Chapter 15: The Walls of the Red Duke

  Aeron grumbled throughout the entire journey from Xerciep. He could hardly believe that Hagoth Duffin, a man who constantly spoke of virtue and destiny, had orchestrated a daring robbery right under the nose of the Imperial Marshal.

  No matter how Hagoth justified it—claiming the jeweler Reasik was a greedy smuggler—Aeron found the daylight theft distasteful. He had been a thief in the night once, a common burglar of noble houses, but now that he carried the title and responsibilities of a knight, he craved honor, not infamy.

  It was only when Xerciep was twenty miles behind them that Hagoth and Ifindo were finally spared from Aeron's relentless scolding. The sight of the great river, crowded with an imperial fleet of over eighty massive vessels, finally distracted the young knight.

  "Imperial cargo ships!" Hagoth explained. "Each shipment travels down from the Furiheam Sea through the Port of Bard. They sail the Thorucha River to the Great Canal, the natural border between East and West Orancle. From there, imperial merchants distribute goods to the vassal nations. Years ago, I was part of such a fleet. That river is where fortunes are born, Aeron."

  "If we weren't on our way to rescue Chiryl," Aeron said wistfully, "I’d love to be on one of those ships, roaming across the continent."

  Hagoth smiled, lost in his own memories. "It is not a bad dream at all. I was barely twenty, the lowest merchant in the guild. We traveled from the frozen north, selling pearls from the Ma’Thiral Sea and buying snow-bear pelts and Toggi seeds—fruit that tastes like wild apples but is as soft as a ripe cherry. Not even the fiercest storms could stop us. We saw the shimmering colors of sea demons, and best of all, the mermaids of Cape Kharyul. Their beauty is beyond words, their tails encrusted with scales like a thousand jewels. But," he chuckled darkly, "you would not want to hear them sing."

  "I’ve heard their song is enchanting, drawing men into the depths!" Ivyl interjected eagerly. "Is that true, Master Hagoth?"

  "Oh," Hagoth looked at her with a grim smile. "Whoever told you that was spinning a fairy tale. When a mermaid sings, her low notes are the sound of the ocean itself, but her high notes... they make your head feel as if it will explode. Your heart beats out of rhythm. If you are not strong-willed, you will leap into the sea merely to escape the agony of it."

  "Sounds like your fleet lost many men," Ifindo remarked with a touch of irony.

  "Sixty-four jumped that night," Hagoth replied flatly. "It only stopped when we drew our bows and cut a few of the 'mermaids' down. Only then did they retreat to the depths."

  "Is this a travel story or a horror tale?" Aeron grimaced.

  "Both," Hagoth answered. "That is the nature of an adventure."

  A week later, the Thorucha River gave way to high mountains and endless steppes. Ancient villages replaced the eastern-influenced architecture of Xerciep. They had entered the territory of the Red Duke.

  Unlike the bustling markets of Xerciep, the Red Duke's domain was a military bastion rather than a commercial center. Nestled between two sheer mountain ranges, it possessed the finest natural defenses in the empire. Six layers of massive stone walls choked the gap between the mountains, three on each side, spaced fifty meters apart. Each wall was taller than the last, culminating in an inner fortification that reached halfway up the mountainside.

  This "staircase" design ensured that even if an enemy breached the outer layers, they remained under the relentless fire of archers from the higher walls behind. Alongside the fortresses of Castamus and Hagachek, the Red Duke’s walls had never tasted defeat.

  Aeron's group decided to pass through the city using their Xerciep papers rather than circling the mountains. Aeron was becoming accustomed to Hagoth’s bold maneuvers; the caution of his youth was being replaced by the grit of a true adventurer.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  After passing the first two layers, they stood before the Great Steel Gate—the largest on the continent, fifty meters high and set into white stone.

  "It only opens when a sovereign visits," Hagoth noted. "Six thousand men are required to pull the chains. It’s a sight that rivals the opening of the gates of paradise."

  "Then how do ordinary people enter?" Ivyl asked, dwarfed by the massive structure.

  "Everyone focuses on the grand things," Hagoth smiled, pointing to a smaller gate built into the base of the steel giant. "Always remember to notice the small things, for they are often the most functional."

  The "small" gate was still as large as the main gate of Xerciep. Inside, the city was a thriving valley, divided into districts for farming, livestock, and independent villages. The valley was self-sufficient, sustained by pure underground springs. It was a prize the Empire coveted deeply.

  Hagoth had scouted ahead; there were no wanted posters for Aeron here. Perhaps King Aravirel, influenced by the young Prince Fastinga, had given up the chase. Or perhaps they assumed Aeron had perished in the desert. Aeron wondered if Richard had betrayed his plans to the King, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Richard of Beche was not a man who would betray a friend.

  They reached a village near the central castle, surrounded by wheat fields that towered over their heads.

  "We stay here tonight," Hagoth said. "Ivyl, Ifindo, take this gold and find us rooms in a local house. They won't ask for identification like an inn would."

  As the others left, Hagoth turned to Aeron. "Want to fix that sword of yours?"

  Aeron nodded eagerly. The Tuckerham blade Richard had given him had been ruined by Pentrius’s magic, turned into a chipped, blackened rod of iron. Hagoth led him through the wheat fields to a small forge near an artificial canal. Black smoke rose from the chimneys, and the rhythmic clunk-clack of hammers on black-stone anvils filled the air.

  "The most famous forge in Lorencine—Johanson De’Louis!" Hagoth shouted to get attention.

  A massive man, nearly as large as Ifindo, stopped his work. His skin was the color of burnt earth, slick with sweat. He broke into a wide grin and embraced Hagoth.

  "It’s been two years, Hagger!" Johanson laughed. "What brings you back to your old comrade?"

  "Business and a string of strange coincidences, Joseph," Hagoth replied. He introduced Aeron as "Jack Oweney," a distant cousin serving in the knights' guild.

  "A knight, eh?" Johanson eyed Aeron. "A lot of ambition in those eyes. Keep at it, boy, and you might be a lord one day."

  Hagoth signaled Aeron to hand over the Tuckerham blade. Johanson unsheathed it, and his smile instantly vanished. He looked directly at Aeron. "Where did you get this? I know the man this belonged to."

  Aeron hesitated, then went with a half-truth. "It belongs to Sir Richard of Beche. He fought a mage months ago, and I was tasked with bringing it here for repair."

  "If it’s Sir Richard’s blade, I will mend it with my life," Johanson said. "He must trust you deeply to let you carry this."

  "I believe so," Aeron replied, avoiding the blacksmith's probing gaze.

  The next morning, Hagoth woke Aeron early. "We need the sword and we need to leave. I saw troop movements last night. Pirates might be planning an attack. If the city goes into lockdown, we’ll be stuck here for months."

  "Pirates? This far into the mountains?" Aeron gasped.

  "They go everywhere the Empire allows them," Hagoth sighed. "I believe many of these pirates are actually Imperial soldiers in disguise. The Wizards' Council uses them to harass vassal states, keeping them too busy with 'raiders' to ever think of rebellion."

  "But the Red Duke's walls are invincible," Aeron argued, recalling his military studies. "Pirates can't take this place."

  "They don't want to take it," Hagoth explained. "They want to exhaust it. Lorencine's army is limited by the Treaty of Union. This valley probably has fewer than a thousand elite troops left. The pirates will harass the walls until the city is tired, then the Empire will move in to 'save' it."

  Aeron looked at Hagoth with newfound respect. "You talk more like a politician than a merchant."

  "Every merchant is a politician, Aeron. We trade in the most valuable currency of all: information."

  They arrived at the forge, where Johanson was already at his anvil. Seeing them, the blacksmith pulled a gleaming sword from a rack—the Tuckerham crest shining brilliantly on the hilt.

  "Perfect as the day it was forged," Johanson said proudly. "Here you go, Aeron."

  Aeron reached for the sword but froze mid-step. He drew the blade halfway and glared at the blacksmith. "How do you know my name? Speak!"

  Hagoth realized the trap too late. He whistled loudly, signaling Ivyl and Ifindo in the fields.

  "I told him, Aeron," a familiar voice echoed from the shadows of the forge.

  Richard Tuckerham, clad in polished plate armor, stepped out into the light. "I have been waiting for you for a long time, Aeron."

  The sky outside began to darken as a sudden, violent storm rolled over the mountains...