Rovie looked nervously down the line of wagons and people on foot waiting to enter the walled town. A flag bearing a yellow panther standing on its hind legs against a blue and white checkered backdrop fluttered from the walls. Armed guards checked each person’s belongings meticulously while questioning them rigorously about their business.

“Are you sure our papers are in order?” Rovie asked nervously.

“Stop your grousing,” Grestel ordered. She was wearing a well-worn dress and a mud splattered travelling cloak, “your skittishness is going to get us caught.”

“If anything, you’re too calm,” Rovie sniffed nervously, as he observed the others in the queue.

The tension was high, and everyone was conscious of the rotted bodies swinging from the gibbets that hung from the wall. Crows sat on the gibbets, eyeing the people passing below as if they were choosing their next meal.

The town they were about to enter was called Bemford and was the southern gateway into the Loz Valley. It was surrounded by farms, half of which lay barren, which struck Rovie as ominous. He shuddered to think about what happened to the farmers who were responsible for them.

“I still think we should have snuck our way in,” Rovie whispered.

“The risk of getting caught without stamped papers is too high,” Loric hissed, “their people warned us. And that the fields are heavily patrolled after dark. They said anyone who’s caught outside after dark is executed on the spot.”

Rovie bit his lip. The extent to which Baron Lest had locked his fief down beggared belief, but Gavik had insisted that it be the site of their next battle. They and other messengers had been sent to get in touch with the local rebellion to pave the way. Rovie wondered just how Gavik intended to achieve victory. They barely had two hundred men against the baron’s thousand, who were armed to the teeth, while reports were the local rebels had perhaps a few dozen muskets between them. That wasn’t important for now, though. The important thing was to get through the checkpoint without ending up like the poor sods who were swinging above them.

“No, you can’t be serious,” a man ahead of them in the queue shouted, “I passed through here just two days ago! I’m going home! I live in Potter’s Quay! Ask anyone! It’s in my papers!”

“We just want to ask you a few questions,” one of the guards said gruffly.

Rovie watched stone-faced as an armed escort led the man into the town and wondered what fate awaited him. He turned and saw Loric go pale.

“Steady,” Grestel warned, “there’s nothing we can do for him.”

All too soon, it was their turn to go through the checkpoint. Rovie broke out in a cold sweat as he noticed a piece of paper nailed to a noticeboard. It was a sketch of Gavik with the offer of a thousand guinea reward for his capture.

“Papers,” a guard demanded.

He was dressed in a light blue and white checkered overcoat and was armed with a pistol and a spear. Five more guards stood by, ready to inspect everyone passing through while another twenty milled about near horses, ready to step in if anyone caused any trouble.

Loric handed the papers over. They identified Loric and Rovie as residents of a small village called Hearsall Grove about fifteen miles east of Bemford. Rovie’s heart began pounding as the guard scrutinised the documents that were, of course, forged.

“Why did you leave?” the guard asked gruffly.

“To get married, sir,” Loric said proudly. He puffed out his chest as Grestel bowed her head demurely. It was her idea that a married couple might pass through a checkpoint more easily.

“Are there not enough eligible girls in Loz?” the guard asked. He was a heavyset man with heavy mutton chops running down the side of his face and his eyes were merciless pits that studied Loric carefully.

“My uncle has family out in Calgone and he arranged the union,” Loric replied, reciting the concocted story flawlessly. He had practised it ever since they left Loverto, “said it was to seal a business deal or something.”

The guard grunted and his gaze fell on Rovie who was sweating profusely. “Who’re you then?”

“I’m his brother, sir,” Rovie said, “I went to represent his... our family.”

“What’re you so nervous about, eh?” the guard demanded.

“M.. me sir?” Rovie stammered, “nothing at all, sir.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed, “you’re practically pissing yourself.”

“Can you blame him?” Grestel asked loudly, “there are bodies swinging right over our heads, and dozens of armed guards studying our every move. Who in their right minds wouldn’t be nervous?”

The guard grunted irritably and spat on the ground. “Empty out your belongings,” he ordered, pointing at the spot he’d just spat on.

“Come on boys,” Grestel said loudly, “do as the man says.”

They emptied out their travelling bags, a change of normal clothes and a set of finer clothes, nice enough for a peasant to be married in, a blanket, some bread and some dried meats and other sundries peasants commonly travelled with.

“No wedding gifts?” the guard asked suspiciously.

Loric reluctantly produced a pouch of coins he had hidden inside his tunic, and his neck turned crimson as the guard shook it, and hearing the jingle of silver within, slipped it into his pocket.

“Hiding things, eh?” the guard said gruffly, “fine, the three of you will have to strip.”

Loric’s neck turned a deeper shade of crimson. “Even her?” he spluttered.

“Yes,” the guard replied. He stepped forward and placed his hand on his pistol, “even her. Got a problem?”

“No problem here, sir,” Grestel said, stepping between Loric and the guard.

With great dignity, and before Loric could protest, Grestel took her clothes off and stood before the guards. “Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?” she asked defiantly.

Rovie was filled with admiration for her she scarcely noticed the leers from the other guards. After the guard recovered his composure, he broke into a laugh. “You’ve got balls, little missy, more than your husband and his brother, that’s for sure.”

“So, are we free to pass?” Grestel demanded without fear.

The guard eyed the boys before wiping a tear from his eye. He then dripped some wax from a red candle onto their papers and imprinted it with a seal. “You three are free to go,” he then levelled his gaze on Loric, “you’d best keep this one on a tight leash or you’re going to have a hard time.”

“Don’t I know it,” Loric muttered, lowering his head to hide his embarrassment.

To his chagrin, Grestel gathered up her clothes and walked through the checkpoint stark naked with her head held high. The guards shook their heads as they let their gazes linger before turning their attention back to the queue. The boys gathered their things and hurried after Grestel who had turned around and was waiting for them with her hands on her hips.

“Why don’t you get dressed?” Loric suggested as he and Rovie struggled to avert their gaze.

Grestel looked down and grunted. “I don’t see the hurry, everyone’s everything there is to see already.”

“You could have a little shame, you know,” Loric groused as she got dressed in the middle of the street.

Rovie looked around. The town was quiet. Eerily so for one of this size. They were standing on the town’s main street, and it was almost empty. Windows and doors were shut, and it was as though they had entered a ghost town.

“I wonder where everyone is,” Rovie mused.

“Some help you two were back there,” Grestel remarked once she was dressed, and Rovie wondered if he would ever be able to look her in the eye again.

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Loric said sourly, “what would your father say?”

“Would you rather have risked being taken away for questioning like that poor fellow?” Grestel shot back hotly, “do you think enjoyed having all those eyes on me?”

Loric set his jaw but didn’t reply. Rovie stood aside, feeling very much like a third wheel, wondering if he was right in wanting to come along. Perhaps he should have come separately. However, single travellers suffered greater scrutiny from the guards, and even as a group, they would probably have been hauled off for questioning without Grestel’s bravery. Many of the men they’d sent to establish links with the local rebellion had been caught by the baron’s guards, never to be heard from again.

“Let’s get going,” Rovie said, casting a worried look at height of the sun, “we need to get to the next town before dark.”

“He’s right,” Grestel declared, “there are greater things at stake here.”

She brushed past Loric and set off down the road. “You should be easier on her,” Rovie whispered as Loric stalked after her, “we’d probably be up for torture if it weren’t for her.”

He saw Loric’s neck turn purple briefly, but the explosion didn’t come. Instead, his shoulders slumped. “I know,” he said through gritted teeth, “but part of me just can’t handle it. You’ll understand when you grow some hair down there.”

“I have plenty of hair down there,” Rovie spluttered as Loric walked past him, “you’re only a year older than me!”

“No one is interested in your thatch, Rovie,” Grestel called out cheerfully over her shoulder.

“You’ll have to forgive the lad,” Loric said, shaking his head, “he hasn’t ever had a girlfriend.”

“Oi, that’s not…” Rovie fumed as he hurried after the pair.

It was just after sunset when they arrived at the walls of Varudi, the next town, and it took some begging on Grestel’s part for them to get the guards to admit them.

“Does this town not have any lighting?” Loric moaned.

The cast-iron lampposts that lined the streets were dark, forcing them to grope down the unfamiliar streets at a snail’s pace, relying on what little light could through the curtained windows.

“Look at you, you’ve lived in a town for a month and are no longer able to survive without street lighting,” Rovie sniffed, still sore about the ribbing he’d taken earlier. It hadn’t been the first time the couple had ganged up on him that trip and he was getting a little tired of it.

“Where is everyone?” Loric wondered.

The streets were completely deserted. There would still be people going about their business, mostly travelling to and from the tavern, in a small village like Golfeldin after dark. Some would carry a lantern, but most knew the streets well enough to find their way in pitch darkness while stinking drunk.

“The guard did say to get to our lodgings quickly,” Grestel pointed out, “apparently there’s a penalty for breaking curfew.”

“We’ll be lucky to find the place before dawn,” Loric groused.

“There,” Rovie said, pointing at a building down the street.

“How can you possibly know that?” Loric demanded. The building was almost indistinguishable from the others. A sign hung over the door, but it was impossible to read in the darkness.

“We’re supposed to go to the Blue Cock Inn, and something on that sign resembles a chicken,” Rovie pointed out.

Loric squinted at the sign, “doesn’t look like a chicken to me.”

“It can’t hurt to check,” Grestel said, pushing ahead.

Before Loric could protest, she walked up to the door and rapped her knuckles on it. They waited, but no response came.

“This is obviously the wrong place,” Loric sighed, “let’s continue our search or we’ll end up spending the night on the streets.”

“I thought I heard something inside,” Rovie said.

Grestel frowned and knocked again, more urgently this time. “We’ve been sent by Leola Frist,” she called out.

Rovie’s heart skipped a beat as he heard a bolt slide open on the other side of the door. The door creaked open. “Autumn rains can be chilly,” came a voice from the darkness on the other side.

“Worry not, we’re travelling warm,” Grestel replied, completing the prearranged code phrase.

The door opened. The room beyond was dark and Rovie could make nothing out. He shuddered as he imagined an entire squad of the baron’s guards lying in wait.

“What’re you waiting for, boys, let’s go,” Grestel said as she stepped forward.

“Wait,” Loric said, “it could be a trap.”

Grestel raised an eyebrow. “Why would they need to lure us in there? They could just seize us on the streets.”

“Good point,” Loric conceded, releasing her arm.

Loric exchanged a worried look with Rovie before following Grestel inside. Once Rovie was inside, someone shut the door behind him, cutting off the sole light source. Rovie felt panicked until someone struck a match and used it to light a lantern that bathed the large room in a soft glow. They were in the main room of a tavern, and it was a mess with uncleared tables and soiled floors. Rovie saw cockroaches skittering about in the corner of his eye and his skin began to crawl.

“Lovely place you have,” Grestel remarked, “I hope you don’t intend for us to sleep here.”

The man held up the lantern so he could get a better look at their faces, revealing his own in the process. He was a heavyset man with a deep scar across his forehead. His hair was oily and thin, and his grimace revealed he was missing at least half his teeth.

“Your mob send children to negotiate, eh?” he grunted.

“Is Tonsivar here?” Grestel demanded, referring to the man they were supposed to meet.

“We’ll send for him,” the man said, “follow me.”

Rovie exchanged looks with Loric and Grestel as the man turned and walked deeper into the inn.

“Watch your step,” the man warned.

He led them through a filthy kitchen and down into the cellar. He pulled on something in the darkness before pushing on a wall that opened, revealing a hidden passageway. The passageway was well lit, and to Rovie’s relief, spotless. He opened the first door and ushered them into a neatly appointed room that was furnished with a table that would seat eight comfortably.

“Wait here,” he ordered before shutting the door, leaving them alone.

“That was strange,” Rovie remarked. He inspected a chair, and satisfied that it was clean, sat down with a satisfied sigh.

“You sound like an old man,” Loric laughed. He pulled out a chair for Grestel before taking the seat next to her.

“You know for a moment, I was afraid we would have to wait up there,” Rovie said, breaking into a relieved smile.

“Forgive the mess, we keep it that way so that the Baron’s guards spend as little time here as possible.”

Rovie jumped as a new voice spoke behind him. He turned around to see a middle-aged man closing a hidden panel behind him. He was bald and wore a leather eyepatch over his right eye. He was also missing two fingers from his right hand.

“They do that to suspected rebels so that they can’t fire a gun,” the man said, holding up his three-fingered hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” Rovie said, lowering his head in embarrassment.

“I am Tonsivar,” the man said, as he took a seat at the head of the table. The door opened, and the man who had led them there walked into the room and sat down next to Rovie, “and this is Nahil.”

Once introductions were exchanged, Tonsivar got right down to business. “How many guns do your people have?”

Rovie blinked. “We haven’t outlined our plan yet,” he protested.

“We don’t need an outsider’s plan,” Nahil snapped, “just get the guns in our hands and we’ll sort the rest out.”

Rovie backed away from the man, taken aback by the venom in Nahil’s voice, and by the hatred in his eyes.

“Forgive my friend,” Tonsivar said, “but the baron has taken much from us, and we have suffered terribly under his tyranny.”

“I’m afraid we only have around a hundred guns,” Grestel said, “not enough for an open attack against the Baron.”

The actual number was considerably more, with some being provided by infantry raised from the common people who had returned from the war with Renfy, but Rovie held his tongue. It probably wasn’t wise to reveal everything to them at this time.

“Then why are we even having this discussion?” Nahil spat, “the baron easily has ten times that number and more than enough men to use them.”

“How many do you have?” Loric asked softly, “guns that is.”

“Around the same as you,” Tonsivar replied.

Rovies’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s mighty impressive.”

“May I ask how you got your hands on so many?” Loric ventured.

Tonsivar smiled wryly. “We’ve been stealing them. Long before you lot rebelled. Once Gofeldin fell, the old Baron wised up and took stock of his armoury. When he came up short, well… all his men needed was to be suspicious of you. That was cause enough to be picked up and… questioned.”

Tonsivar held up his right hand and pointed at his empty eye socket, “the questioning was vigorous, but we held firm. He never found his missing guns.”

“We’re still badly outmatched, though,” Nahil pointed out angrily.

“It looks like we have no choice but to listen to their plan,” Tonsivar remarked.

The two men listened intently while Loric gave them the broad strokes of Gavik’s plan. When he was done, Tonsivar leaned back in his chair and whistled.

“I don’t know what you did to gain the elves’ favour,” he remarked sounding not a little impressed, “and it seems you have taken the costliest role for yourselves.”

“Do you think it will work?” Loric asked.

“It has to,” Nahil asserted, “it has to. The people can take the baron’s tyranny no longer. He will answer for his crimes.”

“We should take them to see it,” Tonsivar suggested, “then they can see what we’re up against for themselves.”

“See what?” Rovie asked.

“The baron’s castle.”

“Good idea, we can leave at dawn,” Nahil declared.

“Any objections?” Tonsivar asked.

Grestel and the boys shook their heads. Rovie had his misgivings about Tonsivar. He was too eager to get things moving. Gavik had been putting off assisting the rebellion in Loz until the meeting with Atri. He had then pushed for it like a man possessed ever since. The plan was a risky one, bordering on reckless, but Gavik was determined to put it into action. There was a discrete knock on the door and Rovie’s hair stood on end. Had all this been a trap, after all, to get them to show their hand?

“Ah, I’ve had some supper prepared,” Tonsivar said, “I thought you would be hungry after your long journey.”

He saw the looks of disgust on his guest’s faces and broke into a broad smile. “It wasn’t prepared in the kitchen you walked through if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Rovie did feel relief upon hearing that, and it showed on his face. “Thank you, we are famished.”

“Enter,” Tonsivar called out, smiling wryly.

The door opened and a stocky woman with grey streaked dark hair tied into a neat bun entered bearing a wooden platter. She set six bowls of soup on the table and loaves of day-old bread and a slab of cheese on the table before excusing herself.

“Perhaps you should tidy the kitchen upstairs a little, eh?” Tonsivar suggested, “the last thing we want is inspectors coming along, eh?”

Nahil scowled. “It’s not that bad yet up there and the filth has kept the baron’s dogs away nicely.”

“Just a little, eh? I saw rats down here the other day,” Tonsivar said soothingly, “they’ll get into the clean stuff before long if left unchecked.”

“Fine,” Nahil conceded.

Rovie rubbed his bleary eyes as they trudge down the stone-paved road. The sky was overcast and promised rain later that day. Traffic down the road was light as it wound through the farmlands and lush green pastures of the Loz Valley. The odd wagon here, a small group of travellers there. Tonsivar was in the lead a distance ahead. He wore a light green wide-brimmed hat to make him stand out from the crowd. According to him, it was too dangerous to travel as a large group. The road they were travelling down was said to be one of the many laid down by the first Calfurion Empire and would lead them all the way to Conlow, the largest city in Loz and the baron’s seat of power.

Travellers bowed their heads as a group of five horsemen carrying a flag bearing the yellow panther of the baron strutted arrogantly down the road. It was late morning, and this was already the fourth such group they had seen patrolling the road. The horsemen were armed with swords and pistols and studied the travellers like hawks. Every so often, they would stop a random person or people and question them rigorously. So far, Rovie and his group hadn’t been stopped, but his heart raced every time he heard the horsemen call for the people to make way.

“Do you think our papers will suffice?” Rovie asked once the latest group rode away. They were still travelling under their original papers, which caused Rovie no end of anxiety.

“Nothing wrong with showing my new wife the pride of my homeland before heading home,” Loric replied without humour.

“You’d best calm down or you’re going to get us caught,” Grestel warned, “I do not want to strip again.”

“I still think we should have gotten new papers,” Rovie groused.

“Tonsivar already said that the seal on ours is worth more than any papers he could provide,” Grestel pointed out.

“You need to be flexible, Rovie,” Loric added.

Rovie scowled. They were ganging up on him again. He decided this would be the last time he’d go off with the two of them. He was tired of being the third wheel.

“Fine,” he conceded.

Soon, a large city came into view as the road brought them to the edge of a rise. It was built around a tall hill and up to the edge of the Loz River which had carved this valley out of a mountain range over the aeons. On the hill was a castle that loomed over the road they were walking down. Rovie took one look at it and a chill went down his spine.

“That place will be the death of us,” he muttered.

The castle was at least double the size of the one at Loverto. The keep looked formidable, and the walls were thick and tall. Buildings blanketed the sides of the hill right up to the castle complex. That was one thing in their favour. It would probably be easier to sneak up to the walls. Then there was the matter of breaching them and taking the keep.

“Only the baron’s most trusted vassals and the richest merchants live on that hill,” Tonsivar remarked, as though reading Rovie’s thoughts, “and there are several strong points on the way up. Storming the castle will not be easy.”

“Then there’s the castle itself,” Loric muttered, “it looks like it would need an army to conquer it.”

“Come on, I’ll get you as close as I can,” Tonsivar said, “and you’ll have the chance to survey the city as well.”

Rovie’s legs were leaden as Tonsivar continued down the rise. They’d been walking for four days now, but that shouldn’t have bothered him. Perhaps you’ve gotten too used to riding around on a horse like some prince, he admonished himself. He looked at Loric, and if his friend was struggling, he showed no sign. Not wanting to be teased again more than anything, he willed his legs to move and stumbled after the others.

The outskirts of the city of Conlow were a sprawling mass of buildings laid in a circle that was built around a wall that the city had long since outgrown. The wall had been demolished in some places, scavenged for building materials to help fuel its continuous growth. Numerous roads and paths led into the city, making policing all of them next to impossible. The streets were bustling with traffic, a stark contrast to the other towns they had seen in the valley.

“Now I see why the checks were so stringent at the border,” Rovie mused as he observed the chaos of the outer city.

“Don’t let that make you think you can let your guard down,” Tonsivar warned. They were travelling as a group now so that they didn’t get lost in the mass of people.

“There are so many people,” Loric remarked, “aren’t they afraid?”

“Can’t you smell the fear in the air?” Tonsivar asked, “but whether or not they are afraid, the people here still need to go about their business.”

Now that he mentioned it, Rovie did notice there was a strange energy in the air. People looked at the ground as they hurried through the streets, and then he spotted them.

Armed men on horseback were standing along the main streets watching the people walk past. Then he noticed more on foot armed with spears and pistols. They all wore the blue and white checkered colours of the baron.

“Say,” Rovie said to Tonsivar, “of the baron’s thousand men, does that include the guards in the various towns?”

A smile crossed Tonsivar’s face, and he rubbed his eyepatch thoughtfully, “It does. The standing army here in Conlow is about six hundred all told, but the border guards are on high alert and can mobilize quickly.”

Rovie nodded thoughtfully. “And he’s a cautious man, the baron?”

“He’s unlikely to be caught with his pants down,” Tonsivar allowed.

“How close to the castle can you get us?” Grestel asked.

“Up to the first level,” he replied, waving a three-fingered hand at the hill. From where they were, they could see that the hill was divided into five levels.

“The higher up you are, the more important you are to the baron,” Tonsivar continued, “they don’t let the likes of us up past the first level.”

“How about servants and the like?” Rovie ventured.

“All carefully vetted,” Tonsivar replied, “and well paid. Everyone we approached refused to cooperate with us."

Rovie’s next question was cut off by an explosion going off on the upper levels. They looked up to see black smoke billowing out of a building close to the wall. There were screams on the street and the people ducked for cover. The horsemen began yelling at people to get out of the way as they rushed in the direction of the explosion, and the foot soldiers were close behind.

“Could that have been an accident?” Rovie asked.

“No,” Tonsivar said tersely. He grabbed Rovie and Loric by the arm and dragged the in the opposite direction, out of town.

“What was that about?” Loric asked as they followed him back up the road.

“More importantly, where are we going?” Grestel demanded as she hurried after them.

“Back to Varudi,” Tonsivar snapped irritably, “the whole city’s going to be locked down tighter than a gnat’s arse, and we don’t want to be caught up in it.”

Rovie looked at the people streaming out of the city and couldn’t agree more. “If it wasn’t an accident, then was it a deliberate attack?” Rovie asked.

Tonsivar nodded grimly.

“Not one planned by your people?” Loric probed.

“No,” Tonsivar conceded at length, “several groups are rebelling against the baron.”

“They must have used a lot of gunpowder in that attack,” Rovie remarked, “perhaps we should link up with them. We’re badly outnumbered as it is, and every extra body will help. That they have the resources to make an attack like this would be a bonus.”

Tonsivar grunted, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Rovie blinked as Tonsivar stopped and turned around. They followed his gaze to the thick, black smoke that was billowing out of a building close to the top level of the hill. It seemed the smoke was thicker and more intense than before. “They’ve used gunpowder and manure,” he muttered, “only way to get smoke like that.”

“What reasons are there not to seek their cooperation?” Rovie pressed, “they might have a method to bring the walls of that castle down.”

“They’re impatient and brazen, as you can see, perhaps you’ll understand better after you meet them,” Tonsivar replied. He paused as more horsemen dressed in blue and white tore past them towards the city.

“The whole valley’s going to be neck deep in manure because of this stunt,” he spat, “we’ll have to lie low for a while until everything blows over.”