While the Spires of Aughal and the Eye that joined them stood out most amidst the monotonous dunes, that was not the entirety of the city. This had once been an incomplete region of its own, settled centuries ago. The walls that had kept the Spoke safe while it was fully nested into the region remained as a bastion against those monsters that still spawned from the Crest.
Forward progress on this edge of the Realm had been blunted by the Thormundz ridge. The fact that Aughal contained no obvious route past it left other regions in the kingdom little motivation to continue shoring it up. Instead, the leading edge of the Realm’s progress continued to seek the end of the mountains. Aughal was left destitute, as the region was already difficult for most races to live in. That had led to dark days.
Sometime later, when the pass hidden within the stretch of mountains nearby had been discovered by chance, a rush of interest returned to both Aughal and Threst. The civic leaders, who’d already restored some semblance of normal order following the death of the former Artificer-Tyrant Armafus, oversaw a flourishing of their region. Among other things, this led to the creation of Khiat’s village twenty years ago. A decade was spent preparing and enacting the incursion across the Thormundz, and another holding the region while the nascent Spoke was defended.
The unprecedented destruction of the Thormundz Spoke was like a second debilitating wave rushing over the desert. It had been months, and still no formal word had come from Rikendia or the gods themselves. Surely, this of all things would warrant their attention. That was the predominant belief in the region for those who knew, but that faith was not rewarded.
In the face of that, the refugees fleeing from the region attracted the interests of only a few. The masters of the region sitting in the Fate’s chamber, and the unfortunate guards finding themselves having to screen an entire day’s load at once. Most didn’t even have a class, just weapons training, a list of questions, and authority.
Jeras Stillfeather was one of the unlucky ones posted at the eastern gate during that fateful day. Normally, even a hundred people showing up at once wouldn’t have been overwhelming. Assistance could be requested from other parts of the wall or from patrols, allowing them to process people without backing up travel for hours. With the backdrop of the assassination of two Council members, it was a narrow thing that the city wasn’t on lockdown altogether. The days had been long, and the nights just so for the duskers on those shifts. In better days his group would draw straws to see who’d have to stay up to debrief them when they took over. That was no longer necessary.
He was of middling age, which matched relative human years as their lifespans were equal. Jeras had once dreamed of gaining a class himself but had hit his wall upon reaching a strength of 8. After processing that he’d never be one of the Blessed, Jeras continued to train with the greatsword in hopes of at least making something out of himself. Would that young, aspiring avianoid see him now, they might have taken up something stupid like calligraphy instead. Would’ve kept me out of the sun at least.
Jeras idly wondered if he could use one of his feathers as a quill, or if you needed special kinds to make them, as the next group about a third of the way into the mother of all inboxes reached him. Each had to be carefully inspected to identify those with classes, contraband, or suspected ties to the Mirage. The last item was the most important, as the rebellious group that normally kept to the outskirts of the region had somehow struck within its heart for a second time in as many months.
Such scrutiny dramatically slowed the process, and he had to ask triple the number of normal questions. Seeing what had happened to the first people who’d neglected to ask all of them while in the presence of a superior had encouraged everyone to memorize them. “Names?” The first question was always the same. Even the normally sonorous tenor of the avianoid was failing under the aridity and repeated use.
“Letol and Anna Parsley,” the male human answered for them both.
“Like the vegetable?”
“It’s an herb,” Anna corrected.
“Hmm. Farmers then?”
“We were. Should you be writing this down?” Letol asked with some concern. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think we came here without permission.”
“We’re refugees Letol! They have a responsibility to us.”
“Farmers?” Jeras looked past the sea of people to the desert beyond. “Why not go to Threst?” That wasn’t him making conversation but skillfully, in his opinion, working one of the required questions into what was not going to be a casual conversation. Not if he could help it.
Ann looked sharply at Letol who avoided her gaze. “I don’t like heights,” he mumbled.
“Don’t recommend the Spires then.” Dammit, stick to the questions, he chastised himself. Get these people out of here. “Are you migrating here or elsewhere?”
“Well, my family’s from Forola originally. Three regions away, right next to Rikendia, but at least half of us went with every settlement wave. Our duty, you know, and we were proud to-”
“Do you plan on staying in the region?” Jeras cut Anna off.
“No. If there’s a convoy heading elsewhere, we’d happily join. I can still work,” Letol said. He was maybe ten years older than Jeras but looked hardened. To survive what he’d been hearing from the others’ stories, he’d have to be. “Kallical, I suppose.”
“It’d be nice to get back to Forola though,” his wife added.
“Do either of you have active warrants for arrest, writ of exile, or other matters of legal note?” Jeras asked, verbatim from the updated list.
“No, we-”
“Do you have any connection to the group known as the Mirage, any knowledge of their whereabouts, or supporters?”
“The what?”
Jeras didn’t explain, doubting herb farmers from another region were associated with rebels, and continued straight on to the next question. “Do either of you possess weapons, dangerous material, or are carrying any disease, plague, or curse that you know of?” He eyed the two humans who barely had the clothes on their backs and guessed the answer.
“No, but some of the seeds I saved are moldy.”
“Letol! I told you to throw those out.”
“I thought the mold might be useful later on. Some of the races eat it y’know?”
“How is mold supposed to survive in a desert?”
“Do either of you possess a class or powers derived from a Bond?” Jeras cut in, desperately trying to keep control.
There was another awkward moment before Anna answered. “We’re not bonded, just married.”
“Maybe if you didn’t eye every man that walked by…”
Stolen novel; please report.
“Letol!”
Jeras had to grin wryly there. “Do you know of any traveling with your group that possess unusual powers or classes?”
“Well, there’s the Artificer. He’s one of the humans like us, only,” Anna frowned. “I don’t know if he survived. We all heard he was part of the people that attacked the dragon, but most of them died.”
Jeras had heard of the Artificer from others, though no one could give any description beyond a young human man. Some had been holding back information and a few had gone so far as to lie, as he suspected Anna was. Honestly though, he wasn’t concerned. Unless he had a good chance of identifying the man himself, asking more questions would only slow down the line. Also, his city had a reputation, Jeras would admit. It’s not like the guard went around dragging people off the street because of their class, but even Alchemists would get a lot more attention than they’d probably want. It was no feathers off his back if he just took the farmers at their word and let them pass.
“Alright, go on through. The city set up a camp in one of the market spaces if you don’t have the coin to provide for yourself. I can’t give you any further information. Follow the yellow signs.” Jeras pointed through the gate and to a sideways triangle of scrap wood nailed to a wall, which would lead to the camp after a series of its fellows. “Honestly, you could also just follow the crowd.”
“Will there be food there?” Letol asked with a hint of shame. “We’ve been near starving the last two days.”
“You will be provided for. Move along and cause no trouble. Next!”
Three hours passed and the crowd remained. Normal traffic was piling up and mixing with the refugees, made worse by the orders to give any shipments priority. Forcing the masses aside to allow for carts and wagons to pass only exacerbated the delay, but the instructions were clear. What ruffled Jeras’ literal feathers the most was that there were just six of them assigned to process, with others held back to watch the crowds. They needed five times that number at least, but with the city on alert, the guard had to be everywhere.
Steadily, both he and the refugees became more irritable. Someone had tried to punch one of the other guards, why he didn’t know, but that had almost caused a riot before someone further back in the refugees called for order. In a deep place inside Jeras, he didn’t blame them. In a realer sense, he was done. All of the rank and file were exhausted from the days of long hours and ‘deferred off duty time’. If he didn’t get a break after a shit day like this he might just quit. “Next! Next! Hurry up and, woah!”
Jeras’ first thought on seeing the beast moving towards him was wondering how he hadn’t noticed it before. His second was to back up and grab his weapon, before he realized he’d never be able to take on a monster that was wearing armor. His retreat finally stopped when logic caught up to panic. Moving towards him was a ringcat wearing golden armor. That was ridiculous in more ways than one but at least made it clear this wasn’t a wild monster.
Keeping pace was an odd group, one of the largest that approached together and obviously Blessed. One of them had a breastplate made of ice, another a battle accordion, the very obvious Cleric of the Hand and- Jeras frowned. An earth gestalt and a dusker? Neither were what he expected to be a part of this group, for different reasons. The last was an avianoid like him, what he pegged as a Totem Warrior assuming the Focus wasn’t fake. Jeras nodded to the avianoid and received a smile in kind before he asked his first question. He already knew this was going to take a while.
It was at the third question that things got interesting. “Why have you not gone to Threst instead of Aughal?”
The tall scarred human called Lograve spoke for the group, which he did in general unless the others were asked specific questions. “I am one of the leaders of the evacuation effort and, as it happens, the highest level. Arcanist and 4, respectively. I, and the other leader, each took a group to either region that bordered the Thormundz.”
Jeras blinked in surprise. Arcanist was the kind of class where level directly implied power, compared to Craftsman who may not fight as well as a Martialist half their level. To be level 4 was especially impressive considering the rumors passed on by the other refugees that the Thormundz garrison in Eido had been completely wiped out. “What’s your business with the city?”
“Saving the goddamn world would be a nice start,” Lograve responded in an attempt of humor that was plagued by the mutual frustration in the air. “I don’t suppose you have the authority to let me speak with the city’s Council? Assuming they haven’t all stabbed each other in the back by now.”
“N-no,” Jeras recovered when he spotted Sherman, one of the two lieutenants that primarily led the city guard, heading his way. He must have been waiting for these people to reach the front. Stiffening, Jeras said loudly, “Do not speak of Council in that manner, refugee! Your level affords you no special status here. Answer my questions truthfully and you may enter without issue. I ask again, what’s your business in this city?”
Jeras’ bristling didn’t go unnoticed by the group. The areas where his feathers puffed up were a dead giveaway. “Seeing as you can’t help me, I intend to petition for a meeting with the Council. Hopefully before the sky starts falling, or worse. As for the rest, they’re probably heading for the Hunter’s Guild. I assume that kind of help would be welcome, no?”
“Wait, not me!” Thomas spoke up. “I’d had enough fighting, to be honest. I’m sure the church here could use help.”
To Jeras, two of those offers sounded like a huge relief. The monsters had been a growing problem, what with all the resources that had been pulled back to the city of late. Manpower in the city guard was so bad they’d had to call on the hunters to cover the growing gaps in the city’s defensive force. There were also always people in need of healing. As far as the other matter? “Be warned the nobility, and the Council in particular, don’t tend to see just anyone.” In his peripheral, he saw Sherman nod slightly and breathed a little easier. “Do any of you plan on staying in the region?”
“Dunno.” The Cleric shrugged before the Arcanist could speak.
“Ahem. No, none of us know at this time.”
“Do any of you have active warrants for arrest, writ of exile, or other matters of legal note?”
“No-” the Arcanist began.
“Yes,” the avianoid spoke up, surprising everyone. “What?”
“Uhm, which one?”
“Exile, I think. No one ever told me, but I also do not think I should go back there.”
“To be clear,” Jeras said, trying to cut the man a break, “This is not a matter concerning Aughal?”
“Oh, no.”
“That’s alright then. Should be cleared by your service but we’re gathering a list to be safe. Do you have any connection to the group known as the Mirage, any knowledge of their whereabouts, or supporters?”
“Those guys are still around?” the Cleric asked, someone Jeras was beginning to realize was familiar with Aughal. “Damn, I thought the city’d take care of them by now. I’m the only one from here, and, no it’s been years.”
“Do either of you possess weapons, dangerous material, or are carrying disease, plague, or curse that you know of?” He looked at the ringcat. “I’m also going to need an explanation for that thing.”
The Arcanist specifically didn’t answer his question fully. “We are armed. Am I to take it you plan on taking our weapons as well as our time?”
“No.” Avianiods couldn't growl, but they could wobble their pitch in a low way. “Not if you’re a Blessed. You should know the city’s in a heightened state of alert. Anything that’s in a sheath, keep it there. Arrows stay in quivers. Something like this,” he put a hand to the hilt of the sword strung on his back. “Stays on your belt or back in public.” He eyed all of them, looked at the ringcat again and swore. “Hammer, what is that thing?”
“He’s a ringcat!” the other avianoid said helpfully. Jeras caught the phrasing but didn’t comment on it.
“Yours?”
“No, he’s-”
The Arcanist quickly broke in. “That ringcat is associated with another of our number. They are delayed, but sent this one ahead as they can share its senses.”
“Dominated or charmed?”
“You’re missing familiar from that list of possibilities,” he answered smugly.
“And?”
“Have you ever seen any monster not dominated wear armor?”
“I haven’t seen any monster wear armor.”
“Well, let’s just say it would be very surprising to find one like this that wasn’t dominated.” The Arcanist smiled and Jeras decided to move on. If he wasn’t tired from already suffering through hours of this, he would have seized on the man’s dodging of the question. In the end, he decided to let it pass. More trouble than it was worth, and they couldn’t know Sherman had an item that detected lies, could they?
“Whoever’s it is will be liable if it does something,” Jeras warned. “So keep it contained. There are enough Beastmasters in this city that people are used to seeing them on the street. Normally we want anything here tagged, but that armor works. Just don’t let it roam. Now.” Damn it, what was the next question? Oh, right, last two questions. Thank the gods. “Do any of you not possess a class, or powers derived from a Bond?” He modified the question slightly since the answer was obvious.
“No, we all have classes.”
“Do you know of any traveling with your group that possess unusual powers or classes?”
“Yes.”
Jeras waited for the rest, but the Arcanist left it at that. “And they are?”
The man folded his arms, and the ice surrounding him shifted slightly. “Confidential, but their existence isn’t so I can confirm that.”
One of Jeras’ hands clenched as he sensed his headache spike. “You can either tell me, or I’ll bar all of you from the city.” He stared straight into the eyes of Lograve, knowing that the Arcanist could kill every guard here before a strong enough response was made by the city. His bad day has just gotten a whole lot worse.