Road Trip to the Dragon Isles (Styx - The Plan)

10 Newkolt 349 AC

"Fine," she said. "I'll talk to the Venns. I'll find out who still has a little courage left. Too many strangers appearing at once and every spy in Styx will notice."

She looked toward the couple across the room. "Let me get the harbor people moving first. Let me make sure the distraction has somewhere to go."

Then she looked back at Arthur.

"Tomorrow night. Sunset." Helena looked out of the window. "They'll be changing watches. The city will be busy. People will be moving home, soldiers will be moving to evening posts, and no one expects an attack from outside the walls."

Arthur followed her gaze outside and then looked back at her "Sunset tomorrow night it is then. By night's end hopefully this city wont be ruled by the likes of them anymore."
- - - - -
Bren waited until he had blended into the sparsely crowded streets of Styx before heading for the city gate. He slowed, trudged past the guards, hands in his pockets and a dejected look on his face.

"Where you headed?" One of the guards asked.

"Home, I guess. Was lookin' to crew a ship but none o' the ones I spoke with had use for me," he replied.

The guard nodded sympathetically. "Hard times."

Bren gave a humorless laugh. "Been worse."

The guard looked him over. "You have military experience?"

Bren didn't lie. "Some."

The guard considered him for a moment. "Have you considered a life in the army? You look reasonably fit."

Bren looked past him, toward the banners hanging from the walls. The red dragon insignia moved lazily in the evening breeze.
"Army, huh?"

The guard shrugged. "Steady pay. Food. A bed. Better than waiting around the docks hoping some captain needs an extra hand."

Bren scratched his jaw. "Suppose that's true."

The guard leaned against the gatehouse wall. "You would not be the first sailor who couldn't find work to put on armor instead."

"That so?" Bren asked.

"Styx needs men who can handle themselves." The guard told him.

Bren nodded slowly. "I'll think on it."

The guard smiled. "Do that. And if you decide you want something more reliable than chasing ships, ask for Captain Vurn's recruiters."

Bren paused, recognizing the name. "Vurn?"

The guard nodded. "Brigadier Vurn runs the city. Keeps things organized."

Bren forced himself not to react. "Sounds like a busy man."

"He is." The guard waved him through. "Good luck finding work."

Bren stepped beyond the gate. Only once the city walls were behind him did his shoulders straighten and he picked up his pace.

An hour later, he reached the spot where his men remained hidden with Altan, Dava, and Phineas.

Bren knew something was wrong before he reached the camp. Not because he saw movement, not because he heard voices, but because he heard Phineas.

The sound echoed through the trees. "No, no, no! Don't pull that lever yet!"

There was a brief pause, "Actually, yes, pull that lever. I was wrong."

Bren stopped and turned toward the others. Davaa stood beside him, arms crossed. Varkesh the hobgoblin looked like he was trying very hard not to smile. The two Baaz, Kassir and Tarakis, simply stared.

Bren followed their gaze.

In the clearing, Phineas stood beside the Across-the-Plains-inator, goggles pushed up on his forehead, gesturing excitedly. Grumak, the ogre, was holding a wrench the size of a small child.

"Now," Phineas said, "the important thing to remember is that the machine is designed to provide a stable, controlled forward movement."

Grumak nodded seriously. "Forward, not sideways."

Phineas nodded, "Quite correct, my enormous assistant. Also, not up."

"I feel bad for that tree," the ogre replied.

"Yes... that was a good tree... BUT, it made for a valuable learning experience!"

Bren watched the scene unfolding before him. "How long have they been doing... whatever...that... is?"

Kassir, one of the draconians, answered. "About three hours."

The other draconian, Tarakis added, "Grumak has been smiling."

A loud metallic CLANG came from the machine. Everyone flinched except Phineas and Grumak. The gnome leaned forward.

"Excellent!"

Bren looked alarmed. "What was that?"

"Progress." The gnome smiled.

"What kind of progress?" The former Sergeant asked.

Phineas smiled proudly. "That is a complicated question."

Davaa sighed. "That means he does not know."

Phineas looked offended, "I know exactly what the settings on this machine do. I just do not yet know all of them do."

Bren pointed at the machine. "If that thing explodes before tomorrow night, I am blaming you."

Phineas looked amused. "Bren, my dear fellow, explosions are not mistakes - they are unexpected outcomes."

Bren shook his head, "Everyone, gather 'round. The others have come up with a plan."

Phineas raised a hand. "A proper plan?"

Bren looked at him. "A plan that does not involve you adding anything else to that machine."

The gnome lowered his hand. "That is a very specific limitation."

"It is a necessary one." Bren replied.

Bren knelt and used a stick to draw in the dirt. "This is Styx." He marked the city walls.

He pointed toward the center. "The target is the Governor's Spire."

He marked the tower. "Rivven Cairn. Cear. That is where this ends."

The camp grew quiet.

"We are not attacking the walls," Bren continued. "We are not trying to defeat the garrison. There are too many soldiers and too many defenses."

He drew several lines leading away from the city.

"The people inside Styx are going to create a distraction. Harbor workers. Merchants. Anyone willing to take a risk."

Varkesh nodded slowly. "An uprising."

"Something like one." Bren looked at him. "Enough noise that the Dragonarmy has to respond."

Davaa looked at the map. "Pull soldiers away."

Altan pointed toward the tower. "And then?"

Bren looked at each of them. "When the city is looking the wrong way, we move."

He tapped the Spire. "Straight to the tower."

Kassir tilted his head. "Through the gates?"

Bren shook his head, "Smugglers cave, just outside of town."

Varkesh leaned closer. "Still in use?"

Bren nodded. "According to our friends inside, yes. Not officially, obviously."

The hobgoblin gave a humorless smile. "Nothing in Styx is official."

Bren pointed to the route. "The cave opens into the old waterfront tunnels. They were built before the Cataclysm and expanded over the years by smugglers, merchants, and anyone who needed to move things without the authorities knowing."

Bren tapped the location. "The tunnel should bring us out beneath the old administrative district."

Davaa looked toward the distant city. "Under the walls?"

Bren nodded.

Phineas crouched beside the map. "Question."

Everyone looked at him. "How large are these tunnels?"

Bren paused. "Large enough, even from Grumak. We need someone who can move heavy things, break through obstacles, and intimidate anyone who gets in the way."

The ogre grinned. "I do those things."

The ex-Sergeant nodded, "I know."

Phineas patted Grumak on the arm. "He is quite good at all three."

Bren looked back at the group. "Once inside, we do not stop."

He tapped the tower again. "No searching for treasure. No fighting patrols unless we have to. No heroics."

The wind moved through the trees, carrying the faint smell of smoke from Styx. Bren erased the map with his boot. "Tomorrow night, the Dragonarmy looks toward the harbor."

He looked toward the city. "And we come in from underneath."

MEANWHILE... BACK IN STYX

Arthur downed a drink and looked at Granite and Agnes, "Granite, is there any place here that might sell anything of use for us? If not, I'd say we are better off waiting sleeping and readying ourselves for what's to come."

"What are ya thinkin' ta buy, lad?" The dwarf asked.

"Weapons, healing supplies. A lot of people are going to be risking themselves," the paladin answered.

"Not likely, lad. Weapon shops will be watched. Medicinals probably been commandeered by the army. All we got is what we brought in with us," Granite shrugged.

Arthur looked out of the window and sent up a prayer to Malazzarr and Sirrion, the Khur god who dubbed him "Storm-Bound" asking for the strength needed for the task ahead.

Outside, Styx continued as if nothing was happening. Merchants closed their shops. Soldiers changed posts. Families returned home.

Tomorrow night, some of those people would choose to fight.

When he opened his eyes again, Helena was watching him. The barmaid had seen many people pray in Styx. "Get some sleep tonight, knight," she said. "Tomorrow will be busy."

He nods and rises, "Yes, it will be."

11 Newkolt 349 AC

The next morning, Arthur, Granite, and Agnes found Helena already, or possibly still, awake.

The Rusty Anchor was quieter than usual. The early sailors had not yet arrived, and the few patrons inside were the sort of people who knew better than to ask why certain conversations happened behind closed doors.

Helena set three cups of spiced tea on the table.

"All right," she said. "Here's what we have."

Arthur leaned forward. Helena unfolded a rough map of Styx.

"The first thing happens at the waterfront." She tapped a marked location. "Old fish processing facility. Been abandoned for about two years."

Granite looked at the mark. "Why abandoned?"

"Owner died," Helena explained, "No clear heir. Property got stuck in the courts. Everyone claims it belongs to them, nobody wants to pay to maintain it."

She shrugged. "Which means nobody important will care if it burns. It's away from the warehouses that matter. Away from the shipyards. It will make smoke, draw attention, and the Dragonarmy won't lose anything they actually need."

Arthur nodded.

She moved her finger across the map. "The Red Lantern."

Granite raised an eyebrow. "Dragonarmy tavern?"

"Human troops mostly. They like the place because the owner doesn't ask questions."

Helena smiled thinly. "Tonight, some sailors are going to have a disagreement."

"About what?" Agnes asked.

"Doesn't matter." Helena shrugged. "That's the beauty of sailors."

That earned a small smile from Granite.

"Third." She tapped another location. "The Black Ram."

Arthur looked up. "Another tavern?"

"Yes, but a different problem." Helena leaned back. "This one is going to be laborers and Dragonarmy soldiers."

Granite's expression hardened. "More dangerous."

"Yes." Helena nodded. "The Red Lantern makes soldiers think sailors are causing trouble. The Black Ram makes them think workers are getting bold."

She looked at Arthur. "Different problems. Different responses."

Arthur nodded slowly. "Divide their attention."

She moved to the next mark. "Fourth."

She pointed toward the southern streets. "The cattle pens."

Granite frowned. "Livestock?"

"Dragonarmy shipment. Two hundred head waiting to be sent south to support the war effort against the elves." Helena smiled. "Someone is going to get nervous around a herd of cattle waiting to be loaded onto a transport ship."

Arthur looked at her. "Someone?"

Helena took a drink. "I have learned not to ask too many questions."

Even Agnes smiled at that.

"The stampede will force troops into the streets," Helena continued. "And unlike a fight, they can't just order people to ignore it. Cattle in panic destroy things."

"Buildings. Carts. Roads," Granite said.

Finally, Helena tapped the largest mark. "Number five, the Governor's Spire. Merchants."

Arthur looked at her.

"A protest. A very polite one." She emphasized the word. "They'll demand the return of confiscated property, reduced taxes, and an end to arbitrary seizures."

Granite snorted. "That'll get ignored."

Helena nodded. "That's the point."

She folded her hands. "The merchants know they won't win. They aren't there to win."

She looked toward the window, where the Spire could barely be seen above the rooftops. "They're there to make Vurn look out the windows and wonder how many people are angry."

Agnes was quiet. "And when the soldiers move?"

Helena looked at her. "When the soldiers move, they disperse. Immediately. No unnecessary casualties."

"And if they don't move?"

The room grew quiet. Helena did not answer immediately. "Then we adjust."

Granite grunted. "Meaning?"

"Meaning we hope Vurn is as practical as everyone says he is."

She looked toward the window, where the Spire could barely be seen above the rooftops. "Brigadier Vurn has spent months keeping Styx under control. He understands numbers. He understands risk. What we hope he won't understand is that all of these problems happening at once is not a coincidence."

She gathered the papers. "Everything starts around sunset."

Outside, Styx began waking up. Carts rolled through the streets. Sailors shouted along the docks. Dragonarmy patrols changed shifts. The city continued as it had for years beneath the shadow of the Spire.

Arthur sips the spiced tea and sets down his cup. "Thank you for everything you've done. If there is anyway at all that I can repay you, please, dont hesitate to ask." He looks outside. "Hopefully, we can keep the casualties of the innocent as low as possible. Once this is done, who do you have to represent the people? To act as mayor or city ruler because once they are gone one will be needed."

Helena stared at him for a moment before giving a small shrug. "We'd probably reinstall the Governor and his council."

Arthur nodded.

"But," she continued, "I don't see it going that far."

He looked back at her.

Helena gestured toward the window. "Slaying Cear and Rivven doesn't mean we'll regain control of our city. There's still an army out there."

Granite grunted, ."Vurn."

Helena nodded, "Vurn. His officers. Hundreds of draconians. Ogres. Minotaurs. Human soldiers." She shook her head. "Kill the dragon and his rider and maybe they leave. Maybe Vurn decides Styx isn't worth holding without Cear sitting on top of that tower."

She picked up her cup. "Or maybe another Highmaster arrives next week."

Helena continued, "But Cear won't be up there anymore. People won't look at the sky every time they hear wings. Rivven won't be able to drag someone out of their home because she had a bad morning."

She looked toward the distant Spire. "That's enough for today."

Arthur followed her gaze. "Either way, life will be much better after today."

The hours passed slowly. Arthur found himself checking his gear repeatedly. Lawbringer was honed. And honed again. The straps and buckles on his armor and on his shield were tightened, then loosened, then tightened again. He paced the back room of the Rusty Anchor. There was nothing left to prepare.

Which left him too much time to think.

His thoughts drifted south, to his friends in Silvanesti.  He wondered what they were doing. He wondered if they wondered what he was doing.

Arthur caught himself staring out the window again. He slapped both cheeks lightly. "No time to think about that," he muttered.

Granite glanced over from where he sat sharpening the edge of his axe. "Thinkin' 'bout what, lad?"

Arthur shook his head. "Nothing."

The dwarf stared at him for another second. "Ri-i-i-ght."

Afternoon gave way to evening, the Rusty Anchor slowly filled with its usual patrons. Nobody spoke openly about what was coming. Helena served drinks. Sailors complained about ships and weather. Somewhere a pair of men argued over a game of cards. Everything seemed remarkably ordinary.

Then the light outside began to change - Sunset had come.

Agnes came quietly to his side. Arthur stood. Granite was leaned against the wall, an untouched drink sat on a table beside him.

For another few minutes, nothing happened.

Then someone near the window called out, "Smoke."

Arthur looked. A dark column had begun rising over the waterfront. Then, faintly, from somewhere farther into the city came the ringing of a bell.

Another joined it and shouts followed in the street.

A pair of Dragonarmy soldiers hurried past the Rusty Anchor toward the waterfront.

Helena stopped wiping down the bar. "It's started."

Arthur's grip on Lawbringer loosened and he looked to Helena, "Thank you."

The old barmaid gave him a small nod. "Bring my city back."

Granite was already checking the straps on his armor. Agnes had let the illusion fade, the old woman's stooped posture disappearing as she stood tall once more.

Arthur turned to Granite and Agnes, "Let's kill that dragon and its rider." He smiled, "We got this."

Granite grunted. "Aye."

Agnes rested one hand on her dagger. "Let us hope they are as confident as we are."

Arthur looked toward the door. "That would be their mistake."
- - - - -
Bren led the group away from the main roads and toward the rocky shoreline outside Styx. The sounds of the city faded behind them, replaced by the crashing of waves against the cliffs.

The sea caves were exactly where Helena had described them. The kind of place that only mattered to people who needed to move things without being noticed.
Varkesh moved ahead, searching the rocks.

"Over here," the hobgoblin's raspy voice beckoned the group forward.

Half-concealed behind driftwood and years of accumulated salt spray was the old iron grate blocking the entrance to the tunnel.

Before anyone could respond, Grumak walked past him. The ogre crouched beside the grate and examined it carefully.

Phineas approached. "Now, Grumak, remember what we discussed."

The ogre nodded seriously. "Yes. Break gate, not tunnel."

Grumak grabbed the iron bars. There was a loud metallic groan and the grate came free in his hands.

He looked at it. Then looked at Phineas and smiled. "Did not break tunnel."

Phineas inspected the opening. "Perfectly executed, my titanic colleague."

The ogre smiled.

Bren ran a palm across his face before motioning everyone forward. "Move."

The group entered the tunnel. The smell hit them immediately - old stone, salt water, waste.

Phineas reached into his pack. "Fortunately, I anticipated the possibility of subterranean navigation."

He produced a small mechanical device covered in gears and a suspicious number of switches.

Davaa looked at it. "Professor, is that is a lamp?"

"A gross oversimplification, but essentially, yes," my Khurish companion.

Altan looked over Davaa's shoulder, "Why does it have gears?"

Grumak's rumbling voice replied, "Is better lamp."

Phineas smiled, "Why, thank you, Grumak." The gnome turned a small crank. The device clicked and whirred. Then a bright cone of light projected forward.

"Behold! The Don't-Stub-My-Toe-in-the-Dark-astor!"

A silence followed.

Davaa looked at the device and then at Phineas. "You named a lamp."

"It prevents toe-related tragedy." Phineas replied.

Grumak nodded. "Important."

Varkesh led the way, followed by Kassir and Tarakis. Phineas was next with Grumak beside him, an enormous wrench strapped to his back.

Bren, Altan, and Davaa brought up the rear.

Davaa watched the gnome and ogre head up the tunnel. "And that seems normal?"

Altan thought about it, shrugged. "I guess."
- - - - -
"Let's move." Arthur stepped into the street.
Granite adjusted his grip on his hammer and followed. Agnes pulled her cloak tighter around herself, the last remnants of her disguise gone.

The Governor's Spire rose above the rooftops ahead of them.

"Keep ta the shadows, lad." Granite muttered. "We don't wanna get caught up fightin' the fire that's supposed ta be our chance to enter the Spire without notice."
- - - - -

The abandoned fish processing facility burned exactly as intended.

Dragonarmy soldiers rushed toward the flames expecting to find sabotage, but instead found terrified citizens trying to save their homes and businesses.

Orders echoed through the streets. The soldiers pulled residents away from the waterfront and forced them into the response. Within minutes, a bucket brigade formed. Men and women who had spent months avoiding the Dragonarmy now stood shoulder to shoulder with soldiers, passing buckets of water down the line.

The flames continued to climb.

Eventually, the soldiers made the practical decision. "Forget the building!"

A sergeant pointed toward the nearby pier. "Keep it from spreading!"

The warehouse itself was lost. The important thing was preventing the destruction of the harbor.
- - - - -
Meanwhile, soldiers reached the Red Lantern. They intended to recruit able bodies to help fight the fire.

"Everyone outside," one guard ordered. "The waterfront needs hands."

The sailors looked at him.

Then at each other.

Then back at the guard.

"No."

The soldier frowned. "What did you say?"

A sailor picked up his drink. "I said no."

The guard reached for his weapon. The sailor reached for a barstool.

Within moments, the Red Lantern became a battlefield. Tables overturned. Chairs broke. Sailors shouted and soldiers cursed as bottles were broken and punches were thrown.
- - - - - -

Arthur stayed to the shadows as much as possible.

The alleys of Styx gave him plenty of places to move unseen. Between buildings, beneath overhangs, through narrow streets that most Dragonarmy patrols ignored unless they had a reason to be there.

Ahead, the Governor's Spire rose above the rooftops but he barely looked at it.

His eyes were drawn instead to the smoke.

It rolled across the city in thick clouds, turning the evening sky gray and hiding the fading light of the sun. Shouts echoed through the streets. People hurried past carrying buckets, pulling carts, dragging possessions away from the waterfront.

Arthur stopped for a moment. "Damn."

Granite glanced at him. "More than ye expected, lad?"

Agnes looked toward the waterfront. She looked worried. "I hope Helena's people didn't overdo it."

She lowered her voice. "It's supposed to be a distraction. Not the destruction of the city."

Granite looked toward the smoke. "Fire gets away from people. Let's hope it didn't get away from them."

For a moment, none of them moved. Then the distant sound of shouting from another part of the city reached them.

Agnes looked back toward the Spire. "The longer we wait, the more dangerous this becomes."
- - - - -
Beneath the city's streets, there was little noise beyond the slow drip of water and the splash of boots in muck better not thought about for too long.

Varkesh led the way, one hand against the old stone walls as he navigated the passages. "These tunnels are older than the Styx," he whispered. "Leftover from the city that stood here before."

Behind them, Phineas adjusted the beam of the Don't-Stub-My-Toe-in-the-Dark-astor.

Grumak ducked his head, shoulder scraping the ceiling and the walls of the tunnel. He frowned. "Don't want get stuck."

Phineas looked up. "Yes. The ancient builders apparently had a bias against very large, very helpful friends."

Bren called up from the back of the group, "Varkesh, start looking for a tunnel on the left - one that will toward the city center."

The hobgoblin nodded, "Yes, sergeant. Keeping my eyes peeled."
- - - - -
Arthur turned his attention away from the smoke and back to the Spire. "I hope so as well but we can't change what already happened."

He looked between Granite and Agnes. "Let's hurry."

The three moved forward, every moment they spent in the streets gave the Dragonarmy another chance to understand what was happening.
- - - - -

Brigadier Vurn stood at his window, looking out over the blaze. He heard the door open behind him. "Report," was all he said.

The young officer standing before him straightened. "The warehouse is sure to be a total loss but the fire is contained. Bucket brigades are soaking neighboring buildings to keep the flames from spreading. Captain Warren has taken his dragon, Redeye down to the pier to push the debris into the harbor."

Vurn nodded, "Any casualties?"

"Some minor burns, nothing significant, sir." The messenger shifted uncomfortably.

Vurn noticed, "Continue, Lieutenant."

"A brawl has been reported at the Red Lantern, sir."

"Cause?"

"Sailors objected to being pressed into service."

Vurn closed his eyes briefly. "Of course they did. "Send a patrol. Arrest anyone actively resisting. Do not waste troops breaking heads over a tavern fight. A night in the tank should teach them the error of their ways. Find out what ship they are from. Fine the captain."

"Yes, sir." The Lieutenant turned to leave and the door opened. A second officer was standing in the hall.

Vurn spun, "What is it now?"

The messenger saluted. "Sir. There is an altercation at the Black Ram."

Vurn stared. "Another tavern?"

"Yes, sir." The junior officer confirmed.

"What is happening?"

"Laborers and Dragonarmy personnel."

"Get me Captain Maros. Now." Both lieutenants saluted are left the Brigadier's office at a trot.

Vurn turned back to the window. "Someone is trying to move my soldiers."
- - - - -
The tunnel narrowed as Varkesh led them deeper beneath the city. The rough stone walls gave way to older masonry. The passage was no longer simply a drainage channel carved through rock; it had been built. Ancient blocks fitted together with careful craftsmanship.

Grumak had to turn sideways to squeeze through several openings. He was beginning to look worried.

The hobgoblin stopped at a junction where three tunnels met. "Here," Varkesh whispered.

Bren moved up. "How can you tell?"

Varkesh shrugged, "Can't for sure but it goes the right way, tunnel is a bit steeper. Stone's are better fitted."

The ex-Sergeant shrugged, "Good enough for me. Wish we had the dwarf with us, though."

Altan pushed forward, "How far to the Spire?"

"A couple of blocks, probably. There's no way this tunnel is going to come up inside of it," replied the hobgoblin, "that would be a glaring tactical design flaw."

Bren nodded, "Lead the way. Hopefully, we can find a place where we can come up without drawing a lot of attention."

Varkesh shook his head. "I'll do my best, not making any promises."
- - - - -
The closer they came to the Governor's Spire, the more Arthur focused on the task ahead. The smoke, the shouting, the movement of people in the streets — all of it became distant.

There was only the tower and the dragon.

And Rivven.

"I hope the others are making it alright."

Agnes looked back toward the streets behind them. "They know what they are doing."

Before Arthur could answer, he raised a hand. "Wait."

Boots echoed ahead.

The three stepped into the shadow of a narrow alley as a Dragonarmy patrol rounded the corner. They were moving quickly, but not in formation for combat.

"Where are we going?" one soldier asked.

"The Spire," the sergeant answered.

"Because of the merchants?" The soldier asked.

"Because the merchants are drawing a crowd," the sergeant answered.

The soldier scoffed. "A bunch of merchants complaining about taxes?"

The sergeant glanced back. "Today it is taxes. Tomorrow it is something else."

Arthur listened carefully.

"The commander doesn't want them gathering in front of the tower."

Another soldier laughed.

"Let them complain. They always complain."

The sergeant stopped walking. "That is exactly why we are going. Because right now they are only complaining."

Arthur did not move. He barely breathed.

The Dragonarmy patrol passed only a few feet away, close enough that he could hear the scrape of boots against stone and the quiet rattle of armor.

A fight here would accomplish nothing.

The patrol continued past. One soldier laughed at something his companion said. Another complained about the smoke. None of them looked toward the alley.

Only after the last footsteps faded did Arthur allow himself to breathe normally again. "We need to move faster," he whispered.

Agnes glanced toward the street ahead. "But not so fast that we draw attention."

Arthur gave her a brief nod. "Right."

They rounded the next corner and stopped. The Governor's Spire dominated the street ahead.

Even surrounded by smoke, it seemed impossibly tall, the black stone walls rising above the city like a spear driven into the earth. Beneath it, dozens of merchants were gathered.

Dragonarmy soldiers surrounded them.

"Disperse!" one officer shouted.

The merchants did not move.

Near the front of the crowd stood Thomas Venn, no longer the tired merchant from the Rusty Anchor. He stood straight-backed, voice steady, speaking to soldiers twice as armed as he was, "We are citizens of Styx. We would speak with our governor."

Granite watched the scene. "That took some courage. Didn't know th' old boy had it in 'im."

The soldier's expression hardened. "There is no governor here."

A murmur moved through the crowd. They shifted uneasily.

"You have been ordered to leave!" The sergeant began to move forward, his hand resting on the handle of a stout club.

The soldiers advanced, pushing the crowd of merchants back from the entrance to the Spire.

Then Agnes noticed something, movement across the courtyard, near the far side of the Spire.

A sewer grate lifted up from the street and was shoved aside. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a small figure stepped out, a gnome, covered in dust and wearing a long white coat and carrying a ridiculous collection of mechanical equipment.

Phineas looked at the Spire and then at the soldiers.

Then he slowly looked back down into the hole behind him. He frowned. "Hmm."

Everyone, merchant and soldier alike, watched.

Phineas leaned closer to the opening. "I knew we shoulda taken that left turn at...some point."

He shrugged. "Oh well."

The gnome turned back toward the tunnel. "Come on out, my boys! This is the place!"

A deep rumble answered him and thrn Grumak emerged, squeezing through the opening. The ogre looked around the courtyard. Grumak looked at the Dragonarmy soldiers.

Many of whom were staring at the enormous ogre standing beside the tiny gnome. "Lots of people. They friends?"

Phineas lifted the Shock N 'Awe-atron and flipped a switch. The strange device begin to whine and smoke. "Decidedly not."

Grumak smiled and punched one fist into the open palm of his other hand. "Good."

Behind them, Varkesh climbed out, followed by Kassir, Tarakis, Altan, and Davaa.

- - - - -
Brigadier Vurn looked out over the city. The waterfront fire had largely been extinguished but smoke still hung heavy in the air. He looked down at the streets below. He could see the merchant crowd backing out of the square. He nodded and turned away.

"Two tavern fights on the same evening as a fire. And now, a protest. Captain Maros, how many troops have we committed to the response?"

The captain answered. "Waterfront response. Tavern disturbances. Protest security."

"I want numbers, Maros. How many?"

The captain answered. "Approximately one hundred and fifty."

Vurn frowned. "Too many."

Maros raised an eyebrow. "For a city of this size?"

Vurn looked toward the streets. "I think someone wants us looking everywhere except where they are actually going."

Then a runner entered. "Brigadier!"

Vurn turned. "What now?"

The runner was breathing hard. "Sir..." He swallowed. "The cattle pens...they're empty."

For several seconds, Vurn simply stared at him. "Where are the cattle?"

The runner looked like he wished he had better news. "Running through the city."