Try as he might, sleep would not come for Jormand that night. He lay sprawled on his bed, wearing nothing but the blanket covering his legs as a cool breeze sent goosebumps across his exposed skin. The gallery of windows at the side of the room stood open even though the cool evening had given way to a cooler night. The chilled air circulated throughout the room, entirely negating the relative warmth of being indoors. It had blown out his only lantern long since, leaving the room almost entirely dark save for the cold starlight that did not reach far past the window sill. Jormand did nothing to stop the wind. He could not focus his mind on the cold, it did not seem important, strange as it was for Maerin at that time of year. He could not focus on anything at all. He stared at the ceiling above his bed, his mind strangely blank. He was not unfeeling, only he seemed to have run out of the ability to do so any longer. Earlier that night he had sobbed and screamed, his pillows were still damp with it and the walls bore the scratches of scuffs that were the dying breath of his sword. It lay, a bent and battered piece of refuse, at the base of the windows. He had felt more than he thought he ever could and now he was burnt out. The raking pain that had peeled out his insides now left him a hollow husk. It had all been torn out, left in that room below a dockside shop.

Not for the first time that night, he tried to remember that room, the bodies, the carnage, but it slipped away from his grasp as soon as he could see it. He always returned to the uneasy, empty nothingness. His mind was as exhausted as his body, unable to think, unable to remember and still unable to lie still. It felt like he still had something to do, like there was something he had left undone. His mind searched fruitlessly for what it was and left him lying there, helpless, not wanting to perceive any longer.

The night dragged on longer than any night had before. The stars did not want to move. They stood fast where they were every time Jormand looked out the window. There were no clouds to hide them that night. They stood out like bright eyes in the blackness, unchanging, uncaring. They set his teeth on edge, but he did not even notice it. Once or twice he might have heard movement, whether from outside or through his door he did not know or care. He only listened to the wind, keening as it blew past the opened window shutters. He imagined voices on the wind, familiar and foreign, always just at the point of being unintelligible. But those voices were comforting. Something human in the empty cold and outside of his weary mind.

That room under the shop had attacked him, his very core, and it had won. Jormand was a warrior, as strong as the iron and bronze that guarded him. But that had not mattered one whit when confronted with what he had seen there. The man left now was not that warrior, it was another creature altogether. One as of yet unformed, still in its infancy. He hardly remembered it now, though he knew it would come morning. He only knew that the world he had thought he knew was gone or else had never been at all. His unblinking eyes took in the sights of it but he knew it for what it was. Only an illusion, nothing more. It could be nothing more.

Across his room was strewn the detritus he had left behind. His clothes were in a pile near the door, his boots on a chair. The floor was covered with a thin layer of down from pillows torn apart by fingers grasping for something to make responsible. Sheets and jackets from the dresser covered the space between bed and windows under the lantern that had toppled over there. It lay in the midst of char from its now extinguished flame. Even as the fire had lept about and threatened to consume the room with Jormand in it, he had not moved. The wind had smothered it in time but the traces of its passage remained in blackened trousers and blankets. It was a ruined fortune, silks and expensively dyed linen and wool. Jormand did not care about any of it.

Jormand did not feel guilty about the destruction, though for some reason he thought he should. The man who would have cared, and in turn who would have imposed it upon Jormand, was gone. Jormand did not know why. Or did remember. Or did not want to.

Sometimes, when the wind picked up and the voices were ripped from speech to screams, he could make himself move, only enough to turn his head and look out the windows. The stronger gusts rustled the burned cloth on the floor and teased the still present coals that lay dormant under the lantern. It did not bother him but the sound reminded him that he should be feeling something else, that brought guilt. He just did not know why.

Then another gust blew and the screams stretched and warped into a painful wail, too much for his ears. One would have thought the shutters were made to produce that piercing screech. The wind was more than a sea breeze, colder, lacking the salt and seaweed smell as well as the smells of autumn. It was the crypt-wind of fairy tales that smelled of nothing at all. The wind to accompany the souls of the dead in stories. It felt fitting for that night, grimly so.

The wind died again, leaving Jormand to turn his sight back to the ceiling, resigned to see because he could not close his eyes again. But again, perhaps an hour later, perhaps minutes. It could have been days if not for the continued night, the wind blew. Stronger than ever, louder than ever. He heard the ruined lump of metal that was his sword slide across the tile with a painful screech and the softer sounds of fabric being gusted about. The blanket that was the only thing covering him was tugged down towards his ankles, exposing him more to the cold air. It shocked him to some semblance of alertness as he turned his head towards the windows yet again.

The sheet on the floor whipped into the air by the wind held captive in the room. It rose upward, suspended with sparks flying from the lantern flung down onto the tiled floor. For a moment, no longer than a heartbeat the pale linen sheet hung in the window, its charred edges flapping in the wind. In that moment Jormand could have sworn it took the form of a man, head and shoulders disappearing into indistinct folds of cloth below and it looked familiar, like a painting he had not seen since childhood, it prodded at things he did not want to remember and he cringed away, closing his eyes finally over drying eyes. The flying sparks lit it from within. In the darkness it shone brighter than it should have. It fell back again as quickly, only another pile of cloth on the floor and Jormand blinked and looked away, already forgetting what he thought he had seen. The wind-bound voices died then, leaving only stillness. It was an uneasy stillness after the wind. And warm. With the wind gone, the usual Maerinen warmth returned but Jormand was not awake to feel it. Sleep took him then, finally. Only a few short hours remained until daylight when his eyes finally closed.

***

Galier woke up early the next morning and not only by his standard. The sun was only just over the horizon when he made his way, already clothed and prepared for the day, down to the common room of the Captain’s Cat. Even still, Lana was already there, dressed in one of the dresses he had had altered to her measurements and looking every part the new blood lady. Except for the way she attacked whatever was on the plate before her. Galier did not catch a sight of it before she had finished. She then dabbed primly at the corners of her mouth. It was enough to almost have Galier convinced he had seen nothing at all. The only other break in her noble disguise was the long, bronze knife that sat within reach on the table next to her plate. That was no eating knife, no kitchen knife either. The length of tarnished bronze may have been some sailor’s belt knife before, maybe even the end of a sword, but now it served one purpose. That blade would find its home in the ribs of any man or woman foolish enough to threaten Lana. After the night she had had, Galier could not blame her for keeping it close at hand. Still, it was a bit of an eyesore. He would have to remind her to keep it hidden.

Passing by the bar, Galier saw that Saphi still had only half the staff working. It was a prudent decision, and one she was empowered to make but seeing the room so empty saddened Galier a little more. He did not go to the kitchen, he was hungry, certainly, but he was in no mood to eat. After what he had seen last night…

Galier deliberately shook himself to stop the crawling sensation that came over his skin. He had only seen the aftermath of whatever had occurred in that harborside shop but it was more than enough to unsettle his stomach. Galier had been trained for war, he had seen his share of bloodshed. None of that prepared a man to see the sights he had seen in that room. He could only assume it was far worse for Jormand. Seeing Martim Derran in that state, what was left of him, stirred something unpleasant in Galier. Had it been his father, well maybe not his father but a man he actually did care for… He did not want to think about what that might do to him. That was the cause for his early morning. No matter how unpleasant it was for Galier, Jormand would be having it worse. He was not going to let his friend suffer alone. He was still unhappy that Jormand had gone back home rather than accept Galier’s offer of a room at the inn. But he had seen Jormand back to the manor. Ketrim and the guards would make sure nothing unexpected befell him before Galier could make it back there.

Galier joined Lana at her table with a weak smile and a weaker “good morning.” He was sure to indicate his presence before taking a seat across from her. His eyes kept going back to that knife. Hers did too. She was more skittish than usual, a slightly worrying prospect Galier thought. She did not look like she had had a particularly restful night either, but she always looked a little sickly with those wide, sunken eyes and skin clinging tightly to bone. She did look better than that first day though, if only a little.

She returned the smile and greeting just as halfheartedly. It was good to know that she cared enough to feel badly about what had transpired. That or she was traumatised from the scene herself. Perhaps a bit of both. Still, it was good she had not bolted afterwards. At the very least, she would be a reliable agent in the future, after that, Galier doubted much would scare her off.

“I’ll be heading over to Derrand manor in a little while.” Galier said. It was not an invitation or request for company but he was relieved when Lana nodded and replied that she would like to go along. Galier had no hired guards at the inn, at least no professional ones, and another capable fighter would be nice to have along. They would not likely run into any trouble in broad daylight but it did not hurt. He was on edge, reasonably so he thought. After that they did not talk for a while. Galier looked down dejectedly at the table, resting on his elbows. He did not want to think, much less talk.

“Do you think he’ll still be leaving?” It took Galier a moment to realize Lana was asking him about Jormand’s plan to leave the city.

“Yes, I think so.” He responded. “What happened last night will only make him want to leave sooner. Ketrim certainly will and he’s in charge now, at least until the news gets back to Derranhall. His mother has a claim to the seat, but she’ll probably leave it to Ketrim.”

Lana looked confused at that. Of course, she had never met Ketrim. She had never even seen Martim before last night, if what had been left could even count.

“His older brother.” Galier explained, “Most northern houses pass succession through the men, even though the women have a claim.” Lana nodded but still looked confused. She would only become more confused if Galier tried to explain more. The intricacies of vassal houses and bound houses would have her head spinning in a moment. He elected to leave it at that.

They left soon after that. The sun stood high enough in the sky to light the streets entirely which Galier was glad for. It was not the reason he had waited to leave but it was welcome. Maybe it was part of the reason. The two of them walked down the middle of the streets, avoiding the shaded alleyways and awnings. It was cool enough that the sun did not bother Galier too much in his light coat. Autumn was coming on faster than usual.

The walk to the manor was uneventful even though both Lana and Galier peered suspiciously into each alley and darkened doorway they passed. The news of the murders had not spread yet, or at least it did not have the same effect as the news of the previous assassination attempts. Regardless of why, there were people in the streets now which was comforting to see, yet also Galier could not keep from keeping an eye on anyone who passed too close. Shops and taverns that they passed were open and apparently had some business if not as much as usual. It looked as if they had managed to keep the news from spreading too much. If things went as planned, only those who had seen the room would know what happened. Ketrim too and maybe some others in service to house Derran but it would be best if no one else knew. Their escape would go much more smoothly that way. They would probably be changing their plans now too, too dangerous to keep the same ones if Martim had broken under interrogation. Judging by the wounds Galier had seen the night before, he had been questioned for a long time. That did not prove anything however.

They arrived at the gates of Derran manor to see only the usual pair of guards at the gates. Galier had no doubt that there were others within, men with bows and a line of sight to the gates as well. Perhaps even some positioned in the buildings behind them. Even if he did not like the man much, Galier had to admit that Ketrim was a smart fellow. He would not be leaving anything up to chance.

Upon entering the grounds, Galier was immediately proven correct. Just behind the gates, another contingent of armed and armored guards was waiting just out of view from the road behind the walls. More still guarded the door and Galier could see bowmen now standing low on the ramparts, invisible from the outside. The captain of the guards just within nodded to Galier. He knew the man, if not by name. Being raised with Jormand had made Galier become acquainted with most anyone of rank in the family’s circles. This man was a particularly stern-faced fellow, though that could just be the current situation getting to him. He waved Galier and Lana through without a word. A dour mood hung over the courtyard as they passed through. These men knew something was amiss, even if they did not know what it was.

Inside the manor was even more tense. Servants still scurried about as usual but their steps were kept light by fear. None made eye contact with Galier or Lana as they walked through the halls. Nothing physical was amiss in Derran manor. Tapestries still hung on the walls, paintings and statues had their places in nooks throughout the building. Ketrim was not planning to take their valuables with them as they fled. That only made Galier more nervous. Ketrim was not the kind of man to leave money behind, not unless it was absolutely necessary. And there were the guards. Throughout the building and its grounds there were men apparently just minding their business, leaning against a column or chatting in a doorway but each carried a sword at his hip and to a man they each bore distinctive northern complexions. These were not just leigemen and retainers. They were clearly trying to blend into the background as Galier and Lana passed but they did a bad job.

They found Jormand’s rooms easy enough, even if Galier had not known the way, the contingent of soldiers trying desperately not to draw attention marked the doorway as one of interest. They too recognized Galier. Their leader, a woman with a scar that neatly cut from one destroyed ear over to her nose, gave Lana a suspicious look but only looked to Galier for confirmation. In the eyes of house Derran’s and soldiers, Galier was as good as part of the family. House politics were beyond most common soldiers. Galier prided himself on understanding the complexities but these common soldiers could not be expected to.

Upon entering Jormand’s chamber, Galier knew immediately that his work had only just begun. Inside was a scene of destruction thorough enough to pride any raider. Jormand had always been good at that. Just inside the door was a pile of his clothes from the day before. Red-brown stains stood out on the fabric and Galier felt sick just looking. It brought back memories that would not serve him well now. He deliberately pushed them to the back of his mind. There were more important things.

On a chair nearby were Jormand’s boots, those too Galier avoided looking at. Every other scrap of cloth in the room seemed to be torn in half more than once. Starting only a pace from the door there were small piles of feathers and cloth, mostly in corners and against the feet of furniture as if a strong wind had blown the scraps across the floor. The tall, ornate dresser across from the bed appeared to show deep cuts as if from an axe and stood open, nearly all of its contents were spilled out onto the floor. Galier knew he was only distracting himself but the waste of fine fabrics did bother him a little.

The biggest problem of all, far more than the damage to furniture and clothing, lay on the bed. Jormand was entirely naked and lay on top of a nearly bare mattress, only one blanket covered his lower legs. It did little to obscure anything. Galier cringed looking over his friend. It was nothing he had not seen before in the baths but something about Jormand laying in the wan morning light amid the destruction of the chamber made those scars seem pitiful rather than anything else. Jormand did not move to cover himself as they came in. He might not have noticed Lana was there, but Jormand’s modesty was not Galier’s concern at the moment.

Jormand did not turn to them as they entered, nor did he acknowledge them at all except for opening his eyes slightly. His lids looked heavy and there were pronounced shadows under his eyes. It was no surprise that he had not slept much, nor was it surprising to see the puffy red remnants of tears in his eyes. What was a surprise to Galier was the look of blandness on Jormand’s face. Jormand was a man of passions, his face was never blank. There was a fine line between snarl and grin for him but never before had Galier seen him look so… uncaring.

Galier motioned to Lana to take a seat on an empty chair. The tall back was split halfway down the middle but it looked sturdy enough. She did not complain. She looked confused and frightened enough that Galier was surprised that she was still there at all. It was good that she was though. They could not afford for someone with her knowledge to be out unsupervised in Maerin now.

Galier picked his way across the floor carefully towards the bed. Its frame had largely escaped the deep gouges that most of the furniture bore, some of the walls as well. Still, Galier passed more than a few chips of waxed, polished wood. He took a seat on the edge of the mattress and winced as the frame groaned with the added weight. Perhaps it was not so steady as he thought. Jormand did not react at all and for a moment, Galier just sat there, studying the limp form of his friend as he lay there.

No one would call Jormand the most handsome of men, not even of his family, but he was not ugly by any stretch. Not usually. Now his face was all contrast of deep shadow and swollen red around the eyes. On his cheek, a large bruise had already formed but it was still fresh. His chin looked sharper than usual, under a patchy coat of stubble, and bore a cut just on the side of his jaw. He had shown none of those injuries when Galier had left him the night before. They worried Galier. He had seen veteran warriors before, ones who, without others to be the targets of their rage, turned it onto themselves. Such people were never long for the world, be their death be by their own hand or that of another. The wounds on his face were not the only ones either. On his shoulder, the stitches from his most recent duel looked to be torn open and a stream of dried brown blood was flaking off on his arm. There were more bruises too and enough spots of blood showed on the mattress that Galier was sure there were other cuts hidden to him. He had seen Jormand wounded before, after raids or duels but this was different. He had something of the look of a corpse about him, like he had succumbed to his wounds even though his chest still rose and fell steadily.

Galier did not try speaking for a while, he did not know what to say. He wanted to do something to comfort his friend but he did not know what. Growing up alongside Jormand’s family, he had grown to know them all, even the lesser vassals and bonded families were familiar to him, but Martim had not considered Galier a son, nor had Galier seen him as a father. Their relationship was contractual, if warmer than most. Galier had been an asset. An expensive asset that at times was not worth the cost. Galier knew full well that there were times when Martim considered Galier’s family to not be worth the political price of raising its heir. At those times he had not hesitated to let it be known. Martim was a harsh man, shrewd and stern enough to lead one of the largest and most powerful northern houses and despite his long history with the man, Galier was not surprised to find that his death was not weighing on his own mind too heavily.

Jormand was another matter. Galier did not know the specifics of his relationship with his father. He was used to Jormand coming to him with complaints and angst when tempers had flared between the two. But he knew Jormand had respected Martim at least. He had followed orders without question even though he did look for loopholes. Their relationship was more complicated than it appeared on the surface. That was common for Jormand. He came off as a meatheaded brawler most of the time, it took study to see that there was a more vulnerable man beneath that. But now that exterior seemed to have been stripped away. As close as he was, Galier could see that Jormand was trembling. The tense shaking he associated with soldiers who had seen too much and were sent home with madness in their eyes. They called it rest but every soldier knew they would not be called to service again. They were too erratic after that.

Jormand’s skin was clammy and pale but a hand against his forehead told Galier that he had no fever. His lips were drained of color and his curly hair hung damply back out of his face. He looked ill but Galier knew of no sickness that quickened so fast. The alternative was far worse. Jormand was a warrior, heart and soul. He drew his very self from his prowess in battle. Since childhood, he had always been one of the best, sometimes by a small margin but he made up for lack of talent with sheer ferocity and battle-rage that stunned and impressed his instructors time and again. Those attributes were hard to pin to the man Galier saw before him. Despite strong muscles and old, long healed scars, he looked weaker than any beggar. That blank face, despite being lined by snarls and frowns, looked incapable of producing any expression. His lips moved from time to time but no sound came forth. Too weak to speak, much less to roar.

Galier nearly felt embarrassed to see Jormand in such a state. They had shared their worst moments along with their best since childhood but none had amounted to such a complete deconstruction. He was almost glad that Jormand did not speak. He himself had no clue what to say, nothing he could think of could ever come close to being enough and he knew it.

Time dragged on like that. Sometimes Galier felt compelled to speak but when he looked into his friend’s glassy, bloodshot eyes, he thought better of it. He could not find what to say, every thought he had seemed thin and insufficient to him. He stood before a sheer wall and was trying to climb over using only his bare hands, uncalloused and smooth. He lacked the tools. He had no experience to compare and so he sat silently in the hopes that the presence of a friend would be of some help to Jormand in his state.

Galier did not bother counting time but he was aware of the sun slowly inching across the sky through the windows across from him. They stood open even as the heat of the day began to take hold. He considered closing them but he did not want to move. He could not leave Jormand’s side again so soon. Eventually he would speak and Galier would be there to hear and answer.

That moment was a long time in coming but eventually, when the sun nearly stood at its midday height, he opened his mouth and this time words came forth, strained near to nothingness but audible nonetheless. Galier smiled with relief. The words betrayed Jormand’s hopelessness but at least he had not been rendered mute like he had begun to worry.

“There’s something I don’t understand.” He said in a disturbingly calm voice.

“What’s that?” Galier asked, hoping to keep him talking. If he stopped, there was no knowing when he might start again, if ever.

“How did she find them?”

Galier was confused for a moment. Who was he talking about? He had his own suspicions about who was behind the assassinations, but Jormand had no reason to believe it was the Lady of Stars, as he did. Then he realized it was much more simple than that. Jormand had looked over to the table near the doorway to his chamber where Lana sat, studiously examining the table and its deep scratches. How had Lana found that shop? Galier had not bothered asking her the night before, what with everything going on. On top of that, she had been nearly as distraught as Jormand. No one had been thinking straight. He had not been there when Lana, Jormand, and his guards made the grisly discovery but from what he understood, she had led them there rather handily.

“I do not know.” Galier said simply. He did not want to prompt an argument with Lana at that moment, not in as defenseless a state as Jormand was in but he intended to question her about it later. Thoroughly.

“And the others, he wasn’t alone, Galier. Those other men, we have to find out who they were.”

Jormand had turned his face towards Galier. Their eyes met, Jormand’s beginning to brighten again with a dangerous fire. He reached out with a shaking hand and gripped Galier’s arm painfully, stiff fingers pinching skin through the fabric.

“I saw them before.” He continued in a raw whisper. “You have to help me.”

Galier ripped his gaze away with a wince. He understood Jormand’s desire for justice or revenge, but there was not a chance Ketrim would leave him behind. Especially not now. Galier would not want him to stay either, not anymore. It was clear that he was in danger now, Ketrim may be the more eligible heir but Jormand would be a target for anyone wanting to damage the house. An easier target as well.

“You’re leaving, Jor.” Galier said softly in what he hoped was a comforting voice. “You have to, staying here to look for revenge wont do anything but get you killed too.”

He regretted saying it immediately. Jormand’s look intensified and Galier shied away again. He did not want to deny his friend the vengeance he no doubt wanted, but he was not willing to risk his life either.

Those trembling fingers dug deeper into the skin of his arm through the silk of his shirt and wool of his jacket. The pain did not bother him much, but feeling the strain in Jormand’s fingers set his blood running cold.

“I know.” Jormand hissed. He had propped himself up on an elbow and he spoke almost directly into Galier’s ear. It sent goosebumps running down his neck. “But you’re not leaving. You have to find out who did this, Galier. I know you want to as much as I do.” His voice was full of cold rage, not something Galier was used to hearing from him. Jormand was one to let passions get the best of him, his emotions were hot and burned quickly. This cool semblance of control did not sound like him at all.

But Jormand was right, after a fashion. Galier could feel that itch of curiosity in the back of his mind. He knew there was something to be found and he had the clues to find it. There was some connection to the Lady of Stars, it was no coincidence these assassinations came in such quick succession. Even if the assassins were not the same. And he had to know, not for revenge, not for justice or anything so altruistic. He had to know how she had controlled him that one night, how she had reached into his mind and pulled him like a marionette on her strings. That memory still frightened him to his core but now, around that kernel of fear, a fire of anger had begun to flicker. He would not let her get away with that. Or with reducing his lifelong friend to this shadow on the bed.

Galier nodded firmly, his jaw set. He still did not look back to Jormand’s eyes. He did not want to see that feverish intensity. It bordered too closely on the battlefield madness he feared had taken hold of him.

Jormand nodded too and dropped his hand from where he had been gripping Galier’s arm. He looked away towards the windows and then said in a louder, more stable voice.

“Good. I suspect we’ll be leaving today. Nothing left to stay for…” He trailed off and Galier stood unsteadily. His left hand had gone numb from Jormand’s grip and his heart did not seem to want to keep to a rhythm. He looked back to the table where Lana sat. She had kept quiet the whole time, possibly hours if he estimated it correctly, but she did not complain. She still studied the table, poking at the gouges in its polished surface occasionally. Galier was going to have to question her about how she had known where to go last night. Soon. But this was not the time nor the place.

As if to corroborate his thinking, the door to Jormand’s chamber burst open at that moment. Lana was immediately back on her feet, knife in hand as she fell into a low stance facing the new arrival. Galier also reached for the long dagger at his belt but let his hand drop when he saw who it was. In the doorway, trailed by a pair of grizzled guards, was Ketrim Derran, Jormand’s brother. He looked a sight worse than usual with a haggard expression and a shadow of stubble that was uncharacteristic of him. His coat and breeches were rumpled and his hair just shy of the usual state of perfection that he preferred.

As he entered the room, he nodded towards Lana who still held her knife in a warding hand. Ketrim did not even acknowledge her as a threat, nor did he comment on Galier’s dagger that he had clearly been about to draw.

“Lord Caerest.” Ketrim said in a commanding voice that was slightly at odds with his bedraggled appearance. “I was told you had arrived here. We have business to discuss.”

He motioned to one of the four damaged chairs that surrounded Jormand’s table. Galier complied after a moment, taking a seat in the chair that seemed the least damaged. Ketrim took the one opposite him, tossing Jormand’s boots, still tinted with his father’s blood, onto the floor with a callous hand.

So he intended to go through with Martim’s plan then. Galier was ready to accept the responsibility but the grim expression of Ketrim’s face was enough to give him pause. It seemed the situation had only become more complicated. He would soon discover how true that was.