1629, Fire Season, Harmony Week, Fireday
Context
Varanis has been sent by Kallyr to Whitewall, to ask them to swear to Sartar. She is in Wilmskirk, on the way there. Session S5-S-01.
Events
It is still before dawn, and the gates of the city are not yet open, and into the compound of the inn where Varanis has been staying walks a man in linen robes, with a silken sash embroidered in gold and silver thread. His Runes are that of the Storm, and he asks for Varanis as soon as she has greeted Yelm. There, in the courtyard, he waits.
The Vingan is on the roof, preparing for her salute. She has Dezar’s blade drawn and her bronze armour has been recently polished. She gleams, even in the pre-dawn light.
The man waits, his gnarled fingers clasped over the gnarled top of his walking staff. He looks half asleep.
Her salute is quick and efficient and as Yelm crests over the horizon, Varanis is already dropping to the earth to offer her greeting to the man below.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. Thank you for your patience.”
He bows his head slightly. “Vareena, WInd Lord and Daughter of Vinga, Storm Incarnate. I am Tevril, Voice of the Storm, commander of winds and clouds.”
“Greetings, Storm Voice Tevril,” she says with a bow. “How may I serve the gods this morning?”
If she is surprised to be sought out, she doesn’t show it.
“You are called upon to the Temple,” Tevril says, “Over a matter of justice.”
He might be looking to see how Varanis reacts.
Now she looks perplexed. “I see. May I know more of this matter?”
“Your trickster claims that he cannot be punished, and a matter of fraud is at your door. He says, I relay with heavy heart, that he was ‘doing it all for you’.” Tevril rolls his eyes to that. He has met tricksters before.
Varanis mutters a curse. “I should pluck him and use his feathers to make a cloak!” She runs a hand through her hair, clearly annoyed now. “Right. Please allow me to leave word with the innkeeper for my companions and I will accompany you directly. I suppose I should also bring coin for his fines.”1Damned duck!
Tevril gestures with his left hand, a movement towards the door. It seems his joints are old. “Of course you have time. Furthermore we will take your word for fines, should they occur. We still need to understand exactly what happened, and how, and are unsure what fines may be levied.”
She gives him another bow and stalks into the inn. She returns within moments, her helmet tucked under one arm. “Word has been left. Let us go deal with the Trickster, shall we?”
He walks at a stately pace, and as he walks he speaks. “The trickster has been running a thing called a ‘lottery’. Do you know what this is, or shall I explain?”
Varanis initially starts out with an angry stride, but on realising that she will outpace the Storm Voice within a few steps, she manages to slow herself. She takes a few steadying breaths. “I have seen such things in Nochet, but in case there are significant differences, perhaps a brief explanation? I’d prefer not to make assumptions he might try to exploit.”
“Of course. In this particular case it is a simple form of gambling. One gives him a clack and buys a chance of winning a prize. The more clacks, the more chances, but also the larger the prizes grow. He was calling it the Vareena Lottery, claiming upon your name.”
Varanis swears again. “I will pluck him and wear his feathers as a crest.”
“This would be your right, of course. Shall I go on, or have you heard enough?” Tevril is not struggling to walk, but he looks like he needs the staff, and he leans on it with each step.
“I understand the gist of what he was doing, but of course, forewarning of any other pertinent details would be useful.” She glances around, spying a fountain nearby. “Would you mind if we paused for a brief sip of water?”
“Please do.” Tevril paces that way. “The details of this lottery involved each clack buying a marked ball which could be drawn from an amphora, and this is the crux of the matter.”
The fountain has a large stone ledge, suitable for resting. She takes a long drink of water and splashes more on her face. It’s not an extended break, but long enough that someone could lean or even sit for a moment if they needed a rest.
“I see,” she says. “And he was somehow rigging the lottery, wasn’t he?”
Tevril does that indeed. “Oh, we are sure he was. He was certainly running one without the permission of the city. However, the balls were semi-precious stones that were to be fed to a sacred dinosaur herd for their gullets.”
“So… a fake lottery, that was both rigged and unauthorized, conducted using stolen goods. Have I missed anything?”
“You vouch for the honesty of the process, and your Humakti is guarding the parts required.” Tevril moves slowly, but he moves.
“What?! He has also involved Berra in this? She won’t stop at plucking the feathery idiot.” Varanis again manages to match Tevril’s stride, despite her growing rage.
Tevril notes, “That would be a strike against the gods themselves, for he is under your protection.”
“Oh I know. And so does she. But he runs the risk of losing my goodwill and my protection with this sort of thing. He has been warned before.” She looks especially stormy.
Tevril looks disappointed. “A vow is a vow, Lord of Storm, no matter if you regret it.”
“I won’t betray my vow, Storm Voice,” she says, her voice coldly polite. “But how I choose to punish my disobedient Eurmali is between me, him, and the gods. I protect him from her already. But, that does not give him leave to blacken her name with his schemes. Moreover, what I say in anger, with no force of oath behind it, is the bluster of the storm. Surely, as Orlanth’s Voice, you recognize that?”
Tevril nods. “And what I say that may seem to be warning, is only the creaking of an old tree in a gale. Nothing more. I think you understand the situation then.”
“What condition is he in now?” she asks.
“Fully bound up, hands, feet and beak. Several people have volunteered to guard, him, all participants in his lottery.”
“And he’s being guarded well, rather than punished?”
“He is on holy ground, and may not be punished save by his Orlanth.” Tevril does not look relieved that the Air Temple is in sight, but he does manage to quicken his pace, with something like determination.
“So long as those guarding him are also Orlanthi,” she says, continuing to match his pace.
“They are Heortlings, all,” he replies. “And subject to the King, and the rules of the gods.”
She nods. “You’re right, of course. But, it’s be just like him to cross another Eurmali and get himself knifed for it though. He’s talented.”
Tevril keeps silence for a while, until they are closer to the Temple. A couple of Orlanthi are lounging in the air there, discussing whatever it is that Orlanthi discuss. The place is much as it should be, with acolytes leaving after dawn rituals, and half a dozen people tidying up. There were no great secrets today, and so nobody had to leave the city to worship in the wilds.
Varanis gives courteous greetings to those she passes, keeping her temper under tight rein as they arrive at the temple.
The Vingan looks around as they approach, as if looking for something or someone.
“I take he’s in there?” Varanis asks, jerking her chin in the direction of the guards. “Will Falnin be wanting a word?”
“Only if you wish. There will have to be time for all of the accusers to arrive. Have you eaten yet?” He pauses at the entrance to the grand inlaid spiral, to look over the place as well as catching his breath.
Varanis winces. “I have not. I was meant to be heading on today. I suppose it will need to wait.”
He arranges for food, for breakfast beer, and for a place to wait, while half a dozen men and women are assembled.
- 1Damned duck!
