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| "If users wanted a graphical interface, wouldn't the Macintosh dominate the market? "
- Bruce Tonkin
(1988)
"Never argue with an idiot. They drag you down to their level then beat you with experience.
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- Dilbert
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All Quotes
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Prologue
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 he Mustering was imminent. The pigeons had done their work far swifter than I would have expected and it had taken barely a fortnight to gather the Overseers. Even so, it had been a painstaking twenty one days.
I had a monumental task ahead of me. Each of the Overseers was a veritable prince among thieves, individually controlling the underworld interests in a particular town or city in Elania. Meetings such as the one I had requested were very infrequent and tended to chafe at all who participated but few, if any, would decline the invitation. I was simply something that each could not afford to do.
Exhaling deeply, I tried to clear my thoughts and peered halfheartedly around the dank, room-like cave in which I sat. My present surroundings sat nestled within the tunnels under the coastal town of Mydor. The shoddy furnishings with which I had chosen to furnish my undercroft suggested to me a little of my desire to return to the way things had been in the past. Moisture trickled down the rough rock of the wall, dripping with a heartbeat rhythm that lent a living air to the dark enclosure. With only a single oil lamp set to its lowest setting, the shadows loomed over me like spectres from my past. I had spent many a night in a cell such as this as a child, parentless and alone in the dark netherworld that was the seedy underbelly of society in Elsmere Major.
It was an environment I knew intimately and respected to some degree though I felt that even a rearing by wolves would have made for a nobler epic. I had risen to my present position through determination shaped by the necessity that upbringing had instilled within me. Unfortunately, recent times were another matter.
I had allowed my watchfulness to recess in the lap of my well-earned luxury in no small degree.
While my bleak surroundings shunted my every effort to undo the damage my overconfidence had caused, they provided me one irrefutable quality.
These eroded walls provided me with focus.
Focus to regain control of my organization. Focus to learn intimately from my prior mistakes. Most important however was my newly gained focus to rise from my defeat more powerful than before.
That concentration, that melding of all thought and action into one purpose brought with it keen insight into an aspect of myself of which I had been unaware. I was a Disavowed to the very core of my being; an outcast of civilized society in every sense of the word and while most saw the name as merely a curse directed at the downtrodden of our society and used it liberally as such, I did not. A life where each day could prove to be your last hones the edge of one's perceptions. It shapes the iron individual and encourages the instinct for opportunity. While some may not find it an honorable existence, it must at least be acknowledged as intrepid.
My people's forebearers, the Oldworlders whos accomplishments were the stuff of myth and legend, had know this. It was generally believed that they had many disreputable acts to their honor but there was one phrase, the shortest of quotes from one of their faceless philosophers that had called out to me at a young age from the tattered remnants of their histories and served to define my entire existence. It was enough to redeem them in this man's eyes.
That which does not kill, strengthens.
I had survived worse setbacks than this in the past and I would persevere in this place. That I now knew. Victory, on the other hand, was another matter. Despite any number of perfunctorily mouthed prayers I offered to my patron ward Melrauna, the illustrious Handmaiden of Luck, fortune alone would not be enough to see my carefully choreographed scheme to its conclusion. It was for this reason that I had made this dank enclosure my home for those past days since the pigeons had left with their coded messages and I had passed the point of no return.
This meeting would require an endgame strategy barely within my means. Unifying the Overseers behind one purpose would be difficult. The Goddess Graeth' al only knew the amount of intrigue that had gone on between the various underworld sects and mending old wounds would prove arduous.
My purpose was dire however. War threatened on the horizon and only necessity of action could hope to join our warring factions.
Were we the romanticized brigands of old, war could suit our purpose but a great many of my colleagues and I had a disproportionate amount of capital tied to land. It's a peculiar habit for folk in our line of work. Land tends to be easily guarded from theft by all but the tax collector or, say, an advancing army.
Ahh, so you see my point now, do you? The very immutable nature of land that made it proof against theft by stealth made it all the more susceptable to theft by conquest and none of us could have that. Certainly not I. In saying this, I trust that you will not hold my greed against me. I do consider myself a loyal citizen of Elania and have been quick to gut anyone who would say otherwise but I do, on the same note, acknowledge that there is little money to be made through loyalty to the state. I have merely found a way to incorporate both greed and patriotism into my life in shared measures and both could flourish with the same action here.
Truth be told, I owned enough land to make each and every one of the Houses of Els sit up and take notice though I will of course deny it should these words ever be repeated. I had gone to great pains to ensure that my ownership remained hidden for reasons I prefer to keep to myself. Yes, a great deal hinged on this gathering.
I feared though that I would be seen as a liar. Proof would be demanded and I had little of that to share.
A determined knock came from the door, tearing me from my silent contemplations.
I mumbled my ascent, knowing already who awaited admittance. I've had the opportunity to study the intentions behind many a knock and this one was urgent if any of them had been.
Prevoch entered, stonefaced in direct contrast to an urgent knock that would have bruised most knuckles but not his. He was a powerful man, but a soldier, awaiting his commander's orders. His shaven scalp glistened with a trace of the aloe balm he used when removing the stubble and, save for his head and hands, he was garbed entirely in black. Twin short swords sat nestled in crossed scabbards across his back in an 'X', a pommel protruding over each shoulder. He seemed tense but it was barely perceptable even to me and we had been friends since our street urchin days.
"The time has come, Crenfax. They have gathered."
It was to be expected sooner or later. With a sigh, I stood.
"Then I suppose that we shouldn't keep them waiting."
I hadn't asked him who he had left minding the tattered remnants of our underground stronghold back in Elsmere Major. It hardly mattered at that point. Little remained of the Hive following the Glory's search for Kaylor but it was only its sentimental value that left me with feelings of regret. Certainly the Potentate's treasurer had found some obscure taxation law that had allowed him to confiscate it for the head of our beloved ruling class by now. The Hive had been my one publically known resource, a bloated empire I had built and then allowed to decay. I now accepted its collapse and possible loss with little frustration. With its near destruction, I was left only with my hidden assets but they would prove more than sufficient for my plans.
One loss had meant another gain. Kaylor knew what he owed me for that loss but, given his sudden rise in stature, I can dismiss it. A favor was owed perhaps, but it remained to be seen if I would need to invoke it. I bore him little ill will over the affair as fault had been his only indirectly, but it was unnecessary to go out of my way to point that out to him. Also having a friend, albeit a guilty one, such as him could literally increase my power tenfold. Given the chance to repeat my earlier mistakes, no hesitation would I give although I must say this in hindsight and we all know that hindsight is one of the most useless of mistresses.
Focus on the here and now returned as I rose, prepared as possible for the meeting that awaited.
Prevoch nodded to me with deference as he cleared the doorway to make way for me. It was strengthening to have a man such as Prevoch watching my back. He was fanatically loyal to our organization and all it took was one look into his eyes to see that he didn't covet my position. He was content with his rank as my Second and I never had any fear of my back sprouting unwanted blades.
We made our way through the outside tunnel with a practiced gait dictated by the traditions involved in a meeting of this nature. Were we to progress at a leisurely pace and anyone seeing us might think that I wasn't serious about my calling of the Mustering; too rapid and I would be seen as impatient, perhaps even nervous. I couldn't have that. I was about to enter one of the greatest exercises of mental combat I had yet faced where words would only be a small portion of the battle arsenal.
Few people outside of our organization are fully capable of understanding, let alone embracing, the great number of traditions in which a meeting such as this one would be steeped. The Mustering was a convention of the Overseers predating even the first seating of the Great Assembly in Elsmere Major. With certain exceptions, anything said or done could mean literally anything. If you will excuse my use of an old gambling axiom, it was all in how you chose to read the cards.
The only real indication of anything was color and clothing style.
The concept of this tends to be foreign to my fellow Elsmen but it is possibly one of the most important facets of the Mustering. It has been an ancient tradition dating back to the Oldworlders where a person expresses a mood and a position through the use of dress.
For the occasion, I had carefully chosen an indigo blue tunic trimmed with black and silver. Certainty and integrity were images that were essential to my proposal.
Prevoch didn't need to worry himself with colors and such. The Mustering required that all Seconds wore black.
I stopped us at the threshhold of the meeting room, ignoring the guards posted to either side. Looking one last time to Prevoch who returned his unaffected, impassive gaze as he surrendered his weapons at the door, I gathered my strength and opened the irregularly-shaped, oak door.
The meeting room that I had requested of Barlowe was the most spacious cavern available to him although I may do the word spacious an injustice by using it as such. The underground areas of Mydor were primitively underdeveloped in comparison to what I was used to and little had been done to extend them in quite some time. Barlowe was our host for this particular meeting and the controlling Overseer in Mydor. He was a younger man than most of my other compatriots, average in build and size but easily distinguished by his elaborately long moustache. Newly risen to his post, he seemed eager to please and also rather overwhelmed at being called upon to accommodate our little gathering.
Despite that, I found him to be quite an intriguing man. The story around his ascension to his current position had made for some interesting reading in a sea of otherwise dull reports and dispatches at the time. His predecessors, both First and Second, had been assassinated by orders of the town Burgomaster following some small matter that should have been inconsequential. Things happen like that sometimes. Insult can be taken at times where none was intended and matters such as that were a constant risk to us.
Barlowe had risen to fill the vacant position with ease as there were few in this small town to oppose him. His reaction to the situation at the time was unexpected. Certainly, I would have handled things differently. Rather than remain discretely out of the Burgomaster's way until matters cooled for a time and hope that the matter passed, his first action was outright confrontation; not militaristically but diplomatically. Alone, he approached the manorhouse of the Burgomaster and requested a private audience. According to my sources, the meeting was granted and, upon its conclusion, the Burgomaster had declined to interfere with any of Barlowe's interests in the town. I have wondered a number of times what had been said and I decided that I would question one of my collegues about it in the near future. Perhaps they would even tell me though I'm certain it would cost me a sizable allotment of my own carefully hoarded information.
Barlowe's Second, E'hal, as I had been told was an unknown element to me. From one look at him, it was a simple matter to see both Elsman and Saimorn blood coursing through his veins. Quite possibly, he was the end result of a rape by one of the Mordrin Fae Saimorn during a raid on one of the southern Els settlements. It isn't an unjustified opinion as a large portion of the underworld society was populated by bastards and other disenfrancised members of the polite public. Apart from that, my only knowledge of him was that he was a mute. Despite my resolve to further my knowledge of this uninvestigated factor, E'hal had been noticably adept at avoiding my every attempt at contact during my stay in the town. Nonetheless, he couldn't hide from me forever and I was many things if not persistent.
My thoughts returned to the matter at hand.
Only a few torches lined the walls and these served to cast rogue, menacing shadows about the room, lending a nefarious air that fit exquisitely.
Glancing about, I was immediately irritated at the size of the table that Barlowe had commissioned for the occasion. It was circular and it did bear the large, traditional emblem of the dagger-crossed, waxing moon of our secret society but it was much larger than it should have been. Truth be told, I had hoped for a more intimate gathering.
Brushing the thought aside in annoyance, I moved to the customary seat of the summoning speaker at the hilt of the dagger as the door was closed behind me with an ominous bang that echoed throughout the room. All whispered conversations among my cohorts within the room evaporated into silence.
The eyes of six Overseers and their Seconds leveled upon me. All were already seated at the table, their Seconds all clothed in black, overshadowing each by standing a pace behind.
I had hoped that there would be seven.
"Is there no word from Tre-Gavin?"
Barlowe, seated directly across the table from me at the point of the dagger squirmed ever so slightly at my question. As host, it had been his duty to ensure that all Overseers had been informed of the meeting.
"My apologies. There has been none."
Lack of word from Borys in Tre-Gavin may have meant that his pigeons had failed and, were that the case, he had lost honor as well as I for placing my trust in him.
I chose not to view the matter from that perspective. All assembled, save perhaps Barlowe, knew that Borys prided himself on his unpredictability. Certainly, there was little love lost between the two of us as well and it wouldn't have surprised me to learn that he had forgone this important meeting merely to weaken my case.
"Very well then," I offered in a tone indicating that I viewed no dishonor in his absence, "I have a grave matter to discuss with all of you."
A cough came from the man seated directly to Barlowe's right.
"Pardon Crenfax, but wouldn't it be appropriate to select Borys' representative before we begin?"
The mild rebuke had come from Gregor, Overseer of Arklasius' home town of Torlyn.
Gregor was, to put it simply, an icon among us. An overweight and redfaced man with an air of distinction about him, he wore his rank as senior Overseer with indifference. His tenure as an Overseer was the longest in recorded history. He had maintained his position for an unbelievable score of years and would probably outlive us all by another ten; That was eleven years more than I in which to solidify his position and study his colleagues. He was well known for his neutrality in matters between other Overseers and, judging from his drab brown tunic, he had brought that neutrality with him. While Torlyn was only a minor town that made even Mydor seem cosmopolitan by comparison, Gregor's opinion would carry a great deal of weight with the others. Winning him over would be difficult but he would make a powerful ally for my cause.
"You have a point, Gregor. I forget myself. I put the question to you then. With whom shall we saddle the responsibility?"
Now that question threatened to destroy my rock steady composure. The Overseers present knew that I had just perked the ears of every Second in the room. As I have said, the instinct for opportunity is heavily bred into those in our line of work.
Lor, the Overseer of Elsmere Minor, was the first to pounce on the offer.
"Perhaps Kilroy would suit the purpose."
I managed an unamused gaze in Lor's direction. He was a tall man, pale and guant, with whom I had met on numerous occasions. Between the two of us, we controlled close to half of the resources of the underworld on the continent. Or had before the loss of the Hive. Lor's tunic of choice was of garrish gold, signifying wisdom, though I felt that it was a color more suited to Gregor. We had our respective differences over the years but had prospered sufficiently from each other.
Kilroy, on the other hand, was an enigma to me. His long hair and bearlike frame belied his inherent skill as a locksman and catburglar. As Second to Lor, he had the rank necessary for the honor but I balked at the thought. He was Lor's prodigy. Lor had been getting on in years and had decided to take steps to ensure that he had a say in the choice of his replacement. While other Overseers had made their preference apparent in the past, none had gone through such public steps before and it flew in the face of convention.
I, for one, greatly disagreed with the notion of grooming one's successor. All of the Overseers present were the pinnacle of our unique brand of survival of the fittest; the veritable aristocracy of the Disavowed. None of us had been given any special aid in rising to the level at which we now stood. We took control through our own resources and it sickened me to see the road being paved for someone who would one day be my equal. Kilroy and I also had another dispute; one that I had expounded to Lor with a great deal of annoyance.
Upon the death of Lor's last Second, Lor had given Kilroy a task to perform in order to assure the he was capable of the Secondship. The task, you ask? Kilroy was to steal the Potentate's hammer, Justice; the central symbol of power of the reigning family in Elania.
As the Potentate's citadel was located in the heart of Elsmere Major, the hammer Justice fell under my 'jurisdiction' as the Captain of the Potentate's personal guard put it. The amount of tribulations I endured as a result of Lor's little ploy had my organization on the darker side of the Assembly for years. Even disregarding the broken precedents behind operating in another group's area of influence, Lor knew where the Potentate would seek to exact his retribution. Of course I had been blamed as the mind behind the scheme as a result of the rune left behind. Kilroy was known in our circles for the mark he left following any of his exploits. He claimed that it was an ancient rune that predated even the Oldworlders and he left it at the scene of any of his crimes with pride. Unfortunately, the Assembly chose to see all runes as the domain of all thieves and the full blame fell to the nearest, prominent figure in the area, me.
Had it been in anyone else's city, I would have applauded the effort. The citadel was generally considered the tightest, locked box on the continent.
The amount of bribe money it took for me to quiet down the Assembly left me decidedly out sorts with Lor and his paragon. Kilroy's delay in restoring Justice to its rightful owners cost me even more dearly and it wasn't any regrets he had that resulted in its return. I had decided to react to the matter in an eye-for-an-eye fashion. I had sent Prevoch.
There were those among my collegues at the table that had disagreed with the severity of my response. A few felt that, given sufficient time, Kilroy would have returned the relic on his own recognisance. Others however felt that we as a group had made enough enemies without resorting to squabbling amongst ourselves. Thankfully, the latter group represented the majority.
To make matters more equable, I had made it Prevoch's test for his Secondship.
At the time, my former Second, Korell had recently been hung by the Borderguard. He had been captured in an attempt to protect a young whore he had taken to bed at some time before his ascension through our ranks. It seemed that she had been accosted by a member of the Varh Family and Korell had intervened. Unfortunatlely for him, the noble's guard was present, and, while he had been able to kill four of them, the remaining three had been able to pin and arrest him. I had always told him that his excessive chivalry would be the death of him but i truly could not fault him for his actions. Three separate rescue attempts had been made but my minions and I but we had been unsuccessful in effecting his release. The sight of his lifeless body dangling at the end of that rope haunted me still and hearing of that particular noble turning up in a fisher's net in the Crystalline Sea a tenday later made my feelings of loss no less painful.
It had taken Prevoch nary a tenday to locate Kilroy even in his concealment. I understand that the scuffle was, to my distinct pleasure, rather painful though I have heard only one account of the matter. Subsequent dispatches had revealed numerous scars and a badly broken right arm on Kilroy's side and that seemed to merge sufficiently with Prevoch's report. Given that the encounter had reached that level, Kilroy must have refused quite profusely. I had given Prevoch but two instructions: return Justice and leave Kilroy unharmed. One out of two really wasn't that bad in my view. To be honest, he had made me proud and has been my right hand man ever since.
Regardless of the outcome, the affront had yet to be dealt with personally between Lor and myself and I had yet to exact my revenge.
"Perhaps.", I offered through an elongated response though I'm certain my tone left my true feelings on the matter shine.
Gregor chuckled but whether it was directed at my reaction or my previous misfortune, I was unsure. Certainly he had been briefed on the whole scandalous affair.
Redwood surprised us all by speaking next from the opposing side of the table from Lor.
"Would Bane not be a logical choice?"
Redwood was the one Vyr' Kaersan Overseer of our diverse gathering of hoodlums. He was the standard height, seven feet or so, but Redwood was thin even by Vyr standards. His narrow face bordered on cadaverous in appearance and made Lor seem robust by comparison. Old, white skin stretched taught over chiselled bone tended to give that effect though I hoped I looked as good if I ever had the fortune of reaching his age. While Gregor had held his rank the longest, Redwood was by far the oldest among us. My sources had narrowed his age to roughly one hundred and seventy five. Vyr's were known to live exceptional lifespans after all and I sometimes feared dealing with a man equipped with the experience of two full Elish lifetimes.
Redwood was a member of the Inner Circle of Vyr-Hedra, known to some as the Willowkin, a five member group that controlled the underworld guild interests of the entire Vyr race. Those interests, however, were slightly escue from those the rest of us held dear.
Even the concept of underworld guilds in Vyr society was foreign. No criminal stigma was attached to their organization as it was a group sanctioned by their Circle of Elders. They refused the notion of theft, fraud and extortion outright and instead focused their energies on information-gathering. Truth be told, they probably had a more extensive information network of all the rest of us put together and information was a potent currency in our trade. Given until dinnertime, I doubt that Redwood would have any problems finding out what the Potentate had eaten for his noontime meal the day before over a week's travel from Mydor.
The most surprising thing about the suggestion made by our Vyr delegate was that he was recommending someone other than the member of the Inner Circle that posed as his own Second. Bane, as he was known, was the Second of Mouse, the Overseer from Kendarth, who sat to my right.
That fact was lost on few seated at the table.
Even Mouse seemed a little shocked at his statement though she had never been able cover her thoughts well. She was competent in her rank but she stood as a lone island in a sea of male counterparts and that fact always seemed to make her nervous. She was small even for a woman but sharp as an axe. Unfortunately, she had made a few mistakes along her path as an Overseer.
The most striking of these was her choice of Bane as her Second. Bane was an outcast Saimorn from the Sandcrier clans. While my experiences with Syren, my travelling companion of a brief period during my travels with Kaylor, had helped to lessen my disdain of the Saimorn, they had left me with one rock steady conclusion; sooner or later Bane would challenge her position as Overseer for Kendarth. It was only a matter of time. While I may seem slightly chauvanistic in my views, male Saimorn embody it in their entire existance. The fact that Bane had as yet unchallenged her bore stark testimony to his resolve and patience. Perhaps now Redwood wished to see how far that resolve could be bent before it shattered. I pondered that for a moment before discarding the notion in favor of one that was much more likely. It did seemed to be a testing of some sort; but a testing of commitment almost certainly and that worried me.
It seemed that a new alliance had been forged while my mind was occupied by recent events. It was a slight strain to screen any signs of revelation from my expression. If Mouse's Night Breed and Redwood's Willowkin were in league, adding Bane as Tre-Gavin's representative would give them a decidedly powerful third vote. A situation of that nature would greatly disrupt the spirit of the traditions of the Mustering. The questions yet remained how we should react to this and whether anyone else was involved.
At the very least, a suitable alternative had to be found, and quickly. Despite his many favoring points, Prevoch was be unsuited for the honor and he would be the first to admit it. He was a shrewd soldier and a very capable man but by no means a diplomat.
Many glances were being exchanged across the table and it was difficult deciphering them. I did catch Gregor looking to other Seconds in the room and I quickly decided that he must have been suddenly as desperate for a suitable alternative as I.
He spoke without warning beginning in his slowly enunciated manner, jarring the rest of us from our rampant speculations. "Perhaps.... but I feel that the Mantis would suffice in the capacity suitably. He does have a more extensive knowledge of Tre-Gavin having been raised there himself. Don't you agree Crenfax?"
To the untrained eye, our first matter of business was merely a polite discussions among collegues but, in truth, battlelines were being etched and alliances forged through subtle innuendo and seemingly indifferent suggestions backed by the power of unspoken oathes. Gregor was fishing for support and I wasn't about to let the opportunity slip past me.
"Quite so Gregor,", I responded in forced casualness, "I believe that the Mantis would suffice nicely. "
It was a natural agreement. Gregor's Second, Bruin, was much like Prevoch and just as unsuitable. There was a rivalry of sorts among them as both were considered to be the most capable Seconds in the room. They had always looked at one another like two bull mastiffs locked in the same cage together when they were close at hand. I would not dishonor Prevoch by supporting the Bruin's appointment and I knew Gregor would do the same. Thus, we were forced to look elsewhere for our selection.
We both looked as one to Wrayles, Overseer of Cyr and the Mantis' superior. He actually had the audacity to grin.
Wrayles was a strange man in my opinion. He was competent but he had an unusual insight into things that bordered on paranoia. Now, I don't mean to infer that a healthy dose of suspicion isn't a necessary trait in our line of work but Wrayle tended to take matters to extremes. Take for example his insistance on wearing elaborate masks when in public.
I, for one, cannot think of a single occasion where peacock feathers are appropriate.
While these masks were a trifle garrish for even my flamboyant tastes, they served to cover his entire head save for his mouth and made identifying him difficult. None of my sources had been able to penetrate his disguise and I seriously wondered if even his own Second had even seen his face.
He spoke, a rolling, Cyrian lilt underlying his strong voice.
"Yes gentlemen, I do believe that my Mantis would suit your purpose. Does anyone here wish to challenge his impartiality?"
A shrewd move. No one would openly question his ethical fiber. We all had an appreciation of the Mantis' ability as he had been Wrayles' Second for nigh on five years. I had personally dealt with him on a number of occasions and had found him to be a man of his word.
Assuming that Mouse would support her Second as I knew she would, the ballot stood at three to two with two votes remaining and I began to sweat. Both Lor and Barlowe had remained quiet during our reparte and their votes would count heavily in the balloting. Barlow, I felt, would support our side. We had spent quite some time together during my stay in his region and had developed a comraderie of sorts. I hoped that he would remember my support concerning his pigeons even if it meant alienating a few of his guests. He needed to speak before Lor however. Were Lor to side with Mouse and Redwood, I greatly feared that Barlowe lacked the backbone to break a deadlock were it to occur. Conflicts and coalitions were made and broken at the Mustering table, sometimes for life and Barlowe was too green to want to risk making enemies in his first Mustering.
Tradition was more on my mind however. A deadlock on any vote meant that the Mustering was to disband and I couldn't have that. All of my work would be in vain.
I looked once to Gregor, my thoughts clearly conveyed for the first time in honest expression. He understood immediately. As one, we turned and focused our attention on Barlowe. It was a moment before he realized that we were giving him his queue.
"The impartiality of the Mantis is well known to me. I place my vote with him."
It seems that Barlowe would do well as an Overseer after all. Relieved, I still refused to answer his support with a smile. That could come later.
Turning to Lor, I offered a questioning tilt of the head to hear his vote even though any yea or nay would be worthless.
"It would seem that my vote is unnecessary. Mantis, please join us so that we may hear the reason for Crenfax summoning some of us from half a continent away. I grow weary of this."
I hoped he understood that the wounding of his pride was only a small part of the revenge I owed him and his prodigy. It was nothing personal of course. In another life, he and I could have been quite good friends but he had violated the sanctity of my territory and that would remain as a wedge between us until after one of us was in his grave. Business was business after all.
I motioned for the Mantis to take Borys' vacant seat to my left. Before doing so, he extracted a tunic from a drawstring sack along the outer perimeter of the room. I was taken aback to see that it was silver and trimmed with black and indigo.
"Perhaps we are of the same mind?", he spoke in a quiet voice void of derision as he slipped the neatly pressed garment over his head..
"The potential is there. You must have been quite certain that you would join us at the table tonight to have brought your own wardrobe."
While the tone was neutral, the implications were not. I disliked being perceived as predictable as it was one of the greater cardinal sins available to any Overseer. Looking to Gregor, he seemed to agree though whether it worried him was not apparent.
The Mantis' reply was, like his character, curt and to the point.
"One can never be too prepared."
Nodding, I discarded my irritation and moved on to the central point of the meeting, know that even more difficult arguments would arise.
"The decision to call this Mustering did not come easy to me. As my esteemed collegue Lor has pointed out, many of your have travelled a great distance to meet with the rest of us and I would like to assure you that your travel was not in vain. Two situations have arose recently that directly threaten the interests of all at this table and I thought it my duty to inform you."
A roomful of intent, unblinking eyes now focused upon me. I now had their undivided attention.
"The first of these situations is one that I'm certain at least a few of you have heard speculated upon. It is tied directly to the events surrounding my organization's loss of the Hive in Elsmere Major. You see gentlemen, a manifestor has been discovered in Els."
Rampant speculations filled those unblinking eyes but apart from that, I was greeted by silence. It unnerved me. Resolving not to be shaken, I forged ahead.
"Trust me when I say this as I have seen his power with my own eyes. It is awe-inspiring."
Redwood was the first to respond and, while he did not seem surprised, he had the look of a man with many questions. "I have heard conjectures relating to such an event but what proof do you bring to this table save for your hearsay? And why summon us from so far when a note would have sufficed?"
I had planned for this.
"I have little in the way of tangible proof to place before your here but I can say this, Ronan Trefendal has pledged his life to the man. I was there to see it."
That one statement brought only a single raised eyebrow from the Vyr but I couldn't have asked for a clearer sign if he had actually gasped out loud. I had important information that he had barely scratch upon and I knew that the desire for this knowledge was beginning to eat him up inside.
Certainly I was not lying. Such a barefaced lie would be penetrated in days and the rights I held to both my position and my head would be forfeit. Lies were not to be tolerated at the Mustering. Did I not mention that? My apologies. It is a tradition rarely invoked but present nonetheless. I do not mean to imply that half-truths and innuendos were not the cornerstones of such meetings as this but a great distinction was made for the telling of outright lies. In our sect, it was second nature to warp fact into fiction but nothing would ever get decided at any Mustering if the members were allowed to mislead others outright. It was one of many such practices that distinguished the Mustering from any informal meeting. As a strange twist, our forebearers had the forsight to add an additional provision; accusing someone of lying and not being able to prove it rendered the same punishment. Once an accusation was made, someone was going to lose their head, be it the charged lier or the accuser and therein lay the delicate balance.
I contemplated whether Redwood would challenge my statement. It would seem almost impossible to anyone who had not witnessed it as I had. Ronan was the head of arguably the most powerful organization on the continent; the Glory of Graeth'al, our Church of the Controllers of the Elements. He was infamous for his pride and his feelings of superiority over all normal Elsmen. To even think that he would pledge himself to another man was inconceivable. I truly hoped that there would be no challenge forthcoming however. While Redwood and I had had only limited official contact, I held a great deal of respect for his abilities and would hate to prove him wrong. Gloating seems to lose much of its appeal when its being done over a dead body. The problem was however that he seemed about to do just that.
I decided to step in first even though it meant exposing a connection I had hoped to keep secret.
"I trust you are skeptical but there is another who was also there. Question Bjorn Vyr' Treun."
The other eyebrow came up and suddenly, he appeared the man who had solved the riddle. He leaned back in his chair, eyes slightly unfocused, thinking. That pause brought the others into the fray.
Mouse was the most insistent questioner, a strong voice among the others in contrast to her tiny frame.
"Who is this man? And what does it mean for us if a man like Ronan Trefendal bows to him?"
"Worthy questions. The first, I can answer. He is Kaylor Baun' Shier, a scholar of Elsmere Major. There is something I must point out. He is not an Elsman. He is Vor' Ozlan."
I watched the color drain from her face. The Vor' Ozlans were a race from the continent to our southwest. While similar in appearance, they were a fierce and extensively militaristic society that had nearly eradicated all of Els on two separate occasions in our history. Were it not for my aquaintance with Kaylor, I might have reacted the same way.
"By that, I mean his ancestory is Vor' Ozlan. He was raised on Elish soil though how and why he was brought here as a child still remains a mystery to us all. Let me say this. He is a respectable man, kind at heart and nothing like his people. I consider him a friend and even an ally as we have been through much together in the past several weeks. He was in this very city until recently."
That put many at the table at ease. Tensions relaxed slightly and I now realized that the time for the second, graver revelation had arrived.
"Even this could have been explained in any note I could have written you all but there is another matter which takes precedence and will require a great deal of attention from us all. You see, if my sources are to be believed, Kaylor is the heir apparent to the throne at Rhyll."
To be continued.... |
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