It is possible the town of Alonso was a city once. It has stone streets, sometimes, and it has towers, sometimes. It spreads out, more than you might expect for a place where eggs and livestock are used more often than metal coins, but the streets are more empty than full. The town is like an old, barnacle-studded shell, whose hermit crab is shriveled and undersized inside the much larger space it inhabits. You can go a whole day, wandering the streets, and not run into a single person. Old stonework underlies abandoned shacks, sheds, thatched roofs, and animal pens.
There are hills at the edges of town. They say witch lives among them.
Don’t worry. Supposedly, it’s a good witch.
It is late autumn, or maybe early summer. If people still remembered what fireflies were like, then they might say that this is firefly weather.
It has been a very long time since anyone saw fireflies light up the Invernish night.
Hopkins eyed the pair of Legionnaires who marched past him like green cockatoos. They seemed very proud of their uniforms, which only made their young, barely-bearded faces seem even younger. The Legion had arrived the same day as Hopkins. Their first act was to repaint the aging town hall, while purchasing food for hungry townsfolk. It was rather like a spring fair. Their second act was a public hanging. In some ways, also like a spring fair.
On the margins of town square, Hopkins was waiting patiently in the watery evening shadows, occasionally probing some of the nearby strangers to see if any mercenaries or caravans might be heading towards Prisk, and what their price would be for a plus-one. It was busier than usual today—the Legion had mounted three cages just in front of town hall, and they were attracting a whispering crowd. Two cages had rangy-looking men inside, who shouted at the townsfolk. The third had bony woman with hunched up shoulders, her eyes directed with vicious intensity towards the crowd. Each eye had two irises inside. Though the men made a variety of sounds—sometimes those sounds were even words—the woman said nothing.
Hopkins avoided her gaze.
The central fountain was a dry, sad-looking thing, full of dead leaves, but it had recently had been dressed up with wrinkly wreathes of wildflowers. The People’s Legion must have gathered the flowers outside town. A round-faced man in Legion uniform was serving apple cider.
On the opposite side of the square, apparently unwilling to go near the three cages, even to enter his own office, the Mayor of Alonso was arguing with a pair of older Legionnaires. “…Even so, the townspeople won’t just let you take the hedgewizard. Do you know how many parents owe their children’s lives to…”
A gaggle of older women passed by, muffling the rest of their talk. It looked like the rumors are true, then, Hopkins thought. The Legion was conscripting magicians.
By the fountain: “Join the Legion today! Travel the Tempesta, and build a new tomorrow!” The round-faced Legionnaire’s companion was a weedy man with pleasantly fiery eyes. One or two old men seemed interested in enlisting. The Legionnaire with the round face was describing the many benefits of serving the Legion. While Hopkins caught him make mention of decent pay, he later heard, spoken with brimming pride, “…The pay is mostly in food and board, and the real pay is in the worthwhile work of the Legion. Make a difference, today! Louis has all the necessary paperwork…”
By the cages, another Legionnaire was giving a graphic and dramatic description of the crimes of the people caged up on the town hall steps. The man on the far left was some kind of serial killer, apparently. The Legionnaire was a skilled storyteller; he know when to lower his voice, when to raise his hands, when to pause and let the audience’s minds fill in the shadowy silence: “…We had no idea what we were dealing with, see, no idea this was just a man. Imagine. Three Legionnaires, wandering the ancient Calibad. Our minds were full of walking trees and slavering werewolves, and none were brave enough to think we might see our families again. But still, we persevered…”
With so many townsfolk and travelers brought out into the open, whispering traders and mercenaries seemed to be making their rounds, brokering deals, trading rumors. Most eyes drifted, inevitably, to the three strangers in the cages.
It was all a rather reserved affair. Unlike the excitement of the previous day, a silence seemed to linger around the crowd, and only the Legionnaires raised their voices in any real way. Rain sprinkled in from overhead, between glowing gray-white clouds.
