The forged letter had worked almost the way Singis imagined it. Remy made sure the letter arrived in the guise of urgent post, and landed it in Constable Prasad’s hands. The constable, recognizing the seal of the Magister Mitul, brought it directly to the commander. 

The commander of the Black Guard did not take long after reading the letter to corral his men and order a march eastward toward Sildur as instructed. They climbed their horses and disappeared down the road like obedient soldiers…save for two. 

The commander ordered two men to stay behind and continue searching for the Jester and his companions, just in case there were any leads. Remy had done his part. Now she had to do the rest. 

She shadowed the two guards to assess the direction they were taking in their search. They were questioning the vendors, while working their way down toward the Iron District. She hoped that when the commander left that these two would take a holiday with ale and wenches but these two proved to be diligent and far too responsible. So she slipped a couple of rumors about a large Barbarian and his companions having a brawl in a pub located in the Market District in northern part of the city. When the two guards bit into the rumor and turned north, Singis took the opportunity to head south to the Iron District.

She knew the two guards would not be distracted for long. She needed to act fast before they returned. 

It did not take long to find the smithy the Batisse had written on the scrap of paper that morning: The Molten Hoof. She approached the farrier at the Milton Hoof and asked for the recent help that he hired. The farrier pointed out his new smiths, sharing with her how grateful he was for his newly hired help. He lamented on how difficult it was to find good help these days, especially the kind that worked hard, kept quiet, and worked for free asking only for food and shelter in the stables.

As Singis listened to the farrier, she saw the giant Barbarian pounding away at a horseshoe.  He was probably near seven feet tall with a full helm protecting his face. There was no apron large enough to fit, so he wore a heavy tablecloth fashioned as an apron. The farrier asked if they were in any kind of trouble, and she assured him they weren’t, that she only wanted to speak with them. 

"I have a gift for you," she said as she approached the giant.  "You may think it is meaningless rubble, but for someone like you, you should really see it as a treasure."

The giant lifted his full helm and looked at Singis. His eyes gave her pause.

“Do I know you?” she asked. 

"No, you don't," he said, returning to his work.

"I'll take a gift," one of the other smiths said. 

Singis handed the flat oval metal piece to the smith. 

The smith examined the imprints on the plate.  "What does it say?"

"It has a name and military title," she replied.  "It says lieutenant, written in a very old language.  The ancient Arkromenyon soldiers wore it around their necks like a medallion."

The four smiths stopped working and turned to Singis. 

"I am alone,” she said. “I know very well what you have done in Isimil, and what you may in turn do to me. By all accounts that should frighten me.  But it is because I am alone, and I know you do not fear me enough to do what I think you could do. That is enough for me to not be afraid."

The giant covered one side of his face with his massive hand, trying to unravel her words.

"All of the Smote is looking for you," Singis explained.  "They looked in all of the wrong places.  When they were done looking in the wrong places I told them to start looking in different wrong places."

"Who are you?" one of the smiths asked. 

"I am Chief Inspector Singis, Marshal of the Yghr Commission.  Each Magister pays into the commission for us to serve as the police for all of the Smote.  It is my specific job to lead the search for the four of you."

"So you know who we are," one of the smiths said. 

Singis nodded and pointed to each one.  "Andreus, Palimedis, and Symian, property of a deceased Okur of Gamesh. As for the giant the only records for you call you the Jester of Isimil.”

"I think the easiest thing would be to kill her now and go about finishing these horseshoes," Palimedis said. 

"I think we have enough attention, don't you think?" asked Andreus. 

"What do we do?" Symian asked the Jester. 

The giant set his helm down and backed away several steps.  "Tell me how you learned to read the old language.”

"I've been studying the ancient civilization since I was a child," Singis said.  "There are answers to the world that lie buried in the ruins to the west. What we now call the Sea of Ruin is the vast forested remnant of a once great civilization.”

“Arkromenyon,” the Jester said. 

Singis nodded. “I have fought my whole life against the practice of slavery, and often my job takes me near the Sea of Ruin.  About five years ago I was hunting a criminal named Rembac, a notorious Yghr slaver I had been tracking for years.  Rembac trafficked children from the west, your people, stealing them away from the villages in western Aredun where the forest people had settled.  The chase led me all the way to the foot of the Queensgate.  I knew it was a dead end for me, for I would not be venturing into that dangerous mountain pass alone.”

“The Queensgate,” Symian repeated. “What’s that?”

“It’s the old entrance to the ancient lands of your people,” Singis explained. “There is a vast mountain range that separates the Sea of Ruin from Aredun, called the Iero-Giganton Mountains. The main pass into the Sea is the Queensgate. It is a treacherous road, infested with Aredunian bandits. So I looked for another way.  I ventured north of the Old War Road and searched for several days.  Eventually I had found something against the hillside.  It was against a red hill with its face carved flat.  A steel road marked by pylons showing a different path into the Sea of Ruin.  The pylons had unfamiliar markings, I assumed they were the ancient language of Arkromenyon.  I've written down every marking and studied it until the patterns started forming words."

“I’ve never been in those lands,” Symian said. 

“Maybe you have, but you were taken as a child,” Andreus said.

“I know I wasn’t born here,” Palimedis said. “I was old enough to remember when they took me into their caged wagons.”

Singis approached the giant and studied his eyes. Something about the depth and light blue color seemed familiar.  "I'm certain I know you.  How would I know of you, Jester?"

"You say you serve the Yghr masters. You would know of me if you had watched me forced to fight my own people in the pits," he said.  "Or if you were one of the many guards who tortured me.  Or if you once shared a cell with me.  Otherwise no, you would not know me." 

“So what do you want?” Palimedis asked. “You sent the guards away. That was a bad idea. A lady like you won’t be bringing us in.”

“I’m not bringing you in, I’m sending you home,” Singis said. “The pathway to your home is clear. The Black Guard has stopped watching the road to the west.  There is a wagon of goods bound for Old Menathinion to include you in its cargo today.  The driver’s name is Remy, a person I trust with you as his cargo.  From there you will need to continue by foot.  I ask you to also trust me."

"You're a Yghr," Palimedis said. “You don’t look like them and you're saying all the right things but you are still one of them.  I can't trust her."

"I was getting used to life here," Andreus said.  "It is hard work but this is how freedom feels like.  I don't want to run anymore."

The giant sat down on a tree stump and wiped his brow with a stained cloth.  "Many slaves were stolen as children, breaking families in two.  The children were taken everywhere.  Some worked in the fields.  Others worked in the mines.  One slave would die alone in a ditch, another slave managed his master’s house.  No matter where he ended, he started as a stolen child.  The older slaves remembered.  They passed the stories of our people so the children growing up in chains would not forget.  We are not children of cages.  We are not meant to wage hate against each other in their fighting pits.  We are what is left of a great people.

“One story the old ones tell the little ones now is that there is a caravan that bears escaped slaves and leads them home.  An old grandmother who was once a stolen child herself who serves her slave masters by day, but at night she would would ride at the head of the caravan in secret. Kiakia we called her. The little ones would pray to her before going to sleep on the floor.  They would pray that Kiakia would steal them away in their sleep and they would wake up in the caravan, and return to a great shining city they've never seen except in their dreams.”

He rose and towered over Singis. "I did not think you were real."

The others looked at each other in confusion.

“Kiakia,” Palimedis said as he kneeled.

“I am no grandmother,” Singis said. “But freedom can be real. It does not need to evade you like a fairy tale.”

"I trust you," the giant said as he also kneeled. “Your actions are legend to us. And I thank you for what you have done.  For our people."

When he kneeled Singis caught a glimpse of a marking in the morning light.  "This branding...upon your neck. What is it?"

He brushed his long brown hair aside to show her.  "It is the mark of the Yon.  I have a name, it is not Jester.  I am Hirodias, descended from Hesperyon, the last Sunset King.  One day I will be Yon."

"The mark of the Yon," she repeated.  It was a scenario she had not planned for, but she did not have time to ponder the outcomes of this discovery. Her mind raced. “We do not have much time. Do you know of the Fatted Poult?"

"I do," Symian said. “I make my rounds at the end of the night to bring back food that is thrown away. They have very nice bread.”

"On the chime of the third hour of the closing day a wagon will depart.  Be there right before the chime, I do not want you seen milling about.  The wagon leaves every week on this day, and will not be questioned.  The driver’s name is Remy.  He’s a small fellow with a dishonest face, but there is honor in him that his face hides. From Old Menathinion there will be no horses to take you to the Queensgate.  It is a long lonely road, but that is what you want, to be left alone. I’ve told you that the Queensgate pass is treacherous. With numbers you may be alright. But if there are few of you making that journey, you should avoid it if you can."

"It is the only way back to Arkromenyon," Hirodias said. 

"Look for that red hill with the carved face that I told you about," she replied.  "I've deciphered the pylon. I’ve read the old words. It is a pathway home.  Find the opening in that red hill and follow the Steel Road home."

“The Steel Road?” Andreus asked. 

“You’ll understand if you see it,” Singis said. 

"So many lost," Hirodias said, his voice faltering.  "So many that would have taken that path home with me.  So many that I left behind."

Palimedis placed his hand upon Hirodias' shoulder. 

"There are still many migrants at Old Menathinion," Singis said.  "Many gather there looking for work or better lives.  There may be some who have not found it, and would wish to return home.   Many are too frail or afraid to make that journey. Hirodias, there are children there. It is not safe for them. Take who you can, but making your way home is of the most importance."

"You have my gratitude," Hirodias said, taking her hand into his.  "I wish I could thank you with more than words if ever comes a time when I have more than words in my possession. But I do not think you will be seeing me again."

Singis shook her head.  "For those I help, I never do see them again.  But who knows.  If I ever see you again, you may be Yon."