Aneirin

Aneirin went back to the Spyre first, because it was closer than Ganlin Hall, and because everyone he cared about in the mountains was already dead. In order to keep his workings of veoh from being strong enough to raise an Auld or Auldhund’s attention, he put a weak illusion on just his face, one that triggered only if an onlooker had the potential to recognize him. Illusions, after all, automatically raised suspicion in a place like the Spyre, so less in this case was more.

He entered Siorus through the paying line as a commoner rather than alert the Aulds that he was coming by taking his bloodright and avoiding the crowded wait. In the Great Market, he bought items that his family line made or had favored—a fine chits game with Ganlin sigils for Uncle Rees, a bright blue scarf laced with aspens for Aunt Nerys, a beautiful horse statuette made by a Ganlin craftsman for his mother, a bottle of Icel’s favorite Ganlin-made wine, a Ganlin-grown black rose from Agathe’s rose gardens.

He took these and a handful of others—each marked with a Ganlin sigil, crest, or namesake—inside the service entry of the Spyre itself, then found a servant’s bathing house to sit and think about whether or not he wanted to put death spells on them. Steaming men and women in towels came and went as Aneirin sat there, debating.

On one hand, he could probably kill his intended targets.

On the other hand, he wanted them to suffer.

He wanted them to know that a piece of their perfect plan had fallen out of place, and it was now roaming the Spyre, able to hunt them at will. He wanted them to spend the next few weeks looking over their shoulders, paranoid, pointing fingers, suspicion tearing apart their tenuous alliance while Aneirin went to the Ganlin mountains and gave his family their final rites.

Because he had no idea who the Norfeld Han was—no one did—he targeted Laelia Vethyle. He knew she was the Vethyle brains of their attack where her brother was just the hand that carried the sword. Aneirin remembered her face clearly as the two of them killed his family. She had been smiling, enjoying the carnage, delighting in the deaths of good men and women, seeing innocent people as nothing but rivals, threats to her power. He remembered her mocking them as they died…

Again, Aneirin had to force himself not to put death spells on the objects. With Laelia Ranked as five-six and Aneirin a six-seven, his reservoir was greater than hers by almost double. If he were to put a couple precautions into place, she would, quite literally, never feel it coming.

Again, he had to remind himself he wanted his victims to not just die, but to die afraid.

To that end, he left the washing chambers unbathed and went seeking out Laelia’s favorite places. In one of Laelia’s saddlebags, he placed Nerys’ scarf. At her favorite bench in the Vethyle gardens, he left Agathe’s black rose. He waited quietly in a corridor for Laelia to leave her chambers, then slipped into her bedroom and placed the chits game on her bed. He left other objects where she would find them, careful to clear his essence from them before walking away.

Then, maybe it was morbid curiosity, or maybe it was just seething self-hate, but he had to see what the Spyre was doing without his family in residence. Passing himself off as a laundry boy, he went to the Ganlin towers and wandered the halls.

The Vethyles hadn’t moved in, as he had halfway suspected. But life hadn’t stopped, either. Aneirin couldn’t even see that Ganlin Towers was emptier than usual in comparison to Vethyle Towers or Norfeld Towers, the other two sections of the Spyre that were twice and three times as populated, respectively.

In fact, with the number of servants in the halls, one would have thought the Auldheim and all of her retinue had arrived sometime during Aneirin’s absence, and their murders had all been some sort of horrible dream.

But it wasn’t a dream, and life had simply gone on without them. Maids continued to wash the windows, dusters cleaned the vases, drudges swept the floors, and scullions cleaned the bustling kitchens.

Because, Aneirin realized, his family only represented a tiny fraction of the actual residents of Ganlin Towers. Part of him died a little, seeing the servants smiling at each other, laughing and talking, going about a full renovation of the interior of the Towers with obvious pride, having the full expectation of Bryda’s most powerful inhabitants returning so they could surprise them with a winter decor.

It was so awful to him to see them toiling away at something that would never be seen that he had to stop one boy who was taking down brown fall curtains to replace them with a winter theme. “The Ganlins aren’t coming back,” Aneirin said. “News just came from Ganlin Hall. The Vethyles killed them all up there.”

The boy recoiled, blinking at Aneirin in shock. “What?”

“Go ask Guto if he’s checked the weigh-line recently,” Aneirin said. “They burned it for miles.”

The boy’s frown deepened. “Who are you? I don’t recognize you.”

“A survivor,” Aneirin said. He bowed. “Come to kill the Aulds responsible for murdering his family.”

“Shh!” the boy cried automatically, for to talk about killing Aulds was an execution-worthy offense…

…unless you were an Auld.

The boy obviously wasn’t sure which Aneirin was. He must have gone with madman, though, because he took a couple steps backwards and said, “I’m gonna go get the chamberlain. He’d like to talk to you.”

I’m sure he would, Aneirin thought. “Of course. I want to talk to him, too. We have plans to make.”

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The boy bowed, then, still looking him over hesitantly, turned and ran deeper into the Tower.

Knowing that he had planted the seeds, he took a servant’s corridor out of the Towers and headed north, leaving the denizens of the Spyre to contemplate what would become their tomb.

Rhydderch

“Auld Rhydderch!” It was Haydn, his stable-boy, pounding at his door. “You need to see this, milord Rhydderch.”

Rhydderch groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow back over his head.

“Auld Rhydderch!” The boy pounded again. “The whole Spyre’s talking about it!”

Probably another staged wedding proposal between two of my insipid cousins, Rhydderch thought, squeezing his eyes shut against the pounding in his head. “Go away!”

Haydn hesitated. “But milord, you said…”

“I don’t care what I said!” Rhydderch roared. “It’s too early to get up. Go run the dogs through their paces and leave me the hell alone.” He had drunk himself into a stupor and crawled into bed sometime after dawn, and the sun was still up. Definitely too early.

For a moment, it sounded as if his stable-boy would insist, but Haydn eventually turned and wandered away.

Wise lad, Rhydderch thought, trying to ignore the way the world was spinning around him. He was just starting to drift back off to sleep when a much more thunderous banging almost jolted him off his bed.

“Auld Rhydderch,” Commander Guto of the Unmade barked at him. “The acting Circle summons you immediately.”

“I am the Circle,” Rhydderch slurred.

“Excuse me?” the huge Auldhund boomed.

Rhydderch groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Go away!”

“Rhydderch, I’d like nothing more than to leave you to drink yourself to death, but the Spyre appears to be under attack.”

“What else is new,” Rhydderch moaned, stuffing more pillows over his ears.

“By aspens,” the Auldhund said. “They came from the north, and they’re taking over the roads. The Circle wants you to investigate. I don’t give a shit what you do. Go drown in your chamberpot for all I care. I have story time with my kids.”

Rhydderch threw the pillows off and sat up, squinting, but the Auldhund’s huge hooves were already fading on the stone of the hall outside his room.

“You said aspens were attacking the Spyre?!” he shouted at the retreating hoofbeats.

The Auldhund didn’t respond.

Grunting, Rhydderch threw his covers from his body and worked veoh through his blood to give himself a cleansing of the toxins of over-imbibing. He felt better immediately, but he felt a little bad—usually he tried to avoid taking such a route, as he was a firm believer in living with the consequences of his actions.

But for the aspens to be attacking… That required a clear head. He had just thrown on underwear and was reaching for his pants when Laelia’s panicked voice cried out on the other side, “Uncle Rhydderch! Are you in there?! Uncle Rhydderch!”

Rhydderch narrowed his eyes. The rat came to him when her ship was sinking. Instead of answering her, he threw on his pants and took the side door to his chambers, which connected to a pleasant balcony to stargaze—and another Auld’s balcony below. With a slight touch of Form, the air took a solidness under his feet, and Rhydderch dropped to the second Auld’s balcony. The old Vethyle merchant happened to be caressing a mistress amidst the potted roses and he balked as Rhydderch strode past him, opened his door, and walked through his chambers to the hallway exit.

And indeed, when Rhydderch got to viewing decks on the northern side of the Spyre, he could feel the rush of Ganlin magic pouring across the land, sloshing over him like a tidal wave. He actually had to catch himself on the wall as he staggered under the assault.

What the…?

All around him, Vethyle and Norfeld Aulds and servants alike were standing around, twittering, staring out at the landscape to the north with a mixture of fear and awe.

It took Rhydderch only a moment to see the problem. In startling contrast to the fall browns and golds in the distance, a mass of greenery marched towards the walls of Siorus, a glaring spring green where a road to the Idorion had once been.

Rhydderch’s first thought was that one of his family members had survived, and they were retaliating against the Spyre. His second thought was to let Agathe, Wynfor, or whoever was responsible to utterly annihilate everyone inside.

His third thought was more charitable. After all, there were quite a few people in the Spyre who still had no idea what had transpired in the mountains. “Has it hurt anyone?” he demanded of the nearest Auldin. “Any casualties?”

The tittering idiot just giggled and held a fan to her face, whispering Rhydderch’s name to her two female companions, making Rhydderch want to punch her. Even as old as he was, he was still considered the most eligible bachelor in the Spyre, even to his supposed first cousins.

Disgusted, Rhydderch decided to stop asking questions and go investigate for himself. He was on the way to the stables when he heard Laelia’s voice in an adjoining corridor, snapping, “It was in my saddlebag, Taebin. How did it get in my saddlebag?”

Taebin, always the cool, level-headed killer, said back, “Did you take it off her body?”

Rhydderch felt rage tighten his fist as he stood there, listening to the murderers of his family casually speaking of their deed in broad daylight. Life at the Spyre had gone on without the Ganlins, and Rhydderch somewhat suspected that Guto knew what had happened to his brethren, but had not cared enough to hold those responsible accountable for their actions. Or maybe he didn’t want to cause waves. He had kids, after all.

“I hated that commoner bitch,” Laelia growled. “Why would I take her damn scarf, Taebin?”

Taebin shrugged. “It was nice. I took a couple nice things. They’re in my bedroom in Vineyard Hold. I wasn’t stupid enough to bring them back to the Spyre with me.”

“I didn’t,” Laelia said. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“So who did?” Taebin sounded bored.

“I don’t know.” She sounded frustrated. Maybe even afraid.

“If I didn’t know better, sister,” Taebin said, “I’d say these ‘gifts’ of yours are starting to get under your skin. First the chits game, then the rose… Are you certain you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, and Rhydderch knew from her tone she was anything but.

“You think Rhydderch is trying to mess with your head?” Taebin offered. “I told you we should have killed him.”

“Rhydderch has been drinking himself into a stupor,” Laelia said. “My boys tell me he sleeps all day, and drinks all night. They deliver wine, he drinks it, then sends out four or five empty bottles a night. His chamberpots are filled with wine-reeking vomit. He’s up there right now, totally incapacitated.”

I’ll have to schedule more wine deliveries, Rhydderch thought.

“Still say we should’ve killed him. Who needs the old bastard? We’ve got fresh blood.”

Laelia surprised him with her vehemence when she said, “That old ‘bastard’ is the greatest Auld the Vethyle line has seen in centuries. He’s the sharpest mind we’ve ever seen, and he is easily the most seasoned in war and politics.”

“He also happens to be a drunkard, a sympathizer, and a general embarrassment to our family name.”

“He will lead this family, and you will follow him.”

“We’ll see, sister.” And then Taebin’s footsteps began to fade down the hall. A moment later, Laelia made a sound of frustration and went storming off in another direction.

Careful of your brother, girl, Rhydderch thought, his old instincts as her uncle coming back unbidden. You’re smart, but you’re too loyal.

Then he remembered she had orchestrated the deaths of his twin sister, his brothers, his nieces and nephews, his countless innocent cousins, and his concern for her evaporated.

The rat deserves what she gets.