"Devils in their lair, how can it be so cold?" Said Ayvar. Her complaints had grown louder the farther they got from Drylliad castle.
Roden didn't say anything, but pulled his long coat around him, almost regretting his offer to Ayvar. She'd been caught with her hand in somebody else's pocket, which was guaranteed a week in the dungeons. Instead, Roden made a deal. She'd sell out her fellow bandits and get her name completely cleared.
"Don't take this lightly," Roden had said. "Forgiveness is hard to come by."
Ayvar had been more than happy to comply while she'd been tucked away in a tower cell.
Though she wasn't so happy with her choice it seemed. Even a drafty tower was warmer than the frozen streets.
He'd suffer through it. Roden pulled the collar of his long blue coat up as high as he could.
Their path was already stamped down by several pairs of probably stolen boots. How kind of all the scum wandering into the vaults to have stomped through the snow so Roden and Ayvar didn't have to.
Large clouds blackened out the moon and stars. It was only a matter of time before more snow blanketed the cobblestone; before more snow poured into the rotting tunnels below the city.
The Vaults wasn't Roden's favorite place to be. It was moldy, and the constant stench of vile deeds only worsened when the weather grew damp. There were entrances all over the lower districts of Drylliad; it wasn't uncommon for a grandmother or younger sister to vanish without a trace, only to be found dead a year later when another person stumbled down the steps. They'd been built ages ago with the best intentions, but an outbreak of the plague soon rendered the Vaults useless to all.
Save those who used the cover of darkness to hide their wicked actions.
But the Vaults would soon be stamped out of existence. Jaron and the regents all agreed to seal up the tunnels.
No more murderers hiding in the dark, waiting for their next kill.
All Roden had to do was keep the peace until the Vaults were filled with cement in the summer.
It was much easier said than done.
"Have you brought light with you?" Ayvar asked, standing before a low arch in the alley wall beside her. She gestured to the few visible steps descending into the earth. "There might be a step or two missing."
As a matter of fact, he'd brought two lanterns, just in case. Roden held out a lantern and matches retrieved from the bag at his side. Ayvar lit the lantern, and descended into the Vaults.
Silence was a key part of their operation, which worked out well in Roden's favor. He had no intention of befriending Ayvar any more than he had to.
There was also a grueling common factor Roden tried his best to ignore.
Ayvar's lantern revealed hundreds of spider families. Insects, and the occasional rat, scurried away from the lantern light. Roden frowned. He'd thought of that rotten common factor he shared with Ayvar, and now he'd be thinking about it for the rest of the night.
He should've known this was a bad idea.
Faint voices bounced off of the tunnel walls. The stairs leveled out into a dirt path riddled with stagnant puddles. Ayvar looked back at Roden for a fleeting moment.
Forget it, Roden. Focus on what lies ahead.
Except Ayvar was ahead, which only made him think, which put him in a mood. Curse the Vaults and everyone who'd ever been inside to the Devils' lair.
The voices grew louder and Ayvar froze in place. She blew out the lantern, leaving the pair of them in stale darkness. Just up ahead to the right was the faint glow of a torch. Ayvar had held up her end of the bargain. She'd either led them to her fellow Faola, or dragged Roden into a trap.
Roden brushed past Ayvar. Her work was done. He could take the straggling bandits on his own.
The light belonged to a single handheld torch, which was flickering dangerously low. Roden stole a few glances at the torch's owners, it wouldn't be too difficult to attack. But they were speaking. Talking about something different from the usual plans to steal a horse. Roden paused, straining to listen. Ayvar crept up behind him. He wondered if she already knew about what her friends were discussing.
"There's nothing for us here," said one of the bandits. Roden recognized the voice. Ulspierre. Brother to Ayvar and an annoying pickpocket.
His claim was soon met with a cluster of arguments. Another boy spoke out, "We've got the tunnels. Carthya's a good place to be, much better than Gelyn, anyways. Or with the other bandits."
"Save the concerns for your Saints. They can't do anything where they're at," Ulspierre spat.
"Now I've got to start praying for your soul too, curses on your mother."
"You haven't been praying for my soul earlier? You're breaking my heart."
"Boys, boys," interrupted a third party. This voice belonged to a Gelynian. Probably a girl. Or a very very young boy. "Ulspierre's right, we need to be going north. Cap'n Harlowe's getting a little too close to home."
"We'd die going north!" Said the second thief.
A stone clattered across the floor. Roden jerked his head back to Ayvar, who whispered an apology. Ulspierre and the second thief didn't seem to notice the sudden sound.
Roden knew better than to hope that the three thieves hadn't heard the stone. He set his hand on his sword.
The third scoffed, "Easy solve for that one. Plenty other gangs are answering the call. We'll blend in with- Ulspierre?"
"Yes?"
"Where did your sister go?"
"She's up in a tower cell. Should be getting out by church day," Ulspierre said. "Why?"
"I don't think we're alone anymore!" Cried the third thief, charging out into the tunnel. Something gleamed in her hand.
A knife.
Instinctively, Roden lurched away from the torchlight. He sheathed his sword, opting instead to disarm the girl rather than risk getting his blade stuck in one of the tunnel crevices. She cursed as Ulspierre and the second thief raced out to join her.
"Did they force you to give us up Ayvar?" Ulspierre called. The third thief punched him in the gut, ordering him to shut up.
The thieves couldn't see him. Roden shifted his weight, he only had a few more moments to draft a plan. It was three on one. Several stones clattered; Ayvar was still in the tunnel.
Maybe the odds had shifted to three on two.
Roden's moment to plan was up. He barreled forwards, catching the second thief around the waist and hurling him directly at Ulspierre. The pair of thieves tumbled back into their dimly lit room. Roden turned to handle the third thief, but saw only an abandoned torch.
And a streak of red hair.
"Ayvar!" Ulspierre grunted as he pushed himself away from Roden and the second thief. "What are you doing?"
He didn't get an answer.
"We should've gone-," began the second thief, but Roden punched him hard, and locked an arm around the thief's neck.
With the second thief struggling to get free, Roden could focus on getting rid of Ulspierre too. Ayvar was nowhere to be seen; he hoped she was dealing with the third rogue.
"It's been a while, captain!" Ulspierre kept himself just out of Roden's reach, and bowed low.
Roden almost lost his grip on the second thief, but he jerked his knee up and collided with a squishy torso. The only thing keeping Ulspierre in that fight was Ayvar on one end of the tunnel and the midnight patrol outside of the Vaults. Roden needed to end the skirmish. And soon.
"You know how I feel about witty banter," Roden shot back, swinging around the second thief who wheezed a plea to get free.
Ulspierre drew a long, thin blade from his belt, "Then we'll fight with blades if words aren't your-"
A loud thump bounced off of the tunnel halls. Ulspierre's eyes went out of focus, his retort fizzling into nothingness as he fell to the ground. Behind him stood Ayvar. She shrugged when Roden gawked at her.
"He's always been a little too chatty," she said. Ayvar gestured with her torch to the seemingly endless tunnel. "I lost sight of the third thief and you looked like you needed help."
The second thief, who was still trapped in a headlock, tapped Roden's arm, "Please let me go."
"Thank you, I suppose," Roden kept his arm locked tight around the thief. "You took out Ulspierre with one blow."
"I'll teach you how if you'd like, but I have to ask you to let your friend go. He looks like he's turning purple."
"And if he makes a run for it?"
"I won't run, I promise!" Wheezed the thief. "Please sir, let me-!"
Roden let the second thief go, but drew his finger along his neck. The thief took a step back, but he remained near Ayvar and Roden.
"I don't suppose you'll stick me in a tower because I complied? The dungeons are terrible for your health this time of year," said the thief.
A reasonable request. Ulspierre and the second thief could fill up Ayvar's previous cell.
"Did I get any letters, Madame secretary?" Roden asked as he pushed open the door to his father's suite. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"
His niece, Havanila, grinned from where she sat on a plush couch near the fireplace. She should've been sleeping. Nila was barely eleven years old, still too young to be waiting up all night. The dim firelight cast shadows over her little face. It cast shadows over the desks and chairs.
The shadows looked like people.
Like the other thieves hiding deep within the Vaults. Roden rubbed his eyes. They were only shadows. He would've known if he'd been followed.
He couldn't deny that he did appreciate Nila waiting for him to return from his patrol. She patted the couch, motioning for him to sit beside her. "I suppose, but Papa said he wanted somebody to wait for you. He had business to attend to."
"What kind of business?"
"He got letters, but you didn't."
"That's completely unfair," Roden pulled off his long coat and gloves, leaving them to dry by the fireplace. When he pulled off his boots, Nila gagged and asked him when he'd last washed his socks. He calmly answered that he'd worn the same pair for the past year.
A smirk glanced across her face. Nila reached below the couch, and held up a dirt-stained piece of folded parchment. "You didn't get any letters, but you did get a note while you were away."
"Give it-," Roden reached for the note, but Nila held it out of his grasp.
"It's not what you're hoping for," she said. Nila sat a little taller, "Dear Captain, I hope this small note finds you in good health. I simply cannot forget the night that you took me dancing, and was wondering if- hey! It's better when I read them to you!"
His ears were burning. "That's none of your business."
"Is too."
"Is not."
"Is too!" Nila wrinkled her nose, but sat back against the couch. "I already read it. . . so I suppose it doesn't really matter anymore."
"And what did you think?" Roden skimmed over the note and tucked it into his pocket. He cursed himself for making an appearance at one of the few parties hosted at Drylliad. Notes like the one in his pocket had been appearing ever since.
Nila shrugged, "I dunno, boring, I guess. There's better things to be doing."
"I wholeheartedly agree," he said. He then gestured to the door leading to Nila's bedroom. "You should probably go to sleep before Father gets here."
"Or what? You'll tell on me?"
"Exactly."
"I'm not scared of-" she began. The handle turned. Nila vaulted over the couch; the door to her bedroom clicked shut just as Harlowe stepped in.
He'd never been one for casual splendor, but Harlowe kept a jerkin and trousers when he needed to dress the part of a regent. Harlowe took off his massive velvet coat, folded it, and set it gently on one of the stairs near the fire. There was weariness in every movement he made.
Harlowe arched an eyebrow, and gestured to Nila's shut door, "Was it something I said?"
Roden grinned, "Glad to see you're still in one piece."
"I suppose I still am," Harlowe said. He patted down his jerkin until he found what he was looking for. "A letter came in today that required immediate discussion."
"About what?"
"Information from our Bymarian informant."
That struck Roden's attention. He leaned forwards, and motioned for the letter. "May I read it, please?"
"Of course," nodded Harlowe.
The letter was still relatively clean. Roden recognized the writing; tall, looping letters. Very stylish.
But halfway down the page, the handwriting changed to poor spelling and harsh, jagged lines.
"The spy was intercepted," Roden said. "The information's been compromised."
Harlowe made his way over to a large cabinet in the corner and retrieved two crystal glasses and a jug. He popped the jug's cap off, "That's what I thought too, but the letter itself has nothing useful. All it mentions is a tea party west of Munsk."
"A tea party in Gelyn?"
"It's probably a code of sorts, the second half of the letter mentions that court will be held, but no mention of whose court it is."
"Then I suppose I will have to rendezvous with our informant myself." Roden held out his hand for one of the crystal glasses now filled with a glittering liquid. "Unless he's been genuinely compromised."
"Unfortunately, that's what appears to have happened, especially with the second half of the letter being written by somebody else."
"And the informant was alone?"
"He was passing information to Carthya and Bymar on his own, but he was traveling with various others. I wish I had more information for you, Roden, I do. The informant wasn't one of our citizens; there was only so much we were allowed to know without compromising his safety."
Roden read the letter again, wishing the words would change. He could only recognize so many code terms. The letter was short and to the point: There was a tea party happening west of Munsk, and court was going to be held.
What happened during tea parties? Why would somebody hold a tea party this late in the winter season?
Harlowe sat beside Roden, "I do know that the informant was using another name, though I suspect you knew that too."
He shook his head, "I can't say I'm well acquainted with the informants serving Bymar before Carthya. They help us in times of need, but their primary loyalty is to the Bymarian crown."
"He's commonly referred to as Jester," Harlowe said. He took a long sip from his own crystal cup. "Carthyan spies say he's regularly met up with another informant who has no name."
"And where did the letter come from?"
"A city named Whiterune, it's near Carthya's border with Gelyn. It's not far from Trail's End actually. Perhaps you could return with King Jaron and Queen Imogen should you choose to investigate the nature of this letter."
North. It seemed everything was calling for Roden to go north. He frowned as he recalled snippets from Ulspierre's conversation with the two other thieves. They'd wanted to go north too.
Perhaps they had information they were hiding.
"I'll have to discuss my leave," Roden scratched the back of his head. "I'd be able to ride out in a few days if I'm able to find somebody to fill my place here. I'd have to coordinate taking a few soldiers and sending a company out to keep an eye on Jaron."
It was a heavy burden, protecting Drylliad. That was one of the reasons Roden stayed behind.
He trusted Mott to keep Jaron, Imogen, and the others out of harm's way for a few weeks. Mott wasn't alone, either. Roden had sent Feall Cormeach, a Bymarian hero, to go to Trail's End as well. Together, Mott and Feall had years of combative experience waiting to be put to good use.
Finding somebody to keep the city safe in his absence was an entirely different story. It would be easier for Roden to remain at Drylliad and dispatch somebody else to Whiterune.
But there was something about the jagged handwriting and whispering bandits that filled his lungs with a desire to do something. Anything.
"I may have a few ideas as to who can fill my position during my ride to Whiterune," Roden said. "Corporal Derem has promise."
Harlowe grunted in agreement, and then leaned back against the couch in silence. His snores were almost silenced by the shifting embers.
Roden stared at the dimming fire, his head swimming with different ideas. He'd never heard of informants using terms like 'tea party' and 'court will be held'. It was a fact that rulers and nobles held court. It was a fact that tea parties were thrown by anyone who could spare the cups or the biscuits.
But why mention a tea party, and specify that it was west of Munsk? And why a name like Jester? That grabbed attention, the opposite of what informants were instructed to do.
He'd never been exceptionally good at figuring out puzzles. They were filled with little details that meant both nothing and everything at the same time.
It seemed that somebody had gifted him with a puzzle.
The desire to go north was enveloping his thoughts, blazing through his other commitments. He'd speak with Corporal Derem about keeping an eye on Drylliad while he rode up north with a few others. He'd search for Jester, and if he didn't find him, he'd ride to Trail's End and accompany Jaron back to Drylliad in time for the end of the year festivities.
There was something else, too. A friend he knew. A friend he hadn't seen for some time. They'd gone to the north once.
Maybe he'd see them there, at Whiterune.
"Father, the couch isn't the best place to doze off," Roden said, nudging Harlowe awake. "Get to bed."
"I suppose-," Harlowe yawned. "You're right. I'll speak to you in the morning?"
"I'd appreciate that."
Harlowe patted Roden's shoulder, and left for his chamber. The door thudded shut, leaving Roden alone with his thoughts and the ever-shifting embers.