Chapter 9

Meeting with the Tongue

> The rural proletariat often remains docile, their spirits soothed by regular shipments of ale, wine, and grain for festivals and feasts. The ever-present threat of monstrous incursions in remote settlements, necessitating timely rescues by Hand and Tongue forces, further dampens any spark of treason. Yet, in the cities of the Empire, the story unfolds quite differently…

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> — Historie and Geographie of the Provincia Empiris

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> Gaius Elvianus

The morning sun filtered through the narrow streets of Oakvale, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly as Godfrey followed Hawker toward the Magistrate’s office. The cobblestones beneath their boots were slick with dew, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and lingering woodsmoke. Godfrey's heart pounded in his chest, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Hawker walked ahead of him, his usual stoic demeanor unbroken, but Godfrey could sense the tension in his uncle's posture—the way his shoulders were slightly too stiff, the way his eyes darted ever so subtly to their surroundings. They hadn’t spoken much since they left the house, and the silence between them was thick with unspoken concerns.

Godfrey knew the plan, or at least enough of it to play his part. Elara’s whispered words from the night before echoed in his mind, a mix of urgency and calculated confidence. She had approached them with a solution, one that was risky but offered a thread of hope. Now, as they neared the Magistrate’s office, he couldn’t help but replay the details over and over in his mind, searching for any flaws or potential pitfalls.

As they approached the heavy wooden doors of the Magistrate’s office, Godfrey’s stomach twisted with a mix of fear and resolve. Hawker glanced back at him, his eyes hard and steady.

“Remember what we discussed,” Hawker said, his voice low and firm. “Stick to the story, keep your answers short and simple. Let me do most of the talking, and whatever you do, don’t let them rattle you.”

Godfrey nodded, swallowing hard as they came to a stop before the door. Hawker’s hand rested on the iron knocker for a brief moment before he rapped it sharply against the wood. The sound echoed in the quiet morning, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to hang in the balance.

The door creaked open, and a young clerk peered out, his expression neutral but curious. “The Magistrate is expecting you,” he said, stepping aside to let them in.

As they entered the dimly lit hallway, the weight of the situation pressed down on Godfrey with full force. They were walking into the lion’s den, and the outcome of this meeting could change everything. The plan was in motion, but now, more than ever, he had to keep his wits about him.

Hawker’s steady presence at his side was a comfort, but it was the memory of Elara’s determined gaze and whispered words that fueled the fire within him. She had believed in this plan, believed in him, and he would not let her down.

The clerk led them through the winding corridors until they reached a large, imposing door at the end of the hall. As it swung open, Godfrey felt his breath catch in his throat. Inside, the Magistrate sat behind a massive oak desk, his usually warm eyes fixed on them with an unreadable, cold expression. Beside him, dressed in dark, somber colors with a military cut and small patches of ornamental armor, with an arming sword buckled at her waist, stood the Tongue—a figure whose very presence seemed to suck the warmth from the room.

Hawker gave Godfrey a brief, reassuring glance before stepping forward, his expression composed, as if this were merely a routine visit. He inclined his head respectfully toward the Magistrate. “Good morning, Magistrate. We came as soon as we received your summons. I hope everything is well?”

The Magistrate’s gaze flicked between them, his expression remaining inscrutable. “Thank you for coming, Master Hawker,” he replied, his tone formal. “There have been... certain concerns brought to my attention that we need to discuss. However, you can leave us. The Speaker wishes to discuss things with young Godfrey alone.”

Hawker took a step forward, his voice firm but respectful. “With all due respect, Magistrate, as Godfrey’s guardian, I believe it’s important that I remain present during this discussion. He’s still young, and—”

Before he could finish, the Tongue spoke up, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. “Young, yes. But not a child. He’s nearly a man grown and well beyond the age of needing a guardian to hold his hand.”

The Tongue’s eyes narrowed as they locked onto Hawker, her tone dripping with disdain. “And let’s not pretend here, Master Hawker, that you have any legal authority over him. None of you do—neither you, nor this so-called ‘family’ of his. The records show you’re nothing more than deserters, men who have shirked their duties to the Empire. You crawled back to accept the amnesty after the Purge, and decided to retire to a nice little corner of the Empire, didn’t you? Let me be clear, I would have more respect for an animal like you if you had remained my enemy instead of running back like a coward.”

Hawker’s expression hardened, but he held his tongue, recognizing the trap in the Tongue’s words. Any argument would only deepen the suspicion already cast over them. He glanced at Godfrey, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and unspoken reassurance. Though every fiber of his being wanted to stay and protect the boy he had raised, he knew that pushing further would only make things worse.

With a stiff nod, Hawker turned on his heel and left the room, his steps echoing ominously in the silence that followed. The door closed with a soft click, leaving Godfrey alone under the intense scrutiny of the Tongue and the Magistrate.

The Tongue’s demeanor shifted, her previously harsh tone softening into something more measured, almost curious. Her intense gaze bore into Godfrey, but the anger that had been so evident when she spoke to Hawker was gone, replaced by an unsettling calm.

Godfrey could feel the weight of that gaze, like a predator sizing up its prey, but there was no hostility in it—only a sharp, probing curiosity. It was as if the Tongue was trying to unravel him, to see through to the very core of who he was.

“Godfrey, I am Speaker Rinthess,” the Tongue began, her voice smooth and deliberate, “I want to understand something. The song you sang last night—where did you learn it? It’s not a simple tune that one just stumbles upon. It’s... older than you can imagine, and very specific. So, tell me, how does a young man from a village like Oakvale come to know something so... ancient?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

The Tongue, who Godfrey knew now was named Rinthess, leaned forward slightly, her gaze never leaving Godfrey’s, as if she could extract the truth just by watching his every reaction. The calmness in her voice was unnerving, almost as if Rinthess was genuinely interested in the answer, and not just trying to catch Godfrey in a lie.

Godfrey hesitated, his eyes flickering unconsciously toward the Magistrate, panicked. The movement was slight, almost instinctual, but it didn’t escape Rinthess’s sharp eyes. A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corners of Rinthess’s mouth.

“Magistrate,” Rinthess said, her voice cool and commanding, “you’re dismissed. I believe young Godfrey here might be more forthcoming if we have a bit of privacy. It seems your presence is making him a touch... uncomfortable.”

The Magistrate’s expression shifted, his displeasure evident, but he offered no protest. With a stiff nod, he rose from his chair and quietly exited the room, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.

The silence that followed was palpable, the room now feeling more confined, the air thicker. Rinthess turned her full attention back to Godfrey, the intensity in her gaze now even more pronounced, as if the absence of the Magistrate had only amplified her curiosity.

“Now, Godfrey,” Rinthess continued, her voice softer but no less penetrating, “No need to be afraid. It’s just us now. Tell me, how did you come to know that song? Where did you hear it?”

Godfrey swallowed hard, the weight of the lie pressing down on him as he met Rinthess’s piercing gaze. He knew he had to stay calm, to make the story as believable as possible. “I didn’t hear the song,” he began, his voice steady despite the panic rising in his chest. “I read it... in a book. It was in the Magistrate’s secret library.”

Rinthess’s eyes narrowed with keen interest. “A secret library? And you expect me to believe you’ve been sneaking into it?”

Godfrey nodded, forcing himself to appear earnest. “The Magistrate doesn’t know that people are aware of it, so he barely keeps it secure. I’ve always loved reading, ever since I was little. After I’d read every book at Master Bertie’s schoolhouse, I started looking for more. One night, I stumbled upon the Magistrate’s library. It’s hidden, but not that well. I’ve been sneaking in there ever since, reading whatever I can find.”

Rinthess leaned forward, her curiosity palpable. “And this song? How did you come across it?”

“There was this... strange book,” Godfrey continued, his mind racing as he crafted the lie. “It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. The pages were made of paper, but they had metal threads woven through them. I found the song there, written in the book with a translation in the margins. I didn’t understand the language at first, but I kept reading, trying to piece it together.”

As Godfrey spun his tale, Rinthess’s eyes never left him, scrutinizing every word, every twitch of his expression. There was a slight narrowing of her gaze, a subtle tension in her posture as if she were trying to peer beyond Godfrey’s words, to sift through the layers of truth and falsehood. But as Godfrey continued, Rinthess’s expression shifted—not into one of belief or disbelief, but into something more... curious.

When Godfrey finished, Rinthess remained silent for a moment, her eyes boring into Godfrey's with an intensity that made the young man’s skin crawl. It was as if she was reaching for something just beyond her grasp, something that should have been there but wasn’t.

Finally, she spoke, his voice quieter, more deliberate. "You’re an interesting one, Godfrey," she said, the words laced with a peculiar emphasis. Rinthess’s expression shifted, her intrigue deepening. She stood abruptly, the movement sharp and decisive. “Take me there,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Show me this secret library and the book.”

Godfrey’s heart pounded in his chest as he nodded, rising to his feet. Panic gnawed at him, but he pushed it down, praying that Tarlow and John had managed to sneak in and plant the book as they had planned. If Rinthess discovered the truth—or worse, if she found nothing—Godfrey didn’t want to think about what might happen next.

Rinthess gestured for Godfrey to lead the way, and as they exited the room, Godfrey silently begged that everything would go according to plan.

XXX

Elara handed the old, heavy book to Tarlow, her fingers lingering on the cover for a moment before letting it go. The leather-bound tome was one of the treasures she had unearthed in the secret chamber beneath the forest, its pages woven with threads of metal that gleamed faintly in the dim light of the small room where they had gathered. She had spent the better part of the night working on it, carefully forging the margin notes that now dotted its pages. Her hand had been steady, her focus unyielding, as she meticulously replicated the handwriting style she had found in other books from the chamber.

“It should work,” she said confidently, her voice low but firm. “The book was in perfect condition, and I made sure the margin notes look authentic. I even added extra notations in different parts of the text to make it seem like someone had been studying this for years. The phonetic guide to the song’s verses is in the same hand, although it won’t pass scrutiny by someone who really knows the language. The Tongue should have no reason to doubt it, if it is as you say and only old scholars know the language... or, at least, she should have no reason to doubt Godfrey. After all, it's far more believable that the Magistrate’s secret, dark library, hidden away and full of forgotten secrets, would contain such a book and its notes than it is that a young man from a quiet village could somehow learn that song on his own, don’t you think?”

Elara handed the book to John, keeping her face carefully neutral as he examined it. She knew exactly what was going through his mind. John was sharp—too sharp to overlook the risks she was taking. But she had anticipated his suspicion, even counted on it. This was a game of calculated moves, and she was careful with every step.

She watched as his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the margin notes she had meticulously forged. The room felt tense, heavy with the unspoken questions that lingered between them. Elara could practically see the gears turning in John’s head, and she knew he wasn’t fully convinced by her story. But that didn’t matter. She wasn’t here to convince him; she was here to protect Godfrey. And if that meant playing a role, so be it.

“Elara,” John began, his voice low and probing, “you’re smart. You’ve always been careful. Why are you putting yourself at risk like this?”

She met his gaze steadily, refusing to let any doubt show. “Because I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing,” she replied, her voice firm. “Godfrey is important, not just to me but to this village. We all know that. If this book can keep him safe, then it’s worth the risk.”

She could see the doubt still lingering in his eyes, but she held his gaze, unwavering. John might be suspicious, but he was also a pragmatist. He’d have to accept her help because there wasn’t time to do anything else.

For a moment, the tension between them thickened, and Elara could feel John’s eyes searching her for any hint of deceit. She didn’t flinch, didn’t let anything slip. She had played this part too many times in her life to falter now.

Finally, John seemed to reach a decision, though she could tell he wasn’t entirely satisfied. He exhaled slowly, nodding. “Alright,” he said, his voice resigned. “But know this, Elara—if this goes wrong, it’s not just Godfrey who’s at risk. We all are. Our wives could be hanged. We would certainly be hanged, and tortured to boot, not to mention what would happen to Godfrey.”

Elara nodded, keeping her expression calm. “I understand,” she said softly. And she did. She understood more than John realized.

Tarlow, who had been shifting impatiently beside them, finally spoke up, his eagerness barely contained. “Then let’s get this done. We don’t have time to waste.”

Elara watched as they prepared to move, feeling the weight of the moment settling in her chest. She had done everything she could to set this plan in motion, to preserve Godfrey…for at least enough time to lure him down here again.