More than a month had passed since the explosions in the Norzeen District of Ith. Though the Mage Kings had not wavered in their strength, the revolution was growing bigger than it ever had. In Massed Alley, starving men and women flocked every inn, stable and shop. Houses that once sheltered families were now homesteads for dozens. The streets housed even more warm bodies, starting to stir in the morning as the rebels made their way along. Though even Fork Crossing felt the bustling growth of the metropolis’s underclass, it was in the midst of the Alley’s chaos that Raya found herself that morning.
Carack was leading them, of course. While the old rebel leader, Jadden, remained in the chains of the Kings ever since his attempted bombing, Carack had filled the position quickly. Though Axar had suggested Raya take a lead position because of her innocent backstory, Raya had given her support to Carack. In the last two months, she had become associated with Carack’s other ring leaders, as well as dozens of commoners who put their trust in her, to represent them in the revolution’s inner ring.
Next to Raya walked Benn, while Dondar took up the rear. An elderly woman named Thea Roganna strode proudly between their cluster and Carack, while Berutt of Raena moved parallel to Carack’s wide shoulders. Two others followed Raya’s group, but their small procession was the head of a large parade.
“It’ll be busy today,” Dondar said, warily, leaning between Benn and Raya. “Lots of faces.”
Benn nodded. “Carack is an inspiration, and his words draw the crowds.”
“Then why is Axar teaching me tips on fighting magicians?” Dondar asked. His question went unanswered.
They had done two such speeches in the past few weeks, and the crowds of Ith’s poorly treated grew with each event. Raya found the public appearances to be nerve-wracking, but exhilarating. While she could not understand why the Mage Kings did not strike them down to prevent the organization of the rebels, she felt the charge of energy in the audiences they urged to arms. Their goal was not to incite a riot and draw forth the immanent destruction, but to encourage the sharing of knowledge and the forming of stands that could be taken. To Carack, a confrontation was inevitable, but societal change had to progress at a modest pace.
Axar felt the same way. Raya got the impression that he awaited a confrontation with nearly eagerness.
“Will you go for a walk with me later?” Benn asked. “I want to see more of the Low Dales. We spend so much time in the city central now, with people everywhere!”
Raya smiled. “Of course,” she said. They needed at least some calm moments.
Carack stood in a circle with his close supporters when they reached the town circle of Martasa, and awaited the gathering of the crowds. He was a fifty-year-old man with a small round scar on his cheek obstructing the growth of his square black beard, but his broad shoulders and pleasing brow gave him a fatherly appearance. Unlike Jadden, Carack had never been a slave, but had fallen in love with a slave woman. He had revoked his old life when her masters had slain her, and had fought the system of oppression ever since.
His speech was as moving on this occasion as on any others. If an onlooker were to describe the leader of the revolution, the first word would be compassion. He interrupted his monologue to hear and to respond to the stories of the slighted, and his underlying attitude was one of selfless caring. Though he saw the struggle with the Mage Kings to be an inevitable battle, he lamented its approach for the harm it would cause his beloved people.
When his words dwindled at last, the crowds began to disperse. As usual, a procession formed past the steps where the leaders stood. Raya saw many familiar faces in the commoners as those who wished to pray for or receive prayers approached. She said kind words to a man named Haws, and embraced a woman named Belda when she learned that Belda’s sister had at last surrendered to a wasting illness.
As the line grew shorter, and her walk with Benn grew closer, Raya was approached by a middle-aged woman wearing a tattered green gown. “Mistress Raya, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Tura Nerlav, the widow of Master Elric of the same surname,” she said, in a tender voice. “I don’t mean to intrude at all upon your privacy, but I’ve just recently heard that you live in Fork Crossing, in the Low Dales. Is it so? It’s quite a coincidence.”
Raya blinked. “How is it a coincidence?” she asked, descending a step to give her and Mistress Nerlav some seclusion.
“This month is the one-year anniversary of my husband’s death,” Tura explained. “He was a millwright and had been working in that very neighborhood at this time last year.”
Raya tilted her head. It was a coincidence, but she was uncertain where the woman was going with it.
Mistress Nerlav inhaled sharply. “Perhaps it isn’t a coincidence, but a sign. I don’t mean to impose, but I’ve never found out who killed him. One of our guards found my husband, stabbed multiple times, in his office. Nothing was stolen… it’s been quite a mystery. Maybe with all your connections… maybe you could help?”
“I… well,” Raya said, taken aback. She looked at Benn; her friend was leaning against a wall nearby with Dondar, out of earshot, but raised a hand to ask if she needed him. She shook her head gently and looked back at the woman. She had helped a few people with various errands and even assisted a few infirm, but nothing like this yet. “I can try to help.”
“I haven’t been able to do much,” Tura explained. She turned her face and waved her hands at the state of her poor garb. “When my husband died, the manager of his business took over and cut me out of the money. As difficult as that has been, I doubt he had anything to do with it. The prime suspect, that I heard, was a worker who vanished the same time my husband was found. Maybe one of the workers can tell you more. They’ve been working at a tower that’s going up in Pranan’s Hill.”
Raya nodded. “And to find you?”
“I live on the edge of the Low Dales, along Inner City Road, though my estate has fallen to near ruin,” Mistress Nerlav said. “Thank you, Mistress Raya. And bless you.”
Raya tipped her head to the woman. She would try to find the new tower the next day, she decided, but first she returned to speak with Carack and the others. Carack was organizing another event and asking for input on where to host it. This time, he wanted to put together a smaller group than the crowd, with a focus on those in positions of power. He asked if there were any concerns from any of his inner circle, and then dismissed them for the afternoon.