Page 57 of The Truth

“Did you know you carried the letter yourself? The letter pressing the queen of Vastillion to increase her tithes?” He laughed. “You know what shows me I would have liked her? In her letter she called you an emissary. One of the most legendary Draleid to ever take to wing – an emissary.”

“No… That’s not possible.” Eltoar his shook his head, looking back over the date on the previous letter. Earlywinter, Year 2576 After Doom. “I…” He thought back. “I did visit Vastillion at the birth of that year, before the Antiloch siege. Thalumas asked me to deliver a letter while I was there. I thought nothing of it.”

Fane gave him a weak smile, then carried on reading.

“It is with a warm heart I received your letter from Eltoar Daethana’s hands. Please in turn receive my thanks for your care of him.

Though I must admit I am saddened by your refusal to further support The Order. I understand that your priority is to your people first and foremost.

Please understand that in these trying times, The Order must also place priorities on its own beating heart. New armour is needed, new weapons and shields, new horses. Our duty is not in the making of coin, nevertheless the world does not move without it.

I pray to Varyn that you will not require our aid while we are depleted and that your spring and summer are even more fruitful than your last.

Councillor Loik Hass,

Earlywinter, Year 2576 After Doom”

Fane handed the letter to Eltoar and turned back to the ledger again before laying several more letters across the desk. “These three are further missives from Loik Hass to Queen Valhira. Each less veiled than the last.” He tapped a stack of parchment beside them. “These are accounts from the Keeper of Coin from that same year. The Order was deeply indebted to both Lunithír and Lyona.”

“Here is a letter procured from a vault in the depths of Antiloch. It appears the prince at the time – Prince Talmont – was gathering as much information as he could to blacken his father’s name and take the crown. This one is an Exucendi copy, not the original, so make of it what you will. It appears King Mallas was lucky after all that his son died in the battle.”

Eltoar looked over the letter but could make neither heads nor tails of it.

Fane must have seen the confusion on his face, for he handed Eltoar another small piece of parchment. “Apologies – the cypher. Loik wasn’t taking any chances with that one.”

Opportunity rises on the second moon of the spring. Legs are slow to see the rising dawn, and if the sun has already set by the time the beast stirs, sleep the beast will. For it matters little from where the water flows so long as the river is strong.

Even with the cypher, the letter was far from clear, but Eltoar saw it for what it was. Move on Vastillion on the second moon of spring. We will not come to their aid. So long as the gold flows, the city is yours.

“How do you know this is legitimate?”

“Because although the prince died, the Exucendi who copied the letters for him did not.”

“Where are they now?”

Fane inclined his head towards a door on the opposite side of the chamber, gesturing for Eltoar to follow. As they moved across the room, Eltoar scanned the shelves and desks. Everything was packed with scrolls, parchment, and ledgers. There must have been thousands of missives.

The door led to another hallway lined with rooms. Fane opened the second door on the right with threads of Air.

A shimmering blue light cut through the darkness within. A man sat in a wooden chair at the centre of the room, a black sack over his head, his hands bound behind the back of the chair, and the chair bolted to the ground. As Eltoar walked around the chair, he saw that the source of the blue light was runes carved into the manacles around the man’s wrists.

“What is this, Fane?”

“This is Exucendi Parcica of Printhouse Thasreel. She is the woman who copied all the missives sent to the royal court of Antiloch. But more than that, she is also the woman who has intentionally mis-copied documents and forged replicas of original seals. She is a forger, a counterfeiter to the highest bidder. And she’s quite good at it.”

Eltoar examined the woman, his stomach tightening at the dark room, the damp air, the heat, and the smell of shit, piss, and blood. War was a dark place, and he had seen many things that made his skin crawl, but torture was something that curdled his stomach. “What are the manacles?”

“Runecraft.” Fane tilted his head to look down at the glowing manacles. “My own design, though I’m sure there were some before me who made similar. The runes act as a ward, a barrier between a person and their connection to the Spark.”

Fane leaned forwards and pulled the black sack from the woman’s head to reveal a head of dark hair and bronzed skin. There were no wounds that Eltoar could see, no blood or cuts. They hadn’t beaten her, at least.

Fane gently clapped the woman on the cheeks. “Parcica, you have company.”

The woman jolted awake as though a bucket of water had been tossed over her face. She stared up at Eltoar like she’d seen a demon. “I didn’t… I… Please…”

“Calm yourself, Parcica. This is Eltoar Daethana, First Sword of the Draleid. I want you to tell him what you told me. And then you will be free to go. Does that sound amenable? Well, ‘free to go’ is perhaps a bit heavy handed of me. We cannot let you roam freely. But if you agree to work with us, we will unshackle you, and you will no longer sleep in this room. Good?”

Parcica’s eyes flickered between Fane and Eltoar. She nodded, swallowing hard. “Draleid, First Sword. It’s… it’s an honour. I…” She closed her eyes and drew in long breaths, whispering to herself. “Breathe. Breathe.” She blew out a long breath. “It’s an honour, Draleid Daethana.”