The Aristocrat, The Bandits, The Chalice. Chapter Five

“What in the devil’s curses!”

Her eyes shot open, cold sweat sticking to her body, she greeted the familiar stone ceiling of the cell. “The heck was that…” She sat up from the straw and looked around. Same table, same items, same door. “My head playing more tricks again… or is it only this time…?” She got up quickly, remembering the job assigned to her.

“She was supposed to say something about magic being so wonderful…”

Squeezing the dream into the back of her mind, Noira thought about how she would even get her hands on information that was likely classified and hidden well. Then it hit her.

“Ahh I see, she needs information on the hooded man from Samwell… When are we even supposed to pay that aristocrat…” She thought about the heist and was worried that the mage might come and incur his wrath on their band when he found out that they had lost the chalice. Noira paced around her cell, thinking about how she would get information on Sam’s whereabouts. “Why am I looking for the rat again…”

She thought about asking for Luna’s help, but cast aside the idea as it would remind her of the strange nightmare. She then thought about asking the guards around the city, but it would make her seem suspicious, asking about a criminal’s whereabouts, and she never liked talking to strangers anyway.

“What shall I do…” Maybe some of the bandits could give her advice, so she decided to go look for it. She put on her boots, one of the worse of the three she had, which was across the room from her bed. She then slid two knives and her satchel on her belt, hidden under the cloak she had unhung from beside the door. Wearing it, she left her cell, descending down the stone stairs. There were a few holes in the stairs, threatening to trip anyone not careful enough. Soon, she arrived outside, the sky blue and clean.

She walked around the premises. Some of the bandits were playing cards under a broken roof, some sparring with wooden swords on the sandy ground.

“Aha! These cards sure love me today.” A bandit wearing some cheap looking leather chestplate slapped his 5 cards on the table. “Aurgh, not again!” A small stack of coppers went to the winner.

“Take this!” A boy, looking just a year younger than Noira, was sparring with one of the bandits, whom Noira had asked about Samwell’s whereabouts the other day. “Ye swinging too wildly! I be countering that!” The larger man parried the boy’s strike easily and his weapon was soon at the his neck.

“They don’t seem to have time… maybe someone else…” Noira walked away, leaving the others to their activities. She headed to the warehouse, which was just a house slightly larger than your average shack, which some of the bandits had built under orders. There were weapons from corrupt soldiers, other thieves, which they were unable to sell off and were up for grabbing if any of the bandits needed them. There were also tools for refining them like grindstones and the like. She recalled there was usually someone inside working on the weapons, making sure they didn’t go to rust.

Right on cue, she could hear the grinding of iron on stone. Arriving at the wooden structure, she opened the door and peeked inside.

“Oh hey, is that you Noira missy? Here to sharpen your blades?” His name is Luke, the blacksmith of the band. Previously, he had opened a small workshop in the city, and was known by quite a number for his quality with repairs, rarely even exceeding the original. According to his story, a bunch of corrupt knights went into his shop and trashed it after he refused to work for free.

“Not exactly, you seem to be busy anyway.” Noira replied. “I… wanted to ask if you knew anything about where prisoners would be sent after getting arrested.” She watched him as he continued to sharpen the saber in his hands, the metal scraping to and fro on the stone.

“Well, there are many prisons located around the empire. Looking for a convicted friend?” A small pile of swords in various shapes lay beside the wooden stool he sat on, likely his quota for today.

“No, but his crimes were enough to probably get him executed, and I need to find him.” She couldn’t tell him Samwell had gotten himself into the dungeon, yet. Orders from the boss herself.

“Ah… execution…” He thought for a while, his hands stopping. “That must be the Iron Azkalan then. Heard of it?” The whetting continued.

“No… Is it some highly guarded prison?” Noira had lived in the streets, and only had her mind on surviving to see the next day. She had never heard of large facilities like those, unlike the blacksmith who had been doing honest work in his workshop for the previous half of his life.

“Well, you’re right about that, nearly. The Iron Azkalan is the most secure dungeon, where the vilest, most dangerous fugitives end up, and wait for their execution. It’s located in the capital, not that far from here actually. These ruins are on the borderline between three cities. Auroran, Lyliris, Axon, although we are much closer to Lyliris. I’m surprised the empire hasn’t even found this place yet... But I’m sure you know that right?”

She didn’t know that the ruins were so dangerously close to the three large cities, but stayed silent.

“Oh, actually, there’s someone who knows more about it, the prison I mean.” He inspected the saber. Satisfied, he grabbed its sheath and put it back. “Bran, He’s carrying out an errand for the boss, but he should be in the Jagged Lantern by the time you get there. If you head out now.” He got up and started walking towards her. “Can you help me with this?” He handed Noira the sheathed saber. “He came by yesterday, blade had lots of nicks. Give this to him for me will you?”

Noira took the saber, a bit too heavy for her small physique. “...Where is the tavern you mentioned?”

Luke then gave her the directions to get there, “The morals there are a bit better than the Chandelier, but still quite down in the slums” he explained. After receiving some more information on the Jagged Lantern, she slung the weapon over her shoulder and thanked Luke for the information, who continued to work on another sword from the pile.

She didn’t really remember the name Bran, but it did ring a bell. “Perhaps I’ll recognize his face…”

~~~

After some walking, she had arrived at the gates. Passing the inspection, she entered the city and headed towards the Jagged Lantern according to the information she had. The sun shone high in the sky, it was noon and Noira hadn’t had anything to eat yet since waking up.

While walking, she passed many stalls, some selling tools, some exotic cloths. She stopped at a stall selling salted deer skewers and paid for a couple to snack on before she got to the tavern. The thief continued on her way, when she spotted a street performer doing a performance on the Legend of the Demon War.

“The Demon Lord, ruthless, cunning, powerful. He once trampled over the lands of men, slaughtering any living being in sight with his army.” A puppet, black, with horns and an uncontrolled tail, was swinging it’s greatsword in sync to the puppeteer’s actions. Many children were watching as the suited man continued his performance.

“One day, the princess of the kingdom found a book. An ancient book.” The scene changed to a puppet, with long blond hair and a lavish dress, holding a brown book.

“With the book, she summoned a hero. A powerful hero who would defeat the demon king with the sword of the royal family. A holy, magic sword.” Noira has heard the story of the demon war many times as a kid during bedtime when her parents were still around. Until they were suddenly taken away by the empire as she watched, in a closet, which Noira’s mother had hidden her in when she was still five.

“A story for next time… I need to find Bran…” She turned away as the hero plunged the sword into the demon lord’s chest, earning cheers from the children watching the play.

Following the directions, she soon saw the sign. “The Jagged Lantern”, painted slightly blue-green. The doors led diagonally into the tavern, where many patrons were already having food and drink.

Entering, she soon saw him, with his light, metal chestplate and greaves, dented from many fights. “Good thing I recognized him…” Noira walked over and joined him, who was having some sort of meat stew and a mug of beer.

“Hey Noira, what brings you here. Is that my sword? Thanks.” He said as she passed him the saber entrusted to her from the blacksmith. He hung it on his belt, which already had another sword, likely from the warehouse.

“Luke told me you were a guard of the Iron Azkalan.”

He stared at Noira. “Shh! Not here. Too many ears.” He quickly said, looking around cautiously.

“Maybe… I’ll get something first. Haven’t ate… since morning.” She panicked a bit at his reaction. As a maid arrived, Noira asked for what Bran had, without the drink. Soon, Noira’s food arrived and they ate with silence, only occasionally having short talks about market values, with Bran doing most of the talking and Noira doing the listening. Time passed and they were soon done with their food, then left after paying the tavernkeeper.

“There, looks like there’s no one.” He pointed to a dark alley, where they could continue the main topic away from prying ears.

Staying in the dark shadows of the alley, in contrast to the bright sun shining down outside, he started. “So, what do you need a guard of the Iron Azkalan for? A previous one.” He thought he was done with the treacherous hellhole a long time ago. “What do you need from one of the most dangerous places in the empire?”

“There’s someone I need to see, fast.” Noira told him. She had no intent on mentioning Samwell, just yet. But, “They’re related to the chalice.”

Bran took a deep breath. “...Well, I guess I can’t run from it now.” He looked up at the blue sky. “So, you need to break them out or something? I’ve done it before, although I was a guard then.” He recalled his previous endeavors of helping innocents out of the cursed place, succeeding many times, but getting caught once, and he had thought it’d been the end of him.

“I’m not sure, he should have been arrested recently, in this city.” She then asked Bran, “How long does it take for him to get to the capital?”

“Well, with the empire’s special bred horses, it should only take about 3 days. They’re really fast and steady.” Bran had escorted many prisoners into their cells as a guard of the Iron Azkalan, and was familiar with the special horses the empire had bred with some strange technology, technology he knew next to nothing about. “But if he was only arrested yesterday, they’d keep him in the dungeons here first while going through documents to transfer him.”

“Who is this guy anyway, who you need to see.” He questioned Noira.

Noira was expecting this question, but she didn’t have an excuse to yet. Under orders to keep her mouth shut, she didn’t know what to say to him.

You may seek help, but you must report to me.

She remembered the bandit queen’s words, and decided to tell Bran about Samwell, his capture, his charges, and the gag order from Arecis. “I wouldn’t have expected Samwell to do this… we all thought it would be Waz.” Many of the bandits would agree with him, the boss included. “I’ve seen the armored commander a few times. He’s young, a bit hotheaded, but a good man.”

He continued to explain. “If he’s here, it means Samwell is guarded by some of the best knights in the empire.” He looked at Noira, “We will need to be very organized if we were to get him out, and only the two of us is not going to be enough. I don’t think even the entire Cove would be.” An unfortunate truth. Although they were organized bandits, they were still bandits, without the training and unity of the Auroran military.

“For now, maybe we should report to Arecis about this.” Noira suggested. “Agreed, we can’t afford to fail if that rumored mage is involved, and much caution is needed to get the chalice back.”

They headed back for the day, the sky still quite blue. Noira asked about the errand entrusted to Bran, which turned out to be just a letter that needed to be delivered to some shady alchemist’s workshop.