By the time that Lerran and his friends were led into the crowded Market Court for an audience with the Rebel King, the cloudy weather had been burned away by a scalding sun. The men and women on either side of Lerran—the Public People, as they were known—watched him lead Paksis, Kolt, and the others down the cobblestone street and under the billowing red canvases that covered the open town circle. When Borik had led his revolution, one thing he had declared a thing of the past was proper citizenship, allowing any and all people inhabiting Lo Mallago to have a say in the decisions of its governing body.
Lerran soon beheld the governing body in his own vision, as he bobbed his head before the dais. Upon the stage sat Borik, whom Lerran had seen twice (and of whom he had seen many drawings), as well as four other advisors. One of them Lerran recognized to be the representative who had visited his father almost a year ago, when Ren and Vanci had first disappeared.
Unfortunately, that advisor both recognized Lerran and reacted accordingly. Lerran’s anonymity evaporated in an instant. The man, a dark skinned fellow with a winding black beard, pointed and declared, “Welcome Lerran of Sheld. What business do you have in Lo Mallago?”
Lerran ground his teeth together and glanced at Borik. The Rebel King disguised his frustration at his advisor’s foolishness well, and recovered the situation as best he could. Borik was a big man, with broad shoulders and a beer gut, but he leaned forward to cover it. “Yes, what is the criminal of Sheld doing in our city?”
Kolt and the other followed Lerran’s lead when he bowed. He made up his reply quickly. “In the east, the Grey Brethren pressure my people with views we do not share. I seek only to learn of their influence here, and how Lo Mallago shall reply?”
Borik frowned. The white fur mantle he wore hung down around his shoulders. “My advisors and I have spoken long of this controversial topic. To avoid upsetting the Public People, why don’t you meet with a few of my advisors after today’s audience has concluded. They will tell you of recent events, though you could find similar information from the nearest bar or town square.”
Lerran nodded. “Thank you for your time,” he said. Borik had agreed to meet with him following the day’s business, so he quickly left the Market Court before anyone could further ruin his secretive business in the town.
Paksis was grinning, of course, amused by Lerran’s antics. “We stayed in that hovel of an inn for a week, just for one man to evaporate all the smoke.”
“Noted,” Lerran snapped, and led them to the nearest bar to await Borik’s mercenary. The man arrived three hours later, dressed in a yellow cape and brass interlocked plates. He didn’t speak to Lerran, merely ordered a glass of hard liquor, drank it, and then strode back out into the street. Lerran and his comrades followed, from a distance.
The Elected Warrior—as the Rebel King’s guards were called—led them to an alleyway, before disappearing behind a wooden door and locking it behind him. The alleyway narrowed before it got wider, warranting a comment from Kolt: “What if this is a trap, sir?”
“We’ll be fine either way,” Lerran said. He remembered Paksis’s words very well though, that she would not lift a finger except to defend her own life.
Then they reached an intersecting alley, which widened and held four more Elected Warriors, plus the Rebel King himself. Borik grinned, and tugged at his bound hair. His hairline was so receded that Lerran worried the whole of his hair might tug away, but Borik stepped forward and extended his other hand.
Lerran took it and said, “Thank you for seeing me, Borik.”
“Of course, Master Lerran,” the Rebel King replied. He still wore a white fur scarf around his shoulders, perhaps stoat or a wild cat of sometime. “As always, I do not act without the advice of your Family. I’m glad you came this time, and not your sister… though Gadra’s firm rear remains a highlight in my memories. Tell me, is your sister betrothed, or wed, or anything to that extent?”
“Gadra is not for sale,” Lerran snapped.
Borik lifted his hands and grinned.
Lerran sighed. “I might not be the one to visit next time, if your advisors are going to spell it out for all your people,” he muttered.
“I apologize for that,” Borik said. “Advisor Hos will be… painfully reprimanded. I agree that could have been disastrous.” He tsked, but then gave his guards a nod and they withdrew down the alleyway. As much profit as Borik and his comrades had made in seizing the city, they had earned far more for their servitude. Before Borik was the Rebel King, he had been one of Gharo’s loyal mercenaries, but apparently bore Lerran no ill feelings.
“Tell me about the gold mine,” Lerran ordered.
Borik nodded. “Another delivery appeared in Lo Mallago harbour, likely while you were on the road still. We have more reason than ever to suspect that this gold mine is… truly significant. We cannot go to Wartha Mull to investigate for we would be seen miles away. It is a road town, certainly, but House Jorath protects the mine with their entire military strength. How would you like to proceed? Members of House Jorath live within the city, or you could take your chances at not being recognized in Wartha Mull.”
Lerran considered it briefly. He mainly wanted to determine what level of damage he would need to inflict on this Jorath family in order to shift the mine into Borik’s control. “I’ll start with those in town, I suppose.”
“Look for Alrin Jorath, Old Man Jorath’s eldest son,” Borik said. He scribbled something onto a small scrap of parchment from his belt, using a grain of charcoal. “You can book an appointment at his estate, located here.”
Lerran accepted the note and handed it to Kolt. “Set it up, as soon as possible. Tell them we’re travellers from the east, looking for good trades.” Lerran’s sellsword nodded and returned through the alleyway maze, while Borik regarded Lerran with a smile. “You scare me sometimes, Borik. If I get that gold mine, I might need to send someone to keep an eye on things here.”
“Have I ever acted out of your best interest? No,” Borik exclaimed. He spread his arms wide, dangling strands from his fur shoulder mantle into the air below him. With a smile, he assured Lerran, “So I will not anytime.”
Lerran nodded. “We’ll be in touch. Paksis, let’s go.” He needed a drink.