As the vessel from Lodestar Island neared the large port of Mer, Harpis made his way above deck to join Arken next to the helmsman.

“I have never seen such a sight; it is so much bigger than Ravnice or Kalt,” Harpis said, taking in the city from their northern approach.

Arken snorted. “You’ll see this and the rest of them in the service of The Syndicate if you do well today.”

Harpis noticed the odd mechanical device of spherical metal bands with measurement notches sitting on the ledge behind the ship’s wheel.

“What is that thing for?” Harpis asked both Arken and the helmsman.

Arken addressed him first. “You are aware of the limitations most islanders have in navigating the sea, I am sure, given your time spent in a fishing village and aboard ships.”

Harpis nodded his agreement to the statement.

The helmsman picked it up and handed it to Harpis. “It is an astrolabe. It lets us use the stars to navigate accurately. It is how we can find Lodestar Island and how we avoid unwanted attention from the ships that cannot safely stray far from the coast.”

Harpis shrugged unknowingly at the helmsman. The ship slowed as one of the other crewmen pulled in the sail once they got closer to the docks and piers of Mer.

Arken turned to Harpis. “Don’t go embarrassing me out there. You will jump off here in a moment as we pass some empty docks, well before we tie this ship up across the harbor. You are to find the ship The Lady Ghost. Take note of what is loaded aboard her before she departs later this morning and report your findings at the Muddled Mage Tavern before nightfall.”

Arken grabbed his shoulder. “Remember, everyone may be a threat, everyone may be a mark, and every piece of information may be vital to your survival or the survival of this island. Do not get followed. Do not get caught, but if you do, die for our secrets rather than live by giving them, or I will find you myself and kill you.”

And with that, Arken shoved him hard enough that he took two steps backward, tripped over the low railing of the steering platform, and fell onto the dock below. So it was that he began his Syndicate assessment with a bruised ass and a swift farewell.

He quickly looked around and noted that the dock where he landed was empty in the early hours. Making his way towards the already bustling wharf vendor stalls, he pretended several times to be lost or act as if he had forgotten to check something at a vendor.

He was constantly reversing the direction he was walking at random to see if he could find anyone following him. Having never been to Mer, he found the great expanse of its wharf quite impressive.

He had no idea where The Lady Ghost was. However, he knew a fair number of sailors would likely still be drinking in the bars along the wharf. The first one he passed was The One-Eyed Otter, but he continued to The Flirty Mermaid.

After pushing his way through the doors, he waited for his eyes to adjust before he made his way to the wooden counter and asked for a mead. “A drink on me to the first soul who can tell me who to talk to about buying passage on The Lady Ghost,” he shouted.

“Who be asking!” questioned a tattooed giant of a man who smelled like he had not bathed in weeks.

“I am Har…” he said, falling from his stool as if overly drunk in an exaggerated greeting to the sailor. As he fell, he grabbed the man’s belt to ease his fall and help himself back up.

He apologized for the blunder but not for removing the small pouch of coins the man had tucked in his belt. “Sorry, Harpis is the name, I was just drinking the night away over at The One-Eyed Otter, and when I mentioned looking for passage out of here someone there mentioned she was leaving later today. I figured she’d do as good as any for passage out of Mer but no one at the last establishment could point me her way.”

The sailor looked Harpis up and down and ordered his free drink from the barman.

“Cap’n is likely still onboard taking in our cargo at the northern harbor docks. If you make your way with haste, you may be able to book passage.”

Harpis paid for their drinks with the stolen coins and left as quickly as he could before the sailor realized his coin pouch and its contents were missing.

Leaving the bar, he glanced around, looking for anyone paying too much attention to him. He quickly spotted the ship and found a wharf stall within view, where he could covertly observe both the boat and the bar.

It looked like all of what the crew was loading were whiskey barrels and some grain. However, that was the extent of Harpis’ surveillance of The Lady Ghost because a particular roaring drunk sailor emerged from the Flirty Mermaid moments later railing about how some dark-haired man named Harpis had robbed him. At that moment, Harpis decided against using his real name when on Syndicate business and quietly slipped out of the wharf and into the city proper.

He kept quickening his pace up the street before stopping for a moment, realizing he had no idea where he was going.

Glancing around, he noticed a hooded and cloaked person on the same street as him who was peering into a shop window. Harpis was not sure, but the person felt familiar. Perhaps he was in one of the bars or out in the wharf.

In either case, Harpis became instantly paranoid. He forced himself to calm and think about how he might find the Muddled Mage Tavern. After a tense moment, the name struck him, and he cursed himself for missing so obvious a clue. Doubtless, a drinking establishment with that name would be near The College of Elements.

He remembered the description of the college in The Founding of Magi Trilia had bid him read. It was supposedly a construction of four towers and with an overall squareness to the structure. So Harpis began peering over the buildings around him until he spotted the college towers to his south.

The figure in front of the shop still stood unmoving as the minutes passed. The person’s position in front of the shop window was probably affording a view of Harpis in its reflection, and he convinced himself that the figure was watching him.

For the rest of the morning and early afternoon, Harpis slipped in and out of establishments, changing his gait, the way, and direction he walked to shake the supposed stalker.

He always kept the college towers in view, knowing he eventually had to make his way there before nightfall.

He even stopped and bought a jellied scone from a baker he passed and ate it for lunch. As he satisfied his rumbling belly in front of the bakery, he realized he had not noticed the hooded figure in quite some time.

Having nothing better to do, Harpis continued the game of cat and mouse despite not having seen the person for some time. Finally, as the sun began to dip in the evening in the sky, Harpis made his way towards the college.

There was only one tavern near it, and it was, in fact, The Muddled Mage. With one last glance around, he went inside. He sought out the seat furthest from the entrance but within view of it so he could watch in case whoever was stalking him found their way here as well.

He had been sitting there in unshakeable anticipation, which slowly transitioned over the next three hours and three meads into self-doubt. Once the sun’s rays left the tavern’s windows, the poorly lit interior shown with orange and red hues of candlelight. Had he failed? He tried to figure out where he had erred. Perhaps The Syndicate simply left him, unsatisfied with his performance, to begin a life here in Mer?

Harpis nearly leaped out of his skin as the hooded figure from the streets slid into the other bench of his booth, across the small table from him. Harpis went for his knife, but the figure’s foot snapped forward under the table, crushing his wrist against the boards of the bench before he could draw it.

“Well met, Harpis Akkeri of nowhere.” The figure spoke, and immediately Harpis relaxed, as did the boot on his wrist. The person across from him pulled back the hood revealing the face of an ancient-looking wood elf. He knew elves could live to be over a millennium old, but this elf wore all thousand and then some years on his wrinkled face like so many tiny scars.

More than just his face, his eye carried the weight of an entire age in its gaze. An old-looking elf was something he had never seen. A thousand years at sea had weathered him mightily. Harpis could barely pry his gaze from the empty eye socket where the elf’s right eye had been.

“I am Turin Deadeye, and it is good to meet you finally.” The elf said in a raspy voice.

Turin cleared his throat and sipped his whiskey before continuing. “So, what about your report?”

Harpis straightened, proud to provide his information and theory about it to the revered founder and oldest Navigator of The Syndicate.

“I found the vessel and noted that she was flagged under Ravnice state but was loading whiskey and grain onboard. What need does a Ravnice merchant have of Mer whiskey and grain? I assume the crew was hiding something in those contents.”

The old elf shrugged. “Perhaps, and how did you find it?”

Harpis described his adventure at the wharf earlier that morning. Turin nodded and asked to see the sailor’s coin purse.

Harpis grew excited to learn what he was supposed to have seen. “What is it? Does it contain a sign of their intentions?”

A serving girl approached them and asked if they would like another drink. Turin ordered whiskey for them both and handed the girl the coins.

“No, it’s going to pay for our next round.”

Harpis sank a little in his bench seat. “Was I correct regarding The Lady Ghost?” he asked.

Turin shrugged again. “Oh, I don’t know what else Arken told you to do besides meet me here, but it was entertaining watching you escape the sailor at the wharf. Your commandeering of the poor drunk’s coin was a bit heavy-handed, but he was too intoxicated to notice. Also, try not to see too hard into things. There was nothing suspicious on that vessel.”

Harpis was dejected, and though he was afraid to know the answer, he asked anyway.

“I did not see you that early in the day, but I did lose you sometime after lunch. Of that, I am sure.”

Turin smiled. “Oh, you lost me all right when I left at lunch for this establishment to get some food and drink. It was a little impressive that you stayed out there running around the streets of Mer trying to lose your own shadow for that long. I’d had enough of watching you slowly nurse mead any more from across the tavern and figured I ought to come to join you at last.”

Harpis still was not sure if he had passed their test or not. “So then am I graduating into the…. from my training?” he asked, catching himself before accidentally mentioning The Syndicate aloud.

“You graduate when you are dead, and your training starts every morning when you thankfully open your eyes once more,” Turin corrected.

“Welcome officially to our little family,” Turin said as he handed him some papers and coins. “We arranged to send you to The Hall on behalf of the governor of Ravnice, who is currently in need of a new court bard. He expects you in Ravnice come autumn, after your training at The Hall is at its end. You will then begin working with the one who convinced you to take this journey.”

Harpis took the papers, unable to hold back a smile at being reunited with Wren.

A few drinks and a farewell later, Turin disappeared.

*****

Inside The College of Elements, the Arch Mage paced the expanse of his second-story quarters above the now empty and still library. Uridyll Vatra was a tall and thin man with long, white hair and bushy eyebrows but almost no beard. His eighty years had hunched him considerably, but his mind was still as sharp as a razor. As such, instructors and students alike did well to remember lest they suffer the wrath of the intellectual old man.

Many at the college joked that Uridyll was appointed to his position because he was the physical epitome of how an old Arch Mage should look. As he paced his quarters, the black embroidered orange robes and black cloak of his position flowed behind him like a flag angrily snapping in the wind. The cloak had the college’s symbol, a giant lit candle, depicted in golden embroidery.

He was increasingly impatient waiting for his summons to be answered and was nearly startled by the eventual knock on his door. He knew it to be Stone Mage Vennil and Stone Sage Mara at the late hour, so without going to the door, he bid them enter while taking his seat.

“How may we assist you, Arch Mage?” Vennil greeted him, even though the two were keenly aware of why they were before him.

He motioned them to join him at the five-sided table in the middle of the room. “I have spent the weeks since you informed me of the theft contemplating our path forward. Please sit.” One edge had his chair, which he took, and each of the other sides sat two. Vennil and Mara made their way to the side of the Stone Tower and took their seats.

Uridyll gave them a stern look. “This discussion and the related information are not to leave this room, understood?” The instructors of the Tower of Stone nodded in agreement.

His gaze softened some at their concurrence. “I have decided that we must keep this quiet for now. I will not disclose the item or the fact that it is missing at the council’s next meeting as I originally had planned. To do so would only throw the entire island into pandemonium. Imagine every leader, who knew someone was potentially plotting against them, started questioning the identity of everyone they talked to in suspicion that they wore the mask and were, in fact, an imposter.”

He crossed his arms and stared for a moment at Vennil and then Mara, daring them to offer their opinion before continuing. “No, the repercussions of the item’s ability and its unknown location would destroy the very fabric of trust that keeps the city-states of this island in relative harmony. I will keep an ear out at the meeting and listen for any news or decisions that seem out of place while you two try and find a way to discern its location. Perhaps I will consult the leaders of the other institutions as they do not fear magic as the governors do. Save the Impresario. I do not trust his ability to stay truly impartial, given his family ties. What could you find regarding the item?”

Stone Sage Mara laid a parchment on the table and glanced over it before speaking. “The Mask of Breyva is made from enchanted primal clay. It can allow the user to wear the face of someone they view while donning it. Uttering the activation will cause it to transform into the face currently being viewed. I had to find this information in various texts here in the library. Unfortunately, the notes we had regarding it in my desk are missing as well.”

The Arch Mage turned to Vennil. “And what of its power?”

The stone mage looked from Mara to the Arch Mage uncomfortably. “It is exceptional, which is why I had it secured, or so I thought, in my quarters. The enchanted coffer caught a bumbling novice and not the real thief. The duration of the face changing and the number of uses possible is not known to us. It was no normal enchantment. It was the Apotheosis that earned Stone Magus Breyva her title. A work that took almost her entire last decade among the living to complete. Given her considerable magical gifts detailed in other texts, we can probably assume it will not run out of uses, and the duration of the face change may be indefinite.”

Arch Mage Uridyll put his head in his hands and groaned noticeably.

Sitting up straight in his chair, he gave the stone mage and stone sage a long glare. “I do have one last question of you two before we conclude this business. How was it that this mask escaped destruction after The Treaty of Mer?”

Stone Mage Vennil gave him an unknowing shrug.

Stone Sage Mara, much more studied in the history of The Tower of Stone, did speak up. “Arch Mage Uridyll, the mask, though certainly powerful and dangerous, was ultimately deemed not to be an implement of war.”

Uridyll rubbed his forehead several times before finally responding to the two.

“I will summon you both in the late hours again once I return from the next council meeting. Try and have something figured out as to how we might identify or locate this thing.”

*****

It had taken a day and into the following morning for Harpis’ ship out of Mer to dock in Tuath and the rest of the second day to get to The Bard’s Hall on horseback. The road to The Hall wove its way up the coastal cliffs, turning several times, putting The Hall in and out of his view. It sat atop the sea cliff’s highest point, easily a hundred times the height of a man. The Hall was at the edge of the northernmost part of the entire island.

After a day’s ride in the clingy humid heat of Tuath in early summer, he and his rented horse were both completely lathered in sweat. Dismounting at the entrance to The Bard’s Hall, he handed his papers to a woman who walked out of The Hall and hailed him.

“Ahh,” the woman replied. “Come to fill the vacant position in Ravnice, I see. That is if you succeed in becoming a bard. Come this way. I am Maestro Olimir, and I will introduce you to the Impresario.”

Harpis rolled his eyes at the statement, doubtful his experience at The Hall would be near as trying as his past month. Nevertheless, he followed the woman up two sets of stairs and was left with the Impresario in his office on the third floor above the Hall.

Taking his papers from Olimir, the Impresario dismissed her and motioned for Harpis to follow as he walked down a hallway past his quarters, his sandals smacking the bottoms of his heels as they went. As they stepped out onto the sizable third-floor balcony at the back of the Hall, the tropical heat of the sun once more beat upon Harpis’ skin, and he lost his breath gazing out from the balcony over the sea.

With no other land in sight ahead and the sea over six hundred feet below him, he imagined this is how gods must view the world.

The Impresario was a hand taller than Harpis. The blond-haired man seemed to carry an air of distinction about him in his every movement. Despite his stately presence, the Impresario had a half-smile that didn’t seem to leave his face or his green eyes, and Harpis felt at ease in his company. The loose, low V-cut shirt he wore exposed much of his olive-skinned chest. A wide black belt and large gold buckle stood out above baggy pants of the same cream color as the blouse.

He handed Harpis his papers back. “Glad are we to have a chance to post a bard in Ravnice again. Harpis, is it? I am Impresario Benali Tuath. These papers suggest the governor of Ravnice believes you to be not just a superior candidate but gifted as well.”

Harpis nodded at the man as they shook hands.

“Rare is it that we have a gifted among our ranks. Maestro Bravit, who will be one of your instructors, Virtuoso Mahala Shelta, one of our most senior roaming bards, and myself are the only ones I currently know of besides, allegedly, yourself,” Benali stated.

The stated rarity of a gifted bard shocked Harpis. “I am surprised, to be honest, of the size of quarters here on the premise. I thought there were only Bards of The Hall at each city court?” he asked.

Benali joined Harpis at the railing overlooking the sea. “That is true, though as I mentioned, like Mahala, we have several members who are more nomadic. It helps us learn of and deliver news and information from the smaller villages and towns throughout the island in addition to what we gather from, and provide to, the cities’ governors.”

Benali turned his back to the sea to look over the grounds, leaning against the railing comfortably despite the drop behind him. “Still, we are a small organization. Counting myself and the teachers here, our postings at each court, and those roaming the countryside, there are less than twenty sanctioned bards of the Hall. Some of those here simply want to master storytelling, seek out news or learn music. Additionally, there are quarters for visiting bards and our staff, of course,” he said.

He pointed at the long buildings on either side. “It is important, you see, for us to have a formal educational process and sanction our members. Otherwise, there would be no trust in the news we spread between cities and towns. Bards come here, some weekly, but at least monthly, and bring news from their posting to share with us here and take any new information from the other regions back with them.”

Harpis was beginning to understand why The Syndicate was so excited for him to become a bard.

The Impresario kept his gaze on the sea. “You will learn the ways of journalism and impartiality. You will learn an instrument and the oral barding traditions of poetry and song. Compared to the other institutions that train gifted folk, here at the Hall, magic plays much less of a role in our ability to affect people, Harpis.”

“What do you mean?” Harpis asked.

“There is no magical gift required to rehearse a well-written song or poem that will stick in the mind of those listening such that they never forget what you share with them. A mother singing a lullaby to her children requires no gift to induce irresistible drowsiness. A soldier’s rallying cry can, with but the force of his voice and choice of his words, cause his compatriot’s hackles to stand up and hearts to leap just as they cause his enemy’s will to waiver,” the Impresario explained.

“And will I be trained in how to use my gift through song to enhance such effects?”

Benali held up a placating hand. “If you learn well what we teach you and embrace the traditions of our Hall, Maestro Bravit and I will teach you to weave your gift into your craft, and I will sanction you as one of us few. If you prove worthy.”

As if on cue, a short, pudgy man made his way onto the balcony to join them. He was still breathing heavily from making his way up the two sets of stairs as he raked curly brown hair out of his face and finally gathered himself.

“Fair evening to you, Benali…I mean, uh, Impresario,” he said, with an exaggerated bow.

Benali grinned at the other man. “Harpis, this is Maestro Bravit. Believe it or not, he had at one time been a nomadic bard of the Hall. But, as you can see, that was several inches of waistline ago.”

Bravit put his hands on his hips indignantly, returning Benali’s grin and turning to address Harpis. “Well met, lad, don’t let The Impresario’s bluster here fool you. His Royal Highness Benali Tuath has never had dirt under his fingernails or slept on anything but the thickest of mattresses!”

With a more serious demeanor, Benali clapped Bravit on the shoulder. “Bravit has been sanctioned for some thirty years. He has instructed here at The Hall for almost ten of them and is one of only a handful of maestros and the only gifted one. He will take you to your quarters and handle much of your instruction, involving the gift or otherwise.”

Harpis followed the shorter man as they made their way down the stairs. The going was slow as Bravit accommodated creaking knee and ankle joints during their descent. However, before they exited to head to the lodging building, Bravit halted them in front of a large board with parchments nailed to it at the entrance to the main concert area. In the wood was engraved the title of each city-state. A parchment was nailed up under each engraving, save the Ravnice court spot.

Turning to Harpis, Bravit pointed at the blank spot. “Eventually, if you become sanctioned, that will be yours to fill. Each of these postings is from bards at other city-state courts or those roaming the countryside. I expect you to add a date of posting and your name, along with a simple list of the major events in your locale that you think is worth wider dissemination.”

Bravit pointed back towards the classrooms on one side of the Hall. “We keep more detailed descriptions of news and events in the library. The board is a quick reference for bards as they visit to post their news and take back information from others to their posting. While in training, I expect you to take note of the changes to what is posted here each day and bring them to class.”

Harpis nodded in acknowledgment. “Seems straightforward enough, Maestro.”

Bravit slapped him on the back with a haughty laugh. “Please, just Bravit! I’ll also give you sets of detailed news from the past out of the library each day, and you can practice journalistic interpretation and then post the summary here below the official board, but don’t worry, we will work on that over the coming days.”

With that, Bravit led Harpis back out of the front doors into the deepening dusk, where he paused with his eyes closed, sucking in a deep breath of the still and humid tropical air. The sound of insects slowly grew with the dimming light of day, and the dense air seemed to reverberate the evening concert all around them.

“That, good Harpis, is the sound of the real maestros around here. Come, let me show you your quarters and then an ale or two at the kitchens!”