1

The cobbled street was lined with buildings of painted stone and wood, each standing four or five stories high at the least and each with windows of glass. The street itself was wide, enough so to fit a half dozen carriages side by side, and split away into countless side streets, each cobbled and filled to the brim with businesses, restaurants, passer-bys, carriages, street stalls, blacksmiths, and more.

In the distance, standing high above the city buildings, were towers of black, soot covered stone: smokestacks. They darkened the sky with pillars of black smoke, the air for miles around tainted and smelling of charred fumes. The steelworks, according to Caldwell, from where the city produced garments and arms of steel of the finest quality in all the Empire, and from which the city of Coalben garnered its massive wealth.

Its second source of wealth was derived from what sat further in the distance. Snowcapped, the mountain eclipsed even the tallest smokestacks and buildings in the city, its peak resting so high that it pierced through a layer of white clouds that hovered in the sky. At its foot would be the coal mines, impossible to see from the city’s entrance, from which more than half of Drygallis’ coal was produced.

Despite the choking, foul smog that clung to every inch of the city’s air, it was no wonder as to how Coalben was as beautiful as it was. The city’s wealth was on prominent display as far as the eye could see, with the buildings finely painted and laden with a mix of clear and stained glass. The people of the city were no different: wearing clean coats of black and red and green and blue, often as not accented with scarf or cloak of fine silk and embroidered with thread of silver or gold, the inhabitants of the main street presented themselves in a manner that was, in a way, almost noble.

There was little doubt that even the richest among the rabble that Alden saw was, at best, an equal to the poorest of barons in the Empire, yet there was an undeniable flair to their presentation. This was, after all, among the richest cities in all the world, and with every step down its streets Alden felt a sense of otherness. He did not belong among these people, did not fit in and, in fact, stood out to such an apprehensive degree that barely a single set of eyes missed his presence. His imagination, he’d thought, until he began to meet the gaze of every man, woman, and child that passed him by, their eyes staring back at him with curious expectation.

They had sauntered into Coalben at first light, a band of sixty armed and armored soldiers from a group of baronies to the south close to the eastern border. Dirty, hungry, in dire need of bathing, and, it need be mentioned, a good distance from the war taking place, they had almost been turned away at the gate, or else taken prisoner as deserters. Almost.

Nations were not built on stones and wood, brick and mortar, or sweat and blood. They were built on paperwork. Paperwork was what determined who had the rights to what land, who was the lawful mother and father of some child, who would inherit such and such business or noble rank. And, most helpfully in their current situation and with many thanks to Dhatri for providing the actual paperwork, on whose authority their merry band of misfits had come to Coalben, and for what purpose.

That did not, however, instill in the on-duty guards any sense of obligation to help in their given task, nor did it provide any sense of kinship between the two groups, despite their similarities as military men. Alden and his followers were outsiders, and, in a city such as Coalben, outsiders were either customers or trouble. The guards had decided on trouble.

Cloaked in steel hauberks adorned with cloth of marigold yellow over the top, the guards were easy to spot in the crowds from a distance. A good thing, considering their ever present nature which, only after nearly an hour of spotting the yellow clad men around every corner and down every street, Alden came to realize that he and his men were being followed, observed.

They did not approach, nor did they make any effort to ward them off as they traveled down the market street and then, following Caldwell’s advice, down a side street to a grouping of particularly large inns nestled on either side of the narrow roadway.

Furnished rooms of plain beds and dressers were provided, for reasonable cost no less, and once settled Alden had his lieutenants gather in the lower tavern of the largest inn. Pouring a cup of mead for himself, Alden settled into his chair and sipped graciously at the liquid. It did not compare to the baron’s wine, but it was good enough, and stronger as well. The journey had worn at him, and now he felt in need of some liquid merriment.

“So,” he began, passing a glance to each of his companions, “where do we begin?”

Caldwell spoke first. “The inns, first, if we can keep a low profile. I can try some old friends, but they live in the inner sections.”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Does that complicate things?” Elric asked.

“It does,” Caldwell replied. “We’re in the outer sections now. Nothing but tourists, merchants, and landowners in this section. They couldn’t afford to stay here long. Neither can we, for that matter. That leaves the middle section.”

“The warehouses?” Uhtric asked.

Caldwell nodded, grinned. “There’s enough abandoned warehouses in this city to hide an army. A hundred men? Child’s play. Therein lies the problem.”

“Surely we’d find them eventually?” Elric said.

“It’s not finding them that’s the problem,” Cladwell explained. “It’s being found. Not many people go to the middle section, so we’d stick out like a tree in an empty field. Not to mention the gangs; the middle section is where most of them set up their bases. One of us goes alone and we’re looking to get robbed at knifepoint. Go as a group and they’ll think we’re starting a turf war.”

“And if all of us go we won’t find a damned thing,” Alden said.

Caldwell nodded.

“I imagine the city’s soldiers aren’t any use?” Uhtric asked.

“Not at all,” Caldwell replied. “Crime in Coalben’s been organized for years. There’s been an unspoken rule that if they don’t step too far out of line, then they’ll be left alone. Mostly that means miners and steelsmiths are off limits, but most don’t travel far from the central section as it is, and when they do they usually have armed guards.”

Caldwell took a long drink from his cup, draining its contents, then set his empty cup down with a thud. “There’s a chance,” he said, “that I can sneak through the middle section on my own.”

“Ain’t going alone,” Gosfrid said. He leveled his eyes at Caldwell as if to say the topic was at an end.

As far as Alden was concerned, it was. “I’m of a mind with Gosfrid,” he said. “You don’t go alone.”

“I can’t go with a group,” Caldwell replied.

“Then go with me alone, lad,” Gosfrid said. “Better than by yourself, at the least. How close together are the buildings in the middle section?”

Caldwell shrugged. “Close. About the same as the outer section, give or take the occasional foot or two gap. Why?”

Gosfrid grinned and stood. He rounded the table to Caldwell’s side, slapped him on the back. “I’m the Gods damned Eagle Eyed, remember? Eagle’s attack from above.”

2

Gosfrid and Caldwell had set out almost immediately, no doubt as buzzed by the mead as Alden was as they lumbered down the streets as surreptitiously as they could manage. He watched them go until they disappeared amongst the crowds of people, then turned in the opposite direction.

He’d ordered the others to stay at the inn; no point in losing men in the twisting streets of the largest city east of the Imperial Capital. They had objected at first, especially after he had stated his intention to explore the city on his own, but had backed off after he had restated his orders. None had needed a third time.

He weaved his way through crowds of pompous tourists and the clean-cut workers who vied for their business, able to slip through them with ease and, he noticed, with significantly less attention than before; he had opted to leave his armor behind, replacing it with his knight’s uniform: a coat of blue with two columns of golden buttons and silver embroidery running down the sleeves, along with trousers of sheer black and shoes to match.

Guilt wormed its way into his heart as he traversed Coalben’s streets. He had not been entirely honest with his men. Couldn’t have been, in truth, though the fact did little to ease him.

He had noticed it shortly after they had sat down in the inn: a thread of gold emanating from his chest and leading outside. A thread that he now followed, as inconspicuous as possible for a man chasing after something only he could see.

Money. That was what the golden thread signified, certainly. The thought of gold and silver coins stacked high propelled him forward like a predator to prey, passing street after street and business after business, wonderfully built all, until finally he came to a crossroads.

A carriage moved down the cobbled street, revealing as it passed a heavy set man with gray hair, gray sideburn mustache, and an expensive suit of emerald green inlaid with golden thread and a red silk scarf tucked neatly under the man’s chin. The golden thread lingered in the air between them, a mere wisp.

Behind the man was a building two stories taller than the rest around it, its walls painted the same brilliant emerald as the man’s suit, the words “The Golden Equine” emblazoned over the doorway.

The man was speaking to another wearing a less impressive, although still quite exemplary, suit. Their conversation just out of earshot, Alden waited and watched as the two men entered the Golden Equine.

Alden took a step, intending to approach the man, to see where this path led, but stopped cold in his tracks. His heart beat loud in his chest, distracting, and cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck. He turned, looked down the street one way, then the other, searching for something, anything to explain this strange foreboding feeling.

The streets were empty.

“What is your name, sir?”

The voice came from behind. Alden turned to see its source and was greeted by the sight of three knights, each in plate armor, swords in hand. Hearing a clinking sound from behind him, he turned again and saw another four knights, each as armed and armored as the first three.

And each had Stats matching Amice’s.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” the middle knight said, ignoring Alden’s lack of reply, “I would kindly ask that you follow us.”