The city of Noress-That-Was, if it could still be called such, reached from the heights of cliff-side castles to the depths of drowned ruination. Under the orange sky of twilight, the royal homes of the Matriarchs rested, with smoke-stained walls and drearily aged roofs. Only miles away, the sinking land slowly lowered the city’s original palaces and sprawling streets into the obscured depths.
The Old Empire had fallen nearly fifteen hundred years ago when the Orrish had crashed down from the burning skies. Though it was nearly old enough, this wasting city had never been built during those days. The Grand City of Noress had been completely obliterated when the meteor came down, and the provinces had splintered. One alliance had built a glorious new home, on the point they deemed closest to the old land. Thus, Noress-That-Was had come to be.
But the last thousand years had not been kind. By the time the ash-stricken provinces had all faded, and Var Nordos Isle was all that remained, the ocean had already claimed the outer wall. Only dilapidated towers, rising out of black, putrid waters, remained of that once glorious perimeter. Shallow waters filled many of the streets still lived within; the lowly inhabitants of the so-called Cobblestone Bog only moved upward when the sea forced them out of their very beds.
Farek Gallendris had seen it before. Anyone who could afford shelter and security to survive the beasts on the road and the brigands in the suburbs had seen it before. The system that caused such miserable conditions existed everywhere in their land, but in Noress-That-Was, such circumstances were exaggerated. The rich could afford security and comfort using the backs of their subordinates as a carpet to tread upon, while the poor could afford nothing, not even a dry place to sit.
The trusted soldiers who escorted Lord Gallendris spoke quietly as they descended from the mountain road. The ocean beyond the isles and sunken spires gleamed, while the rotting city blackened the coast. “You been many times?” Sievus asked.
“Grew up here,” Matek replied. “Well, in one of the fishing villages, I should say.”
Farek listened quietly as he walked. They had only seen a handful of travellers on the highway—and not a spot of trouble. In a way, the son of Soros was waiting for the scale to tip the other way. He was watching the twinkling of approaching torchlights. The sun was setting behind them, beaming through the mountains when permitted.
“And your family?” Diaren questioned.
Matek shrugged. “They are still here.”
The road grew solider, and soon scattered cobblestones appeared. They reached a proper street soon enough and approached a military checkpoint where the soldiers of the Matriarchs admitted entry to the city.
With a cheeky excuse, Farek explained his visit to Noress, to protect his anonymity. His guards did not ask for explanation, nor did he offer one. They were some of his House’s most trusted men for a reason; they did as he asked without doubt, but also knew when to do nothing at all.
Here, in the fringe district of the displaced settlement, were square homesteads with half-rotted thatching. Even in a poor suburb, there was a rich house. This block’s landlord lived in a two-story stone building with a metal fence gate and a yard cluttered with firewood and crates of supplies.
Matek tossed a coin to a homeless man as they meandered through the first few streets. He got a raised eyebrow from Diaren, and shrugged. “Might be a relative of mine,” he said, defensively, and they all smirked. The bearded man smiled toothlessly and waved.
A few blocks later they passed in front of a brothel, where women veiled only by lace pranced in front of a large wooden building with polished shingles. A man leaned against the wall, speaking quietly with one of the harlots, while a few others pretended to blush and draw the attention of Farek and his friends. Diaren smiled and tossed a Grey Sea coin to one Raderan woman, with fair brown hair and a long, bare legs. She caught the coin, grinned, and pulled down the edge of her gown to show off her round, caramel breasts.
They had not stopped their walk, nor did they. As they passed by the next street corner, Matek gave Diaren a raised eyebrow of his own. Diaren chuckled and said, “Might have been a relative of yours.” He clapped his thigh.
Farek couldn’t help but chuckle; Matek playfully hit his friend’s shoulder, and they continued on their way. When their laughter faded, Farek told them, “Wait for an inn before you go out on the town. I won’t need you to stand guard outside my door. Just be careful, and do not speak to anyone about what we’re doing here.”
Sievus snorted, though he tried to cover it with one hand, pretending to scratch his nose. Farek looked at him, smiled, and added, “If you knew what we were doing here.”
They stayed in a fashionable little bed and breakfast up the slope from the Cobblestone Bog, nowhere near the delusional wealth and comfort of the Matriarchs. Despite the latter, the New Scarial Tavern sported clean bedsheets, ample space for rest, and a genuinely delicious stew purchased from ‘upslope’ according to their host. Farek and Sievus stayed in, while Matek and Diaren both took Farek’s permission to seek other entertainment. It was hardly uncommon on Var Nordos, as coin governed all. Farek was just glad that it was due to coin, not slave brand—as was more common on the continent. Either way, Lord Gallendris had no interest in harlots.
Though House Viotro’s letter had included an address, it would take Farek a day or two to safely locate and approach the spy known as Erril. Later that evening, Matek informed Farek of some rumours—the point of which he’d been specifically ordered to seek out—that Erril was staying in the estates of the Matriarchs and their grand Houses. I most certainly will not be meeting him there… Farek decided.