17. Unravelling Webs #2
With his pulse thumping in his ears, Eltoar released his hold on the Spark, the rain once more sheeting over him. His chest rose and fell in heavy sweeps until eventually he nodded. “What is it you wish to show me?”
Fane led Eltoar back through city, past Tanovar’s Arena and towards the southern gates.
Eltoar stopped for a moment, placing a fist across his chest at the sight of Neron’s statue standing proud at the entrance of his temple.
“If ever we were in need of guidance,” Eltoar said when Fane raised an eyebrow.
“Guidance is needed to avoid disasters. It is less effective in the midst of one.” He smiled at first, but then his expression grew sombre. “Do they ever answer?” he asked. “When you pray, I mean.”
“This is not the day to mock me, Fane.”
“I do not mock.” Fane stared up at Neron. “I was simply not raised in the depth of belief that you were, and I ask the question in earnest for reasons you will soon see. Do they answer you, Eltoar?”
“Not in words.”
Fane gave a short nod but nothing else. “Come, we’re not far.”
He led Eltoar past the temple and to a home that stood amidst a hundred others. Inside, Fane brought him to a cellar door that opened to a stone staircase that led deep into the ground, beyond any glow of light from above.
“Where does this lead, Fane?”
“To answers.”
The staircase descended for some forty feet into the dark until Fane forged a small baldír that floated at his feet, bathing the cold white walls in even paler light.
Before them stood a door with no handles and no visible lock.
Just as with the main door to the home, Fane pulled on threads of Air and pushed them into the door, eliciting a series of clicks from within the wood.
Which was no surprise to Eltoar. Fane’s hatred of keys was among one of his many quirks.
Fane pushed the door open, and the baldír went dark, replaced by the warm glow of oil lanterns from within.
A corridor lay before them; the lanterns sat in alcoves. It stretched some fifty feet, doors lining both sides, a chamber at its end. The air was damp and tinged with the scent of blood, char, and brimlock sap.
“What is this place, Fane?” Eltoar opened himself to the Spark as he followed Fane along the corridor. Through threads of Air he heard whispers coming from the rooms, hushed voices, scribbling pens, clinking, and the shifting of wood and iron.
“This is where we study,” Fane stead, his steps steady.
“We?”
“Myself and a collection of others who question as I do. Those who do not simply stand by and watch as the world sets itself aflame.”
Eltoar looked back at one of the wooden doors, the sounds of muffled screams coming from within. “And what do you study?”
“A great many things, brother. But foremost among them is the council and the wars that have taken place over the last century. We study the lies, we follow the coin, and we uncover the truth.”
When they reached the end of the corridor, they entered the chamber that sank a further ten feet into the earth and rose another ten above their heads. It swept about in a circle, filled with shelves, cabinets, desks, and an unending ocean of journals, notes, scrolls, letters and inks.
Six other mages moved about the chamber, every one of them stopping when Fane and Eltoar entered. He watched as their faces shifted from welcoming to fearful the moment they realised who Eltoar was.
“And you bring me here?” Eltoar said to Fane. “You bring the First Sword of the Draleid to a place where you are actively working to undermine the council?”
Fane looked back at him. “I bring Eltoar Daethana to a place where he might find answers to the questions that place darkness in his soul.”
Eltoar looked about the room, his gaze pausing on each mage in turn. He knew four of their faces, but the other two were strangers to him. “How many of you are there?”
“Here or in total?”
“Both.”
“At this moment in time… Machtus, how many?”
One of the mages Eltoar didn’t know answered Fane. “Twenty-six in the Reading Room.”
“The Reading Room,” Eltoar said with a laugh. “That’s what you call it?”
“Has a ring to it, does it not?” Fane nodded. “Twenty-six here. And somewhere in the region of three or four thousand across the continent.”
Those words took Eltoar off guard. “Surely not?”
“There are many souls who feel The Order that they love is being led astray, being corrupted by those who covet power but lack the means to seize it.” He gestured about him.
“This is not about Alvira, my friend. This is about those who seek to control her. This is about saving what we love, about stopping innocent people from paying the price of others’ greed.
Think of Orinhale. What did the people of that kingdom die for?
Was it for food? Or safety? Was it in defence of a purpose, a higher calling?
They died because one fool with a crown stole the wife of another fool with a crown.
And what did The Order do? Sided with the crown that offered the most coin. ”
Fane walked across the room and pulled a ledger from a neatly organised shelf. He opened it and flicked through, stopping when he found what he was looking for. He slipped a flattened out scroll from the ledger and read it aloud.
“Esteemed members of the council of The Order,
I write to you in response to the emissary who now sits beneath the roof of my keep but will most likely be standing before you as you read these words.
He arrived two nights past, laden with golden words of your esteemed selves.
I assure you he has been well fed and watered and sent back with a cart full of our finest silks.
As always, it has been nothing short of an honour and a pleasure to entertain an envoy of The Order. Though, moving forward, the honour would be greater were a member of the council to grace us with their noble presence, particularly in matters of such request.
It is with a heavy heart that I must refuse that which you require. Vastillion’s mines, while deep and plentiful, only yield so much with each passing summer. Though, rest assured, the tithes we offer to you will fully match those of the year prior, and those before.
Our loyalty remains firm,
Queen Valhira Sendiyal of Vastillion, Warden of the Silken throne
Earlywinter, Year 2576 After Doom”
Fane offered the letter to Eltoar while searching the ledger for another. “That letter I spoke to you of. Queen Valhira’s refusal to pay a portion of the mine’s production.”
Eltoar wiped his hands on his already saturated trousers, resulting in hands that were somehow wetter than they had been the moment before.
“Take it,” Fane said. “Everything in this room has been copied by the Exucendi ten times over. Though these are the originals, so perhaps pinch it between your fingers.”
As Eltoar looked over the letter, Fane found the next that he was looking for. He cleared his throat.
“Dearest Valhira,”
“Hmmm…” Fane said, giving a subdued laugh. “He didn’t even refer to her as queen in this one.”
“It is with a warm heart I received your letter from Eltoar Daethana’s hands.”
Fane stopped speaking and looked up at Eltoar, who stared back in disbelief.
“Did you know you carried the letter yourself? The letter pressing the queen of Vastillion to increase her tithes?” He laughed. “You know what shows me I would have liked her? In her letter she called you an emissary. One of the most legendary Draleid to ever take to wing – an emissary.”
“No… That’s not possible.” Eltoar his shook his head, looking back over the date on the previous letter.
Earlywinter, Year 2576 After Doom. “I…” He thought back.
“I did visit Vastillion at the birth of that year, before the Antiloch siege. Thalumas asked me to deliver a letter while I was there. I thought nothing of it.”
Fane gave him a weak smile, then carried on reading.
“It is with a warm heart I received your letter from Eltoar Daethana’s hands. Please in turn receive my thanks for your care of him.
Though I must admit I am saddened by your refusal to further support The Order. I understand that your priority is to your people first and foremost.
Please understand that in these trying times, The Order must also place priorities on its own beating heart. New armour is needed, new weapons and shields, new horses. Our duty is not in the making of coin, nevertheless the world does not move without it.
I pray to Varyn that you will not require our aid while we are depleted and that your spring and summer are even more fruitful than your last.
Councillor Loik Hass,
Earlywinter, Year 2576 After Doom”
Fane handed the letter to Eltoar and turned back to the ledger again before laying several more letters across the desk.
“These three are further missives from Loik Hass to Queen Valhira. Each less veiled than the last.” He tapped a stack of parchment beside them.
“These are accounts from the Keeper of Coin from that same year. The Order was deeply indebted to both Lunithír and Lyona.”
“Here is a letter procured from a vault in the depths of Antiloch. It appears the prince at the time – Prince Talmont – was gathering as much information as he could to blacken his father’s name and take the crown.
This one is an Exucendi copy, not the original, so make of it what you will.
It appears King Mallas was lucky after all that his son died in the battle. ”
Eltoar looked over the letter but could make neither heads nor tails of it.
Fane must have seen the confusion on his face, for he handed Eltoar another small piece of parchment. “Apologies – the cypher. Loik wasn’t taking any chances with that one.”
Opportunity rises on the second moon of the spring. Legs are slow to see the rising dawn, and if the sun has already set by the time the beast stirs, sleep the beast will. For it matters little from where the water flows so long as the river is strong.