The guards gave Farek the name and description of the man who delivered the sacks of flour to the site of the disaster. As Simi slowly healed under Devender’s care, Farek and his guards scoured the city for Oggin Drezenis. Two weeks after the explosion, Farek found the culprit at the Sweet Anchor tavern. A bloody nose was the first of Oggin’s injuries as Farek had slammed the unsuspecting man’s head off his table. The interrogation that followed revealed a terrified and guilt-stricken man—if his show was to be believed.
Oggin had claimed, between tears, that he had been hired by a man from Farek’s household to deliver the sacks. A man named Lannon. With a knife held against the man’s ribs, Farek shoved Oggin up the streets of Coin Hill and into the tender care of his overcompensating guards.
Lannon was presumed a thief or dead, according to the house staff. Missak, who had followed up with the rest of the staff, reported that Lannon had failed to show up for his shifts as a general house cleaner. It was not uncommon for scoundrel employees to make off with a candlestick and later face the reparation of bounty hunters or Gallendris guards. Lannon’s services often took him into the kitchen, and after the explosion it became ostensible that he was one of the pair of unidentifiable bodies. The others, though badly burned, could at least be recognized.
And so it was, that two days later, Farek readied his sword as a small troop of guards rallied around him in the yard of the family mansion. Dorean hurried out of the enormous front door of the house, hastily looping a belt and scabbard around himself as he jogged up to Farek. Farek quickly asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Dorean paused, sword on half-secured hilt. His wavy hair was already slick with sweat. Or maybe he had freshly greased it. “I’m coming with you,” he told Farek, matter-of-factly.
“Gods, as if,” Farek scoffed. “I’m not going to get Simi’s beloved killed in some Debtor’s Down hovel.”
“As if you could stop him,” Dorean repeated, and set his jaw sternly.
Farek waved his hand dismissively. “You two,” he said to a pair of guards. “Babysit.” Dorean scowled when Farek jutted his thumb back in the anxious brunette’s direction.
Dorean had hardly left Simisar’s bedside. Farek’s sister had been distraught between her awakening and Dorean’s arrival. Though Devender had relieved almost all her discomfort, she was still heavily scarred from the burns. Her flesh was disfigured and bubbled in places. Her arms and legs could be covered with sleeves or longer dresses; her marred face could not. But Dorean had only embraced her when he had seen her. She had sobbed into his embrace and Farek had seen their deep, unshakeable love in an entirely new light. Dorean was not just fun company for a night, but something much more. Farek had never known Simi in a relationship that lasted much longer than a party—until now.
Matek came striding out of the midst of the armouring soldiers. “We’re ready sir,” he reported. The warriors were starting to form up into two ranks of five, minus the two assigned to Dorean-duty. Matek smiled to Farek, resting his hand on the handle of what was clearly a brand-new blade.
“What—did you finally start spending all that money I paid you for our trip to the Great Isle?” Farek asked with a smirk. He was barely paying attention, and started striding alongside Matek toward the gate of the property.
Matek shook his head as he fell in line. “It cost me a far sight less than it should have. Weapon prices in Soros are at an all time low, it seems.”
Farek was scarcely paying attention, but noted the news as strange and sighed as he heard it. Then they were out in wide cobblestone streets, drawing all sorts of attention.
As the troop made its way down into the slums where Lannon supposedly lived, the avenues grew narrower. Soon they could hardly even be considered streets. Debtor’s Down was a maze designed to hide its embittered inhabitants from the wealthy overlords and even the merchant gangs themselves. Some roads descended stairs without warning, or cut through alleyways as though that was a proper stretch of passage. Beams or half-rotted clothes lines drooped tangles of moss and damp vines into the streets. It was true that Soros was an expensive place to call home, but Farek always suspected that the state of Debtor’s Down was preferred by its people.
They arrived, at last, at a long straight stretch of two-storey homes. The small neighborhood was among the better spots in the district, but the denizens of the lane were drab, and they stared dourly at the intricate armour of the guards that accompanied Lord Farek.
Lannon’s home had nothing in the form of exterior decoration. Farek ordered a trio of his guards to find back entrances and keep them shut, and then he slid his own sword free. The door gave way under a quick shoulder-ram from Matek.
And of course, the adobe was completely empty. The only sounds were the distant shouts and shrieks of fighting couples or warring gangsters. A thin layer of dust rested on the unfurnished floor. The second-storey window was open, but no curtain hung in its opening. It was like the ribcage of a home, absent animation.
“Sir,” called one of the guards from the street. “Man here to see you.”
Farek and his companions hurried outside, confused by this turn of events. They found a tall man held at bay by a pair of Gallendris guards. The visitor was wearing a blue cloak that had only been minorly nibbled upon by moths and had brushed his beard so thoroughly the skin beneath looked sore. He sniffed his nose and cleared his throat. “What’s all this commotion about?” he asked.
“Is there a man named Lannon who lives here?” Farek asked the stranger.
The man nodded. “As far as I knew. He paid this month’s rent in advance, maybe eight days ago?” That was only a few days after the explosion on the estate. “Are you Lord Farek?” the landlord questioned.
“I am,” Farek replied.
“Well, Lannon usually paid in Grey Sea coins, but paid this time in all Gallendris stamped,” the landlord muttered. Though his breath reeked and his clothes were wrinkled, he advertised a wealth at least one societal rung above the street-folk that eyed them. “I thought it was odd, given Gallendris coins fetch a slightly higher trade rate down here.”
That was Lannon’s response to the inevitable raid, Farek supposed. A subtle, “I knew you were coming,” left behind by the coordinator of the attack. “How quaint. Do you know where Lannon would have gone?”
The man shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “Last I saw him was eight days ago when he paid. I own a dozen of the buildings on this street; I haven’t time to spy on each.”
“I’ve put out a bounty on Lannon. Four hundred Gallendris coins. That’s probably a few months rent on this street….” Farek smiled.
The landlord mirrored his expression and added a slight gleam in his eyes. “I’ll ask around then.” The man pulled his blue cloak across his chest and turned back into the street.
Farek watched him go before turning to Matek. “Do you think there’s any point in leaving guards around… if Lannon knew were coming?”
“Only if you think the landlord will turn up something,” Matek muttered. The man had grown his beard out a little longer since Diaren and Sievus had set out on their messenger’s journey to the Great Isle. He often snuck into Farek’s financial office to ask if any news of his friends had arrived. None had.
“We’ll leave a guard then,” Farek decided. “That man had ‘greed’ written all over him. Sooner or later, someone will get us a real lead on this Lannon character and we’ll track him down. He tried, and failed, to kill two Gallendrises. No one survives that.”
Matek nodded and then barked out orders to rally his troop. Farek and Dorean hurried back to check on Simi once again.