Magna'est settled in his chair and tried to find comfort. Another Brother was babbling about his doings since the last gathering. Harinkay, if Magna'est remembered his name correctly. He heard every third word or so, something about a rise in birthings in the sector of Anagoria Harinkay oversaw. The reports were all positive, with increased little ones and higher coin recovery from the nighthouses.

"I fear the nighthouse in Ranfellow may come up short this moon," Harinkay said. "They barely made tithe last moon and have voiced their issues about the increases."

"Mayhap, they should eat less," Magna'est said. Some chuckling ensued. The flow of coin was important. The Brotherhood needed to recover what was spent to not fatten the commoners. Extra coin leads to sloth and deep thought. Best if they worry about their next meal and not on those who control that meal.

Magna'est stood. "The mothers of these houses are the key. Mayhap, time with the whip will reset their resolve." He paced behind the chairs that surrounded the oval table. "It is best done in the center of the village and seen by all. It will be a good reminder of the limits of the Goddess's patience." He pointed at Harinkay. "I leave it to you as to the count of strokes." He shrugged. "Enough to send the message, but less than permanent harm. They are a necessity for order in the nighthouses."

"Aye, your Eminence," Harinkay said, then sat.

"Harinkay?" Magna'est said. Harinkay stood with speed, surprised that he was deemed not done. "You have not spoken of the tales of the red-headed demon. Was it not my command that it be voiced every gathering?"

"Aye, your Eminence," Harinkay replied. "There is nothing to be said, is all. Whispers of the tale at best, though nothing seen or heard of the boy. The telling of it has diminished beyond my ability to discern."

"That is a good sign," Magna'est said, signaling for Harinkay to sit. "These things come about from time to time and must be quashed quickly. I suspect the boy has met his end." He saw a smirk form on brother Samina, his information gatherer. "The increase in the King's men has quashed any of the needless problems persisting." Manga'est stopped pacing and looked directly at Samina. "You have news, brother Samina?"

"Aye, your Eminence." Samina rose slowly, a visible display of the power he held within the Brotherhood. Other Brothers were easily replaced. The trader of secrets was not so easily supplanted. His information network outside of Aragonia was crucial to many decisions. Replacing him would be equivalent to growing a new arm.

"An intriguing death has occurred in Masocrate," Samina said. His pause was intentional, and it irritated Manga'est.

"The death, Brother," Magna'est demanded.

"It would seem house Tarvakian, the one that has risen in prominence with the King, has attempted to seek a trade route across the western jungle," Samina said. Magna'est's interest piqued. Of all things Saminia could have said, this was the most surprising and of considerable importance. "It is the same house that produced the miner device, the one that slowed the purchase of property."

"And what of this route?" Magna'est prompted. He was no longer concerned with Samina's need for recognition.

"A failure. Two killed in the attempt."

"How?" Magna'est had stopped pacing and waited for the response.

"It would seem the jungle is still held by an ancient tribe who have little tolerance for visitors,"

"The Nagada," Magna'est said, nodding his head. It was both a surprise and not. That they still lived was not surprising. That they would expose themselves by allowing anyone to live and tell the tale was intriguing.

"You know of them?" Saminia asked. Heads were watching the exchange. Magna'est was sure they were measuring strength. Information held power, and it was essential to keep some of it close.

"Aye, there is little that escapes me," Magna'est replied cryptically. "I desire to know why you find this information interesting and worthy of our time here."

"It is the description of one of those who died that you will find amusing."

"Then amuse us."

"One is said to have a head of wild red hair, your Eminence." Saminia paused for a moment then ran his finger slowly across his cheek. "And a scar from ear to mouth."

"It can't be," Magna'est said with a growing smile.

"Aye, and he was named Kelton," Saminia said. "Collared property if you believe the tale. Caught on an unflagged ship."

"The Nagada killed our demon?" Magna'est was near laughter. "It can't be. What are the chances it could be another, or the tale false."

"The tale came from many, not one. There is always truth when the same words come unbidden from many mouths." Samina smiled. "It would seem there are other tales of him, though they deviate between tellers. The hair, scar, name, and death are consistent. I believe our demon leaped from the pot into the fire."

Magna'est began to laugh. He tried to hinder it, failed and let it come out in full force. The irony was beyond belief. Of all the ends he could devise for the boy, this was most fitting. The Nagada, of all people, put an end to the irritant. If they only knew what they had done.

Gossamer was moving slowly between the buildings. It wasn't a need but a mood that hindered his travel through the alley. He almost stumbled when the blackness overtook him again. Instead, he leaned against the tavern wall and tried not to believe what he had read. It could be anything, maybe code, maybe lies, maybe his imagination creating fact when the truth was something worlds away. He covered his eyes and tried not to weep.

A blade appeared against his throat, catching him unaware. Gossamer felt no fear of it. Odd how he no longer cared. It was nothing but fate collecting its toll. "Make it quick," he growled, not even attempting to raise his hands, nor turning to see the assassin. It no longer mattered.

"You read," a man said. It was an accusation spoken with confidence.

"Aye," Gossamer said. "Though this day, I wish I could not."

"A rare thing here," the man said as the flat of the blade pushed into Gossamer's neck.

"Do as you will," Gossamer said. "You are nothing but more of the vile that poisons this land, and I have seen enough." At that moment, he honestly didn't care. The blade was as much blessing as curse.

"You missed the second seal," the man continued. "The first redone well enough, but the second ignored. Who have you told?" Gossamer had already guessed it was the message recipient. The transfer had been flawless, a miraculous feat of acting since he had already read the missive. He wasn't even sure why he completed the transfer. There was no point to anything anymore.

"No one," Gossamer said, then added, "everyone. It matters not." The pressure of the blade lessened.

"The Seven promised no eyes," the man growled. Gossamer tired of the conversation and turned abruptly. The blade followed the front of his neck, nicking the skin.

"Lies. Did you expect more?" Gossamer asked it as if the villain was a fool for trusting criminals. "Mayhap, you should seek recompense with the Brotherhood." He thought the last part was funny. He knew of only one path for secret missives that crossed the water.

"You have no idea who you tempt," the man said. His mustache was long and hanging down both sides of his chin, beads holding each side in place.

"You have no idea how little I care."

"Dead are you?" the man asked rhetorically. "You wish to rush to your end. Why should I not oblige?"

"Do as you will," Gossamer said with a shrug. "Your missive brings foul tidings, and another day holds no pleasure for me."

"Tidings?"

"I know of one man who would be described as a scarred redhead and is of interest between lands," Gossamer said. "Though I knew him as a boy. He was my duty and my privilege. Now I read of his demise." He pushed his neck into the blade. "Tell me, is that man's name not Kelton?"

"Gossamer?" the man whispered as he withdrew the blade, and it disappeared into his cloak.

"Aye," Gossamer said, surprised at the recognition.

"He spoke of you," the man said, then chuckled. "It took mead to get it out of him, but he was quite fond of you. Father is the word he used, more than once."

"It is him then," Gossamer said.

"Aye," the man said. "Though an alley is not the place for such talk." He looked around. "Nor is anywhere in Shunneer. Mayhap, a walk into the trees." He smiled. "I will keep my blade sheathed."

"I trust you not," Gossamer said, his mind ill with the verification of Kelton as the subject of the message.

"A good habit in this land," the man said with a nod. He withdrew two blades from beneath his cloak and held them forward, pommels first. "You shall be the holder of the blades."

"You trust me?"

"Nay," the man said, pushing the blades forward. "I trust Kelton, and he trusted you."

"Mead, you say?" Gossamer asked, refusing the blades with a sweep of his hand.

"Aye," the man replied. "You neglected to warn him of such a thing. He was enjoyably pliable in that state."

Gossamer smiled. He desired the man's memories of Kelton. "A walk into the trees away from this cesspool is a welcome thought. It would be better if I knew your name since you know mine."

"Rolic," the man answered as he turned and led the way out of town.

The fire had grown to a point where tending was no longer necessary. Gossamer threw his poking stick into the flames and sat back. Rolic dumped an armload of wood he had gathered into a pile close to the fire and sat down an arm's distance away.

"There can be ears out here a well," Gossamer said.

"A sign of trust," Rolic said. He retrieved a waterskin from beneath his cloak and uncorked it. "There are no other ears near. Kelton and I are kindred spirits in that regard." He took a swig from the skin and handed it over.

"Unseen," Gossamer whispered. He took the skin and sniffed its contents. Odor-free, he too took a drink. Water.

"Aye, though I was not born to it."

Gossamer felt the tingle of fear rise along his spine. Rolic's smile did nothing to ease it.

"Your mind works quickly," Rolic continued. Gossamer handed the skin back. "I was what you fear, and now I am not. I straddle a line few have followed. It is my kin, the one who sent the missive, that allows me such a thing." Gossamer's eyes stayed glued to the man. He wasn't sure if he should run, or if that was even a possibility. "You, of course, will remain silent about this. To do otherwise would bring the weight of the Brotherhood down on you." He shook his head. "And on me as well, though my fate would be less permanent."

"How...how is it done?" Gossamer asked. Fear riddled the words that his inquisitive nature forced from his mouth.

"That, I will not tell you," Rolic said. "Just know that it is done, and I am its product. One of many secrets we will hold from each other." He sighed. "Sit back and stop your worry. I have no desire to end you."

Gossamer looked at Rolic, the way he sat and the comfort with which he spoke. There was nothing threatening beyond the knowledge that he was of the Brotherhood - or once was. He had never heard of an ex-brother. Odd, since he had pondered where the old Brothers go in the past. He decided there were other things more important.

"It is true, what was written?" Gossamer asked. "He was left for dead."

"Aye," Rolic replied after a pause in which he closed his eyes.

"There was some ambiguity in the words," Gossamer said.

"There is what is, and what is known to others. My kin was told of the death in one way, and the truth revealed by another. It is the way of things in that land."

"I wish to know his life since he left this land." Gossamer decided it was worth the risk to dabble with an ex-brother. He would rather face death than to remain ignorant of Kelton's fate. At least he could die in some peace.

"Agreed, if you will measure what is said to the seven," Rolic said. "I do not wish all that was written to find their ears. And certainly nothing of what is said now."

"I will tell them I could not safely break the seal."

"Nay. I am sure they find incompetence useless and replace you," Rolic said, shaking his head. "There will be more missives. If they must be read, then it is best I know the courier."

"I agree to omissions, but I will tell them no outright falsehoods. They are like water in the desert of Aragonia. They deserve some loyalty."

"Aye, omissions only. It will have no bearing on their actions, and only done to protect my kin in case the seven are...urged to speak to others."

"And," Gossamer said, and then he remembered. "There is another who will know of Kelton's fate. I will shield you, but not the news of it."

"Juno?"

"Aye," Gossamer replied, once again surprised.

"Mead makes young men speak of many things." Rolic chuckled. "Kelton spent a long time describing a kiss he shared with her. It filled his mind and meant more to him than I suspect she knew. Cursed, if memory serves."

"Cursed with the same thoughts. Last I saw her, Kelton was all she spoke about." Gossamer mood blackened again. "She will not be pleased to hear of this."

"Mayhap, you don't tell her."

"Twice as cruel," Gossamer said, shaking his head. "It is best she suffer a moment now, then to spend thoughts on what is not possible." He smiled weakly and looked up from the fire. "I have come to see her as a friend - family of a kind. It is Kelton's fault."

"I do not envy you that task."

"Aye. It will be a tearful thing. I assure you, she will be ignorant of the source."

Rolic sat back, using his arms to brace him up against the ground. "This was the first time I have seen you. It has been the thin fellow as of late. Do they teach scribing to all the new ones?"

"Some," Gossamer said. "Not I." He winked his eye at Rolic. "A secret of my own as to where I learned such a skill. Do you wish a trade, Brother?"

"Can I interest you in some mead?"

For the first time since Gossamer had read of Kelton's fate, he laughed, which was well shared. It was strange that it did not feel traitorous to Kelton's memory. Rolic had a disarming way about him. Gossamer knew he wasn't a friend, but Rolic also wasn't an enemy. He suspected Kelton had felt the same.

"We shall keep our secrets," Rolic said when his laughter ceased. "My time with Kelton will not be kept, though."

The two spoke deep into the night. Gossamer began to realize he was speaking with someone of power. The nature of the power was hidden from him. Yet Rolic, an ex-brother who admired Kelton, told a masterful tale. If he was false, Gossamer noted nothing. What Rolic hid, he admitted with clarity. It was also true that Gossamer deeply desired to believe Rolic's words. More than once, the furthering story of Kelton brought gladness to his heart.

"He faced two Brothers?" Gossamer asked.

"Aye, and he would have fallen," Rolic said. "How he lasted as long as he did, well it was a blessing of the terrain. Thick trees and his awareness of his footing, I suspect."

"He listened," Gossamer said with pride. "I trained him to think of where he put his feet, and think of where they would go next,"

"Well taught," Rolic said with a nod. "They were pushing hard when he ran afoul of a clearing, and it gave me the clear view I needed. I was able to...attract the Brother's attention long enough for Kelton to run off. A risk I almost hesitated to take. It is just...well...that boy grew on me." He took a deep breath. "Exposed as I was, I had to leave him. It was the last I saw of him."

"How do you hold two Brother's attention from the distance you described?" Gossamer asked.

"It is best you don't know," Rolic said.

"Bow?"

"Who are you?" Rolic asked, validating Gossamer's guess. For the first time, Gossamer felt he had an edge on his non-enemy.

"Someone who knows more than he should." Gossamer smiled. "And much less than he desires."

"Kelton seemed to fall into many who knew more than they should." Rolic said. "How did you end up with his care?"

That was one secret that Gossamer would take to the grave. "Are you the one whose coin funded his passage?" Gossamer asked, changing the subject.

"Nay," Rolic said. "I thought it was the seven, thinking him the answer. How much coin?" Rolic seemed surprised at the revelation.

"A large sum," Gossamer replied. "I do not know the count, but it is said it was the finest of any deal done by the seven. They risked more than they desired, but the amount could not be ignored."

"There are few with coin to spare in Aragonia," Rolic said. Then he laughed. "I would not put it past the Brotherhood." Gossamer gave Rolic his most confused expression. "Think on it. Mayhap, they could not tame Kelton, so they enlisted their foes to rid them of him." Rolic paused for a moment, then with a smile said, "And still he bit them back."

"Bit them back?" Gossamer asked.

It was nearing dawn when their conversations began to ebb. Gossamer learned bits of Kelton's life outside of Aragonia. It included lessons on the structure of property and houses. He knew many pieces were being hidden—some by Rolic's desire, some by the distance between Rolic and his source. How much of it was true, Gossamer couldn't be sure. Until proved otherwise, Gossamer decided to believe it all.

"Your kin are in this house," Gossamer surmised.

Rolic smirked. "Let us say that there is one worthy of watching more dear to the watcher than Kelton. He knows all that happens in the house, and thus I know."

"The one who allowed Kelton to travel the jungle," Gossamer guessed. The writer of the missive seemed to have insinuated that the permission had been a mistake. A gamble of sorts that failed. If the houses were as powerful as Rolic said, it was someone more powerful.

"I see where Kelton got his tenacity," Rolic said. "I have said too much." He sighed. "I saw something in Kelton that reminded me of my youth, when the world was less confusing. And now I have pushed that admiration on to you, and without the help of mead. A weakness that could put many in jeopardy."

"Nothing said this night leaves my lips," Gossamer said. "Mayhap, we have talked too long. Know that your words of Kelton soothed my grief. For that, I am in your debt."

"It is good to talk of him," Rolic agreed. "And I will call on that debt with future missives as we agreed."

Juno moved as quick as she could. Word of Gossamer's arrival had come late, and she feared he would move on before she could see him. Her count of friends was too low to allow one to escape. She burst into the tavern with more energy than she intended, attracting unwanted eyes. One of her regulars, a stout man whose mustache held foam from his brew, stood with a smile. She feared he would demand her.

"You are late," Gossamer called from a table in the back. It sounded scornful and quelled the stout man's desires. He sat defeated as Juno moved toward Gossamer, struggling to hide her smile.