The Fifth Grace

“By the grace of Haven,

By the grace of Flame,

Each and all of us,

Began.

A Spark,

A Spark,

Lit in the dark

Shadows on the Wall

And Terrors in the dark.

Hold Thy Breath,

Still Thy Heart,

Monsters in the storm,

And Spears in Arm.

By Grace,

By Hope,

By The Coming of the Dawn,

Shall We March,

Once More,

to the Sun.”

The lilting sermon came to an end, breathing life into the crowd of men and women on their knees as the preachers spoke the final verse.

I raised myself from my knees, my legs aching from the effort. The light of the sun, a comfort in the chilly morning. I yawned into the hood of my cloak, scratching the stubble on my chin. I began to move down the cobbled street, with the large crowd until I spotted Yandar, waiting beside the guardhouse, his hands moving from silent prayer and his eyes closed.

The sound of the smithy next to the barracks filled my ears, as I stood at the entrance, next to Yandar. He opened his eyes, bloodshot, as they were. The toll enacted by seeing.

“Peace Yacob. Peace. Summer, once more, time seems to move with great pace.” The foreign man’s words were picked with care, and were slow and steady.

“Summer Storms and preachers alike. I saw a crow, Yandar.” I spoke, my voice raspy and soft from disuse and lack of sleep. He opened the gateway, leading me inside and locking it, as we moved from the dirt courtyard, filled with straw men, with the arrows embedded in them, into the barracks themselves.

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His pace was much faster, as he moved into the office of the peace keeper. He closed the window, and the sounds of the street below lessened. I took the offered seat from across from him, looking at the view from the second story of the winding valleys. I turned back to Yandar as he spoke.

“A Crow?”

Eyes of Violet, someone was watching.”

He rubbed his hands in nervousness. “Ill of our chances…”

I nodded and spoke. “We’ll keep a good watch on the body. We looked over the kitchen, no signs of tampering, we tried tracking, the mud, rain and wind have made it all but impossible. We need to keep this quiet, Yandar.”

The large man shook his head, as I leaned back on the chair. “No, no, no.” He waved his head, taking his time before speaking. “Alarien’s death will draw eyes by the morrow. We must tell them, not by the rumors of spinsters or wagging tongues of brothers and haggard's alike.”

I tapped on the wooden desk. “We could hold-”

“No. No Yacob. We bring news first. I shall give news in the square. Today.” He waited and spoke again, “Speaks of incompetence, if I do not.” He grabbed a parchment and a quill, putting them in front of me.

I exhaled, “Fine. So be it. By midday Yandar, on the toll of the third grace.” He nodded in acceptance and gestured for me to listen.

He cleared his voice, and began to speak: “On the 9th day of Ash, in the home of Alarien. A Tragedy has occurred, and a beloved elder has been murdered. We shall investigate and determine-”

I shook my head, stopping the giant. “Yandar, much too blunt.” I parched my throat with the jug of water on the table. “Keep the day, keep the tragedy. Forget the investigation and say a beloved elder has passed and mention a burial. Nothing about a murder. Bring a man from the clergy of grace, make him mention the rites and the day of rites. In a week’s time, we will bury him.” I paused, scratching my chin. “Mention the boy. Viran. Say, we’ll take care of him. Leave that for last.”

Yandar’s shoulders slumped, “It is lie.” His heavy accent giving the words a certain amount of pressure. “On the morrow, murder we will speak of. In the Midday.”

I shook my head but had little choice but to give my assent. “If you will it, peacekeeper. Motives now then?”

I picked up the quill and began to write, speaking all the while. “Alarien was not well loved by some. Not a pious man or a generous one. And was the old, dead Alexios hand, a vizier of ‘steel’.” I smiled and my laughter came next filled with mirth. “You could say, he was a sorry excuse for a husk of a man. He is ‘Steel’ no more.”

“Yacob….” Yandar’s voice was filled with weariness.

I continued. “But his death, oh at least it will provide some entertainment. He had Manros' father hung, Kiros drawn and quartered, and competed with Chran. And we all know, he doesn’t like competition.” I chuckled, “Oh and probably fought against half the exiles of the Black Hills before his own exile.”

Yandar was frowning, so I put down the quill. “Easy Yandar, only I will see the parchment. But, well…many wanted him dead, Yandar. Even in his exile. We will need to question them.”

Yandar exhaled, his hands in silent prayer before speaking. “I cannot ask them to come to me. They have their own men, and estates. They would never heed a request. Then they would claim that I was bribed with sugar, spice and gold by another.” He sighed.

“Do you have a better idea, Yandar?” My voice was lilting and Yandar’s frown made it clear that he did not appreciate it.

“No. No I do not. We will tell of the news today, we will tell of the murder on the morrow. I will give you a writ, speak softly. Yacob.”

I hesitated before speaking. “The crow needs a watcher. Not many with the fine skill or ability to do as such. We need to know if we have someone new in the valley.”

The large man nodded, rising. “That is a hard task. I will try. Meet here at the coming of the next dawn.” His hand formed a fist, gently clutching to his heart. “Peace be with you.”

I smiled and repeated the gesture.

“Peace be with us.”