Hal, in his persona as Don Haroldson, looks around carefully. Though he is careful to show appropriate deference his mind races trying to categorise who the various figures he faces are, and what rules - written and unwritten - might dominate this 'trial'.
'Aral and Turick in the same room - this could get tricky.'
His reflection is cut short by Kaz's confession, and Hal draws on long experience with the con not to jerk his head and stare at his companion.
"Your Majesty," the Don begins with a careful bow "I believe the Viscount likely refers to us, though I am hesitant to confirm the fact without evidence. We have undertaken some small investigations that I understand might have been useful. As for whether they are unorthodox... such is needed when the target in question has created such a masterful web of deceit and counters to orthodox investigation. I can assure you, however, that our pursuit of the Truth was well thought out, carefully studied, and rigorously evidentiary."
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Remembering the instructions from Turick's Master of Etiquette, Melia bows upon entering the King's presence, avoids making eye contact, and waits to answer his questions.
As Kazador steps forth and claims his own name and title freely, she nods ever so slightly. Kazador, a bluff man of honor, had never been at home with deception or intrigue. It was, she thought, better for him to follow his true nature than to try and hide it, even though doing so carried risks of its own. Would that I could be so free, she thought regretfully. But the presence of a Concordat citizen in the group would instant throw all the findings into doubt.
"I go by Melia Elman, Your Grace," she says. "Or sometimes just Mel, if it please Your Grace. And yes, we are Count Aral's investigators. At his direction, and later with Viscount Turick's assistance, we conducted investigations into the members of the Royal Council. We stand ready to report our findings."
The King listens closely as you each speak, giving a small nod of acknowledgement to Kazador then turning to Count Aral and Viscount Turick for confirmation. They both confirm, speaking highly of how you have proved yourselves as investigators in matters of extreme sensitivity.
When the king turns to Beaumont, the Duke sits straighter in his ornate chair, takes a deep breath, and begins "Your grace, I fear I must report crimes of the utmost treason. These so-called investigators broke into my home, assaulted myself and my staff, kidnapped me from the grounds of my own home, and kept me bound and unconscious for an indeterminate period. Such crimes against any member of your council must be considered to high treason."
The King turns to you investigators and asks "What were the grounds for investigating my Duke with such invasive methods?"
"Your Grace, we had reason to believe that His Grace Duke Beaumont had been secretly communicating with Amrynn Faedi, Magister of Divination for the Elven Concordat, and that he kept this correspondence in his study. We entered and located the books containing that correspondence without troubling him or his staff."
"Unfortunately, their contents were magically concealed using a series of passwords. The passwords were documented in a book that His Grace Duke Beaumont kept upon his person at all time. Had we been able to obtain those without confronting the Duke physically, we would have done so. Alas, that was not an option. Securing the book of passwords required securing the Duke. And considering the gravity of the matter, we believed that doing so was justified."
"We were careful, during the confrontation, to ensure that he took no lasting harm. Once we had the passwords, we deciphered the correspondence, and then delivered both it and His Grace Duke Beaumont into the custody of Viscount Turick at the first opportunity."
The King's eyebrows rise slightly as he listens to Melia's words. "And what was the reason you believed my Duke to be engaged in such treasonous activity so that you entered his home?"
"Your majesty, we have undertaken some few investigations into those outside the Law. A number of those we have investigated have their own... I hesitate to say intelligence service, but... agents. In the course of our investigations we discovered some of them had information on the Duke - including the fact that he was betraying the kingdom to Faedi and details on the mechanisms involved." the Don's head cocks slightly in apology. "Of course evidence from such a source could not be accepted at face value, so we sought corroboration via investigation."
He sighs "Even leaving aside the Duke's treachery it seems likely it was only going to be a matter of time until he was blackmailed into the service of another, whether criminal or - worst case - the Concordat."
”Admittedly, it was a risk.” The dwarf added, with a frown. ”Such scum cannot be taken at their word. Which is why it was imperative that action be taken to secure physical evidence that was beyond reproach. Anything short of that would not suffice with such grave charges.”
Count Aral and Viscount Turick nod to concur with your testimony while the King is more withholding. He asks for a full account of these sources outside the law.
Mel speaks up. "Our initial source of information came from a group called 'The Circle of Friends'. They are interested in bettering the lot of non-human citizens of Iustia. That put them in conflict with His Grace Duke Beaumont, who as you know has been the driving force behind a variety of new restrictions on non-humans. As a result, they began to investigate Beaumont, in the hopes of uncovering damaging information -- which they found."
"The Circle of Friends works through extra-legal means, but so far as we were able to determine, they have not used violence in pursuit of their goals. Their activities seem to relate primarily to providing material aid to non-humans who have run afoul of the law. Making contact was difficult. They were naturally suspicious of us. But in the end we came to an arrangement: they shared information with us, and we gave them some pointers on ways to evacuate people who no longer believe that they can live safely in Iustia."
"Their ties to the non-human population allowed the Circle of Friends to establish contacts within the Concordat. It seems that Faedi was not quite so careful on her end as Duke Beaumont was on his. From those Concordat contacts, the Circle learned of the correspondence between His Grace Duke Beaumont and Magister Faedi. They were not able to get access to his end of the correspondence, but they learned where it was kept. They also arranged to feed Faedi some false intelligence regarding troop dispositions on the border, which she then communicated to Beaumont. The incorrect information undermined his trust in her, and seems to have placed the arrangement under strain, but not ended it altogether."
"His Grace the Duke has long had a reputation for uncannily accurate knowledge regarding happenings in the Concordat. These allegations lined up too closely with his activities to be mere coincidence, and demanded further investigation."
"We considered attempting to modify His Grace's Books of Whispers to send additional copies of correspondence to an empty book in our possession. But the nature of the sorcery powering them made such an approach impractical. We would have needed access to both his books and Faedi's to do so effectively, which lay beyond our means."
"We also considered bringing allegations and calling for a formal inquiry, or organizing a raid in conjunction with Turick. But the risk was too great that His Grace the Duke would simply destroy his book of passwords and substitute an innocuous book in its place, thus making the evidence unrecoverable and putting him in a position to plausibly claim that the allegations were baseless and politically motivated. Therefore, we concluded that there was no viable way to proceed other than retrieving the Books of Whispers and His Grace's book of passwords by entering his estate with no warning and seizing them."
"Which we did." She gestures at the books laid out upon the table, subtly inviting the King to inspect them.
Kazador added in, in what he was hoped was helpful ”If we had another way while preserving the evidence we would have taken it.”
The King listen intently and it is clear that he does not appreciate the dissent toward Iustian policy implied by aiding the Circle of Friends. However, he seems more focused on the books supplying evidence. "And the passwords?"
He scans carefully through both books for some thirty minutes while every one else in the room waits carefully, a guard occasionally shifting their weight from one leg to the other with a slight clinking of chainmail. Count Aral makes meaningful eye contact with all of you.
Aral is trying to say your are doing well and to stay focused and patient.
After a long time, the King closes both books and states "Indeed, these correspondences are treasonous in the extreme. And I recognize the handwriting of my Duke. Good sir, what say you in your defense?"
The Duke launches into an impassioned plea regarding how he has never seen these books before. They must have been fabricated upon the orders of Turick and Aral to bring him down so that they could gain control of the Council. Surely, Aral is the mastermind behind all of thus.
As always, the king listens carefully, the guards clearly on edge, sure they will be arresting someone soon but not sure whom. The king turns back to you. [b]"Since you allegedly obtained this evidence, do you have further proof that it does, indeed, belong to my Duke?"[b]
"Your Grace, the books seem to indicate that His Grace Duke Beaumont learned of a top-secret Concordat operation to attack the Helmian village of Brookside, and that he used that information to impress the Ambassador from Helm with the depth of his intelligence. Perhaps the honorable Ambassador could corroborate whether such a conversation occurred, and what precisely His Grace the Duke may have said during it."
The King listens thoughtfully and nods. "Very well. I will call the ambassador. In the meantime, we will dine." Light fare and drink is brought into the conference room where you break into small knots of conversation, the largest being around the king. The Duke laughs and eats with some of the guards and other nobles before joining the large knot of conversation around the King.
The Count joins you in a small, whispered conversation with Viscount Turick. "If the ambassador can corroborate this, we may be able to persuade the king to use a... private method of establishing the veracity of the books. He will be somewhat reluctant to do so but perhaps you can all aid me in convincing him."
"Of course, my Lord," Melia says, nibbling on a tiny cucumber sandwich.
After the refreshments, the King sits back at the table with a purpose and everyone follows suit. The ambassador from the Bishopric of Helm, a well-dressed woman in her mid-sixties, arrives and is questioned by the King about the attack on and Defense of Brookside. The ambassador confirms that the Duke had an odd degree of knowledge on this matter. The king replies "Thank you for this information and your valuable time. I look forward to our next conversation." Understanding the implied dismissal, the ambassador pays her respects to the king again and takes her leave. When she leaves, the king steeples his fingers and leans them slightly against his chin, brow furrowed.
The Duke speaks up "But surely, your highness, all of this evidence has been easily fabricated by my political opponents."
The Count speaks next "Your highness, I implore you to use all the means available to you to investigate this matter. My heart is certain that your father would wish you to get to the bottom of this issue with certainty." The Count glances at the incriminating books meaningfully and gives the king a sad, warm smile.
The King appears to dislike the Count's words and looks at everyone in the room. "I must be sure that the strictest confidence is maintained regarding the doings in this room, upon pain of my greatest displeasure." He looks at everyone in the room and particularly at you odd, investigators.
"His Grace Duke Beaumont stands accused of grievous crimes. But perhaps he is innocent. Perhaps we were misled by a cunning opponent, who fabricated this evidence and pointed us at it. If that is the case, then it would be a grave miscarriage of justice to punish him for things he did not do."
"It seems that this method -- whatever it may be -- is a sensitive one. For my part, I swear I will not to discuss it with anyone but those currently present in this room. Or if Your Grace would prefer, I would be content to wait elsewhere until your inquiries are complete. Regardless, were I in Your Grace's place, I would want to know for certain whether these allegations are true or not. I would not like to live my life wondering if I condemned an innocent man on false evidence. If you have some means of determining the truth of the matter, then for the sake of fairness to His Grace Duke Beaumont and for your own peace of mind, I urge you to use it."
So saying, she bows to the king, and then glances to her colleagues for their responses.
”I swear an oath.” Kazador said, his face darkening at the import of the words. ”An oath of confidence, for as long as your grace commands it to be held. And that all I have spoke no falsehood. Should this oath be broken, or should it be false, then may the wrath of all the ancestors fall upon me.”
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The King considers this input and turns to Beaumont, who seems to have no idea what the King is talking about and simply protests his innocence again in flowery language and flattery. This doesn't seem to go over as well without the Duke's headband, however, and the King takes each book in hand again, handling them carefully, pressing his ear to them, opening them, and considering every aspect of their binding. This time, however, the king's eyes glow faintly violet as he does so.
The King is using the Object Reading power of the Occultist class.
Occult powers are considered unnatural and unholy in Iustia so that their users are often shunned socially.
A few people in the room, including the Duke and Viscount, look startled by the King's manifestation of whatever this magical talent is.
After several minutes, the King closes both books, putting them back on the table. Then he covers his face with his hands, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. Raising a pale face back up, he announces "I am convinced of the validity of these books as evidence. Duke Beaumont, you are convicted of High Treason. This audience is concluded and I bid you all farewell."
The Duke is bustled off by several, particularly elite-looking guards sporting a mixture of armor, holy symbols, robes, and staffs depending on the individual. He protests the entire time but to no avail.
You are all escorted back out of the palace and reunited with your possessions by guards who are clearly working to keep their composure and hold the gossip of the decade until later. As you walk out in the fine front courtyard of the palace, a familiar tall, graying figure catches up with you near a fountain.
The Count catches his breath and smiles broadly to all of you. He speaks quietly enough not to be overheard by other people in the courtyard. "The King is forming a new council and has invited me to rejoin it. Viscount Turick will remain on the council as well and I hold high hopes for Iustia's new direction as the King has come to regret much of the advice he has taken in the past few years. He has even agreed, in principle, to a diplomatic summit with the Concordat, likely to be held in the Bishopric of Helm. I cannot thank you all enough. If you ever need a favor in Iustia, I am at your service."
"I know how to keep a secret your Majesty" Don Haroldson reassures the King, "Though if you would prefer I step outside I am at your command. As an academic I must warn you that there are magics that will remove memories from the Duke's mind - most useful in treating mental trauma - so if you do not act now you will never really be sure of his guilt."
The Don does his best not to grab as he reacquires his precious possessions, donning his robes over his fine clothes immediately despite protocol.
"Thank you my Lord. Should you or the Viscount be in need of my services, please call for me. It is reassuring to know that some of our nobles truly are noble" the Dons eyes tighten "Even if some are unworthy of any title."
Melia looks on as the King makes his examination. Why was this so sensitive? she wonders inwardly. It's just some sort of magic. But clearly he's distressed to use it. At least, publicly? Glancing over the room, she notes the reactions of the crowd. Must be some sort of social taboo, she notes, her anthropological training kicking in.
After his pronouncement she bows graciously and turns to go. She pauses on the threshold, glancing back at the King, sitting pale and drawn on his throne. Poor fellow, she thinks. This has been hard on him.
Having left the bulk of her gear at Turick's estate, Mel has only to reattach her dagger sheathe to her belt when their belongings are returned.
Outside, when Count Aral mentions a diplomatic summit with the Concordat, a wash of relief floods through Mel. It feels like setting down a great weight that she had been carrying, nonstop for months, waking or sleeping. There would be no war between Iustia and the Concordat.
"So, there will be no war between Iustia and the Concordat," she says. "At least, not now. The seasons of the world are long, and who is to say what may come to pass in the decades and centuries to come? But for the moment, peace will hold sway."
"My Lord Count," she says, "It seems to me that the past few weeks have been difficult for His Grace the King. In a few short weeks we've torn away most of his closest counselors, revealed that they were using him and his nation for personal gain, and shown that he seems to have misjudged his advisors' intentions. That's a hard lesson to learn. Please, if you can, help him make peace with all that has passed. Help him turn this experience into wisdom. For his own good, as well as that of his kingdom."
Kazador breathed a sigh of relief. They had succeeded, which held the very real reward of not being executed. The other great reward was that he would soon be able to get out of the ridiculous outfit he was dressed in.
”It is done.” He muttered, to himself as well as anyone who cared to listen. He listened as Don and Mel spoke, deigning not to join in, as he didn’t feel that he had anything worth adding. Rather he just allowed himself a sign, as he felt a weight fall off of his shoulders.
The Count nods somberly at Melia's words. "From your mouth to the gods' ears, thus I pray daily." He bids you farewell and you depart the palace, safely getting away from Palatine Hill and its grand doings.
The next day, all of Bannerhold is astir with gossip and wild rumors, including one that a giant dwarf grappled the treacherous Duke Beaumont in one hand and threw him bodily into the royal dungeon. Perhaps more importantly, word spreads that a courier was dispatched to the Concordat with a request for a diplomatic summit.
You rest in Bannerhold briefly, collecting your belongings and wrapping up your residence in the townhouse. Just before you leave, you hear criers in the street reading a royal proclamation guaranteeing protections for non-humans in Iustia.
Stepping!
On her way out, she comes across Viscount Turick. "My Lord," she says, bowing. "It has been good working beside you, despite all the grief and heartache our investigations caused. I am glad that His Grace the King has you at his side. I do not know if our paths will cross again; but if not, please know that I wish you and yours all the best."
She stands as he enters. "My Lord," she says, bowing.
A smile creases his aging face. "No need for such formality, I think, here in my own house. You may simply call me Aral, if you wish." He takes a seat.
Mel smiles, nodding acknowledgement of this privilege. "Aral, then. I do have a small favor to ask of you."
He raises a hand and gestures in a "go on" motion.
Mel sighs. Reaching into her haversack, she extracts a pouch. Coins clink from within it as she sets it on the table, alongside two sealed letters. "During the investigation into Count Harcourt, I posed as a governess in order to gain access to his estate. His son, Arthur, proved to be a bright boy, starved for attention. He is, I believe, a kinder and more decent soul than either of his parents. I earned his trust, ... and then betrayed that trust to bring down his father. He did not deserve that." She grimaces. "Of all the things I have done since I fell into this dizzying series of events, somehow this one -- the betrayal of a child's trust -- weighs more heavily on me than any of the others."
She leans back. "He has since found an apprenticeship, with a seafaring merchant, I believe. He loved sailing, and yearned for the sea. I have prepared two letters for him, and a small bequest. This first letter is to be delivered some time in the next few weeks. The other, and the coin, when he reaches the age of majority."
"Would you be so good as to see them delivered?"
But I never expected you, young sir. You impressed me with your wit, and your lively sense of curiosity. I earned your trust, and in almost the same breath betrayed that trust to take down your father. I have done you a great wrong. From the depths of my heart, I apologize. I never meant to hurt you. But I did. And I will regret that the rest of my days.
You are a good person, Arthur Harcourt. I hope you find your way onto the sea, in one of those great ships you dreamed of. May you live a long and happy life. And if, someday, you can find it in your heart to forgive me, that would be more than I deserve.
Yours in shame,
Eugenia Crixton
Yours in shame,
Eugenia Crixton
"Oh! And you can tell Isabella everything went smoothly, and we'll be out of her hair shortly. Also thanks, for my part anyway."
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Viscount Turick bids you all a fond farewell, loading several barrels of his favorite salted pork and a cask of his favorite mead onto the Siren to help in your preparations. Count Aral takes the items from Mel in trust and nods somberly, understanding the cost of this war of intrigue.
Soon the Siren is fitted out and you sail around the continent for several weeks with an oddly favorable breeze. The motion of the boat rocks you to sleep each night.
One night, you dream of long, quiet days of reading and bowcraft back home in the Concordat, nary a target on your back. But then a man in a plague doctor's mask and gray robe walks toward you, holding a long-handled scythe. The dream shimmers and shakes and you wake in a start.
One night, you dream of calm and quiet days playing checkers in the park with other washed up old men. You partake of good cheeses, breads, wines, and vegetables throughout the day with not a care in the world, reflecting on what you lost but also what you save. But then a man in a plague doctor's mask and gray robe walks toward you, holding a long-handled scythe. The dream shimmers and shakes and you wake in a start.
One night, you dream of yourself back in Kazad Gravr, leading a team of dwarves to reclaim the great hold. The defenses, both stone and magic, are put back into place one by one, the mines manned again, and trade to the surfacers resumes. But then a man in a plague doctor's mask and gray robe walks toward you, holding a long-handled scythe. The dream shimmers and shakes and you wake in a start.
Mel listens to the sussurus of the waves against the hull where they had weighed anchor for the evening, lying in her hammock. It sways gently in time with the swells.
After a few minutes she gets up and wraps a shawl around her shoulders. Stepping out of the captain's quarters she walks to the aft deck and leans against the railing, staring up at the stars. The great panorama of the night sky wheels overhead. She looks up, her sharp eyes picking out familiar constellations. The Bear. The Wheel. The Seven Asarides, twinkling in a line with The Manticore in hot pursuit as ever.
"No, se on ihan selvää," she says. "Kotiin palaaminen on kuoleman hyväksymistä."
She looks down at the ocean -- calm, for the moment, each wave crowned with the reflected glory of the night sky. "Mutta senhän minä jo tiesin. Olen tehnyt rauhan sen kanssa. Toistaiseksi olen siemen tuulessa."
She looks down at the ocean -- calm, for the moment, each wave crowned with the reflected glory of the night sky. "But I knew that already. I have made my peace with it. For now, I am a seed on the wind."
A bit of breeze teases her hair. She switches languages, talking to the night sky, or perhaps the gods, or perhaps simply herself. "I don't even feel like myself, any longer. When was the last time I let the breeze play through my hair? No disguises. No pretense. No secrets to hide. Just Melira Elenariel, living her ... my life."
She lapses into silence, a lone figure standing on a starlit deck, face raised to the sky, dark hair dancing in the rising breeze.
Before long, she returns to her hammock, and sleeps the remainder of the night away.
In the morning, Mel tucks her hair away behind a scarf, automatically concealing her ears.
Her fingers slow. She stops, looking in the mirror; and removes the scarf again. She studies her reflection; then folds the scarf and puts it into her belt pouch. Perhaps once we arrive in Helm, she thinks. Just now I need the wind in my hair.
She emerges into the early morning light, makes her way to the galley, and begins making breakfast -- porridge with honey, fried salt pork, and apples from a barrel she laid in, all washed down with small ale.
”It must feel good.” Kazador remarked, seeing Mel come out into the morning without her scarf. ”To be yourself again.” Looking up at the elf he added ”Tie ourselves up for too long, and we can forget who we are.” He had never given enough thought to what trials she had gone through, or how painful it must have been to her to have always been in hiding. Seeing her ears had taken him by surprise. It had been so long since she had shown them that it was easy to forget that she was an elf. Seeing her walk openly in her own skin brought a smile to her face. He truly was happy for her. He thought back…
For several weeks they had sailed, and the dwarf had been reserved through most of it. All of them had worked tirelessly, putting their lives on the line. And now their quest was done. It was only a matter of time before they all drifted away, going back to living their lives. In the time they spent sailing he had thought long and hard as towards what to do. Always in the back of his head he thought of the offer left by Lord Oldstone. After the weapons of Kazad Gravr had been delivered, the Clan Lord had invited Kazador to stay in Revan, honoring him with his old title. The thought had swirled around in his head incessantly, causing him no end of angst. In truth, he was afraid. He had left on good terms, but he did not know if he would return to the same, given that Algric had stayed behind and would certainly have told his version of the tale. And Kazador honestly did not know what the boyer would have said. Somehow it was even worse to think that he would return there a hero and then prove them all wrong. The fear of letting his people down again was almost paralyzing. Because of that he had considered just leaving. Becoming a guard. A sellsword. Finding employment with a noble house. Leaving the continent all together. Picking up a new trade. Taking a new name.
All of this and more assailed him. And through it all he had gone through their adventures time and time again. From the fall of his home, to his life of shame. Of how he had fallen as low as a dwarf could. Of how he had joined this band, and with them had risen to his feet again. Of treading through his fallen home, learning of the elven plot and the orcish aggression which had laid it low. Of the vengeance they had meted out, all the way to the death of the city when its heart had been drained. Whenever he thought of that he could not help but to clutch his helm, holding onto it like a drowning man holding onto the side of a lifeboat. And he prayed. For his faith had been reforged anew.
Unable to reach a decision, he had eventually fallen to sleep. And he dreamt. He dreamt of being back in Kazad Gravr. Only this dream was not like the others. He did not walk amongst the dead, but instead it was with the living. This was not a dream of the past, but rather of the future. He lead a team of dwarves in reclaiming the hold. He did not dream of broken defenses filled with broken men. He dreamt of putting them back in place, both those of stone and of magic. He dreamt of the mines worked again, with trade flowing to the surface. He dreamt of all of this, until a man in the mask of a plague doctor, holding a scythe and wearing gray robes walked towards him, waking him from his dream.
Turning to Mel, he said ”Glad ye be letting your ears out. It suits you. And it means that ye can hear me. Was hoping to see ye, because I had a dream last night. Was hoping to share it with ye and with Hal. Now that ye both be here...”
He told them of the dream. And when he was done, he said ”…so I’ve made up me mind. Whether it be just a dream or not, I must have faith. I’ll be returning to Revan.” He said, his head held up high and with a far away look in his eyes. ”I will be Kazador.” He said, with meaning. ”I will make a life there. And there, I will raise the funds needed to make another expedition to my old home. Forge Father willing, I will make this dream become a reality, before death finally comes. I…just wanted to share that.” He said, suddenly feeling awkward, realizing how foolish it all must sound. ”It just feels more official, ye know? To say it out loud. To get it off me chest.”
Mel smiles, ladling out a bowl of porridge for him. "That's good, Kazador," she says, handing it to him. "It would do my heart good to see your folk rebuild Kazad Gravr after my folk so grievously injured it."
She tucks a stray strand of hair back behind one ear. "As for these ... I've been someone else for so long I hardly know who I really am any more. I think it will take me time to think that through. To decide how to be."
Her brow furrows a bit. "I had a very similar dream," she says. "Taking my ease at home in the Concordat, working as a bowyer and reading books. So many books! But then it ended with a man in grey, wearing a plague doctor's mask, stalking towards me with a long-handled scythe in hand. It sounds very similar to your dream, doesn't it? Peace, followed by this figure. I took it as a warning that returning home would mean my death."
Hal's personality shifts as they sail. he starts busy, casting and carving, never letting himself stay still - but over time he seems to calm, and eventually spends most of his time on the deck looking out over the peaceful waves and passing terrain.
He starts, shocked when the others mentions their dreams. "I had a dream with a guy like that as well." he starts, a catch in his voice and tear in his eyes as he continues in a slow, tired voice. "It was such a... a nice dream. I dunno if it was about goin' home... I think it might've been?"
He shakes his head "I'm old. Oh, I know you've both lived longer than me, but... but I'm old. Even if I avoid every assassin and accident, I've not long left in me, I think. I've been using magic to keep meself spry - that works... but nothin' buys ya more time except the darkest o' magics. I always thought only a fool would go down those roads..."
"I wasn't a good person. I used ta think I wasn't even really bad, just sorta grey. The time in the mirror got me thinkin' though, and I reckon I was sauntering down a dark road that whole time. I'm trying ta be better... but I reckon death is not the end, and what's comin' for me after has me terrified."
He turns to Kaz "Y'r a good man. I can see ya spendin' ya life to rebuild, happy to go when the grey man comes for ya. I want ta do the same, try ta recapture the goods things I had in my life, even if not f'r long."
"I dunno what ta do. Do I go back, try ta take my wife and daughter ta somewhere safe and hide out? Do I take out the Reaps, try ta make up for what I did? Should I start lookin' for something in the First World that can give me another go round?"
His voice drops "When I went back... stuff... didn't add up. I don't even know how much I've been hallucinating. So, I adapted a charm to see clearly - meant to help 'gainst the Fair Folk. You... you lot are real. Might be the only real thing in my life, but real. You and this boat. That's what I know. I guess.. I guess I start from here."
Mel hands him a bowl of porridge and then helps herself to one.
"I know you're not a follower of Ostara. But indulge me a little here, because questions like yours are the kind that faith answers."
"We Ostarans believe in the Balance of Seasons. This is not the first world. Nor will it be the last. Time is a loop, in a way. When the gods blow out the candles and close the doors on this world, they'll turn their attention to building the next one. And the materials they will use for that new world are the actions of all the many mortals who lived here, in this one. If more people have been kind and gentle, then that new world will be easier and more friendly to live in. If more people have been cruel and violent, that next world will be harder and harsher. Ostara urges people towards kindness and community, not just because that can make their lives better here and now, but also because that contributes towards easing the lives of everyone in that future world."
"We're mortal. All of us. We're mixed. No one gets through life without causing at least a little pain or suffering. I certainly have." She thinks of Arthur Harcourt. "But in the end, what's important is that you contribute more kindness than cruelty. And every tiny action helps. There is as much good in planting a flower to bring beauty for a season as there is in dramatically saving a prince from assassination. In the Balance of Seasons, both those things contribute towards making that future world a little kinder to those who will live in it."
She takes a bit of porridge, appreciates the bit of honeyed warmth for a moment, then continues. "And it follows, Hal, that we should be kind to ourselves as well as others. Because that kindness will help us now, and those future souls later."
She makes eye contact with Hal. "Margie and Sheila are real, Hal. That's practically the first thing you said to me, when we found you trapped in that hellhole. It was the memory of them that kept you from breaking worse than you did. And they've been suffering, too. You vanished without a trace. That was no fault of yours, of course! But they don't know that. They've been wondering, all these years: did he leave us? Was it something we did? Did he love us so little? Is he dead or alive?"
"You're free now, and you've bloodied the Reaps thoroughly. I don't think they're likely to come after you again. You're too dangerous, and there's no profit in it. Given all that, it would be a cruelty to let Margie and Sheila keep wondering what happened. And just as much of a cruelty to yourself. You need to see them again, Hal. They're real enough, but right now all you've got are memories of how they were long ago. You deserve to see what they've done with their lives. You might have grandchildren. Or your wife might have married again -- could you blame her, really, after so long? Or maybe she's been waiting all this time, waking in the night and reaching for the empty place in her bed where you once were. Or maybe she passed away years ago."
Mel shakes her head. "I guess what I'm saying is, they're real, Hal. But the longer you stay away, the less they're going to be the way you remember them. We mortals are mixed. Sometimes there's no way to be kind without also causing pain. But painful though it might be, you need to go see them. Otherwise, you're just turning their memories into a different kind of hallucination. And that would be a cruelty to yourself, as well as to them."
"For my part, I believe you've done far more good in the world than whatever sorrow you sowed all those years ago. Even if this is the winter of your life, it's time to be kind to yourself."
Hal pauses for long moments after Mel speaks, then stands abruptly, and discretely wipes at his face with the back of his sleeve. "Right. Y'r right. Time ta flip the cards and see what hand I've been dealt, 'cos waitin's only gonna make it worse. I c'n change shape, and I c'n teleport, so promise me you'll explain it ta the Bishop and I'll go now."
He hesitates "Been a long time since anyone said anythin' like that about me. Long time since I had friends too. You lot need anythin', I'll leave a way ta call."
Kazador reached up and slapped Hal on the back, given that his shoulder was a bit too high up. He was not one for flowery words, and he was not nearly as eloquent as Mel. Still, he recognized that if he stayed quiet he would regret it. ”You’re a good man. And I’ve known too many men who aren’t to say that lightly.” He said. ”Used to think of myself as ‘The Clanless.’ The two of ye proved that wrong. If I’m in trouble, I take ye up on that offer. Likewise, I’ll be here should either of ye need it. Though I hope that after we go our ways, our next meeting will be under happier conditions.”
"Err," Mel says, looking slightly taken aback. "You're going right now? Well, I guess I can't argue against my own advice! I do hope the, um, friends you recruited to help run the ship are content to continue on to Helm without you on board. The rest of us would be hard put to manage a ship this size without them. They've been invaluable."
Kazador laughed, surprising himself. ”Im not jumping off the ship, lass!” Realizing that he had smiled that broadly in a good long while, he added ”Will head off once I get me affairs in order. So soon…ish. About as precise as I can be.”
Mel laughs also. "I didn't think you were, Kazador," she says.
"But it sounds like perhaps Hal is thinking of teleporting himself straight back to Helm to go find Margie and Sheila."
”I could use the time to think this all through.” He replied. ”A measured step goes further than a rushed one.” He added, quoting one of his father’s favorite saying. ”So yer not free of me just yet.” He said this while turning to Hal, wanting to at least see the man go if he truly was teleporting away.
Hal staggers a step at Kazador's friendly slap, but grins back widely. "I appreciate your judgement master Kazador." he shakes his head "Seems strange to use real names."
At Mel's question he pauses "I'm afraid if I put it off I might not be able to raise the bal... will to do it at all. If I renegotiate it I can maybe get you a fortnight? Would that work? Otherwise I suppose I can hang around a bit" he sighs "It's certainly relaxing. Long as you promise to give me a kick in the pants when it is time.
You spend a few more weeks together, mulling dreams and your futures, before pulling into the port of Helm. When you arrive, you see the port is bustling and full of gossip!
The diplomatic summit between the Concordat and Iustia is to be held in Helm in one week here in Helm with all three heads of state present. The Central Guardhouse in Helm is being prepared for the summit.
Reaper activity has increased in Helm. In the barbaric lands, Halak leads a growing tribe of orcs who trade with Helm while fending off attacks from other orcish tribes.
Some of your old contacts who do business with the Reaps report a massive shuffle and scrambling in the hierarchy. A couple of months ago, a strange figure known as "the Doctor" took sole control of the criminal organization, continent-wide. An even odder rumor is that Reaper agents have been placed in the small village of Brookside to ensure its safety. Why this is of critical, strategic importance to "the Doctor" is a mystery even to other high-ranking Reaps.
After your first day in Port conducting business, you meet up for dinner together at a fine tavern, the Briar Rose.
Mel seeks an audience for the group with the Bishop, wishing to report all the various happenings during their time in Bannerhold. She makes sure to explain Harcourt's plot in detail, as it has more direct implications for the Bishopric than the others. Although that was foiled, it does mean that Harcourt's holdings of darkwood groves are likely in legal limbo at the moment.
Having sworn not to, Mel does not mention King Stephen's display of magic. She says only that he examined all the evidence and rendered judgement against Beaumont.
She also begins looking for a buyer for The Siren. In fact, she asks if the Bishopric might be interested, on account of the Bishop knows exactly how they came into possession of the ship and why its cargo holds are empty, which might raise inconvenient questions to another buyer.
"The summit is coming up soon," Mel says. "To be held at the central guardhouse, apparently. I suppose that will make Colonel Smythe happy. He'll have plenty of elven visitors. And high status ones at that."
A thought occurs to her over a bite of salad. "Hey, Hal? Have you checked in on Mr. Rogers recently? It's been several weeks since all the excitement in Bannerhold. He might want to go back at this point."
"Better he doesn't. No way he's gettin' a reference, and anyone doin' due diligence is gonna think he's suss. Plus the Duke had... well, not friends but... someone's gonna pick him up." Hal considers "Could maybe get him a job here? Helm, I mean, not this pub."
Hal saws a chunk off a thick, juicy steak and just before he forks it into his mouth pauses. "Hey - you lot said you'd spent some time in Brookside, right?"
"Yes," Mel says. "I was there doing my doctoral research when all this started."
"Huh." Hal considers, and glances around the public room "When you were... lookin' into... that gang... ever hear of a guy called The Doctor? 'Specially in conjunction with Brookside?"