The bell tower woke me at precisely six bells, and I had a valet, a new lad, run to the kitchen to get me some fruit, soft boiled eggs, muffins, and coffee. I was up early enough I would go down to the baths before meeting with May and the others. I had time enough to savor my breakfast as well.

The baths were open and blissfully unoccupied. My head resting on the concrete rim of a tub, I did fall asleep briefly. I toweled off, rubbed myself down with some lavender And put on a nice set of traveling clothes.

I had decided to match Margrin’s style as closely as possible so that we would look like just a couple of wealthy bravos on vacation with time and money to spare. I guess that guise wasn't far from the truth but that we didn't have time to spare and this wasn't a vacation.

When I entered the war room, the three, May, Margrin, and Ördelon were scrying at the far end of the center table. Morning light was filtering through the tree canopy of the magnificent redwoods and into the stuffy dining hall, bits of dust floating through its rays as if they had a destination.

May saw me and waved me over, “Good morning, Mister Bascombe. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a stone, Your Majesty. And I've just had a lovely breakfast and bath.”

“Excellent, Good Sir. You've got a busy day ahead, you and Mister Ephisieryón. I envy your destination, but not your purpose. It's a grim mission you're on, Mister Bascombe.”

“It couldn't be worse than what I already suspect, Your Majesty. Evil has infected my father and I fear there's naught I can do to save him.”

“No,” Margrin said, “Never give up on family that easily, Bascombe. He may be redeemable yet. As powerful as she may be, Cralix’s power is largely untested. She may not have the stomach for a battle.”

“Thank you for the encouraging words, My Friend. What goes on in the crystal ball?”

May answered, her voice at a much lower volume than yesterday, “The great Swalesian army finally stirs. They move north. Troops and barges. Quite the juggernaut, isn't it?”

“Yes,” I answered, “yes it is. The test for them is whether or not the troops will obey commands if things get serious, isn't that right?”

May let out a cynical laugh, “Hah! So we thought. These are not slave troops, Mister Bascombe. Many of these units are their Heksa Kral, heavy infantry shock troops. They're elite. And they'll make sure the other men around them don't break for fear of death.”

She looked suddenly defeated. Just for a fleeting moment. We badly needed some good news on our side.

“Is there any encouraging news?” I asked her.

“Actually, Mister Bascombe, there is. We've been trying to put together a strong magic-user presence, and those numbers are starting to come in. The magical arts will be as well-represented as the martial arts. We've Sorcerers and Bards from the Moon Elves, a whole company. Wizards from the Sea Elves, Deep Elves, and Cloud Elves, Warlocks from the Barrow Elves, a company of Druids from the Wood Elves and Sun Elves, and a host of Clerics from healers to warriors. Our own Gray Elf Wizards are formidable foes in their own right, and we still don't know the extent of Ördelon's research with the inclusions, do we, Ördelon?”

Ördelon responded “I'm very close on a few things, Your Majesty. If I have enough time.”

“Well,” she said, “We've had you down here scrying, haven't we? Starting now, you are to delegate better, my Wizard. A lesser mage can employ a crystal ball.”

She said this as she was watching the thing like a hawk watching a hare. “Have you four Scrolls of Teleportation, Ördelon?” He nodded. “Give them to these gentlemen, Misters Bascombe and Ephisieryón. They've important duties away from here.”

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“Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied, and turned heel for his workroom.

That place was as stuffy and dusty as you could want. Books and scrolls stacked everywhere with no rhyme or reason, alchemist's tools, potions, spell materials. But he went right for a small pile of scrolls in a dark corner and handed them to us.

“Now, you two know how to use these, so no lectures from me. Just be careful.”

Just then, something caught my eye as Ördelon was rushing us back out of his private sanctum. A lock box on a shelf, the only point in the room being struck by direct sunlight. The thing's lid wasn't fully closed due to its fullness and my eye caught the deep golden shine of amber.

I thought nothing of it. He wasn't hoarding the stuff, it was surely for his experiments. Unless he was skimming. I hated to be suspicious of an Elf I counted as a friend, but this was a distraction we didn't need.

But that wasn't a concern for today; it would have to wait. Good gods, his workspace was a cluttered mess. How could someone get anything done? As a great procrastinator, I laughed at my own hypocrisy. He's probably one of those people who would be lost if it was all organized.

Margrin and I stepped out onto one of the palace’s upper verandas, read our scrolls, focusing mentally on our destination, and, in a heartbeat, we were on a beautiful, sunny balcony overlooking the city and port of Sandlise. Without the dense canopy of the redwood forest of Taliswood, the sun was brighter, warmer, its intensity making me squint as I looked out over the Baric Ocean. The light chop on the water’s surface sparkling like a casket of diamonds, sky blue around small disturbances of white froth.

The balcony railing, some kind of beige limestone, was decorated with long planters overhanging the street below, full of marigolds, verbena, and lavender, the smell pungent and clean.

I had never been here before. Why not? Why would I overlook this of all places? It was perfect. A hint of coolness in the ocean breeze, a cloudless sky of cornflower blue. Then all I could think was that I must bring May here for our honey month after we're wed.

Margrin's voice brought me back to reality, “When you're done absorbing the natural beauty, we need to get into this city's rotten underbelly to find my contacts. But only when you're ready, Bascombe.”

“How rotten could anything be in a place such as this, Margrin?”

He chuckled and said, “Oh, you'll soon see, Bascombe.” Shaking his head and laughing, he added, “I keep forgetting how young you are. So very much to learn.”

Walking down a spiral flight of concrete stairs, Margrin said with a hint of anxiety in his voice “We need to secure an audience with Rathkin.”

“You say that name almost reverentially, Sir. Who is this Rathkin?”

“Not one of my mentors, they're all long dead. But he's the leader of the Sandlise Syndicate. They were the crime family that took me in, so I'm sort of a member by blood. Rathkin is very powerful as is the Syndicate here. They control much of what comes in and goes out of the port.”

“If they have that much power, who's in charge here?”

“So many questions. Are you seeking political office?”

“No, Margrin, just getting a grasp on the hierarchy of the place. My father would associate with criminal and King alike, but he's much more likely to be found at court. He's got many expertises, but navigating the world of palace intrigue is truly his forte.”

“Well,” Margrin went on, “Sandlise is a city state, not a kingdom. In fact, it's a Duchy making up most of a piece of land called Emfirinia. All of it is under the control of Cairwahl, Duke of Sandlise and Margrave of Emfirinia. Does that satisfy your need for order?”

“Thank you, Margrin. Yes, it does give me a sense of where things stand. Tell me about Cairwahl.”

“I'm a History teacher now, Bascombe?”

I understood his mood, growing tired of all the questions. I just needed to know.

“You're officially indebted to me now, you curious little man! Okay, Cairwahl is a fifteen year old Human boy with his own harem if you can imagine. More corrupt than any adult and under the direct guidance of His Grace, Archbishop Maller, the Primate of Emfirinia, a snake in human form.

“The city is very large. As big as Wikehold if not bigger.”

The closer we got to the docks, the more things began to take on a dirty patina, the people looking more poor and scruffy.

We passed several pubs, prostitutes outside soliciting passers-by. As I was busy assessing the situation here, Margin said, “Oh, and what's this?”

Three burly Human men, they appeared to be Swalesians, were standing before us, blocking our path. One had a short club, another a knife, the third seemed comfortable barehanded. I am six feet, two inches, and they were all taller than me and twice as broad.

“Might I help thee gentlemen,” Margrin asked pleasantly.

“Aye,” said the one with the knife, “You can hand over those fat purses, your jewelry, and your rich folk costumes.”

“I knew we were overdressed, Bascombe. Now I just feel silly. Very well gentlemen. Hand over your purse, Bascombe, don't you see the size of these fellows?”

“I most certainly will not, Margrin. This is an outrage! Where is the constabulary?”

“Likely with some of those nice ladies outside the bars back there. The friendly ones. I'm afraid we're on our own here, Good Sir. So just hand it over and these fine robbers will let us pass.”

The one with the knife said, “Twasn't part of the deal, My Fancy Chum. But we might. If we don't have to kill you. I'm kind of leaning that way though.”

I didn't have time to say anything else. Margrin took his purse from his belt and dropped it on the stone road, coins jingling. I was doing the same as the one with the knife went to pick it up. Margrin kicked the man in the face so hard, several teeth clattered onto the ground and blood gushed down his face.

The man with the club advanced on Margrin and the barehanded fellow on me. Drawing my rapier and swiping upward, I took at least two fingers from the hand of the man with the club, carrying through with the sweeping motion ending with the point of my blade pressing into the other's neck enough to make blood flow freely.

Gratuitously, Margrin kicked the knifeman in the face again, more teeth flying about and blood pouring from the man's nose and mouth. It looked like he'd bitten the end of his tongue off.

“Now,” began Margrin, “piss off! The three of you. We're here to see Rathkin. Point to where he is and we won't tell him about three naughty boys working robberies on his street.

Mister bare hands pointed down the road to what looked like a small warehouse just before the docks.

“Very well, Sirs. Now, I hope we didn't put a damper on your day. Enjoy this splendid weather!” And we continued down the street to the small warehouse with a sign hanging out front saying “Dry Goods.”

image [https://i.imgur.com/WjWa5Pf.jpeg]