In Dago’s opinion, the problem with the Crimson Highway, and, more specifically, its Highwaymen, was their damned choke-hold on the world. They had become a fundamental institution upon which the modern world rested, and they knew it. When Dago had finally made his break, dashing through the open gate of Elpan before another gang or revolutionary group caught him, he had found the highway abandoned. It was, of course, not red in colour. It was built of grey cobblestones, stretching east and west from the gate until the rise of jungle trees and the canopy overhead obstructed Dago’s view of it.
It was named for the blood that had been spilt on those cobbles, paying for its maintenance.
He had seen none of the Highwaymen until he’d been on the road for about two hours. Then he had arrived at their roadblock. Close to ten men, armed with spears and red capes, stood behind a waist-high railing they’d set up. Their commander, a man in poorly painted armour, had called out to Dago as he walked along the road. “Hello there, refugee. You aware you walk the Crimson Highway?”
Dago had unbuckled his sword. “I am,” he’d called back, holding up the sheath.
The commander had asked what relevant skills Dago boasted. When Dago had claimed to be a fighter, a sellsword, the commander had snorted and said, “We’re not likely to put a stranger with a sword in our ranks, unless you’re a recruit. Where are you heading?”
“To Ith, of course,” Dago had replied.
They eventually decided to have him assist in transportation. They had held him for two days until a group of refugees had collected—four in number—and a troop of Highwaymen was selected from the nearby camp to escort their workers to the nearest worksite.
They were all bandits, as far as any government was concerned, but they had become more powerful than any individual government. They maintained the only highway in Radregar, which connected Saanazar to Tal’lashar and the Eye of Maga with some 2000 miles of roadway. One could purchase passage along the road, or they could work on it to earn their passage. The Highwaymen themselves ended up needing to do little work, with an ample slave force and ample coin. No one could track down their headquarters or pinpoint their internal structure, and they maintained their organization with an iron fist.
They hadn’t quite reached the worksite when something unusual happened.
Dago was walking along, between what appeared to be a cook from Elpan and a carpenter, when their Highwayman escorts called for a pause. “Who goes there?”
Ahead on the road, walked a row of men. They wore brass armour which shone in the light of the afternoon sun and formed a rank five men wide. Behind them, walked another rank, and then another. As Dago got a glance around the bend of the highway, he glimpsed more. Through the trees was an army, stretching back along the road. There were hundreds of soldiers here, marching toward them.
The man in charge of their little troop repeated his question. “Who goes there?”
“We’re moving with permission,” declared one of the vanguards, riding up beside the army on a small grey gelding. “Here’s our papers, and our red coin.”
The Crimson Highwayman in charge of Dago’s group nodded as he looked over the paper documents. “An army out of Ith. They’re really doing it, aren’t they?”
“They are,” replied the military man, reclaiming his information. “Elpan will soon belong to the Kingdom of Ith.”
“Kingdom?” chuckled the Highwayman. “Aren’t more than one damned city without us.”
“May we pass?” the soldier drawled, looking away from the bandit.
“I want one of your gold coins,” the Highwayman said, grinning. The soldier shook his head and tossed down a coin, which swiftly disappeared into the bandit’s pocket. “Alright, on you go. Best of luck in Elpan. It’s quickly falling to ruin.”
The ranks hadn’t even stopped marching, and the vanguard clucked to his horse as he nudged its side and kept riding. The troop of refugees stepped aside, and soon continued onward, walking along the side of the road to allow the army passage. Dago smiled. “Chaos never lasts,” he muttered. He’d been right, in his decision to leave Elpan before the anarchy ended.
“Running away?” called one of the soldiers as he passed.
The baker or whatever he was beside Dago bristled. “Just trying to survive,” he said, quietly, realizing that shouting back wouldn’t really help at all.
Dago rolled his eyes. At least this man had had a home, and maybe a family. Dago had come to Elpan to survive as a captive of a madwoman as far as he was concerned. He still had Miss Puzzle’s letter, and it still had no meaning to him.
Ahead, in the midst of the passing army, came the general’s litter. Dago had been to Ith many times for work. He was familiar with the way its society did things, and the slave trade was most prevalent there out of all the continent. He was not surprised by the twenty men in black trousers that carried the litter, nor the women that adorned the space around the general’s chair. The thin man wore a small silver crown and dark silk clothes, and glanced over at them idly as he was carried past.
Two more litters passed, as they walked past the marching army. The next contained three lieutenants of some kind, discussing something over a map. One looked at the Crimson Highwaymen, then glanced ahead on the road, and then back at what his comrades were talking about.
The third litter paused, and its inhabitant stepped down the wooden steps to the cobblestones. “Keep going, I’ll catch up,” he said to his slaves. The man had braided, shoulder length hair and a nose ring. He bobbed his head, as he approached the caravan. He had the same skin as Dago, but was a little taller and a little lankier.
“You there,” he said, to Dago specifically. “You’ve come from Elpan, have you?”
The Crimson Highwaymen ordered a pause, but stood protectively between Dago and the newcomer. “He’s a worker on the road, now,” said the leader of the bandits, again pocketing his gold Ith coin.
“You saw the body of a woman, right, surrounded by her mercenaries?” the man said.
Dago shrugged. “Saw a lot of bodies,” he said. How would this man know about that?
“What’s this about?” asked the bandit captain. “He’s one of my men now, not yours.”
“Here’s two Ith sovereigns, for your time,” the stranger said, quietly. “Now, go bother someone else while I speak to… my good friend, here.” He smiled at Dago, showing a clean set of white teeth. The man wore a simple grey robe, with a blue sash and a short machete at his waist.
“I’m no friend of yours,” Dago said, even though the Highwaymen were beginning to distance themselves a little.
“You’ve something of hers on your possession,” the stranger said.
“Of who’s?” Dago asked. Even his baker and lumberman comrades started to drift to the side of the road.
The man sighed, quietly. “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I’m Axar, a magician who has purchased passage with this army in search of a comrade of mine. If you met her, you likely knew her as Miss Puzzle. Now, I have no wish to harm or force you in anyway. I only seek information.”
Dago paused. “I’m afraid I’ve only got this work on road to worry about now,” he said.
Axar shook his head and crossed his arms. “Hey, Crimson Highway,” he called.
“Aye?” returned the commander, coming no closer.
“How much does it cost for one man to Ith?” Axar asked. He unfolded one arm and withdrew a coin pouch. “In Ith gold.”
At Highway milestones, the occasional checkpoint calculated an actual travel rate, and matched the rates to work terms. But the escort leader came up with his own price, told it to the newcomer and smiled when he was rewarded with it. Axar smirked and said, “There, I’ve secured your passage. Nothing to worry about on that front. Now, could you give to me what item of my colleague’s you possess, so we can both be on our way?”
“Pay me twice that amount and I’ll take you to her body,” Dago said.
“Gods,” Axar muttered. “So it’s true.” He seemed sad, suddenly, despite his entrance to the conversation being that very statement.
Dago almost said how happy he was with that turn of events.
Axar said it for him. “You’re the mercenary, Malzo, correct? Your probably see it as your salvation. But to me, it’s the loss of a dear friend. In such a senseless way.”
“How’d you even know she died?” Dago asked. He had no desire to ask how Axar knew of his role in all of it—the damned magicians had plans that had involved Dago for quite some time in the past. It was clear to him, and it was greatly disturbing. “Magic visions or some such?”
“It is so,” Axar said. “But not mine. Very well, I will pay you for information, and for your trouble these last few months.”
Dago inhaled. “Well, it’s about time.” He snatched the coins from the wizard’s hands as soon as the man extended it. His hands were dirty, and his hair sweaty. He was probably a grim sight for a man as put together as Axar.
“Here’s the letter I found on her,” Dago said. “You’ll find her along one of the main streets out of the harbour. If her corpse hasn’t been taken. Best of luck to you.”
Axar shrugged. “Very well,” he said, taking the letter “And to you.”
Dago was content enough to go his own way, so he approached the Crimson Highwaymen once more and asked for his sword. They gave it to him, the rusty bronze one he’d snatched from the dead guard in Elpan, the same day he’d found Miss Puzzle’s body. “Give her my regards,” he called to Axar. “If even one more of you mages comes after me, you’ll all regret it.”
Axar chuckled and walked away, without saying another word.