Scratching his beard in idle contemplation, Breac flipped another page in the book on Braeland’s history on the table. It had been written by some self-delusional toad who was clearly trying to absolve the royalty of any blame for the ongoing collapse of their kingdom. It was dated to the late 700s, which Lord Bregan had implied was somehow important, but it was truly a chore to read, and Breac – although he would never admit to this – usually enjoyed reading.
The early 8th Century of Elanora’s history. Seven hundred years ‘after Exodus’, though few remembered what the Exodus had even been. According to some of the longer-lived guild members, the late 700s had been about the time the Guild had finally lost the tavern out on the banks of the Tanquary River. The Hall had been moving more and more of the shops and industries it depended on into the safety of the Guild Hall. It was only natural that Galleytown, built just outside on the banks of the Tanquary, would decline in response. Then some enterprising lad built a tavern inside the Hall itself, and the rest that followed was inevitable. Now the names of most of the townsfolk were lost to history…
Tara Mills, Lord Bregan spoke clearly into his skull. The last tavernkeeper of the Tomfoolery Inn was Tara Mills. It was only a peasant’s name, but please try to remember it. I fear the day no one else will.
His concentration well and truly broken now by his curiosity, Breac left his book and walked back into the common area of the rooms they’d been given in High Square. There, Bregan was meeting with Domare Reast, a local magistrate. Adele, Prius and Narls stood towards the back of the room. They seemed agitated - and as Bregan wordlessly filled Breac in on what he’d missed, he joined his companions in their angst, forgetting about the history book entirely.
“I understand your concerns, Lord Bregan.” The edges of Domare Reast’s moustache flared slightly with each word – he appeared to have applied too much oil to it. “But the word of House Gleamwood is not taken lightly in this city. Young Henry’s future good behaviour has been assured by his uncle, the council has chosen to accept this, and that is their final judgement on the matter.”
“And your final judgement, Domare?” Narls demanded.
The judge bristled at being accosted by the bright-haired halfling. “My word…is it considered good mannered for servants to speak out of turn in Braeland? Because I assure you…”
“You will answer her question.” William Bregan was leaning back against a doorframe of one of their many rooms in Tokmor’s guilded quarter, arms casually folded, legs crossed at the ankles. Slouched back, he now stood only as high as the judge’s shoulders, barely a foot taller than Breac. He spoke softly, barely audible above the bustling ambience of the busy market square outside. But as he spoke, Bregan let some fragment of control of his mind slip. Everyone – the judge, Breac, the three other guild agents, even Adele’s owl familiar – for that brief instant, no one could look away from him. He seemed to loom over Domare Reast, reminding Breac of nothing more than a scene of a dragon staring eye to eye with a deer, freezing it in shock.
Reast blinked for a moment, quavering as if ready to make a bolt for the door but pinned by Bregan’s stare and unable to move. Then he remembered who he was and regathered himself. “My judgement is hardly of consequence before the Council’s authority. I, personally, would have Henry Gleamwood incarcerated until his rehabilitation is more assured and a proper deterrent has been set. But the Council had full access to all information available to my court, and then more. And this is the decision they have made. If I’m not prepared to accept the authority of the people’s representatives, I am nothing more than a tyrant.”
The air seemed to freeze in place as Bregan regarded Reast unblinking. “You speak of the authority of your people,” he said. “But what of your responsibility to them? Skywatch uncovered Gleamwood’s deeds only with the aid of the Little Warriors, and that aid is about to be withdrawn. They are needed elsewhere. As am I. If Henry Gleamwood reoffends, you may not be able to stop him.”
“If he reoffends,” the judged replied. “Exactly. His punishment for his deeds has been proclaimed by the council. I will not be party to unlawfully pursuing additional retribution for crimes he may not even commit. And if you wish to remain welcome in Tokmor, you would be wise to heed my example. Good day, m’lord.”
The judge made as if to turn. He struggled against some invisible compulsion…and then Lord Bregan bent his head slightly, and the moment was past. Reast turned on his heel and even managed not to look too much like a frightened rabbit as he left the room.
Adele let out an explosive breath. “No separation of powers in Tokmor, then.”
“One year under house arrest in his family manor and a gold fine?” Narls was apoplectic. “He near killed the girl! And who knows what he would have done with whatever he brought through from the Abyss!”
“I agree the sentence is a farce,” Breac said. “What options have we?”
“Many.” Bregan smiled unpleasantly.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Well, to answer your question directly, we have only one option, and that is to end Henry Gleamwood’s life with haste. I am out of time, initiate. But we do have many methods to choose from to achieve this end.”
Breac took a moment as he tried to view the situation through Lord Bregan’s eyes. Bregan’s fights behind closed doors with Guildmaster Rhillaine were legendary. It had reached the point where he had outright accused her of abandoning her world, as more and more often Guild resources and attention were being filtered away to other pursuits in the multiverse. Many had hoped that Lord Bregan’s resigning as a Guild officer and taking more time for himself would help smooth things over…but of late, it appeared to have the opposite effect. And there was no denying that, on occasion, Rhilliane was right – the Little Warriors were needed elsewhere in the multiverse. That applied doubly for a sorcerer as powerful as William Bregan. He simply didn’t have time to wait around and catch Gleamwood reoffending. He needed to help the people of Tokmor – but he needed to do it now, before he was pulled away, again.
But did this really justify murdering a man in his family’s home, when his own people had already judged him as still having the right to live? Virtue could not be pursued only when it was convenient. Bregan himself had taught him that.
“What if the judge is right?” Breac asked. “What if Gleamwood doesn’t reoffend, and we’d cut off his life when he would be willing to atone?”
Did he look willing to atone to you…? Adele muttered non-verbally.
“I’m inclined to agree with Sunfist, m’lord.” Prius Tanner stepped forward, nervously toying with his cuffs. “It’s clear that if Gleamwood turns up dead before you leave, you will be blamed. A longer-term approach may be wisest. The Guild is already leaving myself behind here as emissary. It can surely spare a single initiate to accompany me – and to keep an eye on Gleamwood.”
“Oh?” Bregan arced an eyebrow towards him. “And dear Breac. Would you be willing to stay behind to ensure this job is done with…caution? And for how long would you be willing to keep watch?”
Breac felt a chill down his spine as Lord Bregan turned those electric blue eyes towards him. It was like being caught in the beam of a lighthouse. At point blank range.
“Ask Rhilliane to give me 5 years,” Breac pleaded. “I can use that time to study. Maybe even establish a proper outpost to Tymera here. This city could use some spirituality, and we could always use a new recruiting ground for the divine orders.”
“I very much doubt you’ll have time for that, initiate.” Lord Bregan’s eyes drifted off his and seemed to turn inward. “Very well. We’ll do this your way. Mind my words – I’m allowing this because your background as a mason will serve you well in this particular circumstance.”
“As a…m-mason, m’lord? I’m sorry, I’m not sure what relevance stone-working will be here…”
“His house just burned down, my dear Breac.” Bregan continued with one of his almost sinister wide smiles. “Have a care to pay attention to how he builds his new one, for there are few things that betray our inner natures more than where and how we choose to build our home. Particularly when we are rich enough to build it as we please. If Henry Gleamwood moves out of town, rents a small room and takes up a new trade…maybe Reast and yourself will be proven justified.”
Bregan moved to a window and overlooked the market square below. It was an almost dizzyingly bright afternoon, but his cloak seemed to eat the brightness of the day. Even his trademark white hair looked cold and chill.
“But when he builds his house anew with a wine cellar and an inner tower without any windows – exactly like his old abode... Then, Sunfist, you will know. He hasn’t learned a thing. He’s just going to do it again.”
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