Sirul had close to his entire fleet with him when he arrived in Mer for the council meeting. Once again, the impressive line of brigantines created an almost complete blockade of the whole harbor as his lone flagship approached the docks.

He despised the bureaucratic event he was bound for, but he was not yet ready for the military conquest of the island. He felt comfortable in confrontation with any one of the human city-states or the dwarves individually, but not all at once. Not yet. There was work to be done before he would have Tuath prepared to fight on multiple fronts, though if everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t have to fight on any.

As much as he hated politics, he did see value in one last attempt to get what he wanted out of the council. If today went well and he could turn the other governors on the dwarves. Even if not, Sirul felt confident he could slowly control more and more of the island and the four primarily human city-states until he was ready to face down the dwarves in their mountain home.

It pleased him that the wharf, docks, and city, in general, were bristling with Mer militiamen. He brought with him the clear and immediate threat of an unknown number of militiamen aboard his vessels.

Then there were the thousands of Tuath militiamen who would march south if their governor were murdered and made a martyr. He felt safe indeed as he disembarked his flagship with his contingent.

As his procession snaked its way to the squat council building, he smiled at the nervousness and tension among the Mer citizens and militiamen alike. Upon arriving at the council building, Sirul also smiled at the scores of militiamen from Ravnice and Kalt, who were also present. Curiously, he did not see any dwarven guards outside.

After flinging open the large doors to the council chamber, he tried to calm his facial expression. He wanted to prevent himself from revealing the thoughts and emotions that ran through him as he looked from seat to seat.

The Arch Mage, Exarch, Death Herald, and Impresario seats along the wall were all empty. He struggled to bury the rage deep within him. The two old geezers from the Mer institutions had earlier refused to answer his calls for a private meeting and now snubbed him openly by not attending this pivotal council meeting. He didn’t know not to expect the Herald. The Impresario’s seat was at least expectedly empty as he assumed Benali was researching what the letter from his contemporary had mentioned.

He decided it was not surprising after all that the dwarven governor had not shown up. If he were Ingar Hammersmith, he would not come to the beck and call of Myrlman Tuath either. It was better this way, he reasoned. Without the dwarf here to speak against his claims and intentions, he might have an easier time influencing the other governors.

The captain of the Mer militia occupied the seat of the Mer governor, which Sirul had been almost sure would remain empty. He eyed the older man he had spoken to weeks ago after slaying their leader.

Without taking his seat, Sirul addressed the other men, leaning forward with his hands on the table in an aggressive posture.

“It would seem that the dwarves no longer seek to keep council with the likes of men. We must not let this disrespect go unanswered. Too long has a dwarf dictated in a place where humans should have the only voice. Let him rule below ground, and we will rule our lands above it!”

Aanaman Reaper of Ravnice crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Governor Jaeryl seconded the statement. The militia captain from Mer said nothing and kept his silent stare fixed on Sirul.

Before attempting to force the first decision on the other men, Sirul first addressed the man from Mer. “So, the people of Mer have already found a new governor? You are, Governor who?”

The man stood and met Sirul’s aggressive stance with his own. “I am Captain, not Governor, Elliswerth, and I am here because none of our civilians have the nerve to sit in this small room with a cold-blooded killer like you. They have yet to elect a new governor.”

Sirul found the man’s statement entertaining. “Well then, good captain, if you could re-take your seat, we will get started on the business of this council.”

The governor from Ravnice then turned towards him. “Well, Myrlman, you called us here after we were certain Tuath would never again attend a council meeting or suffer it to happen at all. So why are we here?”

Sirul took a moment to glance at the other three. “Well, seeing as how the gifted institutions of the island have abandoned us, we governors alone must make this decision. Given Ingar Hammersmith’s disrespect and failure to attend this council meeting, I would like to put forth a vote disavowing the dwarven city-state of this council. I would also like to put forth a vote on a more formal alliance between the four city-states of men so that we may best stand against dwarven meddling.”

The captain from Mer was the first to answer. “I cannot speak for the people of Mer. We cannot agree to either proposition as a city or state without an elected official.”

Sirul ignored the man completely. In his mind, Mer was already a part of Tuath. He assumed he could impose his will upon the people and leadership of Mer if necessary. Whoever they elected would be no match against the will or scheming of Sirul. Now, he was more concerned with forcing Ravnice into compliance, or if necessary, outright opposition.

“I, for one, am in favor of both!” Governor Innisgrath of Kalt said. His answer and enthusiasm drew a glare from both the Mer captain and Aanaman.

“My position on the road to conflict is the same now as it was when we spoke of Mer and Tuath. That was before you decided to take matters into your own hands in case you don’t remember.” Aanaman said, indicating the Tuath governor.

“Is there a purpose to this vote? Will you just impose your will at the end of a dagger? Or with your navy if you once again do not get your way?” he asked.

Sirul was happy enough to have Aanaman openly turn against the other city-states in the face of the decision. Such an act would give more time to increase his influence over the others. In truth though, it would all be easier if the former farmer would just fall into line.

“I respect your concern. The justice given to the late Governor Lurras was a personal matter. The tithes the merchants of Mer now pay are in reparation from their fellow citizens’ acts at the bidding of the man they elected. Your opinion is requested, and your decision will be respected, noted, and counted towards a simple majority or minority here,” Sirul said to the Ravnice governor.

“Given that Kalt seems to be deeply in your pocket, I doubt it matters either way. No. I do not support alienating the dwarves. The only path to Fjall city is through Ravnice. I do not want the blood of men or dwarves to soak my people’s lands,” Aanaman replied in angry resignation.

Sirul shot a chilling smile at the man. “I vote with the governor from Kalt. I believe that we must excommunicate the dwarves from our council and form a stronger alliance and a nation of men. When Mer elects their new governor, they will decide whether to join this alliance or not.”

He continued with a smug look at Aanaman. “We have our vote. A simple majority of this council is clear. Therefore, we will move forward without the dwarves, and we will begin to protect ourselves from their actions. Governor Aanaman is entitled to his opinion. However, he will have to make the choice of going along with the majority rule of this council or else risk being forced from it for not complying with its politically determined decisions.”

Aanaman stood from his chair, and it kicked out behind him before falling to the floor. “What a pile of horse dung. You force me to either voice my opposition to Tuath and Kalt or allow your decisions to dictate to my city-state and her people.”

Sirul stood and stopped him before he could continue. “I caution you to think on this decision and perhaps think on it until the next council meeting. The dwarves are no longer welcome in our audience. Mer will provide a governor to the next meeting, and that person will speak to the decision of Mer. I will also remind Ravnice of the implications if it decides to neither remain with this council nor join this formal alliance. You and your people would directly oppose your neighbors to both the north and the south. I will also remind you of our naval forces and that Ravnice has the longest coastline to defend of any of our city-states.”

Aanaman spat at the ground near Sirul and stormed out, with the parting comment of “patsy” to the governor from Kalt.

*****

The day after the forced council meeting in Mer concluded, those who met in Fjall finished disbanding. The small force sailing for Tuath gathered at the docks by the city’s cave mouth entrance. The odd company was finalizing preparations and boarding the Open Ocean in a desperate attempt to depose Sirul Amun.

The Exarch and Arch Mage had left on separate ships hours ago in the early morning. Both were bound for Mer with their instructions clear to them. Impresario Benali Tuath had left the night before with different but similarly essential instructions and an excuse and explanation for his absence that was well-rehearsed with Harpis.

Turin faced Harpis, Wren, and the Herald. “We’ve one more who will be joining us. I would like to introduce you all to my niece, the only remaining former Shadow of The Syndicate, besides the alienated Sirul Amun, of course.”

From Turin’s above deck cabin on the small schooner walked a lithe female elf. She shared the tan, almost brown skin of Turin and other wood elves.

Turin’s hair was stark white with age, but hers was a reddish-brown and stretched down her back to well below her waist. She had the steely look of one who gives death in her blue, almost grey eyes. If she were wearing a dress, one might have mistaken her for an elvish princess. But, instead, she wore simple leathers like her uncle and a gigantic crossbow across her back.

“This is my niece, Gwenolyn Amura, to The Syndicate she was known as The Bow,” Turin said, introducing his kin.

“Well met, friends of Turin Deadeye,” she said with a nod to the gathered party.

Turin named the others for her. “This is Harpis and Wren. They were former members of our Syndicate. This is the Death Herald, head of The Sanctum and the necromancers in service to The Sleeper.” At the mention of her position, the Herald gave a low bow.

“This is the famed assassin known to us as The Bow?” The gnome asked, looking at her incredulously. In response, Gwenolyn removed the weapon from her back. It looked to be a crossbow stock that was as long as she was tall.

She undid two clasps with a flick of her foot, and the crossbars snapped out in an arc that was near six feet wide. “When drawn, this can fire a bolt as far as a ballista.”

Harpis stood open-mouthed and eventually pointed at Gwenolyn. “You, you were the one who paid me a visit in Tuath!”

Turin put a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, Harpis, I sent her to watch you and to watch over you. We five are bound down the river, with a quick stop in Ravnice for Harpis to confide in Governor Reaper. We will then make for the north and our mission to remove the head of the snake constricting around our island. Herald, Wren, I will have to ask you to remain either below decks or in my cabin to avoid suspicion for much of our trip. A schooner sailing down the River Fjall and into open waters crewed by two elves and a human is one thing. With a gnome and a mountain troll in our company as well, I would imagine word of us might travel faster than this ship can sail.”

They boarded the Open Ocean, and as the ship drifted out of the mouth of the caved harbor, the dwarves at the defenses gave them a solemn parting salute. Once they were entirely out of the cave mouth, Gwenolyn nimbly climbed the mast and manipulated the rigging to let out the sails. Turin took up his place, as he had for a millennium, at the wheel.

Before he went below decks with the Herald, Wren went to Harpis. “Look here, lad, in thanks for your help months ago on the Sea Goat and for not failing your Syndicate indoctrination and embarrassing me. I’ve got you something.”

The gnome reached into his robe and produced the bracelet.

Harpis took it from him with a silent awestruck thanks. He was astonished by the beauty of the sunlight glittering within the amethyst vision of The Sleeper.

It was the most beautiful thing Harpis had ever held in his hands. “I do not know how to thank you, my friend, it is an amazing piece, and one I don’t deserve but will well cherish.”

Wren took it back for a moment and handed it back upside down, showing Harpis the word of activation etched into it. “It is enchanted, say the word, and sing one of your gifted songs. The bracelet will attune to your voice and amplify it whenever you repeat the activation. The enchantment will afford you several dozen uses, so see how it behaves and keep it only for dire situations. Stone Mage Lorkin is confident in its work. However, I am eager to see its power, so this one unnecessary time, I must see it in use.”

As the ship passed the first bend in the Fjall River, the mountain’s mouth disappeared behind them. The road that ran alongside the river until it reached Ravnice came into view, as did the column of dwarves marching on it, bound for Mer.

Seven hundred and fifty strong, the column was three-quarters of the Fjall army. At their head was the grizzled General Shieldborn. While the weapons they carried varied, every single dwarf held a shield almost as wide and tall as they were.

They all wore the polished plated armor crafted by the finest smiths among them. Almost half had a crossbow, or compound bow and quiver slung across their back. They marched in silence, but their footfalls slammed the ground in complete unison.

Harpis looked for a moment at the bracelet and uttered the activation phrase, “Discordium.”

He stared at it, almost expecting it to glow or warm or vibrate, but at the look Wren gave him, he decided he was probably just supposed to give his voice to the enchantment.

He sang one verse of the fishing song his father had taught him and paused. It had not sounded any different than he expected.

“It should be attuned to you now, lad, go ahead,” Wren encouraged.

Harpis uttered the word a second time and again began the fisherman’s work song that had saved them on the Sea Goat, doing everything he could do weave his gift into it. The resonance of his voice, amplified by the bracelet, surged through him as the notes encompassed his very being. His pulse became a thunder in his ears. In his chest, he felt the beating of his heart pound like a drum.

His voice boomed across the river and the valley through which it ran. The echo rolled off the out of view mountain behind them, and birds and animals for a mile around them startled and fled.

The dwarves’ march became faster, their muscles seemed ready to explode with energy, and their footfalls fell in tune with the song that thundered from the deck of the Open Ocean. Hands clasped pommels and handles of weapons more eagerly, and the dwarves who had never before heard the song began singing along too.

As Harpis ended the song, he received cheers from the column as they passed the front lines of dwarves. Harpis spotted Stone Mage Lorkin marching in the front with the General.

The dwarf mage shouted across to them, “Looking like the magic in your bracelet worked out just fine then, Wren! I now am seeing why you asked for such an enchantment!”

Wren, Turin, and Gwenolyn all shook off the goosebumps and chills that were running up their spines during Harpis’ entire song. Wren looked at Harpis and then the bracelet and nodded approvingly.

“Now, that lad, that was quite the song.”

Harpis could only smile as he pulled his tunic sleeve down to cover the invaluable gift.

He could barely hear the troll speaking to him as Wren made his way back out of sight below decks.

“It has been some time since I have heard the gift so woven into song. Bracelet or not, it has been sad ages since the bards have used magic so. A song can be a gift to wield stronger than any of us worshipers of dark or light could hope to command. Stronger even than gifted elementalists can dream to call upon. Have a mind for the ears that might be listening when you weave your words,” she said.