Humans can Thread themselves to animals, though the animals had to consent. They seemed to understand what the bonds were, leaving many to believe that the magic was older than the Sources; existing parallel to the gifts of our gods.
----------------------------------------
Cheers led to booze. Booze led to people watching as Yoric did not feel the compulsion to drink. Anxiety and frustration settled into him like twin flus, the only medicine being action he knew he could not yet take. Any move without more information was inadvisable, downright dangerous. Lives were at stake. He would not further endanger them in order to stifle his discomfort.
Abe continued to drink his fill. The crowd had loved the story, and there was only one suitable method for displaying the extent of their affections. Yoric wished he didn’t drink so much, but different folks had different ways of dealing with similar problems. Abe wanted to act just as much as Yoric did. He was sure of this. Getting distracted by the crowd and lost in the drink was his way of dealing with the inability to act on his worries. If it came down to it, Abe could use the Red Hues in order to circumvent the effects of inebriation for a time, though the results would catch up with him when the power eventually subsided. There was no knowing when they would get an opportunity to act nor how long such large problems would take to solve.
Lily sat next to him, occasionally sipping at her cup. She would grimace as soon as the drink touched her lips, but she seemed determined to fit in. Bards who couldn’t drink with the crowd did not tend to last very long in Mithrock.
He found that he liked her enough. He had known Lily more than a few hours, but she had shown herself to be quite personal. She reminded him of the feeling you got when you saw a friend for the first time in ages. Getting to know one another felt more like catching up. She had revealed that she was from a noble house in Sothyrian, the continent to the south of Mithrock. The only daughter of a third daughter, her only place in life was to wed. From the way she eyed the serving wenches, Yoric figured that marriage might not have been a particularly enjoyable prospect for the young lass.
He put his hand on her mug of ale. “We can get you some wine, Lily. No need to drink the shite if you don’t like it.”
“Isn’t the taste acquired?”
“In a way. It’s more so that you get used to the bitterness via the amount of exposure. You won’t magically begin to like it once you’ve drank enough.”
“I beg to differ!” Abe yelled, following his words up with a stone-shaking belch. His breath smelled of ale and smoked bird. Yoric pinched his nose in response, though the scent of the bird moved his thoughts toward Arlox. He could feel that the bird was far away, though he could not really tell if he was on his way back. The bond, though forged when Yoric was born, was quite vague and difficult to enhance. Specific distance was simple when the bird was close, but he had trouble gaging where Arlox was just when the bird was on the other side of the city. Yoric could occasionally communicate thoughts and requests from that distance, though even that was genuinely unreliable.
Another round made its way to the table. The wench was lithe and graceful, nearly as tall as Abe himself. Her normally blonde hair seemed fiery thanks to the Orange Hues above them. Her eyes met Abe’s for a brief moment, prompting a grin that only a young man in his position could form. She took his hand, helping him up as he muttered curses. Disoriented, drunk, though not without direction. The pointer in his drawers would reliably lead him toward the bed of his evening companion.
They sat in silence. The Bard had taken her place atop the table, strumming her lute as she sang. The tune was “Merry Temerius,” a folk song which spoke of bastards and their heinous tendencies; though some could overcome their base natures, their circumstances, and become the best of men like anyone else. Her alto voice rang pleasantly in his ears. A few moments passed before he realized he was tapping his foot and nodding his head. The Blue Bard was good.
“You’re not much like your friend,” Lily spoke, breaking the silence.
“Most best friends are not like one another, I think,” he replied.
“Why do you say that?”
“Mama says it’s because no one likes being around more of themselves. That’s why we go and find companionship in the first place.”
“To find something different.”
“To find someone different.”
She nodded to that, suddenly seeming much more tired than she had before. Her shoulders slumped, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Hey,” he said, a bit too awkwardly. “You’re sweet and all, but-“
“Shut up. Surely you’ve noticed I prefer women. I’m just tired is all.”
There was no arguing when a noblewoman spoke so frankly. What was, was. Yoric found himself not minding a bit. Lily was kind. Her hair smelled clean, and her little breaths didn’t fill his nose with the smell of ale. He put his arm around her shoulder, leaning back in order to sit a more comfortably. This was pleasant.
Via sauntered on by, her sterling gaze darkening as she took note of the two. She turned toward the kitchen, her step losing the sway Yoric had enjoyed so dearly. A sigh escaped from him alongside his hopes for a distracting evening.
“Is something wrong?” Lily asked, her eyes closed, voice drifting a bit with the breathy quality one took on when straddling the line between sleep and consciousness.
“I don’t think Via knows that this arrangement is platonic, is all.”
Lily sighed. “I apologize. I can go tell her, if need be.”
“Aye, so you can take her for yourself?”
A slight giggle. A sweet sound. “You seem to know me well, Yori.”
They sat like that a while longer. Luminous Orange floated above them, providing blessed warmth, dancing with the laughter of those it served below. The near-Winter winds raged against the outside walls, helping those inside cherish the comfort of the heat; the comfort of one another. Abe had gone off with his woman of the night. The Blue Bard sang the tales of heroes and times long gone, of how poorly some men treat their wives, of a chicken who once believed itself to be a wyvern. His mama would be waiting for them to return home, with some food prepared so that they might eat before she helped them to their rooms. Raina sat, or laid, elsewhere, spending her time with a man whom she chose over an evening in her cups. In their silence, Yoric prayed to each of the gods that the man was good, just, kind, unbroken. Just as Raina deserved. Lily sat, almost laying, against his shoulder. Still as a statue she was, her only signs of consciousness being the occasional humming along to whatever the Blue Bard was singing. Yoric almost felt at peace.
“Wait,” Lily said as she sat up. “I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask. How much of Abe’s story was true?”
Yoric thought on that for a moment. While there had been some exaggeration implemented for the sake of storytelling, the tale had rang true in all aspects. Even Abe’s foray into the workings of Yoric’s mind was more or less accurate.
I don’t think I would’ve killed her. Fight, maybe, but I think I’m better than that.
“So?” she asked, snapping him out of his reverie. “How much?”
“Nearly all of it,” he replied, once again surprised at the comfort with which he divulged the truth to her. A thought occurred to him, one that made him incredibly uncomfortable. His lack of caution was reprehensible. “Do you use the Indigo Hues?”
Indigo Hues, the Hues of Empathy and Regulation. Not very many mages reached the Indigo, which allowed one to access and manipulate the emotions of those they’re in contact with, but one still needed to look out for those who had obtained such a skill. Their scarcity made them dangerous, as it made them easy to forget.
She laughed it off, the genuine nature in her eyes holding steadfast. “My father’s family hasn’t officially introduced mages into the bloodline. Theirs is a line of sages, and my mother is a pure Solrusian. It’s possible that I don’t have a single mage ancestor.”
He nodded, taking her word for the truth. If she was a mage, she would eventually slip up. Especially if the river of drink continued to flow as it did. He now understood why he trusted her. She reminded him of his cousin Cami.
Sweet, sweet Cami. He’d not seen her since they were eight or so, but she had been the kindest girl he’d ever met. His mother’s niece, she never once treated him like the bastard he was. They’d been like siblings in their younger years, though her father rectified that later on. Cami and Lily were similar in their quiet kindness, but Lily was much more bold. Cami would not travel throughout the Massif without a guard, learning instruments and ogling women in a tavern for all to see. Lily was less…stiff. Cami had been the daughter of a nobleman before anything else.
Either way, their similarities coupled with ale were enough to lower Yoric’s guard.
“So… all of it, then? Are you going to dissociate from the conversation after every word you speak?”
“My apologies, Lily. I’m just feeling nostalgic. Aye, all of it. Just happened today. Has my mood feeling rather volatile. I’m waiting for my bird to get back with a message from Ilya. Can’t have Maris hurting them. I can’t.”
“Do you have the time? Aren’t their lives on the line?”
“Aye, they are. Many good folk whom I know well could be in danger. Acting beforehand could endanger them too. If I end up breaking some laws and drawing the ire of either Aegimar or the local authorities, their situation could quickly worsen. Aegimar loves any excuse to enact some state sponsored ugliness toward the changelings.” While Aegimar was unlikely to get involved, the Master of Laws was currently in charge of Theralyn which included the woods to the north where Ilya’s colony had been erected. Pierson Alson, the Master of Laws, had been directly appointed by Aegimar to ensure that the city of Theralyn followed their universal laws.
“Ah, you’ve thought this through then. Sounds like you reported this to your Master of Laws, then?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, of course you reported it. Can’t have women, or anyone really, inciting a hateful mob and leading them toward acts of murder. Surely your Master of Laws would agree.”
“Huh?”
She stared at him blankly, breaking her gaze only to blink. She stared at him long and hard, like a school teacher who wasn’t particularly pleased with what they had heard but was also surprised at the absurdity of their words in the first place.
“Yoric.”
“Lily?”
“I’d like you to explain what you mean when you say huh.”
“I, um, well. You make reporting this whole ordeal sound like a particularly reasonable course of action to take.”
“To have taken, but yes. Because it is, or was.”
“Right, but I didn’t quite do that-“
“Why the fuck not?” she yelled, conjuring a great many frowns from the customers around them. Even the Bard had stopped at the outburst, obviously confused, but she quickly continued on. She now sang of Alastor the Bold, the Would Be King, the Curious, and the plots which put him in the grave.
Funny.
Moving his thoughts away from the song, he met Lily’s disapproving glare.
“Aegimar doesn’t give a shit about half-beasts, Lily. Getting them involved is one good way to assure that we won’t be able to do anything to help.”
“What of Pierson Alson? Word has it that he’s the Lord Heret’s personal friend. Isn’t it by the benevolence of the Lord Heret that Artos holds the land she does? Wouldn’t his buddy want to fight for his wishes?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never known a Pearlcoat to choose friends over their beloved Aegimari.” He spit in his mug as a gesture of disgust for the organization, his forced employer. “What happens if we do get them involved, Lily? What if they tell me that it’d be against the law to harm those who aren’t breaking the law? What would you expect me to do?”
“I’d expect you to try and make him see sense. You don’t have to go and fight in order to stop them. That’s not the only course of action. If this man is dumb enough to see that there’s no point in senseless slaughter, no merit in prioritizing this sociopath’s profits over the lives of others, then it’s on someone good hearted like yourself to help him understand the errors of his ways. Men want to be good, Yoric. No child grows up thinking that they want to be the worst person in the world, that they would happily sit by while innocents are butchered.”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Aye, people want to be good. They want to be good so badly that they’ll create arbitrary constructs out of race and other such things in order to convince themselves that they’re inherently better than those who are different. Many men think that there is no issue in killing a half-beast. Some think this because they are beasts. Others think it because the laws do not protect them.”
“And do you know this Master of Law’s views on the murder of half-beasts?”
Huh.
“I… I do not. He hasn’t ever ruled on any case involving half-beasts before.”
“And don’t you think that as a representative of Aegimar, he very well could have abused his power in order to openly oppress them during his tenure?”
“I reckon so.”
“And don’t you see that maybe, just maybe, this man might deserve the benefit of the doubt? That it might be worth a shot to attempt to go through the legal routes in order to find justice for these people you want to protect?”
By the Forge, woman. There was no fighting this. Her arguments were too well constructed, too reasonable, too moral. The idea of disregarding her ideas created an itch in the back of his mind, an itch he knew would not go away if he didn’t try and do things the right way.
She spoke again, as if the onslaught of logic had not been enough, as if a haymaker of pathos would finish the job. “What would your mother do? Are you not the son of Audrienne Ursahn?”
That was a convincing remark if there ever was one. He stood up, his wound fists loosening as equal parts defeat and resolve settled into his soul.
“Okay, fine,” he relented. Giving the man the benefit of the doubt was a monumental task, but he would do it if there was a chance that the endeavor bore fruit. “What if it goes how I think it will, then? Have you anything for that potential outcome?”
“Aye. Two men here have the Lord Heret’s ear, yes? The Master of Laws and the Captain of the Guard. If one influential friend does not work, then we’ll go to the other. Understood?”
“Aye, understood… We?”
“Of course. I’m going with you. The Blue Bard will likely want to as well. She has a soft spot for changelings and she’s a wordsmith unlike any this world has seen in a millennium. She’d be an excellent asset in our quest.”
Quest, he thought to himself in disbelief. Bloody noblewomen.
- - - -
Yoric tightened his black wool cloak around his torso, shivers making it difficult to keep his mind on track. The day’s breeze had made way for the eve’s bone chattering chill. Wintertide was close at hand. Nights such as this only made it more apparent. Soon the town would be sprinkled with bright lights and evergreen wreaths, mistletoes and model winter stars. Children would pray to Wintertide, the long gone god of snows, festivals, and presents. They would pray for gifts of a material nature: toys, swords, dolls, horses, clothes. Things that kids liked. They would also pray for matters of the spirit: luck, guidance, a longer life, and other boons that a god may grant.
The kids did not yet know that Wintertide had been sealed away with all of the gods not named Sol, Curiosity, Sunhammer, or Principis; and the world wasn’t even sure about the status of the last one. They would learn when they were older, but it was right to let them pretend. They would learn of Rolin’s sacrifice, of the Night Matron and her three daughters who threatened to unravel Maa Takom- the World Forge. For now, he presents appeared under trees on the last night of the year. Cities around the world enthralled themselves with festival and food and splendor. Wintertide was a season of benevolence so long as the children believed it was.
The castle, Heronburgh, was odd as far as castles went. When castles came to mind, Yoric often thought of the Blackstone Keep and its dozens upon dozens of spires which rose so high that they dared to compete with the sun’s majesty upon the Regalian skyline. He thought of Brindlehearth in the Great Lakes, the castle which sat upon an island nearly half a mile taller than the lake it was placed in. His mind even drifted toward the Hawkspire to the deep south of the Featherlands which, when far away, seemed like a golden needle sticking from the sands below. Yoric had never gone in to the place. His family would never be welcome there, but House Tolsen had made the skinny stick their ancestral home thousands of years prior. It must work.
Heronburgh was a cube.
Like most buildings which sprawled Theralyn, Heronburgh was made of black, vertically placed logs of Arc-Forged wood. Legends stated that Norys Heret, the progenitor of the house, had refused to make the construction of his home more difficult than need be. His family would be fine with a wooden box built in to the city’s western mountain wall. Norys had been correct, seeming as a couple thousand years had passed and not a change had been made to the castle’s exterior.
“Least the bloody caveman had the sense to have battlements built on,” spoke the Blue Bard. She seemed to be struggling with the castle’s silliness as much as Yoric was.
Battlements lined the southern, northern, and eastern sides of the castle’s roof. The mountain wall to the west rose three hundred feet above the castle and were not scalable by large forces. Theralyn had not been besieged in its entire history. Very few cities in the Massif had thanks to the Hachifort as well as their long standing relationship with the province which bordered them to the south: the Azure Lands.
Even if an army magically made it through the Poes of the Azure Lands, the Hachifort, and the High Lord’s response in order to attack Theralyn, the guards of gold and white who lined those battlements and trained in the courtyard would likely render any effort to take the castle nigh on impossible.
The trio made their way to the castle’s outer gate. Nothing save a fence, which served as the perimeter for the courtyard, extended out from the construct. They were waved through by two Heret men.
They had not grabbed Abe. They had not really tried. Via, who had been quite annoyed with Yoric, had reluctantly shown them to the room he was staying in. When she told them the girl’s name was Grace, the Bard had erupted in laughter. Via did not find it so funny.
“What would you have her name be?” she had asked in annoyance.
“Anything but, ma’am. Thank you for the guidance. We’ll be leaving.”
And they had. A sign had been pinned to the door by a hammer, which was right on the floor, and a nail, which had been pulled from a wooden a few feet from their position. In order to locate a nail, the leg of the bench had been broken either by a hammer or a spell. Yoric could not tell, and neither Lily nor the Bard could use the Arcane to search for residual ether.
The sign read:
Don’t interrupt or I’ll have your bullocks for soup!
“His handwriting’s quite nice,” Lily had said.
“To think either of them knows how to read is absurd,” the Blue Bard had stated with a chuckle.
“Come now,” Yoric had replied. “Grace is quite lovely. Let’s be off. We’ve little time to waste.”
Now, at Heronburgh, a great wooden door stood before them. As did three men in pearl white plate armor. Swords with white hilts sat in scabbards to their side. One guard had been sharpening a knife. Their approach had spooked him, causing him to hold the weapon in a defensive stance. He laughed as Yoric and the Bard had moved to grab weapons of their own, acknowledging that they were cut from the same cloth: that of those who had seen too many die for the crime of being too slow.
They were Aegimari. Heret men would normally guard the castle’s front door. These pearly whites took over the duty when their Master of Laws ruled Theralyn in the Lord Heret’s stead. They looked identical in their plate and equally white cloaks. They had changed from their Dawning linens to their Wintertide wools.
“Easy,” the man with the knife said, his voice the faux gruff that so many military men tried to imitate. This was a trend especially present in those who had been deployed from Winthrop Isle, the Aegimari headquarters, for something as boring as glorified guard duty. “Have you business with the Master of Laws? Tis a bit late in the night for such things.”
Yoric dropped the hood of his cloak, realizing that three black cloaks approaching in the midst of the night would not be a welcoming sight in any sense of the word. The guard who had spoken quickly nodded.
“A huntsman in the dead of night is rarely a good sign.”
“Agreed. I’d much rather be in my cups, but I’m afraid the business is urgent.” All of them nodded at that. Even the prim and proper agents of world order would rather spend this freezing night with warm lights, warm drink, and warm women.
“Aye, but I dunno these two. Can’t just let ‘em in.”
The man once again nodded as the Blue Bard dropped her hood, his familiarity apparent. His nose scrunched up as he looked at Lily, as he obviously felt he should know her since she had accompanied two familiar faces. She saw his confusion and chuckled.
“I’m the Bard’s new apprentice. Lily’s my name.”
“Good enough for me. Lads?” The quiet Pearlcoats both nodded in agreement. “Weapons will stay with us. I know you can use Kova, Youngclaw, so I’d prefer to not see any of that dark blue Spirit.”
“No one means to harm the Master of Laws, sir,” Yoric replied. The man spoke as though he was relaxed, but Yoric felt a certain stiffness to him. Even under normal circumstances, Yoric would be allowed in without so much as a glance or a search. Confiscating his weapons was new.
Oh well. Not like I need them.
“People all over the world do, Huntsman. There are those who’d attack a man in a white cloak just for being Aegimari. Now, hand these two the weapons before heading in. They’ll stay right here so it’s not like you’ll be far from them if the need arises.”
Yoric undid his belt, causing his Sosin knife and hammer to fall to the stone ground with a clank and a thud. He took out the three knives that were hidden in his cloak, the two in each of his sleeves, the one tethered to the small of his back by a thin string, the three from hidden pockets in his slacks, and the two that were in his boots while the women dispensed the miscellaneous knives they held on their person.
They handed their war chest of weapons over to the guards. The speaker looked to the Blue Bard, raising his eyebrows as a few more moments passed.
“The one behind your corset, my lady.”
The Bard exhaled in anger and began the quick process of releasing this final blade. “Forging Drask and his stupid tales.”
“Not tales if they’re true, my lady.”
She grunted in displeasure, handing the knife to one of the silent guards. The speaker opened the door and gestured for the trio to follow.
The Bard walked closely next to Yoric, her strides matching his. She whispered in his ear, “I’ve one in the front of my corset, too,” she whispered. The speaker walked far enough ahead that his ears wouldn’t catch their conversation.
“No need to tell me that,” he replied, equally hushed.
“If we end up in a pinch, you knowing that could save us.”
“There won’t be a pinch.”
“No one who has ever been caught in a pinch went in to the pinch thinking there would be a pinch.”
He nodded, finding her logic to be quite sound. It was odd. He spent most of his days with Abe and Raina. The first was normally quiet and usually went with whatever Yoric said. The latter usually let him think as he pleased until his line of thought proved faulty at a later time. It was actually kind of pleasant to have some companions around who challenged his points of view. He was sure he’d find it annoying later on, if they were around one another long enough, but for now he found the experience to be novel and humbling.
The corridor was long and wide, its wooden walls adorned with exquisite tapestries that depicted well known legends, battles, and other such events. One displayed the crowning of Albus Mara the Arbiter, the first High King of Mithrock. Another showed the Vaulting of the Gods. A black pillar had erupted from an Aegimari fortress, extending as far into the sky as the tapestry could depict. On the bottom half of the piece was Wintertide, his eyes snow white, his face grim as he readied himself to make the grandest of sacrifices in order to seal Samara of Calamity. More art lined the walls, though Yoric could not recognize any of the pieces.
The carpets on which they walked, woven with intricate Venrothi patterns and vibrant colors, were quite comfortable to the foot. Yoric understood why they were accompanied. This carpeted floor silenced all of their taken steps. This choice of the Lord Heret might have made life in the castle easier for his servants, but it also made the job of his guards that much more difficult. Silence served only as a weapon for any who might harm their lord.
Busts of heroes throughout the ages could also be seen, the Orange Hues above bringing out every detail in their marbled stone. Busts of Rolin Wintertide, Albus Mara, Orobos Pryde, and Absolom Ursahn sat betwixt the multitude of tapestries, their faces all knowing. They had lived the fullest of lives, learned the secrets of the world, and seen both the best and the worst its people had to offer. They watched Yoric, seeming smug, like they would know the answer of how to best tackle his current dilemmas.
Well, they’re dead and I’m not. It’s on us.
The opulent hallway ended, leading them directly into the Lord Heret’s throne room. The space exuded a simpler and more functional ambiance compared to the grand walkway from which they came. While the room was not overtly extravagant, one could not say there was no air of authority.
The walls, like those before, were of black Arc-Forged wood. Despite having been constructed thousands of years prior, these walls did not display the wear and tear of time. Torch sconces line the walls, the Orange Hues within providing a dim but warm illumination, casting flickering shadows which licked the floor in furious spurts.
In the center of the chamber was a modest wooden throne atop a slightly raised platform. The Lord Heret’s throne sat upon a raised platform. It lacked lavish embellishments, featuring a basic design with a high backrest and sturdy arms. Its wood, which was not Arcwood, had been worn from years of use. Subtle etchings and carvings lined the chair, though Yoric could not make them out. They seemed ancient, though the seat was no doubt younger than its home.
No other furnishings were present. No seats. No tables. No hearth. Just the intense atmosphere of the Lord Heret’s seat. The seat where a tall man in white now sat.
Pierson Alson was an awesome figure, exactly what each and every story painted the ideal Aegimari hero to be. His pearl plate armor fit better than his own skin. His brown beard was thick and well groomed, the hair on his head cropped short for that signature martial practicality. Light green eyes stared them down, the Orange Hues in the sconces giving them the appearance of emerald flames. His shoulders were broad, and one would know him to be incredibly muscular despite his body being covered in plate. His face was handsome without any sign of prior breaks, no scars. No deformities. His scabbard sat freely in his lap. It too was perfect as could be, with neither a scruff nor scratch able to be found on its metal surface.
A soldier who has never seen battle, but wants us to believe that he has seen battle. This could be rough.
“You may introduce yourselves,” Pierson stated, his voice booming throughout the throne room. A trick of the Red Hues. He was a mage. “I’d like to know why my presence is needed so late in the evening.”
“Aye, my lord.” The Bard had spoken up. “I am the Blue Bard, traveler of the world, the Songforger. I’ve come with my apprentice, Lily. I’ve also brought my friend, Yoric Youngclaw, here. He has something to share with you that we all found most disturbing, something best dealt with by a man of your station.”
Yoric nodded as the man’s left eyebrow rose in interest. “Youngclaw? You’re Audrey’s boy then. The Huntsman.”
“Yes, my lord. I serve the good people of Theralyn.”
“I’ve heard of your exploits. You do good work, though I heard there was a casualty on the last job.”
Yoric felt his heart quicken for a moment. Sadness threaten to rock him to his core when Lily touched his hand, a sweet smile on her lips. That was enough.
“Aye, though it wasn’t the Geist that got our friend. Just an intervening criminal.”
“I see,” he replied, pressing his lips together as if he were waiting to hear more, but didn’t want to come off as overly interested. Yoric would not give him that. The wound of Dorian’s death was still too raw, and there was work to be done.
The Master of Laws spoke up when he realized he wasn’t going to get anything else out of Yoric on the topic. “You’ve something else to bring to my attention then? Speak up. My time is minimal.
Yoric explained.
He described the job that had been offered to him by Maris N’leary, how Maris had wished for him and his partner to head north with a group of armed men in order to force Ilya Arto and her colony off of the land where they had settled. She wished for them to do this in order to make way for warehouses, shipping routes, and other economic developments of which he had little understanding.
“What I do understand is that Ilya lives there by the grace of our lord, the Lord Heret. We figured that we should bring this news to you, seeing as you’re in charge of the city and are close friends with the Lord Heret.”
To his credit, the man listened with great intent the entire time Yoric spoke. He never interrupted with questions, arguments, points. Nothing. He sat still, like a statue of Jevil Dawn’s Laugh, the greatest of Aegimar’s ancient champions.
The statue pondered a moment longer. Yoric could not read through his stoicism.
Pierson looked to Lily and the Bard. “This is the situation, then? Is there anything else to add?”
The Bard replied. “There have been reports of Maris doing some shady things with Nightcrop, but there’s nothing else I can add to his story. I believe him. His partner was there too, though he is quite preoccupied at the moment.”
Pierson grunted, turning his slow fire gaze back toward Yoric.
“I’ve good news, I think.”
“My lord?”
“Aye. What she’s asking of you is actually quite legal. There should be no issue in taking the job.”