“It’s been many years since I’ve been,” Archpriest Hartho said, in answer to Erril’s question. The two sat behind Farek, in the middle of the rowboat. Farek knelt in the bow, watching the mist rolling out of Cobblestone Bog as they glided into it. Around them rose skeletons of centuries past—first a watchtower from the Reclamation Period, after the Fall of the Orrish; then the seaweed-strewn flying buttresses of the New Empire’s glory day, now an overgrown ribcage scarred by saltwater; and there, the waterlogged wooden buildings of yesteryear’s slums. Farek lifted his eyes up to the dark mountaintops and the lonely castles that overlooked the city. This was Noress-That-Was, a city in constant loss.
And Farek brought news of more.
The Wind Daughter remained anchored more than a mile out of the harbour. Not only was it a treacherous ordeal to navigate these ruin-ridden waters, but the number of ships that could actively dock at the scattered piers amidst the slum-waterfront was already reached. Many ships did as Wind Daughter had—sending their passengers ashore in row boats.
This was not the first delay in their arrival. Farek looked past their anchored ship at the fleet of war galleys that defended the capital. They had been detained there for nearly two hours, questioned about the whereabouts of Grand General Coranno, and the purpose for their unexpected guest. At last, an admiral had given the orders to escort them into the city. A second row boat went ahead of them, bearing a dozen armed soldiers.
“Here we are,” Farek called over his shoulder, as he watched their protectors disembark at a small wooden boardwalk. Soon enough, he and his colleagues followed suit and began their march through the dank streets of the Bog. Even when they climbed the slopes into the market district and then the estate district, Farek’s boots squelched with warm water at every step.
They were ushered to the Castle of Matriarch Valakono. The companion castles, both to the east of their destination, loomed like ominous gravestones. Farek wondered what was being done with Belsara’s—it had been vacant of nobility for half a year at least. He soon saw how Valakono’s fortress differed. Guards patrolled the ramparts in swarms and a dozen stood at the front gate in full armour.
This was the second delay. While their escort discussed their arrival with the small army that defended Valakono, Farek wondered about their repetitive encounters with such securities. He glanced at Erril, who shared his uncertain frown. Was this all for the pending war? Or did Valakono already know of the events of Squora?
At last they were ushered through to speak with the Master of Staff: a bald olive skinned man with a short brown beard. “Is General Coranno with you?” he asked, looking around.
“He stayed,” Farek replied, “where we were. We have an important matter to discuss with the Matriarch. Coranno is absent because of this.”
“I see,” the Master of Staff replied. “Her Highness is indisposed at the moment. When she is ready to meet with you, I will come and get you. In the meantime, please make yourselves comfortable here in the yard or at the alehouse.”
Farek glanced at Erril again. The wiry schemer stepped up beside Lord Gallendris. “This news cannot wait. The Matriarch will be furious if we delay further.”
“She already is—furious. We were not certain we would receive any of your group back in Noress.”
Farek raised an eyebrow. It seems she knows, he thought. He shook his head and strode toward the alehouse as directed. If she knows, then why would she think we would not be returning?
Erril and Farek took turns pacing around the bar, while Hartho sat at a table with a warm mead and looked grimly uncomfortable. Matek, Ayvim, and Devender sat at the bar and ordered real drinks, while Hartho’s guards surrounded their master and looked around grumpily. They waited almost an hour before the Master of Staff came to retrieve them. He escorted Farek, Erril, Hartho, and their choice of guards to the Throne Room door at the back of a Great Hall. Here, he insisted that the guards remain behind.
This was not for lack of armed men inside the Throne Room—a troop of nearly twenty was arrayed in front of a dais on the far side of the room. The two-foot-wide braziers at intervals around the chamber shone tongues of orange fire off the soldiers’ polished armaments. A blood-red runner brought Farek and his colleagues from the door to the middle of the long room, and they looked up at the Matriarch. Valakono was no less imposing than her bristling protectors. She sat on an intricate throne, held up from the floor by twin gargoyles—the tricksters Qual and Onni from Old Noressi legend. Her gown was night black and shimmered like obsidian, each ruffle catching a different angle of the firelight to give her pale, wrinkled neck a warm glow. Farek’s steps seemed to keep to the beat of one of her rings, clacking against the armrest as she watched them enter.
Valakono spoke first, even as the delegates were nervously bowing. “In the Spire of Envinal there are three lamps. When the traitorous Belsara was hung, one lamp sputtered out,” she explained. “Now, the Spire grows dim. Only one lamp still burns.” Valakono’s voice rose and kept its fiery tone. “How was this allowed to happen?!”
Farek looked at Erril. Hartho was still bowing—anxious and alarmed for his life. Farek stepped forward and offered his story as explanation. “Your Highness, as you’re well aware, the meeting did not go as planned. Both men with me are witness to what happened. You know my family, and I would not lie to you. Matriarch Haladia is dead—killed by a potent poison before our eyes. Someone knew about the meeting and tried to frame the Grey Brethren. I believe none present were at fault—it was meant to be sabotage against all parties.”
Valakono listened quietly. As she did not speak when Farek had finished his explanation, he began to tell her about their plan to leave Coranno and the other Archpriests in a stand-off, until Valakono herself decided how to proceed.
“We caught the assassin,” Erril offered, joining Farek in front of the stone-faced soldiers. Valakono leaned forward as the spy continued, “He had a letter, clearly framing one of the Archpriests that did not attend the meeting. Serand has been cooperative and promised to look into these details. But I must agree with Farek—the Grey Brethren were here to benefit themselves. Her belated Highness was agreeing with their terms. They had nothing to gain by orchestrating her death.”
A lull followed his words. Farek and Erril watched their ruler quietly, praying their own prayers for her to accept this as fact. Their lives depended on it.
“I see. A tragedy in the face of a storm….” The Matriarch slid back in her throne. “And you have brought the priest to confirm that his side has no involvement?”
Erril nodded. “And to show that we are willing to work with the Atmos Septi, despite adversity.”
Valakono thought quietly about all they had said. She had known only that her friend and fellow Matriarch was dead, nothing about the circumstances or the fate of the would-be alliance. At last she spoke again. “This means someone is speaking when they should be silent. Anything we agree on with the Grey Brethren may be targeted. Our plans to support one another or our plans to fight off the pirate fleet—they could all be divulged to our enemies. Archpriest, you may not have an assassin in your midst, but you may have a turn-cloak. This alliance may not move forward until we find the person, or party, responsible for dear Haladia’s poisoning.”
Farek’s stomach sank. This was likely what the assassin had hoped would happen. She was right—all their plans seemed vulnerable. Did this new enemy know about Lo Mallago, too? But they couldn’t put off the war any longer; it was on their doorstep. “Your Highness, may I add something?”
She inhaled stiffly and raised a hand for him to proceed.
“While there is the possibility of a turn-cloak in our midst, it is a definite fact that the pirate fleet does not need to wait on us. Our enemies proceed even as we speak, and they will always be plotting. May I suggest an alliance even in the face of this tragedy? We should keep our words closer—perhaps have only a select few that give direction to our armies. This meeting had too many that knew about it, whether directly or indirectly. We have to keep our information close, or we have to feed misinformation to any misplaced ears. Maybe even misinformation about the state of our alliance.”
“I will be consulting with my various advisors before making any decisions,” Valakono declared. She gave Farek a nod. “We will consider your warning; we can all agree the times are dire. On one hand, planning a meeting with a few dignitaries is far less complicated than commanding armies, but, on the other hand, there will always be spies at war. I must consider all our options before deciding how to proceed.”
Farek bowed at the waist once more. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said. Then, licking his lips, he asked another question. “When you are available again, may I speak with you about a personal family matter?”
“Certainly. I believe I know the matter of which you speak,” Valakono responded. From the throne, her words were heavy with authority and regality. It was strikingly different to speak with her here, in her Throne Room, than it had been to speak in the Gallendris Great Hall, half a year ago.
“If our guest can be brought to his quarters, I would appreciate it,” Farek said. Polanar was still under guard by Ayvim in the courtyard.
She raised an eyebrow. “Lord Sha can see to that. Have your men and your guest accompany you to guest quarters here in the Castle and he will find you there.”
Farek bowed a final time and backed out of the Throne Room as was proper. Later, Lord Sha arrived to escort “Harloss” to a cell. They spoke only briefly, but Farek remembered Matriarch Erril’s words that Sha had remained behind to “clean up his mess.” In light of such uncertain days, Farek sent Ayvim to guard Polanar’s cell. Soon, the Matriarch would pass judgement on the man for the lives taken by Lannon, and the pain caused to Farek’s family. Farek knew he ought to feel that one issue was being resolved, but he only saw the tenfold problems on the horizon. According to last report, they were anchored around the city of Starath or ransacking the Great Isle’s cities.