Life continued much as it ever did: out in the Bataklik Forest for months at a time, home in the city for a day or two, then back out on patrol. I knew all the trails in the forest by heart. Once, one of my comrades took the bet that he knew his beat so well he could walk it both blind and deaf. So he did, stopping his ears with wax and draping a rag over his face to keep the light out.

He was shot down a few miles from Vuzsdin by someone who supported the Althra’aste. It was covered up with the not-even-false story that he had been careless, though we all knew what was really going on. The infighting between our rulers was becoming more intense.

After that, all Seekers were paired with a buddy to watch their back. Eating, sleeping, recreation—everywhere you went, your buddy went too.

It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. My assigned partner was not very well endowed in the companionship department, but he made up for it in knowledge. He knew the taverns of Vuzsdin like the back of his hand, and he knew where to get the best services for the best prices. He also didn’t protest when the alluring women passed over him like he wasn’t there. I suppose he was used to that. I made sure to always buy him an extra drink.

Even with the buddy system in place, more Seekers turned up dead in the following cycles. Murder was always a common occurrence in Vuzsdin, but this was something else. Even Blooded Seekers -- those that had earned a rank in a Blood-Seek -- were found dead without a mark on them. Patrols were called to the Tymalt’aste’s halls for special missions, but got lost on their way or, when they did arrive safely, were turned back by one of the Tymalt’aste’s servants The servants would be puzzled to see them and denied that they had been sent for at all.

Seekers all over were reporting that we suddenly didn’t hold the same respected position in the city as we always had before. Some shopkeepers turned us away, or asked us to wait our turn outside their den, only to conveniently forget we were there as other customers tramped past.

In the poorer parts of town, the boldest of vagabonds began targeting us for heists. I caught one of them in the act, a scrawny youth who had not yet entered adolescence, and so in the following scuffle I could not smell out their gender, only that they belonged to no Great Den family that I knew of. The Althrasians were noted for only picking disciples and agents among women, and so to this day I wonder about that youth’s identity. If I had known it, maybe I wouldn't have been so blind-sided by all the rest, but I digress.

The anger and tension began to boil over in the other direction. Merchants were dragged out of their dens and forced to serve the Seekers as slaves. Several families in the Great Den were slain in retribution for the thefts, their blood left to coat their homes as a message. The priestesses and their daughters we might have once courted were instead found murdered, the symbol of Tymalt gouged into their flesh. It seemed the city was about to wage civil war.

Just when we needed his guidance, Tymalt’aste had also disappeared from the public view. No longer did he throw lavish feasts for his champions at the palace, and his orders to the higher-ups came down only in wax-bound scrolls. I suppose I must explain this to you, for the customs are different among akor’mari: many officers couldn’t read or lacked the light in their commands to do so, and in past times, always it had been that an echo-crystal was sent, containing the voice of the Tymalt’aste reading his own orders aloud. It was both a courtesy and a proof of his identity. Ventriloquists existed, but few could master the unique accent that our Tymalt’aste of the time possessed. The wax on these new scrolls carried a unique magic seal, as I’m told is more familiar to you on the Surface, but we didn’t trust it. Althrasians have always been stronger in magic than Tymaltians, and forgeries would have been all too easy.

None of the higher officers acted on their suspicions, though. It was if they were all waiting for something that the lower ranks couldn’t perceive. In hindsight, I believe they were either all threatened or manuevered into compliance, for the reach of the Althrasian agents was long.

The common people, unnerved by the chaos, desperately wanted something to believe, though. Tymalt’aste had always been slightly more popular than Althra’aste had been, on account of all the glory his past conquests brought to our people. Those loyal to him, seeing his grip on power loosening, wanted to be assured it was all part of some grander plan. Rumors flew of complicated plots and secret operations, all that seem rather laughable now. Some even believed Tymalt’aste had absconded to one of the moons to plan his next great move: a feat, as I’m sure you know, has not yet been accomplished by magi even in these modern times.

After months of scandal after scandal, gossip, fear, and gleeful conspiracy-mongers, one rumor finally came down the line that was more outrageous than any of its predecessors. Ironically enough, it was one of the only rumors that had any truth to it.

The Seekers were going to war: not just any war, but an attack on the fabled Avaliet itself.