When last we left our heroes... they had come at last to Sothalkarr, highest of the Seven Cities, on the first night of the four-day Feast of Founding. House Neras had claimed them beneath the law of hospitality, and before dinner there was time enough for a little preparation—and a great deal of worry.
Ineia brewed the silver nettle gathered on the winter road into an unusually potent draught. Fjalenar found the modest library of House Neras and discovered in its few hundred volumes more learning than had survived into his entire age. There, among the ancient calendars, the companions confirmed something more troubling: the moon would remain full for four nights, precisely the length of the feast. Thorankarr had fallen beneath a full moon; the Vulture's play at Kyron Karr had been worked beneath a full moon; and the tracks through the withered wood had been made at the full moon. The company resolved to speak carefully, remain together, keep watch upon Thargash—and remember that the Bell-metal hinges might now open a road through time without the dust of the Moon.
Then they went down to dinner arrayed in the impossible finery of the Star-folk, clothed in fabrics light as air and hung with more jewels than most of them had worn in their lives. Vianrei welcomed them not as strangers but as members of her house. Rinsos answered that a house was made holy not by its stone, but by what it refused to let a stranger endure alone. Lord Akdhēras raised the final cup: the children of Feihoth had dwelt among strangers long enough, and the hour of Homecoming was near.
Course followed course: bread and salt, the Seven Hills set out in little dishes, sea-fish dressed in remembrance of drowned Feihoth, a whole lamb rich with spices, fruit, and its own juices, and at last a sweet garden of stone trees and silver streams. The abundance proved too much for Fjalenar, Herek, and Talari, who found the cold garden air preferable to the final courses. Talari nevertheless offered Vianrei a toast so heartfelt that their hostess wept and extended the hospitality of House Neras through all four nights of the feast.
Yet Inayin's open eyes saw something beneath the beauty. For a heartbeat, eight or nine guests appeared as rotting cadavers, crawling with maggots and devouring filth. Vianrei, Rinsos, and Akdhēras were not among them. Whether this was truth or corruption wearing the mask of truth, he could not know.
Thargash drank heavily and spoke more freely than wisdom permitted. He had attended great feasts like this when he was younger, he said, though not in the companions' age. The past was already slipping beyond their control; why trouble themselves over what they could not save? At last he stumbled away to bed, leaving his companions more suspicious of him than before.
In the moonlit garden, Talari, Herek, and Tenuyala discovered Vianrei beneath a pear tree with her hand in Rinsos's—and saw her draw the young priest down into a kiss. They promised discretion. Mortified, Rinsos remembered Afālnela's letters and invited the company to bring them to his shrine in the morning.
The companions then went out beneath the lamps of Sothalkarr. At the Water-Forge, Panathfei's lock stirred upon Herek's sword. An old Spirit-Keeper recognized the binding, read the oath in a drop of blood, and declared that the blessing would guard Herek against corruption while the sworn vigil was kept, warning of danger to those beneath its protection. If Herek forsook the charge, however, the oath would turn against its bearer.
The smith also saw the last of Herek's line who would bear the vigil: **the Silver River, Fjamaru Yaneigal**, a distant descendant of Herek and granddaughter of the old veteran whom the companions had met in their own age. Fjamaru would complete the oath and redeem the line—though how Herek's blood could reach her across the abyss of years remained hidden.
Elsewhere in the festival streets, a courier named Abarapesh placed a sealed letter from the king at Lanenkarr into Fjalenar's hands. It was addressed to **Lord Tengelbur**, whom someone in Sothalkarr had recognized among their company.
Then Akdhēras drew Inayin aside. He looked into the blood-weeping eyes and named the Vulture's work. The visions were not mere madness: the wound sometimes allowed Inayin to recognize the devotees of death. Akdhēras offered a cure at his house the following morning, promising mercy where the priests of Raos would offer only fasting, penance, and long years beneath the sky. He called Vianrei trustworthy and Rinsos honourable, but warned that the Vulture's servants were already everywhere in the city.
The companions reunited in the Jade-Cutters' Night Market. Talari spent her last silver on a little jade tree, and the company turned back toward the Water-Forge, bearing two strange swords and more questions than they had brought to the feast.
Before they could reach it, a man in official dress staggered from the crowd and collapsed beneath one of the stone trees. His coat was not wet with rain, but soaked through with blood. Tenuyala rushed toward him as he forced out a final warning:
“Treachery. Tell the king... Yalethkarr has fallen.”
And beneath the four-night full moon, while Sothalkarr still sang of its founding, the fall of the Seven Cities had begun.
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