Magna'est struggled to settle himself. Once a season there was a gathering, and he detested each one of them. An entire day wasted pretending he cared about the duties of others. The failure of one doing his duty interested him but not the dry regurgitation of a brother's tasks since the last gathering. He knew the necessity of it. Men, no matter how long they executed the same responsibilities, required recognition. To ignore that need was to invite mediocrity, which led to sloth and neglect.

Smoothing his white robes, Manga'est stood from his chair and placed the fingers of one hand on his temple as he listened to a brother from a southern temple report on the nighthouse tithes collected. The movement gave him an air of contemplation as if the Brother's words were of great concern. In truth, Magna'est just needed to get blood flowing in his legs again. His backside was beginning to meld with the chair.

"And what of the red-haired one?" Magna'est asked when the Brother finished. It was a topic that did interest him.

"No new sightings, your Eminence," the Brother responded. "The commoners speak of it in whispers, and even those words are becoming less."

"Last sighting?" Magna'est asked. He already knew the answer, but it was necessary to let his underlings believe they were essential and held significant facts of value.

"Almost two winters. The last being false, and that soul was caught and set to a pole. It proved effective to leave the body to rot so all could see the folly of the act. There's been nothing beyond quiet tales since."

"These stories must be handled carefully," Magna'est instructed. "We do not want to attempt to quell them all, for that will lend credence. Best to label them blasphemy and warn those who are too loud. If they persist, then silence them, but not before they are given quarter. Make sure all know it was the speaker's refusal to cease heresy and not the tale itself. It was their choice to ignore the Goddess's mercy and chose a path of peril."

"Aye, your Eminence."

"Does anyone have knowledge of a true sighting of the Unseen boy since we grew the King's army?" Magna'est looked down the long table. The 36 brothers remained silent, glancing around to see if others knew. When the paused was sufficient, Magna'est continued.

"The boy may have gone into hiding, or he may have perished. We must remain vigilant until we are assured of his demise. Mayhap, he will surface in the future and ignite the peasants again. We cannot have the populace gathering under a banner as one and believing he is the Goddess's messenger." Magna'est brought his fist down hard on the table. "We are the word of the Goddess - no one else." The mass nodded in agreement which brought a grin to Magna'est lips. He had little doubt that any word of a new sighting would reach his ears quickly and unfiltered. A requirement if order was to be maintained.

"And what of your Choosings, brother Aquian?" Magna'est asked the still standing Brother.

"They are difficult. Still, we have maintained our counts and gathered two more this season. Birthing sums are up so the problem will lessen in time."

"I thank you for your diligence," Magna'est said and signaled the Brother to take his seat. The Choosings were going to be weak for some time, and the need will rise as it always had. Though the failure rate was high, foreign-born were necessary to fill the void.

"Brother Billian," Magna'est said, his eyes falling on the heavyset man. Billian stood as was expected. "Our numbers must be maintained. How fares our gathering at the ports?" Billian's face winced. Magna'est stopped pacing and gave the man his full attention.

"Not as well as hoped, your Eminence," Billian replied. "Many ships have left the trade citing low desire elsewhere. It is said Masocrate demand for property has declined, lowering a ship's profits. Similar declines are beginning in other lands as well." His eyes widened under the intense glare of Magna'est. "It will level out in time, but the profit in young female cargo is low. Difficult to acquire adequate numbers within the laws, they say." Magna'est's face was reddening. "Without a strong desire for the other acquisitions, many shipmasters feel it is folly to continue when other cargo pays well enough and has less risk."

"Brother Samina," Magna'est growled, his head snapping to a thin man who looked like he spent a considerable amount of time trimming his beard. It was shaped on his chin like an arrow head pointing downward. "Are you not my information gatherer? Why is this the first I have heard of this?" The numbers must be maintained, they simply must. It was the foundation of everything.

Samina stood slowly, an indication of his stature in the Brotherhood. He, and his agents, were Anagoria's connection with the rest of the world. A web that would be difficult to rebuild, and therefore granted him leeway with even the most powerful.

"It has been a slow process, your Eminence," Samina said as if it were a struggle to shake off the boredom of the gathering. "The mines drove demand in the past. That has been altered by a device which greatly extends the usefulness of the miner. Inquiries are being made, but I do not believe it can be undone. Both the mine houses and the many producers of the device see profits, and they outnumber the shipmasters who trade in property."

"A device? Are we not hindering things such as that?"

"Aye, we work to end such things." Saminia nodded. "It appeared before we were aware of its existence and well-deployed by the time word reached my ears."

"Is Victalica faltering?" Magna'est asked. It had happened in the past. A King turned on misguided moral concerns and had to be carefully realigned. King Gregory had slipped, but that was handled well enough. He would toe the line until the promise is kept.

"Nay," Saminia shook his head. "Their laws of due care were used on initial distribution, and word spread before it could be contained. That, and the royal family profits from the device as well." He smiled. "Masocrates do love their profits."

Magna'est suppressed his anger, burying it deep inside. It would do no good against Saminia. The man only recognized thoughtful arguments where he experienced benefit.

The Brotherhood's one real weakness was time. As it progressed, their need grew with it. Anagoria had been adequate for years upon years, but now and into the future, other sources would be required, especially if birthing could not be driven upward. Foreign-born must fill the void.

"This smells of a subtle attack," Magna'est said with a calm voice. "What is this device?"

"A series of cloth overlaid upon itself," Saminia replied. He cupped his hand and placed it over his nose and mouth. "It allows air and repels the dust. I am told the dust is what limits a minor's years, fills the lungs and chokes off air."

"And who created such a thing?"

"A house...ah...Parvakian, Karvakian or some such name. It was a minor house not long ago. I have been informed they identified an attempt on the throne and have risen in prominence since. Victalica gifted his daughter in gratitude, and a seat on the King's Consul as well."

"It would be wise to know this house," Magna'est said, "at least its name." It was said in such a way to draw out chuckles at the table — a minor insult of Saminia's skills to spur him to action.

"It has already being done," Saminia said, ignoring the humor. "A season or two, and I'll know the owner well. A widower and his son who trade in cloth are all I have now. It takes time for information to leap an ocean."

"Mayhap, Vitalica needs a reminder," Magna'est mumbled to the ground. He stroked his chin and began to pace about the table. All eyes followed him.

"I can send word," Saminia offered. Magna'est brushed the offer aside with a wave of his hand. Most monarchs found such things an insult. Anger is not something he wished to stir in Vitalica. In this, Magna'est needed an ally. Someone who could cross the divide between what is and what will be. He stopped walking and clenched his eyes. As undesirable as it was, he needed Rolic.

"Brother Billian, double the price for the foreign-born," Magna'est said. "Mayhap, that will get the shipmasters' attention." It was a short term fix for a long term problem. He bit his lip, and considered how to approach Rolic. It would not be pleasant, that much he knew.

Rolic dropped the rabbit onto a rock west of the cave he called home. The arrow pierced it through the hindquarters, and he was forced to finish it with a knife. Not his best shot but his eyesight and reactions were showing signs of age. There would be more sloppy kills to come.

He groaned as he squatted down to skin his trophy. It wasn't the cutting and cleaning that bothered him. It was standing afterward. His knees had decided to get old first. They complained most in the morning and squatting aggravated them even more. But one must eat, and Rolic enjoyed his meat, so he commenced with the task.

"You are slowing."

Rolic turned at the words, his blood soiled hands securing his bow and notching an arrow in a fluid action that defied age. There were five white-robed Brothers, four who flinched at the readied shaft, the other, the speaker, did not. Rolic lowered the arrow's point to the ground and stood, ignoring his angry joints.

"It comes with age," Rolic said. He kept his slippery grasp on the bow and left the arrow notched. "The natural order of things," he added.

"You would be welcomed home," Magna'est said, pointing at the half cleaned rabbit laying next to a pile of its guts. "You need not live like a peasant eating rodents."

Rolic smirked. Magna'est needed something. He released the pressure on the bowstring and freed a hand. "Rabbit makes a fine meal, and it pleases me to be responsible for my needs." Welcomed home? Magna'est must be desperate.

"I wish some words with you," Magna'est said. He lifted his hand and flicked it as a signal for the other brothers to move away. Like sheep, they did. The promise was a robust set of shackles. A binding that no longer encircled Rolic's throat.

"Words with me?" Rolic asked, not requiring an answer. "You need something and have come begging." He placed his bow against the bloodied rock and wiped his hands on his stained trousers. The mess of it made Magna'est grimace.

"Aye, I need something from you," Magna'est agreed. The admission surprised Rolic. He couldn't remember the last time Magna'est admitted weakness or need.

"Unlike your robed sycophants, I would know the why."

"Come," Magna'est said as he gestured down the hill. They began a slow walk, creating distance from the idled Brothers. "I have been made aware of changes in your family's land. Things done, or allowed to happen that have altered the flow of saved ones." He clasped his hands behind his back in a casual manner. "You are aware of the sums necessary. You know the growing need. It is imperative that further disruption is prevented."

"And you think I hold sway." Rolic shrugged. "Or care for your needs."

"Neither of us are fools, Rolic," Magna'est said without anger. Rolic knew Magna'est had thought his argument through. "Our needs are your needs if you wish your family to continue. And we both know your influence with them is stronger than mine." Magna'est stopped walking and looked around. "Your peaceful existence here is proof of it. Your family entwines us both. Do you wish it undone?"

"Nay," Rolic said, shaking his head. Magna'est held power to start wars or incite rebellions. Rolic's legacy and power were breathing strong across the ocean, and he desired it to remain so. A difficult balancing act. "Nor do you wish things undo in time of need."

"Agreed," Magna'est said. Rolic hated himself at that moment. He detested Magna'est, yet he knew he would partner with him in this. More regrets to pile on top of the mountain of old ones.

"I will know what has changed," Rolic said. "All that you know."

"Agreed." Magna'est took a deep breath then explained what he knew of the miner's device, the rising influence of house without a name, how it has affected the property trade, and the damage done to the Brotherhood's ability to fulfill their needs.

"Alliette will marry?" Rolic said. It was odd how the idea appealed to him. Women were left out of the schemes driven by the promise, and he desired a happy union for her. Life was too short for a miserable marriage driven by profits.

"Out of all I have said, you ask after the Princess," Magna'est said with a chuckle. "It surprises me that you know her name when I do not. The ports are not as tight as I had hoped." Rolic cursed himself for blurting it out. It was just the idea of the line continuing outside of the promise that endeared him to the concept.

"It is my influence you seek," Rolic said with authority. "Did you not think it incomplete?" Best to claim the fact, now that it was in the open. He was sure Magna'est knew anyway.

"Nay," Magna'est admitted. "And the Princess is well wed by now. Mayhap, you could use the inquiry of such a thing as an excuse to trade words."

"You desire the King not know the true reason for correspondence?"

"Mayhap, though I leave it to you for you know your kin better than I." Magna'est pursed his lips then continued. "I find it best not to order those who order others. Better that they see benefit in what is desired and not have to issue a demand." Rolic laughed at the subtlety.

"And what is it you wish me to convey?"

"I wish the King to be reminded of what awaits him. Reminded of what awaits his son, and the sons that follow." Manga'est sighed. "You have made your decision, but your kin has not. Your words will remind them of what they will lose. Let them know of my resolve, and that the Brotherhood will not remain idle in Aragonia if our needs are not met." A sly smile emerged. "Mayhap, this rising house is approached, and house Victalica replaced. Mayhap, other Kings would see a threat to their future in Victalica's rule, and wars commence. Masocrate is a powerful kingdom, but other strong states have fallen in the past."

"You desire me to send threats?"

"Nay," Magna'est said, shaking his head. "I only wish you to remind your kin of the way things are. Our needs must be met, and they will profit greatly from it. They do love their profits, do they not?"

"I'll remind them," Rolic said. "It takes time for a missive to make the journey and more time for them to read between the lines. They will see it for what it is, though they will adhere." He raised his finger like a stiff point and jabbed at the air towards Magna'est. "Move against house Victalica and all will be undone. Of that, you can be assured."

"It is the last thing I desire," Magna'est said. "The Brotherhood and house Victalica have worked well together for winters beyond measure. Changing that would be drastic and undesirable. It is why I am forced to come to you."

"Then we agree," Rolic said. "We would prefer not to talk again."

"Aye," Magna'est said. Then turned and began walking back alone toward his entourage. "Enjoy your feast of rodent."

Rolic smiled at the soiled edges of Magna'est's robes. The cave was not easily accessible and forced the fool to traverse through the muck of the forest. It wasn't the sword Rolic would like to thrust through the man, but it gave him some solace. Thinking back, he could not remember anyone he hated more.

Fingers moved through the tavern studying each patron with seemingly uncaring eyes. It had been his second pass along the tables, so he added a half-empty mug and a stagger. No one would look twice at a drunk walking about. As crowded as it was, it may not have mattered anyway.

As Fingers approached the back table, near the blazing hearth, he saw a cloaked figure with two hands surrounding a mug as if it were a precious child. In front of the mug was a small stick no longer than a finger, broken in two places snake-like. To a passerby, it looked as if it were idle hands at work. To Fingers, it was his signal.

Fingers staggered to the table and bumped into the man, spilling brew over the man's cloak. The man stood with anger.

"My sorrows, my good man," Fingers slurred. He placed his mug half on the table, and it toppled to the floor as he began to wipe the thick beer off the man.

"Clumsy fool," the man said. Fingers caught a glimmer of the long mustache on the man's face. It was densely beaded and beginning to gray, mostly hidden by the hood. Fingers' fingers moved at a speed no one could see, yet he made sure the man felt them. He placed a sealed message in the man's pocket and retrieved the wrapped coins. When it was complete, the man pushed Fingers away and grumbled about finding a tavern with more manners. Fingers repeated his slurred apology as the man left in disgust. Fingers used the table to support himself as he bent down to get his mug. By intention, it was a sloppy maneuver so he could palm the broken twig and remove all signs of the transaction.

All-in-all, it was a flawless delivery. The problematic part was resealing the message after Fingers read it. He knew information had value, and no one sent nor received worthless messages across the ocean. Too much coin to waste on meaningless words. This one bewildered him, and he'd have to discuss it with the Seven. After all, it was why they taught him to read. He was not privy to the originating message, and half a conversation was never clear. He recited it in his mind again so he would not forget.

Words understood. The demon can rest easy.

Know that our mutual friend is the cause, and our salvation. Our house may have fallen if not for him. It is odd how he sees the world. I like him as well.

Do smile. Our daughter is happy and fat with child. You too may rest easy.

- AV