Category: Farek

Though Farek had spent his last few months listening for sounds of corruption and crime in the city—and there were many, about which he did nothing—the biggest of them played out right beneath his nose.

A few days after he had threatened Tog of the Claycroft Inn into passiveness, Jannia Gallendris had returned home.  With her came copies of signed documents between Prince Lerran of Sheld and Matriarch Valakono.  The day after her arrival, another ship departed, bearing just over five thousand Grey Sea coins in the form of three thousand Gallendris gold bouillon.  It was, of course, escorted by two other ships, full of archers and ballistae. Continue reading Farek 9

The Claycroft Tavern rose over the adjacent rooftops of an old Saltwater Army Barracks-turned homeless shelter and a successful clothier’s shop, built of big clay bricks from the north coast of Var Nordos.  By the evening, when Farek made his way toward it, there were tables set up right across the whole stone-tiled street.  Drinkers and gamblers lounged in big wooden chairs while women in scanty silk clothes weaved a metaphoric dance of hushed words and clinking coins around them.  The guards did not work for the city; Claycroft could afford their own hired muscle dressed with short swords bristling at their waists and blue sashes dangling past their knees. Continue reading Farek 8

Farek stopped reviewing the financial report and massaged his closed eyes with the back of his knuckles and then his fingers.  He needed a break, to catch his breath.  But his breath wasn’t missing; it was more to escape the overwhelming dryness of his tasks and review everything that had happened.  Which was, to be honest, very little.  Farek sighed.  The most consequential event in his sister’s absence was the withdrawal of twelve hundred coins by Paral Magavar, concerning which all of Farek’s research had only revealed one thing. Continue reading Farek 7

For a disconcerting moment, Farek looked at his window from his contorted position amidst bed-sheets and cushions.  He was sweaty and his throat was dry and he couldn’t tell from the overcast horizon out there what time of day it was.  He had overslept—of that much he was certain.  There was light on the mountains to the east, in the direction of Noress-That-Was, but the city still seemed dim.  Was it going to rain, at last?

“Guard,” he called, sitting on his bedside with his elbows on his knees. Continue reading Farek 6

The salty air of Raider’s Bay never got old.  There was something in it that stirred Farek up inside, made him feel like the namesake invader with his hands on the prow of a ship.  Of course, there had never been a battle at sea here.  The water was red because of its mineral content. Continue reading Farek 5

Farek and Norrey didn’t always only chat in the pub.  They were friends, not just a bartender and a regular.  One afternoon close to the middle of the Moon, they went down to see the tournament at Tarlow Ground.  The chase was a four mile camping and trading area built on the coast of Raider’s Bay, and during the ides of each moon a number of the city’s lords put on gladiatorial fights.  Each bout only lasted until a predetermined score of hits had been landed, or until one warrior yielded—this was not Radregar, where sport involved death.  In Var Nordos, civilization was kept by its rules and guidelines. Continue reading Farek 4

Rays of sunlight streamed in the open window of the Gallendris Mansion and caught in the imported glass cup that sat on the table in front of Farek.  Scattered dots of light arrayed themselves against his shoulders, the table, and the walls on either side of him.  He turned the cup and the light shimmered. Continue reading Farek 3

The week was like most others.  It ambled past as Farek attended a meeting with his sisters, spent two days enduring supervision of their trade goods warehouse, and another two counting bank notes—thankfully coin counting was left to his subordinates.  The Bank of Soros employed some two thousand individuals in its various departments and Farek was certain that most of his jobs could be handled easily by a trusted supervisor.  But that would just leave him more time to waste away with his head over a bar, and he’d rather do his part, if only to the letter of it. Continue reading Farek 2

Rain fell on Soros for the tenth time of the new year.  Slick wooden shingles trickled down along the ornate stone walls of the mansions on Coin Hill and fell from curved eaves to reflect lantern light like spears of light that reached heavenward.  Everything seemed a little brighter, the edges a little softer, the night a little warmer—because Farek Gallendris, the wealthiest bachelor in the city of sorrows, had already a few drinks within him.  Hand on his sword pommel and buckled collar keeping the water on the outside of his barkcloth brown coat, Farek paced along the cobblestone street from Coin Hill, where his family lived, toward his favourite bar: Norrey’s Pub. Continue reading Farek 1