by JD Byrne
Strefer signaled to the bartender, who quickly refilled the mug. “Come on, Rurek, this is a pretty impressive place to see. Especially if you grew up somewhere else. I never saw anything like it in the Guildlands when I was a kid.”
“True enough,” Rurek said, grasping the mug. He took a more cautious drink.
“And it is sitting in the Bay of Sins, don’t forget. Our ancestors used to come here by the hundreds of thousands to wash away their transgressions. To seek blessings for the coming season. That’s got to count for something.”
He looked at her, puzzled. “Where did you learn all this history, Strefer?”
“What do you think I do for a living, Rurek?” she shot back.
“I think you sit here in this tavern and wait for people like me to slip up and talk about something interesting, then you got write it down and ship it off to that Telebrian rag.” He chuckled at his own joke. “That’s what I think.”
“Very funny,” she said. “My job is to write about this place. This city. These people. What happens here. How can I do that if I don’t know what has already happened here? Not just last night or the week before that. Years ago. Centuries, even. I didn’t grow up here, so I had to read up on all that stuff when I arrived. It’s fairly fresh in my mind.”
Rurek nodded, conceding defeat. He took another drink. “So why did you come here anyway, Strefer? I mean, you came all the way here from…where was it?”
“Quantstown,” she said.
“Quantstown,” he repeated, “way over on the other side of the continent at the far end of the Guildlands.” He waved a hand generally in the direction of someplace far, far away. “Why come all that way just to wind up working for a Telebrian newspaper? You don’t even work for the Guild anymore.”
“That’s not technically true,” Strefer said. She hadn’t touched her refilled mug. “I’ll always be a member of the Guild of Writers. I’m just outside of their jurisdiction while I’m in Tolenor.”
“Whatever,” he said, going back to his mug. “Whatever.”
“To get back to your question,” she said, redirecting the conversation, “I came here because of all the stories I had heard about this place while I was growing up. See, I grew up in the Guild of Writers like I am, but I had a couple of good friends in the Guild of Historians. I spent as much time with them as I did with the Writers. They told me all the old stories of the Water Road and the Bay of Sins. They didn’t know so much about Tolenor, since they weren’t all that interested in modern history. So when I was old enough to make my own way in the world, I decided to come here. I could ask you the same question, you know. Why leave the Arbor and come here?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to be a Sentinel. Simple as that. I wanted to join the defense of the Triumvirate. Help keep the peace. To be a gentleman and a warrior. They don’t ask you where you want to go once you join, of course. I really wanted stay at one of the forts down on the Water Road. Everybody does at least one rotation there. Eventually I wound up here.”
“Fair enough,” Strefer said. “That’s where I’m lucky, I guess. The Guild doesn’t tell me where to go, so long as I’m not actually in the Guildlands. They don’t think it’s necessary to have someone in Tolenor full time. They do send someone to sit in the Grand Council sessions, but that’s not what interests me, anyway. The Telebrians are more interested in what goes on here on a day-to-day basis. It’s so much closer, I guess. For the time being, I’ll gladly work for the Daily Register.”
Rurek finished his second mug and chuckled.
“What now?” Strefer asked.
“You don’t really believe that, do you, Strefer?” He looked at her with a mocking half smile.
“Believe what?”
“That the Telebrians care what goes on in Tolenor day in, day out any more than the Guilders or the Arborians do? What they care about is blood, lust, violence, sex, and deviancy. They want to know about the Grand Council, of course. But beyond that, it’s entertainment, not information. Do you really think they care about the poor bastards who live here? The ones who barely make it living from day to day? Ask yourself this: if they really did care about that, wouldn’t they be more interested in solutions to the problems around here? Like actually having someone running the city, for one, instead of the Grand Council acting like absent parents for half of the year.” The rant was interrupted by a refill from the bartender. Rurek paused for another drink. “Maybe I’m a cynic, but I suspect the motives of your readers are not that pure.”
What Rurek said to her hurt because there was a good probability it was true. “I can’t make the people in Sermont read about things they aren’t interested in, can I? It is a business. I write what the people want to read so that they buy the damned newspaper. I recognize that.” She took a long shallow drink from her mug, hoping to elicit some sympathy from Rurek.
“All right,” he said, adopting a softer tone. “I didn’t mean to imply anything about you, Strefer. You do good work most of the time. At least the stuff you print is true, more or less. I don’t like to read it sometimes, but that’s not your problem. That’s more than I can say for some of your colleagues.”
She smiled. “I’ll take that faint praise as an apology, Rurek. Thank you.” She tipped her mug towards him.
Tolenor had no proper newspaper of its own, in spite of its size and importance. There were several tabloids published by the large print houses on the island’s southern coast, but they were not, in any sense, accurate when it came to their reporting. And they relied on the seedier side of island life for content even more than she did. For real news of the city, readers had to rely on the newspapers published outside the city, like the Daily Register.
“With that settled, how about giving me something juicy to pass on to my readers, huh?” Strefer asked.
Rurek laughed, fully and loudly. “You really don’t give up, do you? Sorry. I wish I could help you, I really do. There’s just nothing going on right now. A couple of my guys broke up an attempted rape today. Some halfbreed. Aside from that, it’s just been the run-of-the-mill stuff.” He finished his drink and sat up straight on his stool. “You know, it amazes me sometimes. This city was built to be the home of the Triumvirate, where the people of three nations gather to work together. So what happens every year when the Grand Council session starts? You get idiots from all over deciding that they need to settle all the old rivalries on the streets. It’s ironic.”
Strefer nodded. “That’s a good angle. I like that.” She couldn’t make a whole story out of it, but she filed it away for later reference.
“Thank you,” he said. “Just don’t quote me on that, all right?”
“Deal,” she said. She finished her ale and dropped a few coins on the bar. “I guess I better get going, if that’s all you’ve got for me tonight. Looks like I’ll have to go out on the streets and do some real reporting.”
“For a change,” Rurek said with a chuckle.
“For a change,” Strefer said as she walked out into the crisp night air.
Chapter 4
Throughout the day, Antrey grew increasingly nervous as she went about her work. The days before the Grand Council began its session were always stressful. There was so much preparation to be ready for the session, to make sure everything was in place and contingencies could be dealt with quickly and without much difficulty. When she first started working for Alban, Antrey did not fully understand why all of this was necessary. He tried to explain to her how it was better to work hard before an event happened because that would make the event itself easier to manage. It was not until she had been through a few sessions of the Grand Council and seen Alban rely on his preparation that she understood. It still made for a great deal of work on her part.
She was also worrying about the reception that night. Antrey had never been part of any public event before. She rarely made appearances in the Grand Council chamber and, when she did so, they were limited to bringing in or taking out something
for Alban. The thought of milling about with strangers—highly placed important strangers, no less—tied her stomach in knots. She worried less about being a part of any particular conversation than being the subject of many of them.
Antrey finished her work early and returned to the apartment to prepare for the reception. She bathed for the second time today, something usually reserved for the wake of some messy accident or another. As she had never before had need for formal attire, Antrey lacked the kind of gown that was truly appropriate for the occasion. Given her build, borrowing something from Onwen was out of the question. She did the best she could with her newest and nicest dress, which was simple and tasteful. She doubted if she could ever look elegant, but wanted at least to appear respectable.
Alban was waiting for her in the kitchen when she came downstairs. “You look very nice, Antrey,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you, sir,” she answered. She nodded in greeting to Onwen, who sat at the table, still under the sway of some illness.
“Let’s be on our way, then,” Alban said. He opened the door and motioned for Antrey to step outside.
As they walked across the courtyard, bathed in the mixed glow of the moon and gaslights, Alban said, “I know, Antrey, that you probably aren’t looking forward to this evening.”
She started to protest, but he cut her off before it came out.
“Truth be told, I’m not very fond of these events. They’re very political. It’s more important to be sure and shake the right hands and make the correct introductions than it is to discuss something substantively. Honestly, there’s more thought-provoking discussion at the Hare than we will hear tonight.”
Antrey smiled slightly and stifled a laugh at the thought.
“Nonetheless, it’s important to make an appearance at such events. You and I as public servants, not the ones that wield the power, are here in order to say we have been here, so we won’t overstay our welcome. Does that sound all right?”
“Yes, sir,” Antrey said.
The reception was being held in a large foyer on the second floor of one of the subsidiary buildings. Antrey remembered that it had once been the home for the Confederation’s trade delegation, but now served as overflow office space for the Grand Council itself. As a result of its heritage, the room was filled with deep, rich wooden textures, with fine carvings climbing the wall. Candles flew high overhead, providing an endless supply of light that reminded Antrey of dusk on the eastern shore. They arrived slightly behind schedule and the room was already a buzz of multiple conversations reverberating around the oaken hall.
“Come on,” Alban said, tugging gently on her elbow, “we’ll find some drinks.”
They walked over to the other side of the large circular room, to a table manned by a pair of young men. Sharply dressed, one held a wine bottle in his hand, the other some kind of fruit-based punch. Alban picked up an empty glass at the table and gave it to Antrey before taking one for himself. “Try the wine,” he said. “It’s from Guild vineyards along the northern portion of the River Innis. Best in Altreria, in my opinion.” He held out his glass and it was filled with a clear, crisp white wine.
Antrey did the same. She looked at the man pouring the wine, studying him. He paid no attention to her, aside from dealing with the empty glass she held. It was impossible to say if that was particularly due to who she was or merely part of his job. She thanked him when the glass was full, but that prompted no response. She turned and faced the crowd while she took a sip of wine. Antrey had not had much experience with wine, beside the common table wines Alban would bring home every now and then. It was beyond her experience to call this the best in the land, but it was very good.
“All right,” Alban said after they had observed the crowd and sipped their drinks for a moment. “Time to get this over with, yes?”
Antrey nodded and followed him as he plunged into the crowd. Before they got very far, a voice called out in their direction.
“Alban!” the voice said, from off in the crowd to their right.
Alban stopped just long enough to turn in that direction before he was confronted by a large man with dark-green skin. A smaller but similarly hued woman hung off his arm. “So good to see you again, old friend!” He wrapped his free arm around Alban in a brief hug. Alban returned the favor.
“Jamil,” Alban said, “it has been a while since you were in the city. What brings you back to Tolenor?”
“I was talked out of retirement by the mayor,” the other man said with mock exasperation. “Once you come here, everyone insists on sending you back.” He laughed. “Where are my manners?” he said, turning to the woman with him. “This is my wife, Utka. Utka, this is Alban Ventris, clerk to the Grand Council.”
The woman extended a hand to Alban, who took it and shook it politely. “My pleasure. And this is Antrey Ranbren,” he said, turning to her. “She is my assistant with the Grand Council. She’s been most vital to my work over the past few years.” Jamil ignored the introduction. Alban continued, “Jamil was a trade missionary from Kerkondala back when I was a Sentinel. We met more than a few times on the roads. Or what pass for roads in the Arbor.”
“We were much younger then, were we not?” Jamil said, with a jovial smile that quickly disappeared. “And perhaps less prone to eccentricity.”
Alban smiled and took a drink, as if thrown back on his heels. “We were younger, Jamil, certainly,” he said, after an awkward pause. “So what brings you back to Tolenor? What task has the mayor given you?”
Jamil launched into a discussion of his trade mission, about which Antrey knew nothing and cared little. She stood beside Alban and sipped her wine. As he spoke with Alban, Jamil kept his gaze fixed on him alone. It was as if Antrey was not even there. This was a new sensation for her. Usually her appearance caused strangers to gawk and follow her through a room. She had come to terms with that years ago. Being treated like a black hole, a nonentity that could simply be ignored, was more difficult. She did her best to keep a calm façade for Alban’s benefit, at least.
Rather than pay attention to Jamil’s story, Antrey studied Utka. She stood silently behind Jamil. Presumably she knew all that Jamil was saying, yet she nodded as if hearing it for the first time. After a few moments, she turned her gaze to Antrey. They said nothing, but Antrey could sense some shared misery between them. Antrey was roused from her thoughts by Alban’s hand on her shoulder.
“It was good to see you again, Jamil,” he said, turning to walk away. “Perhaps we can talk in a few days.”
“That would be good. I might have to ask you for some help, depending on how things turn out,” Jamil said.
“Come by my office,” Alban said. Without any other parting words, he and Antrey began to walk away.
As they passed each other, Utka reached out and grabbed Antrey’s arm. The two women paused, exchanged glances, and then went their separate ways.
“I apologize for that,” Alban said as they wound their way around various clutches of people.
“For what?” Antrey asked.
“For Jamil. The way he treated you. Or didn’t treat you, as the case may be. I can’t go so far as to call him a good man, but he’s not a bad one. He isn’t the most enlightened of fellows, however. Even within the Arbor. Try not to let it bother you.”
“I really didn’t notice,” Antrey said, lying. She appreciated Alban’s attempt to smooth things over, even if it cost him little.
They had almost reached the other end of the room when Alban changed direction and intercepted a woman who had just broken away from a small group. “Galenna!” Alban called out after her. She stopped, turned, began to walk towards them, and greeted him with a smile.
Antrey surveyed Galenna as she approached. She looked to be about Alban’s age, with some cracks and wrinkles evident on her face, which was dominated by bright black eyes that almost overpowered the pale green of her skin. She was dressed in a formal military uniform, pale yellow with hints of
silver around the collar and cuffs. Although Antrey did not recognize the insignia, she must be from the Guild. Telebrian women were not part of the military. While some of the cities in the Confederation had women fighters, they were more organized as irregulars or ready militia. A professionally dressed military woman could only be from the Guild.
“Hello, Alban,” she said, greeting him with outstretched hands. “How does the evening find you?”
“It finds me well,” he said. “This is my assistant, Antrey Ranbren. Antrey, this is Galenna, Master of the Guild of Soldiers and the new member of the Grand Council from the Guilds.”
“Pleased to meet you, councilor,” Antrey said with a courteous nod.
“Please, call me Galenna,” she said to Antrey, before quickly shifting attention to Alban. “We’ve known each other too long to rest on formalities, eh, Alban?”
Alban laughed. “I suppose that’s true.” He turned to Antrey. “Galenna was the first woman allowed into the Sentinel corps. They kept her isolated in an outpost on the shore of Great Basin Lake. They sent all the troublemakers there.”
Galenna’s eyes flitted quickly to Antrey, but then returned to Alban before she answered. “Which is why that is where they sent you too, of course.”
“Of course,” Alban said. They launched into a discussion about Galenna’s recent postings, how she found life in Tolenor, and a little about the trouble in the Badlands. All the while, Galenna continued to snatch glances at Antrey. It was if she was afraid to actually look directly at her and be caught by someone. Unlike Jamil, who was content to excise her from his reality, Galenna was concerned about Antrey’s presence. What was her concern? That the trained beast would break its chains and cause a scene? Antrey sipped her wine slowly and deliberately, breathing deeply. She was shaken from her observations when she heard her name pop up in the conversation.
