Nyrius
The financial records take two days to fully cross-reference, but by the end of the second day the picture is clear enough that I stop sleeping.
Cyran lays the last set of documents on the camp table beside the others — shipping manifests, supply contracts, payment ledgers from three different administrative offices — and steps back while I work through them. The lamp burns low. Outside, the camp is quiet.
"The western corridor routes," I say. "All three main paths."
"Controlled by the magistrate's office through proxy contracts." Cyran points to the relevant column. "Two legitimate supply companies, one defunct merchant guild that stopped filing records four years ago. All three receiving regular payments from a regional infrastructure account."
"Infrastructure."
"Road maintenance." He doesn’t elaborate.
I check the payment dates and the shipment logs beside them.
The dates align too consistently to be coincidence — every major weapons movement through the western corridor preceded by a payment to one of the three proxy accounts.
Someone was clearing the road, literally and administratively, ahead of every significant smuggling run.
"He wasn't just profiting from the routes," I say. "He was managing them."
"Yes." Cyran straightens. "The oversight council's sweep last week hit Velis's operation, but it left the proxy accounts untouched. If Malrec filed the request himself, he controlled what the sweep targeted." He pauses. "He handed them Velis and kept the infrastructure clean."
He handed them Velis, and through Velis, he handed them Edria.
I close the ledger. "Where is Velis now?"
"Last known position near the old mill tributary. He scattered when the sweep hit but hasn't left the region — my patrol noted movement on the southern creek path two days ago."
I stand up. "Take me there."
We find him at dusk, sheltering in a ruined field outbuilding half a mile past the mill wheel. Two of his men are with him, neither of them armed beyond belt knives. He looks like someone who has spent three days sleeping in ditches, which is accurate.
He sees me and his face does several things in quick succession before settling on resignation.
"I'm not going back to the courthouse," he says.
"I haven't offered that." I step inside. It smells of damp straw and cold ash. "I want information."
"I've got nothing left to give."
"You have enough left to keep you in a cell for the rest of your life." I stop three feet away. "Or you have enough to trade for something better. Your choice, but make it quickly because I'm not patient today."
He glances at the two men with him, then back at me. He's considering options — what I know against what I might not, whether holding information serves him better than releasing it. He lands in the wrong place.
"I don't know what you think I can tell you," he says. "The operation is done. Everyone's scattered."
"Malrec," I say.
The name lands like a stone dropped into still water. Velis goes very still.
"I have financial records tying three accounts to the western corridor routes," I continue.
"I have payment dates aligned with every major shipment.
I have two administrative contacts willing to testify that the accounts were managed through the magistrate's office.
" I let that settle. "What I don't have is a witness who can testify to direct communication. That's what you have."
Velis looks at his boots.
"I also have the arrest documentation for Edria of Oxwood," I add.
"Filed two days before the sweep. Witnesses listed who all work for Malrec.
A chain of custody on the forge evidence that doesn't survive scrutiny.
" My voice doesn’t change. "The charge is treason and arms supply. The sentence is execution."
He looks up.
"She didn't start this," I say. "You know that."
A long pause. The straw beneath our feet is damp and the wind comes through the gaps in the outbuilding walls. One of Velis's men shifts his weight and says nothing.
"He came to me a few years ago," Velis finally says.
"Not directly. Through a contact — a man named Drest who ran courier work between Denvara and the border settlements.
Drest said there was money available to facilitate certain shipments through the west. Keep the roads clear, avoid certain patrol schedules, move volume on specific dates. "
"Malrec's patrol schedules," I say.
"I didn't have confirmation it was him. Not at first." Velis rubs his forehead.
"But the pattern was obvious after the first year.
The routes we used were always open when they should have been watched.
Inspections that should have caught us were rerouted the day before.
Someone with oversight authority was managing it. "
"When did you confirm it was Malrec?"
"Eighteen months ago. Drest slipped — mentioned the magistrate by name during a payment negotiation. Said the magistrate's patience with the eastern buyers was running out and we needed to increase volume." He shrugs, a small defeated motion. "By then I was too far in to walk away."
"And the blacksmith," I say. "Edria."
Something crosses his face. Not guilt, exactly. Closer to discomfort. "She was a supplier. Good work, reliable, didn't ask questions."
"Did Malrec know about her specifically?"
"He knew about the western suppliers. Whether he knew her name before the arrest—" He pauses. "Drest was asking about her. What she produced, how much, whether she had any direct contact with the border lord." He raises his arms in an exaggerated shrug. "I didn't connect it then."
I stand very still.
Around the time Malrec made his first pointed comment to me about human informants. Around the time of the festival, when he mentioned the creek path.
He was building the case around her connection to me.
Not because she was the most significant piece of the supply chain — she wasn't — but because she was the piece that would damage me most publicly.
Arrest the woman the border lord has been visiting.
Accuse her of seduction and manipulation. Let the story do the rest.
"He used her to get to me," I say.
Velis doesn't answer, which is answer enough.
"You'll testify to what you just told me.
In writing, with Cyran as witness, today.
" I step back toward the door. "In exchange, I'll ensure the oversight council receives a full accounting of Malrec's involvement before your sentencing.
What they do with that information affects your situation considerably more than what they do with mine. "
He nods, once, his shoulders sagging. He doesn’t have any better options.
I step outside into the cold evening air and stand there for a moment while Cyran follows Velis toward the outbuilding's rough table.
Malrec didn't stumble onto Edria. He chose her.
He watched, waited, and picked the moment when her connection to me was visible enough to be useful and her situation vulnerable enough to make the charge stick.
He put her in that cell to send me a message about what it costs to interfere with his arrangements.
I walk back toward the horses and think about what it's going to cost him in return.