For nearly two weeks, Farek tailed Lord Polanar or had his guards take his place. They developed a list of pubs that Polanar frequented, asked Reu to investigate those he frequently met with, and ultimately determined that Polanar must have acted alone, if he did, in fact, hire Lannon to attack the Gallendris estate. It was halfway through this period of inquest that Jannia’s letter arrived.
Despite her warnings it would not happen, Jannia had managed to secure attendance for Farek to go in her stead to the meeting of the Matriarchs and the Grey Brethren. The letter included the details—they would meet in Squora, a village east of Lo Mallago, near Sheld, on the 20th of the 12th Moon. From when he received the letter, Farek had only another week or so in Lo Mallago.
Devender, who had spent their trip reading various books in the common room of the Old Glory, agreed to use magic to bring the group to Squora. He explained how Journeying worked—making Farek well aware of the risk that they might arrive later than desired. The whole thing seemed to imply fate governing Farek’s actions—which he hated—but he wanted to maximize his stay in Lo Mallago.
With his next trip planned, Farek immediately sought out the craftsman’s guild where Ofena worked. He had wanted more time with her, and their brief meeting that day left him wishing for even more time. She was struggling with a hectic trade deal and apologetically rushed his tour of the guild. They both seized moments of privacy to chat, but it was a short visit, nonetheless. She asked him if he was quite involved in running the business in Soros. Farek answered that he used to be more involved, but that his travels of late have overtaken those responsibilities.
Later, as they concluded a number of friendly greetings with other workers, Ofena brought Farek aside to her office. There, she asked quite bluntly, “Are you in Lo Mallago to—are you just trying to learn more about our people or are you interested in me for a different reason?”
Farek was taken aback. He blinked and took a moment to word his response correctly. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a motive for being here. I have mainly come to see Lo Mallago, but also possibly to court someone who is lovely enough to give me her time.” He gave her a charming Gallendris wink.
To his relief, Ofena smiled. “Thank you—for the compliment and for your honesty. I know what this would mean for my family, but I must tell you… I have had opportunities to marry for gain before. I am waiting for the right person.”
“While I know it is harder for that to happen for people of higher status, that is my hope as well,” Farek said, grinning. Her words on the matter reflected his own.
“Good,” she decided. “I just like to be honest and forward about this.”
Farek smirked. “I need a bit more honesty in my life—it’s hard to come by. Unfortunately, business calls me away from Lo Mallago for a time. I hope to return as soon as I can.”
With a nod, Ofena responded, “I hope we can speak again upon your return.”
It was a brief, but a sweet exchange. Farek bid her good fortune in his absence, told her she could contact him at his estate in Soros if he was unable to return to Lo Mallago, and set out.
A week later, just before it was time to leave Lo Mallago, Farek and his trusted soldiers made their move on Lord Polanar. They had realized a few days ago that Polanar rarely got himself into a drunken stupor. With the deadline approaching, they decided to take matters into their own hands. At least the lord didn’t have guards with him. Farek started by making contact with the alleged “Harloss” first.
“Evening,” he said, as he walked along the bar. “May I?”
Polanar shrugged and gave a noncommittal grunt. At least he upheld his reputation of drunk old man. Farek took his response to be an agreement and sat down at the bar stool next to him. Raising an eyebrow, Polanar muttered, “Haven’t seen you in here before. Traveller?”
Farek nodded. “Passing through on the way to High Raena,” he said. “Where an actual King rules the government.”
“What do you mean by that?” Polanar asked suspiciously. He had bronze Raderan skin and a balding widow’s peak. He still nursed his mug of beer.
“Oh, I didn’t mean any offence,” Farek blabbed. “I just find it strange to have a glorified revolutionist ruling in a market…”
“Gods, Borik? If you can call that ruling, you’ve overestimated him,” Polanar growled.
“Ha,” Farek chuckled. “I thought I was the only one.”
Polanar set down his mug and turned toward Farek. “Listen to this—he claims the city watch are positioned by popular vote, the Elected Warriors, right? But that’s a sham. Some of them, maybe, but over fifty of his original rebels are still the Elected Warriors. What are the chances? Not coincidental, let me tell you.”
“Really?” Farek asked, taunting him onward. Matek, who had sat at the next seat along the bar, swiftly emptied the contents of a small vial into Polanar’s drink. It was a strong, purely distilled spirit.
Farek the Traveller and Lord Polanar continued their verbal harassment of Lo Mallago’s government until the barkeeper started giving them scowling glances. Farek started to act more drunk as the evening slipped by, but he didn’t drink heavily. Matek was drinking more than him. Polanar seemed relatively unaffected by the spike that had been poured into his mug; it seemed that though he didn’t regularly drink heavily, he could hold his liquor.
After an hour had passed, Polanar grabbed the bar after one tipsy unbalance. “I think I’ve had one too many for this evening. Thank you for joining me in lamenting our leadership, but now—I must away!”
Though he had been dazed for one moment, Farek didn’t think it was enough. He wanted to have to carry Polanar out. He raised his eyebrow at Matek, but his man was too slow in standing up to spill his drink or somehow delay Polanar. Ayvim was across the room at a card table—but where was Ralla?
As Lord Polanar approached the tavern door, Ralla entered. She had shed her armour to don a loose white tunic. Though she was flat-chested, muscular, and wearing a sword on her hip, her braided hair immediately revealed her gender. She looked at the card tables as she walked blindly forward from the door and collided shoulders with Polanar.
They both stumbled. Farek could barely hear the words Ralla said over the din of the drinking room. “Oh, sorry, milord,” she stammered. Not alluringly—she spoke gruffly.
“Not at all,” Polanar said. He glanced at her sword. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”
Ralla shrugged matter-of-factly. “I’m passing through. Seriously, I meant no offence. I don’t know what the customs are here, but I’ve clearly interrupted your evening. Allow me to buy your next drink to make up for it.” Again, not a question.
He stammered through her words, but then considered her offer. “Why, yes, thank you,” he said. They stepped back toward the bar, but sat several seats past Matek. Somehow, without hinting at her sexuality, Ralla was captivating Polanar. Her toughness and foreignness had made her a mystery to his intermediately inebriated mind. “Where are you from?” Polanar asked.
Farek and Matek drank in peace while Ralla chatted with their mark. She kept him drinking and made the decision herself when it was time. She stood up to leave without suggesting anything to him.
“Where are you going?” Farek heard Polanar question. His words were mismatched in volume. The booze was getting to him now.
Ralla was a little tipsy herself. She leaned on the bar. “I don’t need your help,” she said.
“Don’t be silly,” Polanar slurred. He started to stand. “Do you need somewhere to stay?”
Ralla guffawed and looked at Polanar with amused pity. Then, her smile faded. “No, milord. I have to piss.” She spun on one heel and marched for the door.
Farek watched Polanar shake his head in confusion at her words. Her crudity was even more unexpected in this establishment than her blade-toting demeanor. He finished two more drinks over the next half-an-hour, waiting for her return. Eventually, he stood up and stumbled toward the door. He stopped twice to reclaim his balance.
Farek stood up as soon as the lord was out of sight. One-by-one, they trickled out of the tavern. Matek and Ayvim hurried to catch up with their master in the street; together, the trio caught up to Polanar. There was no sign of Ralla in the street; the nearby outhouse was empty.
“Do I know you?” Polanar asked, when Farek patted his back and fell into stride alongside him.
“Are you joking?” Farek asked, laughing loudly. “We were drinking together! Listen, friend, you look like you’ve had a few too many. Why don’t I buy you a room near here?”
“I don’t… I live over there.”
“I’m staying right up here,” Farek said, pointing to a two-storey inn ahead. He had never set foot there in his life. He forced a stumble, knocking both Polanar and himself off their course. The drunk lord had not even noticed the two guards walking behind them. Reclaiming his balance, Farek said, “I don’t think we could make it to… over there.” He waved in the direction that Polanar had indicated his residence.
Polanar shrugged. They wandered into the inn that Farek had pointed out. Farek strode ahead quickly and paid for four rooms so it wouldn’t be suspicious. Though he had more money back at the Old Glory, the innkeeper here took a sizeable weight out of his coin purse. They climbed the steps to a second-storey hallway before their potential Harloss started to object. “Wait, I think I can get home…”
“No, don’t mention it,” Farek mumbled. He pushed open the first door and, with his arm around Polanar’s shoulders, guided the drunk man inside. “Have a seat here,” he said. There was a small table with chairs in the corner of the room, opposite a wardrobe and four-poster bed.
“Well, thank you, my friend. This is hospitality I wouldn’t get from a supporter of the Rebel King,” Polanar said. Apparently, he had remembered their earlier conversation.
That worked for Farek. “Rotten rulers abound,” he said, leaning against the baseboard of the bed. “I heard you hate the Gallendris family, too.”
“Yeah, those wealthy wimps play games with my home,” Polanar pouted. He turned to the empty seat at the table and mimicked talking to someone else. “You want to plow Lo Mallago? Well, stop sitting around and come try it. You know what I mean?”
Farek pretended to be surprised. “They’re playing games with Lo Mallago?” he asked. “I haven’t heard of their involvement before….” He paused, and, with a shrug, asked, “How do you know?”
Polanar opened his mouth to reply, but then stopped himself. His eyes narrowed. “Wait… who are you?”
Farek scoffed. “At this point, with so much liquor in me, I could be anyone! Hmm. I believe we met at the bar and now we’re here?”
Polanar sighed. “Then I certainly am not sober enough to tell you what is going on. I—I should probably go home.” He started to stand up again, staggered, and steadied himself against the table. His long forehead glistened with sweat.
“I don’t think either you or I can make it home in this state,” Farek murmured. “We won’t remember anything come morning.”
“Oh,” Polanar said, with a long, depressed sigh. He slumped back into the chair. “I suppose so,” he mumbled, absently.
“You all right there?”
“Yeah, sure,” Polanar said. He lowered his head and almost seemed to doze off.
Farek scratched one of his eyebrows. This was certainly a roundabout conversation. “So, tell me what is going on to relieve a drunk man’s worry,” he tried.
“I’m just tired is all,” Polanar mumbled. “We should really sleep this off.”
Farek rolled his eyes. He leaned forward. “Listen,” he said. “If a rich bastard across the water was messing with my city and my money, I’d want to know what we’re going to do about it!”
And just like that, Polanar gave it up. “Blow them up,” he muttered, matter-of-factly. He looked at Farek with the smallest smile. “I tried—and I failed.” His smile faded, and he hung his head in sadness.
Farek sat in silence as he hid his surprise. Gods, he thought. He really is Harloss. He really did hire Lannon. He ran a hand through his hair and gave himself one moment to glare at the wasted old man. This was the crook who was responsible for Simi’s scars, for the dead staffers of the Gallendris house, for months of stress. A burned-out scoundrel who couldn’t get over his concluded prime years.
“Sleep it off,” Farek whispered. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
The hallway outside Polanar’s room was deserted except for Matek, who guarded the door from a distance. Farek closed the culprit in the inn room and strode over to Matek’s position at the wall.
“Did you get what we’re looking for?” he asked Farek eagerly.
Farek nodded. “He’s the one who ordered the attack,” he said. Matek had lost friends that day, too. And his eye to Lannon’s attempted escape from Bogtown.
Matek pulled his blade out an inch from its waist scabbard. “Do we do it now? ‘Died drunk in a two-coin tavern’—sounds right to me.”
That surprised Farek for some reason. It shouldn’t have—Matek was a mercenary and a soldier, and Polanar had cost him almost as dearly as Farek. Farek was not sure what he had thought they were going to do once they caught “Harloss.” Upon introspection, he realized he had been thinking of bringing this man to justice at the hands of the Matriarch. He imagined himself showing up to the meeting in Squora with the mastermind of the attack on the Bank in tow. But, on second thought, he was not sure if the Grey Brethren would appreciate such a show.
Farek was mildly disappointed in Polanar. He had expected a sinister schemer, but had found an old timer with a grudge, piss-drunk in a bar. He was glad he had finally found—and eliminated—the threat to his family. But he had not been expecting this to be Harloss.
“Is it better to end it here or have the law bring a man like this justice?” he asked Matek, still fighting indecision.
Matek leaned back against the wooden wall. After a moment he asked, “Do you think they’ll really hang him?” He held out his hands. “A public execution of a lord from the city that’s to be our new state?”
“That’s what I was hoping you wouldn’t say,” Farek said. He hoped it was more likely that the Matriarchs execute Polanar at once to set an example. But it certainly wouldn’t fit with the Matriarch’s peaceful takeover plans of marrying influential lords into the Lo Mallago hierarchy.
“My eagerness was in jest, to be honest—jest, and a bit of whiskey,” Matek said, with a shrug. “But honestly, say the word if you want me to do the deed.”
Farek rubbed his temples. “He’s responsible for a lot of pain and slaughter,” he said. “I want him to answer for those crimes…” But he could not give the order. Murder was not his way—it must not become his way.
They stood for a moment longer. At last, Farek decided. “Go tell Devender we’ll be Journeying in the morning. And we’ll have one extra guest.”
Matek raised an eyebrow. His one above his eyepatch never moved anymore. “As you say, sir,” he obliged. He was a good man, a loyal man. He trusted Farek to get them justice in the way that Farek saw best. At once, Matek marched down the hallway to head to the Old Glory. Ayvim and Farek would be enough to keep their drunk prisoner under check.
Before going to fetch Ayvim for guard duty, Farek leaned back against the solid door of Polanar’s room. He wished he had the strength to just get it over with, but he wasn’t even sure if that should be considered strength. He inhaled and held his breath for a few moments.