by Randy Nargi
“Galicia?”
“The good mistress of the Red Tower. Very respectable, even at her tender age. Learned the trade from her mother, who was quite well-known in certain circles. You really should go in and make her acquaintance—”
“The mother?”
“No, of course not. The poor old dear lost her sight. Had to retire from the business. These days she hardly leaves the cottage. But Galicia dotes on her old mum. Such fine character! Galicia’s the one you want to meet.”
Bryn Eresthar’s head started to swim. He needed more information. But Keryana was here! He forced himself to regain his composure and smiled back at Rorig Vivare.
"Well, you've convinced me! How could I not pay my respects to such an interesting woman? Lead on, sir!"
A beaming Rorig Vivare walked him up to the front door of the old drying house. Garlands and lanterns made the entrance look festive and the sound of a mandora being strummed echoed from within. A handful of women and their customers loitered around the front door. Rorig Vivare bowed and greeted everyone and he pushed inside, with Bryn Eresthar following close behind.
A strong smell of perfume greeted Bryn Eresthar as he stepped into the first-floor parlor. and looked around. Whoever converted this old structure into a brothel did a good job. The parlor was cozy and inviting, with soft chairs and divans grouped together to encourage conversation. Rugs were thick on the floor, and streaming tapestries covered the walls, which served to quiet the hubbub.
Serving girls circulated through the parlor, pouring wine and flirting with the guests. In the back of the room was a narrow staircase that curved up to a second story. This place was aptly named. It did indeed look like the inside of a tower.
“This way, Aylan. Don’t tell me you are about to lose your nerve.”
“Not at all. Just looking for my traveling companion.”
“Doubtless he is upstairs, enjoying himself. Ah, there is Galicia now.” He waved across the room at a woman with flaxen-colored hair and wearing a rich purple dress. When she turned, Bryn Eresthar immediately recognized her.
“Lady Galicia, may I present the good merchant Aylan of Wayfield.”
Bryn Eresthar nodded and smiled. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The young woman in front of him was none other than Sabel, his sister’s handmaiden. Her hair had been dyed and cut short in the fashion of the south, but it was unmistakably her. She blushed at the sight of him, but smiled back and quickly regained her composure.
“The pleasure is mine, good sir. May we offer you a glass of wine?” Before Bryn Eresthar could answer, she called out to a serving girl and instructed her to fetch a bottle of Lacredes.
“Tell me, sir, if I am not being too inquisitive, what has brought you to our fair, yet a bit overcrowded village?”
“I am employed at a woolen mill just outside of Wayfield, and we have need of Aberhall’s dyes.”
“I told him that I hope he is a patient man. Until our good Lord Governor decides to vacate the village, I fear we are all working for Asryn,” said Rorig Vivare.
“In one way or another,” said Sabra.
“Well, Plach makes the best dyes in the land and our finest cloth is tinted with them, but we may need to seek out some alternatives.”
“My mother, Onora, is well acquainted with the Worthams. Do you know them? Prominent family of drapers in Balby.”
“I don’t believe that I do.”
“They have sourced some exceptional dye from the eastern foothills. I can’t promise anything, but perhaps she could arrange an introduction. Can you return tomorrow at noon?”
“Alas, I cannot. Regrettably, I am otherwise engaged tomorrow. Please convey my apologies in advance. It is kind of you to offer on your mother’s behalf.”
“Well, some other time then.” Her eyes danced.
“I would like that.” Bryn Eresthar paused for a moment, as if thinking. “You know, my partner Kensho is free tomorrow—”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of name is Kensho?” Rorig Vivare asked.
“He is from Triscar originally. Came over as a boy and eventually settled in Wayfield. Other than his name, you can’t really tell he’s a foreigner. You’d like him.” He turned back to Sabra. “If it is not an imposition, perhaps Kensho could call on your mother tomorrow?”
“Certainly. Her habit is to visit with me right here to take a noontime meal. Your partner is welcome to join us.”
“Splendid. If my meeting concludes early, I shall join you as well.”
Rorig Vivare clapped Bryn Eresthar on the shoulder. “I told you that this was the place for you. Now, Aylan, let’s see about finding someone who can help you relax…”
“Do not be so hasty in ushering our new friend away,” Sabra said. “I would enjoy spending some time with him and conversing over a glass of wine.”
“Oh. Very good, My Lady,” Rorig Vivare said, taking the hint. “I will stretch my legs and see if there are any other new friends to be met. Good evening to you both.”
Bryn Eresthar said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Rorig Vivare.”
“And yours, Aylan.” The tout bowed and took his leave.
Sabra motioned for Bryn Eresthar to follow her across the parlor to a private alcove.
“Thank Dynark you are here, Your Grace,” she whispered.
“Is she well?”
“Yes, quite well. So is Giles. They are staying in a cottage outside of town. Can you really not meet her?”
“I must be in Rundlun in the morning to meet with the Council. Tell her I’ll be back for her as soon as I can. In the meantime, you can trust my man.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Let us dispense with the honorifics, please. Call me Aylan.”
“Yes, Aylan.”
They sat and chatted idly for ten or fifteen minutes until Bryn Eresthar spied Hirbo Thrang coming down the stairs in the company of an auburn-haired woman with a big smile on her face. The mage looked slightly embarrassed when he caught Bryn Eresthar's eye, but he ambled over and bowed at Sabra.
Bryn Eresthar said, “Lady Galicia, I would like to introduce my partner Kensho, presently of Wayfield.”
“I believe you are the first Triscarian to grace the Red Tower,” Sabra said.
Hirbo Thrang arched an eyebrow and half-smiled at the young woman.
Bryn Eresthar said, “I told her of your heritage, friend. But I explained that you came over from Triscar as a boy and so don’t remember much of your original homeland.”
“So true,” Hirbo Thrang said. “Although I hope to return some day.” His expression made it clear that the mage did not think much of Bryn Eresthar’s fiction.
"Lady Galicia's mother Onora may have some connections with another source of dyes. It is clear that Plach will not be re-opening anytime soon."
“Oh really?”
“So while I am at my meeting tomorrow, you will meet with her. Right here.”
“Very good.”
They took their leave, and once they were out of earshot, Bryn Eresthar explained who ’Galicia’ and ’Onora’ really were. Then they outlined a plan. They would return to Laketon tonight, and then tomorrow, while Bryn Eresthar was with the Viceroy in Rundlun, Hirbo Thrang would teleport back here to Aberhall and meet with Keryana.
“Shall I bring her to Laketon?”
Bryn Eresthar thought for a moment. After the attempt on his own life in Castle Flower just three days ago, he had second thoughts about bringing his sister home. “Not quite yet,” he told Hirbo Thrang. “For now, learn everything you can about her situation and report back to me.”
He knew that Keryana had met Hirbo Thrang several times and probably respected him more than she did Bryn Eresthar’s other friends. Still, getting Keryana to trust anyone would be difficult. Especially since she couldn’t look into someone’s eyes.
"Give her this when you meet." Bryn Eresthar fished a small metal token from a pocket. It w
as roughly the size of a regmark coin but carved and engraved with the ancient seal of the House of Forn. He handed it to the mage. "And tell her that the little cub sends his regards."
Hirbo Thrang raised an eyebrow again. “Little cub?”
Chapter Eleven
BANDER TOOK DALO KENT’S DAUGHTER IN HIS ARMS AND KISSED HER. He felt her mouth with his tongue. It was new and unfamiliar and electric and she tasted of topa leaves. She had given him some for the pain and ended up chewing some herself. Which is probably why they had ended up in bed together. Bander kissed her again.
She kissed him back long and hard, and they didn’t come up for air for a long time. Then they made love and collapsed into each other.
Afterwards, he held her and they fell into a deep stupor. Tangled in her arms and breathing through her hair, Bander wished he never had to leave.
But he did.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Stacia.” Her voice was husky, like she had just awoken. “Stacia Kent.”
“Well, Stacia Kent, can I visit you again? When this is all over?”
She laughed and said, "Anytime, Captain. Anytime at all."
Her men showed him the way to Fyfe's Gate and he was able to slip through the passage that the Clubfoots cleared all those years ago. Two hours later he was at the rendezvous point. Just in time, at the stroke of midnight.
The carriage clattered along the road and stopped right at the crossroads where Bander waited. He staggered inside. The two-mile journey from the wall to the crossroads took more out of him that he had anticipated.
“Captain!” Silbra Dal shouted in alarm as she noticed his blood-soaked tunic.
Wegg went to work immediately, stripping off his clothes and examining the wound by the light of a lantern. “The cut is not too deep. No sign of poison. Someone did a serviceable job of patching you up.”
“Does that mean that I have no need of your services?” Bander asked.
“I didn’t say that.”
The healer quickly dressed Bander’s wounds again. “That will have to do until we reach our destination.”
“Fine with me,” Bander said. “I think I will sleep.” He turned to Silbra Dal. “Wake me if it looks like I am dying.”
“We should be so lucky,” she said, mockingly.
“I, for one, cannot wait to hear what happened to you,” said Dusk.
“All will be revealed in good time,” Bander said. And then he fell into a deep sleep.
Some time later, Wegg woke him. The cart was still.
“It is physically impossible for me to carry you, Captain, so it is time for you to wake and move of your own volition.”
Bander peered out of the carriage windows. They were at Mornwell, Etthar Calain’s lodge. The steward, Caddakin, was there and he and Wegg must have been able to steer him inside, because the next thing that Bander knew, it was morning.
His head hurt from too much drink and topa with Stacia Kent and his side hurt from being slashed by a dagger. But other than that, he was grateful that he had escaped from Rundlun. He checked his wound and dressed and then splashed some water on his face from a wash stand. Then he ambled out into the main hall, where he saw Dusk, Wegg, and Silbra Dal—as well as Faramir Boldfist. The team was loitering around a large stone fireplace. A sideboard was filled with food and drink.
“The beast has awoken!” Faramir Boldfist said. He no longer wore Bryn Eresthar’s armor.
“What hour is it?”
“Five hours past noon,” Dusk said. “You slept all day.”
“Thank you for attending me,” Bander said to Wegg.
“Your wounds were not of much concern. Between your muscles and scar tissue, it’s surprising that the blade cut you at all. You will be fully healed by the morn.”
Bander clapped Faramir Boldfist on the shoulder. “Glad to see that you made it out as well, soldier.”
“Well, it wasn’t easy, old son.”
“And what of Jaden?”
“Didn’t see him meself, but his man Niam returned to the lair. Said they were still tracking. I told him about the rendezvous point, so I am hoping we might see them here before long.”
“And Etthar Calain? Any word from him?”
“Not as yet,” Dusk said.
Bander began to pace in front of the fireplace. He regretted sleeping for as long as he did. There was a good chance that Chiran Hemmig or Tad Stircas or some bright mind in Skydagger might make the connection between him and Etthar Calain. If that happened, there could be an Imperial strike force on their way right now. He shared his concerns with the team.
“Mistress, perhaps you might join me as I walk the grounds, maybe set some wards…”
“Of course,” Silbra Dal said.
“Wegg, you and Dusk will assess the horses. I want to make sure we can all depart quickly if need be.”
The two nodded. Wegg said, “It is ironic that the very people we are trying to save are engaged in hunting us.”
“It is indeed. Faramir Boldfist, have you met Caddakin?”
“What, the caretaker?”
“Yes. He’s a good man. Ex-guardsman from Lhawster. He’ll know all the nooks and passages. Find him and secure the building. Mark escape routes. Bolster entrances. Gather any weapons.”
“You expecting a siege?”
“I’m expecting anything. And so should you.” Bander grabbed a hunk of bread and some cheese and then departed with Silbra Dal.
Chapter Twelve
THE DAY HAD ENDED BY THE TIME BRYN ERESTHAR RETURNED TO LAKETON. The assembly of Lord Governors had spanned eight full hours.
In a crowded room in the Council hall, Yrian Gast had briefed them on the Imperial troop movements, which caused an uproar—especially from Sarlin Wenn, the Lord Governor of Hamwick, and Waleran Aym, the Lord Governor of Kreed's Keep. The two seemed to be thick as thieves. But the Viceroy had explained that the lesser countries might attempt to exploit the chaos of the attacks on Harion and that was why he had ordered Imperial troops on training exercises throughout the Empire.
Most of the Lord Governors had suspected that the truth was altogether different: Yrian Gast feared an insurrection. It had happened before; governments had been toppled under far less tumultuous circumstances.
But Yrian Gast had worked hard and weaved his narrative with conviction.
We now know that a group of mages, a splinter of the Guild led by Meomannan Quill, was seeking to topple the government. It was they, and they alone who struck against us. We already have arrested many in this cabal. Others are being rounded up as we speak. Five hundred workers have spent the last 48 hours converting the Citadel in Old Lausk into a mage prison, with relorcan cells. Armorers across the land are working around the clock forging relorcan collars. The Grand Guildmasters, Ramipoor the White and Tarist the Red, are cooperating, but still, we are taking no chances. Delham University has been closed, and—effective immediately—all Guild Halls will be shuttered. With the exception of some necessary portal mages, and your own Magisters of the Wand, nearly all mages have been ordered to surrender themselves to the Imperial garrison at Old Lausk for interrogation and processing.
I will stress again that the prelates and other Guild officials are cooperating. But we still have much to do in order to drain the swamp of these traitors. No doubt that there are still some at large. Rest assured we will hunt each and every renegade mage down and not stop until our Empire is safe again.
Hours of debate had ensued, with questions, accusations, and finally grudging agreement. Throughout all of this, Asryn had been strangely subdued. During most of the meeting, he refused to make eye contact with Bryn Eresthar. Just once Bryn Eresthar caught a glimpse of Asryn staring at him; his eyes were burning with hatred.
When the Viceroy had asked each Lord Governor in turn to pledge his support, Asryn did not break with the other Lord Governors, but Bryn Eresthar had noticed a smug look on the man’s face.
Afterwards, the Vi
ceroy had summoned Bryn Eresthar to a private office.
“I’ll get right to the point. You deserve that,” Yrian Gast had said.
“I’m grateful. It has been a long day.”
“We need to remove you from office.”
“What?”
“This morning, before we convened, Asryn delivered an ultimatum of sorts. He still believes that you are implicated in the attack—”
“All his claims were proven false at my trial.”
“Yes, but we both know that this is not about the truth. He has formed a faction of his own: three other Lord Governors and a dozen prominent families and businesses. The price of their support was your head.”
Before Bryn Eresthar had been able to speak, the Viceroy had continued, “Of course, I would not agree to that. I have always been the champion of the rule of law and you were exonerated without any doubt.”
Bryn Eresthar hadn’t been able to help himself. He had blurted out, “You realize that it is Asryn himself who is behind these attacks?”
“That very well may be, although as yet, we have no evidence to that effect.”
“So I am to be thrown to the wolves then?”
“More like you’ll be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I think. My wolf, if you are up to the challenge.”
“I don’t understand.”
The Viceroy had clapped him on the shoulder. “Bryn Eresthar, although your skills as a leader are considerable, we both know that you are an adventurer at heart. You would rather be on the battlefield than in a Council meeting. You served as Lord Governor of two provinces, for a total of over a decade or more. You have been loyal and effective, but now I need to ask you for one more loyal act: step down as Lord Governor and work behind the scenes to uncover the truth.”
Now back in his quarters at Castle Flower, the reality of what Yrian Gast had asked of him began to set in. What was he going to do? It was true that the idea of abdicating his position had been on his mind a lot recently. But he never acted on those thoughts. Could he really give up his position? What would become of Laketon? And the Futhark Trading Company? These questions were merely academic. Already plans were in motion. Asryn would take over as Lord Governor of Laketon. Nechal Tolormy of Arragee would be the acting Lord Governor of Waterside and oversee the reconstruction. It was making him ill just to think about the future.
