Palimpsest

The War of the Shattered Spears ended in its third year with the night assault known as the Red Harvest. The Varn Empire's central command was destroyed in a single engagement lasting four hours. The allied forces lost six hundred soldiers. The Varn lost a civilization.

Following the war, the Cindorian-Neranthian alliance dissolved within eighteen months. Neranthis closed its borders. One Neranthian general, rather than return to a kingdom turning inward on itself, accepted a civilian appointment in Cindoria. In the decades that followed, he rose.

He has been rising ever since.

— The War of the Shattered Spears: A Military History. Compiled for the Cindorian Royal Archive, restricted circulation.

Chapter 10 The Auditor

After entering the room, Kaelin went to the bed by the window and let herself fall onto it. Lying on her back, she closed her eyes and savored the only moment of relief she had felt in the past few hours. What a night, she muttered to herself.

“You must be exhausted,” Vaelra said, slipping into her thoughts. “It’s clearly been a long night for you too.”

Without sitting up, Kaelin opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. “To be honest, this night felt like three days to me. And I still don’t fully understand what happened.”

Vaelra let out a half-laugh through her nose. “That might apply to us as well, darling.”

The faint smile on Kaelin’s face quickly faded into a troubled expression. She drew a deep breath before speaking again. “You still haven’t asked why I’m in trouble.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but Vaelra knew she was expecting an answer.

“I know you’ll tell us when the time comes,” she replied, her tone more serious now. “And I don’t need to know what kind of trouble you’re in to help a well-intentioned girl who needs it.”

“And how did you decide I’m well-intentioned?” Kaelin shot back.

“I’ve seen a lot in my life. I’m better than most at seeing masks—and the people hiding beneath them.” She paused. “It’s not hard to see that you’ve been through a lot and built walls around yourself. I knew the moment I first saw you that I could trust you. Call it instinct. But when you told us to leave you behind in the tunnels—that’s when I became certain what kind of character you have.”

“Even so,” Kaelin said, ignoring the compliment, “taking in someone you don’t know—especially when they’re in trouble—doesn’t sound very wise.”

“I don’t think we look particularly wise from the outside anyway,” Vaelra countered. “Besides, how do you think this group came together?” she added, and the playful shift in her voice was too obvious to miss.

“That red outfit gives you a very sexy fugitive aura, I’ll admit—but you’ll need more practical clothes.” She tossed a few garments onto Kaelin. “You can make do with mine for now.”

Kaelin sat up with the clothes falling over her face. When she pulled them off, she saw Vaelra standing in front of her, topless, gathering her hair up. Kaelin immediately looked away. “S-sorry,” she stammered.

Vaelra, initially not understanding the reaction, blinked. “Did your cheeks just turn red?” she asked after tying her hair up.

“No,” Kaelin replied quickly, still avoiding her gaze as she stood with the clothes in her hands.

“Huh.” Vaelra smiled. “Honestly, I was joking earlier—but I definitely didn’t see that coming.”

Kaelin, still flustered, tried to spread the clothes on the bed.

“Really? Me?” Vaelra lifted her lower lip in mock admiration. “I’m flattered.” She smiled with satisfaction, then immediately straightened herself. “Ah.” Turning her back, she continued dressing. “Don’t mind me. You can change comfortably.”

As she changed, Kaelin wondered why she had reacted so foolishly. She’s just a woman, you idiot, she thought to herself—though the way she shook her head betrayed exactly what had crossed her mind.

Since Vaelra had stopped speaking, the silence in the room began to unsettle Kaelin. She glanced sideways at her. Vaelra was still undressed, and a thin scar ran diagonally across more than half her back. It had healed, but the severity of it made Kaelin imagine how painful it must have once been. She also had tattoos on her back and shoulders, and one of them even seemed to continue down her front.

The black shirt Vaelra had given her fit well, but the same couldn’t be said for the trousers.

“Thank you for the clothes,” Kaelin said, looking down at the two or three fingers’ width of bare ankle exposed.

Vaelra glanced back, noticed the short length of the trousers, and smiled. “We’ll find you a proper pair tomorrow, darling. Don’t worry.”

“Kaelin,” she said quietly. “My name.”

“Nice to meet you, Kaelin,” Vaelra replied, and the warmth in her voice was almost tangible.

They stood with their backs to each other, facing opposite directions. Kaelin suddenly let her body relax and exhaled.

“I…” she began, then hesitated. “I was in the middle of a session. He was one of my regular clients.”

Vaelra immediately heard the discomfort in her voice. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“It wasn’t for sex. He came to relax,” Kaelin continued. “Most of my clients come for my ability. I can calm them. Influence their emotions. I think it’s something I inherited from my mother—like many others.”

She paused again and swallowed. Why am I telling this to a stranger? she wondered.

“But… tonight was different. When I tried to reach his emotions, it was like I found a locked door deep inside.”

Vaelra had finished dressing but stood still, listening, her back still turned.

“I shouldn’t have pushed further. He was already relaxed. But I couldn’t stop myself.” A tear slipped from Kaelin’s eye. She had kept herself together through the escape, never losing control. But she had never allowed herself to process what happened. She felt full to bursting—like cracks had formed in her soul, and fear was starting to seep out.

“I forced the door open. And what I saw was a battlefield. The city was burning—and I was standing in the middle of it.”

She was on the verge of sobbing now, but she kept speaking. On Vaelra’s face was a mixture of curiosity and confusion. A thought flashed through her mind. Could it be?

“I don’t know if it was a dream or someone else’s memory. I don’t know how. But I know the entire building experienced it with me.”

The moment she said that, Vaelra’s eyes widened. A shock ran through her like cold water. And perhaps a flicker of anger.

It was her.

Kaelin was still standing, but she looked as if she might collapse at any moment.

“He was dead. And I didn’t know what to do. I… I just ran.” Her voice broke into sobs. “I don’t know what happened to me—and it terrifies me.” Her composure finally shattered.

At that moment, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist from behind. When Vaelra embraced her, Kaelin began to cry openly. “It’s over. You’re safe now,” Vaelra whispered, holding her tightly. At first, she had nearly blamed her. But it hadn’t taken long to realize she was just a frightened young woman.

For the first time that night, Kaelin felt safer—because she had someone she could finally open up to. At least for a while.

Vaelra, on the other hand, felt ashamed for almost having judged her.

Kaelin was still trembling. They remained that way for some time.

◈◈◈

Within half an hour of leaving the Red Lantern, Tarr’en arrived at the Ledger’s central headquarters. Dawn had not yet broken, and he intended to finish his task before it did. Had he not been required to return and report, he thought, this matter would already be concluded. Tense, he emerged from the dark street into the wide square and faced the great building before him.

The Red Lantern glowed at night by nature of its trade—bright, conspicuous. Most other guild buildings were broad stone structures, usually three, at most four stories high. Many had ornate entrances and distinctive roofs visible from afar. The royal palace was the tallest structure in the city, visible from nearly everywhere. From the sea, it appeared to stand at the city’s center, enclosed by walls—but in truth it lay closer to the northern gate.

The Ledger’s main building stood in the true center of the city. Unlike others that seemed to rise upward in ambition, this three-story stone structure appeared to sink into the city instead. From a distance, it resembled neither guild nor palace. Rather, it looked like something that had always been there—a cornerstone, or perhaps a mausoleum.

It seemed constructed entirely of massive stone blocks in a dull gray that reflected no light at all. The building was wide rather than tall, its weight pressing downward into its vast first floor like a colossal pedestal. Its facade bore no grand staircase, no statues, no columns. Only a broad entrance, set slightly below street level, with a few shallow steps.

Tarr’en paused briefly before the building, catching his breath and lifting his head to the sky. He tried to collect his thoughts before entering.

Then his gaze shifted upward to the watchtowers rising on either side of the structure. The vertical, narrow windows set into the crude cylindrical towers had always unsettled him.

Lowering his head further, he looked at the one element that stood apart from the gray stone—the Ledger’s symbol mounted above the entrance.

A bronze plate riveted into the stone depicted an open book with blank pages. At its center stood a vertical iron rod like a spine lock, and atop it, a clasp resembling a seal.

The only sign of life within were the windows. Like those in the towers, they were long—but unlike them, they were horizontal. One could not see inside. From those narrow slits, only thin yellow bands of light leaked outward.

Approaching the large wooden door reinforced with iron bands made from gray wood to match the building’s color, Tarr’en noticed the guards standing in recessed alcoves flanking the entrance—spaces invisible from a distance but apparent up close. He gave a slight nod to one of them. The guards who recognized him stepped back simultaneously, nearly disappearing from sight.

Tarr’en pushed open the door, which made no creak and no sound at all, and entered. He walked across the stone floor, polished smooth from years of footsteps, toward the twin staircases rising on either side of the cold, semicircular entrance hall. There were no glittering chandeliers or paintings on the walls. But his destination was not the upper floors—it was the central hall beyond the door set between the two staircases.

He opened it and began crossing the hall, which stretched at least forty paces in length. Both walls were covered in shelves, and those shelves were filled to the brim with papers, scrolls, and ledgers. In the center of the room stood long narrow tables and chairs—empty at this hour, as expected.

Moving quickly through the aisle between shelves and chairs, Tarr’en reached the door at the far end. He knocked twice on the wooden surface, paused briefly, then delivered a third knock. The door opened on its own, and he stepped inside.

…

Vaelra watched Kaelin, who had finally fallen asleep in bed. She pulled a blanket over her and went to the door, sliding the bolt into place to lock it. With a thoughtful expression, she turned toward the window and looked at the sky, which seemed almost resistant to brightening.

At that same moment, Rhoren—who had directed some of his men toward the exits and the harbor in the Red Lantern district—sat at one of the entrances still sealed off by his units, gazing at the same sky. He took a final deep drag from his tobacco and dropped it to the ground, exhaling a long stream of smoke. Having to wait for Tarr’en to return before making his move was especially difficult for a man of action like him—particularly when he was angry.

“Fucking Ledger snake. Hurry up already,” he muttered to himself.

He lit a fresh roll of tobacco from his pocket, closed his eyes, and took the first drag.

…

Stepping into the semicircular chamber, Tarr’en pushed the door closed behind him. It locked itself the moment it shut. Though the script carved into the wood was simple, without knowing precisely where and how to strike it, the lock was impossible to open. The Ledger used this method in many of its headquarters and vault buildings, creating restricted areas accessible only to authorized individuals. It was even known that similar systems had been provided to royal buildings by mid- and high-ranking Ledger members.

The room was designed so that, if the corridor between it and the entrance were removed, it would form a complete circle. But instead of staircases like the entrance hall, this chamber featured a ceiling that rose nearly the full height of the building. The walls were lined with shelves that reached all the way up.

The shelves were packed with papers and scrolls from floor to ceiling, creating the impression of a towering mountain that might swallow anyone who looked upward for too long.

Though Tarr’en was not particularly tall, he considered himself superior to many. Yet here, he always felt small.

On the oval wall opposite the door was a long, narrow horizontal window at least five arm-spans wide but no taller than a forearm. In front of it stood a work desk. The large wooden desk seemed built to reflect the power of the man seated behind it, who did not lift his eyes from the documents before him.

Tarr’en approached within a step of the desk and stopped. He inclined his head slightly.

“Auditor.”

The man behind the desk did not look up from the paper he was reading, nor did he respond.

Ithran Veylor was the head of the central headquarters. Almost everyone knew his name, yet guild members always addressed him as Auditor. Rank and hierarchy were among the most important principles within the Ledger. Everyone had to know their place.

“You had already anticipated that the source of the incident was the Red Lantern,” Tarr’en began when he received no reaction. “However, the situation is far more than a simple anomaly.”

“I came to report that half of the seal under siege has been broken,” he continued.

At that, the man lowered the papers in his hands and lifted his head slightly, fixing Tarr’en with a frightening gaze.

“Are you certain?” His speech was slow, but his voice was so deep it felt almost physically oppressive.

Tarr’en did not speak. He nodded once.

Ithran dropped the papers onto the desk and stood, walking to the horizontal window and staring outside.

Though tall, with long silver hair and pointed ears that made him unmistakably elven, Ithran’s broad shoulders and thick beard gave him the bearing of a human king. It was uncommon to see an elf of such rank within a human kingdom—but he was no ordinary figure.

“Comprehensive seals cannot be broken by just anyone’s power, Tarr’en. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know very well, Master Veylor,” Tarr’en replied. He was the only one who dared address him by name. Ithran was aware of it—but he needed Tarr’en’s authority and control over others to maintain order. Tarr’en handled most of the operational work, sparing Ithran unnecessary effort.

“So after twenty years, it has finally resurfaced,” Ithran said, still looking out the window.

Then he asked, “Who, this time?”

“I believe she is a courtesan working at the Red Lantern,” Tarr’en answered.

Ithran turned sharply. “You believe?”

For the first time in a long while, Tarr’en did something he rarely did—he broke eye contact and looked toward the shelves.

“I followed her, but she escaped through tunnels beneath the building—tunnels I was previously unaware of. She was not alone. I believe she had help.”

“The reason the city’s entrances are sealed… and all our men are on patrol… is this?” Ithran leaned forward, hands on the desk, his gaze sharp.

Tarr’en looked back at him but said nothing.

Ithran’s anger slowly settled back into his usual hardened expression. He straightened and returned to the window.

“Others, hm?” he murmured. Then, in a normal tone, “So it may have been a coordinated move, Tarr’en?”

After a pause, he added, “That is a dangerous thought.”

“When I capture them, we will know,” Tarr’en replied through clenched teeth.

Ithran regarded him silently, then continued gazing out the window. “Can you identify these ‘others’?”

Tarr’en drew a deep breath. “A short, dark-haired woman. Two dwarves—though one might be a gnome. A large, bald monk covered in tattoos. And a short-haired blonde female elf who uses pistols.”

At the last description, Ithran’s expression changed.

“Are you certain she was an elf?”

“She was the one I saw most clearly,” Tarr’en replied.

“Huh.” Ithran turned back to the window. “Interesting,” he muttered.

Sensing he was drifting into thought, Tarr’en spoke quickly.

“Sir.” When he had Ithran’s attention, he asked, “Your orders?”

With a sigh, Ithran returned to his chair and reached for his papers.

“Return. Ensure that no one remembers what happened last night. Then pursue the girl.”

He picked up the documents but did not look at them. Instead, he lifted his eyes toward Tarr’en.

“Our fugitives will be outside your sphere of influence. They will continue to remember. Every moment they remain out there increases the threat they pose to us. You do not have much time.”

Tarr’en straightened, bowed his head slightly. “Sir.”

He turned and exited the room.

The moment he left, Ithran lowered the papers back onto the desk. “Short-haired female elf who uses pistols,” he murmured to himself. He sighed and fell into troubled thought.