Turn 105

Castle Meeting 1:
    Emmett lowers his head. "Ooohhh. Diplomacy!" he whispers to himself. "Some more of those men tried to storm the ship as well. Hiro handled them, and then left." Emmett shrugged. "Maybe he went after the captain, maybe not, but he asked us not to intervene with him. Val, on the other hand, I want to get a shot at locating."
    Yestin cocks his massive gray head at Emmett's news. That Hiro had suddenly went off on his own was hardly astonishing -- the taciturn warrior was given to strange moods and impulses, and little inclined to explain his actions -- but the towering Giff gave heed at least to Emmett's desire to find Captain Valarin. Shamed by his failure to protect Val from groundling riff-raff, he was well disposed towards locating their errant shipmate himself. "Yes, we should seek out the Captain."
    [And that scene can be considered done, I think.]
    * * * Ship Meeting:
    He looks back to Yestin "I think we're still much faster than the locals think we are, and that gives us a day or two to try to help Val before we have to skedaddle to meet with the High King. But if we want to do any business on this planet, we have to respond to that summons. What do you think, First Officer?"
    The half-elf quietly closes the door of the stove, moves to a position near the middle of the group, and waits for Yestin's response.
    Yestin blinks uncertainly. Until that moment, it had not occurred to the self-effacing young Giff that, with Captain Valarin's absence, he had been elevated to the position of senior officer of the _Distraction_. He flushes, for he had been only a minor member of his Giff Platoon before his... defection. Now, he is in command of men that are, in many ways, quite his senior in experience. It is, to say the least, quite beyond his understanding.
    Yestin straightens visibly, standing very nearly at attention. "We should... we *shall* offer the Distraction to provide transport for the raid. It will no doubt ingratiate us to our hosts and also provide us the opportunity to rescue Captain Valarin."
    At Yestin's own mention of Val's name, some of his confidence visibly dissipates. The sting of his failure to protect his senior officer remains sharp in his mind. "We don't know that he was kidnapped, though. He may very well be pursuing some Victor ship across the waves in pursuit of that distressed maiden."
    Yestin colors, embarrassed by his own speech and doubting his optimistic supposition, and his eyes seek Emmett for support. "Yes," he reiterates, "we will aid the Lord Tesfaye's raiders and perchance rescue Captain Valarin."
    Emmett nods briskly, and smiles. "Good. I'll get the weapons ship shape and clear things out for their troops to have a place to stand." For those paying attention, the smile shifts from a friendly supporting one for their new captain to a grim nasty one when contemplating bloody vengeance on the would be killers.
    Ibn Fadil nods his agreement. "And I want to search that place too. If they have any sense they'll have destroyed everything useful, but then again you never know."
    He pauses, either to gather his thoughts or to let it sink in that both his Zakharan accent and the usual anxiousness of his manner have disappeared. He seems quite calmly determined, and his speech sounds like an ordinary spacefarer's version of Common - more Bralian than anything else, perhaps. "I agree with Brother Pham that the presence of these Hextorians here is a serious matter. In fact I think it's serious enough that I'm not doing anything that's more important than looking into it."
    He glances around at their not quite universally startled faces. "Before I get into why I think so, I figure I'd better clear up a few things. First off, I'm a liar." If saying this makes him uncomfortable, it doesn't show. "My name isn't ibn Fadil, I've never had a gambling problem, and I lived on Bral for five years because I was employed to collect information about anything and everything that was going on there."
    Yestin's dark eyes grow wide at the announcement by ibn Fadil -- or whomever he truly is. He had been shocked badly some months ago to discover the treachery among the Giff employed on Bral. The possibility of another betrayer in his midst left him quite disconcerted.
    His eyes flick around the room. He isn't sure if it is his responsibility as senior officer to respond first, as this is all quite beyond his experience. When no one else speaks up immediately, he clears his throat with a loud rumble and speaks in as authoritative manner as he could muster. "Pray, explain yourself, Master ibn... sir."
    "'Ibn Fadil' will do," he replies, "we're all used to it. Now, just before I accidentally spoiled my position there, I'd become aware that someone at one of the oligarchs' companies was up to something. I didn't know what, and I still don't know the details. It was mostly a definite feeling." His gaze flicks over to Emmett. "Like flying over a landscape and being quite sure there's an ambush down there somewhere.
    "Anyway, before I could follow up on that I got mixed up in certain regrettable events and concluded that I had to leave Bral, which is why I took ship on the _Lazy Cat_, being as it was the only ship leaving at the time. I'd intended to return to Bral once things had settled down, but between one thing and another I didn't care much for the idea of staying there any more, and then this opportunity" -- he waves at the ship in general -- "was really quite irresistible." He grins, looking almost boyish.
    "Exploring strange new worlds and all that. We might even have learned something worth passing on, which'll be my rationale when I have to explain myself later on.
    "To the point, then," he continues, perceiving a certain lack of sympathy in his audience. "I think I know more or less what was going on at Bral and it's related to what we're finding here. Captain Gustan's actions never made even bad sense to me until I realized, when we were attacked as we left Bral, that he must've been in cahoots not just with somebody in one of the companies but with one of the actual oligarchs. Who I have to assume was involved in the import of ghouls to Bral and perhaps whatever else was going on there. There just aren't any other candidates. And now we find Hextorians ensconced here on Rigol. This probably sounds pretty thin to you all" (if, he thinks privately, they're even really following it) "but I'm used to making something out of not much and I've gotten pretty good at it.
    "What I'm leading up to, and you've got to understand I wouldn't be talking about this if I wasn't pretty damn sure about it, is that it looks to me like these Hextorians have access to, if not control of, the nearly unlimited funds and resources of at least one of the biggest trading companies working the Flow. And that scares me right down to my toenails."
    He doesn't actually look scared, but then he never does. "It's a threat to pretty much everyone, everywhere. The only problem is that I haven't got any proof yet. I'm going to keep looking into it and try to get some, and if that means parting company with you all, that's what it means. But I think I know you well enough by now that I doubt I'll have to." He gives Yestin a direct look. "This doesn't mean I want your job. I just want to not have to make up poor lies about what I'm trying to do. It wouldn't work and it wouldn't be sensible." The fact that lying at all might seem wrong to some people doesn't seem to have occurred to him.
    It's difficult to determine whether or not Yestin had followed the thread of ibn Fadil's winding explanation, Giff facial expressions being what they are. Giff are known for favoring directness over subtlety, after all, and it is quite possible that the nuances of ibn Fadil's intrigues are absolutely lost upon the First Officer.
    Yestin frowns. "If there is a link between the presence of the Hextorians upon this world and the Victor's trading ships, which is a possibility if not a certainty, then your interest in that order coincides with our own for the moment. I doubt we shall have to part company any time soon."
    "However, you have not fully elaborated upon your opening subject. If you are not the man you claimed to have been, then who are you? You were employed to learn all you could about Bral -- by whom and to what purpose?"
    "It just won't feel right not having any more secrets," the half-elf complains with apparent sincerity, "but you're going to insist, aren't you? -- Very well."
    He takes a deep breath, and says (troweling on the Zakharan accent), "Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor of introducing the Faris Arif ibn Hassan Dawud Fadil Olnfar. Al-Quadir," he adds for the sake of completeness. Dropping the accent again, he continues, "I work for my family, which is called Olnfar. Among the things we deal in is information. I really don't know what use they made of what I was able to send them.
    "And I didn't say it was the Victor that I suspect is behind these problems."
    "Nor did I," Yestin responds. "Only that his ships may have provided transport to Rigol for the order, in which case your interests in the Hextorians and our service to the trading company coincide." The Giff rubs his prodigious jowls for a moment. "Your service to your family does not mark you as an enemy of Bral or Three Trees, then?"
    Yestin sighs, clearly unused to, and uncomfortable with, this sort of public interrogation. He silently searches the crews' eyes for support, in the hopes that someone else will take up the questioning.
    [Still in progress, then.]
    * * *
    Lynden:
    "I believe this responsibility will not be too great."
     A large, obvious yawn escapes Lynden as he looks up at his mentor in disbelief. "I am not insensible to the honour you do me by asking this," he tries hard to fight back another yawn and to remain respectful, "but I have never looked for this duty. Master, I fear that my words will fall on deaf ears away from Myrr. Surely one with greater rank and experience should escort them?"
    Bendek nods, "And so thought I initially but there is sense in it being one with whom they are familiar." He ventures a small smile, "Besides, to be underestimated is no small advantage."
    "I am to be a spy!" Lynden's voice began to raise as he took affront at the nature of his task.
    "No." Bendek spoke decisively and his restraint felt palpable. "You are to journey with them and see that they do nothing to dishonor Lord Tesfaye or our faith. You will aid them whenever it does not conflict with our own interests but above all you will observe and learn from their ways. If, as I suspect, they are a catalyst on our shores then better to have one of our own at hand to state our case."
    Shuffling his feet dispiritedly Lynden conceded defeat fate knowing that to argue further would bring Bendek's slow anger to boiling point. "I will obey your instructions in this as in all things Master. I shall hope to return with instructions from his Highness in due course. But now, " he yawns again more loudly, "may I withdraw to cleanse myself of this grime and perhaps snatch a few hours sleep?"
    A moment's wait for permission and then he left hurriedly, seeking privacy and a chance to pray.
    [Done.]
    * * * Castle Meeting 2 & The Assault:
    "Well." He looks them over. "As you know, a ship arrived this morning bearing word from the capital. His Majesty wishes to speak with you. It has been most... interesting having you as guests in our city. You have done me great personal service in uncovering these traitors, and have suffered losses of your own. Do not fear these will be forgotten; the war party leaves as soon as we may. I know that you are anxious to locate your captain, but in this season it will be a week's journey to the traitor's den, and I advise you to heed the king's summons. Lynden will accompany you, to give report of the happenings here."
    Uncomfortably aware of his position as senior officer, Yestin loudly clears his throat to capture Tesfaye's attention. The Giff's massive lungs amplify the otherwise innocuous sound until it resembles the dull roar of a cave bear.
    "Your lordship," he begins, bowing slightly, "please permit us to repay the hospitality you have shown us by offering the service of our vessel, the _Distraction_, in this effort. It will greatly reduce the travel time to the renegade's lair and, perchance, afford us the opportunity to learn our Captain's fate while offering service to your lordship and your men at the same time. You would do us great honor to accept our offer."
    Yestin colors again, uncomfortable with such flowery speech.
    "That puts things in a slightly different light. Feliks, you will have command of the expedition. Do please try to take him alive." The lord is clearly annoyed by his own lingering weakness. "These had been prepared in expectation that you would leave in the morning. For saving my life I would ordinarily provide a gift of steel, but you are well-supplied in that, or land or horses, of which you have no need, so I fear I am reduced to mere baubles. Some of them may, however, prove useful to you. These have been in my family for many generations." To Emmett and ibn Fadil he gives silver rings. The workmanship is very fine; these weren't made by humans. Emmett's has a small flattened area on which is carved a spread-winged eagle; ibn Fadil's is hatched all over with a design that resembles grain sheaves.
    It's loose on his finger; he gives Tesfaye a nice Zakharan bow and somewhat distracted thanks.
    Emmett bows as well, the obvious clumsiness of his prostheses covering for any social gaffe in the slight nature of the incline. Lacking the Half Elf's naturally slim fingers, the ring fits more comfortably on his weapon calloused digits. The phantom fingers of his long last hand prickle as his mind starts racing to figure out what sort of enchantment this gift obviously bears...
    Bendek steps forward and gives Pham a slender golden chain from which is suspended a large piece of highly polished amber, and to Alais a narrow silver circlet set with three smaller pieces. "Your quick action saved not only the lives of many within the hall, but prevented the fire from spreading. These may prove useful to you in your studies."
    "For one whose appearance initially alarmed the entire town, I am told that many here will regret your departure," Tesfaye says to Yestin. "I hope you will find some use for this." He gives the Giff a finely carved ivory box; within it is nestled a tiny but incredibly detailed ivory carving of a raven.
    "Many thanks, my lord," Yestin replies, clearly puffed up by Tesfaye's compliment. "In truth, I will be loathe to leave the company of the many fine men in your lordship's retinue. They are well worth their steel, I may assure you." The giff smiles, the creased curve of gray flesh no doubt eerie-looking to his Rigolian hosts. "For the gift, my thanks."
    "Lord Tesfaye, by my figuring we'll have space for two dozen of your men on the Distraction. They'll have to do without mounts, but I think the speed at which we can move will surprise not only your men but our enemies as well." Emmett glances over to Feliks, letting the man know that he's available to help coordinate plans once the meeting is over.
    Feliks nods, and the meeting becomes a strategy session, with people coming and going as required to get preparations underway. The Rigolian nights are long; with the loan of the ship making logistics an entirely different animal than they normally are on this planet, the attack on Cyril's manor is set for that very morning.
    Everyone grabs a few hours of sleep, and then it is time to board the ship--two dozen hand-picked men armed with spears and swords (Feliks has unlocked the armory for the occasion) taking up most of the empty space on the ship.
    The night is overcast, but for once it isn't snowing. Flying low over the unfamiliar ground, the _Distraction_ covers the miles between Myrr and the distant manor in swift silence. Lynden stands on the bridge with Pham, marvelling as they travel along the coast for some distance, then turn inland.
    The manor is a small, square-built castle on a hill, surrounded by a wall and a frozen moat. The place is sturdily built but old-fashioned even by Rigolian standards and hopelessly primitive to the starfarers' eyes. Villages nestle in the hills around it, snow-covered fields separated by thin bands of woodland, the forest hulking darkly not too far away.
    A silent pass is made over the single tower; ropes are let down into the still and freezing air. With a piratical gleam in his eye, Emmett leads a half dozen men down to the roof to wait; a single flicker of red light suffices to locate the trapdoor. In a room below them, a light is burning. Even though he knows it's there, the darkness is so heavy he can barely make out the shadowy dragonfly shape as it moves off to land behind a copse of trees. The human eye could not possibly discern the patch of deeper darkness that soon makes its way toward the wall.
    From the viewpoint of the manor's captain it happens something like this: It is just before dawn, and he is awakened by one of the men on night watch at the wall; someone thinks he saw something moving. Before the captain can do more than swear at him, there is an explosion at the gate and the thud of a ram taking down what is left of the great door after Alais' fireball hits it--although nothing can be seen from the walls but impenetrable shadow. They are under attack by demons.
    The captain rallies his forces before the door to the tower only to stare in disbelief as the darkness falls away; he recognizes Feliks, but not the hulking, metal-clad creature behind him, and where did all of these men come from? Shouts come from the tower as the commando force begins its search.
    "Your lord has betrayed his oath. Surrender at once," Feliks orders.
    "Charge!"
    The battle is brief but pitched, the defenders spirited but unprepared, ill-armed, and few in number. A dozen of them are killed, the rest herded off to one side of the courtyard. Within, Emmett's team manages to subdue Cyryl, whose silence and haughtily defiant demeanor suggests that he knows that the game is up, and he lost.
    While Feliks is sorting out prisoners and sending men to the nearby villages and the two clerics see to the wounded, the remainder of _Distraction_'s crew takes the lead in turning the manor upside down and inside out. Cyryl is no artificer, and he also had less need of secrecy; his side of the coded correspondence is in a simple strongbox, along with a Hextorian symbol on a chain. At least he does not appear to have been initiated into the priesthood.
    From the looks of it, the plot has been underway for well over a year; the servants say that this whole winter their lord has been in an odd temper, and very edgy since midwinter. Accusing glances are leveled at Lynden-- "none of this would have happened had someone been sent for Brother Olaf" appears to be their chief sentiment. Further questioning reveals that the priest of Rudof who had been assigned to the manor had left it in late autumn, quite suddenly; a messenger had gone out with a request that he be replaced, but nothing had ever been heard. And needless to say, as far as Lynden knew, that messenger had never reached Myrr.
    "We'll find both their bones in the spring," Feliks opines grimly.
    All of their searching turns up no sign of Valarin and Mela.
    There is a gallows under construction in the main square in Myrr; Nikodem's summoned spirit has revealed the names of some of his associates, and the hunt continues for the remainder. People look at one another in the street with new suspicion. Upon their return with those of the prisoners judged most important, the _Distraction_'s crew is introduced to Captain Benjiamin of the _True Wind,_ which had carried the message from the High King, and Gerard, who is to go on their ship and aid them in navigating to Narain.
    

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