, they served together in the Saskaan war. Wallace is as reliable and he is discreet. He knows who I am and what I do, but he won’t tell a soul on his honor.”

“How does an engineer end up as an innkeeper?” Rost asked under his breath.

“By being a smart man and having too strong a love of drink and women,” a gravely voice rumbled from the door to the back room.

Wallace ambled out of the backroom, two flagons of beer in hand. Those he clunked down on the nearest table before Elas’s offered hand and hug. Red hair hung down past his shoulders, shot with strains of white and his red beard spilled over his chest.. A sizeable gut hung just over his broad belt, though his bearing suggested a man still strong and capable. Wallace looked up at the two men.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Elas. I didn’t quite catch your friend’s name.”

“He’s a bloody dwarf!” Rost exclaimed.

“This is Rost,” Elas supplied with a wry grin.

“Well master Rost, yes I am a bloody dwarf and I’ve bloodied stronger men than you before that fuzz you call a beard grew in. So stop standing there like some love-drunk lass and have an ale,” Wallace said with a grin.

Rost choked back whatever response he had planned. He suddenly became very interested in something on the floor between his feet as he blushed. After a moment, he regained his composure.

“I must beg your pardon, master innkeeper,” he recovered, with some dignity intact, his stern demeanor returning. He sat down and took a long pull of ale.

Then the door exploded inward.

Elas dove to his right, away from the mass of fighting bodies spilling into the common room of the inn. Rost pushed the barkeep back toward the small bar and flipped a table over for cover to protect the man. The other denizens of the room pushed back chairs or leaped for the back door toward the small stable behind the inn. Two bounded up the stairs, but they were two of Elas’s men. They’d make sure those stairs were secure in case they needed to get out quickly.

There were distinctly two sides of this fight from Elas’s view of it as he scooted back toward the fireplace. Men in city constabulary tabards, with their stylized crossed golden swords, struggled against another group who sported the crimson and black colors of Varesta, a Varestan bald eagle coat of arms emblazoned across their chests and shoulders.

Several watchmen pushed their opponents back and the two groups separated. The watchmen blocked any chance of escape out the front door. Their leader cleared his throat, looking around the room at patrons who had mostly followed Rost’s lead in crouching behind overturned tables.

“These dogs are charged with crimes against the crown for stealing from the King’s larder,” the man shouted as those around him disengaged their opponents, backing the Varestans further into the inn. “Any man here who helps us in their capture and arrest will be considered a friend of the Watch and given one day’s watchman pay for his aid.”

“Constable, order your men down,” said Varestan leader at the head of his small unit. “We serve Lord Veras and we answer to him, no other.”

Only the man’s eyes were visible behind a black scarf drawn across his mouth and nose. These men were not regulars or even Skulls, but something much more dangerous. This fight would be fast and Elas was impressed the group of constables had held their own in the first place.

“Sounds like you lads are having a bit of a pissing contest,” Wallace said as he rose from behind the bar. An axe rested in his hands. “But would you mind taking your conflict outside. I’m happy to facilitate your departure, for I’ve guests who paid for a peaceful night.”

“Stay out of this, you dirty gravelbadger,” spat the Varestan nearest the bar. A sergeant’s star was emblazoned on his tabard. He drew his sword and pointed it at Wallace. “You’d do well to learn how to address your betters.”

Wallace shook, his face red with rage. Dwarves tended to be boisterous and rowdy, rude and obscene by many standards of humans. But being disrespectful of race for its own sake was not something common to their kind.

“You should control your sergeant, Captain,” Rost warned. He paced between the groups to face the captain, hands on the hilts of his longsword and dirk. “Wallace has killed more capable men than this little bastard.”

Elas grinned. Rost had only just met Wallace, but his improvisation skills were unmatched.

“You address me as an equal, mercenary?” the Varestan Captain said. “Step back, now, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything.”

Rost smiled, hands up as he turned away. The Captain scoffed, his men laughing with him. A moment later, Rost’s closed fist slammed into the Varestan’s face. The Captain wobbled once, before collapsing into his men. The soldier who’d offended Wallace lunged in response, the blade of his infantry short sword stabbing down for Rost’s crotch. It connected with metal instead of skin, as Elas launched himself forward. He beat down the sword. Rost spun away, drawing twin short swords, grinning like a jackal. Then his eyes went wide, his focus suddenly on something behind the Varestans.

“Arrrggh!”

Wallace leaped across the bar. His axe swung mid-jump at the closest Varestan soldier. The blade cleaved the man’s arm clean off between the elbow and shoulder. Blood spurted across the stocky dwarf’s face as the soldier fell screaming, tangling the feet of the two men nearest him.

“I warned you once, you deaf bastards,” he growled.

 He thrust the axe forward, as if it were a pike, beating back the two men who tumbled over their fallen companion and onto the stairs. They turned to flee upwards, only to be held at sword point by Elas’s men at the top of the stairs.

“Drop your weapons, now!” Elas shouted at the remaining Varestans.

“This is treason,” shrieked the sergeant as he faced Rost in front of him, Elas at his back.

His companions stood behind him, guarding the Captain’s motionless body on the floor. 

“Perhaps we should go with the Constable, sir,” said one of the Varestan soldiers.

“Surrender, Hopkins?” the sergeant screamed, wheeling on the man.

Elas seized that moment’s distraction. He stepped inside the man’s guard, sword raised for a backhanded strike. As he closed, he planted his foot firmly into the man’s hamstring and pushed. The Varestan staggered forward with a shout of alarm and fell to one knee. The swing connected with the back of the man’s head. He felt the force of the strike in his arm, an unfamiliar feeling that only accompanied striking a man with the flat of a blade. The Varestan slumped to the floor next to his commander.

“If I were you, Hopkins, I would let the Constable there do his job,” Elas huffed.

The soldier nodded dumbly, staring at the scene at his feet. The Constable’s expression was equally dumbfounded. A hint of suspicion, as well. And a small measure of awe.

“You men wouldn’t happen to be looking for employment in the city, by chance?” he asked as his constables moved into the inn to secure the Varestans.

“I’m afraid not, master Constable,” Elas replied as he shook the man’s hand. “We’re bound for a different path. We are, however, always happy to lend a hand with difficult situations when we’re in the middle of them.”

“Difficult,” the Constable scoffed as he watched his men haul the dead outside. “You helped Wallace keep most of his furniture intact and neutralized a unit of the King’s Own. I had no idea mercenaries could be so, so…”

“So damn good is the phrase you are searching for, Constable,” Rost said as he sheathed his own weapons.

“Indeed,” chuckled the Constable. He consulted with one of his men quietly for a moment, then turned back to the others. “As promised, I’ve a day’s pay for the two of you and I’ll personally see that your furniture is repaired, master innkeeper.”

“Save your coin for someone who needs help,” Wallace scoffed. “I’m getting on in my years, but I can still build a sturdy table and chair with my eyes closed.”

“No compensation is needed for us either,” Elas replied before the returning soldier could hand over the sacks of gold in his hands.

“Mercenaries refusing gold, now there’s a sight I never thought I would live to see,” mused the Constable.

“To be honest, sir, we’re not mercenaries,” Elas replied. Wallace and Rost both tensed. “Truth be told, we’re common men with common problems and we’re in flight from some men who will do very bad things to us if they catch us.”

“Criminals?” one of the watchmen growled.

“Hardly, we just owe money to some men who would very likely not want to cross you all and I believe you know how those types deal with men like myself and my companion,” Elas lied. 

“Well, what would you have me do then? You’ve made my men look like foolish children wrestling in the street and I never so much as drew my own sword.”

“Perhaps, in your reports or in conversations to come, you, forget, a few details about our appearance and manners.”

Asking officials to lie wasn’t totally unrealistic, but the higher up the staff their rank, the harder it was to get results.

The Constable considered the request. He studied Elas and Rost, inspecting their gear and clothing. After a few moments of silence he nodded once and beckoned one of his soldiers forth. The man handed the Constable a ledger and a long quill. Long quills were fine devices, devised originally by Saskaan alchemists, to store ink in a wick-and-casing above the quill’s tip. Writing on the move had transformed communicating in Solana in just a few years and now anyone with some level of authority carried one with him on all official business.

“Aid in action, of arrest and processing Varestan soldiers accused of theft and perjury of, the Constable and City Watch of the Royal City of Solveim thanks-,” the Constable dictated, eying Elas and Rost for input.

“Ero Strok,” Elas said.

Rost grinned and said, “Reks Vorst.” 

Several of the soldiers behind the Constable snorted laughter at his use of the popular northern sausage dish for a name, but the Constable kept his composure and noted the name.

“- Ero Strok and Reks Vorst for their commendable action and their aid to King and City. Description, now then. Strok, short, dark hair trimmed, clean shaven -”

Elas chuckled as he sweaped back his shoulder-length brown hair and ran a hand through the full beard he had grown for their assignment.

“- and Vorst, tall, gaunt, head shaven with topknot, scar across left eye.”

Rost boomed laughter at the image. He mimed a cut over his eye with one finger, then grabbed a handful of his ear-length black hair, yanking it up off his head. 

“My thanks, again,” the Constable said with a nod. 

He signed the report and handed it to a runner who took off out the door, presumably to the constabulary for filing with the prisoners. He gripped Elas’s hand and drew near. 

“If we should ever meet again, I would hope it will be dispatching these Varestan dogs for good.”

He stepped back and nodded thanks to Rost and Wallace, then shouted, “Let’s go, boys, there’s plenty more scoundrels to round up today.”

“What was that, just there?” Rost asked after they were gone.

“I’m not sure,” Elas said. “But I think we may have more friends in Solveim than we had previously estimated. Come, we had best get some sleep, wouldn’t want to miss the morning tide.”

The two men bid goodnight to Wallace, who nodded as he presided over several street children as they scrubbed the blood from the floor. The rest of the group was already inside the room, cleaning weapons and checking gear.

“Get some rest,” Rost growled, loud enough to be heard down through the rest of the inn. “Any man caught sleeping in will be dragged down to the docks in his knickers.”

Next Chapter: 3 || Raid