“State your name, and your purpose in Rabanul.”

Megan drew back on the reins of her rented horse, pulling it to a stop just behind Michael’s ride. To her left, Jordan sat uneasily in his sadly, seeming too large for the horse to comfortably carry. Rachel was to her right, showing no sign of discomfort from riding for the past day. She clutched the reins to her own horse in a casual grip, sitting upright and surveying their surroundings with a vague sense of interest.

Michael was the only one who looked like he didn’t want to be there. They had discovered one thing that their talented friend was not good at during their journey to the free state of Rabanul. He’d refused outright to ride the Stravian Steed they’d rented for him, choosing to walk, until they pointed out that the trip would take a day by horse, and he couldn’t possibly walk that far. Now he sat painfully, a glare stuck on his face, and in no mood to attempt politeness.

“My name doesn’t mat-” Michael began, but Megan cut across him. Best not get into a fight at the first meeting, she thought.

“Megan Richards,” she said clearly, nudging her horse to come alongside Michael’s. “I am the Paragon Apprentice to Samuel Bragg. We come with a request from the Queen of Tyrman, for General Hazaam.”

“You think you can just visit the General without an appointment?” The guard facing them sneered. “You’d be lucky to get into the city without notice, girlie.”

Megan forced down the flare of irritation that threatened to overcome her. “As a matter of fact, we do have an appointment. We’re a little early, but we are expected today.”

She and the guard locked eyes, and she tried to set her face in a determined line. Samuel had explained the process to her before she set out. The Black Hands were a proud, stubborn people, being all military-trained. They put up a stubborn show, but if you matched them in defiance, they generally warmed up to you pretty quickly. The guard facing her now still looked stiffly disapproving, but she swore she saw the corners of his mouth twitch. He gave a huge, obviously fake sigh of impatience.

“Wait here,” he said casually, abandoning his stiff attention. “I’ll get the folder of visitors expected today.”

“Nicely done,” Rachel said quietly. Megan half turned in the saddle to give her friend a small smile.

“Alright, let’s see here,” the guard had returned, holding a parchment envelope. He fished out half a dozen sheets, and searched through them in front of the waiting party. “Official diplomatic party from Milagre…. Megan Richards, Rachel Moran, Michael and Jordan Ciayol... “

He glanced up as they all admitted to their attendance, and back down. “Looks fine. Since you’re entering as a diplomatic party, you’ll be required to undergo a screening process before you’re admitted to see the General.”

Megan nodded her understanding, wondering why they weren’t demanding that they surrender their weapons. To be fair, they were about to enter a fortress filled with expertly trained mercenaries, so it wasn’t as if they could do much damage. “What does the screening entail?”

“You will be subjected to a truth spell, and checked for methods of concealment,” The second guard said. “Any illusion enchantments will be disabled during your stay.”

They all nodded their consent, and the first guard returned the sheets to the folder, then beckoned them onward. “Welcome to the Free State of Rabanul.”

Megan let Michael take the lead again, returning to her position at the rear. They slipped through the gate in a tightly-packed diamond formation. There was a group of men and women there, hidden from their view outside, each donning dull black armor and weapons. They were clearly there as a rapid-emergency force. Nobody could take this city by surprise, Megan caught herself thinking. One man, wearing a set of tight-fitting robes in similar colors, broke away from the group and moved to join them.

“I am Seer David,” he said. His voice was perfectly friendly but also had a business-like edge to it. “I shall accompany you for the duration of your stay in Rabanul. I will, at all times, be maintaining a truth spell, and I have methods with which to reveal illusions. If you find this acceptable, I will join your party.”

Megan agreed at once, knowing her friends would be content to follow her lead. It wasn’t as if they had any choice in the matter, she reflected. If they refused, they would be immediately shunted back out of the city. If they showed hostile intent, the dozens of warriors behind the mage would wipe them out in a moment. Sensing Megan’s thoughts, the man smiled warmly.

“Worry not,” he said. “You are honored guests, so long as you respect our rules. We are a free state, and must take these precautions to avoid damage to our home.”

“Of course,” Megan said. “Would you like a ride on one of our mounts? It will probably be more comfortable.”

“That is not necessary,” David said. “I am accustomed to walking for many hours. But I thank you for the offer.”

The Seer fell into step beside Megan’s horse, taking up a position that allowed him to see all four of them at once. With a graceful hand gesture, he directed them forward, across the gap in buildings and towards a dark castle they could easily identify in the center of the city. Giving the others a confirming nod, Megan urged them on. They continued then, slipping past the watchful soldiers who were by now breaking away to return to their other duties.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Rabanul was an interesting place, Megan thought. Not everybody they saw was dressed as a soldier, but they were clearly in the majority. The Black Hand, she knew, was an elite army of mercenary soldiers who focused on honing their respective masteries until they were truly formidable. Long ago, this skill had granted the founding members of the organization a great deal of respect in the eyes of the Ciayol family. They’d fought alongside Bora Bora himself in a long-forgotten war, and even lent their aid to his daughter when she was set the task of unifying the scattered former nation of Gorteau.

It was said that Tyrman was more of an empire than Gorteau had been, for the Ciayol family had a far more hands-on approach to their way of ruling than the Gorteau Royal family did. But for the most, the people approved of this, as it gave them more security and comfort. It did, however, lead to odd decisions, like the one that Pina Ciayol made, granting her Black Hand allies the ruined shell of Rabanul, and granting them their independence as a recognition for their help.

Every building in sight was utilitarian in the extreme. There was no expensive or elaborate decoration, even in the taverns and inns that they could see framing the long main road. It was a military city, plain and simple, and the people who lived here wouldn’t have time to waste on such frivolous pursuits. Their spouses, who were allowed to live within the city free of charge, would decorate their homes, but none of that was visible from the outside. Clean, crisp, and formidable. Megan could never be comfortable living here.

It took a surprisingly short time to reach the castle that sat at the back of the city. It was built into the face of the first mountain in the Estavor range so that only about half of it was visible. The entire castle, and the city it overlooked, were built facing the north so that any threat coming from the coast was easily visible, and sneak attacks were nearly impossible. There weren’t many people who had been known to visit the daunting structure, and the few who did respect the Black Hand’s desire for secrecy. A military organization couldn’t afford to have its secrets shared widely, after all.

Seer David asked them to halt before the castle gate, where they went through yet another round of questions from the guards stationed there. They wore the same uniform as all the others, black cloth with silver and white trim. They reminded Megan forcefully of police officers on Earth, both in color and attitude. They were granted access without much difficulty, and they dismounted onto stiff legs, letting their mounts be led away to the stable just outside the castle.

“Welcome to the Ironstone Fortress,” the guard they spoke to said. “If you get lost, don’t count on us to rescue you.”

Michael let out a laugh at that, but the sound was cut short. They walked in, their eyes squinting as they adjusted to the dimmer lighting inside. The meaning of the guard’s words became clear at once. Even the hallways felt cramped, compared to the plain-dwelling Milagreans. Each turn was a sharp one, and there were countless variations, side passages that led to other parts of the castle. It was very labyrinthian, and they reflected that it wouldn’t be hard at all to lose themselves in the winding halls.

Fortunately for them, Seer David seemed to know his way around and directed them through the many turns with quiet words. Megan was content to be led along, for the time being, her own senses acutely aware of the constant output of mana coming from their guide. She could feel the continuous application of a truth spell coming from the man, but as for how they were able to identify illusions, she couldn’t figure it out. There was more magic being used, gathered around his robe and various accessories, but none of those were extended far enough to affect them.

“Here we are,” David said courteously, yanking Megan’s attention from her thoughts. “The General will be expecting you by now.”

He stepped to the front of the group, and after casting one more quick glance over them, he turned and knocked. There was a short pause, then a deep voice told them to enter. David led the way into a comfortable-looking office lit by magic torches, revealing the General of the Black Hand, a tall, lean, handsome man. Even in the safety of his own office, he was armed, with a longsword hanging at his waist and a bow slung across his shoulders.

“General Hazaam,” David said, offering the man a quick and casual salute. “I bring you Megan Richards, Rachel Moran, and Michael and Jordan Ciayol. They are Proficients with the College in Milagre and are acting as a diplomatic party, in the interest of Queen Elena.”

Megan, Rachel, and Jordan offered the man polite nods of their head, while Micheal stood still. Strictly speaking, now that they were in the fortress, they were expected to act in a manner befitting their rank, which meant that bowing was frowned upon. Still, respect couldn’t hurt. General Hazaam came to his feet as they entered, and offered a salute in the manner of his people, clamping his open hand against his chest armor.

“Welcome to Rabanul, friends,” he said. His blue eyes flicked to David, who gave him a discreet nod. “I hope that you have enjoyed your visit to our free state.”

He put a little emphasis on the word free as if trying to reinforce that the Queen had no authority here. This reaction surprised Megan, who had expected a cordial relationship between the two leaders. Hazaam was technically of equal rank to Elena Ciayol, and despite the difference in titles, he should have been a little more sure of himself. It was obvious that Tyrman and Rabanul existed peacefully, with shared respect that elevated them beyond that of mere allies.

“Good afternoon, General Hazaam,” Megan said, taking half a step forward so she could be more visible. “We come with a request from Her Majesty. Two days ago, a group of Attosian criminals broke into the city, attacked the Royal Prison, and spirited away with one of the prisoners there. We suspect they may have come to seek temporary sanctuary here.”

As she referred to the invaders as criminals, which they definitely were, she was paying close attention to the General’s face. His eyes narrowed slightly at her word choice. The longer she talked, the more she got the impression that he did not like their presence here, despite the trust between their nations. He didn’t like that she referred to them as less than honorable.

“I see,” he said. “I assume that you would like us to turn them over to your custody if they are here?”

“Yes, please, sir,” she replied, watching him even closer. “They are heinous criminals, and it is our goal to capture them all. Their attack on the capital cannot go unanswered.”

There was no mistake about it this time, she thought. He definitely didn’t like that. A flash of irritation had crossed his face, quickly replaced with a look of contemplation.

“Indeed. But surely you will need more men to accomplish such a task, won’t you? Or are the four of you confident that you could win against nine highly trained Attosian criminals?”