A smile slowly grew on Aoife’s face as she ran a finger along the rim of her cup. “If one only needed courage to grasp victory, Mayor Adermann, then little doubt exists in my heart that you and yours could find it, but when men march to war, fields keep growing and the hammer’s ring comes not from the forge but the battlefield.”

  Albert leaned forward, elbows on the table. “And I suppose you have a solution to such problems?”

  “A solution? No, but the start of one, perhaps. For you to have so many here, most of the former county answered the call, yes? This quickly, you must have some way of conveying messages quite fast.”

  “If we do?” Albert asked quietly as he eyed the empty pitcher.

  “The Syr excel where shadows grow deep, whether under the shelter of the wood or by the embrace of night. If, perhaps, threats can be spotted early and word passed quickly, then your men can remain beside their hearths to plow what fields they may, their swords safely sheathed and warm, instead of idling the hours away, cold and far from home and family in anticipation of an incipient contest of arms.”

  Albert turned his head and yelled down the stairs before turning his attention back to Aoife. “The idea has merit, but what of these threats then, should the worst come to pass?”

  “Walking amongst the briars and nettles is always hazardous. Those that persist might find sharper thorns await them on their travels,” Aoife noted casually.

  “And those who strike using words of power instead of blades?”

  “Then we ring the bell of Duty, Mayor, and Silence those voices before their words bring sorrow.”

  Footsteps coming up the stairs gave the mayor a perfect opportunity to mask his surprise by turning about. Even so, when he turned his attention back to Aoife after Rik left a pair of pitchers on the table, his words started off unsteadily. “To think any remain to answer that call.”

  Aoife cleared her throat. “Courage helps, as do having men standing ready, but without proper steel in hand and full bellies their efforts are like to fall short. To that end, we have a guest familiar with the production of proper steel.”

  Albert seemed unimpressed and chose to refill his cup. “Our smiths are competent with their work, more so than the Kharkan frauds. While an extra hammer at the forge is always welcome, I’m not sure what you think this guest of yours brings to the smithy to justify a place on the tally board we’re dickering over right now.”

  Grinning, Aoife hefted her cup and simply shook her head before drinking the rest of its contents. “I was unaware the esteemed smiths of Fiddler’s Green would turn their nose up at the expertise of a Disciple from Cadecon.”

  Albert nearly dropped his cup. “I’m sorry, did you say a Disciple?”

  Aoife nodded.

  “From Cadecon?”

  Her grin widened. “But if his knowledge is a triviality here, I suppose the Lady Rowan will have to see to the disposition of his labors.”

  The mayor studied his drink for several long moments before looking up, hope shining in his eyes at last. “Let’s not be so hasty, Harvester Aoife. I wouldn’t want Lady Rowan to think us quite so ill-mannered as to turn a son of Cadecon away. Considering how closely intertwined his homeland was with your own, I can’t help but think they met similar fates.”

  Aoife pursed her lips briefly. “Syr’d’Sylvan fared better, I’m sad to say. Per our guest, Cadecon is no more. Their neighbors made the Kharkans seem reasonable.”

  Albert’s face sank and he sighed. “Well, then we’d be both fools and mad to refuse him, that’s sure. May the gods grant his countrymen peace.”

  Aoife’s eyes drifted toward me momentarily. “One other matter might still hold some import for the day, good Mayor, a problem we both share.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Do tell.”

  “Just as every hand on a blade here is a hand absent from home, so too is every eye and ear we lend. I fear neither of us has as many people of any calling as we would like.”

  Albert’s face darkened. “As fair a statement as can be made considering what we’re about.”

  Aoife pursed her lips and shot me a glance again. “Samuel here will be departing for the riverlands soon. We’ve asked him to investigate the banks of the Fuilteach and the ruins of Longreach for surviving countrymen of ours. It’s possible, given the opposite shores were once Acadia, that he might encounter former countrymen of yours as well.”

  Albert eyebrows rose as his gaze shifted to me. “I hope you’re doing more than chasing rumors, lad. There’s naught but death along those banks now.”

  I acknowledged the concern in his eye with a short nod. “An associate of ours came across some Syr refugees during his travels that claimed to have escaped from slavers. They also claimed to be from Longreach originally.”

  The mayor made a sour face and looked away. “A dark trade, that one. We’ve had our run-ins, the families on the northern edge of the county anyway. If any would be foolish and persistent enough to cross the fog, I can’t say I’m surprised it would be them.”

  Aoife echoed the words as they came out of my lips. “The fog?”

  “Aye, most of the Fuilteach basin lays draped by an unnatural fog, has been since shortly after your delaying action along the approach to the Glade as far as I’m aware. Until literally just now, as far as I knew it’s been impenetrable since shortly after we heard about it.”

  Aoife frowned. “How impenetrable?”

  Alfred shrugged. “If I recall my father’s remotely well, early stories spoke of an eerie fog that wouldn’t disperse no matter how high the sun. They spoke of the silence within, that even the river itself seemed quieted. The one expedition I remember hearing of that crossed found the far side found no one on the far side and no end to the fog before they turned back. They were the last group to brave the fog and return. Others started going missing not long after.”

  “How many?” I asked. “Groups.”

  “Six that I know of. Smallest was three people. Largest was two dozen, but those were all over twenty years ago. Everyone avoids the river now. Since nothing comes out of the fog, we haven’t seen the need to risk looking closer.”

  I frowned and glanced over at Aoife. “Well, it looks like I’ll be the one looking closer then, Albert.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Just you?”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle knowingly at the horror and disbelief in his voice. “No, a friend is coming with me. I’d appreciate anything else you’d care to share. If there’s anywhere you want us to check out, I’ll be happy to do so if the opportunity presents itself.”

  Albert chewed on his lip a few moments and cast a serious eye at his drink. “When do you leave?”

  “That’s up to Aoife, but I suspect it’ll be sometime in the next day or two.”

  The mayor grunted. “Well, I’ll see if I can’t get some of my boys to rouse old Fitzroy off his arse and bring him to see you. He’s the last of the old guard, an actual Acadian lieutenant back in the day, led the expedition that crossed the river. Everything I could tell you is second-hand at best, but as much sense as the turnings of the sun has robbed from him, he still remembers those days as if he expected the horn calling him to the field to sound on the morrow. That’ll take two days at the very least. He hasn’t travelled well for years; it’s a miracle he’s still around at all.”

  “Maybe we should go to him instead?” I asked.

  “While you certainly could, I’d leave it to his family to decide. That, we can notify of you of before nightfall.”

  I rubbed at my chin, mulling over the fact he expected to send a message to and receive a reply from somewhere at least a solid day’s travel away in a matter of hours. “That’ll have to do, I suppose. Do you have any idea what might have waylaid the missing parties?”

  “Nothing anyone can confirm. When we found bodies at all, scavengers had already been at them a while. Whatever killed them carried no blade, though, and plate did little to slow it. While people still strayed that way, there were reports of strange prints found closer to the fog where the ground was still wet. Taloned, but far too large to be any sort of bird we know of.”

  I frowned. This had better not be a fucking dragon.

  Aoife shrugged when I looked over. “I’d trust his determination. I can’t think of a single native species in this region capable of what he’s said.”

  Yeah, probably a fucking dragon. Goddamnit. Definitely didn’t bring enough gun for that.

  “Anything else?” Albert asked.

  Happy for something to distract me from that train of thought, I smiled. “Yeah, so where do you guys get your salt?”

  Albert’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Irrik did mention you were inconveniently perceptive.”

  I grinned. “I believe the word I’d use is coincidentally.”

  The old man snorted. “Be that as it may, that observation is certainly one of the harder ones for us to explain away innocently. The Baron’s men never asked. I suppose the Syr would consider the explanation mundane, but out here, magic isn’t nearly so common. A good deal southwest of here is a sizeable stretch of lowlands. Similar to the Glade, but smaller and not nearly so rounded. At any rate, the salt comes from there, harvested from the ground and refined by some magical means. We’ve had little reason to question their methods.”

  Albert turned to Aoife and held up his cup. “I believe we can agree on the bigger picture of things at the very least. Settle your people in, we can discuss details tomorrow. I’ve got fortifications to oversee and messages to send.”

  Aoife returned the gesture. “To the broader agreement, then. May the details favor us both.”