Chapter 14 - Part 12

“Hello Greoche,” said the elf, standing on his head as he juggled three small spheres of wood, each brightly painted.

“Vestiol,” Mistress Greoche d’Tharashk said as she surveyed the visitor in the common room of her House’s offices in Greenheart. It was really just a cabin with a few extra rooms added on, but it served her purposes. Brode, her nephew and sometimes bodyguard, was laughing and clapping as Master Vestiol d’Phiarlan continued his display. “I thought you had an appointment this afternoon.”

“I do,” the elf said as he smoothly caught all three spheres in one hand and rolled forward to his feet. Brode sighed as the show ended, his ragged mustaches settling around his jutting canine teeth. Greoche’s sister had married an orc, not something remarkable in the Marches but a curiosity here, oddly enough, and her youngest son was known for his skill with the falchion, not his wit or subtlety. Greoche signaled for Brode to go patrol around the cabin. She had nothing to fear from Vestiol, but the Thuranni agent was a bit of a stickler, and she didn’t want his lousy hirelings stepping through her new garden in a clumsy attempt to eavesdrop on their competition.

“Well I’m delighted that you rate me higher than your mysterious friends,” Greoche said dryly, waving for him to follow her into the kitchen extension that served as her office. “Tea?”

“Yes, thank you, and my appointment is not for another hour, it got postponed, and I rate you higher than anyone, my dear, you know that,” Vestiol said, seemingly dancing his way after her. Greoche smirked. Vestiol habitually told everyone that he was talking to that he rated them higher than anyone else.

She fetched two cups, each made from a bluish porcelain, and set the table. Pushing some invoices aside she poured for them both. “You putting on more shows tonight?” she asked as she handed him the honey jar. Vestiol had a sweet tooth when it came to tea.

“Always, dearest lady, always,” he said to her, smiling as if she was a nubile eighteen instead of her forty-six years of age. “House Phiarlan seeks to entertain, to make happy, to promote art. How could I resist the great crowds of the conclave?”

“What do you want, Vestiol?” she asked, sipping her tea. She’d had a spike in requests since the conclave began, and she didn’t have time to deal with his long-winded theatrics. It was amazing how many druids and rangers managed to lose things in the big forest, and her House had a reputation to uphold.

“To maintain good relationships with you,” he said, reaching out to pat her hand. She glared at him and he thought better of it, withdrawing his arm and pretending that he had only meant to stretch. “After all, some Houses can be more useful than others.”

“Thuranni got the information on the key that we were contracted for before you did,” she said bluntly. “So they got paid first. Let it go, it was months ago.”

“Who?” he asked innocently. “Thuranni? Thuranni…is that the blacksmith’s new son-in-law?”

She rolled her eyes. He must have something good if he was going to tease her so much. “Vestiol, please.”

“Very well, very well,” he said, putting more honey into his tea. “Merylsward was attacked by Aundair. Terrible civilian casualties.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “War is a stupid, brutish thing.”

“One of their key wizards was lost in the battle,” he said.

“Why did they send a key wizard to an insignificant town?” she demanded.

“That I do not know, but I do know that Lo’Paih d’Cannith was spotted there.” Seeing her confusion, he gestured towards an old Korranberg Chronicle that she’d left out. “Viceroy Du’Bray’s niece?”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. The name Du’Bray tugged at her, but she couldn’t place it.

“The fourth-ranking person in Cannith excoriated his own niece for a quite un-described failure, remember?” he pressed her. “But she shows up in a town overrun by Aundair’s wizards and warforged.”

“Vestiol, I have a job to do,” she said, grabbing the honey pot before he emptied it. The elf was an incredible moocher. “I don’t keep up on the politics of other Houses, and I don’t care to. Now do you want to tell me something that I would be interested in or are you just here to shoot the breeze until you meet with the Blademarks?”

“And how did you know I was meeting with the Blademarks?” he asked her, his eyes narrowing. “And how did you know that they were here?”

“I knew they were here because Oalian told me he was letting them come back, and he asked me to be sure that no more incidents take place,” she said. “And when you get all coy about who needs your information, when everyone here at the conclave simply asks the birds and the beasts, it kind of gives things away.”

“Oh,” he said, visibly deflated. “Very well then. Yes, I am meeting with General Brogan within the hour.”

“Brogan is leading the Blademarks back here?” she asked, letting go of the honey pot in her surprise.

“Oh you did not know that?” he asked, deftly snatching the pot and taking the last of the honey. “Well Brogan is a good earner for his House, and he is held in high regard – or so I have heard from those who keep up with the politics of other Houses. Yes, he leads the Blademarks. He is here to recruit, however, not to sell his services. He is hoping to get some druids to other battlefields.”

“He’s a fool, they’re all interested in defending Eldeen against Droaam or Aundair,” she snorted. “Maybe even Breland should the cease-fire fall apart.”

“But they would sign up for a battle against Droaam, which Breland is secretly paying Brogan to arrange,” Vestiol said. “Note that Aundairian-Brelish peace talks have broken down, and the cease-fire is gone between those two. Breland has ambassadors coming into the Reaches, however, very experienced ones. One is on his way here. One was in Merylsward and there are rumors that the Aundairian warforged killed him by accident – or on purpose. Breland seeks to squeeze Aundair between an alliance with Thrane and an alliance with the Reaches, and hopes to buy Eldeen action against Droaam via the Blademarks of Deneith.”

“With the ultimate goal of freeing Brelish soldiers to strike Cyre,” she said, finishing her tea. She frowned as she wondered if this would upset her House. Brogan had enough pride on the table to want his return to Greenheart to go well, but if Breland’s gold was behind him as well – in the Shadow Marches there was a saying about the greater fool stepping on the tails of two snakes.

“Well, perhaps the hobgoblins or maybe the Karrns, or maybe the sea pirates,” Vestiol mused. “But the smart money is with you. Breland’s border with Thrane and the Reaches quiet due to a cease-fire, the borders with Aundair and Droaam less strained because of clever alliances, yes that does free up a great deal of the Brelish forces. A push into Cyre, hopefully to smash their production of warforged, is the most likely long-term plan. I wouldn’t be surprised if Breland was also making alliances with the Valenar – not that the elvish horsemen are reliable.”

“They’re your cousins, not mine,” she told him. “I’ll stick to orcs.”

“Bah!” he exclaimed, finishing his tea. “I am a Khorvaire elf, trust me when I say that they are a different breed entirely.”

“Why are you betraying Brogan’s confidences?” she asked him bluntly.

“I’m not, and you know I wouldn’t,” Vestiol chided her. “Brogan wants economic information on those at the conclave, and political and ritual issues among the druidic sects. These other bits that I know about him, that’s not information that he paid to protect.”

“I see,” she said, taking the empty utensils and stacking them in the wash basin. “Well I thank you for keeping me informed. Let me know if I can help you in any matter?”

“Well, there is a trifle,” he said with a smile. “One of my servants, a careless hireling, he has misplaced a letter with the seal of my House. I would very much like that letter to be found and returned to me before someone reads it.” He made a sly wink. “I’m afraid I haven’t always been faithful to my wife, and that’s all it is. It was lost to the north of the town, perhaps dropped near a stream. Can you help me?”

“Of course,” she promised him, her face revealing nothing. Despite her comments about not watching the business of the other Houses, she knew that Vestiol had been divorced for twenty years, and she knew that he did not know that she knew. The letter was likely some business secret, and likely a Thuranni agent had stolen it. Still, theirs was a beneficial relationship so she would make an effort to have it found.

“Thank you so much,” he said, bowing. “I must run, a wonderful day to you!”

She watched him let himself out, and then scowled once he was truly gone. By the Respected Power Below, I would love for Brogan to get knocked down a peg or two, she thought to herself. If only she had another fast-thinking brute like Delegado available to start something again. I’d be able to wreck the Brelish plans and make the tin-plated Deneith look dumb all over again. The blessing of the newflesh would be given to me for thwarting Brelish dominion, and I could earn immortality. But there was no use wishing. She might as well wish that Delegado drop out of the sky.