The last hill before Ith became Ren’s new home for a few minutes. Though the city covered several hills, its walls obstructed most of the city. Where Ren had been impressed by Vagren’s walls, he was in awe of Ith’s. The walls loomed over a hundred feet tall in some places, massive stacks of stones that dwarfed anything built in Sheld aside from the Worker’s Rise. While the enormous dome was nothing but memories, Ith’s winding defenses were right there, challenging his senses.
Woodro impatiently tapped his sword. “Are we going in?” he asked.
Asar and Karsef were as astounded by the towering walls as the others. They must have run for thirty miles in each direction, Ren estimated, to surround the city. They walked down the slope. Karsef grumbled under his breath. His broken arm was healing, but would be for months. Right now, it was bound in a splint and hung in a sling above his stomach.
They walked along the base of the wall for an hour or so, searching for a gate. When at last they found one, they were held up by three guards on duty. A group of five others were visible, down the length of the thick archway, playing cards at a table. Ren asked, “I’ve never seen Ith’s walls before… how old are they?”
“These ones?” one of the guard muttered, grinning, “Were just built. A month ago, or a little more.”
Ren chuckled. “Right… I’ve heard a lot about Ith lately but not that.”
A second guard nodded. “It’s true,” he said. “These are the Low Dales. Used to just be palisades around them, but when the Mage Kings reasserted their power, they built another wall.”
There were roots hanging out of the ceiling nearby, Ren realized. The bricks outside had been smooth, and smeared in places with dirt and dust. “How did they…?”
“Pulled the things right out of the ground, breaking whatever rocks lie under the dirt to call it up,” the first guard rambled. “Now, the real question is why, by the gods, you’d want in here?”
“It’s a city,” Karsef muttered.
The guard chuckled. “The worst city to visit in the world,” he said. “You lot are going to get killed in there, for sure.”
“Nonetheless,” Ren said. “We have business in the city.”
The guards looked at each other and smiled. The third guard had even less humour than the first two. “There’s a toll,” he said. “So we can pay for your funeral.”
Ren looked at Woodro in disbelief. He turned back to the guards a little more aggressively. “Are you serious? Our funerals?” he asked.
“That’s right. I mean, there’s a toll for everyone.” The first guard smirked and nodded.
The third guard piped up. “It’ll just be more for you.”
Renado scoffed, while Woodro put his hand on his sword hilt. The second guard cleared his throat, and those playing cards nearby stopped their game. With the eyes of eight guards resting on Ren and his friends, Ren decided to play his own cards a little differently. “How much?” he asked.
“The toll is two hundred coins,” the first guard said. “Fifty a piece.”
Ren laughed, but his forced humour faded quickly. With a shake of his head, he reached slowly for his pack. He grabbed two pouches out of it and tossed them toward the guards. They split in the air, to be caught by two different guards. The one who didn’t get any tried reaching for some, but then stiffened his posture again to keep up appearances. The third guard smiled and said, “Have a great visit, friends.”
The way forward was dark, a tunnel lit by occasional torches. Woodro went ahead of Ren, without removing his hand from his hilt. Nothing of this felt right—it felt like they were walking into the worst sort of trap.
When Ren finally got a glance out the other side of the enormous wall, he realized that the city had walls inside too, where districts had grown and required further defence. They walked quietly through the archway, staring at the walls. There were no buildings against this wall—the rolling hills between them and the next district were dotted with estates and small towns. This is Ith? Renado wondered.
The first town they came to was abandoned. There were no beggars or guards in the streets. There were no workmen in the shops. A stream ran nearby and its bubbling was the only sound.
“Where is everyone?” Woodro asked, when they came upon a second such town.
Ren shrugged. They began to encounter towns with normal population when they reached settlements closer to the next wall. The next district was much more lively. Wagons and workmen crowded the streets as they walked. They received a few wide-eyed glances, but no one spoke to them at first.
“We have to find a tavern,” Ren muttered.
They stopped in the first one they found, after getting out of a bit of a slum. The alehouse wasn’t busy, in the middle of the afternoon, but there were enough men at the bar to start a chat going. As soon as it came out that they were fresh arrivals in the city, the barkeeper tapped the bar top and asked, “How much did the guards charge you?”
Ren scowled. “Five hundred coins,” he said.
“What?” asked one of the other patrons, a short man with a rough beard.
“A hundred a piece,” Ren said, gesturing to his friends. “And an extra hundred for talking back.”
The barkeep nodded though; he believed it. “They’re getting worse and worse,” he said. “There’s no chain of command anymore. The soldiers might get orders from their commanders, but their commanders are leaderless now.”
Ren blinked. It seemed these men had a story to tell. He might not get to the bottom of it, but he looked at Woodro and Asar and nodded. Karsef nursed his broken arm and a beer, while the others talked. Ren’s voice grew sore by the end of the evening, but he knew he would learn a lot if he continued befriending them.
The Verdant Drinkhouse would be a regular stop for him, Renado decided. For the next few days, at least.