The Ordra Party had one directive from the Artificers’ Guild: rescue Celica and bring her home. After three days of hard walking to the city of Rahma, that task became far more daunting. The city itself was almost twice the size of Lorvath, and all the buildings stood taller. All in all, the population could be three or four times what Benedict had expected. He also had not expected the guards to immediately stop them at the gate.

  “Identify yourselves,” the head guard said. He wasn’t holding a weapon, but his size made him intimidating enough.

  “We come on assignment from the Artificers’ Guild of Lorvath,” Ordra said, keeping his demeanor cool and unthreatened.

  “Yes, we’ve been expecting you. Please, come with me.”

  A coach waited for them already nearby with space enough for everyone inside. With the guard riding shotgun, it took them into the heart of the city. Benedict watched the streets for activity. The crowd was normal for the population he expected; people milled about food or merchandise stalls or walked to their professions. The further they rode, the more the crowd thinned out, until they reached the center of the city.

  One building dominated the area: the cathedral-like magistrate’s mansion. Their guard escort told the party about it as they approached. The first floor was for official government activities, including aristocratic debates and diplomatic negotiations. The second held living quarters for visiting dignitaries, and everything above that was for the exclusive use of the magistrate himself, along with his army of servants.

  Another guard met them at the gate to the mansion. A short talk with their escort later, the party disembarked the coach and walked across the grounds to the mansion. None of the servants working in the front gardens paid any attention to the party, and they received a similar reception from the servants inside.

  At the top of the lobby’s central staircase stood a man in ornate red and white robes wearing a tall, brimless black hat. He looked to be in his late thirties by Benedict’s reckoning, with age beginning to show in his cheeks and chin. His expression showed frustration and a little bit of anger. The guard introduced him as the magistrate.

  “I presume my message to Baden didn’t make it before you lot left,” he growled.

  “We were in a hurry,” Ordra replied.

  The magistrate walked down the steps toward them. “Listen! I have the best men in the region searching for her. I don’t need random adventurers impeding their investigation.”

  “She’s a very dear friend of ours, sir,” Amalyn said.

  “An even stronger reason for you to not get in my men’s way,” the magistrate spat. “You may stay in the city, of course, until she is found. I will notify you the moment that happens. Just stay out of it.”

  “We have skills your men probably lack, sir,” Kirion said. “Perhaps they would be more of an asset to you than you expect.”

  “Adventurers have never been an asset to Rahma in its history. Baden’s porters stay in a disused barn in the fields. I’ll have my men take you there.”

  Ordra grabbed Kirion by his collar before he could approach the magistrate. “We’ll take you up on this offer. Thank you.”

  From the mansion, the coach drove them to the edge of town. Beyond a smaller wooden wall, the city turned into fields full of produce, with some animals wandering around open pastures. The area looked to cover almost as much ground as the city itself. The outer stone wall continued around the area in the distance. Small farmhouses and barns dotted the space between fields, most of which were well-loved.

  The coach stopped at a dilapidated farmhouse overgrown with moss and vines while missing most of its roof and portions of its walls. A wagon sat behind the house next to a just-as-dilapidated barn, and two horses grazed nearby.

  “This is where the porters have been staying,” the guard told them.

  “Then this is where we get off,” Ordra said as he stepped to the ground.

  “Thanks for the assistance,” Benedict said, following Ordra.

  He and Ordra were the first to round the corner of the barn and look inside. The porters sat on old barrels, staring at them. A pot of sizzling food sat above a small fire ringed by stones. A makeshift sleeping area made of hay sat on the side, safely away from the fire.

  “They couldn’t even use their own guards to evict us?” one porter complained before he grabbed a pole and stepped down. At one end of his pole was a sharp blade. “We will not leave without our companion!”

  The other took his own spear, and together they approached the party. Eyes full of determination and anger bore into Benedict’s chest. What had happened to these two?

  “I wasn’t expecting this,” Ordra said.

  Shiyo groaned from the back of the group. “Gentlemen, hold your weapons properly. As you stand, I can knock your spears away with the force of one breath.”

  The porters looked at each other, then back at Shiyo. Their grips on their spears tightened.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “We’re here on behalf of the Artificers’ Guild,” Ordra said.

  “Are you really?” a porter asked.

  “We are,” Amalyn said. “We’re Celica’s friends.”

  “What proof do you have?”

  Benedict drew out a folded bit of parchment and handed it to the man. On it, using his personal seal and signature, Baden had written a letter to the porters giving them all their names and their relationship to Celica. It convinced them.

  “Our apologies for this,” a porter said. “I’m Godwik, this is Binner. We haven’t had an easy time here.”

  “Please tell us about it,” Ordra said.

  Godwik invited them to sit next to the fire, and he started talking. “A local farmer purchased some tools. Celica wanted to see the town after we delivered everything, so we did. We lost sight of her in the market and couldn’t find her after hours of searching. We moved here at the insistence of the guards.”

  “Did you try searching further for her?” Benedict asked.

  “We did, and the guards kept throwing us out every time they found us asking,” Binner complained.

  “They kept telling us to leave it to them,” Godwik said.

  “Same with us,” Ordra said.

  “Have they mentioned anything else?” Shiyo asked.

  “Nothing,” Godwik answered.

  “We both worry she’s long gone by now,” Binner said. “She could have just run off.”

  “She has always talked about adventuring.”

  Amalyn slammed her fist on the ground. “I know her. She would never abandon her guild or her friends, no matter how much she wants to adventure.”

  “Where did you search?” Benedict asked.

  Godwik brought out a map and marked the areas they had already searched, as well as placed the guards had barred them from entering. Binner described their searches in detail, making sure to specify every crack they had checked for clues. Ordra piped in with his suggestions for next steps occasionally.

  Golden light filled the sky as the sun fell lower. Despite some rest and hours of theorizing and planning, no one could divine anything else. Benedict growled as he stared at the map. He couldn’t just sit in one place and wait for the guards to tell him what happened.

  Kirion must have felt the same. He stood and started out of the barn. “Please don’t follow. I need to do this on my own.”

  Benedict stood and brushed himself off. “You can’t comb the city in one night. I’ll search elsewhere.”

  “As will I,” Shiyo said.

  The three exited the barn, leaving Ordra and Amalyn with the porters. They walked together until they passed through the small gate, then Kirion disappeared silently into the encroaching night.

  “I’m going to hunt around the guards’ areas,” Shiyo said.

  “Can you do it without revealing yourself?” Benedict asked.

  “You underestimate me, my friend.”

  “I meant as a Wraith.”

  “So did I. What about you?”

  “I’ll do this traditionally. The taverns will be open, and drunks are always fountains of information if you catch them at the right time.”

  “I’ll leave you to it.”

  As Shiyo walked down one street, Benedict took another. Neighborhoods always held a tavern somewhere. The streets had become desolate, odd for twilight in a Phyneli city, and he passed almost no one. No light pierced through the windows of the homes he passed. The one person he came across darted into his home and locked it tight before Benedict came close.

  After the sun had disappeared and he had to pull out a lantern, Benedict finally heard the sounds of nighttime revelry. He followed it through multiple alleys to the only building showing light inside: a tavern. The door refused to budge when he tried to open it, but a small metal plate at eye height slid open. A small pair of eyes met his.

  “State your business,” a gruff voice demanded.

  “Just out looking for a drink,” Benedict lied.

  The eyes scanned him multiple times, then disappeared as the plate shut and the door creaked open. A seven-foot giant of a man stood behind it.

  “Keep your weapons in that coffer,” he growled. “If I see you draw anything out of there other than money, I will break your body and leave you for the vultures.”

  Benedict noted the barely concealed muscles beneath his tunic. “Worry not, sir, I’ll behave.”

  The clientele comprised entirely young men. Given the uniforms they continued wearing, most were local guards. Serving girls dressed in dark green blouses and matching skirts with underbust corsets ran around carrying drinks and food in their arms. Benedict saw no one who might be an adventurer. He didn’t even see a job board.

  A pair of guards noticed him and watched, their stares more suspicious than malicious. Benedict tried to ignore them as he found an unoccupied out-of-the-way table. The stares wandered away soon enough, but he still kept an eye out. With the doorman watching, he felt the need to live out his lie at least some time.

  Just as he started to rethink his decision, a serving girl walked up to his table carrying a writing pad. She gracefully brushed a brown lock of hair out of her fetching gray eyes before grabbing her pencil.

  “I haven’t seen you here before,” she said.

  “I’m a recent arrival,” Benedict replied.

  “Pretty rare to see new arrivals in this tavern. What brings you to Rahma?”

  “Just here to meet up with a friend.”

  “You’re already a unique one. What would you like for tonight?”

  “Just mead would be fine,” Benedict said.

  “Coming right up, sir.” She sprinted off to the bar.

  While he waited, Benedict scanned the tavern for anyone he could talk to. Other patrons eyed him more intensely than he was comfortable with. Any desire to reach for his coffer stopped when he remembered the doorman’s threat. Fortunately, the serving girl brought his mead, providing the suspicious with something more attractive to gawk at.

  “I haven’t been able to find my friend,” Benedict said. “If I give you a description, could you tell me if you’ve seen her?”

  “I could certainly try,” the girl replied.

  Benedict described Celica with as much detail as he could.

  “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen her around here.” She came in close to Benedict. “There has been a string of women disappearing lately. People are on edge about it, but the guards don’t want us talking. They say it makes people nervous.”

  “I could see why.”

  “There’s a man named Stab who lives not far from here. He’s been investigating in secret. He might have more information if you friend was taken. He has stayed up for all hours of the night.”

  “Could you tell me where he lives?”

  For three aur extra, she gave Benedict the information. He finished his nightcap and left the tavern. The zigzag pattern he took through the area felt utterly wasteful as he kept walking past dark houses with almost no room between them. Despite the lack of activity, the street wasn’t totally dead. In front of the only lit home, silhouetted in the light coming from the window, Benedict spotted a figure. When he called out, the figure bolted and disappeared into the night.

  The house was Stab’s. Benedict checked again for the figure, then knocked on the door. An older man answered. His face was haggard, like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a scratchy voice.

  “My name’s Benedict,” Benedict said. “A friend of mine disappeared in this city, and I’m here to find her. I was told that a man named Stab might have some knowledge of her disappearance.”

  “Has anyone followed you?”

  Again, Benedict looked down both sides of the street. “Seems not.”

  “Douse your lamp and come in. A shadow flies over Rahma these days.”

  After checking that the door was locked and every single window was clear of onlookers, Stab took Benedict further into the sparsely decorated home and revealed that his daughter had disappeared two weeks past. She was one of twenty young women to do so.