17. Unravelling Webs #3
Even with the cypher, the letter was far from clear, but Eltoar saw it for what it was. Move on Vastillion on the second moon of spring. We will not come to their aid. So long as the gold flows, the city is yours.
“How do you know this is legitimate?”
“Because although the prince died, the Exucendi who copied the letters for him did not.”
“Where are they now?”
Fane inclined his head towards a door on the opposite side of the chamber, gesturing for Eltoar to follow. As they moved across the room, Eltoar scanned the shelves and desks. Everything was packed with scrolls, parchment, and ledgers. There must have been thousands of missives.
The door led to another hallway lined with rooms. Fane opened the second door on the right with threads of Air.
A shimmering blue light cut through the darkness within.
A man sat in a wooden chair at the centre of the room, a black sack over his head, his hands bound behind the back of the chair, and the chair bolted to the ground.
As Eltoar walked around the chair, he saw that the source of the blue light was runes carved into the manacles around the man’s wrists.
“What is this, Fane?”
“This is Exucendi Parcica of Printhouse Thasreel. She is the woman who copied all the missives sent to the royal court of Antiloch. But more than that, she is also the woman who has intentionally mis-copied documents and forged replicas of original seals. She is a forger, a counterfeiter to the highest bidder. And she’s quite good at it. ”
Eltoar examined the woman, his stomach tightening at the dark room, the damp air, the heat, and the smell of shit, piss, and blood. War was a dark place, and he had seen many things that made his skin crawl, but torture was something that curdled his stomach. “What are the manacles?”
“Runecraft.” Fane tilted his head to look down at the glowing manacles. “My own design, though I’m sure there were some before me who made similar. The runes act as a ward, a barrier between a person and their connection to the Spark.”
Fane leaned forwards and pulled the black sack from the woman’s head to reveal a head of dark hair and bronzed skin. There were no wounds that Eltoar could see, no blood or cuts. They hadn’t beaten her, at least.
Fane gently clapped the woman on the cheeks. “Parcica, you have company.”
The woman jolted awake as though a bucket of water had been tossed over her face. She stared up at Eltoar like she’d seen a demon. “I didn’t… I… Please…”
“Calm yourself, Parcica. This is Eltoar Daethana, First Sword of the Draleid. I want you to tell him what you told me. And then you will be free to go. Does that sound amenable? Well, ‘free to go’ is perhaps a bit heavy handed of me. We cannot let you roam freely. But if you agree to work with us, we will unshackle you, and you will no longer sleep in this room. Good?”
Parcica’s eyes flickered between Fane and Eltoar. She nodded, swallowing hard. “Draleid, First Sword. It’s… it’s an honour. I…” She closed her eyes and drew in long breaths, whispering to herself. “Breathe. Breathe.” She blew out a long breath. “It’s an honour, Draleid Daethana.”
Eltoar stared back at her wordlessly, unsure what to say to a woman chained to a chair.
Parcica looked at Fane once more, then back to Eltoar. “I copied missives for Prince Talmont, my lord. The king received many letters from Loik Hass and the council. I’m telling the truth, I am…” She looked at Fane again. “Tell him I’m telling the truth. I even gave you the cypher.”
“You did.”
“I did. I’m, I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard. “I’m not a brave soul, my lord.”
“I don’t need bravery right now,” Eltoar said, pity washing over him as he looked down at the Parcica. “I need honesty. Did those letters instruct King Mallas to wage war on Vastillion?”
“They did, my lord. There were many. It wasn’t…
It wasn’t explicit in the letters, but they met twice, in person.
It wasn’t in the king’s chambers, but in an inn near the eastern edge of Antiloch.
The prince took me with him to spy, to have me recreate their images, but I heard their words well enough. ”
“The man the king met, what did he look like?”
“No taller than I… Shaved head, thick beard, wrinkled skin, built like a slab of granite. He’d seen perhaps forty summers. Brown eyes. His nose was broad, and he was missing a small piece of his left earlobe.”
“That sounds like Loik.”
“The other one—”
“The other one?”
“Yes, my lord. There were two at the second meeting. A jotnar. Long white hair, clean shaven, white eyes. He wore a brown cloak. The king spoke his name. It—”
“Thalumas…” The name left Eltoar’s lips as the breeze would leave an open door.
He grew numb at the sound of it. All he could do was stare down at the mage.
He did not look upon Parcica, but through her, into his own memories, into his past. All the hours he had spent drinking wine and trading stories with Thalumas, all the years he had known him…
Maquil’s death over the skies of Vastillion…
The man’s apologies after the audience with the council.
Eltoar turned away from the Exucendi, staring at the rune-lit floor of the chamber. “It was all lies… From the start… all lies…”
“It is not something I wanted to tell you.” Fane’s voice was almost a whisper, as though he was ashamed of the words. “I know what Thalumas means to you. I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want you to think I… I’m sorry.”
Eltoar wasn’t in that chamber any more. He was flying, his wings cracking against the sky, the wind smashing over his scales like waves against a cliff.
He was rage and fury and wrath. Fire was his soul, and fury was his heart.
He poured dragonfire into the air, unleashing the betrayal upon the sky itself.
His roar was so raw and wild that even below the earth he thought he could feel the ground shake.
With great reluctance Eltoar pulled his mind from Helios’ allowing their shared rage to boil their blood. “What else should I know? What more lies have been told?”
“How many drops of water make an ocean?”
The sun was already rising when Eltoar found Salara asleep on the leather couch before a hearthfire of embers. She stirred as he entered, but Eltoar grabbed a blanket from a basket behind the couch and draped it across her.
He sat at the couch’s end, and Salara shifted over to rest her head on his lap, still half asleep.
“Where were you?” she muttered. “I waited.”
Eltoar brushed her hair with his fingers. “Shhh… I’m all right. Thank you, Salara, for always staying true.”
She mumbled something unintelligible and shifted her head, placing her palm beneath her cheek.
“Sleep, for today is a new day.” Eltoar stared into the embers, getting lost in the incandescent glow. “And there is much to be done.”