Farek looked at Jannia’s hand in concern. She held two reeds in her fist, their heights matched. Farek was to choose one to resolve their indecision. Lord Sha had agreed to permit one of them to attend Lannon’s interrogation. While they agreed it was necessary, neither Farek nor his sister wanted to witness the things that would transpire in that cell.
After a moment, Farek gripped the left reed with his pointing finger and thumb, and pulled it out. Jannia grimaced as she revealed the one she still held—the shorter. Without a word she stood up and crossed the room.
It was Farek who spoke instead. “I hope he breaks quickly,” he offered.
His sister nodded. “I know he deserves a measure of this pain for what he did to Simi, but it’s still hard to observe. I’ll tell you what he says, when it’s done.”
Farek went back to his own office, where a stack of documents had been collected by Dallan for review. He only made it through five before he heard Sha’s work. Lannon must have been wearing a gag, for his screams were nasal and muffled. With occasional pauses, the horrible sound continued for nearly an hour. Farek only finished one more document during that time; he could not focus with the sounds of agony in his ear.
He wondered if Simi was smiling, like she had said she would when Lannon got what he deserved. Farek had spoken with her a few times since his return from Bogtown. His unease with Lannon’s proximity was only outmatched by hers.
When at last Sha’s work was complete, Jannia came to Farek’s office herself, instead of sending a servant to fetch him. “It’s done for today,” she told him, sinking slowly into one of the chairs across the tabletop from him.
“So there will be more? He didn’t break?” Farek asked.
“He did—but there will be more.”
Farek leaned forward, folding his arms across the mess of incomplete files. “Well, what happened?”
“Sha asked the questions, while a man from his staff… did the actions.” She shrugged. “Lannon tried to endure, but he talked. He said he was hired by a member of the Grey Brethren, Brother Oritto.”
“The Brethren?” Farek asked, blinking. Why would the Brethren want our family—or Simi—dead?
“Lannon says he didn’t know the whole plan. Brother Oritto paid him 1500 Grey Sea coins up front with more on completion. He claims he was hired to kill you, Farek, not Simi. He said he could get a bonus if he killed you both, but you were the target.”
Farek pushed back his chair and sighed. “Me?” he asked. “What do the Grey Brethren have against me?”
“I don’t know,” Jannia replied with a shrug.
I’m worth a damn sight more than 1500, Farek thought. “Did he have any proof? Letters? Or the gold?”
“They met in person, so there’s no paper trail. But—Lannon hid his treasure. He tried to bargain with it. Asked for the torture to end and his life be spared if he told us where it was. Sha didn’t smile or get mad. Just calmly told his bald underling to continue. Lannon blacked out soon after,” Jannia recounted. “They are going to let him recover for a few days and then keep trying.”
Farek grimly nodded and rubbed his palms together. “I’ll sit in on the next one, then,” he decided. Jannia nodded.
For a moment they kept sitting there, quietly keeping each other company. Farek considered Lannon’s story. As far as he knew, the Grey Brethren were all but allies with the Matriarchs. He racked his mind for a reason the Matriarchs might have lost favour with him. The only thing he could think of was Farek’s actions on the Great Isle. The bandit crisis—allegedly commanded by a magician—could be due to the burning of the House of Kiaraka, the arrows Farek himself had fired onto Tarro’s remote mansion, and the death of the Baron in the miasma that followed. But how would the Matriarchs know about that? Farek wondered. The clues were scattered across hundreds of miles and Farek assumed most anyone who could place him at Kiaraka was now dead.
“Jannia,” he said after a moment. “Are there any Grey Brethren in Soros?”
The Mazaar nodded. “Yes. There’s a chapel of sorts between Debtor’s Down and House Viodro’s fish market. Run by Sister Wreelah.”
Farek nodded and stood up. “I’m going to go and do a little research of my own,” he said. He crossed the room and held the door open for his older sister. “I’ll be back for dinner.”
The chapel was a three-storey house, built of brick and plaster shingling. Farek was surprised to find the first-level ceiling missing, but it certainly made the large prayer hall feel grander. He stood in the threshold and looked around quietly. Pews were arranged in a circle, all facing a central dais. There were no symbols there, no decorations. However, as Farek stepped closer, he realized that the ceiling opened to a view through the top storey. The roof had an opening there, letting grey, dim light fall toward the dais from the cloudy sky. He would have noticed it sooner had the sun been shining.
The hall had looked empty at first glance, but then a woman stood up from one of the seats in the back of the room and paced forward. Farek would have placed her at the age of sixty. She smiled as she approached and held her hands out in a welcoming gesture. Farek noticed one hand was heavily scarred from burns. “I’m glad to see one of the rulers of the city has decided to visit. Welcome to the presence of the Atmos Septi, the Sky God,” she said with a smile. She turned toward the ring of daylight. “Will you join me in a prayer?”
“Certainly,” Farek said. He followed Wreelah’s lead, bowing his head and shoulders forward and praying quietly to himself. Lacking any belief in her Atmos Septi, he prayed for good booze and happy women.
“Thank you for observing this custom,” Wreelah said. “How can I help or counsel you?”
“Do you know a Brother Oritto?” Farek asked.
Wreelah shrugged. Her grey robe wrinkled and straightened as she moved. “I believe he is a priest in Saanazar, the capital of our religion. Not a senior priest, last time I visited.”
That wasn’t a lot of information. He thought about what other angle he could follow. Two years ago, the Grey Brethren and the Matriarchs of Var Nordos had schemed to topple the Family of Sheld, a major crime syndicate. The Matriarchs acquired the city of Lo Mallago—and its puppet government previously controlled by the Family of Lerran—at nearly zero financial cost because the money was returned and fenced through Houses Mavagar and Viodro. In exchange, the Grey Brethren got to destroy a criminal faction, plunder some gold, and claim to their idealistic followers that they had made the world a better place.
After a moment of thinking it through, Farek cleared his throat. “What do the Brethren decide makes the world a better place? What needs to be done to make it better?”
Wreelah tipped her head as though she was always ready to reply to such a question. “Evil must be sought out and extinguished. As Loriar wrote, ‘the failures of men bring the tears of Atmos a-falling’. Or Ular Graan, the great treaty-maker, who said, ‘war and injustice will exhaust us, our tragedy will beget our God’s grief, and sorrow will grow tenfold.’ Atmos has asked us to stop the murderers, thieves, the cruel, the warful. We do this by teaching of forgiveness of the fellow man, enlightenment by declarations of venerability, and by stopping the foul and fiendish.”
Farek knew that the Grey Brothers and Sisters believed that the Orrish had been a tear of their God—a tear that destroyed half a continent and the Old Empire of Noress in its falling. He asked another question: “What do you think about the events going on, on the Great Isle?”
“Indeed.” This time Wreelah nodded gravely as she spoke her answer, “An army of corruption and a gathering of sinister folk. In Saanazar, our protectors grow wary. The Archpriests pray that we be shown guidance in how to stop this new evil.”
Farek blinked. “And what if no guidance is given?”
“We will be forced to wage a holy war against the bandit armies, I suspect,” Wreelah replied. “But I am a humble servant and preacher. It is not for me to commune with Atmos or even our Archpriests.”
“Do you not consider death and war evil?”
Wreelah folded her hands together, where they hung near her waist. “No matter how many lives are lost to war, the Orrish claimed more. Eliminating such deviant forces is the only way to prevent Atmos’ grief.”
Every war is a war between two people with different beliefs, Farek thought, but he didn’t say it. Wreelah, and most others, would argue that the war that brought the Orrish was between two civilized empires. A war to stop a bandit horde was something else entirely. It was good versus evil. Farek kept his cynicism hidden. “May I ask you one last question Wreelah?”
She nodded amiably.
“Do you consider me an evil man?”
Wreelah blinked. “I don’t see why I would, my lord.” For a moment, the Sister considered it. Then, she nervously said, “Your family has always ruled fairly, which is why I dare to ask—might I speak frankly?”
Farek smiled and spread his fingers, a universal sign of peace-talk. “Yes, please do.”
“The extravagant and overindulgent lifestyle is considered a path of temptation. You are known in Soros for lavish parties and copious consumption of alcohol…” Wreelah trailed off, then anxiously began again. “Er, these are not things Atmos would approve of, but you have committed no crimes of which I am aware. I would consider you a good man, with… vices. Just as it is with many other good men.”
“So, you would not consider me one who deserves death?” Farek asked.
“Certainly not!” Wreelah exclaimed, taken aback by the question. Her response was earnest—anyone who felt someone deserved death for Farek’s lifestyle was an extremist, according to her view of the religion. And every religion had sects.
“What do you do when you encounter Brethren who think any temptation or extravagance is worth punishment of any sort? Even death?”
Wreelah considered his question with a troubled expression. “It is a difficult position to be in,” she said. “I don’t know of any who would kill over such things, but there are some who expect everyone to live by a narrow edge and shun those who do not. I can only say to them that alienation is likely as much of a temptation toward evil as their current vices. Upon my visits to Saanazar, I have twice debated with select Brethren about such matters.”
Farek nodded. He found Wreelah to be a likeable woman despite her devotion. “Thank you for your time and honesty, Sister Wreelah. I’m sorry that my questions led to even more.”
“Not at all,” Wreelah replied. “I am always available for your lordship or his sisters.”
As he walked back toward Coin Hill, Farek considered the likelihood of the Grey Brethren arranging Lannon’s explosion. If most Brethren believed Farek to be a good man, the only way they would act against him was if they had discovered the attack on Kiaraka. It seemed incredibly unlikely, but he could not dismiss the possibility. The more believable story was that the Grey Brethren’s inner circle—motivated by wealth and power, and not ideals—had orchestrated the attack on Coin Hill. But then, why only target Farek and Simi? Why not Jannia? Farek was stumped.