They passed through the great archway, the wagons trundling through slowly, pushing through full lanes of caravans and wagons lead by their guard escort as envious eyes watched them amidst custom checks. They passed wagons of workers, IDs and travel passes being meticulously checked by bored looking clerks and guards, wagons with every belonging strewn on the ground as dogs passed over, sniffing at each item. The guard dogs raised their heads and bared their teeth at Culann, sitting in the wagon, who returned their teeth though neither side left their positions. A thin line walked single file either side, close to the walls of the archway. Those coming in were taken one by one and passed through if they had a pass, or disappeared into doors set into the stone for interviews. The ones passing out had no such check, merely a pass through a pair of guards with dogs at their heels, sniffing at every passer-by. The passed out of the torch light and back into the gloomy almost-evening air, and into the city proper.
The first thing that struck Naran was the sheer size of the crowds before them. They had exited onto a road lined with caravans, pedestrians darting between the barely moving traffic and dodging out of the way of what movement there was. Either side of the road was a solid wall of people of all shapes and sizes. She had seen many different folks since the tolls had gone up, the short and stocky dwarves, the tall and uncannily thin fae-touched with living plants growing from their skin, humans of pale and dark hues she had caught herself staring at, even the odd orc. She fought to maintain her blank face, remembering her lessons, but her instinct was to openly gaze and point in wonder. She saw people with the heads and wings of black birds, scaly fingers pointing at the hanging meat at the market stall. A woman with red scales shining in the early lit torches and a green frill rising from her head skirted around a gaggle of children running past while giggling, patting her bag with a long-fingered hand to check for any missing items. She had to do a double take as she saw a man on a horse with no head, then realised the body of the horse was joined with his at the waist. He turned as if sensing her gaze, and she saw the single horn jutting proudly from his forehead and flat nose, the head far too long for a human before it turned away again. Everywhere she looked there was a mix of all shapes and sizes, mostly human but dotted again and again with people she had only read about or glimpsed in passing.
The noise struck Felix first. He had grown used to the quiet of the woods in his little cottage, even the village had been a bit too crowded for him. He had flashes of the crowd in the arena, the roar and the din as a crowd of hundreds chanted the same thing. This was different, he had heard it several times as he was moved around in the back of his former owner’s wagon, in a box with no windows bar a tiny slit. It was the combined shouts of a thousand conversations, of chats and orders and negotiations, all competing with each other to be heard. He stood up at the back of the wagon, and looked around with a smile that quickly faded. He had somehow expected a hero’s welcome, either as the returning champion of the arena or for their actions against the weevils. But there was no recognition anywhere, barely even a few turned heads as the guards forced a path for them. He shrank back, feeling dejected then embarrassed at the feeling as a guard called out “We’ve set up a stop at the Red Rooster yards, closest place with enough space for the wagons. Healers will meet the wounded there and we’ll need interviews with you all.”
Wakesfield didn’t look up as they entered. The wounded man was out of danger, but it was a close thing. The stitches were holding and his breathing had steadied, but some magical healing would be needed to guarantee his life. Even so he was concerned about a few wounds, he recognised them as the type to cause permanent damage. His sword-arm and both legs would be lucky not to be lame for life. The weevil’s blades had been filthy with rust, dirt and who knows what else. Even cleaned, they may fester if left without attention. He sighed quietly, and wondered if he would be able to bill the guard corps for the work.
Winifred felt a comfort as they pushed through the crowd and rode towards the yard of a large u-shaped building, arms wrapped around a busy yard with wagons being loaded and animals tended to. She could remember little of where she came from, but she remembered throngs, the feeling of a crowd closed in near permanently and the feeling of power as it parted for her badge and position. The crowds were familiar, even if the disgusting inhuman bodies mixed into the push were not. She kept the thought to herself and her face impassive, the barbarian woman had made her displeasure clear when she had commented on the false man, best not to make enemies when she was still so alone and without allies.
They rode into the yard, and pulled into a small section of the yard that had been blocked off by wooden railings bearing the icon and colours of the guards. A gaggle of healers in long white robes hustled forward, taking the injured Richard down and ignoring Wakefield’s instructions as they carried him inside. The husband and wife were escorted inside after him, a healer half-carrying her inside as the husband turned to give a thankful smile before following behind. The small wounds they had were looked over, and they were told to wait for those with more pressing wounds to be seen to first. They pointedly ignored Wakesfield, standing to the side with a ragged bloody shirt, and he in turn paid them no heed. The delivery driver was taken by a pair of guards bearing a company crest over their chest, escorted away to the far side of the yard. A large man came for the animals, carrying Culann after a command from Winifred calmed him. He carried the hound with care, speaking to the large wolfhound like a puppy to her amusement. He assured her he would get the best food and treatment available and would be ready for her to collect by morning. Fuath had been left on the bed of the wagon, the guards looking curiously but making no movement to move him. Wakesfield began to replace his belongings, packing away his trunk and bags. Felix briefly led Naran and Winifred towards the door, happily promising a drink or two before being stopped. A silently crossed pair of halberds made it clear they were to remain with the wagons for the time being, though Felix unsuccessfully tried to talk his way through before settling for a curt nod when he asked for food and water for “The heroes of the hour” as he put it.
They didn’t have to wait for long for some food. A pair of barmaids emerged from the building with plates loaded up for each of them, a warm selection of meat and roasted grains. Bread followed, thick slices smothered in butter, cold water and beer in glass bottles carried out in baskets. They sat where they could, on the back of wagons or the ground, Wakesfield leaning on his trunk. They ate in silence at first, smothering the fatigue of the day in food. It was Felix that broke the silence, looking around the other three before settling on Naran.
“So you’re a force dancer then girly? Hell of a thing, could never manage it meself.”
Naran looked up as he spoke, not realising he was speaking to her at first. She swallowed a mouthful before responding. “I do not know what a force dancer is, Sir Felix.”
Felix chuckled around a mouthful as Wakesfield interjected with “You move the force around rather than using the Word of Force to merely increase the power of your own blows. I think the term ‘force dancer’ may be an older one.” He was picking at his plate, moving the meat aside uneaten to search for more grains.
Felix spoke around a half chewed hunk of meat. “S’what we used to call you types back in my day. And no need for a Sir, though I’m flattered. Hell of a thing to do that, tried it once and I broke my own damn ribs with my breathing!” he laughed a carefree noise at the memory, seemingly not caring he laughed alone, though Naran gave him a smile.
Winifred stood up and poured some grains onto Wakesfield’s plate, taking some meat in return. “Not a meat man I take it?” She returned to her seat, idly chewing a slice. “We’re being sweated, the wait is supposed to make us nervous. Anyone know why we’re being treated like suspects rather than victims?”
Naran and Felix bristled quietly, looking around at the guards nearby with new suspicion. Wakesfield was looking down at his plate with just as much suspicion, though he spoke calmly. “The guard corps don’t like anyone outside their employment being competent, it makes them look bad.” He appeared to come to a decision and took a small fork of food, carefully chewing the cold grains and swallowing before continuing. “Most likely they’ll want to check us to ensure we’re not part of a competing agency, they’ll let us go once they have the facts.”
Felix downed half a beer in a few gulps and wiped his mouth on a small handkerchief produced from a sleeve of his sweater. “Mighty ungrateful, you ask me. And what about the priest? Ain’t sent anyone out to check on him all this time.” He gestured with the bottle towards Fuath, his feet just visible in the bed of the carriage. A quiet but deep voice answered from behind him. “Not many healers know enough about Madefolk to help, to be fair.” Felix spun around, and looked into the eyes of a head level with his own sitting form. Then he leaned back to take in the much larger form standing silently behind the first, a huge mass of guard uniform towering over the wagon.
“Fuck me sideways it’s an ogre” said Felix quietly, shrinking back and feeling at his waist.
“Indeed I am” rumbled the large figure. The ogre wore a uniform matching that of the other guards, stretched out to accommodate its massive torso, broad arms and overly short legs by some heroic seamstress and armourer. Its skin was a dull orange, with mottled patches of brown spots visible just above the collar. Two small yellow eyes looked down at them, black pupils turning to them each in turn. The impressive lower jaw shifted as the ogre coughed, twin yellow tusks jutted and curved into the air as it saluted, one huge hand gently touching the tip of the soft green cap it wore. The other remained on his belt, near a massive baton hung on a loop. “Constable Nuzug of the Xrantha City Guard Corps”. His voice was a deep rumble, but there was a deep calmness there.
“Constable Gladfoot, same” said the smaller figure beside Nuzug, touching a matching if much smaller cap. The dwarf was much less imposing than his companion, but his gaze held just as much confidence. He idly pointed at Felix, who was still reaching at his waist. “It’s a bit further back sir, I’d guess you pushed it around to sit without it in the way. And you’d best not draw it, it would make our little interview rather difficult.”
Felix looked down, final finding his hilt, still holding the ruined remnants of a shattered blade. He gave a small cough, and looked back at the larger guard. “Sorry ‘bout that lad, last time I saw an ogre it was makin’ a spirited attempt to chew my damn leg off.”
Nuzug waved a hand dismissively “Not a worry sir” he rumbled “you are not the first and won’t be the last new arrival to have a similar reaction.”
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Naran glanced at Winifred, and gave her a nudging kick. Winifred was staring, pale faced at the guards. She near fell from her seat at the kick, but recovered with an embarrassed cough and stood up to speak. “Ah, so it is to be an interview then… sirs?”
The dwarf gave her a sizing look as he answered. He stroke his chin as he spoke, fingers scraping off his stubble audibly as he did. He had light skin and a receding hairline, and his nose was overly large for his face and flat to his face. He could have passed for a broad human, Winifred thought, except that his head just passed her waist. “Nothing too formal miss, just need to get a clear picture of what went down.” He turned and dismissed the guards with halberds with a wave, and gestured with a nod towards the prone form of Fuath. “What’s his story?”
Naran stood up, idly holding her empty plate. “He collapsed during the fighting, and had yet to move or awaken.”
Wakesfield stood beside his trunk, now slightly open, his plate nowhere to be seen. “He took an arrow to his back but it barely penetrated, I saw no other sign of wounds nor trace of a poison.”
The ogre guard looked over the side of the wagon. “Reckon he’s just out of fuel is all. Pass me a ration bar would you please Constable Gladfoot?”
The dwarf nodded, and produced from a pocket a small rectangle of wax paper. “Right you are Constable Nuzug, peeled or as is?”
“As is should be fine” rumbled the ogre, gently taking the offered bar. “I believe it should be no strain on him.” He gently leaned down and ran one finger over Fuath’s face, catching the lip of his lower jaw with a long nail. With Fuath’s mouth open he tore off a small section of the bar and tossed it in, closing the jaw. A moment or two passed, and Fuath shot upright, his torso rotating smoothly as his legs and waist remained still. He chewed for a moment or two, the jaw clicking as he mashed the contents of his mouth and swallowed. He looked around, radiating a feeling of concern. “You are well, praise the Lady. How are the others, the mother to be and Richard and the men? And the hound?”
Nuzug handed him the remaining ration bar, and spoke with a gentleness at odds with his frame and deep rumbling voice. “All survive, the mother and father are fine but shaken. The driver is being seen to but is also fine. The hound is being seen to personally by the head of the stables. The man I believe to be Richard was wounded quite badly, but will live. He will need attention for a few days.”
Fuath dropped his head, and the surrounding people felt a sense of calm. “She is merciful today then.” He raised his head and nodded at the guard as he stood and strode down from the wagon. “Thank you sir, it is appreciated.” He finished the rest of the bar as he descended, mashing the entire thing in one oversized bite, his head bouncing back and forth on his unmoving lower jaw until he swallowed. “Is there any more food?”
Wakesfield silently handed him a plate still bearing a good amount of meat, bending down to retrieve it. “The meat is untouched.” Felix stepped forward and offered his plate. “Still got some grains if you like, bad about finishing anything ain’t meat” he said with a slightly sheepish grin. Naran strode forward with a quiet smile and offered a glass bottle. “I finished mine I am afraid, but I can offer a drink.” Winifred sat quietly, offering only a small “good to see you’re not dead.”
Nuzug took up position behind Gladfoot and both stood at ease, watching the priest quickly clean the plate. “Madefolk can eat near anything, use it as fuel” offered the dwarf, watching the sight of Fuath chewing bemusedly “anything they can’t they’ll spit back up. This fellow ran himself dry I’d say. Generous if a tad foolish.”
Fuath said something muffled by food, and was interrupted by Wakesfield. “Good to know, though we are just companions of chance.”
Both guards produced small notebooks and gripped pencils, the ogre’s almost a baton in his huge hands, both writing almost immediately. “Is that so Mister..?” offered the dwarf invitingly. Wakesfield looked silently for a few moments, eyes darting between the pencils. He sighed and said “Benjamin Wakesfield.” Two pencils moved in tandem, and two pairs of eyes moved to the next face. They each volunteered their name, and the pair of eyes moved between each of them. “So one at a time, kindly give us your version of events, why you were travelling to Xrantha and how you came to be part of the caravan.”
They each gave their testimony in turn, Fuath going last as he finished all offered scraps of food. The guards appeared to write down everything that was said, no matter how seemingly inconsequential, only pausing to produce small knives and rapidly carve new points into the pencils on occasion. At last they seemed satisfied, and closed the small notebooks. The evening light, mostly hidden by the smoke of factories, had faded and been replaced by torches and lamps lit all over the city. The noise had not faded.
“Right, all seems in order then, nothing wrong. The guard corps would like to thank you for your heroism, and advise you not to do it again, leave it to the professionals. Someone could get hurt.” There was a note of disdain in his voice, and the five listening understood they were hearing the voice of some higher command speaking through an unwilling vessel. The guards stepped forward and shook their hands turn by turn. “If you need a place to stay for the night we have rooms paid for inside, bit noisy being a wagon yard and all but better than sleeping rough. Good evening to you all the…” he was interrupted by a small cough behind the barrier. The seven turned to see, and saw a short thin human leaning over the wooden barrier, dressed in what the city would have considered a rather old fashioned pair of trousers with suspenders, a plain shirt and small set of eyeglasses. There was an armband on his right arm, red with a yellow symbol not visible to them from where he stood. He coughed again, and waved a notebook and pencil of his own, ones that looked much more expensive than the guards’. “Ah, officers, if you have finished your interviews, I believe I may now conduct mine?” his voice was high pitched and had a slightly grating whine behind it, it sounded like it should belong to someone much younger.
Gladfoot sighed, and turned to the group while waving at the new arrival. “Sorry about this folks, damn fools at the guild passed a law giving the papers access to what should be private matters.”
“We call it freedom of the press, and it’s extremely important for a healthy society officer!” said the young man, brimming with an energy that made Felix want to smack him. “Walter Smithson with the Central Times, pleasure to meet you all.” He did not wait for a response. “So, before we start, do all of you know what I mean when I say ‘newspaper’? I know we haven’t made it too far out of the city yet.”
He looked around expectantly, and seemed happy when he saw Fuath and Winifred shake their heads. “Ah good, so a newspaper is like a letter, but we provide it to anyone that wants to read it, for a small charge of course” he gave a small self-satisfied cough before continuing. “We gather all the ‘news’ we can and write them down, then share it with anyone wants to read, isn’t it amazing?”
Winifred looked horrified. “On whose authority do you spread this information?”
His smile faltered slightly at her expression. “Umm, well our own I suppose?”
“By Her crown, you just spread whatever you feel like? Without proper supervision or oversight?” she was looking at him like he was an escaped madman. He looked quite shaken now.
“Umm, well not whatever we like, what we feel people should know about? We oversee ourselves to make sure…it’s…true…” he withered under her gaze, and held his notebook between them like a shield. He turned slightly to look at the rest of the group, his eyes nervously glancing back at her as he wrote. They gave the same answers they had given the guards, who stayed nearby keeping an eye on the proceedings.
“So none of you are associated with the guard corps or any other organisation then?” he asked as Fuath finished his testimony. Winifred had simply glared at him when questioned, and Wakesfield had offered precious little, but Naran and Fuath had talked freely, and Felix had to be stopped several times as he embellished his version with heroic details. A fresh voice interjected from behind him, a slight hint of alcohol audible in the slurring of some words. “They are of course our newest recruits, for the venerable House of Heroes!”
The five and the newspaper man turned to look at the speaker. A dwarf stood leaning against the barrier, a mostly empty bottle in one hand. He was dressed like a theatrical pirate, tight blue trousers and a billowing silk shirt open to show off a set of golden medallions sitting on a hairy chest. He wore a pair of short curved swords on either hip, and he had a thin beard waxed into a curling point. His blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and a mangled cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth. “Ah, Flint. Recruiting again?” asked Walter, giving the dwarf a grin with no warmth in it.
“Too late my friend, I recruited this lot a month ago. Just arrived for orientation and training and already doing the corps’ job!” he paused to take a quick swig. “Make sure you write that down, fresh recruits already proving their worth!”
Walter’s smile had taken a mean edge as he turned to the five. “Just to confirm, you all said you were not, in fact, associated with any organisation, including the House of Heroes, yes?” He waited for the unsure nods and affirmations, then turned back to Flint, whose smile had taken on a pained forced quality. His forehead shimmered with sweat in the torchlight, and his eyes had widened. Walter rounded on him with his notebook open, as the guards watched amused. He said nothing to Flint, simply advancing on him with the unmoving smile.
Flint leaned around him, his voice sounding strained with a hint of panic as he tried to sound at ease. “You are not the Glory Shields? The ones I spoke with via letters?” he asked, a hint of desperation creeping in at the end. He made a tiny whining noise as he was answered with shaking heads. Walter advanced on him again, now within arm’s reach. “So Flint, care to comment on why the House of Heroes is attempting to claim credit for actions they were not involved in, while throwing disrepute on the brave men and women of the guard corps?”
The two guards watched with gleeful expressions, the dwarf coughing to hide an obvious laugh. The five watched the scene with varied feelings showing on their faces. Flint downed the rest of his bottle and gave a small laugh before answering. “Hah, well…what I MEANT to say…that is to say my actual meaning…” he raised the bottle again, and stopped as he saw it was empty. He shook his shoulders and head, and his face regained some of the swagger he had at first. “Well what I meant is the House has offered these fine folks a place within our ranks, and they have answered the call!” As Walter spun about to ask the five to confirm, Flint made a pleading gesture with his hands at them, and held out a bag of dollar plates, pointing from it to them silently. The five watched, mostly bemused, as Walter asked “Is this true then?”
The five turned as one from Walter, to the begging Flint, to the guards now both biting their knuckles to stifle laughter. It was Felix who strode forward, his thumbs in the waist of his trousers. “I can confirm newspaper man, didn’t want to say anything until we had things signed, but we agreed to join just before you arrived, with a healthy signing bonus, isn’t that right everyone? Flint?” he turned to the group with a much too obvious wink. Winifred rolled her eyes while Wakesfield polished his glasses, and Fuath and Naran stared. Wakesfield answered for them, a short “Yes I suppose that’s right.”
Walter looked disappointed and Flint gave a heavy sigh. The guards still had their smiles of amusement as Flint and Walter spoke quietly. Winifred leaned in to Felix and whispered, the other three leaning in to listen. “What did you just sign us up for old man?”
“Ah don’t worry, fella just put his mouth where he shouldn’tve. We help him out, no harm done, and we make a little change each, not a bad deal no?”
Winifred muttered discontentedly, while Wakesfield added “I don’t know about you but I’m quite short on funds right now, a dollar or two for a short falsehood wouldn’t go amiss.”
They were interrupted by the dwarf Flint approaching, speaking in an exaggerated manner and throwing his arms wide for them. “Now my friends, let us negotiate our final terms, we have much to speak of before you join the hallowed halls of the House!” The newspaper man was walking away, looking less happy than he had as he dodged through wagons and men carrying loads. Flint watched him go until he was happy Walter wasn’t hanging around to listen. The guards bid a goodnight with a smile, and headed off in a slow steady march, the dwarf guard easily keeping pace with his larger partner. The dwarf gave a sigh of relief and bent down, hands on his knees. He stood again with a smile that showed several gold teeth, and looked at the five before him. “Alright, who wants a drink in the warm?”
