One, two three—Raya’s heart pounded in her chest. She was fit, and used to strenuous chases on her hunts. But she was not used to being the prey.
Through an alleyway her feet pattered, and out into the street. It was evening. The street was empty, save another of her pursuers, a man clad in hardened leather armour, with a whip in one hand and a hook in the other.
“Go, go!” Benn blurted. He led the way across the street and into another alley. Raya stopped listening to her heartbeat and became a gazelle, bounding after her friend. There was a two-wheeled car in the entrance of the alley, and she hoped it with her hands on the bricks. If they scraped, she didn’t care.
She would not be someone’s slave. She would be free.
The next street seemed more clear, and Benn led the way, still sprinting, tilted forward on their feet, up the street. A beggar spotted them coming and ran into the nearest alleyway—there were very few homeless in Vagren, due to groups like Raya’s pursuers.
Benn stumbled, and Raya stopped to drag him onward. The chasers emerged from the alley, cussing as they charged after their targets. “They won’t catch us after the bridge,” Benn said.
“The bridge?” Raya gasped.
Ahead, spanning the Eremes narrows was a slightly curved bridge. It was lit with lanterns, though they were streaky and hard to pinpoint as she ran—and there were houses on each of its four corners.
“They’ll leave us be,” Benn gasped. They reached the slanted cobblestones soon enough and Benn slid down to his knees, and then down to his backside, as they declined the other side.
“Benn, come on,” Raya said between heavy panting. She stumbled to a stop and looked back. She couldn’t see any of the slavers now, but she was still in fight or flight mode. “How can you know we’re safe?”
Benn couldn’t talk. His face was flushed. “I—” He started to cough, and didn’t stop until he climbed to his feet, put his hands on his knees and hunched over shaking. When at last his lungs caught up with him, he looked at Raya and smiled weakly. “Different House runs the streets on this side.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Raya gasped. They had just met with a different Royal House, the next one after her disappointing meeting with Master Threjar. The Klarak House had received them graciously, and it was only after leaving that they had been nearly apprehended by the unnamed slavers. “Those warriors… they worked for Klarak?”
Benn shrugged. “Could be. Or Klarak just runs his streets with a looser grip,” he said. “Come on.”
It was a long walk back to the Vagabond’s Rest, after the tense race. Raya’s legs were ringing still, and her knees hurt more with every step it seemed. The sun was starting to set; ahead of them, a tiny sliver of white moon was starting to glow as it climbed the heavens. They didn’t run into many others, save little clusters of drunkards in front of the taverns, brothels, and gambling dens they passed. Benn was even solicited, right in front of Raya, as though he wasn’t travelling already with a woman. He just flushed, said nothing, and kept walking with Raya.
This was the busiest time of day for the Vagabond’s tavern. Despite the clusters of men and women chatting loudly outside and in, Urvin Kama saw them approaching the front door right away. Through the window, they saw him excuse himself from the bar—there were two or three bartenders on a busy night like today.
Benn held the door open for Raya to enter the busy establishment. She was greeted by the noise of conversation, dice, and cups hitting wooden tables. The common room wasn’t big, but it was packed. Benn had been right when he told her last week that the Houses shared their wealth to maintain a middle class. It was unfortunate that the middle class tended to style itself after the rich, for the room was full of the abuse she expected from slavers. She saw one of the barmaids being manhandled as she delivered a tray of drinks to a table. The smell of beer and rye dominated the room, but those senses all seemed to fade when Urvin reached the door, and uttered to her, “You have guests.”
She wasn’t certain if she should be terrified or hopeful. “Who?” she asked.
“They didn’t say,” Urvin said. “They have a table to themselves, three of them, over by the window. Benn, I’ll need you in the kitchen straight away.”
“We were chased by slavers,” Raya said. “Might want to go easy on him.”
“I lose enough keeping you here, Raya,” Urvin said, with a shrug. “I can’t take it easy, not with this many patrons. Benn’s gotta work, or you’ve got to.”
“Well, thank you then,” she said. “Benn.”
Urvin shrugged again, and pulled the young man away to help with their business. Benn looked exhausted. Raya wasn’t certain she’d be able to handle another incident, so she hoped her guests were there for a good reason. She walked through the crowd toward their table—thankfully remaining free of the clutches of drunk people.
“Hello?” Raya asked, stepping up to the table Urvin had pointed to.
Both the woman and the man at the table looked up at her with smiles. The woman had short hair and long violet lines drawn beneath her eyes like three long eyelashes, while the man had a short beard around his mouth and his hair shaved in rows.
“Have a seat, please,” the woman said. She wore a stiff coat; it almost looked like a military jacket, though she did not appear to be armed. Her companion nodded that it was safe to join them. He wore a sleeveless tunic, though he was not particularly muscular. He had rings of stars tattooed around his arms.
Raya sank into the empty chair at the table. “What’s this about?” she asked.
“I’m Lotha,” the woman said. “And this is Viker. We represent… a concerned third party in Vagren, and we’ve been made aware of your purpose here, Mistress Raya. I must tell you, personally, how inspiring I find your bravery and independence.”
“Thank you. Are you two here to discuss Olston?” she asked. A barmaid interrupted, asking if Raya wanted anything. She’d caught the girl’s name a few times, but didn’t order anything. She was too eager.
“In a sense,” Viker said. “Are you aware that a few hundred years ago, the grand city of Ith was ruled by Great Houses, much like these in Vagren?”
Raya shook her head. “I didn’t know that,” she said.
“We only discuss this in confidence,” Lotha interjected. The painted lines on her cheeks made her look sad, though she smiled quaintly at Raya and put her hand on top of the huntress’s. Her skin was warm. “Many lives could be… harmed… if you told the wrong people about what we will soon tell you.”
“That’s ominous,” Raya said, with an awkward smile. “I’m not certain if I’m the best person to hold your secrets.”
Viker continued, giving his friend a wink. “Hear us out. The Mage Kings of Ith overthrew the previous lords to claim the city as their own. After only a few years, the Great Houses of Ith became a staple of the past. And they’ve stayed there.”
Raya was catching on. “You want to do the same here?”
Lotha smirked. “Not us,” she said. “People we represent.”
Raya was certain it was a line to skirt the blame, should she spill their secret to unwanted ears. “The Mage Kings are hardly good for the people of Ith,” she explained. “Why would you be helpful to Olston?”
Viker shrugged. “We’re not in Ith,” he said. “We’re in Vagren. And we are not Mage Kings. We’re just concerned citizens, who are tired of the leadership of the Royal Houses. For Olston, we can provide coin and protection. All we ask in return is a small ownership share in the Olston mines, and a member on the town council. We will not enslave your people—”
Lotha smiled again. “Our magician’s guild, here in Vagren, does not enslave anyone. The same cannot be said for many we work with though.”
Raya nodded. “That’s a greater price than coin though,” she said.
“Helping decide the course of events in Olston is only common sense if our resources are being spent to develop the town,” Viker explained. “Our intents are not sinister. We want to build the strength of the middle class and profit from it.”
“When the time is right, we’ll move against the Royal Houses ourselves,” Lotha said. “And leave our enterprises at peace.”
“Olston included,” Raya stipulated.
“Of course.”
Viker took a drink from his pewter beer mug and folded his hands. “We heard from the Threjar’s that you are not able to agree upon a deal immediately, but must inform your council. Both Lotha and I are prepared to journey there with you whenever you decide to leave. This is a great opportunity for us both.”
Raya looked around. Two of the barmaids kept order at the bar, while Urvin spoke with a number of men at their table. They had been playing a game of cards, but now argued about current events from the sounds of it. The refugees, of course. She looked back at her potential benefactors. Viker itched his chin through the stubble of his trimmed beard, and gave her a smile, while Lotha looked into her mug, though she hadn’t touched it much so far.
“I think,” Raya said, as they both looked up, “that the Council in Olston would prefer speaking to you to any of the Masters I’ve contacted.”
Viker grinned. “It’s true—Vagren is a dangerous place.”
“Very well. We shall travel to Olston together and see what arrangements the town can make,” Raya said. She smiled. “Hopefully you can provide the help we need.”
Lotha nodded. “I’m going to get some rest,” she said, sliding her mug toward the middle of the table. She touched Viker on the arm, while the man sipped from his cup again. “See you back at the guild-house?”
Viker nodded. “I expect so. Raya, will we leave tomorrow?”
“If you want to,” she said. “It’s only about a day and a half journey back to town. If we’re going to leave, I’d best get some rest. I’ll see you two in the morning?”
“Count on it,” Viker said with a polite nod. He finished off his drink.