Two days after attending his first lecture down by the seaside, Galier still found himself becoming distracted by the things he had heard there. It wasn’t exactly difficult given the monotony of his new daily routine. Bits of the lesson kept surfacing in his mind at the most inopportune times. During a meeting with a mason whose work was no longer required due to an extension of the hall being canceled, Galier had found himself feeling guilty that he was causing the mason, and by extension the workers he hired and so on, hardship. The thought would never have occurred to him before. After all, why was it his responsibility? The man had purchased the materials and hired the workers in advance through no fault of Galier’s. He did not let it impact the outcome of the meeting of course, the fact was that he did not have the funds to pay for the project, but it left him feeling rather strange as the mason was escorted out of the meeting room, his cap clutched in anxious hands.

Galier had always relied on his instincts when making difficult choices. They had never steered him wrong before and he saw no reason as to why they should now. Only, now, as he stood alone in his study having just dealt a devastating blow to an artisan who relied upon his patronage, his instincts were strangely quiet. He knew he had made the correct choice in cancelling the project. He could not afford to be seen building new additions to the manor, regardless of money. Any such actions would lead to rumors regarding the circumstances of Martim’s death. If Galier began enacting changes so soon after rising to his station, he would be an easy target for the blame. He would have blamed himself if he were on the outside looking in.

Galier sighed heavily, realizing for the first time that day how tired he was. He had been in meetings for the entire morning and most of the afternoon as well just as he had the day before and while he was not physically tired, his mind felt as if it had been wrung out one too many times. It was a good thing he didn’t have any more meetings today because as soon as he sat down in one of the cushioned chairs he had brought into the study to replace the ugly stools, he did not think he would be able to stand again for a very long time.

In front of him, the low table that still dominated the study was covered in the same maps and diagrams that had been abandoned when the brothers departed. Galier was no closer now to understanding them than ever. Whatever cipher they were written in was a mystery to him, if it even was a cipher. For all he knew, it was a language he had never seen before, though it bore no resemblance to any he was familiar with. It was written in the imperial script with recognizable letters. The words eluded him though. They seemed to be a random hodgepodge of vowels and consonants combined in an entirely unpronounceable jumble. There didn’t seem to be enough vowels for that matter. Whenever Galier attempted to sound out a word, he could only manage a syllable or two before devolving into a sound more akin to a cough than speech. He had given up on finding it out by chance days ago. Now it was just another consideration to add to the pile. And there was a pile now, all too literally.

Atop the maps there was a new stack of documents. These were not nearly as large, most no more than a hand’s width, folded and sealed as they were. Galier did not exactly know the contents of the letters but it did not take much of an imagination to have an idea. He had continued to receive requests and summons from various houses with no sign of stopping. So many that it was entirely impossible to respond to them all. He had begun to pick and choose those houses whose support he thought he could rely on in the future but even that pile was beginning to become tall.

And then there was a third pile, much shorter than the others and composed entirely of letters with their seals broken. There were only a handful of these but they were the ones that interested Galier the most. Two of the five had come from lord Vaeor Kalagor, a man Galier had never thought he would have much contact with aside from settling a few debts he would rather put past him. Lord Kalagor was well known as a loan shark in Maerin and that was just one of the rumors levelled against him, though Galier could prove it true. What interested him about these letters in particular was the cryptic nature of them. They did not ask for audiences or favors like many others, nor were they invitations or commands. Both letters were short and served no discernable purpose.

The first had been discarded originally. It was a letter of condolences for the unfortunate death of lord Martim Derran. Simple and somewhat stilted, it had at first seemed like a ploy curry favor but Galier was not so sure anymore.

The second had changed Galier’s mind fully. It was vague in its purpose to the point of seeming to ramble. In it, lord Kalagor mentioned such odd things as the shipment of jewelry from Maerin to Phoenos and the production of surgical knives. Galier had no idea what that was about still, but it did not matter. What really made the letter stand out was the pair of lines at the end. One asked after Ketrim and Jormand’s health in a manner that seemed more personal than would be expected and the other asked after Lana. Whatever the purpose of the body of the letter, those lines showed that lord Kalagor knew of Galier’s relationship with the brothers and Lana as well and that was interesting.

Galier supposed that he should not have been surprised. He had been seen with Lana in public on a few occasions and despite their reliability, the staff at the Captain’s Cat did occasionally gossip. It did still strike him as strange that he received a letter mentioning her the day after she had disappeared.

Galier had waited a good three or four hours for her return the day she went to guide the brothers out of the city. After she did not return he had begun to worry that they had been caught by a patrol but there was no way he would have kept his station in that scenario, which left him with two options. Either the brothers had escaped with difficulty and she had been killed, which he doubted —there would have been rumors at least— or she had decided to cut and run after finishing her task.

It pained him to think that she would have just up and left in that way. He had thought that she cared more for him than that. He was ashamed to admit it now but he had felt there was a budding friendship between them. In the end, what had happened had happened and he could not afford to dwell on it now. Not when he had more important matters to attend to. Still, every time he read over lord Kalagor’s second letter, he felt a pang of regret that she did not feel it was worth it to stay.

He reached out to grab the letter, knocking over the rest of the stack in the process. Not for the first time, he considered replying. Perhaps lord Kalagor had some connection to house Derran that Galier had been unaware of. He certainly seemed to be on familiar enough terms with its members. On top of that, he was the seat of a wealthy and powerful house and his own wife had been killed by the same assassins who had slain Martim, or so everyone seemed to think. There was a connection there, Galier was sure of it even if he had next to no idea of what it could be.

Opening the letter and scanning over it for what seemed like the hundredth time, Galier was once again struck by how odd it was. Was he offering some kind of veiled business advice? Helping out the new leader of an allied house in some small way? Galier did not think so. The references were too vague. Why then should he care about the increased production and export of gemstones?

Galier shook his head and set down the letter again. He would have to make the time for a meeting. If lord Kalagor knew anything about Matim’s death… It was another thing that Galier was responsible for. There seemed to be an awful lot of those now. He would just have to let the other letters wait for now.

It had to have been an hour or more by the time that Galier was able to summon the strength to stand up from his chair. In the end what made him do it was the knowledge that if he did not decide on something to do, something would come for him. There was no shortage of visitors who thought it was their place to barge in without announcement. At least a meeting with lord Kalagor might be interesting. There was something about his letters that Galier could not place but it was certainly less boring than the alternative. He hastily scribbled a note on a piece of unused parchment and sealed it with the wax of a nearby candle. He would maintain a semblance of formality, that at least he had control over.

On his way back to his rooms to change, Galier handed the note to a servant with orders to have it delivered to lord Kalagor immediately. In the meantime, Galier would make himself look presentable.

Once in his rooms, Galier quickly stripped off his shoes, shirt, and trousers and set to finding something in his wardrobe that would be more fitting for him to be seen in outside of the manor grounds. The unfortunate fact of the matter was that he simply could not maintain a proper level of decorum at all times, especially when he had to sit in meetings for the majority of the day. Jackets would wrinkle and makeup would run, even with the weather beginning to cool.

Eventually he settled on a simple ensemble. A loose silk shirt went on first, then a pair of plain black trousers and a belt with little ornamentation. The worked silver buckle would stand out better that way. Over that he pulled on a dark grey coat, fitting to his mood, with little embellishment. Lord Kalagor did not value ostentatious displays in the same way as many nobles did but he would see the quality of Galier’s outwardly plain clothing in an instant. It was the game you had to play with powerful people. Knowing their preferences was key. Better if they did not even know of them themselves.

Galier did not bother much with his makeup. It would take too much time. He touched up what he already had on and added a layer of darker pigment to his eyelids before closing the drawer with his brushes and closing the wardrobe. He turned to the tall mirror beside it and looked over the man in it with a critical eye.

He would never be the Maerinen ideal of beauty. Even with dye to color his hair and makeup to darken his features, he just did not have the right build. He did his best to offset it with his clothes, drawing attention to the things people would appreciate and leaving the rest understated. Shoulders that were just a little too narrow were helped with slight padding in his coat and a waist just a little too slender was hidden by the cut of the garment. He supposed that he could dye his hair like many of the new blood did but the strange saps, powders, and potions they used always made him uncomfortable. Instead he opted to keep his hair short enough so he did not appear to be flaunting it and washed it regularly to keep it from appearing too lank and thin as it was prone to do. Not for the first time he found himself feeling jealous of Jormand’s curls. They were a boon to that brute that he did not even realize.

Galier chuckled fondly. Jormand needed all the help he could get. Sometimes it seemed that he did not even notice the fashions of the people around him.

Galier headed for the door after one last look in the mirror then doubled back for a moment and on a whim grabbed a simple diadem off of his dressing table. It was silver to match most every other accessory he wore now and wrought with the front open into the shape of a stag’s spreading antlers to evoke the sigil of house Derran. It was a northern tradition to wear a crown. Not even the empress did. But the house Derran that Martim had built was one for formality and tradition and if Galier was to be representing it, he supposed he should just go along with it. Besides, the simple decoration fit nicely with his outfit and helped distract from his blond hair.

Once he left his room and had made his way halfway to the great hall and the exit, he encountered the servant he had sent with the message before. She informed him that the page who had been sent with the note had just returned with a message. She handed him a folded piece of parchment sealed with grey wax. Galier broke the seal with his thumb nail and unfolded the note to find two simple lines of text written in an exact hand.

Meet me here this evening for dinner. We have much to discuss.

Come alone.

It was signed at the bottom with flowing letters that took up more space than the contents of the letter and Galier recognized the handwriting but the stilted message did not fit well with the image he had of lord Kalagor. Regardless, the news was good. A meeting so last minute meant that whatever it was that he had to tell Galier must be important. He grinned to himself, feeling invigorated by the thought of some in person politicking about something he actually cared about for once.

The last line of the message did give him pause however. Come alone. It was customary to bring a retinue when visiting another house’s holdings. Not having one would be suspicious not to mention offensive to the host. Perhaps he meant for Galier to not bring an escort although frankly Galier had not even thought of it, which surprised him a little. Any man of good breeding at his age should have company on official business. Maybe this was not official business though. Lord Kalagor certainly did not seem to be relying on custom in his communications. Galier decided to only bring a pair of guards with him. Enough to be cautious but not draw attention and it would be best to have someone to drive the chariot. He would maintain decorum even if lord Kalagor did not.

So a few hours later with the sun inching its way towards the horizon, Galier set out with his pair of guards on the short ride to lord Kalagor’s holding, slightly deeper in the city. The closer they came to their destination the larger the walled-off sections of the city, reserved for important families’ holdings, grew. There were fewer and fewer other buildings between them and those few were squeezed so tightly and built so tall that they looked at risk of tumbling over into the widening roadway. In every other way, these were nearly identical to any other in the city. Built of the same plain stone in the same unrelieved, austere manner. To an outsider there might appear to be no difference at all but anyone familiar with the city knew that the richness of the interiors of these buildings was increasing with each passing street. An eye as trained as Galier’s could see how the light reflecting through windows bore the pale sheen of marble or the yellow splendor of gilding on the interior.

Another change as they neared the center of the city was the smattering of short, small buildings seeming crammed into alleyways and between walls. These all stood with their doors open, they would not close until long past sunset, and inside there was always a slow but noticeable bustle of activity. Blood ministries. That was one fashion that the new blood was slow to pick up on. The commoners frequented them from what Galier could tell as there was always someone inside but never had he met a noble who admitted to crossing one of their thresholds. The old blood had their own built into their manor complexes of course. With them, tradition held strong.

Passing by one of these squat buildings, Galier caught a whiff of the metallic smell that always accompanied them, even from the quick passing platform of his chariot. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. The old blood took purity too far sometimes.

Arriving at the gates to lord Kalagor’s keep, the first thing that Galier noticed were the guards, all three of them. They were armed as expected with the finest iron arms and armor—the product of lord Kalagor’s less scrupulous dealings no doubt. What was odd was that there were only the three of them, lounging in the street as if nothing was the matter at all.

When Galier’s chariot came to a stop and he dismounted, the manor guards gave a friendly soldier’s salute to his own as he made his way through the slowly opening gate.

Inside was just as barren. A pair of soldiers by the entrance door across the plain courtyard but nothing more. No archers on the wall, no watchmen in the windows. As Galier entered the entrance hall, neither of the guards even asked about his business. One didn’t even look at him before waving him through.

The hall beyond the door was nothing at all like Galier remembered it. Lord Kalagor always kept up a good image among the nobility. A carefully curated one. His banquets were always exactly what was acceptable from one if his station. He knew where he could tread and where he could not and he toed the line diligently.

Galier was surprised to find the grand hall transformed once more like it was every time lord Kalagor threw a banquet only this time there was nothing at all. No table, no chairs, not even a chandelier. In fact the massive room was hardly lit at all. Only a pair of candles in sconces by the entrance and another pair across the hall flanking an identical door. Their light only reached a few paces across the cold marble floor and flickered, the candles burning low.

Galier swallowed heavily as he took his first step out of the pool of light. Leaving his guards by the gate seemed normal at the time but now he would have welcomed their company.

Nobody came to show Galier the way and the guards did not pay him any mind once he crossed the doorway, so, steeling himself, Galier marched across the hall. Just a little quicker than was strictly necessary. His hard-soled boots clicked against the stone floor, the only sound in the broad chamber. The echoes bounced off the far walls and reverberated again and again, making it sound like an army marched with him in lockstep.

He was relieved when he reached the opposite doorway and found the corridor beyond was lit comfortably, though only in one direction.

Against one wall, next to a sconce with a candle burning in it, lounged a man in plain garb. Not house livery or even noble’s attire. His shirt and trousers were a step above what Galier saw on the docks and around his inn but certainly a step below anything he would wear himself. Strangely, there was something familiar about the man, although Galier could not say what exactly. He was short but with a ruddy face and a ginger beard that clearly marked him as new blood and he carried an axe at his waist with a long heel. Iron, not bronze. It was an expensive weapon, and a weapon surely based on that wicked blade. No one of the old blood would ever carry such a weapon. They would call it inelegant. A northerner however, especially one who lived near the coast as Galier always had, would recognize a boarding axe in an instant. A pirate then, or a sailor with too much coin. Galier resolved to keep an eye on the man.

When the stranger spoke, Galier’s suspicions were confirmed. His accent was not as thick as Galier would have expected from any northern seafarer but the notes of a maritime accent were hard to miss. He named himself Unferth but gave no other identifiers and when he began to walk down the corridor, gesturing for Galier to follow, he walked with the rolling gate of a man more accustomed to the deck of a ship. And a none too stable ship at that.

Galier followed Unferth down the corridor and then down another, and another, and another. He began to suspect that he was being led in circles except for the fact that no matter which way they turned, the corridor was only ever lit in front of them. They never doubled back but Galier was unsure exactly how until, as he was rounding another corner, he glanced at the corner where wall met floor and saw, to his surprise, that the line of the wall tile and the floor did not match. They were walking at a decline, albeit a very shallow one. Clever. The descent was almost entirely imperceptible. The things Maerinen stonemasons could do were little short of miraculous sometimes.

They did eventually come to a door at the end of one hall. The line of candles ended here with one on either side of the nondescript door frame. Unferth knocked twice, then paused and knocked one more time. The door swung open after the third knock to reveal a well lit room dominated by a finely built table. Across from the door at the head of the table was lord Kalagor, dressed as usual in somber colors with his makeup and hair done immaculately. The perfect picture of old blood propriety as always. The only other person in the room stood in the shadow of the door, barely visible but Galier did not pay them any more mind than he did lord Kalagor. Instead what dominated his attention was a map on the table, nearly identical to one back in his study and annotated in the same strange writing that he could not decipher.

“Welcome, lord Derran.” Lord Kalagor said from across the table and he deftly turned the map over with one hand but Galier had already caught the glimpse he needed. It was the same map. He was sure of it.

He looked up then and was able to fully take in the room. Behind lord Kalagor was a weapon rack stretching from one wall to the other, although the room was not large it was still an impressive display. Spears, swords, axes, and knives. All gleaming with the cold silver shine of well kept and wrought iron. An impressive display of wealth if Galier had ever seen one. Even the monarch’s guards had to share iron weapons. Even if this was lord Kalagor’s entire inventory, he easily rivaled a house with twice his standing.

Galier finally made eye contact with lord Kalagor, painfully aware that he was gaping and entirely unable to stop himself. He could not help a question from surfacing in his mind. Why was he showing all of this? There were rumors that lord Kalagor dealt in arms, but this was as near to concrete proof as anyone had and these were no ordinary weapons. Galier had only seen their match in the hands of veterans back at Derranhall. Men who had spent their lives fighting and their coin as well.

Lord Kalagor smiled from across the table. A viscous smile that showed he knew what Galier was thinking.

“Impressive, isn’t it.” He said and Galier nodded. He suddenly became somber, his smile vanishing in an instant. “One might wonder how, if we have all of this at our disposal how my late wife was killed. Or the former seat of your house.” Even now lord Kalagor stood on ceremony although Galier could hear the bitterness in his voice. The thought had not occurred to Galier before but it did now. Clearly they had had the means to keep themselves safe.

“That’s why I brought you here tonight, lord Derran.” He said, pinning Galier with a penetrating stare. His dark eyes bored straight through Galier’s skull and Galier shivered with the intensity. He could now see the red rims on lord Kalagor’s eyes, the puffy lids, the sallow cheeks. It was hidden with makeup but powders and paints could only do so much. This was a man deep in the throes of grief. Anger too, a naked rage simmered in those eyes.

“We share a common tragedy, Galier and through it a common enemy, just as Martim and I shared.”

Galier shook his head, clearing the fog for a moment. Had he used Galier’s first name? Not his blood name. That wasn’t normal…

“I’m not sure what you mean…” Galier stammered, sinking all of his energy into not backing down from that stare that threatened to nail him into the door behind him. The door that he only now realized was in fact closed.

“Don’t play the fool with me, boy.” Lord Kalagor snapped. If it was possible, the anger in his eyes seemed to be mounting. “I know you are not a stupid man. You’ve avoided your debts to me long enough to prove that.” He took a breath and the rage subsided a little. His next words were in a level tone, as if explaining something obvious that he should not have to explain again. “You saw the work of the killers first hand.” He raised a finger stopping Galier’s instinctive denial. “I know you were there. You saw what they did and how they did it. How you and that brute managed to defeat them is beyond me but I know you saw in them what I did. Masterful work with masterful weapons. Those were no common sellswords. Not with swords like theirs.”

He looked to Galier, expecting a response. When none came he continued anyway. “They were funded by someone with deep pockets. Deeper than mine.” He gestured to the wall behind him. “They were funded, we think, by someone we both know. One lord Izidor of Maerin, Guardian of the new holdings, Thaisia and the northlands.” He spat the entire title with a shadow of the rage he had shown before but now Galier understood where that hate was directed. Towards the man who had hired the assassins to kill his wife. Towards the monarch of Maerin himself.