A heavy morning mist clung to Veridia, swallowing the city in a haunting gray. Down at the docks, the world was still dead. The nightly "booze-fests" had left the piers deep in slumber. It was smelling of sour ale and saltwater. Out of the fog, three figures appeared. They wore heavy, matte cloaks that didn't reflect the dim light.
They stopped before an abandoned warehouse at the far corner of the harbor. A drunkard, who was dozing against the wall, opened one eye. He didn't utter a word. Instead, he raised his hand, and made a series of rhythmic knocks against the glass window above his head. The door beside him opened silently. The three slipped inside, and the door closed behind them again.
The air inside was thick with the smell of dry and old grain. A single lamp was burning on a scarred wooden table, its flame was flickering as if it was struggling to stay alive against the dark. Two figures were already waiting at the edge of the light. They bowed their heads as the newcomers threw back their hoods.
Lorian Thorne, Lord of Veridia, wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. Behind him stood his shadows- Jax Nightclaw and Kaelen Strong.
"Sit," Lorian said.
Anya Vesper and Grisel Gabon, who were standing in the dark, took their places across from him. Kaelen and Jax remained standing, their alert eyes were busy scanning the dark corners of the room thoroughly.
"The list," Lorian began in a low, barely audible whisper, "I assume you've done the math."
Grisel leaned forward, as the lamplight caught the deep lines on his face, "We have, My Lord. It's a strange assortment of goods. I checked the public price charts yesterday; the markets show nothing out of the ordinary."
"The public charts are for the sheep," Anya chimed in her sharp voice, "I went to the guilds last night. They indeed are projecting a shift. A big one. And it's moving exactly in the direction you had surprisingly predicted my lord."
Lorian felt a cold jolt, but he kept his mask of stoic.
"That's Master of the Guild for you," Grisel muttered. There was a clearly identifiable trace of genuine respect in his voice. Anya gave a small nod; her pale cheeks seemed to be flushing slightly in the yellow light.
Grisel's expression turned grim, "There is only one conclusion, My Lord. Political upheaval. Most likely a coup. In Valoria."
"Prove it," Lorian demanded in cold voice.
Anya nodded and tapped a finger on the table, "Silver-grade oats. Our main client is the Valorian cavalry. Our reserves are full, but the demand is spiking. Someone is preparing to keep a lot of high-quality horses fed for a long time. It's not your usual patrol my lord; it's a sign of mobilization."
"There is a succession war brewing in the Empire," Lorian countered, playing devil's advocate, "Three city-states are already picking sides. Everyone is building reserves."
"Not like this," Anya said, "You don't buy iron shackles in bulk to fight a war on a battlefield. You buy them to clear out a city. And the refined lamp oil? That's sign for long nights of 'activity' in the city."
She leaned in closer, "And the Martyr's Weave... you don't buy ten thousand rolls of red linen unless you're planning on making a lot of 'martyrs' very quickly."
Lorian remained defiant, "It's still a leap. And anyway, why Valoria specifically?"
"Because of the crash," Grisel said, "The price of Valorian Silver-Wax and Purple Silk has fallen off a cliff. Those are the symbols of House Stormhold. You don't dump your family's official fabric unless that family is about to become history. Even the Vow-Stones are being sold for scrap. The knights are throwing away the stones they use to swear their oaths. They aren't planning on keeping them."
Lorian's face went stiff. It seemed the 'Market Fluctuation' was less of a simple list of prices; and more like a death warrant.
He turned to Jax, "Take Zara. Head north. The Stormhold entourage left twenty hours ago. If you take the shortcuts through the flats and woods, you can catch them before they reach the border."
"I'll get the fastest horses from the barracks," Kaelen offered.
"No," Lorian said, "Horses are too loud and too slow for what I need. Jax and Zara go on foot. They'll be faster."
Jax offered a grim, toothy grin and a sharp nod. He was already checking the straps on his gear.
"Tell Selena everything," Lorian ordered, "Tell her everything you have heard, and do what she asks for the meantime."
As the meeting broke up, Anya pulled Lorian aside, "My Lord, the disguises... the sneaking into warehouses... it's beneath you now. And dangerous."
Lorian frowned, "It's a hassle indeed, I know. But the Spire has too many eyes."
Anya blinked, surprised, "The tunnel, My Lord. The secret passage from the Spire to the lower districts. I assumed you were just using the warehouse for the thrill of it."
Lorian felt a sting of frustration, "My father never mentioned a tunnel."
"He was a man of many secrets," Anya replied softly, "I'll show you the entrance. From now on, Grisel can reach you without you ever stepping into the street."
An hour later, Lorian stood at the head of the Obsidian Hall. The air here was different.
The Five Pillars of Veridia were there, the 'Old Guard' who controlled the city's heartbeat. Beside them sat the 'New Guard'- Eldred Alsnow and Rylan Fartom. Hushed murmurs of speculation was buzzing in the hall. Some thought the Lord was planning to introduce a new tax. Others thought it was a new exciting business venture. Only Admiral Vorlag Vane was sitting there confidently, with a knowing smirk in his lips. "The Lord has a new weapon," rubbing his chin, he declared, proudly, "He's looking for a place to blood it."
However, the murmur of gossip and speculation stopped and the room went silent as Lorian entered through the door, Anya Vesper walking a half-step behind him. The sight of the Guild Master so close to the Lord raised more than a few eyebrows.
Lorian didn't waste time with a greeting or unnecessary preludes. Without any theatrics he walked to the center of the hall, with face as flat as the stone walls, "The Succession War is no longer a rumor," Lorian said, his voice echoing in the silence, "Three of the city-states have already declared for the Empire. And with them, we want it or not, we are going to get dragged in the succession war."
A collective gasp hit the room. For a hundred years, the Accord had maintained it's non-aligned stance. In the dead silence of the Obsidian Hall, they could hear the sound of glass shattering. It wasn't glass. it was the sound of a century of peace falling apart, along with the Heptagon Accord.