Farek tapped the bar top for another round. He had already bought his men a few shots of Deylus spirits, with a toast of ‘to poor choices and poor people!’. The clamour of miners and fishermen crowding around the bar made it hard to speak, but Farek made sure his men could hear him. “I know this adventure has been long,” he said to him. “We’re all eager to get home. Just wanted to take a minute with you three. How have things been?”
Diaren chuckled. “Which things?” he asked, raising his hands. Sievus took a pull from an ale mug.
Farek shrugged. “The voyage? Matek got sick, which was rough, and then we set fire to two estates, one of which was surrounded by a camp of insane soldiers.”
A minstrel started plucking some strings and began to sing a tune—the Three Stars. Diaren replied even louder, “And I have no idea what any of it means!”
“Yeah,” Matek said. “It’s been a confusing few months, if we’re being honest. No complaints though, sir.”
“I know.” Farek scraped the tabletop with a fingernail. “I’m just as confused.”
Sievus smirked and sipped more ale. The wind had been against them on the way from Starath; they had arrived in Noress-That-Was several days later than Farek had originally planned.
Someone tossed a coin at the bard, and the music stuttered. “You’ve got a good voice, but awful choice of song.” The music stopped. Farek turned to look, as the speaker started to walk away from the minstrel. The musician scowled his clean shaven jaw and muttered, “Until someone writes a version for the Two Stars.”
Farek blinked.
“Two Stars?” Sievus asked, setting down his beer. The man was a patriot, it seemed, for he turned around and looked at the minstrel incredulously. Not only was it offensive, but it was dangerous. The Three Matriarchs had lashed men for less disrespect before. Sievus raised his voice. “Which Matriarch do you got issue with?”
“The dead traitorous wench,” the minstrel replied, snorting. Then seeing the confusion and offense on the traveller’s faces, he blinked and bowed at the waist. “I apologize, good sailors. You have not heard.”
“Heard what?” Farek asked. He rose off the bar stool and stood beside his men. A few others were listening in, surprised they had not yet heard.
“Lady Matriarch Belsara attempted to overthrow her fellow rulers. Tried to declare herself Empress,” one of the men at the bar said. He shrugged, ready to drink from a pewter tankard. “She was hanged by the neck until dead and now’s on display over the Rain Gate.”
Diaren blinked his eyes wide and shook her head. “Tried? What did she do?”
“At a feast, she set fire to her own great hall. There was lots of commotion—some guards trying to close the doors on the other two Matriarchs,” the minstrel smiled, seizing the opportunity to tell a story. “Before the exit was sealed, someone shot an arrow into the hall, with a warning note attached. There was a skirmish, but the lords and ladies escaped. Belsara was jailed, immediately, but they investigated for an entire Moon before declaring her guilt.”
“And no new Matriarch?” asked Matek.
The bard shrugged. He began picking a new tune on his lute, and mumbled, “Just the two now.”
We’re closer to having an Empress than before, Farek thought. Just what Belsara wanted.
There were only two land gates out of the decrepit city. The Rain Gate was built on the north ridge overlooking the Bay of Nordos, while the southern gate, leading along the peninsula toward Bogtown, was named Sanarmon’s Passing. A rusty brass cage hung from the arch over the gate; Matriarch Belsara’s remains were mostly rotted away, and crows had done some work before being scared off by the rain or rocks thrown by children. On second thought, Farek decided that wasn’t the outcome Belsara had hoped for.
“What do you think?” Matek asked. This was his home, these were the same leaders he had seen as a teenager.
“I think times are changing,” Farek murmured. But he kept his other thoughts quiet. Whoever had fired that arrow to warn the other Matriarchs… that had been a traitor. If Farek had to bet money, a certain house in Soros would have had something to do with this whole business. Not only did he have the Organization to deal with—the golden jackal ring still caught his eye when he rifled through his pack—but he had an attack on the Matriarchy to investigate.
It was well-past time to return home.