Aralim asked around in Varravar, looking for any word of powerful magicians passing through. If Rattar had passed through the city, perhaps he had been waylaid between here and Numa’nakres. It didn’t take long to start hearing reports like those he had heard in Hawsi—of an elusive Conclave and of the distrust of magicians who might be working with such a sect. Many mentioned that the High Priestess of Maga had fled their northern neighbour at the Eye, but nothing of Rattar.
One barkeeper had been listening to the story told by a few of his patrons before he interjected to Aralim, “Those two must be fresh off the boat. Anyone worth their breath around here will tell you true—Varravar itself is ruled by powerful magicians.”
“Then I imagine trying to find any one mage would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack around here,” Aralim muttered.
“Ah,” the bartender said, smiling. “these days especially.” He leaned a little closer. “Varravar is ruled by a cult, more or less—fortunately not so concerned with public perception. On the other hand, though, there’s tales of lynching all the way to Ith. These Conclave mages, right? And then you’ve got Tarro—a sorcerer butchering thousands around the Grey Sea and Great Isle. Bad time to flout your gifts.”
Aralim blinked. “So, this ‘ruling cult’ has pinned themselves against Tarro?”
“As far as I’ve heard, so has most everyone on the mainland,” the barkeeper confirmed. “That said, our new government is tight-lipped above all. If you wish to know their actual stance, you’d have to try your luck asking them directly.”
“And how foolish would I be to try that?” Aralim asked, chuckling. In the corner of his eye, he saw Grendar give a scowl. His guards were never far, and always resistant to Aralim’s attempts to endanger his life.
The barkeeper laughed at first, before realizing Aralim was serious. He glanced at Aralim’s guards sharply. “You’ve got some authority to your name? The Quiet, as we call them around here, keep to themselves—but they aren’t going to silence someone if doing so would draw unwanted attention to our city.”
“Ah, well—thank you for your time,” he said. He took his tea from the countertop and crossed the common room to the table his other guards had taken.
Grendar eyed him as they sat down. “Are we doing it?”
“How public is our situation, outside of Rema?” Aralim asked. “Rattar’s absence?”
“I can’t imagine it’s well known.”
Lerela added onto her sergeant’s answer. “Only a few matters ever make it to the First Court.”
Aralim sipped his tea and grimaced. “The last thing I want to do is signal a weak point to our neighbours.”
Grendar nodded approvingly.
Vallan, one of the newer guards in Aralim’s retinue, offered, “But is the Grand Mage being away on business a weakness? Who says he’s missing?”
With a chuckle, Aralim considered Vallan’s suggestion. It would be rather difficult to ask where Rattar was, without revealing that they had lost track of him.
Seeing his reaction, Vallan raised his brow apologetically. “Pardon, sir. It’s not my place.”
“Don’t let me squash your enthusiasm,” Aralim said, and gave Vallan a pat on the back. He glanced at the Aura, wondering what the Emperor would do in his shoes. “It’s a plan for our return, but if Rattar had made it this far west, I feel we would have heard from him. His last contact was in Saanazar, correct?”
“True enough,” Vallan affirmed.
Aralim glanced at Grendar, but Grendar was distracted now. “That said, I do wonder what we are sailing into…this Conclave?” Grendar asked. “Is that a new madness, or does it go hand-in-hand with the war?”
“Lynching mages that stand against them…powerful people to say the least,” Aralim said.
“Could they be the reason we haven’t heard from Rattar?” Lerela wondered.
Aralim sighed. “It seems that we may not know until we’re in the thick of things.” He finished off his tea and set the cup down amongst the ale mugs of his comrades.
The guards nodded, but Grendar gave a smirk. “Perhaps talking to Varravar’s cult would have been the safer option after all,” he jested, since he had been so reluctant to speak to them earlier.
They had to wait for the tide before setting out again, so they continued to keep their ears trained for useful information. Little more was learned, save one misconception that Aralim had corrected for him. It seemed that it was not the Conclave who was lynching mages, but the common folk. Bent on revealing what schemes had been hidden in plain sight, the citizens of these lands had turned to distrust, paranoia, and eventually violence. Any magician, it seemed, might have ties to the allegedly nefarious Conclave. No one knew what the shadowy organization was truly up to, though, prompting Aralim to wonder at their motives.
At the very least, this was a good sign for Rattar. None of Aralim’s party could imagine the Grand Mage getting killed by an angry mob.