Summers and his group wandered the streets, Synel chatting up the merchants as he watched the crowd. He hadn’t seen the kind of starvation they’d witnessed back when they were dealing with the refugees, but there was a definite tightening of belts among the populace.
Synel had relegated him to the task of making sure they weren’t robbed, citing the fact that he’d have trouble speaking to the merchants. That was odd since, all things considered, he thought he had a pretty good grasp on the language.
He made a point to reiterate that to Synel as she wandered back towards him.
“You know,” Summers started, “I can manage some of the talking with these guys. I think I’ve come pretty far.”
“No,” Synel chided. “You have, but in this situation. . . Love, there are very few traders here, and they know each other very well. We don’t want to stick out and your accent is a bit. . . telling.”
“I really have an accent?”
“A bad one,” Asle agreed. “You sound like you’re gargling.”
“More like choking,” Synel added.
“Okay,” Summers hesitated. “Didn’t need to go that hard on me but, all right. You’re the experts.”
Synel looked away from him, he was starting to understand that was her way of hiding a laugh.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Synel said, “I have to disguise my own accent. But I have experience with such things.”
Summers eyed a guard passing as they talked. He was a normal elf, holding a normal spear. At least they weren’t up against a full militia like Rhodes was training.
“Fine,” Summers conceded. “You do the talking; I’ll stick to the fighting.”
“If I’m doing my job, there won’t be any of that,” Synel agreed.
“Maybe. But at this point I don’t expect anything to ever go to plan.”
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Surprisingly, things were going according to plan. The merchants were more than happy to talk to Synel, albeit after they’d made some pricey purchases. Mostly food. Though after raiding the army’s coffers, they were flush with cash. Money that he assumed, or rather hoped they’d gotten through trade or otherwise just found among the ruins he’d seen surrounding the base. Unlike the stone he was now used to, the local currency was something like a copper tooth for small denominations, with the equivalent of stones being a literal spearhead made from bronze.
It was a good thing they’d found it too. This deep south, their old currency was worthless. Except to travelling merchants like Synel. Still, with the new addition, they had more than enough to grease the wheels of their questioning, and they’d learned quite a bit.
The robed man he’d seen talking was something like a religious leader in the city. His name was Asmund, and he was well liked by the people.
“He had a vision,” the old woman Synel was speaking to leaned in conspiratorially, speaking just low enough that Summers could barely make out the conversation. “They say he saw something coming. That these samr were our only hope.”
“Samr?” Synel asked.
“The dark eyes,” she explained. They showed up after the wilds went dry. Offered us food, weapons. Nearly put me out of business. Lately though, they just stopped coming.”
Summers turned away as a loud crack resounded from nearby. He saw a merchant sprawled on the floor. A larger man dressed in rags stood over him just a moment before a guard rushed up, manhandling him to the ground.
The old merchant shook her head. “Things are tense, and it’s only going to get worse.”
Synel didn’t respond, just watching as the guards laid into the man as he tried to break free. By his clothes, he might have been a slave.
Roan moved up beside Summers, speaking low.
“That one’s a few days from the ground.” He gestured to the would-be thief as the guards hauled him to his feet. “I’ve seen it happen enough. She’s right, once that kind of hunger sets in, people aren’t people no more.”
“Problems for later,” Summers replied.
Synel looked back to the old trader. “Do you believe him? About the vision, I mean.”
“Oh, gods no. Ask me, the samr are the reason the beasts have left. Hunted out with those weapons or the like. But his sermons hand out food, and that makes everything easier on all of us.”
Synel perked up at that. “A sermon? Is there one happening soon?”
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“I have seen our end!” The robed man, Asmund, yelled over the crowd.
Summers stood there, watching the man with Asle, Synel and Roan close by.
“He’s said that sixteen times already,” Summers whispered.
Synel shushed him. The fact that shushes were apparently a universal gesture surprised him enough that he really did shut up.
“Give your flesh to our cause,” Asmund continued, “-become our salvation, and I promise, you will be reborn.”
And that was definitely the same as Wendel’s sales pitch.
The crowd murmured as another man moved up beside Asmund. They quieted as men moved to hand out food. Summers couldn’t help but notice the new man was in expensive robes, even if he looked haggard. Even at this distance, Summers could see dark rings under the man’s eyes.
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“Gonna guess that’s someone important?” Summers asked.
“Likely a noble, or one of the cities’ rulers,” Synel answered.
“Noble,” Roan corrected. “Ain’t no rulers left. They all ran.” At Summers questioning glance, Roan continued. “Guys in charge of my camp heard about it. Everyone that could get out did when the land went bad.”
“Then it’s likely his wealth was too tied to the city to leave.” Synel said.
The noble held a hand up for attention. “This man speaks the truth. I’ve seen the end he speaks of with my own eyes.”
Summers paused. Everything Summers had heard said that Asmund had seen a vision. If he was understanding the noble right, he’d literally seen something.
“Synel, am I understanding him right? He’s saying he saw something, like physically.”
“Yes,” Synel answered, her voice was tense. “I know you’re not quite an expert with our language yet, but his choice of words. . . it suggested there’s something here that he’s seen.”
Summers took that in, even as the crowd began to murmur again. “. . .Great.”
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It didn’t take long after that for the crowd to disperse, save for the few still waiting on the food they were promised. Summers and his group lingered behind. Mostly to get a better look at what kind of security the preacher was using. That had turned out to be the right call.
“Eyes up,” Summers motioned for the others.
They saw a black-eyed woman, an elf, move up beside Asmund. Too far away for him to make anything out, but by the posture of the guards surrounding them, he could tell she was calling the shots here. Probably another one of Wendel’s lieutenants.
Then, a shout caught his attention. A woman that was handing out food had apparently run out and was now the target of an angry mob’s attention. Others must have seen the opportunity, because they rushed to grab anything they could from the distracted crowd.
Before they could get more than a few steps, however, a shot tore through the crowd. That same black-eyed elvan woman held the barrel of her rifle to the first man, then swept it over the crowd with clear meaning. The others backed off the now downed helper, before running away entirely.
To Summers’ surprise, Asmund slapped the barrel of the gun to the ground, shoving the lieutenant away before instructing his men to tend to the wounded.
“Huh,” Summers watched as Asmund and the lieutenant got into some kind of screaming match.
“We should go,” Synel suggested.
The crowd had already begun to back away from the scene, some panicking, breaking out into a full sprint. Asle was clipped by a passerby. Summers used his body to shield her, even as she was sent sprawling to the ground. To his surprise, Roan moved to pick her up. Summers made a mental note to thank him later, muscling his way through the crowd and to an alley, and away from the chaos.
He glanced back, just to ensure they weren’t followed.
“Well, that was a thing.” Summers checked the group over, finding none of them were hurt. “Think we can call this city a write off, this place is a spark away from going to hell.”
“I agree,” Synel said. “Though if it falls into our enemies’ hands, then we might not survive the fallout.”
“Maybe, but we don’t have the manpower to take this place and I can only punch so many people.”
“What about Tel’s men? Surely with guns-“
“I’m not some warlord,” Summers interrupted. “Those people are looking to survive, I don’t doubt they’ll defend themselves and their families, but no chance in hell they’ll listen to me.”
“. . .Fair.” Synel glanced around. “Still, I don’t see us being able to leave any time soon without proper transportation.”
“Right.” Summers let out a breath. “Well, then we focus on staying alive and out of sight until then.” Screams in the distance punctuated his statement. “And we hope it holds together long enough for that to happen.”
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It was a few days later that Summers sat in a small home. Synel had befriended enough of the merchants that one of them had been kind enough to rent out a home they normally used to woo clients from out of town. It wasn’t exactly spacious, but it gave them a degree of privacy. They hadn't learned much more in the last few days, more focused on getting themselves set up properly. But if Synel was to be believed, she did have more than a few irons in the fire.
Summers looked up as he heard the woman in question enter, Roan trailing behind her holding a few bags.
“We got food,” Roan announced.
Summers nodded to the boy, grateful. They’d come into the city with what was essentially a fortune, and as much food as they could carry. Still, it was still becoming harder and harder to feed themselves.
“Run into any trouble?” Summers asked.
“Pickpocket tried to take me,” Roan admitted. “But since someone won’t let me handle the money, it wasn’t an issue.”
“It’s a blessing they went for him,” Synel added. “Though don’t think I didn’t notice you letting her dig around in there.”
“What? I’m a healthy young boy.” Roan said. “It gets lonely on the streets.”
Synel actually did roll her eyes this time.
“Anyway-” Synel began. “This isn’t what I would call a normal religion. I’ve spent the last few days asking around, and apparently our friend Asmund was the high priest of the city before this vision on his. He’s thrown out or converted his entire congregation to what he’s calling the church of samr.”
Summers considered that. “We could just kill him. But I’d kind of feel like an asshole, and don’t think it’d solve our problems.”
“It wouldn’t,” Asle agreed. “And you’d likely make things worse. The city is not in a good place.”
Summers looked over to Asle to see she was holding one portal open to another on the other side of the room. She was getting terrifyingly good at that, surprisingly fast. He still wasn’t sure how the hamr really worked, but he did know that this kind of power was going to be useful in the future, as much as it hurt him to admit it. Just as he had that thought the portals blinked out of existence with an audible pop, leaving Asle with a pained looked on her face. She reached up to feel at blood dripping down her nose.
“Asle-“
“I’m fine,” she waved him off.
Roan looked at Asle, clearly worried before continuing. “The guy’s scaring people into joining up. That’s not going to stop so long as he’s alive.” He caught Asle’s admonishing look. “Not that I’m saying murder’s a good choice.”
Synel held up a hand. “You’re ignoring the bigger problem here. As near as I can tell, he believes what he’s saying. That means there’s something in the city that made him uproot his life. And nobody knows what it is.”
Summers paused at that.
“Right, so. . . we might have an even bigger problem on our hands.”
“So, we look around more?” Asle asked.
“Seems like it.” Summers glanced at the others. “But I’m not sure how much more we’re going to find out by walking the town.”
Summers caught Synel wringing her hands, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. “I may have thought of a workaround.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, a job, actually. I’ve made quite a few contacts among the merchants, and they have a few. . .connections. One with the church in particular.” Synel looked to the others. “It’s just an idea, mind you. Don’t get mad.”
That set Summers on edge. “Why would we get mad?”
“Well, with the city as it is there’s been demand for a few things that have come in. . . hard supply. With food and conditions as they are many have gone missing and so, there’s a market.”
“For. . ?”
Synel took a moment before answering.
“Slaves?”