The ill warrior lay on an infirmary cot, surrounded by sweat and shirtless. His skin was pale and inflamed, and he shifted his position as Farek watched, groaning and twisting onto his side. Matek didn’t notice his friends watching him in concern, though the healer assured them that he was not unconscious in the conventional sense. Continue reading Farek 29
Farek and his comrades stayed in the city of Oshibor for a few days, but soon set out aboard a new vessel, a chartered ship. This time, they were the only passengers, with full say-so over the captain’s destinations. It cost more than securing passage aboard a vessel with a similar destination, but Candro’s Crossing was a smaller craft than The Borala. Continue reading Farek 28
The city of Oshibor ruled its province from a lowland, not a majestic hill or far-seeing cliff. The harbour was connected to the rest of the city by a few roads, lined with new homes, like it had been a separate town was nearly encompassed into the bustling burg. Their voyage had been long and even the thrill of seeing the steely point of Draggad Isle had become a stalwart resolve as they watched it shift past for two or three days. But Oshibor, gleaming as the rising sun finally shone down the rocky slopes of the Great Isle’s coast, had instilled a sense of relief in Farek and his friends. Continue reading Farek 27
Seagulls spiraled overhead, screeching down at the sailors of The Borala. The two-masted galley left a trail of foamy behind them, regardless of what the winged hagglers called for. Keeping the vessel on course were fifteen crewmen and six passengers. They’d only been out of Soros for a few days, and their pursuant birds still judged the land close enough. Every other morning, the sailors would drop down nets, and the gulls would take their picks from the haul. Continue reading Farek 26
Droplets of condensation formed on the cool brass cup of beer, collecting in a ring of water on the polished wooden bar of the Royal Whale. Farek’s fingerprints filled with water when he lifted the cooled drink to take a sip. It was a hot day, as the rainy season took a brief hiatus and the sun beat down on the city of Soros.
Farek’s first important conversation after his return from Noress-That-Was had been held in Jannia’s office. He had explained to his sister that he had discovered the origin of the assassin—the House of Kiaraka. But of course, the Mazaar had done her best to convince Farek to stay in his office, counting coins, and send paid adventurers to seek out the mysterious estate. Continue reading Farek 25
No matter how many times Farek saw the Bank of Soros from the land approach, he would never get used to it. He had spent years working in the waterfront, seeing the miles of winding streets and uneven storeyed buildings that covered the lowland before Coin Hill and its lofty estates. From the rear, the shape of the city became more apparent. If Soros was an egg, then Coin Hill was its yolk, off-centre and protected by only a small band of residential and commercial districts. Continue reading Farek 24
A pair of stained leather boots did little to protect Farek’s feet from the stagnate water of Cobblestone Bog. They walked along a scaffold that ran down the center of one of the main streets, but in occasional low dips, Farek and his friends found their boots slowly dampening as they splashed through ankle-deep water.
In front of the Wily Window, a small drinking house off one of the central avenues, they sploshed their shins through the tidal swamp water and up a set of eroded stone steps. “Sievus and Diaren, wait out here,” Farek ordered. “Matek, wait out here a few minutes, then go to the bar.”
“You got it, boss,” Matek replied, putting his back against one of the deck supports. Continue reading Farek 23
The city of Noress-That-Was, if it could still be called such, reached from the heights of cliff-side castles to the depths of drowned ruination. Under the orange sky of twilight, the royal homes of the Matriarchs rested, with smoke-stained walls and drearily aged roofs. Only miles away, the sinking land slowly lowered the city’s original palaces and sprawling streets into the obscured depths.
The Old Empire had fallen nearly fifteen hundred years ago when the Orrish had crashed down from the burning skies. Though it was nearly old enough, this wasting city had never been built during those days. The Grand City of Noress had been completely obliterated when the meteor came down, and the provinces had splintered. One alliance had built a glorious new home, on the point they deemed closest to the old land. Thus, Noress-That-Was had come to be. Continue reading Farek 22
It took Farek a few days longer than he intended to get everything in order for his trip to Noress-That-Was. He spent a few hours enjoying a meal with Simi one night, to make certain she’d watch out while he was gone. He also had to make certain all of his work responsibilities would be handled by the subordinates he chose, and a few conversations with Jannia ensured both his plots in Soros and his finances for their House would be handled if anything in need of attention came up in his absence. Continue reading Farek 21
The day of Lord Mavagar’s feast was a restless one for Farek. He was looking forward to Silea’s company, and to whatever he might learn about their host. His office in their mansion was littered with stacks of pages and books he had been studying, but he sat in the midst of it all without the ability to focus.
When there were two hours before he would need to meet Silea at her front door, he finally escaped his stupor by marching through the door. One of his subordinates, a money-counter named Lorg, stuttered as Prince Gallendris brushed past without a word. Farek’s pace took him quickly off of their property. He needed a drink—and he had not recently checked the Royal Whale tavern for word from House Viotro. The sun gleamed off the pink water of Raider’s Bay and illuminated his walk with a burgundy glow. Continue reading Farek 20