At the safe house, they found a very excited Mal. He practically knocked Vale over with his greeting, shoved his head into Ian’s hand, and even gave Ban bark of approval. When he reached Roland, he sniffed the air, trying to assess the new addition to the group. He immediately huffed the smell of alcohol out of his snout and returned to Vale for more affection.

“We shouldn’t stay here, we could have a scout tailing us,” Ban said.

“Absconlati,” Roland murmured, and a flare of blue light emanated from his staff. “I suggest we have a meal. My spell will keep us hidden for the time being.”

Less than an hour later, they were all seated in the modest noodle shop that Roland had led them to. It boasted five tables and a short section of counter, all of which were empty. The owner ran it alone, and he was now shuffling his way over to their table. An elderly dragon-man with scaly green skin, a long neck, and a bulging tortoiseshell hanging on his hunched back. He had agreed to allow Mal to join them inside on the condition that he minded his manners. Mal seated himself with statuesque posture on the floor beside Vale, exuding an air of noble grace.

Ian glanced at the menu, had no idea what he was looking at, and ordered the grilled fumquat with thrice noodles. The dish sounded as good as anything else he’d read.

Once the matter of food was settled Roland shifted in his chair to face Ian. He was becoming increasingly curious about the man and the organizations that he’d attracted.

“Listen, Ban, you know I’m going to help you. I still owe you a great debt. And Ian here has piqued my interest as an added bonus, so give it to me straight. What am I getting myself pulled into?” Roland asked, still watching Ian.

“It is not my story to tell,” Ban said with a shrug, he turned to Ian, “It may not seem like it, but Roland is trustworthy.”

“I woke up in a cave in the middle of a forest...” Ian began, relaying the events that had led up to this morning. Their meals arrived in the middle of Ian’s tale. He looked down at his food and took a sniff, pleased to find that his meal smelled inviting. The fumquat turned out to be a pear-sized ovular red fruit with stringy insides. And as Ian recalled his mother saying countless times, A good meal will do wonders for a sour mood. He dug into the steaming fruit.

The others ate while Roland mulled over Ian’s tale.

“Alright,” Roland started, “Seeing how events are unfolding that have far-reaching implications, I will help.” He took a slurp of his soup and then reached for the pepper grinder. “And I know who you mean when you say Court. Ban asked me to attempt to scry on them when he first got assigned to his current post. And yes, I know who Ban works for.”

The conversation then turned to the three plotting out the next move. Ian, being unable to offer any contributions used his fork-stick to push the fruit-noodles around. He eyed his companions thoughtfully. He couldn’t figure out why they were willing to go so far to help him. It wasn’t as though they knew what the aims of the Harlequin Court were. Or even if they were out to get him, maybe they wanted Mal. Either he had the good fortune to find the most kind hearted-people on the planet, or they had their own agendas.

“Why are you people helping me?” He blurted, his doubts and nags bubbling over as his fork-stick clattered in the bowl. “You don’t know me. You certainly don’t owe me anything. And you’re sure as hell risking more than most would be willing to. So… why?” He tried masking the frustration and anger in his voice but hadn’t entirely succeeded.

They all stopped to look at him, even Mal who had an odd piece of beef hanging from between his teeth.

“Because,” Vale said, turning to Ian, “You are in trouble and need help.” She reached over and squeezed his arm gently, giving him a radiant smile. “I for one would not be able to live with myself if I did not help someone truly in need.”

“Even if you do not believe our intentions, you understand you are the object of interest to a cabal of madmen. The kind of madmen who are capable of destroying our way of life. Perhaps even the world itself. There is no choice or debate to be had, saving you saves us all,” Ban stated.

Roland, being the newest member shrugged while sipping at his soup, “Ban asked me to.”

There was a soft bark as Mal padded his way over to Ian. The wolf’s massive head came up and he poked his snout roughly against Ian’s leg, earning a scratch behind the ears. Ian felt marginally better and continued picking at his thrice noodles.

“Well, I suppose I’ll say thank you and shut up then,” Ian said. He found he didn’t like the feeling of being a damsel in distress, but at least his knights in shining armor were sincere in their desire to save him.

Ian looked at Ban, still surprised to find the minotaur a voice of reason and compassion rather than a bloodthirsty monster. And Vale, his gaze drifted to the elf, who had been so cool and distant to him at first, had become someone he was willing to trust with his life. And even Roland, who knew nothing about him, was willing to risk his freedom to help. The people of Paragore were as diverse and complex as they were back on Earth. Each with their own reasons for being, for helping, for caring. A feeling of sonder hit him, and he could see that each of these people before him as not mere fantasy tropes, but as individuals, as friends. They spent the rest of the meal in comfortable silence.

“Alright,” Vale said, tossing a few til on the table, “we need to get back to the Transmission Spring. I think we should separate. Even in this town, we stand out too much as a group. I am thinking Ian and Roland together makes the most sense. Odds are good that no one is looking for Roland, yet.”

“I believe it would be best to stay together,” Ban countered. “It’s true the High Cavaliers are searching for everyone but Roland. But, the Transmission Springs are all guarded by the Order of Brass. Which gives us the advantage if we stay together. The Order does not answer to the High Cavaliers and will hear me out before they decide to hand us over or not.”

“Fine,” Vale said after considering his side, “but we will not travel by carriage. The most direct path with the least visibility will be by way of-”

From outside the thunderous stomps of booted feet marching down the street interrupted her, and they were growing louder.

Roland rushed to the window and pulled the curtains back to take a peek. “High Cavaliers. It must be every knight in the city doing a house to house search. They really want to talk to you three.”

Mal made a chuffing sound.

“Four,” Roland amended.

Outside the High Cavaliers marched in force, breaking off into pairs at each doorway and demanding entry for a search. It would not be long until they discovered Ian and company.

Roland slipped over to the old half-dragon owner, who had not so much as looked up from his news-scroll since he served them. The mage placed an extra few til on the counter. “We were never here.”

The half-dragon gave him a nod without looking up. Roland waved the others on through the kitchen.

“Out the back,” He said before grabbing the owner’s hand one last time, pressed his lips together in all seriousness, and gave the best thanks he could muster. “And you overcooked the noodles. One minute less, trust me.”

Ban and Roland continued to bicker with one another quietly behind Ian. They were arguing over the best way to reach the Transmission Spring unnoticed. While they bickered, Vale led the way, walking them all up to a wide platform that stood a few feet off the ground. Vale cleared her throat loudly drawing the attention the mage and minotaur.

“Yeah, this’ll do,” Roland stated in a manner that suggested this was his idea.

“What are we doing up here?” Ian asked, glancing around. Being on an open platform like this made him a bit nervous.

Vale pointed up. “We are getting a lift.”

A black speck on the brilliant blue sky grew where Vale pointed. It spiraled downward like a leaf on the wind toward the platform. As it drew closer Ian realized what it was, a genuine flying carpet. Or in this case a flying area rug. The thing was massive in size and could easily fit twenty people with room to spare. It had a dizzying array of colors laid out in a mandala-like pattern. At the front of the carpet sat a man dressed in heavy leathers with a tightly drawn hood over his head. Vale walked onto the rug and spoke with the driver who nodded. She waved the rest of them on while slipping the driver til from her pouch.

Mal immediately slinked down low and headed straight for the middle of the carpet. Ian took a step onto the carpet and found that his footing was firm. He made his way over to a dejected-looking Mal to sit beside him.

“It’s okay buddy, I’ll be terrified with you,” Ian said.

Vale sat on the other side of Mal, a smile on her lips as she whispered soothingly to the lupine.

Ian felt a pressure around his legs and waist. He jerked against it and found he couldn’t move them an inch. He was about to ask if this was normal when the carpet rocketed into the sky. It was the ultimate roller coaster ride.

Soon they were zipping around the towers of downtown. From this new vantage point, Ian could fully see the layout of the city. Modern glass and steel melded with ancient castles and keeps, it reminded him of his trip to London. Through the tangle of the downtown buildings Ian made out the Justiciar Law office, and they were rapidly approaching it. He expected a fireball or worse to come hurtling at them from the building, but they cruised right on by.

The streets were laid out in a haphazard way that was often the case in older cities. A population boom had taken place outside any engineer’s wildest imaginings, which always seemed to be the case in Ian’s experience. Raxal was truly a sprawling metropolis.

Ian was settling in comfortably they began their descent. Lower and lower they went until they came to a stop at another raised platform. The Transmission Spring and its tower were still as busy as when Ian had arrived. They all stepped off of the carpet, no one faster than Mal.

As they approached the Transmission Spring the group was surrounded by a ring of uniformed, armed Brassmen. The High Cavaliers must have sent word ahead. A tense silence settled around the little group, each one mentally preparing themselves for the coming battle.

“I thought you had complete faith in these buffoons, Ban,” Roland groaned, not trying to lower his voice in the slightest.

Ban only grunted in response. He was busy assessing the guards and having an internal struggle over whether or not to attack his Brothers and Sisters. While he contemplated a wooden door creaked open at the side of the tower to reveal a staircase leading down.

“The Watchman will deal with you personally,” The words came out with venom from the Brassman directly in front of them. He broke away from the ring creating a gap for them to pass. “This way,” He commanded, leading them to the open door.

They were sequestered in the barracks beneath the tower. The guard led them to the office of the Watchman. The Brassmen knocked on the door once before pushing it open, sneering at them as they walked past.

The Watchman was a fit man with salt and pepper hair. The same armor that adorned the others gleamed in the crystal light of the room. He had his back to them and without turning his booming voice filled the room.

“Brassman Ban’Koliath,” The Watchman said, his tone accusatory, “not even ten minutes ago I had the High Cavaliers in my office demanding your capture and that of your fellow fugitives. They say you were involved with the hotel fires, maybe you’re even responsible for them.”

Roland was clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles popped from the tension. Mal had lowered his head, poised to leap at any moment. Vale and Ian were not visibly tense, but both were glancing around the room to check for the best possible exit.

Ban reached out and gently but firmly stopped Roland’s hand as it moved into his robe. Pushing the hand down Ban spoke to the Watchman. “Forgive me Watchman Murray but those High Cavaliers are misinformed, at best. At worst they are traitors of the Eternal Accord and have accepted bribes or are in league with our enemies. I can assure you my only involvement was in trying to mitigate-”

Watchman Murray held up a hand cutting him off. A wry grin slowly spread across his lean, grizzled face. “Ha! Had you there for a minute, didn’t I? I might be getting on in years Custodian Ironroar, but I am not senile quite yet. A fellow Brassman will always be in the right until irrefutable evidence can be produced.” The Watchman saluted Ban by crossing his right arm over his chest with an open hand.

Ban saluted back, his shoulders sagging in relief.

“Apologies, it gets so boring here! Checking off travel passes and directing tourists, we thought we’d have some fun! And of course, since they had no evidence whatsoever, you and your companions are free to go. Providing you will vouch for their innocence,” Murray said jovially.

“I should’ve known. You always did like your pranks Gent Murray. And of course, I vouch for all those present. They are falsely sought by the High Cavaliers and seek sanctuary, with the blessing of the Order of Brass,” Ban said with a small chuckle.

“Do you require any supplies or provisions?” Watchman Murray offered with a curt nod of acknowledgment at Ban’s vouching. Though with the formalities out of the way his beaming smile returned.

“No, but please inform the Commanders that we are proceeding to Landorei,” Ban replied in a hushed tone.

The Watchman assured that it would be done and saw them off to the elven capital.