The midday sun was hot and bright—blinding compared to the candlelit interior of an inn room. Farek noticed it first, and then he felt the warm breeze against his back, the smell of salt flats, and the sound of a blacksmith working with a hammer. He glanced around as he grew accustomed to his suddenly changed surroundings. Journey complete, Devender relaxed his posture.
Farek had never been to Squora, so he paid attention to the details. The village was built up a gentle slope from a wide river. Though the town itself was surrounded by tall brown grass, lush reeds and occasional trees reached their roots into the slow-flowing water. The road that cut through the few dozen buildings of the town simply ran down to the bank of the river, ended, and then began again on the other side. There was no need for a bridge or ferry, though a few fishing vessels were visible downstream. Sun-burnt clay and white wood were the primary building materials for the structures of the town, save for a large stone townhall on the main road. This little place had been chosen almost solely for its location—equal distance between territories of the Grey Brethren and territories of the Empire of Noress. It was loosely loyal to Sheld, which was loosely loyal to the Grey Brethren, but that was its only allegiance.
The prisoner was still thrown over Matek’s shoulder—unconscious, just as he had been a few moments ago when they left Lo Mallago. Devender had assured Farek that he would arrive in the same state.
An alarmed townsman, walking nearby, shouted across the wooden rooftops. Another came to his front door, staring into the street at the group of mercenaries and their lord. He grabbed a spear from behind the doorframe and marched out toward them. “Guards!” he hollered.
The guards came quicker than Farek had thought they would. He was still holding out his hands to indicate peace when they were approached by a jogging trio of swordsmen. The man in the lead had his hand on his hilt as he barked out questions at them. “Who are you?” he asked. “And which of you is a magician?”
Farek noticed another guard emerging from a side-road with a notched arrow in his bow. Likely, if Farek had named Devender their magician, the arrow would have been pointed toward the shaved head of their ally. Instead, Farek kept his hands held palms-up. “Hold your weapons! We don’t mean any harm. Could someone direct me to the town hall?”
“What’s your business here?” demanded the soldier. The townsman who had grabbed a spear kept it at an angle, ready for anything, while the speaker continued, “We don’t tell armed strangers how to navigate our home.”
“I’m here for an important meeting that involves your officials and some very powerful people,” Farek said. He didn’t want to give away details of the confidential meeting if he could avoid it. “I assume you know of this?”
“Oh… you’re early,” the man said. “Kid, go fetch Reem.” One of the two others with him responded immediately and jogged past Ayvim and Ralla towards the townhall.
“What day is it?” Devender asked, after a moment.
“The 16th,” the guard said. After a moment, he let go of his sword hilt and stepped back, hands dangling at his sides. “Of the 12th Moon.”
The meeting was scheduled for the 20th, and Devender had done his mental calculations for them to leave Lo Mallago with enough time to get here by the 19th. It seemed they had been even earlier than that. They wouldn’t be able to turn Polanar over to the Matriarchs’ men right away. Farek glanced at Matek, who was starting to look tired by his burden, and then back at the sergeant of the guards. “I don’t suppose you have a spare prison cell for our guest here,” he said, waving at the prisoner.
“We don’t have a cell,” the guard muttered. “Maybe we can keep him at one of the guard’s houses… as long as he isn’t a threat to their family. What did he do?”
Farek folded his arms. “Hired an assassin to murder my family—you know how it is. I can have some of my guards keep an eye on him as well. Or maybe just lodgings for us will work instead.”
“You’ll want to talk to Reem,” was the man’s gruff reply.
Devender took a step toward Farek so they couldn’t be overheard. Before he could say anything, Farek smirked. “Four days early—you’ve outdone yourself.”
“Sometimes, Journeying late or early reflects the potential for the traveller’s death en route,” Master Akursh said. “Usually that’s late. Very rarely is that early. What is much more likely to explain how quickly we arrived is that we rushed to get here. Sound like something you would do?”
Farek chuckled. “Who me? I tend to be early to most things. It’s a good habit.”
“Good to know,” Devender said, with a smile. He looked past Farek for a moment and then spoke again, in an even lower voice. “I think it’s a good thing that you’re doing, by keeping him alive. Can’t be easy.”
That took Farek by surprise. He thought about Devender’s supportive words for a moment before replying. Then, he said, “This isn’t easy. I’m just prolonging his death. The only difference is it won’t be by my hand directly. One could say I’m a coward, I think.”
“Though you outrank me, I believe you to be a reasonable man.” Devender rubbed his scruffy neck. “May I speak plainly?”
“Please do.”
Devender squinted across the roofs of the town. “To kill him now would be cowardly. It would be selfish,” he began. He looked back at Farek. “Your sister lived; you yourself escaped harm almost completely. Matek lost an eye, but not his life. In Soros, six families mourned the loss of their loved ones. If you killed Polanar in Lo Mallago, in secret, or even here in the middle of the day, it would be your revenge, or yours and Matek’s. Justice, if such a thing exists, is how a community may seek such vengeance. At least, this is what I have learned from the wise masters I study.”
Kid and another young man was walking up the slope from the townhall. Farek smiled to his magician friend. “That is wise. I’ll admit I had hoped that through justice there would be a better closure to this for everyone.”
If Farek had to place him, Reem was around twenty years old. He had short black hair and wore a silk-lined flax shirt; a set of small ivory beads hung on a strand around his neck. “For the meeting?” he asked as he approached. “Welcome to Squora.”
Farek bowed his head politely. “I hope we didn’t scare your guards too much.”
“They’ve no tent,” piped the sergeant that had waylaid them.
Reem held out a hand toward the guard. “Relax, Jendar,” he said. He turned back to Farek, his forehead creased with apology. “He has some poor past experiences with magicians. Makes a fine sergeant otherwise.”
Farek had to wonder what bad experiences those were. Aside from Tarro at the House of Kiaraka, Farek had only had good experiences with mages. “Devender is more scholar than magician. You only need to fear his love for long dry texts.” That remark brought a smile to his friend’s face, though the guard did not visibly relax.
Reem cleared his throat. “I assume you’d like a place to stay? I’ve already asked a friend of mine if I can stay with them. You’re welcome to use my home.”
“Yes, that would be appreciated. Thank you.” He started to follow Reem down the street. The guards loosely trailed behind them. “Your men tell me you don’t have any cells here?”
“No, we’re close enough to Sheld to send our crooks that way.”
Farek pursed his lips. Interesting, he thought. “Have you had many magic-related incidences in the past?”
“We’ve just a healer and a soothsayer here,” Reem told him. “Jendar is from Sheld, though he’s travelled all over the Grey Sea and has experienced much more than many members of our community have.”
They walked quietly for a while. After they left the main road through Squora, Farek tried walking a little closer to Reem, so he could speak in confidence. “You know about the meeting, right? I’ve been trying to keep quiet about it, but I want to be certain we’re on the same page.”
Reem nodded. “There will be several leaders of the Grey Brethren here, as well as representatives from Eastpoint and Noress-That-Was. There are already a few servants who have arrived to prepare for their masters, but you are a representative, not a servant, I gather?”
With a smile, Farek answered, “Yes, I’m Farek Gallendris. I am here in my sister’s stead. I should have introduced myself earlier.”
“I’m not familiar with House Gallendris,” Reem said. “Pardon my ignorance.”
Internally, Farek laughed at himself. He was so used to being recognized—but, of course, these men on the Barren Road wouldn’t know the names of Houses from cities beyond their lands. “No need to apologize. I’m from Soros.”
Once they reached Reem’s home, the governor spent a few minutes gathering his things for staying elsewhere. Farek asked him to send Lord Sha to visit him once the other delegates arrived. He wanted Polanar off his hands as quickly as possible. Polanar himself seemed oddly indifferent. When their prisoner finally woke up—locked in Reem’s small storage room—he was quiet. According to Ayvim, who checked in on him before the end of the day, Polanar was bitter and bored, but had no interest in speaking with them further. Farek was content to ignore him as well.
Before turning in for the night, Farek and Matek enjoyed a quick ale from their host’s offered pantry. They reflected how strange it had been to teleport for the first time. They had not experienced any time passing, nor felt any vertigo from moving across such a distance. Though he enjoyed its convenience, Farek did not want to trust in such an uncertain spell. He would avoid it whenever possible.
Now it was time to wait until the rest of his government arrived. Farek’s men made cots for themselves from blankets the townspeople brought them, and soon the strange guesthouse grew silent. For the first time, Farek began to feel like they were at war. This was like camping on the warfront, even if it was just for an alliance. The bandits—or Tarro—had driven them to this point.