A Festive Occasion
Perena, RM 519
The funeral of Lord and Lady Redas, the recently departed heads of the expansive holdings of House Redas, was the social event of the season in Perena. Any change of leadership at one of the preeminent Houses of Perena – and indeed of all Gallat, that had provided several Lightholders in its day – would have caught the attention of the other Houses, of course, friends and foes alike, and that went double when the person being thrust into leadership was young, relatively unknown, and – most intriguingly of all – both female and unwed. And then, of course, there were the shocking circumstances of their deaths. The city had spoken of little else for the last week, and that brought still more out, some driven by shock and compassion at the horrific act, other by ghoulish curiosity, hoping to see on the pyre if the more ghastly rumours were true.
The funeral was held, of course, in House Redas' walled estate, and open to the public – for the new Lady Redas had said her parents would have wanted to distribute one last beneficence - and the guests, mourners and merely curious streamed in all morning, heads of Houses and their heirs down to street urchins. There, by the entrance, greeting all and sundry as they entered, was a young woman, perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three years old, tall and thin with black hair, dark eyes reddened by tears, very beautiful even clad in mourning clothes, and the guests were all surprised to learn that this was none other than the young Lady, for few recognized her, as she had rarely been seen in Perenan society. Once inside there was much talk of how brave she was, to bear up through such tragedy, and how gracious, to personally greet each and every mourner – and not a little talk, among certain segments, of how beautiful, and how clearly in need of comfort, of one sort or another.
Towards the end of the morning the flow slowed, and then ceased entirely, and the guests moved to the reception lunch, the greatest and worthiest to a table inside the mansion, and the rest to a vast and equally sumptuous spread on the lawn, before the waiting pyre. Inside the Houses talked and ever so subtly tried to prise out each others' intentions, but they were unexpectedly thwarted in their attempt to get the measure of the new Lady of the House, as she left the mansion after the minimum amount of pleasantries required not to be intolerably impolite, and instead circulated among the people outside; and again many were struck by how gracious and generous this new Lady seemed. After some time of this she noticed a man of a different sort than the rest, one she did not remember greeting. This man was of average height and build, simply but well dressed, and of unremarkable appearance – there was, in fact, at first glance nothing to distinguish him from any of hundreds of other men, but somehow you couldn't shake the feeling, looking at him, that there was more to him than met the eye. It was a disquieting effect, after a while.
This man approached the Lady and introduced himself, speaking in a very broad Selessan accent that marked him instantly as an outsider in Perena. “My Lady Redas,” he said, “I'd offer my sympathies on this dif'cult day.” Lady Redas thanked him. “My name,” he continued, “is Gilar. I'm the man sent of Lord Nuvor to find out who done the murder of your parents. I know it's sore painful, but can we speak a bit? Someplace private, eh?” Lady Redas nodded, blinking back tears and gestured towards an ancient olive tree, off by the estate wall.
The Lady Redas and this Gilar repaired immediately. Gilar looked around to be sure they were out of earshot, but the wine was flowing freely by this point and it seemed that no one had even noticed them. “Right, my Lady. I don't mean to ask you questions; I've heard your story from elsewhere, and I won't have you retread it again. I just want to tell you what we know so far.”
In a small voice Lady Redas said “Oh, how...kind of you, sir. Please forgive my state. It's been a trying time.” With a visible effort she composed herself. “So, what would you tell me, sir?”
“Well, I'm afraid we ain't got much to go on. No one seen nothing, no one heard nothing, none of our favourite scum know anything about anything. Whoever done it was real clever, seem to have left nothing behind. I'm sorry to say, I don't reckon we'll ever catch the bastard.”
Lady Redas' face fell and she sagged a little at this. “You mean we'll never know who-” she paused to choke back a sob “-who murdered my parents?” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Now, now”, replied Gilar, “that ain't what I said. I said I reckon we won't catch the bastard. Whoever done it, well, they was real clever.” He paused for a moment and stared hard at Lady Redas. When he continued his voice was different – colder, the accent gone, replaced by the cultivated tones of the Sirasonan elite. “Yes, very clever. But then, there's no point to being clever if no one knows how clever she was, is there?” Lady Redas' eyes widened, ever so slightly, at that, and she said “why, you sound almost admiring of these, these monsters, sir.”
“You can drop the act, my Lady. I've done you that courtesy, you can at least return it. They won't hear,” and he nodded back towards the crowd. Lady Redas paused for a moment, considering, and then a subtle change stole over her face. Gone was the sorrow, the tears in her eyes, replaced by composure and cool intelligence, and when she spoke her voice was clear and steady. She became more beautiful, but it was a remote beauty now. “What are you implying, sir?”
“Implying? Nothing. Nor accusing. Simply stating.”
“Well, if I had been in some way responsible for the horrific murder of my parents – not that I was, of course – you would have no way of proving it – you yourself admitted as much. So if you were to accuse me, well, it would be your word against mine.” A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “A Halyral functionary against a grieving Lady, and when the Houses are so worried about their position – I don't think that would go well for you.”
“Oh, I know that very well. As I said, I may never catch the bastard. You've nothing to fear, if you are indeed as clever as you think you are.” And Gilar's mouth twisted ever so slightly into a smirk.
“Oh, sir Gilar, you are a clever man yourself, I see. But then I wonder, why would such a clever man take such a risk? If I were some sort of monster, why he would would only have exposed himself to no end.” Lady Redas turned a dazzling smile on Gilar then, her tone increasingly playful; she was almost enjoying this.
Gilar returned the smile. “Why? Aye, that's a word that's been on my mind lately. Why.” He turned to regard the olive tree. The fruit were nearly ready to harvest. “See, in cases like this, there's usually a clear reason. It's not infrequent out on the frontier – even happens a time or two in the cities, even in Houses. Heir gets greedy, gets impatient, doesn't want to wait for what's his. He wants his money, his land, his life now, and well, to a certain kind of person, anything in the way's got to go.” Gilar reached up and picked an olive and studied it intently, as though the answers to all his questions might be found therein. “But you? No, you're not the type. I know about you. You're educated, sophisticated, interesting, clever. You don't care about money, do you? Nor what it can buy. And you don't want the House; you'd not have spent so long running from it otherwise. So then I got to thinking, maybe it's a wedding. That's happened before, girl doesn't want to get married, takes drastic action. But you're not that type either, are you? And anyway, everyone knows your father was...picky in that regard. And then there's the manner of their deaths - so much blood, you know. No, it doesn't fit, doesn't fit.” He turned back to the Lady. “So I'm at a loss, and I can't stop wondering, why?”
“Oh, and all your experiences are no avail now? And you have so many! You see, I know about you too, Erlon Gilar. Araldi Nuvor's personal bloodhound, and the best kept secret in Gallat.” She grinned. “Not kept well enough, of course. A decade of loyal service, all those years chasing down smugglers and bandits and thieves in the east, all those conspiracies ferreted out, all those assassins and murderers and traitors caught and tried and hanged, and you're at a loss. I'm flattered, really I am, that you find me so fascinating. Such devotion you've shown, I would have thought that you'd seen everything. Seen so much it's a wonder you had time for a family.” She walked forward and plucked the olive from Gilar's hand. “Such a shame about your wife. Terrible year for sickness, that was. At least you've still your daughter. I can't imagine how much it would hurt if you were to lose her.” She dropped the olive and crushed it underfoot.
“I do not respond well to threats, my Lady,” Gilar said, but he sounded almost amused. Lady Redas laughed then, a disconcertingly merry sound.
“Oh, Erlon. Surely we know each other so well there's no need for the formality. Call me Aelis. And I'm hurt that you'd take anything as a threat. I was only expressing a genuine concern. Why, you must think me terrible. Are you afraid of me, Erlon?”
Gilar thought a long moment before replying. “You hear some men – soldiers, brawlers, hard men of various stripes – say fear is a weakness, an evil, to be avoided at all costs. They are wrong. In my trade – in many trades – there is no more valuable skill than knowing who to fear. And you, Aelis...before today I thought you were an uncommon breed, but now? I think you might be the dangerous person I've ever met. So yes. I am afraid of you.”
“How could you, Erlon,” she said, and the look of hurt and disappointment on her face was so convincing you might almost believe it true. “Well, never mind that. And as to your question, I of course couldn't possibly imagine what might motivate someone to do such a thing. But tell me, Erlon, what do you know about the Redemptrix Zelarri?”
“I know that she was no Redeemer.”
“Oh come, Erlon. You and I, we see things as they are, and she was in truth if not in name. From the scion of an Accan clan to the most powerful woman who ever lived through deceit and intrigue and betrayal.”
“I know also that her ambitions brought destruction and ruination on a dozen countries,” Gilar interjected mildly.
Aelis whirled, eyes shining brightly with unfeigned excitement. “Yes! And do you know why?” She continued without waiting for a response. “Because she was stupid. So, so stupid. Driven by emotion – all the Satar are, even the ones who aren't Satar. Lust, for money and glory and conquest and power and plain old sex, that's what drives them and her, and that's what failed in the end. But imagine, if she hadn't been stupid. Imagine if she'd been free of that terrible ailment of sentiment. Imagine what the world might look like.”
“And you, Aelis, I suppose, are free of sentiment.”
“Yes,” she said simply; not proud, not boastful, just stating a fact. "Things must be done, and so I do them. It's cleaner that way, better for all.”
“Except, of course,” Gilar said, and for the first time there was a hint of real anger in his voice, “for the people who are...done.”
“Oh Erlon,” she sighed, and reached up and touched his cheek tenderly. “Such a pity. Such a loyal hound to such poor masters. There was something I wondered about you, too. Who do you really serve. Is it Araldi, or the Halyr? Or do you follow some silly ideal of justice, as handed down from on high?”
Gilar took her hand and gently pulled it down. “Neither, Aelis. I've seen what happens without men like me. I've seen men doing terrible things for what they thought right. I've seen enough, and I won't see any more.”
She sighed again. “So clever and so stupid at the same time. Such a contradiction. You're interesting, Erlon. I look forward to our next meeting. We both know you'll be back, one way or the other.”
Gilar chuckled. “Hmph, you look forward to it. You know, so do I. I suspect you will enjoy it less than you think, though. Well, I won't keep you any longer.” He turned to go, but stopped suddenly and turned back. “Actually, there was one more thing. One more question.” He paused for a moment waiting for her assent, and she nodded. “A simple one. Are you afraid of me?”
Aelis laughed that peculiarly merry laugh again. “Of you, Erlon? Shackled to Araldi and the Halyr and the Right? No. I think you're interesting, but no, I'm not afraid of you.”
Gilar looked disappointed. “Hmm. Pity.” He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “You should be.”
Then he stepped back, said, the broad Selessan accent returning even as he spoke, “Enjoy your festivities, Lady Redas,” and walked away. Aelis watched him until he disappeared into the crowd, then the mask of sorrow descended on her face again, her eyes filled once more with tears, and she headed back to the funeral, just in time to light the pyre. Only those watching very closely might have noticed that, although she was crying, her hand trembled not a bit as she set her parents alight.
