Seizing the moment, Jader loosed off a series of arrows and made sure each hit their mark. Incredibly, the hounds shattered on impact, their bodies crumbling into chalky slabs that leaked dust into the mud. Tanis wavered on his feet, feeling immeasurably weak. Adalita lay broken and bloodied a few yards away. When the last hound was down, Jader turned to Tanis with an exultant expression. His sinewy, tough body froze when a hand burst through his chest as if it were made of tissue paper. The veteran ranger fell with a slick, wet sound, no match for the gaping hole in his torso. A slender figure stood by the wall. She was so tall and so slight that Tanis’s mind almost rejected the possibility of her being real.
Well over eight foot, the Tall Lady was imposing by default. Tanis wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, perhaps a ghastly, naked ghoul or an ethereal wraith, but the fabled Witch of Fenril was something else entirely. Not human. Her form was too extreme, her features too disturbing. There was nothing provocative or frightening about her clothing - in fact, the intricate velvet embroidery and rich brocade spoke of taste and elegance. Her ankle-length, forest green dress was the definition of stylish modesty. The pinstriped corset sparkled in the fading light and looked extraordinarily well-made. If it wasn’t for the punishing suffocation of an impossibly thin waist, one might’ve been positively disposed to it.
A broad-brimmed hat the size of a giant’s shield completed the ensemble. The honest farm wives of Guill used to wear such things - on a much smaller scale - at the Blossom Carnival. Finally, the witch’s face was a bizarre collection of startlingly pretty elements baked into a hideous whole. Her pale, porcelain jaw was far too wide, her hypnotic emerald eyes too far apart, her seductively crimson lips overly serpentine. All in all, the Tall Lady, perhaps a luminous, dazzling brunette in her distant past, had been distorted beyond recognition by internal agents. Tanis was overcome by a peculiar emotion as he stood pinned to the spot. Something like sympathy crouched sheepishly in the corners of his mind.
Adalita groaned. Tanis emerged from his dangerous stupor and realized the witch had been looking at his lover the whole time.
“Dear me,” she said in a low, masculine voice, a voice that jarred considerably with the rest of the package. “You must allow me to tend to your friend. I fear for her life.”
Tanis struggled for words, ashamed he wasn’t already by Adalita’s side. But then, he’d momentarily lost the ability to think coherently.
“I’ve been waiting a long time, young man,” the Witch of Fenril said, eyes glittering with pride. “It’s not every day a Lady’s consort returns from the dead.”
12 - Hadley
A light drizzle floated through the towering cypress, a suitable accompaniment to a Crown Funeral. Hadley stood next to Governor Ballist at the forefront of the invitation-only mourners who had gathered in the shadows of Saint Anyar. Her pitch-black dress, tastefully embroidered in the riverland style, was a far cry from the soiled rags she’d been sporting just a few days ago. A stream of burly soldiers, plucked directly from the local garrison, lowered a total of eleven coffins into freshly-dug graves. Three were half-sized, representing her younger siblings Ril, Hettie and Billy. As the soldiers set about burying the empty, purely symbolic coffins, Hadley bit her lower lip but couldn’t prevent very real tears from sliding forth. Ballist noticed her distress and squeezed her hand. Swinging an incense burner in languid arcs, Cardinal Plage herself wandered back and forth behind the graves. Ballist had insisted on the best of everything - after all, Hadley’s story was one that “all Ardennians should savor”. Her village had been mercilessly torched, her family gutted like pigs. And yet here she was, “towering” in her resolve, ready to “give herself” to Andra ahead of the dark days to come.
Ballist’s reaction to Hadley’s original account had been honeyed indeed. Prime real estate at the Saint Anyar cemetery - an entire row in the royal quarter, no less - had been arranged for “the most important Crown Funeral the town had witnessed in years.”
Glancing at Hadley through his bloodshot, hooded eyes, Ballist ambled to a lectern in front of the graves.
“Friends,” he began, without recourse to a written speech, “It is with a heavy heart that we finally lay the la Berne family to rest. Stout of heart and pristine in character, the la Bernes were the beating heart of Guill. Devon la Berne, figurehead and inspired intellectual, provided decades of loyal service to his liege, the good Baron Duskovy. Vesna la Berne, no less influential in tending to the Tavalen estate and raising ten children. That each should be so highly spoken of, so fondly remembered, is testament to the flawless character of this family. That worthy innocents were targeted in such a brutal manner simply fills me shock and despair. And yet, as the troubles of the world threaten to smother us, a jewel rises on a tide of blood to stir our resilience. Hadley la Berne, lone survivor of Guill, is here, in Andra, to tell us what real strength, the kind that wins wars, is all about.”
Thick hands clasped over his belly, the burly Governor stood to one side. With a shock Hadley realized she was now expected to speak. Ballist had not forewarned her in the slightest - this was just another of his little manipulations. If she had time to prepare, she would’ve steeled herself for this moment. As it was, her emotions were on full display - just the way he wanted it. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she made her way to the lectern. Ballist had made what was ostensibly a political stunt real for her, so she decided to use that to her advantage.
“I never … asked for all of this. Governor Ballist, you have honored me with your devoted attention, but I would not elevate my suffering above others who have lost as much. My heart bleeds for families across the Southern Reaches … torn asunder through no fault of their own.”
Ril’s lifeless face presented itself in Hadley’s mind and she broke down, sobbing into her hands. Damn you, Ballist. When she recovered herself, she saw that there was hardly a dry eye in the congregation, which was mostly comprised of Andra’s elite families and officials. Even the Cardinal looked morose. Only Ballist appeared unmoved, his piggy eyes gleaming with triumph. The sight drove a wedge of steel through Hadley’s grief and braced her soul. Clear in what she must do, she straightened her back and composed herself.
“This is the last time you will see me cry,” she said, meaning every word. “My losses are great, but the time for tearful reflection is past.” She looked directly at the Governor. “I am a woman in motion. My gaze does not dwell miserably on what lies behind, nor does it linger dangerously on the far horizon. Andra is here and now. I am delighted to become an honorary citizen and, as the Governor himself said, I pledge myself to your cause. Nay, I throw myself at your feet and implore each and every one of you to make use of me.”
Hadley felt her expression harden as she gripped the lectern tightly.
“My resolve has been forged in the fires of Hell itself. I will not waver. I will not bend. This great city will not only survive the coming storm, it will shine brighter in the face of it. If all I can bring is hope, then it is with the greatest of pride that I fill you all to the very brim.”
Hadley bowed her head, allowing her message to sink in. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ballist grinning from ear to ear. The congregation remained silent, a mark of respect for the luminous woman who had lost it all but had risen, like the fabled djinn, from the ashes.
“You spoke as if you’ve known me all your life,” Hadley said to Ballist as they made their way into his atrium. There, surrounded by luscious grass ferns and night-down butterflies, luncheon had been set for three. “Your retention of detail is astounding.”
“It pays to remember names and faces,” Ballist said as he eased his large frame into a chair. “I cannot deny the political currency of your situation.”
A slight smile played on the Governor’s generous lips. “You played your part to perfection, Hadley.”
She couldn’t help but smile as she sat down. The “funeral” was her first public appearance with Ballist and they were alre
ady reading each other extremely well. In fact, the morning’s success spoke of two minds that saw the world through the same lens. Hadley was old enough to appreciate the rarity of such a connection.
Karla Ballist entered the atrium and removed her wet bonnet with a sigh.
“I congratulate you both,” the Governor’s wife said with a trace of ice. “The funeral appears to have met a number of our objectives.”
The use of the word “our” wasn’t lost on anybody. Karla was still the Governor’s wife and would be treated as such. Hadley felt very much like a provincial upstart around her, but that was hardly surprising. She was clearly a competitor for Ballist’s affections and Karla was defending her very livelihood. From what Hadley could tell, she was a capable woman. One-dimensional dullards were not in the habit of attracting Ballist’s attention. However, Hadley had the advantage of being the new girl in town and brought a certain freshness to the table. She’d also proved her bona-fides by delivering the Andra Rats on a platter. Her celebrated double-cross, achieved through the simple means of malacine powder, allowed the Governor’s soldiers to track their way to the Rats’ underground hideout.
Grell and Dalton were swinging from the gallows within a day of capture. In normal circumstances, Ballist might’ve permitted them to rot in a cell, or even face fair trial, but with the orcish army on the move in the south, time was of the essence. Andra was like a fragile vase teetering on the edge of its pedestal, and the Governor was loathe to tempt fate by keeping traitorous conspirators alive. For her part, Hadley was of course pleased with how things had turned out. She had blood on her hands, that was clear. But she only had to think of Lucinda, the girl Hadley replaced in the Rats’ murky scheme, to feel vindicated. The girl had been murdered and tossed aside like rancid meat. No - despite the roguish, vaguely honorable light in which the Rats saw themselves, they were little more than common thugs. In one, fell swoop, a newcomer, a non-fighting woman at that, had dismantled the town’s underground trade and removed a significant thorn in the Governor’s side. It was more than enough to impress a man like Ballist. Most importantly, it demonstrated her ice-cold resolve. The Governor would never have selected her as his political darling if she hadn’t shown her wares first.
A light lunch of poached figs, wine and cheese was served. A herald was announced just as the silence became awkward. Ballist read the delivered missive with a furrowed brow. He took his time scooping out the contents of a fig before speaking.
“Duskovy Castle has fallen,” he said. “The months we thought we had are gone. The orcs will no doubt secure their holding and continue north to Andra.”
“And the Baron?” Karla asked, pale-faced.
“Retreated across Kain Gorge with the majority of his men. His host should arrive within days.”
Hadley took a moment to gather her thoughts. The Governor and his wife were trained not to reveal their emotions, which was difficult in circumstances such as these. Castle Duskovy had stood firm for centuries, always a hulking beacon of protection for Guill and most of the Southern Reaches.
“How did the orcs avoid a siege?” she asked. It seemed incredible that any army could achieve such a feat.
“The Baron is sparing in his communication,” Ballist said, “but rumors suggest magic was involved.”
Hadley winced at that - it was hard enough to prepare for purely physical foes. In this day and age, magic was a force largely unknown to Ardennia. Ballist seemed to withdraw into private rumination as he ate. Hadley likewise attacked her food, sensing the Governor needed time to absorb the bad news.
“Milord,” Karla ventured. “We’ll need to initiate evacuation procedures at once. An army that can bring down Duskovy Castle will strip Andra like blood ants on a fresh carcass.”
Ballist grunted, bristling at the suggestion.
“Let us be clear. All we have is the Baron’s brief report. Full details of the attack will not emerge until he and his officers are safely in our custody. In the meantime, we will prepare for a lengthy siege. As planned.”
“The people are buoyed by your victory over the criminal underground, milord,” Hadley said. “It is prudent to wait until more facts are at hand.”
Karla handed Hadley a withering glare when Ballist’s head was lowered. Hadley responded with a blank, innocent look, calculated to infuriate.
“The Sanctum, then,” Karla pressed. “A relocation to Lakeshore, or Runesveld at the very least. I cannot help but feel that outright chaos is imminent. The common folk would provide an effective bulwark against further attack.”
Ballist peered over his nose at his wife. It was a look that Hadley had already come to recognize as profound disdain.
“An interesting proposal,” he said. “You would flee with your riches whilst abandoning the Nook? The hearts of some twenty thousand loyal citizens turned black against us in the blink of an eye. Not even Rosten could quash such ire.”
An awkward silence descended like cold mist. Hadley had already settled her own thoughts on the subject, but timing was everything. She concentrated on her food and allowed the tension between husband and wife to fester. At length she pushed her plate away and took a draught of lemon water.
“Ardennia must defend itself every step of the way,” she said. “It is critical for our morale. It is also critical for Lakeshore’s prospects.”
That last drew a sharp look from Ballist. Just as Hadley hoped, the Governor was reading her private signals loud and clear.
“Indeed,” he mused. “We must stand firm for the sake of the people.”
Hadley almost laughed at that - the pair were now openly ridiculing Karla, but she had not the rat cunning to notice. Such defects would lead to her downfall - Hadley was certain of it.
“Aurora Rosten indicated as much before she left,” Ballist said. “She also conveyed her particular admiration for you, Hadley.”
“I’ll be in the upper drawing room,” Karla said, pushing herself away from the table. “There is much to prepare, milord.”
Ballist grunted a second time, turning his attention to a pot of tea.
Hadley felt a tingle up her spine, wondering if Karla was close to defeat. It wouldn’t happen today, or tomorrow, but soon enough. If there was one glaring weakness in Karla’s skill-set, it was a common touch. She might’ve been able to read Ballist’s moods, but she’d lost the ability to read the people of Andra. That rendered her useless to him.
“I wish to see you later,” Ballist said as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “How will you spend the day?”
Hadley gifted him her most winning smile. He knew what it meant.
“The streets are dangerous,” he said. “I disapprove, but I won’t stop you.”
“Till later, milord,” Hadley said, withdrawing with a bow. Beaming, she rushed to the stone stairwell that saw her to Overlook’s third level. Ballist had provided her with one of his finest guest suites. Her quarters included a receiving room, a plush bedroom and a lavish balcony overlooking the garden. She woke to fresh flowers and coffee in the receiving room. Her wardrobe was stocked with exquisite outfits for every occasion. Ballist had spared no expense on his latest political “project”. He had far too much class to say it outright, but he doubtlessly expected his investment to bear fruit. The morning’s funeral had set Hadley in the right direction.
Humming to herself, she changed into the common garb of a Nook shopkeeper. The only outfit she had to insist on, it afforded her priceless anonymity on her daily jaunts through town. Just because she’d ingratiated herself into the top echelon of Andrian society didn’t mean that she could rest on her laurels. The beating heart of real power was breadth of knowledge, not depth. As ever, the best place to learn was the street.
Pulling her cowl over, Hadley stepped out into a day that was clearing up nicely. By the time she passed the guards at the main gate and reached the top of Sygil Street, the sun was warming her back and the oaks on Bardello Green were alive with birdsong.
The imposing Adventurer’s Guild loomed to the right. It probably intrigued her more than any other building in the district. What exactly went on in there? She pictured dusty, khaki leathers and all manner of exploring equipment. Exotic trophies adorning the walls, the rich tang of spices from faraway lands. Perhaps she’d have time to visit on the way back. Whilst she adored the winding, cobble-stoned streets and the wide, airy artisan stores in this part of town, she needed serious time in the Nook to make the most of the day.
The streets were busier than usual, but Hadley reached the Sanctum wall within minutes. The cluttered, frenetic activity of the Nook beckoned. Taverns, marketplaces, brothels, over-large and under-fed families. Friends, enemies, alliances, gangs. Hadley liked to connect with all social strata, no matter how they presented. Her first port of call was a woman who had, over the past two weeks, become a genuine friend. The ebullient Bedelia Sands ran a wildflower stall at the southern docks market. Aside from providing frequent business, Hadley found in “Beddy” a warm, intelligent young woman with a strikingly similar background. If the flower-seller was perhaps a little too liberal in her social outlook (reminding Hadley of Catelyn), she made up for it with a refreshingly sharp tongue. It was nice to share a laugh in the midst of so much ominous news. Ironic, considering Hadley’s reputation as the ‘serious’ one in the La Berne family.
“Late start today, Beddy?” Hadley asked as she purchased her usual clutch of plucky crimson spires. They helped to keep bugs from her wardrobe.
“Went to see the supplier outside town,” Beddy said. “Did you know that Duskovy Castle has fallen? To orcs?”
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