Midnight Tides

His was a voice one could listen to, hours passing without notice, discomforts forgotten. Hannan Mosag was, Seren realized, a very dangerous king.



Buruk the Pale took the central seat, Seren moving to the one on the merchant’s left, Hull to the right. As they settled into the Blackwood chairs, the Warlock King sat down once more and reached for a goblet. ‘Wine from Trate,’ he said, ‘to honour my guests.’



‘Acquired through peaceful trade, one hopes,’ Buruk said.



‘Alas, I am afraid not,’ Hannan Mosag replied, glancing up almost diffidently into the merchant’s eyes, then away once more. ‘But we are all hardy folk here at this table, I’m sure.’



Buruk collected his goblet and sipped. He seemed to consider, then sighed, ‘Only slightly soured by provenance, sire.’



The Warlock King frowned. ‘I had assumed it was supposed to taste that way.’



‘Not surprising, sire, once one becomes used to it.’



‘The comfort that is familiarity, Buruk the Pale, proves a powerful arbiter once again.’



‘The Letherii often grow restless with familiarity, alas, and as a consequence often see it as a diminishment in quality.’



‘That is too complicated a notion, Buruk,’ Hannan Mosag said. ‘We’ve not yet drunk enough to dance with words, unless of course you eased your thirst back in your lodging, in which case I find myself at a disadvantage.’



Buruk reached for a sliver of smoked fish. ‘Horribly sober, I’m afraid. If disadvantage exists, then it belongs to us.’



‘How so?’



‘Well, sire, you honour us with blood-tainted wine, a most unbalancing gesture. More, we have received word of the slaughter of Letherii seal hunters. The blood has grown deep enough to drown us.’



It seemed Buruk the Pale was not interested in veiled exchanges. A curious tactic, Seren reflected, and one that, she suspected, King Ezgara Diskanar would not appreciate in the circumstances.



‘I am sure the few remaining kin of the butchered tusked seals would concur, tugged as they are in that fell tide,’ the Warlock King said in a musing sort of way.



‘Word has also reached us,’ Buruk continued, ‘of the ships’ return to Trate’s harbour. The holds that should have held the costly harvest were inexplicably empty.’



‘Empty? That was careless.’



Buruk leaned back in his chair, closing both hands about the goblet as he studied the dark contents.



Hull Beddict suddenly spoke. ‘Warlock King, I for one feel no displeasure in the resolution of that treacherous event. Those hunters defied long-established agreements, and so deserved their fate.’



‘Sentinel,’ Hannan Mosag said, a new seriousness to his tone, ‘I doubt their grieving kin would agree. Your words are cold. I am given to understand that the notion of debt is a pervasive force among your people. These hapless harvesters were likely Indebted , were they not? Their desperation preyed upon by masters as heartless in their sentiments as you have just been.’ He scanned the three Letherii before him. ‘Am I alone in my grief?’



‘The potential consequences of that slaughter promise yet more grief, sire,’ Buruk the Pale said.



‘And is that inevitable, merchant?’



Buruk blinked.



‘It is,’ Hull Beddict answered, leaning forward in his chair. ‘Warlock King, is there any doubt upon whom that grief should be visited? You spoke of cold masters, and yes, it is their blood that should have been spilled in this instance. Even so, they are masters only because the Indebted accept them as such. This is the poison of gold as the only measure of worth. Those harvesters are no less guilty for their desperation, sire. They are all participants in the same game.’



‘Hull Beddict,’ Buruk said, ‘speaks only for himself.’



‘Are we not all speaking only for ourselves?’ Hannan Mosag asked.



‘As desirable as that would be, sire, it would be a lie to make such claims – for myself, for you.’



The Warlock King pushed his plate away and leaned back. ‘And what of the Acquitor, then? She does not speak at all.’ Calm, soft eyes fixed on her. ‘You have escorted these men, Acquitor Seren Pedac.’



‘I have, sire,’ she replied, ‘and so my task is done.’



‘And in your silence you seek to absolve yourself of all to come of this meeting.’



‘Such is the role of Acquitor, sire.’



‘Unlike that of, say, Sentinel.’



Hull Beddict flinched, then said, ‘I ceased being Sentinel long ago, sire.’