An had spent over six bells observing the Garlean spy from the underbrush. She was motionless, swathed entirely in soft black cloth save for her eyes, and a shielded lantern rested at her feet, its light entirely hidden behind thick black iron plates.
His name was Cato sas Longinus, alias Darrin Stormwalker, alias Bran Farseer, and An had her doubts "Cato" was not an alias as well. He was a tall, handsome man with golden-brown hair and an easy, friendly smile, gladhanding the surly, redheaded Highlander he was meeting with in the clearing and lightly deflecting his sparring over money and payments. Cato had been An's mark now for six moons, since he'd arrived from Garlemald to take the reins of the hidden outpost in the depths of the East Shroud where An had nearly lost her life. His predecessor HAD lost their life, along with half of the garrison, in the explosive incident that had been visible malms away in Gridania and had nabbed headlines for the rumored use of black magic.
An had been in recovery for weeks, even after extensive aetheric healing from an unknown benefactor, and she privately admitted the outpost and those who remained within it had become something of an obsession. She still remembered but little of that day, and of the explosion itself, only vague impressions of light and heat.
It took but a mention of that brush with death to flare anger and hatred in her Master Gogonji's deep amethyst eyes, to bring an edge to his voice as keen as that of any knife and cause his knuckles to whiten on his ever-present cane. An, as sensitive to the slightest changes in his mood and demeanor as a windchime was to eddies of breeze, had learned to avoid mention of the topic. But as long as she retraced her steps to the Shroud, she couldn't be wholly free of that day, and neither could he by extension. But her plan was to replace those memories of rage and loss with Khamja's greatest victory: turning a Garlean intelligence officer.
She had surveilled nearly every step Cato had taken out of the outpost since his arrival - and occasionally, at great personal risk, within it. She knew his source network, which Adders and Wailers he was developing or had under his thumb, which well-respected mages and merchants were making the furtive trek out into the forest to receive their orders. (She was putting the finishing touches on a blackmail package to present to Master Gogonji at their next secure meeting.) She knew his tactics, his techniques, his style; Cato was cunning and subtle, a far more capable foe than Rosewater had been, and turning him would be a triumph of the highest magnitude.
And she was aware the risks she was running were commensurate with the potential gain. White Cato favored a more delicate approach than the usual Garlean tactics of brute strength, overwhelming armed force, and naked threats, he still traveled with guards to his meetings, and a few weeks ago she'd grown careless and they had detected her surveillance. She had managed to escape the ensuing ambush with only a gash on her back - tended to by Master Gogonji himself, much to her surprised gratification - but it had reinforced the gamble she took each time she pursued the Garlean: with Khamja's operations, with her true identity, and with her very life.
Should the Garleans in the Shroud truly succeed in claiming her life, as they nearly had before, she wasn't sure if Master Gogonji would ever truly recover. She had seen how fully the lust for revenge had consumed him when he thought his family dead in the razing of Doma. Although his brilliance had achieved horrific destruction upon his enemies, his pain had spurred on acts of near-madness as well, almost resulting in his own death. And when he had thought her lost to him before, his subsequent revenge had nearly destroyed a woman's life.
And yet, on some level, An had yet to shake the long-standing feeling her worth - to Master Gogonji, and more generally to herself - was based on her utility. For her entire life, it had been reinforced to her that she was a tool, a blade, made and tempered to be guided by another's hand. The incident of mind-control at the Runestone had been terrifying in part because the takeover of her will and her consciousness had felt so natural and almost right; only the small seed of individuality, nurtured so carefully by Master Gogonji and Chuta, had kept her from succumbing entirely to Belgorian Spellsmith's pervasive will. Had that happened, An shuddered to think of the damage to her cover and persona that would've resulted - and perhaps someone would've died for it.
Whether as his tool or by her own choice, An was guided by Master Gogonji in all things, and his greatest love was for information. She believed the time was ripe to present him with what she had learned about Cato and his aims, and develop with him the best way to snare the Garlean in their web. As Tmesis Oan, Master Gogonji had lavished gifts upon his socialite betrothed, Annunu Nunu; it was in private and the utmost secrecy that An returned those gifts, in the form of data collected personally and on the most pernicious of targets.
She lifted the shuttered lantern by her foot as Cato left the clearing, and took her own leave, automatically sweeping the area with her gaze for any signs of someone following her or the Garlean. No one weaved a better or stronger web than Master Gogonji. All she needed to do was provide the silk.
* * *
The Mamluk formerly owned by Kabir watched as Bran Farseer left the clearing; he began to slowly count to one hundred in his mind, and only once he exceeded that count did he begin to relax, brushing his red hair away from his face with a calloused hand. Bran had been full of promises and light on gil as usual, demanding information on the Ala Mhigan Resistance, especially the infamous Embers of Rhalgr cell, for a pittance of money in return. Mamluk had excessively complained about the man's cheapskate ways but had been quick enough to take it, as befitted a former slave. Of course, the paltry sum would barely fund the current operation for a week. Damned stingy Garleans. Had Mamluk truly turned coat on the Embers, he'd be insulted. As it was, and as usual, he just felt tired.
"Was that guy really a Garlean?" Ornh asked from behind him.
"Pure-blooded supposedly, the Sandfox told me. Doesn't look it to me - too pretty." Mamluk cast a glance over his shoulder at his partner, cracking a smile for the other Highlander, an expression that felt foreign on his face of late.
Ornh squatted easily, a large rifle slung on his back and an easy smile on his face, as usual. He wore that smile like Mamluk used to wear a mask, and likely for the same reasons, Mamluk thought. "All Garleans should wear horns like voidsent. I had a bead on him the whole time, as you asked. A couple guards were a few hundred yalms off to the south - the guy's got balls, I'll grant him that. They wouldn't have done much good had you been out to butcher him."
"Well, it wasn't our first meeting. He thinks he's got a Resistance comms officer in his pocket - and he thinks I don't know who he really works for."
"Well, we're all a bunch of meatheads with no brains, didn't you know?" Ornh said dryly. "Oh, and there was someone else out there in the underbrush - a lot more skilled. Doman, probably. Small, wearing black, probably a Lalafell. Only caught 'em because there was a shift in the wind, smelled some lamp oil."
"Lalafell, huh?" Mamluk thought on it a moment. He was so tired. But he had to think things through. Carefully. "Could be one of those shinobi working for the Scions. Or Doman Resistance, if there is such a thing. Or... coopted. Not enough information to make an educated guess."
"Think their attention was only on Bran. What do you want to do? I got lucky to catch them this time. If it's someone out to make trouble for us, we might not even see them next time before they make their move."
He rubbed at his face. A Doman Lalafell. Why did that tug at his memory? There couldn't be that many of them out there. Think it through. Except he didn't want to think anymore. He was so tired. "Let's keep our eyes open for now, and if it looks like a bug's in our way... we'll squash it. We've got more important duties."
Ornh saluted, and the two Highlanders made their way out of the clearing and back into the forest. Mamluk was content just to execute the Sandfox's orders for now. Whether here, feeding this Garlean misinformation, or hunting down Blackroad and Warsong. All was for Operation Heavensfury in the end. And then - he could finally rest.
His name was Cato sas Longinus, alias Darrin Stormwalker, alias Bran Farseer, and An had her doubts "Cato" was not an alias as well. He was a tall, handsome man with golden-brown hair and an easy, friendly smile, gladhanding the surly, redheaded Highlander he was meeting with in the clearing and lightly deflecting his sparring over money and payments. Cato had been An's mark now for six moons, since he'd arrived from Garlemald to take the reins of the hidden outpost in the depths of the East Shroud where An had nearly lost her life. His predecessor HAD lost their life, along with half of the garrison, in the explosive incident that had been visible malms away in Gridania and had nabbed headlines for the rumored use of black magic.
An had been in recovery for weeks, even after extensive aetheric healing from an unknown benefactor, and she privately admitted the outpost and those who remained within it had become something of an obsession. She still remembered but little of that day, and of the explosion itself, only vague impressions of light and heat.
It took but a mention of that brush with death to flare anger and hatred in her Master Gogonji's deep amethyst eyes, to bring an edge to his voice as keen as that of any knife and cause his knuckles to whiten on his ever-present cane. An, as sensitive to the slightest changes in his mood and demeanor as a windchime was to eddies of breeze, had learned to avoid mention of the topic. But as long as she retraced her steps to the Shroud, she couldn't be wholly free of that day, and neither could he by extension. But her plan was to replace those memories of rage and loss with Khamja's greatest victory: turning a Garlean intelligence officer.
She had surveilled nearly every step Cato had taken out of the outpost since his arrival - and occasionally, at great personal risk, within it. She knew his source network, which Adders and Wailers he was developing or had under his thumb, which well-respected mages and merchants were making the furtive trek out into the forest to receive their orders. (She was putting the finishing touches on a blackmail package to present to Master Gogonji at their next secure meeting.) She knew his tactics, his techniques, his style; Cato was cunning and subtle, a far more capable foe than Rosewater had been, and turning him would be a triumph of the highest magnitude.
And she was aware the risks she was running were commensurate with the potential gain. White Cato favored a more delicate approach than the usual Garlean tactics of brute strength, overwhelming armed force, and naked threats, he still traveled with guards to his meetings, and a few weeks ago she'd grown careless and they had detected her surveillance. She had managed to escape the ensuing ambush with only a gash on her back - tended to by Master Gogonji himself, much to her surprised gratification - but it had reinforced the gamble she took each time she pursued the Garlean: with Khamja's operations, with her true identity, and with her very life.
Should the Garleans in the Shroud truly succeed in claiming her life, as they nearly had before, she wasn't sure if Master Gogonji would ever truly recover. She had seen how fully the lust for revenge had consumed him when he thought his family dead in the razing of Doma. Although his brilliance had achieved horrific destruction upon his enemies, his pain had spurred on acts of near-madness as well, almost resulting in his own death. And when he had thought her lost to him before, his subsequent revenge had nearly destroyed a woman's life.
And yet, on some level, An had yet to shake the long-standing feeling her worth - to Master Gogonji, and more generally to herself - was based on her utility. For her entire life, it had been reinforced to her that she was a tool, a blade, made and tempered to be guided by another's hand. The incident of mind-control at the Runestone had been terrifying in part because the takeover of her will and her consciousness had felt so natural and almost right; only the small seed of individuality, nurtured so carefully by Master Gogonji and Chuta, had kept her from succumbing entirely to Belgorian Spellsmith's pervasive will. Had that happened, An shuddered to think of the damage to her cover and persona that would've resulted - and perhaps someone would've died for it.
Whether as his tool or by her own choice, An was guided by Master Gogonji in all things, and his greatest love was for information. She believed the time was ripe to present him with what she had learned about Cato and his aims, and develop with him the best way to snare the Garlean in their web. As Tmesis Oan, Master Gogonji had lavished gifts upon his socialite betrothed, Annunu Nunu; it was in private and the utmost secrecy that An returned those gifts, in the form of data collected personally and on the most pernicious of targets.
She lifted the shuttered lantern by her foot as Cato left the clearing, and took her own leave, automatically sweeping the area with her gaze for any signs of someone following her or the Garlean. No one weaved a better or stronger web than Master Gogonji. All she needed to do was provide the silk.
* * *
The Mamluk formerly owned by Kabir watched as Bran Farseer left the clearing; he began to slowly count to one hundred in his mind, and only once he exceeded that count did he begin to relax, brushing his red hair away from his face with a calloused hand. Bran had been full of promises and light on gil as usual, demanding information on the Ala Mhigan Resistance, especially the infamous Embers of Rhalgr cell, for a pittance of money in return. Mamluk had excessively complained about the man's cheapskate ways but had been quick enough to take it, as befitted a former slave. Of course, the paltry sum would barely fund the current operation for a week. Damned stingy Garleans. Had Mamluk truly turned coat on the Embers, he'd be insulted. As it was, and as usual, he just felt tired.
"Was that guy really a Garlean?" Ornh asked from behind him.
"Pure-blooded supposedly, the Sandfox told me. Doesn't look it to me - too pretty." Mamluk cast a glance over his shoulder at his partner, cracking a smile for the other Highlander, an expression that felt foreign on his face of late.
Ornh squatted easily, a large rifle slung on his back and an easy smile on his face, as usual. He wore that smile like Mamluk used to wear a mask, and likely for the same reasons, Mamluk thought. "All Garleans should wear horns like voidsent. I had a bead on him the whole time, as you asked. A couple guards were a few hundred yalms off to the south - the guy's got balls, I'll grant him that. They wouldn't have done much good had you been out to butcher him."
"Well, it wasn't our first meeting. He thinks he's got a Resistance comms officer in his pocket - and he thinks I don't know who he really works for."
"Well, we're all a bunch of meatheads with no brains, didn't you know?" Ornh said dryly. "Oh, and there was someone else out there in the underbrush - a lot more skilled. Doman, probably. Small, wearing black, probably a Lalafell. Only caught 'em because there was a shift in the wind, smelled some lamp oil."
"Lalafell, huh?" Mamluk thought on it a moment. He was so tired. But he had to think things through. Carefully. "Could be one of those shinobi working for the Scions. Or Doman Resistance, if there is such a thing. Or... coopted. Not enough information to make an educated guess."
"Think their attention was only on Bran. What do you want to do? I got lucky to catch them this time. If it's someone out to make trouble for us, we might not even see them next time before they make their move."
He rubbed at his face. A Doman Lalafell. Why did that tug at his memory? There couldn't be that many of them out there. Think it through. Except he didn't want to think anymore. He was so tired. "Let's keep our eyes open for now, and if it looks like a bug's in our way... we'll squash it. We've got more important duties."
Ornh saluted, and the two Highlanders made their way out of the clearing and back into the forest. Mamluk was content just to execute the Sandfox's orders for now. Whether here, feeding this Garlean misinformation, or hunting down Blackroad and Warsong. All was for Operation Heavensfury in the end. And then - he could finally rest.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
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