When the Matriarchs did not arrive on the 19th, a sense of impatience settled over Farek and his guards. It was manifested when, at noon on the 20th, a few servants from the Grey Brethren’s camp came to speak with them. Farek assured them that his leaders would be arriving as soon as possible; he dismissed their tardiness as poor weather.
Ayvim woke Farek cautiously on the 21st. It was earlier than Lord Gallendris usually rose, but the guard told him that Reem had been by—and that the ships from Noress had been spotted coming up the river. Farek shaved, washed, and dressed for this momentous day; he donned a dark red linen tunic with a long V-neck letting his curly, black chest hair show, a simple gold necklace, a loose-knit naturally-toned saren sash—made from the rich beige fur of Asha mountain camels—and smooth leather boots. Though it was mostly for ceremony, he buckled his old family sword to his waist and set out with Matek in tow.
It was a bright, sunny day, though it had rained earlier. By the time Farek reached the Sko River, four large rowboats had been beached on the opposite side to the Grey Brethren’s boats. Two held wooden frames and palanquin-like canvas; as Farek approached, the delegation was only just emerging from one such shelter. Their camp was half-assembled already, and Farek watched them enter a large pavilion while he and his men stepped onto a small raft to cross the shallow river.
The delegation was led by an elderly woman in a straight violet dress. A metallically-gleaming shawl wrapped around the woman’s shoulders and elbows, while her dark grey hair was held back with gold pins. She was younger and stronger than Matriarch Valakono—the most recent of the Matriarchs that Farek had seen.
A man in decorated armour walked behind her; his head was held high with a stern air of self-entitlement. That would be Grand General Coranno, commander of the entire military of Noress. Gold decals spiralled artfully around his shoulder plates, and a traditional blue half-cape hung from his left-side. His ornate gorget was held in place by thick black leather straps that mimicked a scarf. The General was accompanied closely by a thin man with a plain black tunic worn under an unbuttoned coppery vest-cloak. There was no sign of Lord Sha.
When Farek finally reached the pavilion they had entered, he found they had already been served drinks. The guards recognized him and declared, “Lord Farek Gallendris, Your Highness.” From the open tent flap, Farek could see the delegates inside—he realized that the thin man who had tailed them was incredibly familiar to him, though he couldn’t form a name from this vague impression.
Matriarch Haladia waved him in. Farek bowed at the waist and sensed Matek do the same. The Matriarch was ten years younger than her peer, but dressed just as regally. Stiff bronze lace webbed the plunging neckline of her violet gown. “Ah, Farek Gallendris. It’s been many years, hasn’t it?” she asked. “I trust you completed your journey without incidence?”
“My journey was quite pleasant; thank you for inquiring,” Farek said.
The thin man stepped closer, smiling cheekily through a short brown beard. “Ah, Grio. How is Lord Thrane?” he asked.
Farek blinked. This was Erril, the spymaster he had met in Noress-That-Was. Erril was the one who had told Farek of the Organization and of the House of Kiaraka where Farek had first met Tarro—and perhaps had caused this war. Of course, Farek had not gone by his true name. “Lord Thrane was well last we met. Forgive my discretion from before; I was merely being cautious as names should not be thrown out lightly.”
“It was clever,” Erril said. “I was impressed when I learned the truth.”
General Coranno was busy studying a document; likely logistics for their camp and their needs for Squora’s councilman Reem. He had barely looked up at Farek’s entrance. The General was over eighty, if Farek remembered right, and he had commanded their military with a strict and severe treatment for nearly sixty. Though there had not been a major war in a hundred years, Coranno had crushed a number of minor conflicts during his day, such as a brief war between the Matriarchs and a Baron of the Great Isle, or a season of pirate harassment in the northern Bay of Nordos.
“How was your journey, Your Highness? I trust it was without incident as well?” Farek asked, turning away from Erril. He hadn’t decided what he thought of the spy; the man had seemed sinister in their first meeting, but now he attended this meeting instead of Lord Sha? It was greatly suspicious to Farek.
Haladia shrugged. She stood near Coranno’s table, but faced Farek. “It was fine. We should have left sooner, I suppose. Did the Grey Brethren say anything?”
“They expected you yesterday and, when they asked if I knew anything, I said patience was a virtue,” Farek said with a sly grin. “Jests aside, they seemed fine.”
“Good, but let’s hope my tardiness doesn’t cost us,” the Matriarch said. “We heard quite a story just before we left Noress—a story brought to us by your men, actually. Sievus and Diaren, I believe their names are.”
Farek’s jaw dropped. He heard Matek inhale swiftly at their mention—the two of them had assumed Sievus and Diaren had perished in their quest to find Gravagan. Farek had sent them to Aloor 7 months ago and had since heard nothing! That was before they had even known about the bandit alliance. “Very intriguing… I haven’t heard from them in quite some time. May I ask what they’ve said?” he asked, bewildered.
Haladia smiled. “Many interesting things. A massive battle on the Great Isle. The Siege of Starath. I won’t bother going into detail now, as we will discuss their account with our soon-to-be allies.”
Starath was on the opposite side of the Great Isle from Aloor. What on Gethra were they doing there? Farek wondered. “May I ask how they were? They are two of my best men.”
“Fine, as far as I could tell. They were a little reluctant to talk, but orders are orders and they recognized that. They were sent ahead to Soros to report to your sister,” Haladia said. She waited for Farek to reply, but he was still trying to figure out how his men had managed to report all this. The Matriarch sighed and said, “Where is that villager? We probably should not keep the other parties waiting longer.”
Farek opened his mouth to tell her about Polanar, but then closed it. He had been expecting Lord Sha on the other end of his “Harloss pursuit,” but instead found Erril. He bowed his head instead, and, a moment later, followed the delegates out of the tent. Reem took them to the stone-walled town hall. The “other parties” were already inside, though they had also just arrived.
Erril spoke first, as they entered through the broad doorway. “Matriarch Haladia, allow me to introduce three of the Archpriests: this is Speaker Serand, intermediary between man and the Sky God, Atmos.” Serand and Haladia bowed to one another. “Next is Archpriest Hartho of the Sage’s Creed, and Archpriest Par of the Cardinal Creed.” These two bowed to Haladia—she politely nodded to recognize each of them.
Another man emerged behind Farek—another delegate. He had olive skin much like Farek’s, but wore a colourful pelt over his shoulders and leather straps in lieu of a tunic. It was Speaker Serand’s turn to make an introduction. “Erril, Your Highness, this is Councillor Ghomal of Eastpoint.” Further bows were exchanged. Erril went as far as to offer a hand, which Ghomal politely clasped. Farek was surprised Eastpoint had an official Councillor. The place was neutral ground for several criminal factions and seemed almost as lawless as Kedar Port.
Erril turned to Farek and smiled. “Matriarch Haladia and I are accompanied by Grand General Coranno and Lord Farek Gallendris.”
Farek and Coranno bowed to the other delegates. It was all an elaborate game of etiquette, full of assumed degrees of authority. Only Hartho and Par returned Farek’s bow. Then, at least, the room of important people found their seats at two long tables. Ghomal of Eastpoint sat at the Grey Brethren’s table, but kept himself as far away from them as he could in order to send the message that he was a third, equal party. A guard with a large scimitar stood behind him, while a few robed and lightly-armoured soldiers positioned themselves behind the priests. Matek stood near Farek, while a few of Coranno’s bronze-armoured soldiers protected the Noress side of the room.
The servants had brought out drinks during their meeting—Farek was one of the first to take a sip, to steady his nerves. Now trays of food—fried vegetables, seasoned cassava chips, salted nuts, goat cheese, and cold cut meat—was appearing.
Leave it to Noressi elitism, Farek thought, when Haladia spoke first. “These are trying times, it’s true, but the Atmos Septi called this meeting,” she said. “What is it you seek?”
Serand was a man of mixed ethnicity and was somewhere halfway through his fifties. He was clean-shaven and his dark hair was trimmed close to his scalp. He wore no jewelry, nor was anything illustrious about his clothes, save the cyan and silver collar of his drab grey robe. He replied with an urgent tone, “Something must be done about the bandit horde. We have heard accounts of battles near Fargrove, sieges at Aloor and Bellasa. Piracy on the Grey Sea has reached new boldness. Unity is the best way to face such chaotic adversaries.”
“Are you suggesting military cooperation or a full alliance?” General Coranno asked. His voice was old enough to tremor, but it didn’t seem to affect his stern air of authority.
Serand tipped his head to the military man. “Military cooperation, in the very least. I think the safest—and most trusting—means of cooperation would be an alliance between our respective groups.”
Farek had attended this meeting because of his agreement with what Serand had said. Something must be done about the bandits, he repeated internally.
Erril spoke up. “Noress and Saanazar have worked together before. What would such an alliance entail?”
“Recognition of Atmos Septi as your state religion,” Serand declared. He smiled at the gasp that stormed through the room. Haladia played with her drink impatiently, though she still hadn’t taken a sip. General Coranno gulped at his in response to the Speaker’s stipulation.
Farek took a second sip. Conversion, he thought. He should have known. He looked at the faces of the delegates to see their reactions.
Councillor Ghomal nearly stood out of his chair. “I will not bow to an idol,” he declared. His and Coranno’s reactions were among the most dramatic.
“Atmos is no idol. His power is real—you stand on land scorched by a single of his tears,” Archpriest Par emphatically replied. The village of Squora and the southern point of Radregar were believed to be barren because of the damage of the Orrish, 1480 years earlier. Similar points on the coast of the continent were grown over with dense jungle, but regrowth here seemed impossibly slow.
“Propaganda,” Ghomal sneered. He reluctantly settled down, despite his objections.
Matriarch Haladia cleared her throat. “We want Sheld,” she said. Another gasp spread through the room, though Farek was the only one at his table surprised by her ultimatum. This was like a game of cards—played with peoples and cities. They were bargaining with history.
Serand and his priests exchanged glances, but before they could form a reply, Haladia went on: “I will bow to your Sky God and speak of his providence to save us from barbaric forces, but the Empire of Noress grows once more.”
Hartho and Par seemed appalled by her trivial agreement with their spiritual goals, but Speaker Serand’s face remained blank, controlled. Whether he felt the spiritual pull of his religion or not, he was—to Farek—the most dangerous of the Archpriests. He quietly replied to Haladia’s demands, “I would only agree to hand over our governance of the city if it is the last resort for our plight in this war.”
“It is,” Erril said. “The war is here. We delayed our arrival to this meeting as we received last-minute news.”
The Matriarch nodded. “Two of our soldiers survived a battle near Fargrove where they described the death of thousands. They survived in order to reach Starath, mere days before a siege.”
Ghomal looked pale. “A siege? Of a port?” he questioned.
General Coranno was the right one to respond. “A hundred war galleys bombard the city with catapults and cut off their supplies. According to our sources, a beleaguered military aided by magicians defends against the onslaught, while the bandits build fortifications in the mountains behind the port. After Starath, we expect the bandits to land on Radregar itself.”
Serand rubbed the shadow on his scalp. “Hmm… This is most troubling.”
How did Sievus and Diaren end up there? Farek wondered for the tenth time. Likely, they had left out the details of their quest when reporting to the Matriarchs.
Haladia hid her smile at Serand’s uncertainty behind her chalice. She looked to Farek—his men had given her this advantage. Then, her eyes widened—
“Perhaps a recess,” Ghomal muttered. “This is a lot to weigh. I am sure the priests must convene with their deity.”
Something was very wrong. Haladia’s face was flushing, her eyes locked on Farek’s. Poison! Farek thought, his gut clenching as he realized what was happening. He leapt to his feet, pointing. “Magician!” he cried. “Matek—get Devender!”
Matek didn’t even hesitate—he dashed from the town hall, leaving only the gasps of surprised delegates and the clinking of his armour.
Haladia rose to her feet, knocking over her chair and dropping her cup onto the table. Wine spilled across the surface and dribbled to the wooden floorboards.
“Guards!” bellowed General Coranno. A half-dozen swords were drawn, followed by the levelling of spears by the alarmed Grey Brethren soldiers. Ghomal’s protector drew his scimitar and looked around threateningly.
Erril took the Matriarch’s hand to steady her, looking with concern into her perplexed face. Farek glanced at Coranno. “Control your men, General!” he barked. “Now is not the time.”
“Call for a medic!” shouted Serand, and one of his guards disappeared through the door. He gasped, “We did not do this… We did not do this.”
Haladia fell forward into Erril’s surprised arms. He turned her and sank to the ground with her.
Farek had snatched the chalice, but it was empty now. “She needs to vomit,” he snapped. He dropped down beside Erril. The alarmed spymaster looked at him expectantly. Haladia’s eyes were closed and drool was leaking down her chin. How would they make her—Farek didn’t wait for the proper orders. He put his fingers down her throat until her eyes widened and she started gagging. She turned in Erril’s arms and heaved out a bile of her earlier meals and the wine she had drunk.
But it wasn’t enough. She grabbed at her chest as her shoulders clenched inward and her eyes rolled back again.
Devender rushed inside the town hall, nearly getting impaled by an alarmed soldier. He pushed his way around the room to Farek’s side and dropped to his knees beside the Matriarch. Matek entered behind him.
“I’ve managed to make her vomit,” Farek said. He stood up and snatched the goblet from the table. “This is what delivered the poison, I believe.”
The trusted magician ignored him. He was checking her pulse, grimacing, and pressing a hand against her chest as he focused on whatever magical elements he could manipulate. His face was locked in a frown. Farek leaned back against the table and closed his eyes for a moment. Gods, he thought. I can’t go anywhere without assassination attempts.
Coranno stepped toward Devender. “If you let her die, the gods have mercy on you.”
“Coranno, save your threats for the bastard who did this,” Farek urged. He held up the cup. “Who served this?” he asked. Servants, cowering near a door to the kitchen, held out their hands to show innocence. Two of the Grand General’s guards pushed past them into the kitchen. Surprised shouts echoed out from the side-room.
Farek ran a hand through his hair and slammed the goblet down on the tabletop. “Archpriests, tell your men to lower their swords,” Farek pleaded. “Unless you’re ready to show your God what foolishness you’ve wrought with unnecessary bloodshed.” He glanced down at Devender and froze.
The magician had leaned back, though he still knelt. He had removed his hand from Matriarch Haladia’s body. He looked at Farek apologetically and shook his head.
“Damn it all,” Farek breathed, beneath his breath. Without assassinations, he thought, correcting his earlier discouragement. He raised his voice. “No one leaves this room!”
“This wasn’t us,” Speaker Serand repeated again. “But we must not put our lives in your hands.” His guards did not stand down. Some of his protectors held a hand raised alongside their swords, either for martial art or magic.
“Your lives are not in my hands,” Farek said. He took a deep breath. “Rather, everyone’s lives are in the next words we speak. I suggest we all calm ourselves. Any news from the kitchen staff?”
At a nod from the Speaker, one of the Grey Brethren guards stepped toward the kitchens to investigate. None of Coranno’s men were close enough to cause a second stand-off.
“Devender,” Farek said, “do you know what kind of poison was used?”
A few more Grey Brethren guards entered through the wide doorway from the street outside, accompanied by the healer that Serand had sent for earlier. Far too late.
Devender glanced at the cup on the table and shook his head. “I might know it in its original form, but I’m not an expert on the chemical results.”
“I think it was Render’s Serum,” Erril said. He had since stood up, though he still looked at the slain Matriarch. “It’s a venom, extracted from the glands of a rare viper on the Elder Coast. It causes immediate harm to the heart, stopping it in moments.”
One of Coranno’s men returned from the side-door. “The rest of the building is secured already, but the culprit seems to have escaped before we knew what was happening. Our servants dismissed him as one of the Grey Brethren’s, and the Grey Brethren’s servants dismissed him as our own. The villagers had no reason to suspect yet another unknown face. He pretended to help and then left, before anyone knew…”
“Where is Reem?” demanded the Speaker of the Brethren. “Guards, bring me the village governor.” At the order, one of the men made for the exit. Coranno’s men swiftly levelled their weapons, blocking his way.
“What did this man at least look like?” Farek asked, still facing the bronze-armoured soldier who had reported.
Coranno’s man bowed awkwardly. “He had black hair and Raderan skin. Had a short beard and an earring in one ear. He was wearing nondescript clothes like the other servants.”
“I see,” Farek said. “General, may I send my man to find Reem?”
Coranno nodded, bringing out scowls from the priests. Devender had found a small rug under the table and laid it across their fallen leader. Erril sank slowly into one of the chairs, hanging his head in his hands. Farek heard the spymaster mutter, “All that work, wasted…”
When Reem and Matek entered a moment later, the village man paled. “Gods, what happened here?” he asked. Then he noticed all the drawn weaponry and he fell to his knees. “Have mercy!”
“At ease,” Farek said. “We have heard the culprit is a man with black hair and Raderan skin. He has a short beard, and an earing. Do you know this person?”
Reem shrugged, not rising from his knees. “That describes most of the people here. D-do you know which… side he would be on?”
“Well, not ours,” Coranno barked.
“Or ours,” Archpriest Par asserted.
Ghomal had sat down, dismayed.
“I can ask my people about other travellers, if you like,” Reem said, slowly standing up.
Farek took a deep breath. “I suggest we close the road altogether and ask the town guard to keep an eye out. But first…”
“As you say,” Reem whispered.
Coranno shook his head. “What a mess,” he mumbled. He didn’t answer Reem, but ordered one of his men, “Go make certain no one leaves this town.”
Farek knocked his hand against the table loudly so everyone would quiet down. “I would like to ask everyone here—who knew that you would be here today?”
Erril turned in his chair to face Farek and leaned his back against the table. “Matriarch Valakono,” he said, with a sigh. Then he went on, “Coranno’s two subordinate generals. Anyone your sister or you told. Even the guards and soldiers were chosen for loyalty and ordered only to tell their families it was a voyage, lacking any destination.”
“And for yourself, Serand?”
It was Ghomal who spoke up next, despite Farek’s question. “Only my wife. She has not even told my people that I am gone.”
Serand looked at Archpriest Hartho, wordlessly instructing him to handle Farek’s question. The Archpriest of the Sage’s Creed spoke up. “Only the other Archpriests and the commander of the Order of the Storm. That’s our elite guards.”
“Our ship captains were told only what they needed to know,” Par added.
“We were all here today to stop one threat,” Farek said, imploring them to listen. “While we do not all see eye-to-eye, I believe that other than the usual give-and-take of wealth and power, many would not find it beneficial to kill the Matriarch responsible, who would grant those desires.”
“It’s true,” Speaker Serand agreed. “How does this… senselessness serve Atmos?”
Farek leaned forward, planting his hands on the tabletop. “So, we are either dealing with sabotage of alliance to weaken our response to this threat and to distract us… or we are dealing with something else entirely. I see no reason to throw suspicions around until we’ve dealt with the reason this meeting was called in the first place. If we leave here today as enemies, I think we’ll all be dead regardless.”
“We don’t have the authority to make such a decision,” Coranno pointed out.
Erril rubbed his forehead and said, “We should adjourn this meeting until we can decide what to do. All our ships are anchored at the mouth of the Sko River—no one is leaving Squora without bloodshed—unless we all leave on the same terms.”
“We can agree to that,” Par said, after a nod from Serand.
“This still isn’t right,” Farek groaned. “But it’s the best we can do for now. May I suggest no one leave for the next few days while we dig into the matter some more? The trail will go cold regardless.”
“Oh, we’ll get answers one way or another,” Coranno breathed, threateningly.
It took far longer than it should have to leave the room. Guards were afraid to stand-down and then Coranno’s men had to bring a stretcher to carry away their leader’s body respectfully. Now there was only one Matriarch of the Empire of Noress. Their government had been struck a serious blow today—as well as their potential alliance.