Fourteen Years Ago

  Situated atop a large plateau jutting out from the southern face of Kaduin, the largest of the Caster Mountains, was the ancient and proud city of Ire. Several hundred feet below, a five-mile-wide corridor of farmland stretched like a patchwork blanket through the middle of Darine Valley all the way down to the Gulf of Segriar. Forests of dense cedar trees on either edge of the farmlands made passage in and out of the valley difficult save for the trade routes that twisted and turned with the contour of the land. On a clear day, one could make out the shimmer from the ocean from right outside Ire's gates.

  What began as a simple outpost established by General Gonford Ire during the Great Goblin War had morphed over the centuries into a mighty, fortified city. A gray stone wall, one hundred feet high and thirty feet thick, ran along the edge of the wide semicircular plateau and ended as both extremities met the side of the mountain. Towers rose up at various points along the wall, each of them stationed by guards armed with steam rifles and vapor cannons ready to punish any foe that dared attack the city. A single road wound its way up the mountain arriving at a wide gate flanked on either side by halberd-bearing soldiers made of granite. Massive black iron doors plated with decorative brass served as the only entrance and exit.

  Like many old cities, Ire had seen its share of good times and bad; times of growth as well as times of decline. The tranquil beauty and rich natural resources of the valley combined with the city’s strategic location on the mountain made it the site of battles across many wars.

  Around one hundred years ago, a massive army laid siege to the city. Ire's governor at the time showed his dedication to the people by bravely hollowing out a small refuge for himself within the mountain. However, several of Ire's citizens discovered what he had done, and word spread quickly. Fearing the wrath of his people more than the invaders, the governor quickly surrendered the city. As a reward, the city's new rulers beheaded him. They then took the governor’s idea a step further and expanded the one-room refuge into a bunker that could house a small company of soldiers with enough supplies to last six months.

  Since then, each successive leader applied different ideas to the excavation of the mountain. At times, it served as a storehouse, other times as a private haven. Over the years, the city expanded the caves. he network of tunnels, corridors, and rooms eventually became as large as the city on the outside. After a series of harsh winters and terrible battles, the majority of the people made the caves their home. They routed pipes of all kinds to support life inside the city within the mountain. Each home had access to water, plumbing, steam, and natural gas. Lanterns fueled by gas lines provided lighting. The city within the mountain became known as Pipework City, or to most of its residents, the Pipes.

  Finally, an era of peace settled across the land of Tirian as the cities established hegemony and life within Ire changed. The city, now free to expand culturally and financially, prospered. In time, its wealthier citizens, tired of the cramped corridors and tight spaces, claimed the outside areas of the city as their own and named it Upper Ire. In place of armories and barracks, they built homes, shops, amenities, and restaurants that suited their tastes.

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  After a rash of high-profile thefts and murders, the new nobility reinforced the guard and restricted access from the Pipes. But, this created a new problem: the majority of what they needed to sustain daily life still lay within the Pipes. The outer city needed workers, and the people inside the Pipes needed supplies from the outside world. Discontent between the two cities eventually gave way to outright hostility in the form of strikes and small-scale brawls.

  Finally, a riot broke out at the checkpoint between Upper Ire and the Pipes. The nobles quelled the riot, but they knew it would not keep if they simply let things lie. The leaders of both cities held a parley. The nobles wanted to maintain a clean Upper Ire, one without the constant threat of crime from the denizens of the Pipes. Those in the Pipes wanted equal treatment and opportunities to flourish, which meant little to no restriction on the flow of supply. They settled on a pass system, admitting only those denizens of the Pipes who either had sponsorship from a noble or raised enough money to buy a pass. Even with the deal struck that day, distrust and animosity remained between the two cities.

  Deep within the furthest reaches of the Pipes, past the main water flow-control station and the master sewage pump, lay a series of abandoned tunnels. Some years ago, the city closed them down due to rising maintenance costs.

  From somewhere among these tunnels, a small whimper echoed off the walls and the hollow, unused pipes, startling Jarek. He had just been paid for stealing a painting from a mansion in Upper Ire and was counting the money for the third time when the sound reached him.

  Jarek found solace among these tight, cramped hallways and passages. Through some creative rerouting of pipelines, he set up his home in this deserted corner of the caves. Few people cared enough to venture out this way except for the occasional curious child, but they were easy enough to frighten away. So, when Jarek heard that whimper ring throughout the caves it set him on edge. Unsheathing his knife, he crept out of his room and into the corridor. The lighting was dim at best, but his eyes were used to this environment. Even so, he could not identify the source of the noise.

  He had nearly chalked it up to imagination when he heard it again. Jarek made his stealthy way in the direction of the sound. A third whimper, much louder than the first two, told him he was close. A fourth that he had almost stepped on it. He drew out his small lantern to get a better look.

  The flare of the match made Jarek’s eyes flinch as he lit the wick. A sphere of light shone in the dark passageway revealing the damp, cracked walls. At his feet lay a brown leather bag with a wide shoulder strap. The bag bulged as though stuffed with a large pillow.

  Suddenly, the bulge moved. Jarek jumped backward, almost dropping the lantern. He readied his knife and was about to stab the bag when it made another, more distinct noise. Scarcely believing his ears, he sheathed the knife and reached for the bag. He undid the clasp, lifted the flap with one hand, and raised his lantern over it.

  Within the bag lay a small baby boy.