Over thirty Tuath brigantines were anchored in loose formation at the outskirts of the Kalt harbor. Unlike when the Tuath navy sailed into Mer, no horns called out an attack at the sight of them. No alarm sounded nor rush of militiamen occurred as three of the ships finished mooring to the docks in Kalt harbor. The docks that they were visiting belonged to the Kalt Family Lumber Company, and not the city itself.

Sirul still hated Kalt. He hated it, especially on these late autumn days. The only thing more miserable to him than Kalt weather in the autumn was the rare times he had been to the south in mid-winter.

He had important and somewhat pleasant business to attend to, so he smiled thinly despite the cold. No one flinched or panicked at the company docks when over two hundred Tuath militiamen made their way into and around the company headquarters.

Sirul walked directly into the Kalt Family Timber owner’s office and shut the door after letting himself in. Alone, without protection, his situation made the militiamen outside nervous. However, the Tuath governor did not seem distressed sitting across the small wooden desk from Svenus Kalt, the current head of the Kalt family and, subsequently, the Kalt Family Timber business.

Svenus was fair-skinned and dark-haired like many of the island’s southern inhabitants. He stared across his desk at the overly bundled and tan northerner in his office with measured discontent.

Sirul knew full well what the old man wanted. Help in attaining control of the city-state that bore his family’s name.

“Svenus, I must say that I am impressed. When you agreed to the amount of lumber I needed, I had seriously doubted there was a possibility you could deliver it all.”

Svenus smiled at him. “But of course, Myrlman. Anything for my best customer. My family has been at this for well over a century. So why shouldn’t we be able to provide what you seek.”

Sirul cracked a smile. “In that case, I will need to double the number I previously gave you. I have brought gold and silver plenty enough, thanks to our efforts in Mer, to pay for it upfront.”

Sirul had many plans for Kalt’s lumber, from siege engines to a giant wall around his city as well as more brigantines to impose his will upon the island.

“You can keep your gold and silver for this next order, Governor Tuath. I want your support in my efforts.” Svenus said.

Sirul began drumming his fingers slowly on the wood of the desk until he saw Svenus visibly fidget in his chair.

Satisfied at the other man’s newly cautious demeanor, he continued, “I will place you back into the council seat of Kalt shortly. However, we must delay that for now. I have plans to enlarge my borders to include all of Mer, and eventually, we can extend Kalt across Ravnice and deal with the cursed dwarves in their hole together. In the immediate future, I have one last council meeting to attend. I must have it pass in a relatively civil manner. If too much has changed at once, the politicians will never accept my aims. I need this to happen so I can complete my ascension to power in the north. Such an ascension will enable me to help you in restoring your family’s rightful place.”

Sirul did not want to reveal too much to the old dolt, but he did need his lumber. Paying for it with a future hope as opposed to gold and silver suited him just fine. However, he required Svenus Kalt to stay in line until he had finished his business at the next council meeting.

“Do we agree then? Myrlman Tuath and Svenus Kalt allied?” Svenus asked, reaching his hand across to take Sirul’s.

Sirul shook it, but before he let it go, he conveyed a parting threat.

“Allies, unless you prove yourself a liability to my plans. This alliance must remain between us until I am ready to place you in power. So do not become a danger to me or my intentions, Svenus Kalt.”

Svenus had lived a long life amongst the hardy people of the subarctic southern end of the island. He knew the promise of death when he saw it in a man’s eyes. He nodded, and Sirul released his hand and got up to depart.

“Oh, and some of my brigantines will remain behind to provide a protective escort for the lumber. Remember, they will take the route up the back of the island and at night. I prefer this done with as much stealth as possible,” he said, leaving.

*****

Svenus sat at his desk watching the Tuath militiamen vacate his premise, and all but ten of the brigantines eventually turned back to sea. The last of the men from Tuath was not gone for more than an hour when several Kalt militiamen knocked on his office door. He waved them in cheerily.

“How may I help you, gentleman?” he asked.

The militiamen looked at each other nervously. “Good day Master Svenus. Governor Jaeryl Innisgrath has ordered us to come and bring you before him. If it pleases you, sir, we will gladly escort you to him.”

Like most others in Kalt, each of the three had many family members, friends, and acquaintances employed by the Kalt family business. It was the economic lifeblood of almost everyone in the city. Despite their jobs as Kalt militiamen in service of the governor, none of them wanted to incur the wrath of Svenus Kalt.

“I figured he might. All right then, let’s go and see the governor,” Svenus said matter-of-factly.

Like those of the other city-states, the wharf area of Kalt had a cobbled outdoor space ringed by shops. Where it differed was in its dedication to the lumber trade above all others.

Some fishing vessels made their way in and out of Kalt harbor from time to time, trying to work the dangerous southern fishing grounds. Most crafts though, were large lumber transporting ships.

The cobbles in Kalt were almost always clear of tents and vendor stalls in part due to the much more frequent inclement and harsh weather of the chillier city-state. It was also because the maneuvering of lumber from mills on large cumbersome wagons that made their way to ships using the wharf prevented even semi-permanent merchant stalls.

To any observer of the party making its way across the Kalt harbor and to the governor’s office, it would have looked more like the militiamen were Svenus Kalt’s personal guard than his ordered escort.

Svenus entered the governor’s building in a similar manner that Sirul had his own.

He flung open the door without a knock and sat in the chair across the desk before Jaeryl could offer it to him.

“That will be all, thank you, guards,” Jaeryl Innisgrath said to the escort while looking past the man seated across from him. in obvious irritation.

“What do you want, Jaeryl?” Svenus spat.

The governor fixed him with what he hoped was an intimidating glance. “You are aware, yes, that I am the governor of this city and state?”

Svenus put his boots on the governor’s desk and reclined. “Oh yes, of course, Jaeryl, democratically elected by the folk who live in it.”

Jaeryl reached over the desk and shoved the older man’s shoes off his desk. “Then surely you understand that any business between Kalt and the Governor of Tuath will go through my office. The governor’s office!”

Svenus crossed his arms at the increasingly agitated governor. “Jaeryl, it was just a transaction between business partners, nothing to fret that little head of yours about.”

Jaeryl’s face tightened in frustration. “What kind of business dealing requires the presence of thirty naval ships?”

Svenus sighed at the governor. “Jaeryl, you are pretty daft for a politician. Myrlman Tuath brought thirty naval vessels to our harbor for a business dealing to let everyone know who is really in charge.”

“And were those Tuath naval ships made with Kalt family lumber?” the governor practically snarled in response.

Svenus only shrugged.

Jaeryl Innisgrath was growing red in the face. “And did this business transaction result in the appropriate taxes for the betterment of our people? Or have you once again cut an underhand deal to the detriment of our city and state?”

Svenus smiled as he spoke, knowing what he was about to say would send the governor over the edge. “No taxes, none, we’ve made another arrangement, ye see.”

The governor leaped out of his seat, and his loud tone turned to outright shouting. “I should have you arrested, and your business forfeit to the state for the insolence you show to the rule of law and the damage you’ve done to this city!”

Svenus stood now, too. He swept the glass the governor had been sipping wine out of off the man’s table with enough force that it shattered off the far wall rather than the floor. In response to the noise, the door swung open. Two guards stepped in behind Svenus, and several more outside watched intently.

“Listen here, you wet behind the ears, useless excuse for a politician,” Svenus began, shoving his finger in Jaeryl’s startled face. “How well do you think these men will listen to you when you can’t pay them? When their families cannot make money, and their children cannot eat? How well will they listen to me when I offer them triple their wages? Years ago, you came to me asking to help you get elected and promising to keep my family business as the highest priority in this city-state. Do not ever forget who made you governor, Jaeryl Innisgrath. I can just as easily destroy you and place some other perfumed politician in your place!”

Svenus Kalt glared at the militiamen, who already had averted their gazes before he stormed out of the governor’s office.

*****

It had been Harpis’ first time into Fjall, and the marvelous and expansive dwarven city under the mountain was awe-inspiring. More impressive to him still was the gathering he was now a part of in the meeting room of Ingar Hammersmith.

The room was long and narrow, with a stone table of similar dimensions within it. Harpis figured the table sat probably thirty, but it only needed to seat thirteen today.

Down on the other side sat Ingar Hammersmith and Okliff Shieldborn, the fierce and bristly, blond general of the dwarven army.

Next to them was Stone Mage Lorkin, The Arch Mage, and the two who arrived with him from Mer, whom he had yet to meet.

On his left sat Turin, the Impresario, Wren, and the Death Herald, and to his right was the Exarch and a woman cleric who wore the stoles of a vicar.

Turin had told him that she was The Syndicate Eye in Mer and that they would not mention her involvement. Harpis had noticed a rather heated conversation between the Arch Mage and Stone Mage Lorkin, whom Wren had introduced Harpis to yesterday. The argument ended in a shrug from Lorkin, who then pointed at Wren, resulting in a frustrated shake of the head from the Arch Mage.

The fist of Ingar Hammersmith pounded the table in front of him, interrupting the chatter around the table.

His gruff voice shattered the growing silence. “Welcome all to Fjall and my own council room. I plead with you to listen well to what you hear next in this room. Heed all of it and be understanding. The fate of all in this room and all they care about on this island hangs in the balance. Particularly at risk is the fate of those humans amongst us and their charges.”

The dwarf’s gaze settled on the old elf. “Know that I trust Turin Deadeye, the elf who has seen a thousand years and sits now across from me. I trust him with my life and the lives of every dwarf, gnome, and human in my city and state. You’d do well to mark his words and trust him also.”

Wren made a conspicuous cough into his fist and made a gesture with his head at the Herald.

“Er, and troll too, forget we have one of those here in Fjall, apologies Herald.” He then raised his hand in Turin’s direction and bid the elf speak.

Turin stood and surveyed the room with his one eye.

“First, I think introductions are in order. I will name you all if there are no objections,” there were none, and Turin continued. “Of course, there is our gracious host who has just spoken, Ingar Hammersmith, Governor of Fjall. Next to him are General Okliff Shieldborn, leader of the Fjall Army, and Stone Mage Lorkin. Between the three of them, I think they have seen more war and elemental magic than any other living beings on this island.”

Turin turned next to the humans. “We are graced with the presence of the Arch Mage of The College of Elements, as well as Stone Sage Mara and Stone Mage Vennil of the Tower of Stone. From The Archdiocese of Daybreak, there is Exarch Hameki and his senior-most gifted attendant, Vicar Ezera.”

The elf then faced Wren. “This is Death Speaker Wren; he is the longest living worshipper of The Sleeper on this island and next to him The Sleeper’s chosen, the Death Herald. Nearest me is Impresario Benali Tuath of The Bard’s Hall, and Harpis, court bard to the governor of Ravnice.”

It occurred to some in the room that the elf addressing them knew their name with great familiarity, even though they had never seen him in their life.

“As to the reason I have brought you all here today, I think part of that is obvious. Tuath has made moves, some of them violent, on the rest of the island. Sadly, it looks as though neither the governors nor their city-states can resist them without war ravaging this island. The other reasoning, I am afraid, is less obvious to some of you,” Turin explained.

He took a moment to let the others gather their thoughts. “It is true what Ingar said, I saw my thousandth year almost a decade ago, and I am indeed old, even by the standards of my people. Many of my centuries have been spent here, on this island I too call home.”

The elf’s expression became sorrowful. “I was there all three times that open war has devastated it in the past. Some of you here also remember that last and greatest war. The one where mages used their gifts for such savage devastation that they afterward swore their institutions forever to neutrality and peaceful practice.”

Turin’s eyes now glinted like steel as he looked around the room while he spoke. “So, I used my greatest resource, time, and bent my mind and will to the creation of a small organization of spies and assassins that I could deploy throughout the island of Quaj and keep her from tearing herself apart again.”

There were audible gasps from several in the room and baffled silence from others.

“It was called The Lodestar Syndicate. I had two operatives posted in each of the city-states, and a small base on Lodestar Island, an island unknown to most, far off the southern coast of Kalt. Through espionage and subterfuge, we acted to deal with the dangerous and evil folk as they came and went.”

He dropped his gaze to the tabletop. “At times, when necessary, we killed such evil folk. Until recently, that is. We have suffered our own great loss. Tuath slaughtered my friends who lived and worked on Lodestar Island, killing men, women, and the elderly indiscriminately.”

Impresario Benali grew very still and stared blankly ahead, listening to the one brutality of Myrlman he had not yet discovered.

Arch Mage Uridyll interrupted Turin angrily, “Who were you to decide anyway? Who were you to play god to the people of Quaj?”

Turin held his hands up in peace for a long moment. “I promise you, Arch Mage Uridyll, we had not but the best of intentions, with a mind for the greater good always. If my word and that of others here at this table are not enough to appease you, at least respect our losses. The deaths of those involved may serve as justice to you and as punishment for our lofty aspirations and actions.”

He glanced at Wren and Harpis. “Aside from those on Lodestar Island, we had two operatives, as I said, in each city-state. The two in Kalt are no longer anyone’s concern. The two in Mer were both killed in the Tuath strike at Mer harbor,” he said, lying to protect Ezera.

“The operatives in Ravnice are at this table. Harpis and Wren, who helped gather you all here today, are members of The Syndicate.”

He stood again and walked to the head of the table. “Which brings me to the reason I am sharing all of this with you all. It seems that one of our assassins has become involved with Myrlman Tuath and helped him to track down and kill our entire presence in Tuath. We believe he is working with Myrlman Tuath to turn the people of Tuath against the rest of this island and pursue an outright war. You see, the actions of Tuath are frightening enough of their own accord. Adding in the fact that a Syndicate produced master assassin and tactician is working in concert with him, the nightmare may yet be inescapable if we cannot come together to end it.”

“You forgot to mention your agents here, in Fjall! And how, good governor, are you not enraged that this man has been spying on you!?” The Exarch shouted in concern.

Ingar Hammersmith stood for a moment after being addressed and stared the Exarch back into his seat.

When the Exarch sat, Ingar spoke. “I have known Turin some two hundred years. After the last great war, he discussed his plan with me. I had lost many a dwarf to human plotting in that War of Magi. I told him I would support him if he ever needed it and offer protection if I could. He never needed an operative here, he is a friend of Fjall, and I freely discussed the goings-on of my state with him.” Sitting again, the dwarf crossed his arms grumpily.

“Thank you again, good Ingar, as I said, think what you may of our now dead organization and its operatives. It may be gone, but its mission is no less relevant. So, I ask you here with us now to help in ending the threat of outright war and the tyranny taking place at the hands of the Tuath governor.”

The out-of-place troll and Death Herald turned toward the elf warmly. “Turin, ever have The Sleeper and I appreciated your efforts for the people of this island.”

Turin gave her a short bow with his head.

“What of your folk? There are a few hundred elves left in Kalt forest, no? Will they not join your cause?” the troll asked.

The question seemed to sadden Turin. “My people, for the most part, do not care for the other folk on this island. They care least of all for humans, thanks to their feud with the people of Kalt. They are impossible to stir to action unless under direct threat themselves. It is much easier for them just to wait until the currently troublesome generation of humans dies than risk elven blood, I am afraid.”

The Impresario clapped his hands together in front of him and pushed his forehead into them. “Master Turin, how does this assassin helping Myrlman look? Perhaps I have seen him. However, I must say that I have been around Myrlman a lot of late, and I have seen no one aiding him in his decisions or his dirty work. I even watched, feet away, as he slit the Mer governor’s throat and was showered in his blood, smiling the whole time.”

Turin paused thoughtfully. “Sirul Amun, our deserted assassin, is a thirty-year-old human of Tuathian descent. He is of medium height and athletic build. His skin was olive and often tan. He has blond hair and grey eyes.”

At the description, the Impresario’s eyes shot open, and he looked directly at Turin. “Good elf, you have just described my cousin’s son, Myrlman Tuath, to me!”

It was Turin’s turn to be caught off guard and confused. “Sirul had a long scar from his right eye down to his jaw from a lost fight at a young age before he came to us.”

Benali Tuath sat back in shock. “Myrlman recently received the same scar at the hands of his would-be Quaji captor’s attempted kidnapping.”

Everyone in the room was silent, searching for an answer to the questions the conversation between Turin and Benali had just raised. Finally, Turin acknowledged the Arch Mage’s nervously raised his hand and motioned for him to speak.

Uridyll looked almost frail with worry, “I am afraid I have my own, potentially related, and troubling revelation for this group. Someone stole an enchanted artifact of considerable and relevant power from the college earlier this year. It was known as the Clay Mask of Breyva.”

At the mention of the mask, Stone Mage Lorkin sucked in his breath sharply, momentarily interrupting the Arch Mage.

“It can allow the wearer to duplicate the face of another living person they see and wear it for some time. We do not know much of its enchantment other than that,” the Arch Mage continued.

Lorkin had become visibly bothered by what the Arch Mage had said. “It’s more powerful than that, Uridyll. That mask was the Apotheosis of Stone Magus Breyva, her life’s work. It will wear the face chosen indefinitely, pulling from the wearer’s life energy to keep up the illusion. The mask would only show itself as red clay on the wearer’s face upon their death.”

At first, Benali Tuath’s reaction was one of joy that the second cousin who had a love of the arts and music might not have turned into the monster he had been spending time with as of late.

“It would seem then perhaps that Sirul Amun is wearing the face of Myrlman Tuath and playing at ruling a city-state and attempting to rule much more,” Turin said.

The Impresario’s demeanor grew mournful as he realized that having seen no person working closely with Myrlman, the young man was likely dead.

Benali looked hopefully at Lorkin. “If Myrlman has recently received this scar, in kind with the one Sirul had, then the raid where he received it is perhaps where Sirul took his place. Until recently, it had been years since I visited with my nephew. I cannot rely on my memory of an adolescent’s voice to prove the man I have been around lately is a fraud. Stone Mage Lorkin, do you know if the mask would hide or show scars?”

The dwarven mage shrugged unknowingly, and the Death Herald spoke. “If we could shepherd this Sirul into The Great Dream, his death would reveal the mask. Perhaps then we could show the people of the island the truth of what he had wrought. It might be sobering enough to bring peace.”

The elderly Exarch raised his hand. “In either case, I will have Ezera use her Daybreak gifted powers to disenchant the mask when we recover it. Such a powerful artifact has no use for any good or just purpose.”

Harpis stood to speak and almost sat down without opening his mouth as the gathered figures stared at him. “I think that it would be unwise to lay our hopes on avoiding all-out war by killing Sirul alone. I agree that we need to remove the mastermind driving the north into war. It may be that showing Myrlman Tuath was an imposter might sober some, but the entirety of Tuath is against Mer. As Wren and I made our way through the city, tension and ill will were everywhere. Later I saw the same when I visited Tuath alone. At every corner, tavern, and inn, folk talk of the injustices Tuath has suffered and how Mer deserved their wrath.”

“What Harpis says is true, even if what he first told me about himself was not. I trust him, and I have lived in Tuath these past months. All people talk about is when we will enact our vengeance on the south. I don’t think they will stop until we show them it would be a hopeless endeavor,” the Impresario concurred.

The Exarch shifted uneasily in his seat, the talk of war and bloodshed making him nervous. “How do we make war and conquest seem hopeless to them with as few lives lost as possible?” The Exarch pleadingly asked the room.

Turin retook control of the gathering. “For that Exarch, I will need to rely on yourself and the Arch Mage. We will also need the fighting prowess of the dwarven army. First, though, I must know from each of you that you are with us. That you will keep the trust and secret of this council held under the mountain.”

He looked from person to person as they nodded or verbalized their agreement. Finally, when he looked at Benali Tuath, the Impresario spoke his piece. “That animal running my city and state is likely the killer of both my cousin and his son. You have my word for the secrecy of our intentions here.”

It was lost on none in the room that with Seulman Tuath long dead, and Myrlman Tuath proved to be Sirul Amun, Myrlman himself was probably deceased. With them dead, Benali Tuath was next in line to the hereditary rule of Tuath.

Turin stared at the Impresario for some time before speaking again. “Then it is settled. We must remove Tuath’s grip on Mer. They currently hold sway with their flotilla and their ability to offload their militiamen at a moment’s notice to quell any uprising. The dwarves will march to Mer and take it back from Tuath. They will then make an obvious show of marching towards Tuath. The flotilla, seeing this and being unable to land in Mer, will assuredly turn north to aid in the battle for their homeland. Exarch and Arch Mage, we will all depend on you. We need the militiamen of Mer to understand that the dwarves are not invaders and instead are there to liberate their city and draw the Tuath force away to the north. We need the men of Mer to stand down as they approach.”

The two older men looked at each other and nodded their agreement to help save the city they called home.

“Impresario, you will return to the man playing at Myrlman Tuath and tell him you will reinstate the bards and reopen Bard’s Hall. Tell him he can use them to facilitate the spreading of propaganda and information to the greater conquest of Tuath. In truth, we will lean on you to pass up-to-date intelligence to us via Harpis if necessary,” Turin said.

Benali Tuath nodded at both Turin and Harpis.

“Lastly,” Turin said. “We need to find a way to depose Myrlman if possible. We will hit Tuath from the south with the dwarves and possibly with the militia of Mer and Ravnice. Harpis will bring Aanaman Reaper into the fold after the next council meeting. However, the death of Sirul Amun may bring the whole conflict to a swift end. Myself, Wren, and Harpis will sail north on my ship when Harpis returns. With the last assassin of our old organization, we will try and remove the head of this snake. I am aware that Kalt may be falling under the control of Tuath, directly or indirectly. I am confident that if we deal with the threat in the north, Kalt will resume its infighting between the city, the Kalt family, and the elf tribe in the Kalt Forest.”

Turin surveyed the table once more. None could refute the plan’s logic, and all had their roles to play.

Before they left the table, the Death Herald stood, her hulking form half again as tall as most men present. “If you’ll have me along, Master Turin, I don’t think I could miss the opportunity to be there when so many are making their way to my Lady’s Great Dream.”

The elf grinned at the troll and gave her a bow. “It would be our honor, Herald.”