The following day, Viola took us to the digsite.
Rather than retracing our steps from the previous day, she took us northward along the narrow lanes of the old town, before making a left turn on some crossroad. After some time, we found ourselves in the very heart of the city, in Pia de Mere. It was the city’s main square and was teeming with crowds and merchants and craftsmen and traders and beggars. And I saw walk throughout the masses, priests, in their white or red or black robes, all for different deities they worshipped.
We went through the square, and took the Vaimere, or Way to the Sea, which was the main boulevard of the city, and headed eastward. The weather was more dull that day, with a thick grey above us, and now and then a soft rain fell on our thick coats.
Viola led us along the Vaimere, wide and spacious, with four rows for horses and carriages, and a row of evergreen trees separating them. Alongside the thoroughfare, luxurious manors and villas were built from bright reddish stone and brass statues at their entrances, with meticulously maintained yards and fountains. Beside them were fine artisan stores and jewelers. Though some shops were boarded up, others bustled with life and activity. There were also cafes and some restaurants in between, and we heard a lone violin play again.
From where we walked, we could see in the distance the clock tower of Lottie, close to the main square. After an hour of walking along the Vaimere, we reached the next sight that made my jaw almost fell open—the Grand Botanical Gardens.
It was made entirely from rippling glass with a near mirror-like finish, and resembled a massive, cylindrical structure with smaller, round sections added gracefully to its sides. Looking up, I saw the massive glass dome that was the same one we saw in the distance when we first approached the city.
There was no doubt that magic was used in the creation of these glass domes. While magic was often used in the most ambitious building projects like great castles that stood tall amidst the waves of the sea or perched high atop the mountains, here in Lottie it was very evident. It seemed unfathomable that some mechanical means could have lifted brittle glass panels of this size to that height with such precision.
Through the wavy glass, we saw a glimpse of the lush greenery and delicate beads of water glistening inside. Encircled by an outer yard of black iron and carved marble, the outer gardens appeared somber and brown in the late autumn weather.
But we had to press forward and ignore this magnificent sight for the time being. Our destination was the very same digsite we had passed two days prior.
When we reached the digsite, it became apparent that it was nothing more than a wide trench. It was a few yards wide and tall, meant to end up in the ocean to protect the city and farmlands from flooding. And deep in the damp dirt were hundreds of men and women and children laboring tirelessly, armed with shovels and picks.
I could hardly imagine a more dull and repetitive task than this, and my sentiment was shared by Jace.
“That’s it?” he stammered. “They just… dig away at the dirt for weeks and months without pause? That is what their life consists of?”
“That’s right,” said Viola. “I couldn’t imagine myself doing this. It’s no wonder most just go beg in the streets. At least they’re fed and housed, but winter is going to be rough.”
It turned out that many of the foremen in charge of a section of the trench were already well acquainted with Viola. With an air of familiarity, she navigated past them, sharing some lighthearted jokes with the stern-looking men, and knowing most of them by their names. She didn’t wear the Lottie Guard uniform, but rather her own, and she had her badge pinned on the inside of her cloak. But none of the men in charge of the work demanded to see that badge and waved her past the checkpoints.
Not too soon after that, I found myself standing in that very trench, looking up at the heavy grey sky. Stretching three yards wide and two deep, it was further fortified by a moat rising another yard tall, made from packed dirt. The ground felt damp, sticky earth clinging to the soles of my boots, leaving my footsteps etched into the ground.
But what was most strange about this whole endeavor was the utter silence the refugees from Stotor worked. None seemed to speak to each other. Instead, they looked down, defeated, and toiled away at the dirt. I could sense no spark of life in their eyes. Only a few of them whispered to each other, barely one or two words that I didn’t understand, and then picked away.
“Why are they forbidden to talk?” asked Jace, who still did not fully understand just how low these men and women had fallen.
“They’re not forbidden to talk,” answered Viola, looking around the worksite. “They just choose not to. And they could take breaks when they’re tired, or have a drink of water or food. Both are given to them for free by the city and even donated by the people. But they don’t. I think their spirit has been broken, and there’s very little life left within them. This digging seems to be their entire purpose now.”
And this was the result of the demonic threat. Even those who escaped with their life had seen too many horrors for their minds to handle, and they would never be whole again.
In Lottie, there was a whirlwind of emotions around us, especially in the more wealthy districts, but here, in this grim trench, there was terminality. A dead end from where nothing sprouted. We went and asked those who knew our language whether they heard of any rumors or anything that could help us. But the exiles from Stotor looked at us dimly, with barely an emotion coursing through them. Some shook their heads, others just turned back to their work. Some even recoiled from us and kept digging madly. A few wept.
There was only one positive thing about the whole ordeal—the shock experienced by Iskander and Jaxine. Their grief was momentarily forgotten because of the suffering that surrounded them. The stark contrast between the hardship endured by the exiles of Stotor and the trials they themselves had faced somehow served as a realization. Rather than their grief deepening further—something I had not even considered until now—it was like both of them instinctively retreated from it.
“Now do you see, Jace, why we can’t let them into Lottie,” said Viola. “Can you imagine hundreds of them infesting our streets? What would be left of our beautiful city?”
We went over the trench and stepped into the encampment that the refugees called their homes. Here in the dirt were hundreds of small and large tents set up in rows, huddled closely together, and their fabric betrayed the wear of time. Clotheslines were strung between moldy posts, and some ragged jackets and trousers hung in the damp air. A few lanterns, extinguished, were nailed to those posts and above their tents.
But it was here, in the encampment, that we heard something that felt utterly out of place—the laughter of children, faint but unmistakably present. It was somewhere in the distance that we heard the playful giggles and carefree voices of kids playing. We followed the source of the voices and found a small group of children playing tag around a larger kitchen tent.
We approached the adults who were wandering around, dressed in ragged cloaks and blankets and broken boots and shoes. We asked the same questions, and we were met with the same stone-cold indifference. None were willing to share any news or stretch their memories beyond the confines of their daily struggles. Their eyes gazed into the distance, and all of them were unresponsive.
“This is madness!” exclaimed Jace, who was the most affected. “Where’s their… their…”
But he could not finish his thought, and he fell silent.
“That’s just how they are, Jace,” said Viola. “Just accept it and move on. We almost never got any leads or rumors from here, but sometimes we did. It’s strange, among this silence, rumors spread, somehow, but only between themselves. But not anymore. Now they dig and they tell us nothing.”
I couldn’t understand how this could be.
“How is it possible that there’s not a whiff of corruption this close to Stotor?” I asked Florencia, while Jace and Viola went to interrogate a group of young mothers, taking their babies on a walk.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Florencia smirked over my wordiness before she replied with a more serious expression: “I don’t know. I hardly think Viola can get rid of the demonic taint by herself. What if that means Vranik summoned his thralls or agents to him, in Stotor?”
“What other explanation could there be?”
“But we can’t lose hope yet, Jonas. We need to make sure there’s nothing in Lottie and then search through the countryside as well. I refuse to believe that there’s nothing to be found.”
Her words resonated with me, and together we joined Viola and Jace. For as long as there was sunlight, we tried to find someone who was willing to talk. There were some, though few, who spoke our language, but they had nothing of interest to tell us.
Soon the sun began to wane again, casting long shadows over the digsite, and a sense of another defeat. I felt my hope drain, though not all was lost yet. We would go to Lottie, crisscross it, and then ride through the countryside and nearby villages. We would go all the way north, to the Castamand mountain range, or to Belcorvo to talk to all the refugees there if we had to.
But I couldn’t help but feel like we were facing an insurmountable dead end. What if we found no trace of Vranik? The thought weighed heavily on my mind, and Florencia was preparing me for just this outcome. She stood beside me and held my hand.
“We need to think what we’ll do when we don’t find him.”
Then, in the silence that followed, I wondered what is the use of a weapon without an enemy.
Through the thick clouds, sunlight was waning, and there was no point in staying at the digsite anymore. After we all had stood in the uncomfortable silence, it was Iskander who spoke up. “I’m starving. Viola, take us to a nice restaurant.”
Ah, and what a welcome distraction the question was, arriving at the perfect moment. This was what we desperately needed to get our mind off our—my—failures. After traversing the grim and bleak corners of Lottie, feasting in an expensive restaurant sounded like a delight.
“I’ve eaten gruel and hardbread for weeks now,” said Iskander, and even his voice was less gruff than the previous day. “I wouldn’t mind biting into a steak or fish, and some wine or whisky wouldn’t hurt either.”
Jaxine spoke through the woolen collar of her sweater. “I want some whisky too.”
“No spirits for you, dear,” said Iskander firmly.
After contemplating her options, Viola’s face lit up, and she said: “Well, there’s a place by Pod Vecco. It’s affordable, and the food is decent.”
“Never mind affordable,” I said. “Let’s indulge tonight. Viola, take us to a fancy restaurant by the Vaimere, a place where a baron and a lord would wine and dine!”
Beyond the desire to feast away my disappointment, I harbored another motive—to buy more time for myself with Iskander and Jaxine. And besides, we were not lacking in coin.
We retraced our steps along the path we came, and strolled along the Vaimere, seeking the perfect spot that caught our eyes. It didn’t take long before we found a restaurant that had a sign of a golden fork and knife set atop a pristine white plate. Its large, wavy glass windows bore the marks of time.
As we stepped inside, a warm glow of candles and light-beads enveloped the large restaurant in its radiance. Below us was a red and green carpet, muffling the footsteps of a dozen waiters, and the clamor of twice more patrons.
The place was crowded with tables filled with wealthy merchants—Viola knew some of them—and esteemed officials from the town hall and customs house, lawyers, and military men. Thanks to a generous tip to the master of the house, he sat us down next to a table where some lowly lord sat with his entourage and a knight from the temple of Hanuk—clear from his white tunic. As we settled into our seats, I noticed the lord and the knight casting suspicious looks in our direction, taken aback by the appearance of Iskander and me.
Only Florencia and Jace had the fine manners to dine at such a place. Their gentle mannerisms with a fork and knife were in sharp contrast to the rest of us, who held them in a tight fist grip.
“No, hold them like this,” said Florencia and showed the correct way to hold the utensils. “They teach you this in Cappesand. A court mage or diplomatic emissary must fit in all circles.”
“Let them watch, I care not,” said Iskander. “I’ve dealt with enough nobles to worry about what they think. I can cut them down without an effort.”
“Maybe let’s save the swordplay for another time, shall we?” said Florencia with a gentle smirk, but behind that, I sensed she was actually irritated.
“I’m sure you can cut down those fat lords,” said Jace. “But that knight in the white robe might give you a challenge. He seems to be a Knight of Hanuk, at least his tunic and emblems seem to tell me that. Viola, am I right?”
Viola nodded, as she was chewing a mouthful of soft white bread that she’d wet from a lemon cream sauce from her main dish.
“I’ve hacked through more monsters than this clean-cut boy can even imagine,” said Iskander, devouring the bread in a single bite.
Viola’s eyes sparkled and were strangely fixed on Iskander. “We’ve had monsters here, too.”
“I’m sure you have,” said Iskander, and ripped a chunk of pulled pork, red from a thick wine sauce. “But not the kind I’m talking about.”
“What are the kind you’re talking about?” inquired Viola.
“The kind that lurks deep within the mountains or forests, or in some dark cave,” said Iskander. “The kind horror stories are crafted from.”
“Can you tell me some of your adventures?” asked Viola.
Iskander spat at the word adventures, but then began to paint a colorful tale about the time he and Jaxine went to Fonszell. There was a rumor of a strange creature that was causing trouble in a village that was close to the Long Sea. The creature, rumors said, was a foul amalgamation of man and beast that came out at night and took the weak and helpless who were wandering too far and alone.
“The guards I took with me were overconfident,” said Iskander, downing his fourth glass of wine. “I told them to keep away, but they ran in like fools. So they got cut down like fools. They were torn to pieces in the blink of an eye. That cursed creature was fast! It was small, too, like some… dog, but with arms and legs of a man, and the face of… And it had claws as long as daggers, and its eyes—” Iskander had a hard time describing the monster. He was silent for some time. “I never forget its eyes. So, I held it off with my sword, but before I could kill it, but not before it left its mark on me.”
He revealed his long and jagged scar that ran along his chin and neck.
“By the Gods,” Viola breathed, hanging on his every word. “And then what?”
“I cut off its head and threw it in a turnip bag. Do you know that they love their turnips in Fonszell? I hate those cursed things. Bland and tasteless. But anyway, we brought that bloody and leaking sack to the mayor. Or was it a lord? I can’t remember.”
“And then what?”
“He paid us, and we went back home,” said Iskander.
Much of that night was spent in stories told by Iskander or Viola. Sometimes Jace and even Florencia told a quick one, but she seemed to be tired, and just looked with a gentle smile at everyone.
Viola listened with unabashed excitement. She had never traveled far from Lottie and asked about anything she could think of. The furthest she had traveled were Soffraza and Bassarina, both a week’s travel away west.
Amidst a story Iskander was telling, Viola had to cut in with an amazed tone: “You’ve been to Worthorp?”
Worthorp was one of the most powerful nations in the continent, perhaps even the most powerful, but far enough from Lienor that most never ventured that far. It was separated from Szell and Fonszell by the vast expanse of the Long Sea. Rumors said that these days the nation faced many challenges—besieged from all sides by neighboring countries that hungered for more territories. There were even whispers of some secret alliances to strike Worthorp down, but nothing had yet come to fruition.
In light of these struggles, and the threat of demonic corruption, Worthorp faced an almost insurmountable challenge in holding its realm together.
“Only for a moment,” replied Iskander. “Getting there these days isn’t easy, especially with what’s happening in Vardemar and on the Long Sea. It took us close to two months to get there on a good road. But yes, Jaxine and I went there and even were granted an audience with their king, though briefly.”
“He wore a cloak of silver, a crown of gold, and a necklace with jewels that sparkled so wonderfully,” said Jaxine, her eyes shining dreamily.
Viola’s eyes were wide, and her jaw fell open. The piece of dessert she was eating almost fell back on her plate.
“I’ve read that the King of Worthorp usually wears a cloak of red and black that has the coat-of-arms of his house on the background of the Ox of Worthorp,” said Jace.
“Well, I saw jewels and silver!” said Jaxine.
“Anyway,” Iskander continued. “We didn’t talk to the king, as two rogue mages from Szell would never manage to do that, but we told our theories about the, um, theories we had about the monsters to the King’s secretary’s aide. After he wrote everything down, he told us to leave. We only saw the king for a moment.”
“But still!” Viola exclaimed, her dark purple eyes alight with a mixture of wonder and longing. “I’ve never seen Our Majesty in person. I think I saw King Danton once—” the father of the current king, who died a month before my incident in Cappesand. “But I was very young. I’ve never met King Gussario Landoros.”
Without a prompt, Jace went on to tell passionately the shortened version of the Hearing of Sanermo, leaving out the reasons and the secrets. Viola’s reaction was almost priceless; she nearly fell out of her chair in astonishment. Even the table beside us seemed to listen to our conversation keenly, their earlier poisonous glares replaced with interest.
“So—so you’ve seen them all,” said Viola about the royal family and the Honorable Rainier Pitties, the esteemed Chief Justice Verralger, and many others. “And now I’m having dinner with you.”
“Don’t sell yourself so short,” said Florencia and smiled her disarming smile. “You’re doing an important work in here. Never forget that.”
Viola calmed down, and we ordered another round of wine.
The evening continued with a lively conversation that spread to the neighboring table, where the lowly lord and Knight of Hanuk sat. The hours flew by, and the discussion flourished until the early hours of the morning approached. We finally accepted that the feast had come to an end, and it was time to turn in.
Our bill totaled five argnos—something that made Viola almost choke. This was more coins than we had ever spent in a single place, but I thought it was justified.