Rather than seek out the Magistrate of Keb’kres at his city hall, Aralim waited until one evening more than a month after his arrival in the port, and sought out the personal estate of the Magistrate. It was a pleasant evening, though the dispersed nature of Keb’kres’ garden-street and parks meant the bugs were worse. Mosquitoes, moths, and the birds that feasted on both zipped around the branches of the trees or gathered in clouds near some of the street lanterns.
Fortunately, Aralim’s flickering blue lantern was on the move—the swarms could not congregate at the temple of its light.
The single member of the Aura and the Walker of the Path stopped at the gate into the Magistrate’s mansion-grounds. The guards at first saw only the tattered traveller’s cloak and the bushy beard. “What do you want?” they asked.
“Greetings,” Aralim countered. “I was wondering if I could meet with the Magistrate?”
The first guard, a man with a hooked nose and deep-set eyes, looked at his rotund companion, then glanced back at the strange pilgrim. “He’s a busy man. What’s this about?”
Aralim shrugged. “Nothing in particular, but I feel that he’ll make time for me.” With that, Aralim began to walk past the guards. He half-expected them to grab him bodily and shove him back out to the street. Perhaps it was the Aura or perhaps it was his matter-of-fact demeanor, but the guards let him through with only confusion.
“Keep an eye on him—don’t let him into the house,” came the order, half-muttered at Aralim’s back. Then Aralim was through their patrol.
He found himself in the midst of a flowery garden. Plots made a maze of the ground, while clear footpaths cut direct paths around the estate. A main route led toward the front door of the manse itself, while side trails seemed to lead around the back of the house, where orchards and more gardens lay. Aralim wandered that way, toward the grounds behind the house. If the guards wanted to obstruct entry to the house, then the Magistrate could meet with Aralim instead of the other way around.
The Emperor’s Aura followed a few steps behind Aralim, wordless but ever-present.
“These blue flowers suit you,” Aralim said, looking back. He smiled faintly. “Perhaps a change of your cloak is in order.”
The Aura looked at him blankly.
“In truth—while I do want you by my side at all times—it would be convenient to not be immediately identified by the orange robe,” Aralim told the mute man.
A while later, Aralim spotted a woman seated on the edge of a fountain, her eyes closed and her hands in her lap. She wore a sky-blue robe—far lighter than any flowers Aralim had seen before—and it was trimmed with fine metallic-gold lacing. She did not stir as Aralim approached.
Quietly, the Walker asked, “May I sit?”
The woman opened her eyes to regard Aralim with a raised eyebrow. Then she saw that he was not simply a homeless man—the Emperor’s Aura stood nearby. Her quiet voice purred, “Certainly.”
“I apologize,” Aralim said—he had not intended to disturb her. He took a seat on the lip of the babbling fountain. “I was just curious about what you were doing.”
“I am meditating,” she explained calmly. “Do you meditate?”
“I’ve tried in the past.” Aralim remembered meditating with Miresh and willing a flower to grow and blossom. While hers had, Aralim’s had remained no more than a bud in the soil. “It wasn’t unpleasant, but I don’t think I was very good at it.”
“Bad at sitting still?” she offered, smiling. A few years his senior, her humour did not steal from her serenity.
“I’m much more into walking—seeing new things, gaining new perspectives. In a way, that is how I meditate,” Aralim told her.
Her eyes lit up. “The Walker of the Path, I presume?”
“Aralim. It’s a pleasure, miss…?”
“Selayna of Keb’kres,” she answered.
Aralim knew that name. Miresh had told him who they might meet in Keb’kres—including the Order of Magic’s local Overseer, Selayna. She was to Keb’kres what Tussom had been to Maykren—and Rattar to Rema. Aralim listened to the splashing water and then tilted his head toward her. “May I ask you a question, Selayna? Or have I interrupted your meditation enough?”
“Certainly,” she said, without a second thought. “But only if you return the favour.”
“That trade-off always seems to get me into trouble,” Aralim said, with a slight chuckle. He paused, then posed his question. “What do you think of the world?”
“Is that your question?”
Aralim matched her grin. “Is it that unexpected?”
“No, but it is broader than I thought.” Selayna paused, considering it. She gently passed a strand of her silver-brown hair over her shoulder. “I think the world is far, far larger than anyone will ever conceive. Did you know there are witch-women in the wild villages to the west who can regrow the limbs of the maimed? Most people don’t know that anyone lives west of Numa’nakres.”
“That’s quite fascinating—do you think they are connected to the Eye of Maga in some way?” Aralim’s own hand, severely burned by Rattar’s explosive powder, had been lifted from the waters of that lake with fresh skin.
Selayna favoured him with another smile. “A keen connection. There is so much that we do not know.”
“An eternity of knowledge, I imagine,” Aralim said. He shifted his position so that he faced her more. “But…in its vastness, do you think the world is…good? Ah, but that’s a second question. What do you want to ask of this old man?”
“I don’t think the world is good or bad,” she responded. “That’s on us.”
“There are Walkers who would say the same about us—just humans doing our best out of necessity.”
They pondered the conversation quietly for a spell. Then Selayna balanced the scales with a question of her own: “Mine is of a far narrower focus. What was Ovoe the Keeper’s greatest mistake? And do not say ‘he crossed the Eternal Emperor’.”
Aralim blinked, but did not straighten his posture. “Well, there’s a lot to be said on that. Are you planning to pick up where Ovoe left off?”
“That would imply that I’m interested in making grand mistakes that destroy my entire web of influence and cost me my life,” she said, grinning. “This world is too big and there is simply not enough time. I’d rather learn from what has already been done.”
Aralim shrugged. “I more meant in his plot to kill the Emperor. And to be honest, I’m not sure if Ovoe made any one mistake. It was possibly his cruelty that undid him…but not his cruelty to the Emperor. That was viewed as acceptable, oddly enough.”
“Did his cruelty against his Ascendance accomplish anything?” she questioned.
“It built a small cult intent on destroying the Empire. The tools he wielded against the Emperor were the same ones that made him very good at his job—though, I don’t know if the cruelty was necessary.”
“Interesting.” Selayna nodded thoughtfully.
A second guard had appeared—standing closer than the one who had been tailing Aralim around the gardens. The second was waiting to speak with him.
Aralim looked back to the magician. “I’ll leave you with this. The Emperor seemed at peace with the fact that plots against him were necessary to gather certain people. Even a calculated number of deaths could be justified, but attacking people he cared about—people that hold up Rema—that crossed the line.” Aralim stood up, but smiled at his fellow conversationalist. “If you want to talk about this more, I’m sure you can find me.”
With a wink, Aralim left her to her meditations and crossed the path to the new guard. The man bowed to Aralim and said, “Magistrate Fetres will see you now, milord Ambassador.”
“Aralim is fine,” Aralim said, and followed the guard.
They entered the house from a side-door but crossed the front foyer on their way to meet with the lord. Through the front window near the door, Aralim glimpsed a group leaving by the front gate of the property—the group consisted of a man in a wealthy cloak, a servant, and two guards. Then they were past and Aralim found himself led to a spacious study.
It was hard to tell beneath the hefty fur cloak that he wore over his casual nightclothes, but Magistrate Fetres seemed to be a rather lanky man—the opposite of his Maykren counterpart. Excitedly, he declared, “Master Ambassador! You quite surprised me. Refreshments?”
Aralim smiled and bobbed his head. “I’m sorry to catch you at a bad time,” he offered. “I’d love a cup of tea, if you have it.”
“Of course!” Fetres exclaimed. He sent one of the servants to prepare two teas. “Please, have a seat. Have you ever been to my fair city, Master Aralim?”
“No—that’s partially why I came,” Aralim explained, choosing an armchair at an angle to the Magistrate’s own seat. “I thought it was inappropriate for the Ambassador to be so poorly acquainted with the land.”
“Of course, of course,” Fetres repeated. “Would you like accommodations? I can put you up in proper comfort.”
Aralim smiled. They had found accommodations a month ago. “We’ve actually been staying at the Wayward Stead. It’s a lovely city. I’ve found the people here welcoming and honest.”
Fetres matched his good spirits. “Excellent.” The tea was brought in on a tray and the servants poured cups for both the host and the guest. It was a traditional spiced tea of Numa’nakres, full of zest. The Magistrate continued: “But you’ve come to my home—so how can I help?”
“Well, the views of the people and the rules can often differ.” Aralim sipped his tea. “So, I’m curious about how you view your city’s role within the Empire.”
“An interesting consideration,” Fetres explained. “I think the goal of any compassionate leader is to reflect the values of his people, not to differ from them. If you have spoken to my people, you likely already know my mind.”
“Given that we now live in a land intent on killing itself, that could be very concerning. There are attacks on the guards in Rema, arson in Maykren, and…not a lot of concern in your city.” Aralim raised an eyebrow.
“Ah.” Fetres leaned back and gave Aralim a small grin. “Now is when you imply my involvement?”
“I’m a bit more forward than the other people that work for the Emperor,” Aralim said, as though he needed an excuse. “If I thought that, I’d say so.” He sipped his tea once more, smiling faintly. “I just don’t appreciate beating around the bush when I ask for your opinion.”
The Magistrate gave a shrug that said, “As you say.” Then, lowering his teacup, he explained, “The people of my city are happy with the wealth brought in by trade. They are proud of their long history, dating back long before there was an Empire in Numa’nakres. And they are eager to continue that reputation as our city grows onward.”
“I heard a lot of concern in Maykren about taxes,” Aralim countered, “Would you say there’s a similar sentiment here?”
Fetres wove his head back and forth, weighing his potential responses. “It is steep when we see so little of the Three Courts here, but our city exports such rarities that most merchants still live in substantial wealth.”
“But they would be wealthier without the taxes that they feel buy them so little.”
The Magistrate bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “My fellow lords and I have appealed this matter already. It is part of an ongoing discussion in the Courts.”
“Before or after Ovoe?” Aralim asked, smiling.
This time, Fetres sighed impatiently. “You speak of bluntness, so allow me to offer you some of my own. I will categorically deny any allegations of my involvement—and that of my people—with the strikes in Rema. Is there anything else I can do for you, Master Aralim?”
“As any innocent man should,” Aralim concluded, with a wink. The tea was nearly done. “I’ll be heading on my way, since I seem to have intruded enough. Tell Selayna I look forward to chatting with her again, if you should see her.”
“Certainly,” Fetres said, giving a bow.
Aralim set his tea on the platter while Fetres reclaimed his feet. The servants led the Walker to the front door.
On the walk back to the Wayward Stead, Aralim reflected on the evening. He had enjoyed the conversation with Selayna and hoped they would speak again—but Fetres had little to nothing to impart of the Path. His responses seemed obsessed with the threats in Rema, casting him in an awfully suspicious light. He explained all this to Miresh and Nill, while they discussed what to do next.