There were a few circular town centres in Sheld. The city had a population, according to the copy of last year’s consensus that Lerran now owned, of some four-hundred thousand, and it seemed like a quarter of them had packed into the central ring of the city to see the hanging. Lerran and his escort marched through the busy streets and up the scaffolding in the middle of the town circle without giving the crowd much of a word or reaction. Some people shouted “murderer!” and “patricide” at him—it seemed many in Sheld thought he had killed his own father. But for every taunt, there was a praise. The Family provided many of these people with finances or jobs or even just security, and many were glad that they now ran the city instead of the greedy Lord Employers.
No one really had any idea what Okarnan’s role in it all was; the one-armed man walked with his head down a few bodies ahead of Lerran. There were four guards on him, and Paksis walked at Lerran’s side, eyes trained on the maniac.
Lerran recalled their exchange as they stood in that stinking prison cell. He had lowered his head to look the bound man in the eyes. “One last chance,” he had offered, “to tell me why you killed the Lord Employers—now or never, Okarnan.”
The man had rambled something about all that blood being on the arm he had lost, not a burden he should now carry.
They climbed up that wooden scaffold and Okarnan was positioned in front of the crowd, where people threw old fruit at him or screamed about the Sheld Massacre. The man’s worn out sackcloth was stained already, but it quickly became dotted with orange and green. He even staggered, and almost fell to one knee, but the guards held him upright.
Lerran stepped up beside them. “This is the man who murdered the Lord Employers,” he declared. “His name is Okarnan, and he is a madman. He will hang for what he did.”
“We all know who paid him!” shouted a man in the distance, but a series of loud curses followed as other townsfolk quieted him.
“Don’t mind those voices,” shouted someone else.
Another called, “As long as you run things as well as Gharo.”
Lerran sighed. Gharo had certainly not run things well, but from the outside eye it might appear that way. Lerran, Eseveer, Vanci… they had run things well enough, for the old man. But he didn’t say that. Positive publicity was the best kind, even if it wasn’t truth. “I’ll run things better,” he replied, with his voice raised. “To begin, we will not allow lunatics in our halls. Okarnan, prepare to face judgement.”
The rope dangling from the scaffold was thick, and the buildings around the town center blocked the wind, so it hung still. Lerran nodded to Captain Antha, who looped the noose around Okarnan’s neck. His sister didn’t seem to have any issues with the orders he had given her.
“For the killings of the Lord Employers, their wives, and their servants,” Lerran intoned. “You will be hanged until dead.”
He nodded again, and his sister kicked the plank of wood holding Okarnan up. He fell three feet down, and the bones in his neck snapped like tree branches. He was dead within minutes. They left the body hanging, under guard, as they marched away.
The crowds dissipated quickly.
The Lerran Estate was in the northwest side of Sheld, where it overlooked a whole district from a small hill. He climbed the steps with Paksis and his other guards and watched them open the front gate as he entered. “Where are you off to?” he asked, as they walked through. Paksis had branched off to the left.
“You’re not paying me enough to guard you all day,” Paksis said. “I’m going to the Emerald Eye of course.”
Lerran scoffed and kept walking. Isar was waiting in the yard with a few of his friends. He followed Lerran when the crime boss waved him over. They entered the manor together, and descended the stairs to the cellar once more. Lerran glided down the old wooden steps, smiling as he looked around the room.
Of course, their prison cell was not empty now that Okarnan had been hanged. A small man sat in there, where he had shared the chamber for a few weeks with the madman. Erril’s hair was slicked back with sweat, when he looked up at Lerran and his approaching guard. “At last,” he sighed. “I will tell you whatever you need to know, just let me live and let me see Traz once more.”
Lerran smiled as he stepped into the cell with the prisoner. “You can live, and you can see Traz. Tell me about your deal with Traz, first.”
“I have no guarantee of my safety,” Erril muttered. “I know I’ll end up dead like your other enemies… what can you say to insure my life?”
“Nothing,” Lerran said.
The man looked down, and squeezed his eyes, as if he could make all this go away.
Lerran sighed, glanced at Isar, and then back at their prisoner. “If you have as much information as you indicate, I will not kill you when I know about Traz. So tell me, or we can end this right now.”
Erril inhaled, and looked up at Lerran. “Traz has always been loyal to your Family. He’s got many plots he never told Gharo of, but he has never done a thing to endanger your Family. You must not hold him at fault as you are me. At times, he and Gharo worked together—such as with the documents I mentioned in my letter. We figured out the truth of the Lord Employers together, not that it matters anymore.”
“I believe you,” Lerran said. “Traz was very loyal to my father. And he’s now very loyal to me.” He held back a laugh. Erril had no clue that Traz was an illusion, first held by Gharo, and now by Lerran.
“I’m a spy, Master Lerran,” Erril explained. “I have information of much greater import than what I’ve told you. Let me speak with him, please.”
Lerran shrugged. “Isar, with me.” The two of them marched back up the staircase, until they were out of sight. Lerran slapped on the copper brace and his body shifted again. He was shorter and stockier, though it was all a trick of light and colour; he still saw the world from the same lanky vantage point.
Traz strode back down into the cellar, on his own, and Erril regarded him blankly. The guards didn’t question the newcomer, though they didn’t know he was Lerran either. They knew Traz was on the accepted list of guests in the property, likely because of Lerran’s father. Erril didn’t seem angry. “I’m not surprised that you sold me out,” the spy said. “You’ve always done what is best for the Family, and I can only assume your heavy drinking a few weeks ago was due to the stress of your circumstance. I can respect that.”
“What do you want?” Lerran asked; the arm brace changed his appearance and disguised his voice as well. Traz had a deeper voice than Lerran, and his words were easily mumbled together.
“I just want to know—can I trust Lerran? If Gharo had ever arrested me, I might have counted each night survived a blessing,” Erril explained.
“You can trust him,” Traz replied. Lerran tried not to smile, knowing that the illusory form would reflect his expressions as well as his words. “He made it clear to the whole Family that things would run tighter. We have to get onto the same side, I think. Tell him what you can.”
Erril nodded. “You could have just come to me,” he said. “As you have in the past. There was no need for an arrest.”
“Lerran disagreed,” he told the spy. “And my hands are tied.”
Lerran gave Erril a few more minutes after the brief visit from Traz to collect his thoughts before returning. When he did, he was Lerran again, not Traz. He marched into the cell, and spread his arms. “You claimed to have information I would like. Now would be the time, Erril,” he muttered.
The man was still sweating, but he gave a small nod of reluctance. “Three things—first, the Atmos Septi, the Grey Brothers. I have two loyal spies in their order, and I can provide names if you so desire. Secondly, I know that the Mining Group of Kedar has plans to withdraw their support from Havard to back the Grey Brothers when a new faction emerges in that city. Which it soon will.”
“Troubling,” Lerran muttered. He did not want the Grey Brethren gaining any more strength than they already had. “What are your sources?”
“Reliable,” Erril replied, curtly.
Lerran sighed. “I’ll have to consider the implications. What else?”
“Lo Mallago,” Erril said. “Gharo never cared about that city. Everyone thought it was his pet project, running a city government. He knew that Sheld would belong to him in the same way, so he didn’t topple Lo Mallago’s government in order to play king.”
“Well, what then?” Lerran asked. This was news to him. Lo Mallago, the Rebel King, and such—to Lerran they seemed profitable but rather pointless. Just his father’s game.
“Noress-That-Was. The fallen empire seeks to rebuild. I was to be the middle-man in a deal behind firmly closed doors,” Erril said. He smiled, faintly, uncontrollably proud of the secrets he discussed. “Gharo toppled the government of Lo Mallago so that he could sell it to Noress. The Three Matriarchs were willing to pay a fortune to take the city without getting involved militarily.”
“Gharo was going to sell the city,” Lerran said flatly.
Erril nodded. “I don’t know what favours he was getting from the Three Whores of Nordos, but that has been the plan since the start. Gharo becomes one of the wealthiest men outside of Numa’nakres, and Noress-That-Was gets a city that’s not falling into the cursed sea. Nothing has been signed yet. And now that Gharo is gone… who knows?”
It was a brilliant deal—Lerran had to acknowledge that much. Erril had given him lots to consider, and he was leaning toward accepting the legitimacy of what he had been told because of the brief interaction with Traz. Erril seemed genuinely interested in moving forward, and well aware that this prison cell was not conducive to his progress. “I will need to think about all of this,” Lerran said. “Forgive me if I keep you as a guest for a while longer. Just to validate what you have said.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Erril murmured. He blinked, and look down at his tied legs.
Lerran walked away without saying another word. He was deep in thought. His father had been such a busy man, and Lerran was going to be busier.