Ahead of Raya, a makeshift palisade wall rose from the gradual slope of the hills, where the slums of Vagren were contained by their outer defenses. Over the wall and lean-to rooftops, she could see the old stone wall, worn and broken in many places, where the original city had developed. Now, almost all of that was owned by the Royal Houses—there was no palace or castle in Vagren save the private mansions of the aristocracy.
As Raya had worried, a line of more than fifty refugees had formed even, at dawn. Guards patrolled the line, and a few archers kept watch over the road. They all gave a clear berth to the red tents a mile along the road, where the Highwaymen managed their affairs. Raya begrudgingly joined the line, behind two women with tattered clothes and a variety of weapons strapped to them. They were silent, and eyed her with as much suspicion as they might a roaming fox. The line moved forward only two paces during the first hour that Raya waited there.
A breeze picked up, carrying the occasional water drop, and, as the sun rose, a low-hanging rainbow adorned the northern horizon.
“Rain’s coming,” she heard a guard say to a friend.
After about an hour, a pair of soldiers walked amongst the refugees gathering notes about their intents and providing information where it necessary. By the time they reached Raya, there were two family that had arrived behind her, one from the road, one from the wilderness. One of the soldiers was a man, the other a woman; they both wore matching chainmail uniforms with shoulder-padding and helmets painted dark blue. “Another refugee?” they asked her.
“No,” she told them. “I’m looking for help for my town from someone in town. I’ve arranged to stay with Urvin Kama, who runs an inn here.”
“Oh,” said the man. “Has he come to the gate to fetch you?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “No, he didn’t know when exactly I’d arrive.”
The woman folded her arms, not bothering to write down any notes about Raya’s case. “No way to know if you’re telling the truth or not. There’s a post master at the gate. Step out of line, send word to your friend; if he comes to the gate, he may check you through.”
Raya sighed. “And if he doesn’t?”
“Then you’re not getting into Vagren on your own,” the other guard said. He frowned. “Try your luck with the Silver Guild.”
“The Silver Guild?” Raya asked.
“You’ll see them near the gate when you get up there to see the post master,” the woman said, as the two soldiers stepped past her to speak with the displaced family behind her. Their words rung in Raya’s ears. What if Melik’s cousin didn’t come for her?
It wasn’t a long walk toward the gate, but it was a saddening one. The people here were all bruised and tired. Many were asleep, while their loved ones stood guard. Others were missing clothes, some were wounded, and all of them were in rotten spirits. Raya tried to smile, empathetically, to any who looked her way, but any kind expression faded from her face when she saw the Silver Guild.
They had a market stall built against the palisade wall, but it was no market. A broad sign hung over the structure, which read: “Silver Guild: Enter Vagren the safe way, the slave way.”
There were four bedraggled refugees in front of it, speaking with men who wore black robes and their heavily armoured guards. One of them was just finishing whatever paperwork he was to sign, then they placed silver shackles upon his wrists, patted his back, and sent him toward the gates. The guards let him enter without so much as a question.
Raya couldn’t believe life becoming so horrid that selling oneself to slavery would be preferable to enduring their freedom.
The post master was a tall man, though he was bent at the waist and again at the shoulders. He had a small table set up in front of a wooden folding chair, covered in documents. He wrote a quick message on behalf of Raya, and handed it to one of his attendants. The man ran off into the city, and Raya waited hopefully in front of the post master’s table until he looked up and told her to wait somewhere else. She wondered how many of the refugees lied, in order to lead everyone to such suspicion.
While she waited, a fight broke out between two refugees—one a commoner with a bushy brown beard, the other a lord’s son from Elpan. The revolution kept happening, even small scale. The guards broke the scuffle up quickly, and sent both sides of the struggle away. “You’re not getting into our city with an attitude like that!” one of the soldiers shouted as he shoved the pompous lord’s son out of the line with both hands.
After an hour, someone finally called from the gate: “Raya?”
She was permitted through, at last, when the man inside the palisade vouched for her. She passed between the group of guards that blocked the way, trying not to get in anyone’s way. Within, she found herself standing in a muddy street that mostly abandoned. The man that waited for her was a pale-skinned southerner wearing a beige tunic and leather gloves. “I’m Master Kama’s employee, miss,” he said, quietly. “Name’s Benn.”
“Nice to meet you,” Raya said, and introduced herself. The noisy business at the gate was distracting, and she kept looking back. “Should we go to the inn?” she asked.
Benn grinned. “Of course. This way.”
It was a long walk through the suburbs of Vagren to the inn that Melik’s cousin, Urvin, ran. As they walked, more cobblestones showed up in the streets, and more rock replaced the wooden building materials of the structures around them. The inn was named, “Vagabond’s Rest,” and was built of small stone bricks, covered in many places by a white plaster. There were two large windows which looked into the inn’s small tavern. Two barmaids served only three customers, it seemed, as Raya climbed the three steps to the front door of the inn. Benn opened the door for her, and she let the smell of honey ale, burnt bread, and drying laundry fill her nose.
A man was coming down the steps from the second floor, which landed right beside the front entryway. He had tanned olive skin and shrewd features like Councilman Melik, but he broke into a smile when he saw Raya. “You must be the girl my cousin wrote me about!” he said. “I’m Urvin Kama, and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Raya grinned. It was a little refreshing to have a friendly greeting after the long journey and the arduous entry to the city. “I’m Raya,” she said.
“Of course,” he said. “Benn, could you go see if Tamma needs any help in the kitchen? I’ll show Raya her room.”
It was the last room on the second floor, down a long corridor of locked doors made out of a dark wood. Only a single lantern hung in the hallway, casting a flickering orange light across the narrow space. Urvin unlocked her room a key on his keychain, and then handed her a matching one. “Don’t lose it,” he said, with a smirk. He didn’t lead her into the room—it was too small of a space. She stepped past him, smelling sweat and alcohol wafting off of him.
The room had a small cot, so close to an end table that she’d have to walk on top of it to pass the table to the room’s small window. The only view beyond was the wooden siding of the house neighbouring the inn, but at least the small opening let in a glow of daylight. It was already mid-afternoon and Raya didn’t want to do anything else than lay down.
It must have been visible. “I’ll let you rest,” Urvin said. “Tell me if you have need of anything. I never leave the building. Ha.”
The door closed, and Raya sank down onto the stiff cot. She fell asleep moments later.