Chapter 29 — Hounds
Charis gave a contented sigh as he allowed himself a slight breach of etiquette, his straight back taking on a comfortable curve as it nestled into the seat’s cushions. The breakfast was every bit as delicious as his lieutenant had promised. The only thing that could have made it better was a side of some unpronounceable fruit, but Charis couldn’t begrudge the little riverside restaurant its lack of supply—after all it had been a month since the city had last seen an island. Nevertheless, he would have to look into adding this place to his morning commute, even if it was a bit out of the way.
The table he had been seated at was on a second story balcony and commanded an idyllic view of the Easruth. From there Charis could see the various boatmen beginning their day, either aboard the barges casting off upriver or upon the small ferries taking the morning commuters across the river. But these were all minor obstructions to the beauty of the barely risen sun, its light reflecting off the water and casting the river in amber as if the surface were made of gold.
The river was always such a gorgeous thing, but especially at this time of day. With the rising of the sun the hegemony of the night’s cold was broken and Charis could see all the beautiful eddies of heat twirling about the river. There were those within the Easruth, of course—at or below the waterline—but more beautiful were the innumerable currents and micro-currents of heat that flowed through the air and the surrounding city, exchanging warmth in a dance that rivaled any ballet performed by humans.
“Is there anything else I can get you, sir?” Came the voice of the waiter.
The sound pulled Charis away from view, in a way reminding him that the larger world and all the responsibilities therein still very much existed.
Charis chuckled heartily, “Oh no, I shouldn’t linger any longer,” he said as he rose, plucked the appropriate coinage from his purse, and left the establishment without further delay. In a moment he was in the city street, hailing down a rickshaw, on his way to see what the day had for him.
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“Captain, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but—”
“Oh you don’t mean to, do you?” Charis scoffed, “And yet here you are doing just that.”
Charis squared a look at the man sitting on the other side of his desk. He looked to be in his late twenties and had every air of inherited wealth about him, from the neatly styled hair, to the exotic fur cloak, and the silk vest bedecked with tungsten buttons. Charis had seen far too many of his type—the overgrown brats trying to prove themselves to daddy—and would guess that a simple ‘no’ had never entered his vocabulary.
“Allow me to be blunt, Mr. Vasilis, the moment this little agricultural venture of yours moved beyond the confines of the walls, it ceased to be my concern. Now while I sympathize with the families of those that were killed, I can only give you my professional recommendation to either hire more guards, or abandon the project.”
Vasilis’s expression turned sour, “But the responsibilities of the garrison do extend beyond the walls, don’t they?”
“Certainly, but only for the city’s sake,” Charis countered, “So unless your would-be vineyard is home to a nest of beasties with a taste for human travelers, then we have nothing to discuss.”
“No, it has no infestation,” Vasilis conceded, “But the vineyard flourishing is in the interests of the city. I’ve seen the sales projections myself, and am confident it would be win-win for all parties involved, including yourself, if you catch my meaning.”
Charis scowled. If the brat was willing to resort to bribery, then he may just as easily throw some manner of tantrum that would become Charis’s problem. Deflecting these advances without fully antagonizing the assailant—or their family, in this case—was always a delicate line to walk. It was one of the worst parts of his job, second only to being the one to oversee executions and the like.
He’d prefer to just tell him to go swim in the ocean, but instead Charis attempted to muster what little tact he had and—
A knock at his office door quickly came to his rescue.
“Come in.” Charis gratefully called.
An older lieutenant opened the door, only briefly sparing a glance at the petitioner before addressing Charis.
“Captain Petros, I have—” he began, entering the office.
“Oh my, is it time already?” Charis quickly said, “Mr. Vasilis, I am afraid the lieutenant and I have an appointment to attend to. So unfortunately this discussion will have to wait.”
The finely dressed man threw a blatantly suspicious look at the other men. Though seemingly caught between proprietary and his own obstinance, he eventually gave a shallow nod.
“I shall look forward to it.” Vasilis said, leaving Charis’s office in peace a moment later.
“Splendid timing as always, lieutenant,” Charis sighed, returning most of his attention to the reports and paperwork littering his desk, “Now what was it you wanted to see me about?”
“Thank you, sir. And I have a report I’m to deliver to you.”
“You may add it to the pile at your leisure, lieutenant,” Charis said, not raising his eyes from the documents before him.
“Uh, sir, it’s an emergency report—your eyes only.” The lieutenant elaborated uneasily.
Now that got his attention.
Charis raised his eyes to see the man proffering a sealed folder with the markings for confidentiality and emergency writ large across it. Charis had certainly seen his fair share of reports with either marking during his tenure, but never both. As he took the report and excused the lieutenant from his office, he could only wonder what kind of emergency would ever need to be kept secret not just from the general public, but also the entire garrison, save him.
Charis rose, locked his office door, shut the blinds on his windows, and filled the room with his aura on the off chance someone had cast their mage sight where it shouldn’t be.
The report was encrypted—as was protocol—and once he had decrypted it, he spent the next half hour reading and rereading every word of it. Each time he thought he would reveal the report for some kind of joke, but no, its contents were as far from levity as was possible.
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“I’m sorry Captain Petros,” The gate guard said, “but the governor gave explicit instructions that he wasn’t to be disturbed.”
“I understand, but this is an urgent matter; one in which I am certain the governor would not tolerate delays.” Charis said, giving the guard just enough of a glare to move things along.
“Uh, very well…” The guard hesitated, “But you will still need to submit to a security check, emergency or not.”
“Of course,” Charis nodded, fully retracting his aura. A moment later he could feel the guard’s aura and mage sight tingle across his soul roots, and presumably the rest of his body. Submitting to these kinds of checks—hells, even just pulling his aura away from his body—always made him feel naked and vulnerable, but Charis was all too aware of how much trouble a single mage with a knack for illusions could be.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Seemingly convinced that Charis wasn’t wearing a false face made of light or some such, the guard called to his fellows to open the gate, revealing to Charis the palatial grounds that lay beyond.
It was hardly his first time laying eyes on them, but just as with all of his previous visits, those few steps across the threshold of the gate may as well have taken him to a different continent. One moment he was standing on a busy city street dominated by the dull grays of stonework, the next he found himself among the verdant green of manicured lawns and sprawling flower gardens.
Even the walls encircling the estate became unrecognizable. Where from the outside they were brutal stone edifices, they seemed to disappear once inside—the interior of the estate being lined with decorative hedges that seemed to promise sprawling fields just beyond them.
However Charis wasn’t there to be a tourist, so he averted his eyes from the landscape and quickly followed the footpath up to the governor’s mansion. A brief conversation ensued with the estate’s doorman in a mirror of the one he had with the guards, and soon enough he was being led through the ornately decorated home to be deposited before a grand set of double doors.
Beckoned through by the servant, Charis entered to be at once thrown into darkness and assaulted by a riot of color. Even with his mage sight, he still had to wait for his eyes to adjust before he could recognize the space. It was a personal theater, the only light coming from the small stage and its actors who were in the midst of some garish performance.
To his own surprise he recognized the play: it was a historical drama that he and his wife had seen only a week ago. The show itself deserved every bit of praise it had been receiving, and not just because of the writing, but the actors’ performances, the costumes, and the sets were all truly exceptional.
However, none of these latter qualities were on display. Instead of period accurate dress, each character simply wore bright monochromatic robes, with each color being unique to that character; instead of immersive set design, Charis saw what looked sheets of wood scrawled over by a child’s drawing; and instead of subtle body language and nuanced line deliveries, the actors exaggerated every little motion and practically shouted out their lines to the otherwise empty theater.
Indeed, where Charis would have expected seating for an audience, there was empty floor, all save for a single unattended podium in the middle of the room. Confused, Charis looked closer and saw that the podium was more of a wooden plinth with a cushion resting atop it. A cushion bearing three fist-sized objects bound together in an ornate frame. And it was in the light from the stage that Charis caught an unmistakable sheen coming from those three objects—the iridescent sheen of aethic gold.
Charis quickly straightened his clothing before approaching the plinth with all due deference.
“Governor Solon,” Charis began with a bow, “my apologies for disturbing you, but there is a serious matter that requires your attention.”
The air around Charis fluted a sigh, “Would it be more or less serious than someone like you having the audacity to barge in here?” The air’s brass section asked with a warning tone.
Charis cleared his throat, “Far more serious I’m afraid. And one requiring as much discretion as it does expediency.”
The air gave another sigh before its tenors bellowed at the actors, “Halt! Adjourn the performance. City matters are intruding, but be prepared to resume within the hour.”
The exaggerating actors staggered before quickly bowing and exiting the stage. Meanwhile the three Initiate phylacteries rose off the plinth’s cushion as the air shimmered with light around them—light that quickly stabilized into the hazy visage of a well dressed man in his early thirties.
The illusion of the governor as he was in life rotated towards Charis, and with false lips that did not quite match his words, the governor spoke, “Captain Petros, I do hope for your sake that you aren’t wasting my time.”
“I assure you this is worth every second,” Charis said, “but is there someplace more secure we could discuss the matter?”
The governor’s unfocused eyes gave Charis what might have been a long suffering glare, “There is indeed; you may follow me to my office.”
At that, the governor’s body—that partially intersected the plinth beneath it—glided out of the theater, his legs moving in an approximation of walking not quite indicative of the actual speed he was moving.
Charis was of course acquainted with the governor and a few of the city’s elite, but no matter how much he was around them, their presence always made him uneasy. They didn’t make him fear for his safety, of course, after all not a single one of those aristocrats had bothered to deepen their soul. Even though several of them could probably afford the upkeep of Adept phylacteries, at the end of the day they were mages in name only.
No, the unease Charis felt came from how close and yet how far their illusory selves came to appearing as bodies of flesh. At a distance one might mistake theirs for the genuine article, but even at a medium distance, the discrepancies became clear. Their visual appearances tended to make one think that they needed eyeglasses, so poor was the visual clarity. And the less said about the disconnect between the illusion and whatever minor kinemancy they used, the better.
But by far the most eerie were the voices. None of the specters Charis had ever met seemed to have true ones, instead they made amalgamations of pure tones in the rough approximation of a voice—like an orchestra imitating human speech.
Charis shook his head and tried to let go of his unease as he followed behind the governor.
A minute later they were in his personal office. The office itself was an oddity in its own right, as clearly not meant to entertain guests, there was no seating save for an identical cushioned plinth set just behind a large desk. The governor glided forward, stopping as his illusory avatar intersected the plinth, then addressed Charis.
“Now, what is so much of an emergency that it couldn’t wait?” The governor warbled.
“Governor Solon,” Charis took a deep breath, “Just before coming here, I received a report of a… of a scourge in one of the frontier villages.”
Solon was silent for a number of seconds, “Is this some kind of joke?” He eventually said.
“No, sir, I’m afraid it isn’t.” Charis said, pulling the folder containing the decrypted report from his satchel, and proffering it to the governor.
With an invisible bit of force, the report floated out of Charis’s hand and opened itself before the governor.
“All of this on a single raving man’s testimony?” Solon said after a moment.
“Not exactly, sir,” Charis said, “This is detailed later in the report, but the magister of the town the witness turned up in heard him out, but noticed certain holes in the man’s story. A more in depth interrogation was carried out, during which the magister was able to extract a confession of banditry.
“Incidentally, a Lycomedes was present in the town on other business, so instead of a quick execution the bandit was turned over to him. Posthumously, Lycomedes was able to confirm the veracity of the bandit’s claim despite the memory degradation—it seems the sighting left quite the impression on the man’s mind.”
“Daefos preserve us…” Solon droned, “Is he absolutely sure it wasn’t some false memory or hallucination or something like that?”
Charis grimaced, “He was adamant in the report that the specific memory contained no such signs.”
The air made a low rumble as the governor’s visage flickered.
“Were there any indicators of plague?” Solon asked.
“I’m afraid so… the bandit testified that the rest of his outlaw company were suffering from random spasms in the minutes before they simply collapsed dead. I suppose the platinum lining is that the plague of this breed of scourge seems to kill too fast for it to meaningfully spread—assuming it wasn’t simply spreading a poison, that is.”
“That’s cold comfort, captain…” The governor said, “But that doesn’t change our course of action. Captain Petros, I want you to hunt down this thing and personally reduce it to a pile of ash, do you understand?”
Charis knew that this order would be coming from the moment he read the report. Regardless, he gave a formal bow to the governor, “Yes sir, it shall be done.”
“Good,” the governor’s form nodded, “Make your preparations and bring whatever personnel you deem necessary, but I want you to set out for… where exactly was the village the thing was spotted at?”
Charis frowned uneasily, “We don’t know…”
“What do you mean ‘we don’t know’?” Governor Solon said, his normally dead eyes shifting into a glare.
“The surviving bandit didn’t handle his band’s navigation to the village, and he was caught in various storms following his flight from it. At the moment, all we have is the location of the town he turned up in and a vague search radius based on the time he spent in the wilderness.”
“Then you should inquire with the Homestead Office.” The governor said, “They should have at least some kind of record of this village.”
Charis’s frown deepened, “We… don’t know the village’s name either, sir.”
“I see…” the air gave a pained sigh, “Is there anything other bad news I should be informed of?”
“Just that the winter storms also delayed Lycomedes’s report in reaching me, sir. The scourge sighting itself happened just over two months ago, on the night of the solstice.”
The governor’s form flickered again, briefly revealing the golden phylacteries inside the illusion’s chest, “Whatever it takes, captain. Do whatever it takes to find and destroy this thing. And as you said, urgency and discretion are required, so I trust that you will not disclose the truth of your mission even to those you choose to bring with you—at least until you have put considerable distance between yourself and Westreach… The last thing we need is for this to leak and cause a general panic, or worse yet, attract the attention of Sages that have scorched earth policies.”
Charis twitched at the possibility as he bowed low, “On my life, it shall be done.”