Shoreseeker

by Brandon M. Lindsay

  “Good.” Erianna nodded once. “My mistress will be pleased when you remove this obstruction to progress. She is, of course, willing to negotiate the means of removing it, should it be necessary.”

  It sounded much like a threat, but everyone knew what she really meant: money.

  “Naruvieth isn’t yet a district,” said Frandera, frustration evident, “since no representative of theirs was able to sign the Accord, and thus they have no Governor or Councilors. Currently, they are merely a territory. That said, the man claiming to represent them further claims that it isn’t merely the territorial government of Naruvieth that objects to further construction of the Runeway, but the people themselves. A number of Naruvieth’s citizens privately own the land where the Runeway is intended to go, and none of them have accepted the terms of purchase, no matter the cost.”

  “So?” Erianna shrugged a shoulder. “Build it anyway.”

  Sherin Firnaleos stood then, dwarfed by her imposing husband at her side. “Though they are just territorial citizens, the people of Naruvieth do follow the very same laws outlined by Andrin’s Council drafted before the building of the Wall. To the letter. In order to claim any legitimacy as his Council’s heirs, we must abide by their right to sell or dispose of their land as they see fit.” She sat back down and said in a clear yet softer voice, “Lest we become the very creatures that Andrin sought to save us from.”

  Yarid tsked silently. No one really thought that the sheggam were a threat. Aside from the odd Knight of the Eye turning, which itself hadn’t been seen in over a hundred and fifty years, they weren’t a threat. There weren’t too many these days that held that bad behavior could turn one into a sheggam. Perhaps some of the more superstitious backwater folk, but even they didn’t admit it publicly.

  Sherin, though, didn’t quite believe that either. Yarid had heard her speak many times, and she seemed to think that a violent human was no better than a sheggam. It was almost as preposterous as people actually turning into sheggam. Yarid was convinced the sole root of her influence lay in her ability to cause others to wonder what she could possibly say next.

  That, and the nameless fear they felt whenever they remembered who her husband was. Rannald stared with his hands folded behind his back in the very image of a soldier, casting judgment on the Twelve Towers woman down below with his cold regard. His presence here was a mystery. Did it have something to do with how their marriage was going? Yarid suspected so. Something for him to check on later.

  Erianna didn’t seem to even notice Rannald. Her eyes were for his wife only. Erianna shook her head, almost sadly. “Foolish, foolish woman,” she muttered, almost to herself, though the words carried to every ear in the Hall.

  Muttering erupted, but Erianna cut it off. “As I said, my mistress has given me leave to attend on her behalf. Thus, I am within rights to hear Naruvieth’s terms on her behalf and determine if they are acceptable.” She stepped to the side, though everyone in the Pit seemed to think it wise to give her a wide berth.

  “Well then,” Gorun said in his gravelly voice at Yarid’s side, “let us proceed. Bring in the Naruvian.” Though he and Yarid often bickered and disagreed about nearly everything, right then he was somewhat proud of the old man for taking some measure of control over the situation.

  From what Yarid already knew, the Naruvian had been staying in the city for the better part of a week already, so Yarid was not surprised when he was very easy to produce … unlike the Governor of Twelve Towers. They waited only a few moments before the double doors groaned open to admit the man.

  Chapter 43: The Naruvian

  It was with minimal interest that those gathered in the Chambers of the Council watched the doors open to the man from beyond the Rift, the very same Rift that had closed Naruvieth off from Accord lands for over six hundred years. Someone down in the Pit even stifled a yawn. The Runeway had bridged the Rift for a year now; while few people in the Chambers had ever laid eyes on a Naruvian, most had deemed the prospect unworthy of the effort. A year was a long time to these people. Looking at Naruvians had become … passé.

  So it was that Yarid himself affected a mostly disinterested pose. Though in truth his attention was fully fixed on what lay beyond those doors.

  Surprise number two.

  What to expect? Surely the proxy from Twelve Towers set the bar high with her garb and her demeanor. Yarid almost worried that he was expecting too much of the man from Naruvieth, as though nothing less than two heads sprouting from his shoulders could live up to the standard that Erianna had set. Even now, she stood off to the side among the rabble, arms folded in a position that drew the eye—though it wasn’t precisely the arms themselves doing the drawing. Many were too busy staring at her to bother with a foreign man. Though she herself watched the door, gaze impassive and stern in an almost practiced fashion.

  Once the doors had fully opened, the man stepped in and took in everything in the Chambers with a single calculating gaze. And what power in that gaze. Though the effect was palpably different, it was instantly apparent that this man was Erianna’s equal, if not her superior, in terms of presence.

  Yarid felt it like a punch in the chest. By the dead silence in the Chambers, he knew the others felt it, too. But why? The man was more poorly dressed than the lowest functionary in the Pit. His tunic was too long for fashion, and his sandals were laced halfway up his calf—over his leggings. Granted, Naruvians had no use for leggings in their bizarrely hot land and doubtless thought of them as a strange contrivance, but a little common sense went a long way. This man clearly had none when it came to dressing to impress.

  Yet impress he did.

  He was darker of skin than most in the Chambers, as though he had worked in the fields his whole life. His straight brown hair, not quite long enough to put in a tail, was held out of his eyes by a leather headband with some sort of emblem in the center—Yarid couldn’t quite make it out from this distance. The man was firmly built but not as large as the two Sentinels that admitted him, and certainly not compared to Firnaleos.

  Yet none of that seemed to diminish him. Not the slightest bit.

  While the Naruvian walked into the center of the Pit, only two other people moved. Rannald Firnaleos stepped to the edge of his wife’s alcove and rested his gloved hands on the railing, and Erianna Vondallor unfolded her arms and let them hang at her sides.

  The man stood in the center of the Pit as if it had been built so many centuries ago for the sole purpose of giving him a place to stand on this very day. He casually rested a hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip, which Yarid only now seemed to notice.

  Though he wasn’t sitting at an ideal angle to study it, Yarid could tell that the sword was finely crafted, if the scabbard and hilt were any indication. He didn’t have time to gather much else about it. The man spoke.

  “I am Tharadis, Warden of Naruvieth as appointed by the people there,” he began. The herald at the door gave a start when he realized he had forgotten his duties. The Naruvian’s voice wasn’t raised, but carried firmly throughout the Chambers, each word echoing faintly.

  “I stand before the Council of the Wall, heirs to Andrin’s Council, the very council that helped him build the Wall that stands between mankind and the creatures that would destroy us. Know that I supplicate myself before their legacy as a debt of honor, and not before what you yourselves have accomplished.”

  It took most of Yarid’s self-control to keep from laughing at the astounded expressions he spied on nearly a dozen faces around the Chambers. Even crusty old Gorun had a look of astonished, speechless indignation. As it was, Yarid couldn’t stifle his grin, but he did put his fingers to his lips to cover it up.

  Well. Today was shaping up to be very interesting indeed. He shifted in his seat ever so slightly to make himself more comfortable for the show to come.

  “There is one consideration to make before we hear your plea, Tharadis of Naruvieth.” Councilwoman Frandera stood and leveled her haug
htiness at Erianna—to no visible effect, of course. “Proxy, do you wish to await the presence of your … Governor, before this man presents his case?” She had almost said mistress.

  “No,” said Erianna. “As I said before, I have the full trust and authority of Shad Belgrith of Twelve Towers in this matter. If anything, she would like this obstacle to the Runeway’s construction to be resolved before she personally addresses the Council.”

  “Very well.” She gestured to the Naruvian. “If there are no further objections or concerns, the floor is yours to make your case.”

  Tharadis nodded. “You all know why I have come.” He slowly turned his gaze, seeming to meet every pair of eyes in the Chambers, even those of the lowlies down in the Pit. “At least on a superficial level. Yet the fundamental cause of my being here has escaped you. From what I understand, most of you were in favor of the construction of the Runeway, and those that aren’t only defied it due to some petty interest of their own or their constituents. None of you thought for a moment that what you were doing was wrong.”

  Just then, Yarid noticed something odd behind him: the two Sentinels, who typically stood utterly impassive and disinterested to all that went on in the Council Chambers, were no longer at attention, but were eyeing Rannald up in Sherin’s alcove. Yarid quickly glanced at the Captain of the Sentinels. The man gave an almost imperceptible nod to the men at the door; they nodded in return.

  Then left.

  Never, ever have the Sentinels left their posts at the doors to the Chambers while the Council was in session. Not even for a change of guard. Not even to relieve themselves. They would rather piss their trousers, and had once in a notorious incident a couple decades before Yarid had begun his stint as Councilor. It was still talked about to this day.

  However, these Sentinels had left with nary an eyebrow raised.

  Save one particularly bushy, white eyebrow belonging to Gorun. “That’s odd …” The old man leaned forward in his chair as he watched the doors close behind them. “They’ve never done that before.”

  Yarid wasn’t paying attention to the old man but was watching Rannald. His wife’s eyes were wide with worry as Rannald left out the door at the back of her alcove. Yarid couldn’t tell if they had exchanged words before Rannald had left. Once the door shut behind him, Sherin leaned with her elbows on her knees, hands holding up her face. Her face was pale, her eyes getting wider by the moment, and she appeared on the verge of crying.

  What in the Abyss had just happened?

  Pembo Sint, apparently unaffected by these historic events happening in the background, stood and wiped his thinning black hair away from his beady little weasel eyes as he addressed Tharadis. “Why, pray you good fellow, should we think that the construction of the Runeway is wrong? It’s a monument to all that mankind has achieved since Andrin’s Wall was built, and done so in the same vein as that great monument. We have pushed back the darkness that was said to have lain behind that Wall,” a very diplomatic—and skeptical—choice of words, if Yarid did say so himself, “and brought what was left of mankind into an era of peace unrivaled in the recounting of all history. And now we bring man to an era beyond even that, where the distances that have separated people from loved ones and from opportunities long thought out of reach are but a trifle.”

  “I am not here to dispute the value of the Runeway,” Tharadis said. That was a surprise, considering his purpose in coming. “However, given the nature of how it came to be, I am skeptical that such value will remain unmolested by those whose sole legitimate purpose is to protect their people.” He didn’t give anyone a moment to digest that. “But you keep saying this word, ‘we.’ Exactly what was your personal role in the construction of Andrin’s Wall, Councilor?”

  Pembo’s eyes darted from side to side, as if damning the rest of the Council for not coming to his aid, and sat back down.

  Tharadis nodded and allowed himself a fierce half-smile. “I leave Andrin his due for what he has done. The very least you could do as the heirs of his Council is the same. I fear it is this very attitude, that because you wear the same mantels of the great men and women of that era, you somehow have the right to take what you want, as payment for accomplishments you have never accomplished.”

  Gorun’s rising from his seat was like a hacked and burned tree stump suddenly growing roots and standing upright. “You imperious runt,” the old man wheezed. “You call this supplication? If you wish to beg any favors from this great Council, you do so with the manner of a barking, snarling dog that still expects a treat.”

  Yarid gaped at his Greater Council counterpart. Even he seemed affected by this madness of blunt speaking. Maybe it was in the air. A silly thought of course, but Yarid covered his mouth just to be safe. He didn't want the same condition to afflict him as well.

  “I ask for no treat, Councilor,” said Tharadis, as calm as the surface of a frozen pond. “Nothing that is not due to myself and my fellow Naruvians as befits our humanity.”

  Sherin, obviously thinking this man was speaking her language, rose. “We of the Council of the Wall of course respect all of our citizens and want to do best by them. Rather than trade further insults, which gains us nothing, what would you have us do?”

  “Very well.” He spread his hands. “At this moment, all I ask is for you to listen to me as I provide my arguments for why the Runeway should not be finished. And then, of course, I ask you to heed my advice, but whether or not you do is up to you.”

  Mollified, Sherin Firnaleos sat back down.

  Tharadis began to pace, but it seemed purposeful, not at all a nervous habit. Those in the Pit, including the proxy from Twelve Towers, had settled back to give him room, watching him with as much interest as everyone else. And with a much better view. For the first time in his life, Yarid felt a stab of envy for them.

  Tharadis stopped his pacing and raised his hand, four fingers outstretched. “I have come prepared with four arguments. I will present the first one, and if it fails to sway you from your course, I will present the next, and so on, until I have exhausted all four arguments. Think of them as four chances to do what is right.”

  Sherin leaned forward in her chair. “What happens if we reject all four arguments?”

  “If it comes to that, I will tell you.”

  She sat back, frowning. She clearly didn’t like the sound of that, and judging by the concerned muttering, neither did anyone else. It didn’t take long sitting in these seats that one became able to recognize a threat when he heard one.

  Yarid thought he would need a hell of a lot more than four arguments to gain their favor. But perhaps he realized that dealing with most of those that comprised the Council wasn’t worth more than four thoughts. They wouldn’t budge, no matter what he had to say, and they would just get lost in the details anyway.

  Tharadis dropped his hand back to the hilt of his sword. “The Runeway, while it doubtless brings value to those who built it, comes at a cost that is unacceptable to many of those south of the Rift. That cost is their private property. That cost is their homes.”

  “This concern has already been addressed,” said Frandera with a poorly-concealed scoff. She stirred the air with her thick fingers dismissively. “These people have already been approached and offered fair, even generous, values for their homes. I certainly hope you are saving the best of your arguments for last, Tharadis of Naruvieth. Otherwise we have a very tedious afternoon ahead of us.”

  Tharadis was unfazed. “Fair?” he asked. “Generous? According to whom? And by what standard? Doubtless whatever you consider to be ‘fair’ and ‘generous’ is whatever happens to be cheaper than forcibly removing them from their homes.”

  Frandera narrowed her eyes. She likely had thought exactly that. “We judge what is fair and generous based on the average prices for such homes. And trust me,” she added, “it was difficult to come up with more than a pittance for some of them.”

  Tharadis nodded. “That much I understand. Bu
t there’s more to it, isn’t there? You don’t simply intend to walk away if these offers are not accepted. These offers you mentioned, they are not the price I am referring to.”

  “Then what is this price?”

  “Simple. Their free will.” He paused. No one filled the silence until he spoke again. “If they do not give you what you want, you will simply take it. Those that live nearer to the Rift, where you intend to finish building the Runeway, may lead a simpler lifestyle than you are used to. But do not think for a moment that they are stupid, that they can’t see through your threats hidden within your promises. Naruvians tend to be a proud people, though it’s not pride in their rulers or the dirt they live on. They are proud of what they themselves have built from nothing, and they are not keen to hand it over to a pack of bullies they have never even met, no matter what the offer.”

  Well. That didn’t bode well for the rest of these discussions.

  “So,” said Tharadis before anyone else could squeeze in a protest, “I have presented my first argument, but let me summarize it for you in case I was being too opaque. Building your Runeway requires land you do not own and will not own unless it is taken by force. The use of force against these innocent people is unacceptable to me, as their sworn protector and representative, and as a human being.”

  He scanned the faces in the Chambers. His hard, unyielding gaze seemed to linger on Yarid longer than on anyone else, even though he hadn’t said a word this whole time. Yarid stifled a shudder and silently berated himself for being intimidated by such a country bumpkin. And a moralist, no less. At Yarid’s side, Gorun was having one of his rare fits of total awareness. When the old man put his mind to it, he could look downright frightening. Cut from the same cloth as the Naruvian, he thought. Perhaps that’s what had Gorun so interested.

  “You have heard what I have to say regarding the first of my arguments. I hope it is enough to sway you.” His voice was neutral, not betraying any doubt as to the realism of that hope. “Will you now abandon the construction of the Runeway?”