The sun was already high in the sky when Gregor and Vaughn departed the Augur and headed for the burned out shell of the broken Archne compound. A light sliver of the Major Moon, barely out-competing the azure and cloudless sky, hung statically in on the horizon signalling the incumbent return of crisp, cooler days. In other parts of the city, the light sadness of an impending snowy claustrophobia was still two minor moons away, but for the Archne Estate, there was a great deal of work to be done to ensure none were relegated to a bedroll of ice.
The Receiving Room was closest to the main gate, and being relatively far from the blast, still had three out of four sturdy oak walls standing upon its foundation of granite stones. Of course within the Receiving Room all of the paper and linen dividers had burned away, and the flax mats were no more. But it was a start to the several men and women that worked tirelessly in a swarm. They ignored the three visitors while they labored in clusters, lining the foundation with floorboards and smooth, square pillars while humming tunes of their households.
The day laborers were mostly on loan from the other houses, as each house was pledged, under the Red, to support each other in times of duress. The level of that commitment varied, with Nogrem and Trik lending the greatest number for their adjacent neighbor, but there were a surprisingly healthy number of Tsitul estate staff scattered about the worksites.
Busy little bees in the hive of the Archne? Or are they merely vengeful roses here to get their nectar back? Gregor thought to himself, though he knew the answer.
The Main Hall, with its four residential wings, having been at the source of the blast, had no hope. Upon the stone foundation that once uplifted the residence wings above any other building in the estate, a solitary yurt had been erected. Gregor surmised that this was where Lady Ketrae and her husband had stayed. Her young son remained behind in Pho-Boteth to be properly educated by the empire. He had stayed on invitation of course. Had his mother politely declined, she'd then be invited to relinquish her title and spend a few tides, toiling in the fields of some ally of the empire or another.
The courtyard, once a flat valley surrounded by the peaks of mountainous buildings, now sat surrounded by vacant foundations rising like lifeless desert plateaus. Those foundations had become home to several more yurts, likely erected to perform the functions of the now missing buildings. But while those yurts were fashioned of a thick canvas cloth of beige and gold trim, the yurt upon the Main Hall proudly announced itself with the colors of the bee -- Archne stripes of black and gold.
The men walked in single file; two with their shiny breast plates, and a third man, hooded and dark, though chocolate jaw-length wavy curls clung to the sweat of his high cheekbones from time to time. His dark eyes, angular and up-turned darted side to side and up and down incessantly as he followed each step made by the two bei'thal. His body was well wrapped in a simple linen tunic and high necked leather vest, while his knee high boots of tan were tired and fraying. He looked like a courier to most, or perhaps a down on his luck merchant.
"Caudra, look beyond the woman. See if you can't latch onto the thoughts of her household staff as we speak. Perhaps they are hiding something of hers and are not quite as skilled at repressing those thoughts." Gregor nudged, wishing that he could communicate directly to the bei's mind. Alas, bei'thal were never trained to speak to any besides the Silent Scholar using merely their thoughts. Their connection had been to only one, and only with the Silent Scholar's help could that power be amplified. Likely, to reach beyond, to connect to other minds and creatures required compromising, and Gregor had no taste to become bei. While the pnum'bei had the ability to tap into the sound waves of the unseen, the cost was extraordinary.
Physically, the man nodded, but as Gregor's mind floated in the space between the two of them, he could hear a wheezing acknowledgement. Yes bei'thal. The bei pushed the words onto Gregor's consciousness. Compromised of spirit, Caudra had not so much lost the physical use of his vocal cords so much as he had lost the understanding on how to articulate with them. Even his mind ran closer to the rudimentary; lacking the ability to ponder the intangible or appreciate music. But he was very good at getting all the details of thoughts, emotions and deviance, which made him ideal for this mission.
