A feeling of dread spent all morning building up in Raya’s abdomen as she walked along the Crimson Highway. The grey walls of Ith, looming over the scattered copses of trees and bumpy hills, seemed to signal it. Like them, the sensation grew as they got nearer. Her mind wandered, but she did not want to accept any of the solutions she considered, nor even to get give them purchase.
There was a Crimson Highway checkpoint a mile out from the city; they said nothing as Raya and her four friends crossed their line. They didn’t even bother checking their red coin and their signed documents. Highwaymen a few miles up the road had checked the day before.
Then they reached the front gate of Ith, and found it utterly abandoned.
The guardhouse was empty and the opening was little more than a hole in the stone surface now. Raya’s gut solidified—something had happened here. She led Benn and her friends through, careful to keep her hood over her features as the change in air pressure tugged at her clothes. Ahead sat the Tempera District, the thin gate-town that spanned between the great wall and the rising estates of Pranan’s Hill.
In Tempera, they found men and women going about their daily lives. No one pointed out the new arrivals, or offered any explanation of the lack of guards. A woman sewing on her front porch looked at the group blankly when they rushed by, and then went back to her work.
Only Axar and Raya wore hoods like this, but they had to be cautious. They sought out the Norzeen District, for it was the region of Ith they had spent the least time during the rebellion. Raya asked Benn to go in search of an inn. Her friend had a wealth of experience in that area, having worked at Urvin Kama’s establishment in Vagren. He returned to the park they strolled in, in the Norzeen District, an hour later.
“There’s a few places we could stay,” he said. “Places that are known for keeping the discretion of their patrons. I’d recommend the lower end selection, like you said. We don’t want to be flashing money around, if the Mage Kings or the rebels are watching which travellers frequent their home.”
“That’s fine, Benn,” Raya told him.
Axar smiled. “I’m sure we’ll be fine at whatever dive you discovered.” It was the most characteristic remark from him in days. The magician had spent their thirteen day march in a glum silence, waiting to see what he should do with all his wasted efforts in the metropolis.
Benn bowed his head anxiously. “Follow me then,” he said. “And don’t say, I didn’t warn you.”
On the edge of Massed Alley, they were guided to the Blinded Oryx. It was nowhere near Night Kra or the neighborhoods they had frequented before. The Oryx was a single-storey business with a small wing for rooms on the left side of a good-sized tavern. The goings-on of the tavern, Raya quickly realized, were not as good as its size. As they stepped under the low-hanging latticed eaves, Raya glimpsed a shirtless woman through the window. The solid cedar door opened to a boom of cackled laughter and raucous shouts. Benn looked a little timid, to go in, but Ailo marched through the door while it was held open. Raya followed suit.
There were a dozen card-players sitting along an awkwardly placed first table, which completely obstructed the entrance of the travellers. Two men, leaning near the door with swords at their waists, rose to full height to stare Ailo down. This was their territory, declared their posture. Raya watched a man carrying the topless woman into a hallway as she giggled and grabbed coins from a pouch on his belt. She blinked, and looked down, then at the bar. She heard Dondar chuckle behind her, at her discomfort, but then they found seats near the corner of the room.
A young man with the stunted posture of servitude came over and asked their orders. When he walked away, Raya glimpsed the slave brand at the top of his back. Slave shirts, when they were occasionally used, were designed with a V neck in the back to advertise their status. The man returned a few minutes later with their drinks, and five bowls of cold stew.
“It’s not the best place I’ve ever stayed,” muttered Axar. “But it’s not the worst either.”
“You have poor taste, mage,” muttered Dondar.
Raya at last lowered her cowl and wiped the sweat from off her brow. A man at the bar said something in reaction to it, his words so slurred she couldn’t understand anything except his ogling gaze. At least that was his only opinion of her identity—her secret role in Ith’s past was safe, in the confines of the Blinded Oryx. She looked at Benn. He winced, at her glance, expecting a word of disapproval. Instead, she only said, “Could you and Ailo spend a couple hours in town? I want to know what’s going on, but I don’t think we’ll get as many details in here.”
Ailo looked at his master with a raised eyebrow. ‘The girl is giving me orders,’ it seemed to say. But Axar nodded. His perpetual scowl did not offer Raya any other sign of affirmation.
“We’re better off here,” Dondar said, grinning at the group of dice players nearby. “For safety.”
“Right,” Raya said. Like Dondar needed to be stealthy.
Benn and Ailo finished their food quickly and left, while Dondar stood up, shifted five steps to the side, and sat down at the dice table. Axar was the last to finish eating. He paused between each bite to think. What plagued him? Raya had not forgotten the details he shared before their hasty disappearance from Ith. The death of Dago at the hands of the once trusted Mistress Lotha had been a significant component of it, but there was more. An alliance of magicians. Lotha had lied about Axar though, claiming he was allied with the Mage Kings—a lie to turn Raya against him? So Lotha and Axar were a part of a sundered alliance of magicians.
And then they heard about another fallen alliance. Dondar stood up swiftly, nearly toppling the dice table, and drawing a dozen curse words from the gamblers around him. “Dead?” he asked, loudly.
“Yes. There were attacks all across the city—simultaneous, swift, and unclaimed,” said one man, before bending over to collect some scattered dice.
“No one knows who did it, we only know what was done,” said another. “All the ones that were left are done.”
“What?” Raya asked, quietly.
Dondar looked at her with wide eyes and a smile. “The Mage Kings are dead,” he said. “What did you say, four days ago?”
“Five, I suppose,” said one men at the gambling table, smiling to Raya. “Means we’re free to do as we like now.”
Dondar let the comment slide.
“Who’s in charge now?” asked Axar. His stew bowl had been pushed to the side and leaned close to Raya and the dice table, listening intently.
That brought shrugs from all around. One man leaned close and put his hand over his mouth: “’Round here it’s Warik Domeran and his old time gang.”
“And the city guard?” Raya questioned.
“They’ve claimed Pranan’s Hill and the Norzeen as their turf,” said a woman at the bar, smiling with crooked, browned teeth. “Don’t go there if you don’t have a reason for it.”
Dondar came back to Raya’s table and sat down with a grunt. The dice players went back to their game. The seasoned Olston guard put his head in his chin. “After all we tried to do, it happened without us,” he said. “About time the damned magicians fell.
“This isn’t good,” Axar said to Raya, leaning forward. “The Mage Kings are dead—that’s worth a celebration. But a real civil war is brewing if no one takes responsibility for what’s been done.”
“Even then,” Raya said. “The people of Ith aren’t going to accept the authority of anyone else. They’ve endured and earned the right to choose.”
“And you want to help,” Dondar muttered. “Let’s wait until the others get back at least.”
Raya nodded. “We need to know who is making a bid for power and where.” She blindly took a sip from her mug—she was looking through the table, her mind full of questions and ideas. What had happened to the slaves of the Mage Kings? Between them, they had owned thousands. And what of the attackers—what motive had warranted such a military strike against the Mage Kings? This was no longer a city of revolutionaries.