“I hear the Elvish High Command are dissatisfied with the proposed Allocation,” Tanis replied in a flat tone.
“Where did you get that information, son?”
“Dispatch rider. I was practicing down by the river and his horse came by for a drink.”
Catelyn exchanged a look with her father. One thing was certain - when Tanis spoke, it was usually a good idea to listen. He was sparing in his words and even more sparing in his opinions. A ruminative, considered type, Tanis hated the outdoors but possessed a strong aptitude for numbers. More specifically, money. He was only likely to become animated when discussing the folly of buying silverware or lavishing crowns on a hard-backed coach. Such pragmatism inevitably drew Devon’s ire on occasion. Where the old man was idealistic, Tanis was willfully sober-minded. Devon cared for the wider village community, Tanis showed little interest in the lives of others. And yet for all that, Vesna and Hadley counted themselves staunch admirers.
For her part, Catelyn wasn’t as close to Tanis as she would’ve liked. For some reason there was a barrier between them, something that couldn’t be overcome by time, proximity and blood. She shared her father’s social conscience and found Tanis’s lack of empathy a little confronting. Despite their differences, they’d developed a cautious friendship. Ultimately, however, the fact that they’d never argued before was reflective of the space between them.
“Horses are more trustworthy than the idle chatter of dispatch riders,” Devon said, feigning disinterest. On the surface he seemed as convivial as ever, but Catelyn’s finely attuned senses detected something black underneath the froth and bubble. She made a mental note to investigate later, when Devon retired for his post-dinner arello.
“What did he say, Tanis?” Catelyn asked, curiosity getting the better of her. As it invariably did.
“Only that humans aren’t to be trusted under any circumstances,” came the reply. “That’s all he knew. I think he was riding hard for Duskovy Castle, then Andra. Probably all the way to Lakeshore.”
“Thank you, Tanis,” Devon said. “I very much doubt the rider was privy to the message he carried. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”
Which was fine for the children twelve and under. For the rest, Tanis’s news was troubling indeed. The Allocation that Tanis had referred to was the formal negotiation between the members of the Fellowship of War - elves, dwarves, humans and orcs. Allies for several centuries, these races had come together to wage war on the dune skrim of the Kashar Empire. Known as the Hespades War, the conflict centered on the forced enslavement of native mountain folk in the Hespades Range. After four years of fighting, the Allies had won the day, liberating the hespadi and dealing the dune skrim a significant blow in the process.
By prior agreement, the various spoils of war were to be shared evenly amongst the Fellowship. Defeating the dune skrim was always a lucrative activity. If Tanis’s source was to be believed, the allocation process had been undermined by corrupt human Representatives. Bribery and extortion were just two of the charges commonly leveled against human emissaries in Staga, an elvish city on the Eastern Veld. The level of animosity toward humans had grown so fierce in recent years that their status as Fellowship members was in question for the first time ever.
Catelyn watched her father carefully. At that moment he struck such a lonely, disconsolate figure that Catelyn felt like laying an arm around him. Tanis’s news had clearly wriggled under his skin.
“I’m not sure this is an appropriate topic for the dinner table,” Vesna said, kneading her temples.
The meal progressed as it always did - with a collision of rapid reports on the events of the morning. Cybil had taken the younger children into the village for the first home-made sorbet of the season. Greta and Yolanda were chased from Thomas Majo’s strawberry fields.
Doran reported that Yorick, one of his rivals for the garrison intake, had broken his arm in a training accident. Catelyn wondered aloud if that was good or bad news, triggering laughter around the table. Somewhat predictably, Hadley chided her for being mean-spirited. Catelyn was used to her older sister’s sermons and bowed in acquiescence.
Freshly-baked lemon tart with whipped cream was accompanied by the quiet clink of cutlery. Once the dishes had been cleared away, Yolanda suggested a game of Song of Salany. Greta grunted in agreement and retrieved the conquest board from the hallway cabinet. Normally Catelyn liked nothing better, but this time she followed her father out to the patio.
The early afternoon spoke strongly of spring. A cluster of gannets poked about on the roof of the granary and the yard animals were unusually active. Standing under eaves draped with fragrant ivy, Devon took a deep draw of his arello, letting the smoke out slowly. Grimacing in pain, he settled on his favorite stone bench before spotting his daughter.
“Might have known you’d be onto me,” he said with a tired smile.
Catelyn sat next to her father, enjoying the freshness of the day.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, opting for a direct approach. “You’re weighed down.”
Devon nodded slowly, helpless in the face of his daughter’s relentless curiosity.
“Just railing against Father Time,” he said. “You little people are changing far too quickly for my liking.”
“I’m more worried about you,” Catelyn pressed. “I used to believe there were no secrets in those eyes. These days I know it’s not true.”
Devon drew his daughter close with his free hand. She relished the contact, but if anything it made her more anxious. Buzzards hovered among the rose bushes, their industry suggesting an imminent change in weather.
“I’m sorry, Cat,” Devon said. “Parents grow accustomed to withholding information. It does them no good in the long run.”
“Tell me about the Islands of Holy Light,” Catelyn said quickly, seeing an opening. “Tell me how you met mother.”
She wasn’t sure why she needed to delve into this old, time-worn vault. She knew Devon as well as any daughter could - the contemporary version, anyway. Instinct told her that whatever happened on those islands thirty years ago had gone a long way to shaping the complex man who now held her close. There was a darkness in Devon completely at odds with his naturally ebullient character.
“Damn you,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “I suppose you deserve to know. Cat.”
Devon puffed away as he gathered his thoughts. Catelyn felt a surge of dread, wondering what lay in the forbidden box she’d forced open.
“I never serenaded Vesna with wine and flowers,” her father began. “The real story was a little different. My arrival on Ascension, the eastern-most island, was an unmitigated disaster. My friend Rolf and I stupidly made the passage from Calitz in driving rain. Our putty was dashed on the rocks and we were lucky to survive. Drunk from several bottles of wine, we stumbled into an abandoned fishing village. It was dark, cold and I had a splitting headache. Not so heroic after all, right? Rolf passed out in a collapsed stable. Determined to find some warmth, I foolishly opened a trapdoor and lowered myself down. It was a cellar. Veil upon veil of spider webs. Exhausted, I simply lay myself down on the floor and shivered. Vomited everything I’d drank and more. Must’ve ripped my stomach lining because there was blood too. It was surreal, lying on that strange cellar floor. It was my first real adventure away from home and it looked as though my over-confidence would be my undoing. At length I became aware of a muted light - there was an old man in the corner holding a candle. I was in no condition to study him closely, but his presence certainly struck me as a little odd. In a low, cracked voice he asked me if I needed anything. I told him I believed was I close to death. He chuckled, mumbling something about irony. That was when my blood ran cold - I knew this man wasn’t what he appeared to be. I asked him what he meant. He calmly informed me he was a dire mage. Unable to process that information, I asked him how he happened to be in the cellar. Turns out he’d come there to die. He was one hundred and twelve years old and do
ne with the world. His eyes glittered in the darkness. I don’t know if my mind has embellished that image over the years or if he was truly that frightening. The mage just stood there by the crumbling casks, watching me with the faintest of smiles. I felt like death and couldn’t move. My body was overcome with intermittent waves of pain. I was unable to improve my situation in the intervening periods. All I could do sweat, shiver and prepare myself for the next hell as it rolled toward me. The night passed slowly, slower than any night before or since. I may have passed in and out of sleep. At one point I could’ve sworn the old man was baring his yellowed teeth, but I was so delirious at this point I cannot trust my memory. I finally lapsed into a heavy slumber. When I came to, sunlight was streaming in from the open trapdoor. Ignoring the lancing pain in my head, I stumbled over to where the old man had been standing. Cat, you’ll never know the immense relief I felt when I almost tripped over the mage’s already-stiff corpse. His body was so heavy I couldn’t even turn him over. Incredibly, it had left an indentation and several cracks in the treated hardwood floor. I scrambled through the trapdoor, elated to be free of the place. I couldn’t stop shaking as I blinked in the morning light. Far from nourished by the sun, I felt a deep chill in my bones. In my core. I lumbered around the blackened ruin looking for Rolf, to no avail. The ice in my guts was relentless and I began to panic. The last thing I remember is hobbling across the top of a windy headland above the village. A woman’s voice carried to me on the nearshore gale. I thought it must have been a syren.”
Devon looked his daughter squarely in the eye.
“Vesna saved me, Catelyn. Vesna Arena, a total stranger, took me into her family home and nursed me back to health. Six months. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t control my bodily functions. She saw me back to the light. She saved me. That’s how we met. That’s why I love and honor my wife. That’s it.”
Devon sat back, taking a final pull on his arello. Catelyn looked out over the yard. She couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Her father had effectively blundered his way into Vesna’s life. The ‘dire mage’ was probably just a vagrant. As for Devon’s mysterious illness, that was probably acute hypothermia. She’d read that the Islands of Holy Light could be very cold.
Catelyn looked up at her father, who seemed older all of a sudden. His smoke trails disappeared into the afternoon haze, no longer hinting at mystery and intrigue. His past had been stripped of its magic. She couldn’t help but think that the monsters of her youth had finally been slain, and the continent of Elesta would forever be drained of color.
It was time to enter the real world.
2 - Tanis
Blinking his sleep away, Tanis La Berne combed his slick brown hair neatly to the side. It was getting a little long and Vesna wanted to cut it. He would resist that until he could get to Andra and find a real barber. After all, he was now a young man of means. He patted down the loose strands and ensured his clothes - linen breeches and thick cotton house coat - were in respectable order.
Doran, whom he roomed with, was already down in the yard sparring with Catelyn. Their grunts, along with the occasional clash of steel, was proving to be an effective alarm clock, regardless of the need. Something about their dedication irked him. The chances of Doran making it in to the Baron’s garrison were certainly solid enough to warrant the investment, but what about Cat? Right now she was effectively masquerading as a trainee sword-maiden when the were no tangible future prospects in sight. Doran did need a viable training partner, but the la Bernes weren’t exactly destitute. Their father had recourse to a number of young men at Doran’s skill level. Surely Catelyn’s sharp mind could be applied elsewhere?
Tanis yawned as he drew his breeches down for his morning pee. The sound of the strong, steady stream against the wood was somewhat pleasing. The feel of his hand against his penis elicited a slight stiffening. He cocked his ear - the house was reasonably quiet. Cybil had taken the younger children outside to the garden while mama prepared the porridge. The sharp tang of fresh strawberries reached the upper level of the house.
The bedroom door was ajar and Tanis eased himself forward to close it. Keeping an eye on the entrance, Tanis remained seated on the edge of his bed, thinking of Kaaren Gerrity’s little “accident” yesterday. She’d been sitting under the Seeing Oak at noon, hot and flushed from her travel. Her attempt at removing her woolen shawl had dragged the underlying shift with it. Tanis had gotten a good two seconds’ glimpse of her flat, drooping breasts. Kaaren wasn’t exactly easy on the eye, even by Guill standards, but Tanis rarely saw such things and couldn’t shove the image from his mind.
Gripping his erect penis, he pictured himself moving in close to Kaaren’s teats, his lips brushing softly over the erect nipples. He could feel her hands on his head, begging him to push harder.
“Lick,” she says, clutching at his hair. “I’ve been waiting forever.”
Tanis gasped, exploding across the room. He controlled the rest of his orgasm, limiting the noise as much as possible. Heavy footsteps echoed down the upper hallway and he stood in alarm, dripping onto the floor. Must be Yolanda or Greta, barging down the stairs for breakfast. He could hear Vesna’s faint voice in the garden. The danger had passed. Tanis unwrapped the soft leather cloth Devon had given him to clean his mandolin, only mildly guilty to be using it for a different purpose. Dry and retracted, he fastened his breeches and took a deep breath. He’d needed that. Doran was a heavy sleeper and there was ample opportunity for a little privacy during the night, but Tanis had never taken the risk. For a sensitive sixteen-year-old, the worst case scenario just wasn’t worth it.
Steadfastly ignoring the silliness of his younger siblings, Tanis ate his porridge with a minimum of fuss. Flushed from the steamy kitchen, Vesna moved among the squawking children with saintly calm, her bulbous porridge urn tucked under one arm. The wooden spoon in her right hand was a constant threat to anyone who flirted with the notion of playing up or acting the donkey.
Hadley was sitting at the small table by the window, writing on parchment as she waited for her bowl to cool. She was probably making last-minute arrangements for the Equinox Feast, which loomed on the morrow. This was her third year on the festival committee. Her world was one of pristine chrysanthemums and silk-worm table cloth. Tanis could never quite make out the monetary benefit of all Hadley’s fussing, but she clearly relished it and it did generate a modicum of good will for the family. An intangible commodity in such short supply across the Southern Reaches.
Amid the domestic bustle around him, Tanis’s mind was already turning to the business of the day. Only a few months ago he’d established his own modest trading business in Guill. Truth be told, he could hardly call it a business. He had no warehouse or shop space, nor did he have any capital to establish such infrastructure. What he did have was a shrewd mind and a talent for finding angles of opportunity.
For starters, he had legs and he knew the local geography intimately. Where someone like Catelyn might see pockets of remnant woodland surrounded by verdant fields of wildflowers, Tanis could see a network of trade. His regular morning walks weren’t merely pleasant diversions - they were covert fact-finding missions. Over several, pain-staking months of intelligence gathering Tanis knew, for instance, that Sam Gerrity received a pallet of fresh produce direct from Andra at Barge Landing every Wednesday. He also knew that the bargemen were part of the powerful Ebbe Trade Company and that land-based transfers had been snuffed out over a decade ago. Months of casual conversation with district farmers had exposed an intriguing state of affairs.
Many weren’t entirely happy with the Andra-Guill trade monopoly and were open to the idea of competitive trade routes. Tanis had already established a few minor links with Feyn Bridge to the south. The southernmost town of the Reaches was the terminus of barge trade and ostensibly under the thumb of the ETC, but twice now Tanis had come away with several exotic trade items sourced from the troubled Kashar border. His southern
contacts were scratchy at best - a drug-addled deserter and a Hespadi vagrant. There was certainly no sustainability around Tanis’s business thus far, leading him to the conclusion that his best area of focus was the northern river town of Andra. A difficult nut to crack, to be sure, but Tanis was certain he would find a way. A successful business was his waking dream. The desire to support his family into his parents’ retirement was something he held so close to his heart he didn’t dare tell anyone about it. He was often told he kept people at arms-length, even his family, and he supposed it was true. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t a crime to enjoy his own company. With eight siblings, his time alone was hard won.
His bowl licked clean, Tanis dashed upstairs to retrieve a roll of parchment and a quill. He liked to write down any information that contributed to his wider picture of the financial landscape in the Southern Reaches. On his way out to the yard he swiped a cold ham from the pantry.
“May hundreds of crowns flow into your pockets,” Vesna said, swatting him out the door.
No one was more supportive of Tanis’s endeavors than she was, but there was an amused detachment in her eyes, as if she fully expected his networking would ultimately amount to nothing. Much to his chagrin, it was a common enough response to his various activities. What would a middle-class Representative’s son know about agricultural trade? Why would he even need to work for a living? Tanis bristled at the frequent and all too predictable jibes he received, often wishing he wasn’t saddled with the la Berne name. In many ways his family languished in the worst of both worlds - not wealthy enough to be regarded as “gentry” but far too bourgeois to be considered in the same breath as common folk. As Devon himself was fond of observing, there were precious few friends to be had on the top rung of a small, isolated village. As a young man looking to foster business connections in the Southern Reaches, the la Berne name was a ball and chain at Tanis’s feet.
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