Morning found Vash waiting in a press of travelers waiting to pass through the Wayfarer Gate. They had wanted to get on the road early, to beat the morning flow of traffic. However, a great number of people apparently had the same idea.
It hadn’t been a restful night for Vash. He was already concerned about working with the Wayfarers, the debts he had incurred, then the visit from Iona happened. Cut off from the Eth Mitaan, that stung more than he wanted to admit. It didn’t matter that Byar had a plan and needed him in the Guild for some obscure reason. Vash felt abandoned, left behind again. That led to him tossing and turning in his bed for some time.
Giving up on sleep around midnight, Vash lit the candle on his bedside shelf and dug out his copy of Gideon’s Guide to Adventure. Reading was always a trial for him, and he figured that an hour of trying to puzzle his way through a guidebook for Wayfarers would numb his mind enough for sleep.
He flipped through a few pages. It was clear the book had obviously been through many hands. The green cover was worn and stained. Pages were dog-eared, crinkled and yellowed at the edges and the ink had smudged in places.
At least there aren’t any bloodstains. Vash thought. The first part of the book appeared to chronicle the history and formation of the Wayfarers, or, as it is formally called, the ‘Honorable Guild of Wayfarers and Vagabonds’. Vash skipped that, moving to the section detailing delvers and rogues.
> The League of Thieves
>
> As with most of the schools within the Guild, the League of Thieves started as a rival Guild for adventurers, though with a much more criminal bent. They pursued the usual adventurer activities like dungeon delving and treasure hunting; however, when times were lean, these adventurers would turn bandit or side with the various criminal gangs in the cities. Grandmaster Samson Shadowbane made an alliance with the League with the help of his longtime friend and companion Cara ‘Cutpurse’ Towne. The name of the League has changed many times, as they have tried to gain a more respectable reputation. Deep down, however, they will always be thieves.
Vash let out a sigh in response to that last sentence. Not that he expected much from an organization that professed to be a shield against the darkness of the west. A light in the shadow. Vash had seen that description while skimming earlier parts. He scoffed at the obvious propaganda.
A note in the margin he had missed before caught his eye.
Next to the line:
> Deep down, however, they will always be thieves.
Someone wrote, in a small but neat hand:
> “And thank the gods for that!”
Vash chuckled. Perhaps someone in the Guild had a sense of humor.
There was more history about the League, famous figures like Cara Cutpurse and Niall Nine-Fingers, as well as their deeds and legends. There were more notes in the margins, making snide remarks on the veracity of the author’s claims, or underlining what the previous owner had thought were important sections.
The section that detailed the common Major and Minor Talents for a Wayfarer rogue surprised Vash. The margin notes got more detailed, usually contradicting the passage written. A previous owner crossed out Talent schematics and drew in a slightly different schematic with detailed formation instructions in the space beside them.
The Talent Dancer’s Precision looked very much like his own Cat’s Grace, but wasted even more mana. The mysterious margin note-taker crossed out the schematic and had drawn one that was more complex off to the side, with instructions as well. Vash looked it over. Though the schematic was more complex, the formula and its implementation looked far simpler.
> Think I solved the mana leak on this one. Should reduce the initial cost by half and not pull on the Core as much.
The note-taker wrote in the margin. Vash looked over the schematic again, seeing how the mana flowed back into itself in a kind of looping pattern.
This might work. He thought, getting more comfortable on his narrow cot. I wonder what else this guy came up with.
Vash spent the next several hours going over both the original and the revised schematics in the Guide. He didn’t even notice when his eyes grew too heavy to keep open.
Jabez hammered on his door before first light, gruffly telling him to get dressed and ready for travel. Awaking with a start, Vash panicked, unsure of where he was or who was banging on his door. He dropped the Gideon’s Guide and scrambled for his dagger before he woke up enough to remember the events of the last few days. Massaging a stiff neck, Vash picked up his guide and tossed it on to the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent so much time reading.
Can’t be good for the eyesight. He thought, pouring water into his basin and splashing his face with it. Maybe that’s why mages are always wearing optics?
Vash came downstairs to an empty dining room. The embers of last night's fire glowed in the hearth. Corwin sat at an empty table, bleary-eyed and rubbing his temples. Jabez stood at the bar, settling up with the innkeeper, an older woman with gray hair pulled back into a tight bun. The two of them talked in hushed tones while Jabez counted out coins on the countertop.
Setting down his pack next to Corwin, Vash looked down and had to laugh. “You look like I feel.”
Corwin groaned. “No, my stoic demeanor is masking a world of pain. You barely had anything to drink last night. I was the idiot who tried to keep up with a dwarf.”
Now Corwin looked a bit green as the three of them shuffled along with mercenaries, trading carts, messengers, and pilgrims towards the Wayfarer Gate. Vash pitied the big man, but felt kind of smug as well.
That’s what overindulging gets you.
They waited in line for the gate for almost an hour. The guards doing thorough checks of everyone passing through. Vash craned his neck, trying to see what was going on up ahead. “I wonder what’s taking so long?”
“No clue,” Jabez said. “Normally you get waved through when you try to leave the city. It’s only coming in through the gates where they shake you down.”
“It may have to do with the attack on the Duke’s palace.” A voice piped up over Vash’s shoulder. He turned to see the impressively mustachioed face of Silas Quartercall. The halfling sat on the buckboard of a large wagon. By human standards it was large, for a halfling it was enormous. Pulled by a pair of oxen, the wagon trundled slowly along with the flow of people. Silas leaned forward, conspiratorially, “I heard that the attempt on the Duke’s life was a feint, that the assassins were really after something in the Sath family vault.”
Vash shook his head, feigning confusion. “What did they steal?”
Silas shrugged, “No one’s said. So far, it’s just a rumor. But, over the past few days, the guard has been searching everyone’s belongings as they’re going through the gates. Also, a few smuggler friends of mine let it slip that their usual contacts aren’t taking bribes to let them through. If a guard gets caught letting someone through without a search, it’ll mean their hand at least.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
We weren’t there to kill the Duke. Iona had said.
Corwin gave him a questioning look that Vash ignored. “Any guesses?”
Silas considered this for a few moments. “They seem to mostly be going after scribes and printers. At least those are the folk getting the most thorough checks. So maybe a book or some papers?”
“What book or paper would be worth getting this worked up about?” Vash scoffed, frowning at the guard, who he could see were rifling through a traveler’s bag. One stopped digging through the bag when he pulled out a book. The guard flipped through the pages and even shook the book out to see if anything was tucked inside. Satisfied, the guard tossed the book to the ground with the rest of the traveler’s belongings and continued their search.
“Oh, there are plenty of valuable books.” Silas said. “Anything from the library of Orus Malcos is worth a thousand times its weight in gold. Wizard tomes from the Mage Wars are priceless to the Collegium. There are a fair few scrolls out there that fetch a staggering price as well. Or it could just be the Duke’s dirty letters to his mistress. You never know with nobles.”
Vash nodded his thanks to Silas, turning back to the slowly moving line. What the hell did you steal, Byar?
----------------------------------------
After two hours of shuffling in the early morning dust and an overly thorough examination of their light packs, the three of them were finally through the gate. Vash had a moment of panic when the guard rifled through his Gideon’s Guide, frowning at the pages like they had offended him somehow.
“This book has scribbles in it.” The guard said with a thick Galadonian accent.
Vash remained silent, knowing it was best not to talk to the guard unless they asked you a direct question.
Jabez glanced over. “Wayfarers take notes in the margins all the time. There a problem?”
“Just strange is all.” The guard said, face a mix of confusion and disgust. “Spend all that money on a book that someone’s written all over.”
“Wayfarers are odd folk.” Jabez said, taking his pack back from one of the other guardsmen.
The guard glanced up, looking from Jabez to Vash. His eyes narrowed, and Vash got a sinking feeling that this guard was the type that got put on duty near Ragpicker’s Hollow. The guards on the Ragpicker Gate were notorious for denying part-bloods entry to the city for any reason at all. They especially hated half-elves for some reason.
“You,” He gestured to Vash with the book, “You from Sathsholm or somewhere else?”
Vash licked his lips, trying to think of an answer.
“He’s from Durron’s Ford.” Corwin said, coming up to join Vash. The big man plastered on a gormless smile and exaggerated his own Galadonian accent, the one Vash only ever heard him use with close family and friends on the farm. “I know it’s something to see, a knife-ear from one of the Summerwine villages, but we get visits from Vanan rangers, too. If you know what I mean.”
The guard looked confused for a moment, then gave Vash a nasty grin. He brayed out an irritating laugh, showing crooked, stained teeth. “Yeah, I heard that the maids upriver can’t wait to give up their virtue to those elvish ponces. Don’t see the appeal, myself.”
Fighting a burning anger rising inside him, Vash schooled his expression. He knew what Corwin was doing. It was an old trick he’d pulled back home. Folk like this guard hated being laughed at, but make them feel like they were in on the joke on someone else and they became your best friend, at least for a short while. It was an easy way to get them past the gate, but that didn’t mean that Vash had to like it.
“We done here?” Jabez asked, shouldering his pack.
The guard made a show of looking over Vash’s book once more, then tossed it to the ground, barely missing a pile of horse manure. “Yeah, get moving.”
Now outside the city gates, Vash took in the broad Marallon plains that stretched to the north and to the east. The main gate to the city, the Prince’s Gate—from when Sath had been one of the tiny, squabbling principalities before the unification of Galadon—stood a half-mile to the east. Merchants and travelers flowed out and onto the eastern road, the Lakeshore Road, through the plains and farms between the Great River Obrun and the smaller Summerwine River. Taking that road would lead the traveler into the safe and secure Duchies of eastern Galadon. That was not the road that he was taking.
A smaller flow of travelers set out on the road to the northwest. The road followed the Obrun as it cut its way through the landscape. In the distance, Vash could see the dark haze of forests and hills on the horizon, and looming above them were the jagged shapes of the Stonepeak mountains. The first mountains of the Shield Ranges. Three great mountain ranges made up the Shield Ranges: the Stonepeaks in the south, the Dragonscales in the midlands, and the Alderhahz in the north. The Ranges were the natural barrier between the civilized eastern kingdoms and the Western Wilds.
Vash didn’t really know much about the Wilds other than they were abandoned after the fall of the Malconian Empire and it had something to do with the Drae, the demons of the shadow. Now the road that he was on, the one that Jabez and Corwin set off down with simple confidence, would take him as close to the Wilds as anyone got.
Just think of this job first. Vash thought, trailing behind Corwin as they followed the slow procession of travelers away from the Wayfarer’s gate. Worry about everything up in those mountains later.
“Where are we heading, by the way?” Vash asked.
“Mossfen Hold,” Jabez said over one shoulder, never slowing his brisk, determined pace. “It’s a holding about a day upriver from Sathsholm. We should get there before sunset.”
Vash nodded, looking around. He hadn’t traveled in this direction out of the city since he arrived two years ago. He had been to a few of the holdings on the Lakeshore Road, but the Rivermarch Road, the one they were on, was unfamiliar to him.
Most of the other travelers on the road were on foot, some wearing heavy packs of supplies and tools. Likely tinkers or other professionals who made their living traveling from village to village, plying their specialized trades. Others were clearly Wayfarers or mercenaries, smaller packs and sporting weapons and armor. Wagons, like the one that Silas Quartercall drove, were rarer but not missing entirely. Crates of trade goods packed the backs of the wagons as they trundled over the gravel of the road near the city.
A few other travelers caught Vash’s eye, however. A barge on the Obrun was slowly making its way upriver. Vash watched a team of oxen towing it upstream, plodding along on a towpath that ran alongside the river. People crammed the deck of the barge, families from what he could see. One mother and child leaned against one of the barge’s rails, looking out at the travelers on the road with a strange, haunted look. They looked tired, and the meager bags piled in the center of the barge spoke volumes about their situation. One child, a boy younger than ten, watched him with wide brown eyes until the road made a turn and Vash could no longer see the barge.
“Refugees from Patria.” Corwin said. “The king died without an heir. Now the Dukes down there are squabbling over the throne. The Temple is also getting involved since they think that a shadow cult is behind all the chaos. Meanwhile, the smallfolk are getting run off their farms, towns are being raided and burned, armies are everywhere. It’s a right mess.”
“And it’s better here?” Vash asked, dubiously. Every week brought new word from Vuln, the capital of Galadon, about some conflict between the king and his Dukes. The House of Sath was apparently particularly troublesome since they controlled the best port on Lake Marallon and had the navy needed to control the entire northern part of the great lake.
“They seem to think so,” Corwin said, nodding at a knot of travelers plodding along the road, meager possessions clutched in arms or slung over their shoulders.
Vash watched them for a few moments. The travelers’ clothes had stains and tears from long travel and wear. Their shoes looked to be falling apart and completely wrong for the type of travel they were doing. A few of the women were wearing thin slippers, like a lady’s maid would wear inside a grand house or castle. “I wonder where they’re heading?”
“Obrun River Valley.” Jabez said. “A ways north of here. It’s in a weird spot that could technically be Aladur, Tonuraak, or even Solaria. No one wanted it because of the big bloody dragon that lived there.”
“The one Silas was talking about?” Vash asked. “Something-the-dread?”
“Dwermothrax.” Jabez said. “Yeah, now that he’s dead, the High King in Solaria has declared it open for settlement.”
“So these folks head up there to homestead.” Corwin said, a mix of hope and pity on his face. “Try to make a new life.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Vash asked. “Aside from a lack of supplies.”
“Dragon domains are dangerous places.” Jabez replied over one shoulder. “Especially one as old as Dwermothrax. Even Wayfarers don’t go into territory that an Elder Wyrm has claimed, so the place is likely riddled with eruptions from the Underlands, which means lots of nasty monsters. More than likely, a full dungeon or two has formed over the years. Then you have treasure hunters, prospectors, merchants, all those sorts heading that way brings bandits and mercenaries. So, you can see how it might not be the best choice for a family from a farm down south to make a home in.”
Vash considered this, watching an older couple shuffling along the road, bent by the heavy sacks they carried. A younger woman with a babe in arms followed them, a girl child trailing after her. Vash could see the pale band of skin where the younger woman had worn a wedding band.
Sometimes we don’t get a choice. We go where we can, and pray to make it through another day.