His palms flat on the ornate marble banister of his office balcony, Seulman Tuath inhaled the sweet tropical air of the city-state his family had ruled for generations. He had the tan, olive-skinned complexion shared amongst most northerners, and his sun-bleached hair was more grey than golden blond.

His almond-colored eyes scanned and flicked about as he looked out at his city. Tuath sprawled out below him from his mansion atop a giant hill as it sloped to the water. The north-facing bay before him bustled with ships and merchants.

He spared himself a few indulgent thoughts envisioning a return to when Tuath was the most prosperous island region and held the lion’s share of its wealth. Still, it was second only to Mer in population and wealth and maintained one of only two formal navies along with the pseudo-capital.

Motion in the courtyard caught his attention as a rider dismounted and tied up his horse. Seulman turned from his balcony and walked back into his office. He gripped the back of his chair and then sat in it slowly before looking at the older woman who sat in stately silence awaiting his command on the far side of his expansive desk.

“Fetch my son, will you, Niverna.” He directed the white-haired sage from The College of Elements. “Perhaps he will learn something of the world and how it runs.”

Nodding to the governor, the woman made her way out of his office without a word, her flowing orange elementalist robe barely shifted with her measured steps as she left.

*****

Knowing where to find the governor’s son was easy enough. Niverna had known him his entire life. Her posting as court representative for The College of Elements in Tuath had happened several years before he was born.

Myrlman’s mother had died in childbirth, which didn’t help the boy’s cause with his father. She had helped educate him as a youth and still as a young man and was the closest thing to a motherly figure Myrlman had. She knocked on his door as she swung it open.

“I’d recognize the rap of those old knuckles on my door any day, Niverna,” the young man said from his seat in front of a large easel, a paintbrush held in his hand. The practically nude woman on the bed shot Niverna a look for the interruption.

“Myrlman, your father wishes your attendance; Dillion has returned from The Hall with news,” Niverna said, altogether ignoring the model wrapped in sheets.

Myrlman Tuath rolled his eyes and reverently laid his paintbrush down. “I shall return before long, my dear.” He said softly, and it was hard to tell whether he meant the brush or the woman.

As they left, Niverna offered some counsel to the young man walking in front of her. “At least feign interest and spare us both a tirade from your father if you wouldn’t mind.”

Myrlman slowed his stride as they approached his father’s office door, letting the woman catch up with him.

“Ever have you attempted to protect me from my father’s wrath, good Niverna”

She gave him a shove through the door and took a seat on a wooden bench along the wall.

Myrlman sprawled into one of two cushioned chairs on the other side of the office. “Beautiful day, is it not, father.”

Seulman was about to lay into his son when the office door swung open again, and the city’s court bard stepped in front of his desk. “Good day to you, Governor,” he said, after raising his eyebrows at the lounging Myrlman.

“What news of the world Dillion, and how fares my cousin?” Seulman addressed the bard, deciding to deal with his son later.

“The Impresario is in good health and sends his best to you both,” Dillion said, indicating the father and son. “Of other affairs, in the south, it seems tensions between the wood elves and city proper in Kalt have eased some.”

Seulman snorted. “Of southerners and foreigners, I care not.”

“It is feared pirates are getting bolder. Tales of an attack on a Ravnice ship are circulating at the Hall,” the bard said, undaunted.

Seulman turned to Niverna. “Take note to let the admiral know we might need to step up patrols or even escort some of our more valuable shipments in the near term.”

Returning his gaze to Dillion, his voice became a bit surlier. “And you send word via The Hall of our intentions and mention that I expect those commoners down in Mer to do the same.” He paused and raised his voice further. “I will be bringing it up at the next council meeting too!”

Dillion rattled off several more happenings and goings-on. Niverna sat quietly, taking note of his statements and Seulman’s responses. She would pass her recordings along to the local vicar for archival with other historical records at the Tuath Diocese. The room finally grew quiet, and she looked up from her paper.

“You are dismissed,” Seulman said from behind the immense desk. Then, as they got up to leave, he stabbed a finger in the air at his son. “Not you, boy.”

As they left the office and closed the door behind them, Dillion nodded to Niverna and headed off towards the kitchens. Niverna turned and headed towards her quarters. The sound of Seulman’s berating on responsibility and ruling fading away behind her, she shook her head at the thought of Myrlman’s eventual ascension.

Entering her quarters, Niverna tucked herself into her writing desk. Then, pulling a blank roll of parchment from its drawers, she began her report for The Syndicate. It seemed the situation in Kalt had been resolved, for now.

The woods are calming.

She wrote in case news had not made it back to the island through another channel. She also noted that she felt Seulman’s disposition towards the other city-states was worrisome. She further reiterated that she did not think her adviser role would enable her to steer him from likely violent attempts at regaining control over more of the island.

Tropical waters, unavoidably near boiling

The pirated sea will grow more watchful

A breeze may sway the apple from the tree

Niverna was more than a little concerned. She felt by now The Syndicate would have acted on the recommendations provided by herself and the Hand. Not that she would know ahead of time. The timely passing of Seulman Tuath would be their only indication of the Navigator’s decision. So compartmentalized was The Syndicate that she had no idea who its handful of assassins were, those few mysterious Shadows of The Syndicate.

The more sensitive, shorthand parchment she rolled and sealed with candle wax. As the wax seal cooled, she indented it with her thumb, making a small bowl into which she poured a minuscule amount of ink. Then she added more candle wax to seal it in. If the document were opened and resealed, the ink stain would indicate a potential compromise of The Syndicate’s messaging system to the Navigators on the other end.

That done, she took a calming breath of Tuath’s thickly humid air. Her joints hurt less in the warmth of Tuath than they had during her time spent further south teaching at The College of Elements. She was a natural fit for Tuath’s court, given Seulman’s suspiciousness of magic in general. Lacking the gift had not stopped her from becoming one of the senior members of the college, and she never lamented much over its absence.

The door of her quarters opened, and she was nearly startled out of her chair.

“Good evening, Sage Niverna.” The serving girl said with her head bowed until the door shut behind her. “I have your dinner for you.”

Niverna smiled at the unassuming young woman and exchanged the two parchments for her plate, which the woman promptly tucked in her bodice.

Too old for the sneaking about she had done as The Syndicate’s Hand in Mer, Niverna was happy now to be the Eye in Tuath. “The sealed one for the Helmsman and the other for the local diocese.”

The woman squeezed her arm and left. How clever of The Syndicate, Niverna thought to herself. Their Hand in Tuath was a comely younger woman with easy access to most rooms of the governor’s mansion.

She also had a daily excuse to go to the market to buy foodstuffs from merchants, especially the one who was in truth a Syndicate Helmsman. Such individuals were responsible for getting messages to one of The Syndicate fronted merchant ships that couriered supplies and information to and from Lodestar Island.

If ever the Hand was caught in the wrong place, bringing with her a food tray with refuse on it to clean up would surely provide an easy excuse for being there. But, if that failed, batting of eyelashes and a bit of flirtation could handle almost any situation.

*****

Seulman’s tirade at his son’s expense complete, the younger Tuath left the office seemingly unfazed. Seulman sank into his chair and grabbed the decanter of wine off his desk. Not even bothering with a glass, he drank deep. Sirul had seen enough through the peephole his needle had made in the ceiling above. He slowly rolled onto his back in the cramped attic space above Seulman’s office.

The tasking he had received in Kalt to head north had made this mission seem rather pressing. He had noticed the order of execution the day he arrived in the Tuath harbor area. To any passerby, it would appear as drunken graffiti. At some point, the disgruntled shop owner would naturally paint over it, covering any trace of The Syndicate’s message. After a quick rest, he had spent the last hours of his first night in the city making his way into the cramped attic space he now occupied.

He preferred to observe his prey longer before deciding how to dispose of them, but his mission was urgent. As he lay flattened above the office ceiling in the mansion’s attic, he had seen Seulman consuming vast amounts of wine and stumbling around his office. The drunk man was mumbling curses to himself on his balcony into the waning hours of the evening before passing out drunk in his bed in the chamber next door. Sirul decided no one would second guess the cause of death upon finding the governor’s corpse dead on the street below his balcony, shattered wine decanter in hand.

No one would notice the small hole from his needle in the man’s ear among the bloody mess the fall would make. Seulman’s method of death decided Sirul hoped to catch a quick nap while the man snored below in his adjacent quarters.

His mind had other plans and his thoughts went to the political theatre he had witnessed in the office below. Sirul wondered if it was the bard or perhaps the sage that was an agent of The Syndicate here in Tuath.

Surely, they had planted someone close to this raging buffoon to keep an eye on him and provide enough information to warrant his assassination. Sirul was not supposed to know the identity of Eyes or Hands, but his money was on the sage.

It had struck a nerve with Sirul how oddly similar he and Myrlman Tuath looked. They were both olive-skinned and grey eyed, with short-cut, curly blond hair. They were even of similar build. Such strange fate that two men so alike in looks had lived such different lives, he thought to himself.

Unaccustomed to distraction, he could not shake the coincidence of their lives from his mind.

“One who draws women in bed, and another who paints only in red,” he whispered to the rafters above him in a voice that sounded quite like the son of Seulman Tuath. Sirul pictured Myrlman twirling his paintbrush in his fingers just as he twirled his needle.

Not quite the same, though, Sirul thought to himself, running a finger along the scar from his right eye down his entire cheek. It was a reminder of a fight at the age of twelve with a baker over a loaf of stolen bread. That was the last battle he had ever lost.

He understood that, for most, the position of Shadow in The Syndicate was not a long-tenured one. Lately, he couldn’t keep fantasies of retirement from his mind. Maybe he should retire.

Not from murder. What else would he do? But from The Syndicate’s tasking. He had more than earned that.

He knew he needed to be very careful, or he would be enjoying his retirement as a corpse floating in Tuath Bay. He decided a trip to Mer was in order. A quick trip at that. If his plan were to work, he would need to be back in Tuath before The Syndicate sent another Shadow.

*****

It had been six days since Harpis had parted ways with the Sea Goat and Wren. Amid a pounding headache the morning after their evening together, he found the instructions left by the enigmatic gnome. Despite how much whiskey he had drunk that night at The Siren’s Scream, he clearly remembered the look of concern on Wren’s face as his gaze kept darting around the tavern.

He also recalled the gnome’s parting words regarding the two sailors he had spotted taking an interest in them as they supped and drank downstairs. Waiting on more instructions, he had spent the following days eating, thinking, and drinking.

During the day, he would stroll around Ravnice, imagining himself one of its uniformed militiamen. At night he watched his future colleagues dragging belligerent customers from taverns and inns or chasing thieves on the wharf. After almost a week of observation, he decided the job of enforcing law and keeping peace excited him not at all. Each day that passed, the intrigue around what Wren had proposed gnawed at his resolve.

On the seventh morning in Ravnice, he woke to a leather pouch sitting on the pillow next to his face. He was more than a little shaken that someone had snuck into his room and placed it there without stirring him.

The purse had silver coins enough for him to buy armor, a good sword, and stay another two weeks at the inn. Enough to start his new life, just as the gnome promised. There was also a bronze coin with a one-eyed elven face on one side and nothing on the other and a folded parchment. The letter told him to arrive at the southernmost docks without being followed. At noon he was to present the bronze coin to the crew of a schooner named The Albatross.

Shrugging at himself in the room’s poorly polished mirror, he flipped the coin, letting it hit the floor of his rented room. It skipped and then rolled in a circle in front of him a few times before falling flat. The one-eyed depiction of an elf stared up at him ominously from the floorboards.

“Why not?” he asked, looking from the coin to the man in the mirror. He picked up the coin and parchment, sticking them in his boot along with his knife before heading downstairs. Leaving the tavern, he thanked the barmaid for the stay.

*****

Harpis reached the edge of the specified dock a little before midday and readily found The Albatross tied off at its end, bobbing amongst several other boats. He tried to catch a glimpse of anyone aboard but did not see or hear anything. Finally, after a few long moments, he decided to try and hail the crew.

“Hello? Is anyone there? I have the coin, and I am ready to go!” he shouted.

Suddenly the world went black when what felt like a grain sack was pulled over his head. An impossibly firm grip swept him from his feet and flung him down face first. He felt smaller hands deftly search him, stopping at his boots to snatch his knife, the coin, and the letter. He tried to struggle, but the larger man had his hands expertly locked behind his back.

“Get off me, you ape! Help!” Harpis wailed from inside the thick sack.

One immense hand kept an iron grip on both his wrists while the other palmed his head and slammed it to the dock.

“Shut your mouth, or you’ll be taking a little nap,” the man on his back said.

“You sure this is the man we saw the other night with the gnome?” the other assailant said.

“Yeah, that’s him for sure. He must be one of them. What does the note say?” the larger man asked.

“To look for this boat right here, The Albatross. It looks empty for now. We should probably get out of here before his friends get back,” he said, pausing for a moment, “It also says don’t be followed!” he snickered.

Both men laughed, and Harpis heard the letter get crumpled and thrown to the water.

“Hey, I don’t know any gnomes, and I don’t have any friends. I was down here looking at the fish,” Harpis pleaded.

“Oh, my apologies, good sir, we must have the wrong man. I guess we should let you go,” the standing figure said with a chuckle.

Realizing the moment was becoming more desperate, Harpis panicked. “Help! Anyone!” he screamed as loudly as he could. If anyone noticed, he would never know. A muscled arm slipped around his neck and choked him unconscious.