Chapter 239: Sherlocking
I passed many farms that were beginning their spring planting and didn’t receive many curious looks. The road from Vartahol that I was on was likely well-traveled. Ogala, like many cities in the Telhian Empire, had its own personality from once being part of a kingdom that the First Legion had conquered. As I approached, Ogala was much larger than I had expected. A long swath of houses dotted the landscape outside the city walls.
These people had not been affected by the summoned hostile weather and monsters and were thriving. The outer city walls were sandstone and under twenty feet in height. I slowed as a number of green soldiers in oversized uniforms drilled outside the walls. The n training them looked over at suspiciously.
I slowly added a strong limp to my gait as I approached and turned into a small tavern before reaching the city gates. The musk of the working man perated the small watering hole. Two old n sat at a table drinking and were the only patrons. I sat at their table and called for an ale. “Can I get an ale for and my friends?” I asked the barkeep.
As the barkeep filled the mugs, the two old n nodded thanks. “I’ll be your friend for a cup. But my friendship only lasts as long as there’s ale in it,” one said jokingly.
The other man, who was missing most of his teeth and hair, agreed. “Sa here. What are you running from? The press-gang?”
I had been right. The young n drilling were being pressed into a militia. I shook my head. “No. I shattered my leg two years back. Now, I’m traveling from city to city for my baron, looking for trade opportunities. If I make him enough, he promised to pay for a healer for my leg.” I offered a strained but friendly smile. “The famine in the north has been quite profitable for him.”
The ale arrived, and the first old man downed half his mug in a long, satisfied pull. I paid three copper for the drinks and added three more for a second round.
“Not much left here. Most of the crafters who could afford to loaded their wagons and headed north. They say this goblin horde is going to be the worst in a decade.” I nodded—at least that confird the boys drilling formations were being prepared for goblins and not sent to fight the Bartiradians, elves, or orcs. The ale tasted like warm piss, and I put down my mug, hiding my distaste.
“Any news of the war? Have the elves been crushed and the orc armada sunk?” I asked, calling for food for my companions. Based on the ale, I didn’t expect the food to be any better, but I wanted to keep them talking.
The toothless man answered, “We don’t hear much, but I heard the elves landed and haven’t advanced an inch on Telhian soil. No word of the orcs sailing. Can’t see those two peoples mixing to fight against the Legion.”
I nodded, but it appeared my hope for reliable news wasn’t going to be fulfilled here. At least I learned about the press-gangs in every Empire city to levy n for the nurous war fronts. I accidentally sipped again and imdiately regretted it.
“What word of the goblin horde? Has it left the Dragon Spine?” I asked. The two n looked at each other, deciding who would answer. Our second round was served with oily potatoes and dry steak. The bald one finally replied.
“My nephew was up from Vartahol last week. Told my brother the Emperor hasn’t sent a single mage company to reinforce the city. Just child mages who probably haven’t even had their first fuck.” There was so vehence in his voice. “The last ti they ignored the horde threat, ten thousand people died.”
I sat back and nodded in agreent. Flavius had told his family had died during a goblin surge from the Endless Dark. I guessed news would reach Ogala soon about the orcs attacking Varvao. I left a large copper for the food on the table as I stood.
The toothless man gave so advice as I left, “Make sure you ntion to any guards which baron you work for. Any boy or man with idle hands is being fitted with a cuirass and handed a spear and shield.”
I nodded in thanks, though calling the armor those boys were wearing a cuirass was generous. Soft leather vest was more accurate.
I maintained my limp as I approached the city walls. The old n were right. When I tried to pass through one of the gates, I was asked twenty questions about my business. To speed things along, I handed the guard captain four silver—two for him and one for each of his n. It got passage into the city, and I was sure it would cost the sa when I exited.
Ogala was much livelier than I thought it should be with the potential of a goblin horde nearby. Then again, Vartahol was a buffer between them and here. The normal bustle of city folk rushing about was present. I passed the local Legion Hall and, through the doors, spotted only a handful of legionnaires. There were so few that there might not even be a company mage stationed here. In the city squares, more militia were being drilled. So of the boys struggled to hold the heavy, reinforced body shield and wield a spear in the other hand.
I reached the upper city—although calling it ‘upper’ was a misnor, as the entire city sat on flat land. It was the wealthier district, ho to the better bathhouses, which was why I was here. I selected a private bathhouse, paid my silver, and luxuriated for an hour before dressing and securing a room at one of the better inns.
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I ate dinner in the common room of Vesta’s Respite and listened to conversations. I was surprised to hear no one talking about the orc fleet. I figured the rumor mill of the upper city would have heard sothing by now. When I left the orc armada six days ago, they were only a day’s sail from Varvao. The attack must have already begun.
The news about the elves was less filtered. Rumors flew about the Emperor riding out to et their advance—claims of cities being taken, others insisting they weren’t. If Zyna’s ssage was accurate, then the elves had been thwarted for the mont.
Near Macha, Duke Tiberius was said to be in pitched battle with the Bartiradians daily. He should have been reinforcing Varvao by now—or so Centurion Sergius had told . The fog of war might be reserved for the battlefield, but it perated the rumor mill too.
I made my way to my room and slept three hours to get a full rest before dropping out the window, scaling the outer wall, and landing with the aid of a pair of air shields. I decided I didn’t want to risk being pressed into the militia—been there, done that.
In an old barn north of the city, I paused and soaked a sock in my blood, sealed it in a jar with preservation powder, and buried it in a compost pile. Another distraction in case the Hounds decided to track . I figured they had more important things to do than confirm I was dead. I planned to be out of the Empire with Maveith before the war settled. If Zyna and Castile succeeded—and the Emperor was slain—no one should care that I was gone.
The main road to Sagren went north, then west. There was a less-traveled road that headed northeast, directly to the city. The blood compass told I was closing in on Corvus’s location, so I took the quieter road at night. Cultivated farmland lined the path as I walked alone, my sandals crunching on the stones.
We’d practiced so disguise skills in Hound training, but most were useless in my present circumstances. If I tried to look like a beggar or plebeian, I risked being swept up by the press gangs. The farms remained a fixture all the way to Sagren, which I reached after midday. An army cavalry unit was drilling outside the city walls. From a distance, I could tell most of the horses weren’t battle-trained. They didn’t trust their riders and were skittish at loud noises. I began to worry that Ginger may have been conscripted back into the Legion.
Sagren had an ancient feel. Weathered stone buildings jutted above the walls, embellished with gargoyles. The city was much smaller than Ogala—maybe ten thousand people. The pull on the blood compass strengthened with every step.
Two guards questioned everyone entering the city.
“Ears,” one barked at .
“Ears!” he repeated impatiently. “Remove your hat.”
I complied, guessing they were looking for elves. He brushed aside my hair with a foul-slling hand to check more closely. Perhaps checking to see if there was an illusion and I was an elf.
“Na and your business in Ogala?”
“Lucien Paulus,” I said, using the old horse master’s na. “I’m returning to Lorvo after completing trade business in Vartahol for my baron.”
He frowned. “You’re traveling alone?”
Yes, it was true no one traveled alone in the Empire—but I was ready. “My trade caravan is headed to Aganta and will pass through here on the way back to Lorvo. They should arrive in three days. I wanted ti to partake of your local offerings.” I gave a hedonistic smile. “Where’s the best place to stay in Sagren for such... proclivities?” I said, handing him a silver.
He grunted, palming it. “Heard the selection at The Affable Lips has expanded recently. So coly refugees. Too pricey for , though.” I nodded enthusiastically. The guards moved aside without ever asking my baron’s na. I could imagine Adrian scolding him for doing such a poor job.
I tightened my cap and moved into the city. It was easy to tell where the wealthier parts were by the flow of people. My hand gripped the compass, and unsurprisingly, it pulled toward the Citadel. I had thought the secret Archives would be in the middle of the woods—or just anywhere more remote—not in one of the Empire’s cities. As I approached the Citadel, the compass started turning in my hands. The pull grew stronger—but not toward the Citadel.
I was confused as I fumbled with it in my pocket. Then I realized—the compass was pointing down. I pretended to scratch my foot, briefly removing my sandal to place my bare foot on the stone paver. I expected to find Corvus sloshing through the sewers. Instead, the earth pulse returned a maze of deep tunnels under the city—just beneath the simple sewer system. I was shocked by the extent—nearly fifty feet down, thanks to the bulette earth essence. What I saw was just the upper levels of sothing much more vast—ancient construction by the feel of it. Sothing that had rested undisturbed for hundreds of years.
I began mapping the upper levels of the tunnels as I moved around the upper city, looking for an access point. Many tunnels had been sealed where they accessed cellars. I finally found an open one in a small shrine dedicated to Juno, the Roman goddess of marriage.
The Telhians didn’t truly worship the old Roman gods, but it was common to have small temples and shrines where people could ask for favors from a divine aspect. I found a tavern within sight of the shrine and ordered an early dinner. While I ate, I watched the temple closely.
A couple entered to have their marriage blessed—or maybe their coupling for the evening, hoping for a child. A desperate man rushed in crying and soon exited, still distraught. Then, an acolyte of Juno entered. Even beneath his off-blue robes, I could tell by his stride and the muscles in his neck that he was a warrior—not an acolyte.
I left my half-finished dinner to walk by the shrine and leaned against the outer wall. The acolyte spoke with another inside before continuing further in. I tracked him with pulses as he entered a secret room and descended a staircase, quickly dropping beyond the range of my earth speak. Corvus was still beneath —and I was fairly certain I had found the second Archives.
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