The rustle and bustle of supper time woke Fenric from his slumber. Something of his headache still remained as a dull ache right behind his eyes, dissuading him from trying to pull a similar trick any time soon. It wasn’t anything that would hinder his plans, however. Well, not in their current form, at any rate. Plans could change. Often had to. 

Supper proceeded as normal, except for the fact that Lord Anshelm and Maunhilt Housecarl weren’t present. Usually supper would begin on Lord Anshelm’s word, but in his absence, it began at Lady Gerthrud’s. She had left his chair alone, but otherwise stood in his stead. No-one at the long table took much notice of the empty chair – their Lord travelled often, so Fenric supposed the sight was a mundane one. 

Fenric left the hall after supper, making sure to leave alongside a small group of young servants – men seeking dockside companionship, presumably. They were all younger than Fenric, but not so much so that his presence among them seemed remarkable. Fenric walked at the tail end of the group and answered only in single words when the youngsters tried to involve him in their conversation, leading them to make few such attempts. Once they left the Noble Quarter, Fenric took his leave of them. He explained nothing, but did bid them a good night – to disappear without a word would be more suspicious than acting as if he had nothing to hide.

“His highness has a girl in town,” he heard one boy remark to another in what must have been meant as a whisper, but was remarked with such enthusiasm that it made its way to Fenric’s ears nonetheless. 

Fenric was not surprised to learn he had cultivated a reputation for arrogance – it had happened often enough before – but it dismayed him somewhat. It was a useful reputation, he told himself, as many of his oddities were safer being taken for the eccentricities of an arrogant man than mysteries to be solved. That didn’t make it pleasant to be interpreted thusly.

Still, useful. That was what mattered.

Fenric shook off the thought, pulled up his hood and surveyed his surroundings. In front of him lay the road to the midtown market, which his former companions would pass on their way to the docks. The road on his left led into an area mainly inhabited by artisans, while the one on his right led to the Silveck Temple. The biggest of the six bakeries in town was at the midtown market, while the second largest was located near the temple. 

Turning left, Fenric found that the streets were not completely empty, but close to it. The sun would set within the hour and the streets would become too dark to walk without a torch. It would be best if Fenric could be back before then.

When Fenric arrived at the closed bakery, he walked past it and instead tried the door on the side of the house, which led to Inga Baker’s private room. At first there was no answer, but when Fenric knocked once more while projecting his name forcefully with his mind, the door soon slipped open a smidge. 

The face that greeted him was not Inga Baker’s, but her daughter’s. 

“Mom has gone to bed,” the girl whispered, staring at him with her big, brown eyes. “She said to ask why you’re here.”

“Is Guthrun here?” Fenric asked as his answer. 

The girl shook her head. 

“She left before supper.”

Fenric stopped himself from swearing. He couldn’t tell how old the Baker girl was, but he hardly wanted to make her more nervous than she already was.

“Then I suppose I must speak to your mother instead, if she would allow it?” 

The girl looked around as if a spy was about to jump out of their hiding spot any minute now, then nodded and opened the door further.

“You’d better come in.”

Fenric snuck inside, relieved to be out of sight of passersby. 

“Mom, the man wants to talk to you,” the girl said and crawled into bed with her mother and a younger child. 

Inga rose with a sigh and threw a cloak over her shift.

“What is it, Fenric?” she asked. 

"The sorcerer at Cletzhem, the one they're looking for… is no longer at Cletzhem."

Inga Baker frowned.

"How do you…"

"That's what Gytha Jordis believes, at any rate. Meaning that she will be looking elsewhere for her prey."

Inga’s frown turned into a grimace of deep concern. She looked from her children to Fenric and back again, then crouched next to the bed. 

“Mom is going to go talk to Fenric for a little while,” she told her daughter. “You should get some sleep, dear.”

“When will you come back?”

Fenric couldn’t see the child’s expression in the dark, but her voice sounded nervous. 

“Soon,” Inga said. “A big, brave girl like you almost won’t notice that I’m away, will you?”

Once Inga and her daughter finished talking, Inga led Fenric into the other room which was where she sold her bread during daytime. Inga turned around and looked at Fenric with steel in her eyes. 

“You need to deal with this,” she said, her voice as severe as her eyes. “As quickly and quietly as possible.”

Fenric frowned. 

“Master Guthrun has instructed me to…”

“I know,” Inga said. “Guthrun is wise, but in this she is wrong. Gytha Jordis and her people will not rest till they have a culprit, any culprit. The last purge was only three years ago – they will take this as proof that they were too lenient last time.”

Last time… The purges following the murder of King Rodward at the hands of a sorcerer had been brutal. A shiver went through Fenric at the mere thought. Hundreds of people, both sorcerers and other unlucky souls, had been executed by the crown on suspicions of sorcery. Random violence had filled the streets as neighbours turned on anyone whose behaviour may indicate to the community that they engaged in such depravity. It had been chaos and it had only ended when King Roderic had ascended to the throne and declared the vengeance on behalf of his father completed. 

A part of Fenric understood why sorcery was so disdained in Haifaric, considering that one king had been killed by it and now the same fate had almost befallen his son. The Heiffish antipathy for sorcery was far older, of course, but it was not hard to see what maintained it. A father dead and a son threatened in the same manner… A purge of sorcery was inevitable at this point, but the length and severity of said purge may yet be affected.

“The longer it takes before they find the sorcerer they’re looking for, the worse the situation will get,” Fenric said. “I know,”

“Then act,” Inga insisted.

Fenris frowned as he discovered how much he agreed with Inga. If Gytha Jordis was as competent as she was believed to be, blood would soon flow. There were many ideas about how to identify sorcerers or sorcerous potential in others and while many where pure myth, several could be effective. The ritual Fenric had witnessed on Gytha Jordis’ arrival must be one of the many ineffective methods, considering the Gytha had not noticed him, but if she knew just one method that was actually effective…

It would matter little who had actually made an attempt on King Roderic’s life, Gytha Jordis would bring in every single sorcerer she detected. Rage fed as well on a net full of herring as on a great tuna.

There was only one way to keep the societies safe and Fenric knew it.

If the Gytha caught her tuna, she would not look for any herring. 

Fenric knew, just as Inga did, what had to be done.

But… 

“To go against Master Guthrun on something this important…” Fenric started, but trailed of as he realised he didn’t have the words. 

He agreed with Inga, but he’d always trusted Master Guthrun’s judgement. And he agreed with Guthrun, too – Fenric’s access to information about the realm and its leaders would be difficult, if not impossible, to replace should he be discovered.

Inga brought Fenric back from the depth of his thoughts with a hand on his shoulder. Fenric couldn’t decide if the gesture was reassuring or commanding. 

“I know the loyalty you owe to Guthrun,” she said. “Believe me, I do not go against her advice lightly. She may not have been my teacher, but she has taught me much all the same. I respect her as much as you do, but I think we both disagree with her where this is concerned. Someone needs to find that sorcerer they’re looking for before Gytha Jordis does. You have access to insight none of the rest of us do and any time you relay that knowledge to someone else, you bring risk upon them, upon yourself and even on the society as a whole. Coming here tonight was risky. I know you know that. But you also knew the information you had was invaluable. How much time will be lost if you have to relay such information to others again and again? How much extra risk will that bring? You know I’m right.”

A sigh rippled through Fenris. He could not stop himself from agreeing with every word Inga was saying. Had he himself not thought the same, as he took on risks to spy on the Gytha? Yes, it was a risk, but all of this was risky. And Fenric’s access would matter little if the whole Silveck Society was annihilated. 

“Very well,” Fenris said. “I shall do what I can.”

When the last syllable fell from his mouth, Fenris found himself enveloped in a hug. Strange. He’d never hugged Inga before. He hadn’t really hugged anyone for a long time. It took a few moments before his body remembered what to do and he returned the gesture. 

After a while in silent comfort, Inga withdrew from Fenric. 

“And you know how to go about it?” she asked. 

Fenric nodded. In his travels for the societies, he had had occasion to identify other sorcerers before. Performing such a spell while the gytha was on the hunt for spellcasting would be difficult, but Inga knew that. This was the risk she was asking him to take on – the risk of action, rather than the risk of inaction.

“Thank you,” Inga said. “If your courage ever falters, remember that not all they would kill can defend themselves.”

Fenric thought of the Baker girl’s big, brown eyes and understood something that should perhaps have been obvious: Inga was a young mother and Guthrun an old teacher. Their opinions differed because they were not playing the same game. 

Guthrun’s game was King’s Tafl, a game of war and strategy, where both sides would always suffer heavy losses. A pawn sacrificed for a pawn, a rook sacrificed for a hirdman – all in order to place a piece close enough to the king to declare victory. Meanwhile, Inga was playing Bridge Tafl and saw little victory in sacrifice. No piece was worth more than any other and every piece lost decreased manoeuvrability and brought one closer to defeat.  Inga wanted to win, but losing her children to a purge would make victory impossible.

“The society should cease meeting for a while,” Fenric finally said.” Even if I found the sorcerer tomorrow, the Gytha will no doubt have her people search everywhere regardless.”

Inga nodded. 

“I’ll let Master Guthrun know. She’ll be able to think of a discreet way to reach everyone so we don’t alert the Gytha in our haste.”

Fenris nodded resolutely and lifted his hood. They were back in the bedroom when Inga spoke again.

"Cursed world," she muttered. "Why did that fool have to go rogue?"

Fenric shrugged.

"Maybe they didn't."

"How do you mean?"

"Maybe this sorcerer knows nothing of the societies… A lone wolf, so to speak."

The harsh features in Inga's face softened.

"A lonely one, rather. Remember that when you find them."

Fenric nodded. 

If I find them, he thought, but did not say.