Slowly, Lorkin took in a steadying breath before pushing his way through the doors of his private chamber below Fjall and making his way into the annex’s main cavern. The squat stone cave comfortably fit several workbenches and tables and was lined with bookshelves carved into the surrounding wall that stretched to where the ceiling began curving. His four apprentices, a young gnome, two fellow dwarves, and an eager and peculiar human boy, sat in silent anticipation as he made his way to the table in the center of the room.

He slowly clenched both his fists, cracking his knuckles as he did before gingerly pick up the platinum wrist band and thumbing the priceless amethyst depiction of The Sleeper.

“Rare is it that we get to embed such powerful anamnesis into so beautiful an item as this. Since the War of Magi, few have needed such powerful enchantment, let alone had the means with which to pay for it,” he said, addressing the room without lifting his gaze from the item.

“Stone Mage, are you concerned that this might conflict with The Treaty of Mer?” the boy asked.

“No, young Emurillo. This may be the most effort I have spent on an anamnesis in over a century. However, I cannot fathom how imparting the memory of resonance into the jewel of this bracelet qualifies as an implement of war. I can’t even figure out why Death Speaker Wren requested the odd enchantment,” Lorkin answered, “Now all of you be silent.”

In one hand, Lorkin held the plain, slim grey-stone scepter that he had spent two full years enchanting as his cynosure almost two centuries ago, the other he placed over the bracelet after putting it back on the table.

First, he called to mind the memory he had already etched twenty-two times onto the jewel. The memory wasn’t his own. It belonged to the stone, the rock, and the jewel itself. It was the memory of an iron mining pick ringing against the hefty purple gem. It was the consciousness from the stone itself of the rolling toll that echoed across the cavern it was mined from, and it was the rock’s remembrance of the clanging reverberation when the final strike freed the jewel from a million-year-long grasp.

Lorkin’s recollection had to be perfect and took over a week to commit to his mind each time. Every layer of the lattice had to be as like the previous as possible, or the whole thing would collapse in unstable imperfection. He sensed the towering magical structure that was his memory lattice. Sweat rolled down his face but, he did not feel it. He knew only the jewel and the anamnesis lattice. With the care and patience that came from decades of practice, he calmly and deliberately used his gift to lay the memory one last time onto the amethyst. It took the better part of the day, and finishing, Lorkin nearly collapsed.

Using his stone-scepter cynosure like cane, he gave his charges a smiling look of smug accomplishment that did not entirely hide the weariness in his eyes.

“Well, my friends, I don’t know the purpose of Wren’s request, but this enchantment should last at least a human lifetime, with the layers withstanding multiple activations from each separating,” Lorkin said with a smile and wink at Emurillo.

*****

The twenty Tuath men had made it into Mer the day before on a merchant vessel flagged out of Kalt. They had made their way around the wharf area during daylight hours, milling about in small groups of two or three to avoid attention.

It was nightfall when the burly leader addressed the small groups as he meandered his way around the wharf to each of them.

Reaching the last small group, he spoke sternly and quietly, “Let’s go, lads, there is a tavern just down the road from the governor’s mansion called Fisherman’s Feast. We will gather there, keep to yourselves, and order dinner and a drink or two to avoid suspicion. Do. Not. Get. Drunk.”

The Mer governor quarters were not the stately mansion of Tuath but still quite befitting a ruler. Out in front of its doors on the street, several guardsmen patrolled the grounds. It blended in with the rest of the city easy enough, save being a story taller than the other buildings around it.

When the late hour arrived, the men made their way out of the tavern in the same small groups as when they had entered and took up positions along alleys near the governor’s mansion.

There were guards outside at the gated fence, three of them, and one more inside. During the day, the party from Tuath had taken care to have at least one person from their group walking past the mansion every half hour or so, taking note of how the Mer militiamen were operating.

The leader gave the silent hand signal after looking up and down the street. It was quiet and empty save the guards in the late predawn hours. Ten men and nine streamed out from alleys on either side of the mansion, and the guards barely got their hands up to halt the men on either side of them before they realized they were in serious trouble.

Myrlman had instructed the men from Tuath to avoid killing anyone if possible. Consequently, the guards would wake up hours later with pounding headaches but alive all the same.

The trailing member of the raiding party did not follow them in and had instead climbed to the top of the building and lit the oil-soaked rags on the end of his arrow before firing it straight into the sky. The signal sent, there was no longer an option for turning back.

They kicked the door in and rushed upstairs towards the governor’s chambers. There was only a lone guard sleepily leaning against the wall outside their bedroom. He challenged the men flooding up the stairs, and they knocked him unconscious with a brick from the alley outside.

As they burst into the governor’s quarters, his wife screamed hysterically. One man threatened her with a knife, and another clamped a hand over her mouth to keep her silent.

Governor Edwin Lurras had his nose broken for his trouble before being choked unconscious. Then, he was unceremoniously rolled into the rug from the middle of his room and hefted onto the shoulders of four men.

“Keep his face downwards, ya daft idiots, lest he drowns in his blood thanks to the greeting ya gave him!” The leader shouted after them.

He nodded at the man covering the wife’s mouth, and he used his other hand to pinch her nose until she passed out. Within minutes from the flaming arrow shooting into the sky, the men were gone from the mansion.

The guards were left tied together on the first floor, pillowcases over their heads, and the unconscious wife was left locked in her room.

The horse and small open carriage the Tuath men had bought earlier were waiting in the alley. The governor, still rolled in the rug, was thrown into it.

On top of him were piled sacks filled with every parchment, book, and note from his office and bedroom.

The leader jumped into the carriage while another man jumped into the driver’s seat, and they pulled away on the short trip to their ship moored in the wharf.

With half an hour left before the dawn sun would start throwing light over the sea and onto Mer, the governor was bound and gagged below decks.

The sacks holding any evidence against Myrlman’s claims, merchant orders, militia reports, and much of the business of Mer that Edwin Lurras had in his possession were now on their way to Myrlman Tuath.

After untying the boat, they lit a fire on the docks they were tied to, piled high with wet leaves to make as much smoke as possible. The crew was ready on deck to unfurl their sails with haste at the response to their signal. But, for now, two of them were pushing it along quietly in the harbor using long oars. When moments later, chaos erupted around them, they hastily let out their sails.

*****

Sirul stood on the steering deck of the lead ship with Benali Tuath and the admiral of the twenty-ship formation. The ships were utterly dark. No light lit between any of them as they floated silently. Before dawn’s first light, the ships were virtually invisible to each other and would have been impossible to spot from the Mer harbor before them. Almost a hundred Tuath militiamen were on each vessel, a force of two thousand men. Every one of the men was standing silently still on the ship’s decks, awaiting the signal from the admiral.

“We will shortly seize the opportunity to return greatness to our city, state, and our family name, Benali. Despite your lack of cooperation regarding The Bard’s Hall, we will succeed.” Sirul whispered almost fervently at the bard.

Benali Tuath was not sure of the man Myrlman had become. He assumed that Myrlman brought him along because the young governor did not trust him enough to leave him behind. Before he could respond, they heard an owl hoot from the crow’s nest above.

“There, the second signal, time for our little distraction,” the admiral whispered.

Sirul nodded at the admiral for them to proceed. Then, with a shout from the admiral, the entirety of the twenty ships sprang to life. Each of the hundred militiamen crowding the decks lit a torch and began screaming and hollering at the Mer harbor.

The crews of the ships lit lanterns and unfurled sails as they began heading towards the harbor. Confused shop owners and merchant ships lit their lights upon being awoken, horns started blaring, and bells began ringing all over the city in sets of three, signaling an attack.

A lone merchant ship unfurled its sails in all the commotion and flew an oversized Tuath banner as it made a sprint for the twenty boats. Seventeen military vessels of the twenty-strong Mer navy were tied up in the harbor when the chaos began. Almost immediately, the three thousand Mer militiamen on station and duty when the horns blared began making their way to the wharf.

Lieutenants were directing many to pile on to hurriedly unmooring Mer navy ships that were hastily making way to try and intercept the twenty ships from Tuath. The rest of the Mer militiamen were saturating the wharf in anticipation of a landing from the Tuath ships.

Instead, the Tuath vessels halted just out of range from any bows or crossbows that might show up on the wharf docks. They dropped their anchors while in a line to take up a large portion of the inner harbor.

The ships from Mer turned as one and began unfurling all their sails in a race to get across the harbor from their docks at the east end of the city peninsula. As the ships tried to catch the wind, the morning’s first light revealed the other Tuath ships. They had been waiting just out of sight around the peninsula, also blacked out and silent. The sixty ships were now full of screaming and hollering Tuath militiamen and quickly approaching the Mer ships from behind.

The second more considerable group of ships from Tuath enveloped the seventeen from Mer on either side. The militiamen from Tuath far outnumbered the men from Mer. On most ships, surrender was immediate.

On two of them, fights broke out, and the Mer militiamen were peppered with crossbow bolts and arrows until they lost the will to fight. Then, finally, the surrendered Mer sailors and militiamen were thrown off their ships after dropping what weapons and armor they had. Men from Tuath replaced them, and the sixty-strong flotilla that had come from the south was now seventy-seven.

The Mer wharf was now bristling with the city’s militia but also full of thousands of its citizens. The seventy-seven ships anchored in a longer line further out of the harbor behind the twenty, blockading the entire harbor.

Amid the fray, the Tuath merchant ship had tied up alongside the flagship with Sirul, Benali, and the admiral aboard, quickly offloading its human and intelligence cargo.

Sirul made his way to the bow of his ship and addressed the large crowd below.

“People of Mer, I wish nothing but peace and that which you owe my people and me. The militias of Mer or Tuath need not shed further blood today!”

After spending nearly every moment of his life for over a decade purposefully avoiding the attention of even a single individual, having thousands hang on his every word was intoxicating.

With the dawn sun breaking the horizon behind him, his armada cast long shadows over the wharf and entire harbor.

“Where is the captain of the militia!” Sirul shouted.

A short time later, a very tan and leathered brown-haired, green-eyed man in expensive-looking armor and a long blue cloak appeared at the wharf’s edge in front of the ship.

“Where is our governor?” The captain shouted, glaring up at Sirul. His rough face looked as if the wind had carved it from a mountainside.

Sirul smirked. “We will get to that in a moment, but first, I must deliver to you some information and evidence, peacefully, before we can continue.”

At Sirul’s signal, a small rowboat crewed by two unarmed Tuath sailors made its way from the side of his ship to the wharf edge and threw a satchel up to the militia captain before pushing off.

In the satchel were forged letters written by Sirul implicating the dead governor directing threats to Seulman Tuath and several authentic letters from Edwin regarding the economic strife between the two city-states.

Sirul gave the militia captain several minutes to flip through the documents. “Now you have the evidence regarding the heinous acts your revered Governor Edwin Lurras ordered in secret. You are aware of the cost to my family and city-state that has been the result of his actions!”

Oddly enough, the more he played the role of Myrlman Tuath, the more he felt slighted by the people of Mer and the governor. Although Sirul had precipitated it all himself, he disrespected at the lack of response from the council weeks ago.

He was angered further that Mer had disrespected his now adopted city-state in response to what he viewed as valid seeming claims of wrongdoing. Valid, at least, in the face of all the manufactured evidence presented, of course.

“What of it then?” shouted the militia captain from the wharf.

Sirul smiled down at the old captain. “I will take what is due. I will get what the council refused me and deliver my justice!”

Nodding to the Tuath sailors behind him, Sirul waited as his men brought Edwin Lurras before him and the people of Mer, still bound and gagged. Sirul grabbed the man’s hair in one hand and tilted his head back. Then, staring into Edwin Lurras’ eyes, he drew a dagger from his belt and slowly cut the man from ear to ear. All the while holding him upright and staring into his eyes as the life faded from them. He had not blinked or flinched while being showered in the blood that sprayed him with each dying pulse of the man’s heart. Some of the Tuath sailors and militiamen even turned away or lost the contents of their stomachs.

Drenched in red, he spoke, spitting Edwin Lurras’ blood from his lips as he did. “You may retrieve your murderous leader’s corpse. I have handed out justice for the murder of my father and the attempted kidnapping he had ordered for myself.”

Sirul’s gaze settled on the militia captain. “Through the irresponsible actions of the now-deceased governor, Mer has been relieved of its navy. In compensation for the suffering of my people, I must collect financial reparations. Life in Mer will continue as it always has.”

He turned his head, taking in the gathered crowd. “You may elect whomever you wish to run your city-state. As for your trade leaving this harbor, patrols from the vast navy of Tuath will protect it. We will collect tolls in fair amounts for such protection. The collections will continue until you have repaid Tuath for the debt owed.”

Sirul motioned back at the armada behind him. “Twenty of Tuath’s ships, each carrying one hundred militia, will always remain in the Mer harbor. The remaining ships of Mer’s navy may peacefully surrender without consequence when they return. Otherwise, they will be appropriated violently or sunk.”

He wagged his finger, chastising the gathered people of Mer. “At the slightest sign of disobedience, or an attempt to rebuild a navy, my forces will disembark and wreak havoc on this wharf. If there is widespread upheaval to this rule I am imposing on your harbor, I will crush Mer. I will march thousands of Tuathian militiamen south. I will sail one hundred Tuath naval brigantines into this harbor, and I will burn this entire city to the ground!”

Benali Tuath could not believe what he was witnessing. How could the once pampered lover of arts, who had aspired to attend his own Hall, just cut a man from ear to ear in cold blood.

The captain shouted up at Sirul, shaking his fist, trying to make a show of strength for the people of Mer. “This oppression will not last. The council will see you brought low for what you’ve done here! You won’t succeed in taking what you want from our people!”

Sirul laughed. “Old man, I already have succeeded! Look around you. Do you think these folks would rather go back to their normal lives and pay the deserving people of Tuath a pittance for protection and reparation? Or do you think they have the stomach to see their city destroyed in an attempt at vengeance against a justified capital punishment? I assure you, if the terms I have laid out are not acceptable, that I will take what actions are necessary to make Mer state an extension of Tuath state and Mer city just another subject of Tuath rule.”

With a signal from Sirul, the ships began to disembark. First, his flagship and other nineteen in the inner harbor turned one at a time and filed out through the seventy-seven strong flotilla that blockaded the outer harbor.

Next went the seventeen commandeered vessels. Their Mer flags now hung upside down with a Tuath banner flying above them. Finally, all but twenty of the outer vessels headed for Tuath.

The entire procession took half the day as the ships turned one at a time to sail away in a line that stretched to the horizon. The statement of naval power from Tuath could not have been more impressed upon the people of Mer.

Sirul made his way to the steering deck to rejoin the admiral and Benali Tuath.

“Why the long face, Benali? Look at what the great Tuath has just accomplished!”

Benali gazed into the grey eyes of the killer he thought he had known. “How could you just kill that man in front of his people without a trial? The council will surely respond!”

Sirul didn’t blink. “Don’t be a child. For the life of one man, we have bought the compliance of the biggest city-state on the island. As a result, Tuath will be much wealthier for it and our navy, militia, and people more respected. As for the council, what response would they be willing to muster?”

With no answer forthcoming from the bard, Sirul went on ranting, “No other city has any kind of navy to speak of, and less than three hundred merchant vessels are sailing around this entire island. Take from that our own, and there is what, two hundred and some seaworthy vessels left?”

Benali’s shoulders sank in resignation, and he shook his head. “Cousin, this still seems ill-advised and an unnecessary risk to our city.”

Sirul spat at the bard’s feet for his lack of confidence. “Even if amassed all at once, it would be an unorganized and inexperienced coalition. We own the sea, and since we own the sea, who would dare send an army north?”

Benali was beginning to sense his opinions were not going to be heeded, and it was best to let Myrlman finish his monologue uninterrupted.

Sirul carried on unabated. “In the week it would take to march a unified army to our lands, we could sail a hundred ships and ten thousand men to the heart of Ravnice or Kalt or Mer in a day, and I don’t see it as likely that they find the courage to unify against us. Kalt benefits more from supplying us than they do going against us. Without blood spilled on their lands, I doubt Ravnice cares at all. No Benali, the question you should be asking yourself is, why has Tuath for so long been in the shadows?”

The bard decided that he was better off keeping his doubts of his cousin’s grand plan to himself.