Chapter 24
City of Rose with Thorns
The sight of Rose City from the mountain pass had been impressive, but the reality of its walls was daunting. The pale stone fortifications rose like a sheer cliff face, towering over the approaching road. Before the main gate, a long, uneven snake of humanity and commerce stretched back nearly half a mile—merchant wagons laden with goods, farmers with carts of produce, pilgrims, and travelers, all waiting their turn under the watchful eyes of the guards.
Renly guided Aethon past the shuffling queue, Lyra and Will on their mules following closely, their eyes wide as they took in the sheer scale of the crowd. A guard captain, his armor polished to a high sheen, stepped forward to block their path.
"The line's back there, sir," the man said, his tone firm but not disrespectful. He was broad-shouldered, and Renly, with his Enhanced perception, could sense the man's vital force—he was at the peak of what a squire could achieve, just shy of a Knight's awakening. The Count's city guard is this strong? Renly thought, a new level of respect settling for the power concentrated here.
He didn't argue. Instead, he simply unfastened his cloak, letting the silver clasp bearing the blue stone sigil of his fief catch the sun. "Ser Renly, Knight of Bluestone, on business for my Lord Viscount Corvan," he stated, his voice carrying the authority he'd cultivated.
The guard's demeanor shifted instantly. He bowed his head slightly. "My apologies, Ser Knight. Please, proceed." He gestured to a much shorter, faster-moving line reserved for nobility, Knights, and those with official business.
As they approached the massive, iron-reinforced gate, a commotion erupted behind them. The sound of galloping hooves and sharp commands cut through the air. A carriage, sleek and black, pulled by two magnificent horses, thundered past the privileged line without even slowing. It was flanked by six outriders in polished armor, their cloaks bearing a sigil of a single, stark red rose surrounded by sharp thorns. The city guards snapped to attention, clearing the path immediately. The carriage raced through the gate and disappeared into the city.
"Who was that?" Will whispered, awestruck.
A merchant in the line next to them snorted. "That's the Count's own sigil. Had to be Lady Elara, his first daughter. Always in a rush, that one." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Word is she's not like her father or brothers. Spent years at the Royal Academy in the capital, but didn't take to the Knightly path. They say she studies the old ways—shamanism. Strange for a noble of her station."
Renly stored the information away. A Count's daughter dabbling in a non-Knightly, potentially fringe power source was intriguing.
Once inside the gates, Lyra and Will were utterly captivated. The city was a roaring, living entity. The streets were paved with smooth cobblestones, bustling with people. Multi-storied timber-and-stone buildings leaned against each other, their signs advertising smiths, tailors, apothecaries, and taverns. The air was a complex symphony of scents: baking bread, roasting meat, forge smoke, horse dung, and the faint, ever-present perfume of the roses the city was famed for.
Renly, whose consciousness had seen the sprawling, sterile arcologies of Aethelgard, found the chaos charming but wasn't overwhelmed. He hired a sharp-eyed local boy named Finn for a few coppers a day to guide them.
Finn led them to a reputable inn in the outer city called The Gilded Quill, frequented by lesser knights and prosperous merchants. The common room was clean and bustling. The innkeeper, a stout, no-nonsense woman named Martha, looked them over.
"Rooms?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Three. For myself and my two attendants," Renly said.
Martha quoted the prices without blinking. "Stabling for the warhorse is five coppers a night, includes feed. The mules are three coppers each. A room for you, Ser Knight, is two silvers a night. Rooms for the attendants are five coppers each." It was steep—nearly a week's stipend from the Viscount for just one night for himself—but the location was good and the place secure. Renly paid for two nights upfront, the clink of silver on the counter a sobering reminder of his financial mission.
After freshening up, they came down for a late lunch in the common room. As they ate a hearty stew and fresh bread, the political gossip from the gate was confirmed and expanded upon by the conversations around them.
"...so the Demon Core is as good as gifted to the Second Princess," a man who looked like a minor functionary was saying to his companion. "The Count's allegiance was always suspected, but this makes it public. The Duke of Ironwood and the Prince's faction are furious."
"Aye," his companion, a merchant, replied. "It's a bold move. The Count's backing, plus the core which could help the Princess to breakthrough to Grand stage of power or one of her key supporters break through to Pinnacle Knight... it shifts the balance. Tensions in the capital are high. Wouldn't be surprised if there are... incidents."
Renly caught Finn's eye and nodded towards the two men. The boy, understanding the unspoken command, sidled over to their table with a pitcher of ale. "Refresh your drinks, sirs?" he asked innocently. A few moments and a tipped copper later, he was back.
"They say the Duke's men are already making things difficult for merchants known to trade heavily with the Count's lands," Finn reported quietly. "Tax inspections, 'lost' permits, that sort of thing."
After lunch, Renly, with Finn leading the way, set out for the Mercenary Guild. As they walked, the boy pointed out the city's structure. "The outer city, where we are, is for commoners, craftsmen, and visiting knights like yourself, Ser. Further in, past the second wall, is the inner city. That's for the landed knights, the rich merchants who've bought empty titles, and the lesser nobles who serve the Count directly."
"Bought titles?" Renly asked.
"Oh, aye," Finn said with a cheeky grin. "A merchant with enough gold can get the King to grant them a title—'Baron of the Treasury' or some such. No land, just the name. Lets them live in the inner city and look down on the rest of us. Old money nobles hate them."
They passed through a grand archway into the inner city. The streets were wider, cleaner, the buildings more ornate. Renly observed it all, his mind working. He saw the Count's castle looming ahead, a formidable fortress of power. It was a clear hierarchy, a pyramid with the Count at its apex. It struck him then that establishing a city like this, a true center of power and commerce, was a monumental task. It required not just a bloodline and an army, but generations of accumulated wealth, strategic marriages, political savvy, and time. The Rose Count might hold the title of Count, but the weight he carried, the influence he wielded with this city as his base, was likely comparable to that of many a Duke.
Finally, they turned a corner, and Finn pointed. "There it is, Ser. The Mercenary Guild."
The building was a fortress in its own right, constructed of dark, heavy timber and grey stone. A sign above the door depicted a crossed sword and axe. The air around it buzzed with a different energy—rougher, more pragmatic than the rest of the city. Men and women in worn armor lounged outside, their eyes sharp and assessing. This was where coin was earned, and where the politics of the court met the brutal reality of steel. Renly took a deep breath, adjusted his cloak, and stepped inside.