Harpis made his way across the street from his apartment after receiving the summons from the governor. There was little guesswork involved as to what the reason for the meeting was.

The entire city of Ravnice had been abuzz with the story of Myrlman Tuath killing the governor of Mer, taking their naval ships by force, and sailing off into the sunset with a hundred strong armada of brigantines.

Harpis noted that instead of two guards in front of Aanaman Reaper’s home, there were now twenty. Some were patrolling. Others were manning makeshift guard huts at the wrought-iron gate.

Inside, there were several more guards posted than there had been. Harpis tried to spare a smile to Shanowen Reaper. In response, her face tightened into a manufactured calm for her children’s sake as they played in the living room under the protective gaze of several uniformed militiamen.

Upstairs he passed another guard and noted the two crossbowmen at the end of the hall. The usual guard stood at the door and let him into Aanaman’s office with a mumbled greeting.

The governor addressed him as he took his now customary seat at the small meeting table with Captain Kilannry.

“Welcome bard, I need your knowledge of this forsaken island and current events as we come up with a strategy for Ravnice moving forward.”

The surly militia captain gave Harpis a nod in greeting.

“I trust you’ve heard what that butcher in the north did at Mer Harbor?” Aanaman asked.

Harpis nodded his head slowly. “This whole thing seems to have originated as a blood feud between Mer and Tuath. How concerned do you think we should be?” he asked Aanaman.

The governor sat at his desk, drumming his fingers for a moment. “In general, I worry that with Mer in the palm of his hands and a hundred ship armada at his disposal, Myrlman Tuath may start looking further south.”

Taking a sip from the glass in front of him, he paused in thought. “I doubt that he would directly strike us, and it seems like Kalt was favorable towards his claims at the last council meeting. However, I saw rage burning in that man’s eyes when I stalled his plans. He was unhappy with me suggesting we reconvene the issue at the next council. He is impatient and rash enough to decide that two months was too long, and a vote was too much chance.”

Captain Kilannry shifted in his seat. “Still, I’d like to step up recruitment and try to expand our militia. Maybe we should also begin some form of a regular military drill with them.”

Harpis nodded at the man, filling his own and the captain’s nearly empty glasses with whiskey before speaking his piece. “I am sure that improving our military posture through the militia is a good step towards the safety of Ravnice. However, I think the most likely outcome, if Myrlman Tuath’s gaze turns south, is a similar blockade of our harbor and a tax on our vessels as well.”

Aanaman motioned for the bottle, and Harpis handed it to him. “Well said, I have a similar fear. I think that he could also establish a similar practice here. If he decides to occupy Mer with his militia, he could simply set up patrols on the roads at our northern borders and tax our farmers and merchants as they try to take goods north by land. To the south, I fear Tuath could too easily persuade Kalt into allowing their harbor and their roads at our southern border to suffer the same fate.”

Captain Kilannry let out a soft whistle. “I’ll let the two of you commiserate on how not to lose an economic war. I’ll concentrate on keeping us safe from the enemies that bleed blood and not coins.”

“We may have reason to keep our attention to the south. Kalt has an elected governor, but the clout and the city-state’s economy still rest firmly with the Kalt family and their lumber business. So maybe they see an opportunity in allying with the now emboldened city-state that embraces hereditary rule as a way back into direct power?” Harpis asked after responding.

“Now that, good Harpis, is a well-made and frightening point. Perhaps we should focus militarily on the potential enemy we can hope to defeat to the south instead of the one that hopelessly outnumbers us to the north,” Aanaman said, kicking his feet up onto his desk.

“As for the economic troubles, we will deal with them if we have to. My people can live without timber from the south or spices and other pleasantries from the north. I wonder how long the people in either region would suffer through a lack of grain or salted meats, or worse yet, whiskey.”

Harpis shook his head. “Their people would suffer just long enough for them to decide that they could just relieve us of those goods at the end of sword and spear points instead of paying for them with silver or gold coins.”

Aanaman held his hand up in acknowledgment of the bard’s point. He stood from his desk and joined them at the small table. He poured them each one last drink. “That’s enough depressing talk for one evening, thank you both. Captain, call up our reserves and send a few battalions of our more seasoned militiamen to the southern border while we train up our recruits in the city.”

The governor raised his glass. “Now, no more talk of war, I demand we share this last glass with a conversation regarding the fine product of my distillery and its rightful place among other great whiskeys.”

*****

Wren flipped the sign in his window and locked his shop doors long after the sun had set. He had been so busy at work in the basement amongst the dead that he had lost track of time. He always felt a little better when there were many corpses in his second basement morgue awaiting burial.

After all, if someone attacked him in his apartment above the mortuary, his assailants would be hard-pressed between fighting Wren and Xissay above and repelling the risen dead answering Wren’s call from the basement.

After ascending his creaky stairs, he shut and locked his apartment door and searched for a candle to light. Wren did not mind the dark, but he could not read or write in it. Setting the lit candle on his small table, he reached for a bottle and glass.

“Well met, gnome.” A familiar voice stated quietly from his comfy chair.

Wren nearly dropped his glass in surprise. He spun around, scythe already in hand and Xissay over his shoulder before he recognized who had spoken to him. Turin Deadeye sat in his cushioned chair next to the fireplace and began setting kindling up to start a fire.

“Gods above, Turin, how did you get in here!” Even as he asked it, Wren knew he probably could not ask a more ridiculous question of the master spy and founder of The Syndicate who could have broken into his home a thousand different ways.

“Your front door was open. I came down to the basement, but you were so lost in the grey between life and death with the dead downstairs, I came up here to wait,” Turin answered nonchalantly.

Xissay shot Wren a concerned look and felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

“No fever, and you don’t smell drunk, I am wondering what excuse you’ve got for being so irresponsible?”

Wren glared at her. “The shop was open. After all, I am trying to run a legitimate business here sometimes.”

Wren dismissed the sprite back to The Great Dream as she began offering him further insult. He was afraid of the answer, but he asked the old elf anyway.

“Turin, what cause have you to throw away all caution and find me here in my home?”

Turin described the carnage he found at Lodestar as the flames grew in the fireplace. Wren could not do more than gasp at the elf’s description of the nightmare he walked through upon reaching Lodestar Island.

“Before coming here, I stopped in Kalt and informed our helmsman and operatives there that their service was at an end. Not knowing if you and Harpis would yet have returned from the north, I made for Mer. I discovered that our Hand has died. He was captain of one of the Mer naval ships that initially resisted the Tuath armada. The Tuath forces rewarded him with his death. Our Eye in Mer still lives and may be of use to us yet. I told the helmsman there to walk away, as I did the one here when I arrived. Our entire presence in Tuath has been slain, including one of our three Shadows.”

Wren could not believe what he was hearing, the sorrowful news of his friends and information that only the Navigators had known for so long. How many Shadows, who the other operatives were, what they did, all of it a stream of mental and emotional blows while he tried to concentrate and take in what the elf said.

When Turin finished, the gnome shared the sad news he had learned on their trip to Tuath. “Harpis and I did not have to inquire about our Hand’s whereabouts in Tuath. Eiyna, it seems, was grimly murdered, and her blood used to paint ‘FEAR MER’ on the side of a building to stir up the Tuath populace.”

The elf shook his head sadly. “I think that it is likely fair to assume that she was caught by those in Tuath with the former Shadow Sirul’s help. They likely used her death to further this propaganda push that Mer is the one who killed Seulman Tuath and tried to kidnap his son. Truth be told, Wren, it was the decision of Qarn, Trilia, and I to bring an end to the rule of Seulman in hopes that Niverna could guide the rise of the son.”

Wren looked Turin in the eyes. “It appears we may have erred there, for the act of murder seems to have galvanized the son.”

Turin shrugged slightly. “That is what is odd about all of this. First, we had sent Sirul to murder the man and make it look like an accident. Then, when he went dark to us, and Seulman Tuath still lived, we sent in The Brewer. The man was a master of poison with decades of experience. However, it appears something went wrong because it looked like an assassination after all, and we have not heard from The Brewer since. Assumedly he was caught or killed, thanks to Sirul.”

Wren was staring at nothing and rubbing the white stubble on his chin. “That explains one thing but leaves me with more questions. I went to the diocese in Tuath and was successful in asking one question of the fading spirit of Seulman Tuath. He said he died of poison. So, The Brewer was successful, and the dead man did not know someone slashed his throat. So that must have happened after he left the living. Who slashes a dead man’s throat Turin?”

It was the elf’s turn to stare off in concentration. “Perhaps Seulman’s throat was slashed after he died to make the assassination that was supposed to look like an accident appear as outright murder. Like Eiyna’s death, Seulman’s was used to galvanize the people. I will tell you, though, over twenty years of good information Niverna passed to us about Myrlman Tuath. I do not think the son would have played any part in the murder. By all accounts, he wanted nothing to do with controlling his city-state. It seems Sirul Amun is running quite the operation in Tuath.”

Turin went on staring into the fire. “Our organization has been brought low, Wren. I fear the time for quiet action is at an end. We must bring the folk of this island together so that they may openly shake free of Tuath’s grasp. I think it is best that Harpis joins us. We have much to discuss and little time.”

Wren snapped his fingers, and Xissay appeared, staring grumpily at the gnome.

“What?” she asked indignantly

“I need you to fetch Harpis for us, quietly,” he said to the undead sprite.

She crossed her arms at the gnome and elf but, as bid, floated towards Wren’s small window.

“Yes, master, right away master, of course, master, with much haste!” she said exaggeratedly. Pausing at the window, she angrily addressed Wren before departing. “Dismiss me when I return without at least a proper drink and being brought up to speed on whatever cloak and dagger the two of you are cooking up, and I will burn this corpse barn to the ground when summoned next!”

With Xissay gone from the window, Turin could not help but chuckle. “Well, she is charming.”

Wren looked at his ceiling in exasperation. “I’d like to say you get used to her attitude, but I would be lying.”

*****

Whether with keen and sober senses or those dulled by the governor’s whiskey, Harpis probably would not have heard the tiny sprite. She heated one of the glass panes of his window with her hands until it turned to liquid and pooled at the sill.

Stepping into his apartment, she pinched her nose. “It smells like a pig farm in here, Harpis. Are you looking at beginning a new profession? Barding and sneaking about been wearing on you?”

Harpis shrieked like a young girl as he fell sideways out of bed while trying to get up. With nothing else nearby, he threw his blanket in the direction of the voice. The blanket seemed to hang there in the air, the visage of a spirit. He reached for his boots and drew his dagger in time to see the blanket fall to the floor. The now smoldering hole Xissay burnt in it allowed her floating form to be free of the drape.

The glow of her fiery hands lent light to the room, and Harpis became immediately uncomfortable at the way she eyed his unclothed body up and down.

“Hurry now and get dressed, or don’t,” the sprite said, grinning. “Wren sent me to gather you. Don’t get followed.”

With that, she went back through the hole in his window and disappeared into the night.

Harpis stared dumbly at the smoking blanket for a moment as he stood naked in his room clutching his knife. Then, he slapped himself with his other hand before getting dressed to make sure he was not dreaming and headed out of his apartment.

*****

Even knowing Harpis was on his way, Turin and Wren still jumped when there was a knock on the door downstairs. After going down to get him, Wren and the bard stepped into the gnome’s one-bedroom apartment.

Harpis gasped when he saw the elf in Wren’s comfy chair. “Turin, what has brought you here like this?”

Wren was going to hand a drink to Harpis, but when he smelled the whiskey already heavy on the bard’s breath, he decided better of it and slid the glass to Xissay instead.

The elf recounted his tale a second time. Harpis could not help but weep for losing those recently endeared to him at Lodestar Island.

Turin then spoke to both the Hand and Eye of Ravnice. “Besides us three, there remains one Shadow abroad and the Eye in Mer.”

Harpis raised an eyebrow at Turin. “And what of the other Shadow?”

Turin gulped down the rest of his glass. “I believe the Shadow known as The Needle, Sirul Amun, is in league with Myrlman Tuath. It is the only explanation that makes any sense regarding their ability to completely catch us off guard in the north.”

Wren sat back slowly and thoughtfully in his wooden chair.

“So, let me get this straight,” Xissay said from her tabletop perch. “The most famed dealer of death in the storied history of your organization is currently unhinged. He is helping a vengeful spoiled brat who is the son of a now-dead, borderline tyrannical governor to destroy The Syndicate and conquer the island?”

Wren shot a glare at Xissay for so casually speaking of their dead friends but calmed quickly. After all, what pity did the dead have for the dead?

“That is an accurate summation,” Turin said.

“What are we to do?” Harpis asked the gnome and elf. “And what of our presence in Fjall?”

Wren and Turin exchanged glances, and the elf spoke first. “No matter what plan we concoct here and now, we must execute it from the safety of Fjall. As to your other question, young bard, I will reveal that last secret to you when the three of us are safely delivered there and cannot be captured and brought to divulge it. It is one piece of information that Sirul does not already have.”

Wren was shaking his head and staring at the brown liquid he swirled in his glass. “If we can get to Fjall, I can also consult with the Death Herald. She may have information or opinions of value to our cause. Still, what can five members of a nearly destroyed organization that isn’t supposed to exist affect? We need to change the course of this island’s fate one last time. Sadly, I believe there is no time left for plotting in the shadows.”

Turin gave the gnome a reassuring look. “Our plight is desperate. However, if we can bring enough influential members of this island into our confidence, maybe we can undermine the foul plans unfolding in the north. Our goal then should be to gather those who can help us. Whatever we decide to do, it will probably require synchronization and actions across every city-state.”

A tiny cough from Xissay interrupted the flow of their conversation. She shook her empty glass at Wren. “Well,” she said. “I’m not running any more errands, so you boys are going to have to figure this bit out for yourselves.”

Turin turned to the gnome. “Wren, are you quite sure you are not the familiar in this relationship?”

Earning a snort from Wren, Turin returned to the task at hand. “I will set sail in the morning, headed up the Fjall River from the Ravnice coast to Fjall city, and await you. I will trust our Eye in Mer to convince the Exarch to make a trip to Fjall. If we are to be successful, I truly believe we will need the minds of the Exarch and Arch Mage. We need them to contribute to our cause, even if only in the form of ideas and not direct action. The two confer too much for us to think, even if we wished, that one would come without the other. So how do we get the Arch Mage to Fjall? The Exarch already travels the island often, so that should be easy enough.”

“Well, I know the stone mage of the college annex in Fjall. I could convince him to send dire summons to the Arch Mage and bring the man to Fjall,” Wren offered.

All three men nodded in agreement, but Harpis felt he had a final recommendation. “I think we should also bring Benali Tuath in if possible. I am not convinced that he has turned himself towards supporting the tyranny in the north.”

He explained the situation he encountered in Tuath at The Bard’s Hall and insisted that the Impresario could help concoct the eventual plan.

Wren seemed doubtful, thinking that Benali Tuath must assuredly be in league with his kin.

Turin stopped their debate shortly after it began. “Harpis, I bid you travel to Tuath and try to reach the Impresario, but only if you think you can do so stealthily. If you talk to him and press him hard about his allegiances and believe the answers, you may bring him to Fjall. Know this, though, if he disagrees with whatever we all decide in the dwarven city, we will likely have to confine him. Also, his absence will cause some paranoia in Myrlman and Sirul. Either way, bringing him in poses a risk, but I will trust your judgment. Make your way to Fjall as quickly as possible.”

“What about the other human governor or whatever formal leadership Mer now has?” Wren asked.

Harpis spoke first. “Well, I don’t think we can rightly trust Governor Innisgrath of Kalt. We do not know who Mer has put in place or that person’s potential allegiances. I trust Aanaman Reaper with my life, but if our enemies noticed any absence, it would be if the governors were not at home in their cities. They have another council meeting in less than three weeks, and I assume that they will all want to be present and that Myrlman Tuath expects them to be,”

Turin Deadeye gave him an approving smile. “Well, my friends, it seems like we three have work to do. I look forward to meeting with you in Fjall in a week or so, and hopefully, we can come up with a way to save this island we call home. From this moment forward, consider every situation a potential trap until you are safely in Fjall.”

The three decided it best to stay at Wren’s apartment and leave at differing times before dawn.

Harpis wrote a letter for Aanaman, explaining that he would be attending a meeting of dire importance with several other bards regarding Benali Tuath. He would leave it with the militiamen on guard when they set off.

Wren looked around the small apartment. “The two of you will have to sleep on the ground by the fireplace, my apologies.”

The gnome disappeared down the stairs to the mortuary and returned with a stack of linens.

When he reappeared in the apartment, Xissay slapped her palm to her forehead.

“You lot look like you are off to a great start. Such confidence Wren has to bring you the linens he uses to drape corpses for bedding!” she said, laughing uncontrollably.

“It’s all I have,” he said, glaring at the sprite.

The man, gnome, and elf were quickly snoring thanks to the empty bottle of whiskey laying on its side on the table.

The sulfuric smoke that heralded Xissay’s departure from the living realm soon appeared, and she strode through with a fond look at Wren.

“Quite the exciting afterlife I am having,” she said to herself.

“And I hope to continue the excitement, so let’s not go meeting in The Great Dream anytime soon, old gnome,” she whispered to Wren’s slumbering backside before disappearing completely.