The sight of Holdenfor was not as inspiring for Alex as it was for everyone else. A shabby, twenty feet tall wall of logs with barely a handful of buildings tall enough to be visible over the top of the battlements wasn’t particularly impressive to someone who’d seen the skylines of modern cities, but the prospect of getting off the road got a smile out of him none the same.

  There had to be an inn there with beds at least as good as the Bedstone, and that wasn’t asking for much. He was trying to adjust his expectations after the hellish cart ride.

  The town itself sat on the western bank of the Dunnser right at the waterline, accessible from their side of the river by a modest gatehouse and a bridge. The last bridge standing now that Riverbend had lost its own.

  The forest had been pulled back this close to the town, and the road opened up into an open field of packed dirt. Lighter patches of ground in neat rows were signs that tents or buildings might have once stood there, but it was all empty now.

  The Riverbenders had left their carts and possessions back on the road in their rush to get a better glimpse of the town. He realized there it was likely that most of them had never been this far south unless they had some business coming into town. Clumped together as they were, they must’ve looked like a shambling mass of zombies shuffling toward fresh meat.

  Perhaps because of that, their reception was not as warm as Alex expected. A man did meet them at the gatehouse. That is to say, he met them from the other side of the gatehouse. The wooden portcullis stayed down at their approach, and the guards standing over the towers flanking the barbican grew alert.

  “Halt!” a guard dressed in a gray uniform yelled as the caravan of evacuees got to within twenty feet.

  They all stopped, fear and apprehension spreading on the faces of the villagers. Children hugged their parents around the legs. Helga was the first to step up from the crowd, and she quickly pointed out who she wanted behind her. Herself, Bryon, and two other villagers led the way, while the Reaper, Cedric, Alex and Valerian waited a step behind, Daven having stayed back with Diana and the injured villagers.

  The guards didn’t stop the smaller group’s approach, and a few minutes of waiting later, they found themselves on the other side of the portcullis from a well-dressed man representing Holdenfor. Another two guards flanked him.

  “Hail to you,” Helga said, standing a few feet from the closed gate. “I am Helga of Riverbend. Are you Holdenfor’s magistrate?”

  The man on the other side looked fairly unremarkable beyond the well-cut dark green tunic he wore. Neatly parted and oiled brown hair, spectacles, and a clean shaven face. The quintessential bureaucrat look in the fifteenth century, Alex thought. Oh, and he looked at the villagers outside his gates like a chef would at rats trying to come into his kitchen.

  “No,” he answer curtly. “The Magistrate is indisposed at the moment.”

  Helga frowned. “Then perhaps he can be convinced to become disposed, no? We have an urgent situation here. Riverbend has been attacked and we have nowhere else to go.”

  “I see, that is unfortunate,” the man said. His tone was matter-of-fact. “You have my sympathies, of course. But the magistrate passed away two months ago and the League has yet to send anyone to replace him. As the deputy councillor, authority for the safety and security of Holdenfor falls unto me.”

  “Yes, well, we would like to partake of your safety and security,” Helga said, trying to keep polite. The angry ruddy color her cheeks had turned betrayed her real thoughts.

  Alex felt the moment was a little surreal. Would this councillor really stop them coming through his gates? Hell, unless they used some kind of magic-resistance wood to make the portcullis, he was pretty sure he could blow the thing up by himself. And that’s without counting Cedric, Valerian, and the Reaper.

  Stepping back from the group, he glanced up at the two gatehouse towers. The sun shone brightly on the iron caps of the guards as they shuffled around up there. He counted two of them on each tower and another on the ramparts over the portcullis, and couldn’t help wondering how powerful they were. Surely not very. Town guards never amounted to much in the stories, and what kind of powerful chaser just decided to settle down in a town like Holdenfor as a run-of-the-mill guard?

  He didn’t want to go all gang-ho against a whole town just because of one pathetic pencil pusher, but how hard could it be to force their way in, given what they could do? He was no expert in medieval population sizes, but Holdenfor couldn’t hold more than some two thousand people if it was bursting. How many guards could they have? Fifty? A hundred? That sounded like too many.

  And unless they had some big time chasers stationed somewhere inside the town, could a hundred non-chasers stop the five of them?

  The councillor was speaking again. “Given the circumstances our town finds itself in, we are unable to provide much assistance at the moment. We might be able to spare some blankets and—”

  “Bernier is that you?” Bryon cut in. He narrowed his eyes. “It is you, isn’t it? You’ve climbed up in the world. From clerk newly arrived to the town to deputy councillor in ten years.”

  Stepping closer to the gate, the councillor took a closer look at Bryon. “Ah, the village blacksmith, yes, I remember. It has been some time.”

  “Then maybe you remember whose swords and caps your guards are using, no?” Bryon pointed out the items on the guards next to the councillor. “And who made the chain for this fancy gate you’re hiding behind.”

  “Indeed.” Bernier gave him a yellow smile. “Given your contributions to Holdenfor, then perhaps we can make an exception for a man of your talents.” The morning light glinted off his spectacles. “As long as you agree to make some work contributions while enjoying the security the town provides you.”

  “Still a greedy little goblin, aren’t you?” Bryon hawked and spat on the ground. “Let me guess, I’d have to sign some ridiculous contract saying I’ve got to work five years for free to repay your generosity. Am I right?

  “Everyone must do their part for the safety of the town.” Bernier had his hands open, as if to say five years of slave labor was only natural. After a moment, he finally seemed to have spotted Cedric. His smile turned a smidgen more real. “And, of course, we also extend an invitation to our esteemed chaser friends. You are more than welcome inside. And we’d offer a fair contract for the defense of Holdenfor. Paid in silver.”

  Ah, there it is. The councillor never intended to keep them from entering, Alex realized. Not the chasers. After all, why antagonize the people you actually want inside during an emergency?

  “And what about us?” Helga asked, her voice growing harder. “What about the people of Riverbend?”

  The women next to Helga spoke up defiantly, “She’s right, you can’t do this. I have a cousin in Holdenfor, you hear? Best tailor around you can find, and she wouldn’t stand for nun’ o’ this.”

  The councillor sighed. Taking off his glasses, he pulled a piece of cloth from his breast pocket and began wiping the lenses. “Your situation is tragic, Helga of Riverbend,” he said, not even bothering to look at her. “But with the conditions in the town as they are, we can’t let in hundreds more mouths to feed. Surely you understand?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  This infuriated the villagers. Helga did her best impression of a tomato, and one of the villagers had to restrain Bryon from trying to reach the councillor through the portcullis. The guards grew weary, hands going to hilts.

  Alex thought it seemed the right time for the crew to put a stop to the farce, but before things got out of hand, the Reaper decided to intervene.

  “Look, this conversation is boring me already,” he said. He’d been hanging at the back of the group, still yawning after another nap at the back of the caged wagon. Now he stepped in between the villagers and the councillor. “You say the League hasn’t sent a new magistrate, yes? Well, I’m a representative of the league too.”

  Pushing back his flowing beige robes, he lifted a hand up to show off a ring with an amber-colored gem on it. How hadn’t Alex noticed that back beneath the bridge? The gem seemed to glitter in the sunlight, and he could see a symbol engraved on the face of the stone.

  “A Reaper?” For the first time since meeting them, Bernier seemed on the back foot. “But… but we didn’t know you were here. There’s nothing on our registers about your arrival.”

  “You said it yourself, Holdenfor has no magistrate.” The Reaper shrugged. “How could I present myself to them?” Then his voice went low. “Unless you’re implying a Reaper of the League has to report his comings and goings to the deputy councillor of every little town they pass through?”

  “No, of course not,” Bernier scoffed. The councillor seemed offended by the mere possibility of going against the proper procedures and hierarchies. “I would never.”

  The Reaper smiled widely. “Great, that’s settled then,” he said and clapped his hands. “I imagine you’ve been taking care of the messenger hawks despite your lack of a magistrate?”

  “Messenger hawk, singular.” Bernier pulled himself together. Spectacles went back on. “We are a small town. But yes, we have. They are quite expensive to maintain even though we cannot use them, but it is only proper to keep them available for when a new magistrate arrives. In the meantime, I have sent missives requesting help via courier and through merchants who decided to risk the road instead of staying holed up in the town, but have heard nothing back.”

  That brought a flash of uneasiness to Helga and the villagers. Alex could almost see the thought in their minds. Had they come to Holdenfor only to find it was not the safe haven they imagined? Now, even if they were let in, their nightmare was not at an end.

  “Good news, you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” the Reaper said. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen. I’ll send a hawk with an urgent request for help, the fellas at the League will send the cavalry down, and we will all go home. Or, at least, I will.” He pointed back to the mass of villagers waiting with fraying hope. “These folk here ain’t got a home anymore, so I’ll write in my report that Holdenfor has graciously provided them with shelter, you gather? We wouldn’t want the higher ups thinking a deputy councillor of a city under direct responsibility of the League was neglecting that same League’s loyal citizens, now would we?”

  Bernier’s face pinched like he’d swallowed a lemon. “That… that seems acceptable,” he finally relented. The prospect of getting outside help too enticing to ignore. “We will do as you say, Master Reaper.”

  Nodding to the councillor, the Reaper turned to their group and winked.

  xxx

  The process of getting some two hundred souls along with dozens of carts and animals into a town in good order sounded like a nightmarish task, but it can go surprisingly smoothly if you’re a logistic master like Bernier seemed to be. Lines were formed, names and numbers were collected, belongings were accounted for, and soon the Riverbenders slowly trickled into Holdenfor.

  The crew and the Reaper had been fast tracked into the town, which Alex was secretly glad for. Despite Bernier’s expertise, the settling of the villagers would be a whole day affair. Those who had no family in the town, and no money to pay for their own lodgings, were being ushered into the main square where they could set up improvised shelters and tent houses.

  Unlike their councillor, the people of Holdenfor did not have a problem with the newcomers. Plenty of townspeople came to welcome the villagers, some even bringing blankets and spare canvas for tents. Anything they could spare. One particularly nice tavern owner set up a giant pot of stew outside his door and gave out a ladleful to each passing refugee. It was indistinctly brown and thin, but Alex couldn’t complain about the taste.

  He sipped his stew quietly for a moment, observing the slow moving line of villagers from a side street. Holdenfor had a roughly circular shape, so the main road out of the portcullis they came in cut straight through the town toward what he could imagine was the western gate. A large square dominated the town center, while other smaller roads spread out from it like a layered onion.

  “How about we give our business to that nice fella?” Daven pointed out the heavyset tavern owner handing out food.

  The archer held his own steaming cup of his stew in one hand. He’d already taken Diana to the best apothecary in town, leaving her with the Riverbend injured and two village women who had stayed there to help. Apparently, Holdenfor’s healer was as capable as she was old.

  Leaning against the wall of a house, Valerian nodded, and Cedric mumbled under his breath, “I could go for a drink.”

  Alex was about to voice his agreement when he caught the end of a conversation between the councillor and the Reaper in the corner of his eyes. Giving Bernier a slap on the back that almost knocked off his spectacles, the earth mage started toward the center square.

  “Save me a room, yeah? I’ll be right back,” Alex said, and before they could raise a question, took off after the man down the road.

  Looking around as he followed the Reaper, the standards in Holdenfor were not much higher than in Riverbend. The streets were unpaved and muddy, the homes squatted tightly together like wooden townhouses, and they didn’t have the advantage of the beautiful greenery that the village had. But though the town was drab and modest, the bustle of people going about brought some life into it.

  Business still flourished despite the situation outside the walls. They passed in front of a cozy baking shop that had Alex’s stomach writhing when he smelled the aroma of fresh bread and something similar to cinnamon. Next to the baker, a woodworking shop displayed beautiful wood carvings and figurines. On the other side of the street, a tailor’s showroom occupied the first floor in one of the better building’s he’d seen so far, and he wondered if that was the tailor with a cousin from Riverbend.

  Going back there to finally get some world-appropriate clothes seemed like the logical next step. He still had the coins he got from his locket and the Riverbend Dungeon job, but he wasn’t quite sure how far that’d take him here. The councillor’s offer of payment for the protection of Holdenfor was tempting, but Alex had other plans.

  The allure of exploring a medieval town slowed him down for a bit, but he quickly jogged up to walk beside the Reaper.

  The man gave him a sideways look but didn’t miss a stride. Alex waited a moment before speaking.

  “So are you a Reaper or a representative of the League?”

  “Can’t I be both?” the Reaper said, amused.

  “I was led to believe Reapers were not exactly high up the totem pole,” he said.

  “To-tem pole?”

  “Er, the hierarchy, you know,” Alex scrambled. He forgot somethings don’t translate as well as others. “The word Farmer was thrown about.”

  The Reaper snorted. “I never understood why some of my colleagues take offence with that word. We do help with farming around the League, so it’s fitting.” He thought for a moment as they walked, then continued. “But to answer your question, no, I’m not a representative of the League. At least not officially, like the magistrates that run places like these. But all Reapers work directly for the League, and I can use the messenger hawks. Why? You going to go back there and tell the prissy little councilor I wasn’t completely honest with him?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  The road opened up into Holdenfor’s center square, which turned out to be nothing more than an open field of beaten earth surrounded by the best shops and homes in town. The Reaper’s destination became clear when they made for the largest building around, a four storey tall manor that occupied the entire half of a block facing the square. With a whitewashed facade that hid solid brick behind, it looked very official. A thin square tower on one side of the building jutted up into the air like a giant middle finger.

  “Good,” the Reaper said as they stopped by the front doors of the manor. “Then get to the reason you’re following me. I do have things to do.”

  “I just wanted to ask you a question.”

  The man rolled his eyes. “I hate when people say that. Just ask it instead of warning me about it. It’s a question not a punch. I can well see it coming and dodge it on my own if I feel like it.”

  Alex sighed. He really wasn’t good at this. “Look, you’re a well-traveled man, right?” he started. “I heard the closest city to this place is called Sorun, the City of Colors and—”

  “It’s Colorful City, boy,” the Reaper cut in. “The Colorful City. Do not call it a City of Colors within earshot of a Soruni.” His emphasis on the word not was quite firm. “That’s my free advice to you for the day.”

  “Er, right, got you. I just wanted to know how I would go about getting there from here,” Alex said. And he wanted to know that without having to ask for his crewmates. His future, former crewmates.

  A glint of mischief showed on the Reaper’s dull eyes. “Want to get to Sorun, do you?” He chuckled to himself. “Alright then, follow me inside for a bit.”