Missive to Council

Season of the Hot Sun Second Quarter Fourth Day of Sighs

Before I made formal departure from Stormguard Omar sought me out, to warn me of what risks I may be encountering as I travel south and east. While there are always dangers on the roads between the centers of power, I was surprised by the vehemence of his requests, I be careful, that I not to stray from my mission, and perhaps even consider requesting another take my place. Has he also sent such missives to Council?

When I questioned him, he informed me of three attempts to take his tower in the past year, once even during the cold season. Apparently more than one of his refused supplicants were able to locate warriors and mercenaries willing to take coin to secure magic at cost. He is also concerned at the reports which suggest a turning to surviving Infernal and Celestial entities where our hold is weakest.

“Come now, master, we are nearly half through the Season of the Hot Sun. Do you truly want to travel, even along the Road of Kings, during the season of storm?” Omar asked me, eyeing the clouded sky in the direction I was to ride, his cloak flapping in the warm wind that spoke of the coming violence.

I glanced over at my heavy set former apprentice, committed this image of him to memory. This would last time I would see my former apprentice before departing the shadow of the Pillars of Fire.

Not to leave me with such a meager sendoff, Omar had other warnings as well. Such as, “you will gain little from any talks with Duke Nevis or his peers, unless it’s only gold you seek.” True, I had engaged, finally, in a long and altogether fruitless discussion with the Great Duke of Stormguard. Time had not been kind to the old soldier I remembered helping break the siege of Cathlest during the Second War of the Alliance. But he’d fought his infirmity tenaciously. Even confined to his chambers by the Grey Wasting, he was still a stubborn wielder of greater power of wealth and trade than a sword had ever provided. I had to admire the man’s bottomless well of gall. While acknowledging he had offered little to the margrave, he attempted repeatedly to gain my own commission for several of his realms arcane needs, offering much in return.

Despite warnings of his avarice, I still wanted to check to see how close he would come to suggesting I abandon Council Tenet in his favor. And he did come close; closer than I would have ever expected. But then he did now hold many merchanter treaties with the Vaeranshi, and was clearly influenced by their ways. Perhaps that emboldened him, even as his color and his life were doomed to fade away within a few years at the most, a season or two at the least. All the riches he had access too wouldn’t extend his time. Nothing could add years to the life of a mere aristocrat, nothing ethical at least. And I hoped there were none here who would risk expulsion or worse by offering to break tenet.

But, back to the discussion of traveling during the Season of Storm with fellow Omar.

“Come now, Omar,” I told him smiling. “You should remember, Storm has always been my favorite of the seasons. Cold and Hot are timid and predictable by comparison. I enjoy experiencing the suns yearly battle for supremacy.”

He laughed.

“You are one of the very few,” he suggested. I wouldn’t argue that.

Then he added in a more serious tone: “I suspect, master, there is more to your traveling than the gathering of chronicles. I remember the motives of your actions were ever complex. And I must warn you. I am not at all certain how useful your energies are spent in following the path of a desperate man.”

His conspiratorial tone fit the location he had called me to. Far beyond the finery of the Duke’s palace, he met me in the darkness and smoke of a common dinner hall. Around us, men of the mines and fields ate and drank noisily, drowning out whatever others could have heard of our words.

“What would you have me do?” I replied in a quiet tone. “The Margravine presented me with the very the words I had written. It is an obligation, a debt I am bound to repay. One no different than my obligations to Council or tenet.”

Omar’s twisted his lips at that, sipped from his tankard.