Wren took a deep breath of spring air as he made his way to the wharf vendors for his regular linen purchases.

His usual vendor gave him an intense stare as he purchased his linen. He knew at once that the pile of sheets he would use to wrap the fallen of Ravnice held important news. He made his way to his home as quickly as possible. If he hurried, he could read the message safely in his apartment and still meet Harpis for lunch at The Siren’s Scream.

As he locked his apartment door behind him, Wren made his way to his desk and hurriedly unstacked the linen into an unorganized pile revealing the sealed parchment note. He broke the seal, verified the fresh ink stains, and read the message from the Navigators.

Northward bound.

An Eye in the Hall.

Song for one or for all?

A Hand for the vicar.

A Name for the killer?

We Lost our sight.

As quiet as the night,

Inquire after Eiyna.

A hand feeds the crown.

Wren stared for a long moment at the parchment. Never had The Syndicate so named an operative in a message. Sending him and Harpis to Tuath must mean something was seriously amiss. The gnome snapped his fingers, and Xissay appeared sitting on his table as the smoke cleared.

“Where are we headed this time?” she asked, glancing at the parchment held unsteadily in Wren’s hands.

“I think the Eye in Tuath must be dead, and The Syndicate is worried enough about the Hand to send Harpis and me north to look for her. They even sent her name and that she works in a role that gets food to the governor. This message breaks protocol on several levels. Naming an operative of another area and indicating their posting as such. It seems they need Harpis to see whether The Hall stands with the Impresario’s family connections or remains neutral.”

“Seems likely there could be danger around the corner, old gnome,” Xissay said.

He nodded somberly and handed her the letter. She walked over and sat in the fireplace, her hands glowing red, the parchment burst into flames.

“Indeed,” Wren said, pulling his scythe from the empty air in front of him. He ran a finger along its blade.

“The next time I beckon, expect it may be in dire circumstances,” he said to the scythe and himself as much to the familiar.

“I live for dire circumstances.” Xissay returned almost gleefully.

Wren nodded at her solemnly. “You live for nothing at all anymore, dear Xissay.”

The sprite crossed her arms and shot him a glowering look. “And neither will those who face me.”

Wren raised his hands in peace. “Until next time,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“Just make sure there is a next time, death speaker,” she said, disappearing into sulfuric smoke.

Wren gave one more look at the now-empty fireplace, sent his scythe back into The Great Dream, and made for The Siren’s Scream with haste.

*****

Harpis was already waiting with two drinks in the back of the inn when Wren got there. They were an odd couple for sure to be meeting over drinks, the governor’s bard and one of the city’s morticians. Most of the regular customers of the inn knew well the story of how the two met and why they were so close, and why they often chose the dingy wharf bar.

“Well met, Mortician,” Harpis said as Wren scooted into the booth bench across from him and slid over a glass.

“Well met, Bard,” Wren said, looking around at the mostly empty inn. It seemed most of the city was not ready for whiskey with lunch.

“I am glad to hear you are going back to the Hall. It sounds like Aanaman would like fresh information after he returns from his council meeting,” Wren said, finishing with a severe look at Harpis, who was about to argue he had no such plans but instead simply nodded at him. “Won’t you be lonely here without me?” he asked his friend sarcastically.

“Well, I am off to The Sanctum,” Wren lied for the benefit of any potential eavesdroppers. “I will tell you, having been north before, in seven days, the Northern Winds tavern in Tuath’s wharf should be bringing in its autumn catch of tuna. You should try some while you are up there. If you do not see what you like that day, though, the fish has probably gone bad, and you might as well head back here.”

“I will do my best to give it a try. I do so love fresh seafood,” Harpis said.

Both sipped their drinks quietly for a moment, thinking about the tasks at hand.

Wren met his eyes with a serious look. “Safe travels when you leave in a few days by the sea. It’s probably for the best you get a chance to hear Aanaman’s account of how the council meeting went. I, for one, will set out over land tomorrow and need to prepare.” With that, Wren finished his drink in one gulp and slid out of the bench.

He walked over to Harpis and squeezed his arm. “I will see you in a week,” he said very quietly.

Then he made his voice a bit louder as he departed. “Travel safe, troubling times bring out troubling folk.”

Sitting back against the bench, Harpis wondered how he would convince Aanaman to let him depart again so soon after the man returned from the council.

*****

The council chamber in Mer was a squat, one-story, one-room, stone structure at the center of town with solid iron doors and no windows. The room inside was sparse. At the far end was a row of bookshelves against the back wall with six small writing desks in front of it, one each for the governor’s clerks, should they choose to bring one along and a sixth for the clergy scribe who made a recording of every meeting for the histories. Along one side of the room were four ornate chairs for the Exarch, Impresario, Arch Mage, and Death Herald, the last of which had been almost regularly unoccupied.

Governor Edwin Lurras of Mer sat at the giant, five-sided oak table in the chamber’s center. He enjoyed being the first in the room. He arrived hours before the others, benefitting from having the council chamber in his home city-state. Edwin was a lender and financier before being elected governor of the economic capital of Quaj.

His brown hair encircled the considerable bald spot on the top of his head despite the man being only in his fifties. He was a physical threat to no one. Conversely, his strength in math, economics, and bartering served Mer well over the twelve years of his six biannual terms as governor.

He loved politics more than any of the others. He reveled in these meetings even if he despised some of the guests they provided.

His face pulled into a grimace as one of his militia officers burst into the chamber and interrupted the silence.

“Governor, some twenty ships from Tuath have entered the harbor, bristling with armed men, perhaps two thousand in total!”

Edwin frowned deeply. “What is that pompous son of an ass doing sailing into here with half his navy? These are supposed to be peaceful dealings, not armed stand-offs.”

The officer shrugged unknowingly. “What are your orders?”

Edwin let out a long sigh of disappointment. “Empty the barracks and triple the street patrols. Activate the rest of the garrison forces, have them on standby. Move at least five hundred armed men into positions around the wharf and have another five hundred within minutes of this building. Send our reserves to the barracks.”

The officer turned to leave, but Edwin gave one more order as he got to the doors. “And Lieutenant, our men are to avoid confrontation at absolutely any cost. Prevent our guests or our people from experiencing any violence today if possible. You find Captain Elliswerth and pass that along to him, won’t you? I expect a full debrief from him on the handling of this childish display of aggression after the council meeting.”

The man saluted and left.

*****

As ordered, the other nineteen ships stayed out in the far reaches of the harbor as the Tuath governor’s flagship tied up to the Mer docks. Sirul descended the gangway to the pier, Benali Tuath in tow.

Sirul was pleased that he had convinced the Impresario to sail with him to the council. He had used his first encounter with Myrlman’s second cousin as a final test. Despite knowing the bard had not spent time with Myrlman since he was a child, the risk of being called out as a pretender by Benali had exhilarated Sirul. However, after several meetings with the man back in Tuath, he had not sensed even the slightest suspicion.

Having gone almost the entire week before their departure without donning it, he felt the time was right to rid himself of the potential liability. So, the night before they arrived, he had flung the mask off the side of his ship, surrendering the powerful artifact to the deep of the sea and completing his transformation into Myrlman Tuath.

He was pleased with his well-orchestrated introduction to the island’s political arena. The supposedly neutral Bard’s Hall leader arriving with him should at least put the other governors on their heels a little in what would be an exciting council meeting. Though he had never been in Mer during one of the meetings or witnessed it firsthand, Sirul felt confident in his ability to play the part. After all, this was supposedly Myrlman’s second-ever council meeting and the first as an adult and in power.

Judging by the tantrum the man had thrown while Sirul watched from the ceiling of his office in Tuath after the last one, no one expected the man they thought to be Myrlman Tuath to make a good show of political mastery.

The experienced killer still living in Sirul sensed the Impresario’s tense and measured steps behind him. Good, he thought, that the man who believed him his cousin was also on his toes.

In front and behind him marched fifty seasoned members of the Tuath militia. As they completed the short walk to the council chamber, he saw that they were the last to arrive. Perfect, everyone would notice the Impresario at his side, and he would also know where to sit.

As they walked in, his killer’s senses tingled under the many eyes of the overstaffed Mer militia around him. They were obviously nervous at the presence of so many uniformed Tuath militia in their city.

Outside the squat building, there were maybe a handful of guards from the other city-states. They clumped together, telling war stories, and milling about until they saw the contingent from Tuath.

The twenty-some group of armed men and dwarves from the other three city-states drew together and faced the Tuath contingent. Their tight faces revealing their concern at the numerical disadvantage despite the ten well armored and well trained dwarven soldiers among them.

Sirul strode from his protective entourage with Benali slightly behind him and shoved open the iron doors with both his hands. They slammed like a gong as the stone walls inside abruptly stopped their swing, and all eyes drew to him. His hundred-strong guard contingent was a daunting backdrop for his intimidating show of force.

Flawless, Sirul thought to himself as he took the empty seat at the five-sided table. Benali Tuath made his way between the Exarch and Arch Mage, both of whom met his gaze with raised eyebrows.

Edwin Lurras addressed the table. “Now then, welcome all to Mer and this delayed meeting of the council. Governor Tuath, we all offer our condolences for the losses your people took in the attack against your ship on the way to this very meeting. We are glad you arrived here safely this time.”

Sirul loudly scoffed at the man, and the table grew tensely quiet.

Edwin gave him an annoyed look. “If you have finished your dramatics, Governor Myrlman Tuath, I would like to list our agenda for this quarter.”

Sirul slid his chair loudly backward as he stood furiously, placing one palm on the table so he could lean over farther.

He pointed his finger at the chest of their host. “There is but one item on the agenda for this meeting of such a distinguished council. That is your outright apology and reparations for the murder of my father and the attempted kidnapping and resulting personal injury to myself.”

Edwin Lurras of Mer looked genuinely flabbergasted. “How dare you bring such accusations against me without evidence or motive!”

A tight smile slowly drew across Sirul’s face, but it looked more like a dog baring its teeth. He slid his hands into his tunic, causing more than one at the table to tense.

“You want proof and motive then here,” he said, throwing two blood-covered gold coins stamped with the seal of Mer and a dozen letters from Edwin Lurras of Mer to Seulman Tuath onto the table.

All eyes sank to the items now strewn in the center of the table.

Edwin simply glared. “What of it? Pray, tell me, have you been party to any of the threatening letters your father often sent me in return? Our economic struggles are no secret amongst this council, and what do two coins from my city prove of anything? I had nothing to do with either tragic event!”

Sirul slowly sat down. “And yet, I have produced these letters to our peers here at this council, and you have produced nothing. The coins I took from a chest in the hull of the ship that attempted my kidnapping. The blood on them is my own.”

Edwin looked beside himself in bewilderment. “This proves nothing. Again, I had nothing to do with this.”

Crossing his arms, Sirul addressed the entire room. “I, Myrlman Tuath, of the Tuath city and state will hear no other agenda item from this council. Neither will I forgive these transgressions until Edwin Lurras and Mer meet my reparation demand for their injustices against my people and me. Ten thousand gold coins and ten ships delivered with them should suffice.”

Governor Edwin Lurras’ mouth hung open as he looked around the room desperately for support. “Mer does not even have such wealth in coins, nor have we committed any crime!”

Sirul was unflinching. “Well, distinguished governors of Quaj, what say you?”

The first to speak was the dwarven governor of Fjall, Ingar Hammersmith. Unlike most of his kin, Ingar had a clean-shaven face and head. The lack of hair showed the anvil and hammer tattoos on either side of his head as well as the many pocks and scars of his face.

Had his hair grown, it would be the same snowy white as his eyebrows, currently furrowed over his wrinkled face and reddish-brown eyes. Eyes that burned with barely bridled rage at the spectacle before him.

The dwarven governor slammed his fists into the table before locking his fingers together tightly. He looked each of the other governors in the eyes for a moment before speaking.

“Hear me well. The lot of you are sons or grandsons of men who were yet twinkles in their father’s eyes when war between the human-run city-states last ravaged this island. That tragedy is the reason we meet here four times a year to settle our differences politically. I will not suffer the ill-proven threats of an impudent spoiled brat to disrupt the peace of this island.”

Ingar paused, making sure his words sunk in. “Myrlman Tuath, you will be keeping your mouth shut on such absolute horse dung unless you’ve evidence Mer has moved against ye. Only then will this council be forced to act.”

The dwarf emphasized his last comment by jamming his finger into the table in front of him with each word. “Forced to act politically!”

Sirul’s simmered. He was no politician, and the warrior dwarf across from him had stared him in the eyes for the whole tirade. It was a challenge that Sirul would typically answer with death. His entire frame quietly shook as he flexed and unflexed his muscles, trying to dissipate his rage. He was afforded a distraction as the Kalt governor, pale, dark-haired, and weaselly Jaeryl Innisgrath, spoke.

“I, for one, support the claims of Tuath. Unless Mer can inarguably prove they were not involved and that the evidence shown here today is not viable, I have no choice but to agree that Myrlman Tuath and his people are deserving payment for their grievances.”

The issue was seemingly a tie. All present stared at the figure of Aanaman Reaper, who was sitting quietly at the table rubbing his hands on his temples.

He stopped abruptly, laying his hands on the tabletop. “Part of my state lies in between Mer and Tuath, and I’ll not have the blood of either or both city-states spoil my crops. Nor will I suffer my people’s homes and fields becoming battlefields!”

Forcing himself to lower his voice Aanaman continued. “Due to the delay of this council meeting, the next one is barely two months away. I say we return at that time, giving Governor Edwin Lurras and Governor Myrlman Tuath time to make their cases eloquently and defensibly. Only then should we vote on the claims made. The two concerned will have no vote, and we will decide then with a majority rule.”

The room was deathly silent for a few long moments before Ingar Hammersmith spoke. “I second Aanaman’s proposition and the peace it keeps. All those in favor say aye.”

Jaeryl Innisgrath of Kalt answered a begrudging, “aye,” and Edwin Lurras an enthusiastic one.

Sirul sat silently seething at the bureaucracy around him. He was frustratingly unable to navigate the situation politically. As much as he wanted to kill the others in the room, that would not get him what he wanted. He stood abruptly and sneered at the table, which had begun a tense and hushed conversation.

“Farewell, governors!” he shouted as he left, and Impresario Benali obediently stood and followed behind him.

With the door closed behind the two men from Tuath, Ingar Hammersmith spat at the ground in their direction. “That spoiled boy from Tuath will have the lot of you dragged into war before the year is up, mark my words. Do ye think you’d be spared down there in the south, Jaeryl Innisgrath?”

The man from Kalt stood out of his chair and glared at the dwarf. “Do you think war will not come to your mountain hole, Ingar?” Jaeryl left, slamming the iron doors behind him.

The dwarf’s retort went unheard by the departing governor. “Bah to him too, on puppet strings from the Kalt clan. I am betting their lumber industry would boom from a war, and who knows, maybe he is safe in the south. No one else besides his people and that forsaken tribe of elves can stand the wind and cold of southern winters.”

The dwarf got up to leave, as did Aanaman, who was clenching his fists in thought. The dwarf and man gave parting courtesy to the still silent and wide-eyed governor of Mer.

After short whispers between themselves, the Exarch and Arch Mage stood, offering comfort to the governor.

“Logic will lead us to the proper solution,” voiced the Arch Mage.

“Daybreak’s judgment is above our own,” the Exarch followed.

As the day had begun, Governor Edwin Lurras of Mer sat alone at the table. For once, he was not so fond of politics or the meeting of the council.

*****

If not for the Exarch’s white robe and cowl, or the black-embroidered flowing orange robes of the Arch Mage, an onlooker could easily mistake them for any other two old friends taking a stroll on the beach. They paced the private area south of the college as they had countless times. This time though, they were not catching up on the news and discussing the weather.

The Exarch stopped suddenly and faced eastward to where the day would break tomorrow and for every day to follow. “Uridyll, my friend, we must ensure our institutions are neutral in this. Whatever the outcome, there must be no bias from the winner against our actions. Otherwise, we lose the ability to save lives.”

The Arch Mage stopped too, looking up at the college to the north. “The annals of history are painted with blood spilled in past conflicts at the hands of mages. I’ll not allow us to become implements of war once again.”

He paused and looked down at his robes and the candle sigil of a college instructor hanging from the gold chain around his neck.

“If it comes to it, and the rule of law fails this city, the mages will protect the academics of the college and the clerics of this island as they work to save and rebuild her,” he said.

The Exarch put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Perhaps it will not come to that, maybe men will see reason, and perhaps we can avoid more violence.”

Turning his head to take in the expanse of Mer city behind the college, Arch Mage Uridyll shook his head. “Always trying to see the best in people, aren’t you, old friend.”

The Exarch smiled and shrugged as he turned to leave. His parting words made the Arch Mage crack a tiny smile despite the day’s grim circumstances.

“You have your logic and research, Uridyll. What am I without my hoping and praying?”

*****

It had taken barely three days for Governor Aanaman Reaper to return from Mer. Harpis heard the gate open and slam from his apartment window across the dirt street from the governor’s home and saw the man disappear inside.

Some might feel that living directly across the street from their employer was stifling and maybe even bothersome. To Harpis, though, it was the first time he had living quarters to himself. Shortly after Aanaman had gone into his home, a guard made his way across the street and shouted at Harpis’ window that his presence was requested.

*****

Entering the governor’s lantern-lit office after being shown in, Harpis was greeted with Aanaman’s back as he poured three glasses of whiskey. He walked one over to Harpis, handing the other to Captain Kilannry, and then collapsed into his chair.

Throwing his booted feet up on his desk, he stared at his ceiling. “Take a seat, bard.”

Harpis did so and took a long sip from his glass. He could tell the governor was frustrated, but it appeared the captain had as little idea about what was going on as he did.

“Gentlemen,” Aanaman said. “I think that there is likely to be a war on our island in two months. He slammed his feet from his desk to the ground and sat up in his chair, facing them. He recounted the scene that had unfolded before his eyes at the council meeting.

Harpis quietly shook his head, and the captain let out a long, low whistle.

“Captain Kilannry, activate any reserves we have and begin drilling the men and shortening shifts. I want them sharp. Send a contingent of men, a number you feel comfortable with, to our north expanse trapped between Mer and Tuath,” Aanaman ordered.

“I want the people to know we have not forgotten them. Spread the word. If a conflict arises, we will welcome those willing to come to the city from the farmlands. We will not participate in this bloodshed that is likely to come, but we will do what we can to protect the lives and livelihood of our people.”

The captain raised his glass in acknowledgment, and Aanaman turned to Harpis. “I’ve never much cared for the bards, but truth be told, I need eyes and ears where mine can’t be.”

The governor of continued. “I need as much information about the inclination of the other city-states as possible, especially what is transpiring in Tuath and Mer. You will leave in the morning on one of our ships bound for Tuath and gather news from your fellow bards as frequently as you can until you deem it unsafe. You have my thanks in this endeavor.”

Harpis similarly raised his glass. “I will leave in the morning then, sir.” He did not verbalize his thankfulness at not having to concoct a reason to travel post-haste to Tuath to meet up with a particular dress-wearing gnome.

“Do you think we are under direct threat?” Captain Kilannry said, putting his now empty glass on the table and reaching for a decanter.

Aanaman swirled the little drink left in his glass, staring at it thoughtfully. “Well, I am not the greatest politician, but a blind and deaf man could have read that room. Ingar, to his credit, seems presumably fed up with the bickering of humans. He vehemently supports a non-violent resolution.”

Finishing his drink, Aanaman placed the cup back on the table and shrugged. “If threatened, I imagine he will just hole up in Fjall and wait us all out. Mer and Tuath are likely to fall into an open conflict of some sort. Besides impacts to our people who happen to live on their borders, I doubt we will suffer direct ramifications.”

The captain filled the empty glass in front of his governor while giving his own opinion on their southern neighbor. “Now, Jaeryl Innisgrath to the south, he is a snake if ever I have met one. The Kalt family and their control on the lumber trade holds sway over him.”

Aanaman nodded. “It is probably the worst kept secret on this whole island, if I am honest, that he does not make his own decisions. We will keep a weather eye on Kalt for now and do what we can for our people in the north. Given our lack of a navy, perhaps we should consider the docks our biggest concern.”

After a few vigorous shakes of his head to clear his mind, Aanaman continued. “Now, those are problems for tomorrow. If we are all in agreement with our missions come morning, I would prefer some company in drinking the memory of the bureaucratic circus I just witnessed right out of my mind.”