THE CITY-STATE OF BAEDORN, ORIBIAN
There was a particular set to Haromir’s shoulders that belied his discomfort. A cockeyed hitch in his otherwise rigid at-attention stance, as if he’d been stung by a bee betwixt the butt cheeks. If not for the company, Jadri would have pointed it out and had his first laugh since arriving in Baedorn.
It wasn’t his first time meeting an Inferi, but it was his first encounter with a Taskmaster. As he understood it, the rank was similar to his own in their hierarchy, and her title of ‘Brigadier’ denoted her default command of the unmounted units of Antenox… whatever those were. Never in his lifetime did he see anyone marching under a banner that could have remotely been considered theirs; aside from the two-headed wolf sigil each kept on their person in some fashion, he wasn’t even sure they had a unified standard. If the woman hadn’t made the point to state both titles when introducing herself, he would have assumed her to be just another member of their rank and file.
Though, the person attached to the titles looked a bit too young to be bearing either, in his opinion.
Except for the eyes.
Farseeth’s countenance held unnumbered years and hardships within, something he’d be unwise to discount simply because her face possessed the luster of someone young enough to be his daughter. The conspicuously… unfading nature of those of the order he’d dealt with over the years wasn’t something reflected in the ridiculous bard tales circulating through the northern taverns and courts about their deeds. In the songs and stories, they were all grizzled old veterans of ferocious battles.
In reality, he could count the times he’d seen an Inferi looking any older than what he considered middle age on one hand. As her subordinate so flippantly pointed out to Ellindur when introducing himself, the occupation wasn’t generally undertaken by those who’d passed their prime years.
Or perhaps, it just wasn’t one conducive to careers as long as his. And he was more inclined to believe the latter.
“It has been quite some time since I’ve spoken to any member of Antenox directly.”
Farseeth’s smile hid much. “It’s by design, General. Since that incident after the Edelglen Massacre, we were given strict orders to avoid the Inquisition by the Grandmaster. We decided it was best not to tweak the Cardinal’s temper any further.”
He nodded and motioned to the chair across from his desk. “Which beggars the question: why did one of your Inferi waltz off with my Captain late this morning, after making his presence known to the Ovan?”
Settling into the chair, the Taskmaster inclined her head slightly in thanks. “Drystan of Woad Plains was once a Recruit with the Inquisition at the Citadel.”
“Specifically, he was the cell mate of Captain Brennan,” said Haromir, not bothering to excise the loathing from his voice. “The two of them alone ruined more than a dozen training exercises and nearly set the entire presbyterate back a year with what they entangled themselves in.”
Jadri knew the Seneschal was not at all fond of the Captain, going out of his way to try and block the man’s promotion a few years prior. While he assumed it was because of their shared history at the Citadel, where Haromir served as Seneschal during Markus Æbenforth’s infamous tenure as Marshal Inquisitor, it was becoming clear there was a far deeper reason than the youthful transgressions present within the man’s records.
After all, the only reason Haromir was with the Regiment at all was to ‘keep an eye on’ Brennan. And since he was in the Cardinal’s favor, it forced him to put up with the redundancy of having two logisticians in his ranks, instead of leaving those duties—as was customary everywhere else—to the Regiment’s eminently capable Sergeant.
“So I see.” Jadri looked at Haromir. “Are you wanting to record a formal complaint against the Captain or the Inferi, Seneschal?”
The man’s jaw clenched as he glared at the back of the Taskmaster’s head in silence. For her part, the woman pretended not to notice his gaze, though there was a slight hiccup in her neutral smile that said she was well aware of the Seneschal’s ire.
But not at all concerned, as he could swear she was suppressing a grin.
Finally, Haromir gathered himself up and saluted. “I will just warn you, General, that having those two together again means nothing but trouble for the Regiment and the Inquisition on the whole. Drystan of Woad Plains is a wayward lecher with the attention span of a gnat, and Brennan was always prone to follow him in attempts to mitigate his myriad failings.”
“Sounds like a decent friend to me,” said Farseeth, shrugging her armored shoulders. “But I shall leave it up to your discretion, Inquisitor General. I can order my Inferi to cut off all contact with the Inquisition once again, and we can go about our investigations of Baedorn’s troubles separately. It makes no difference to us whether we work with you, or you no longer know where we are.”
The Seneschal barely stifled his snort of disgust. “Of course it doesn’t. Your sacrilegious order couldn’t bring itself to care about anything other than your heretical rituals and horse lord allies.”
An absolutely venomous smile curled at the corners of the woman’s mouth as she slowly turned her head towards Haromir. “Nor has the Inquisition ever been able to fruitfully investigate or bring my order to trial. Have they, Seneschal Haromir.”
Jadri dropped the palm of his hand onto the desk just loud enough to startle the man when it seemed he was about to launch himself at the woman. “I shall, as ever, take your words under advisement, Seneschal. Now, I would like to discuss these events with the Taskmaster, in private.”
He saluted the Seneschal before the man turned crisply on his heels and left the room. Waiting until the door slammed shut, he walked across and made sure it indeed was, then seated himself across from the Inferi.
“Tell me, Taskmaster. What interest does Antenox have in such a middling city-state as Baedorn?”
The woman’s neutral smile returned. “Would you believe, a curiosity over the sudden return of its prodigal half-son to the lands he forswore to forestall a civil war?”
He sighed at the obvious attempt to throw him off-balance. It wasn’t a well-kept secret that he was the eldest son of the previous Ovan, nor that he abdicated his right to his father’s position before the man’s death several years ago. After all, at the time, he didn’t believe anyone in Baedorn would care to follow a man born and raised in the Empire—a man whom his father’s legitimate wife loathed with the passion of a thousand suns, and would have gone through great lengths to thwart at every conceivable juncture.
“I have often stopped to wish the Ovans well as I cross from one side of the Oribian to the other. My presence here is hardly sudden, merely politically inconvenient for my half-sibling.” Sitting back in his chair, he motioned towards the door. “Haromir is stubborn, but he’s not wrong. I went through all of Brennan’s records before I chose him as my right hand. Did you know your subordinate talked his way into a heretical ritual where he wound up drenched in animal innards, and only survived it because of my subordinate’s impeccable aim?”
The neutral smile morphed into the amused grin she’d hidden since pretending to ignore his Seneschal. “I’ve half a mind to ask for a copy of those myself, if that’s the case. It sounds vaguely fatal.”
Jadri chuckled. “We all believe ourselves immortal when we’re young.”
“Indeed we do, General.” Farseeth sat back in her chair and rested her hands along its arms. “Most recently, Drystan of Woad Plains was assigned to track down a person, or persons, disinterring corpses in and around Gendelheim.”
Mention of the city sent cold pinpricks down his arms. Those who enjoyed traveling there only stayed in the places purposefully raised above the filth that caked virtually everything else. “Disturbing the dead is something within our purview, Taskmaster. Despite the differing customs of Haren and Oribian, necromancy is something we seek to stamp out everywhere, and never have our efforts been unwelcome.”
“We know.” She raised one finger. “But we are almost certain the responsible party is adjacent to a person whom we know to have trafficked very specific commodities, the sort which we have purview over.”
“Like the talisman your…” He parsed his memory for the name on the report from over a decade ago, penned by Haromir himself. “Archibald Reinhold managed to acquire from the Ark. Not too long before Brennan showed up at the gates of the Citadel, I believe.”
“Yes.”
He began absently drumming his fingers on his desk as he met the woman’s unflinching gaze. “Neither Baedorn nor Wessinberg conduct a census, and most graves in this area of the Oribian are unmarked, save for those of the most wealthy or devout of citizens. Nevertheless, in the days since our arrival, none have come to us with reports of disturbed graves. Only the corpses appearing in infrequently used alleys adjacent to the Shalewarren tunnels repurposed as sewers.”
“We are merely here because of the Ovan’s desire to dispel the rumors.”
“That it’s all the result of a demon, turning men inside out as punishment for some imaginary thing or another.”
She nodded with a smirk. “Given Baedorn’s proximity to our previous target, I thought it prudent to send someone to look into the matter.”
“And who’s continuing to keep watch on the tiered cesspool?”
“We always have at least two pairs of eyes on the tiered cesspool, General. If you know of Reinhold, you’re aware of why.”
Sighing, he splayed his hand atop the desk and pondered the woman’s offer. Brennan was, by far, the best in his ranks in the fields of tracking and observation. He was also a peerless bowman, but that specific skill was ill-suited to the enclosed spaces where their leads suggested to be the source of the troubles. He placed no stock in Haromir’s assumption of what would ensue should the two men work together, but he was more than passing familiar with the rumors—and facts—surrounding the things the members of Antenox found themselves involved in.
People had a frequent habit of turning up dead when they stuck their nose in the order’s business. Or returning stark raving mad.
“You are aware of Brennan’s history prior to the Inquisition, I take it?”
Farseeth inclined her head ever so slightly. “We were not wont to overlook Oratio Pelenbrook’s transgressions as he made his way to the Oribian. But as far as we know, the Massacre of Edelglen was his last before coming into Inquisition custody.”
“And the unorthodoxy of his sentence?”
“So he is still alive.” The woman’s brows arched. “I’d heard whispers of his being tossed into the Reliquary of the Abyss still breathing, but I didn’t wish to believe the Inquisition so foolish.”
He nodded towards the south. “Your order would do well to pay closer attention to the politics of Haren under the Empress Regent, Taskmaster. But that is all I shall say on the matter.”
As she tilted her head to the side, the woman showed the faintest of grins. “I assume you brought Edelglen up for a reason.”
“Brennan is the most methodical and observant man under my command. There is no doubt you would benefit from his aid, particularly considering your subordinate’s alleged lack of both.” Steepling his fingers beneath his chin, he leaned forward. “I have also seen such things as were stolen from the Ark after the Massacre—while they were attached. As I was given a brief… summary of how one goes about acquiring these items, I doubt they are what is causing Baedorn’s problems. But I will know if things like them are what your order seeks here.”
Brown eyes hardened, and though none of them were visible upon her flesh, years weighed heavy in her words. “We’ve not conducted a thorough scouring of this area of the Oribian since your father was off sowing his oats in the Empire. I offer no guarantees as to what Ellindur is squatting on, only that we are fairly certain it does not hail directly from Pandemonium. If there is a demon, it will be advising, not acting.”
He pondered his options as the woman’s stare persisted. Without a doubt, Haromir would continue to stew in his anger at seeing the men reunited—whether or not he allowed them to work together. What concerned him more was whether or not Brennan would choose to help his old friend on his own, and exactly what that would lead to.
Antenox kept many secrets, but the least of them were the things they hunted in the darkest shadows. And Brennan kept a score of his own ghosts, as well—ghosts tied to the very order he was being asked to allow the man to assist. The man knowingly walked a tenuous line as it stood, given the circumstances surrounding his unorthodox entry into the Inquisition, and his comparatively meteoric rise within it. And while he was, without question, more than capable of keeping men like Haromir at bay, cooperating with Antenox would only draw more scorn.
Considering what he knew of the man, he had an inkling of how things would work out.
“I will leave the decision up to the Captain himself.” He rose from his chair. “I suspect he will choose to aid your cause, however long he deems the cause worthy. He’s not a man given to idleness when he suspects innocents to be in danger.”
“Nor are my Inferi.” Farseeth slipped out of her seat with barely a sound. “We can all agree, this mess is best cleaned up quickly, before Wessinberg trots its cannons within range of the walls.”
“It would be the preferable outcome.” Walking back across the room, he opened the door for the woman. “I do not think it will be the outcome.”
“That stubborn?”
He failed to stifle his disappointed groan. “Ellindur is his mother’s son. And that is all I’ll say on the matter, Taskmaster. Now, let us inform our subordinates of our agreement, and see if we can’t put an end to what’s plaguing those who are beneath my brother’s concern.”
She clapped her hands together, an all-too-eager smirk lighting up her face. “Lead on, General. My own subordinate is in need of a reminder as to why he’s not to ignore urgent missives from his superiors.”