The Glover of Tresilian

For twenty years, Isaure Maelis ran a respectable glovemaker's shop on the upper terrace beneath the sign of a painted white hand. Now House Tresilian's armsmen have ransacked the place, leaving the wooden counters split in two and hand-carved leather molds scattered across the floor.

Speaking in hushed tones, the neighboring shopkeepers tell you she tailored gloves for three generations of Tresilian lords—the old lord, his son, and his young grandson.

Before your ship even clears the terrace port, a House Tresilian warship painted in gray and silver drops out of the clouds alongside you, her gun ports already open. Her captain hails you through a silver speaking-horn:

"That public bounty poster was merely a polite formality for the Crown, hunter! House Tresilian will settle its own family business on the cold side of the mountain. You may trail behind us and collect a modest fee for standing by—or turn back now!"

Moored inside the stone mouth of an extinct lamp chimney sits a small skiff. Standing calmly on the rocky ledge is a gray-haired woman holding her empty hands open in plain view—while behind her, a twelve-year-old boy in an oversized coat tries his best to look brave.

"Your bounty poster demands me alive," Isaure calls out across the cold air. "Ask yourself why the Lord Regent wants his nephew's 'murderer' brought back breathing—and then come up here and ask me yourself."

At the edge of the terrace port, a gray House cutter intercepts you carrying the Lord Regent's personal steward. Stepping aboard with the bounty silver in a sealed lockbox, the steward peers past the woman in your brig, his eyes darting into the shadows of your hold.

"Lord Regent Wystan thanks you, Captain. We understand a twelve-year-old servant boy was traveling with her—a nobody of zero consequence, of course, but the House wishes to take custody of him as well."

The twelve-year-old boy is none other than Lord Piran Tresilian—very much alive. "His uncle, the Lord Regent, ordered me to smother the boy in his sleep," Isaure explains calmly. "For twenty years I served as House Tresilian's quiet blade, but I refused to murder the old lord's grandson. That's why the Regent posted a bounty demanding me alive: he just needs to torture me for one minute to learn where I hid the boy."

"The Crown Herald sits at the summit port. If Piran stands before her in person, he will be confirmed as rightful Lord of Tresilian—and the Regent's warships are waiting between here and the summit to stop us."

At the summit port, a grand flight of stone steps leads directly from the pier up to the bronze doors of the Crown Herald's chamber. Blocking the foot of the staircase sits the Lord Regent's personal white-and-gold warship with her gun ports open, while Lord Wystan himself stands at her rail dressed in mourning black for his 'murdered' nephew.

Right across from him on your foredeck stands young Piran Tresilian in his oversized coat, with the Glover standing one protective pace behind his shoulder.

In a six-line proclamation, the Crown Herald confirms twelve-year-old Piran Tresilian as the rightful Lord of his House while his disgraced uncle is escorted into custody. The bounty on the Glover is immediately expunged—signed off by the very boy she was accused of murdering.

Rolling up his coat sleeves, the young lord walks down the stone steps to your gangway. "House Tresilian owes you its survival, Captain, and Isaure says she owes you a personal debt as well. Name your reward."