Streaks of chimney smoke and grey brick towers obscured the slate blue sky as Ren and his companions awaited their entrance to Vagren. Ren had never been to a city with a closed gate policy, at least not of this size, nor one with a maintained curfew. Quiet and contemplative, the camps outside the city waited patiently for entrance, and the cloud-emptied overhead seemed to agree.
They had only been waiting for an hour or two a guard took five calculated paces out from the gate and called out, “Renado, brother of Lerran?”
It had been a while since anyone had called Ren by his full title. Halrum was that sort of fellow though, to have told the guard all that. Woodro was the first through the gate, staring down each Vagren soldier he passed in case such an innocuous passing came to a fight. Ren and Asar went next, shoulder to shoulder. One of the guards stepped aside to let them through the narrow gateway. Karsef picked up the rear, and the guards folded behind them like they had only walked through a field of tall, albeit metal, grass.
As Ren had suspected, Halrum stood behind the gate, dressed in a long blue robe with a ruffled vest wrapped under his arms and a small black cap on his greying hair. He scratched his beard as he bowed his head to Ren. “Welcome back to Vagren.”
“Thank you, Halrum,” Ren replied. The man waved his hand for Ren to follow him, but as they set off toward the meeting house, Ren asked a few questions. “Why so many guards?”
“There was a bit of a scuffle a few days ago,” Halrum explained. He turned his face to a stall selling pastry items and inhaled the rich aroma deeply. Then he waved his hands to decline the baker’s advances and turned back to Ren. “Just some refugees that didn’t respect the invitation rule.”
The House of Nalisa Orr still served as a private place for their meetings. Ren had never been told anything about Nalisa Orr, but he had heard the place called that by Halrum and by Irrith’s guard. The very same guard opened the door a crack, looked past Halrum at Ren for a moment and then opened it for them.
Irrith didn’t appear right away, so the group of travellers used a rag to wipe the dust from their shoes and wash their faces. Then, they sat in the living room, sipping on a red wine provided by a short serving girl.
When Irrith finally did come down the stairs, she was as confident and stoic as usual. “What did you learn in Ith?” she asked, sinking into a wide wooden chair with one leg crossed beneath the other.
“Axar is dead, from what I could tell,” Ren said. Straight to business—he was an employee, and that was all. “Lotha is in captivity, but she doesn’t seem to have turned. She tried, and failed, to escape the Mage Kings.”
Irrith let out a long sigh. Something about it reminded Ren of the grey-blue sky, the tranquility drawn out so far as to be unpleasant. “Well, the whole thing has fallen apart. All our plans for Ith.”
Ren glanced at his men. They looked at him, quietly. Woodro has the smallest of smirks.
“Where was Lotha being kept?” asked Irrith. “A fortress or a cage somewhere?”
“It was a small castle. A place for permanent internment.”
“Or interment.” Irrith muttered. She added, almost beneath her breath, “I will miss that woman…” and it suddenly occurred to Ren that Lotha had been more than an employee. “And what leads you to assume Axar is dead? He was one of our most resourceful, before he went rogue.”
Ren folded his hands in his lap. He had the letter concerning Axar’s blackmail folded between his belt and his trousers. He did not remove it yet. “His house was burned down and rebels confirm that no one left the blaze.”
“Reckless!” barked Irrith. “He could have Journeyed to safety, without ever walking through the front door.”
“True,” Ren replied. “How long would it take to actually perform such a spell though? When my ship was teleported, I could watch sections disappear, second-by-second.” Asar drummed his knuckles against his armrest irritably.
“For a single person, it’s nearly instantaneous,” Irrith replied. She was thinking, collecting her plans. “For a handful, only a few moments. There’s no way to confirm Axar’s death without a body, but I’m sure there’s more we could be doing with you and your men. I shall send a letter to Gravagan, then, and see how to handle Lotha’s captivity, as well as our plans for the future.”
“Can a Journey be tracked, to see where a magician has gone?”
Irrith waved her hand dismissively. “Historically, a few magicians have discovered this skill, but I know of none now.”
“I did find this,” Ren said. He finally withdrew the folded letter from beneath the hem of his shirt. Even thinking about the letter frustrated him—the Grey Brethren had turned Axar against his order and had turned Sheld against the Family. With clenched fingers he slid the letter across the small serving table to her.
The magician held the letter in her fingers a moment, looking at Ren with raised eyebrows. Then she unfolded it and scanned the neat handwriting swiftly. Her eyes only widened more. “The Grey Brethren know about us? Gods. This needs to get to Gravagan—straight away.”
“They know about me,” growled Ren. His hands balled into fists. “They destroyed my home and killed my loved ones.”
Again Irrith looked at Ren dismissively. “In due time, places like Sheld will be brought back into the fold, I assure you. For now however, decades of work in Radregar may be going to waste, and I must bring this to Gravagan and the others. They have the broadest picture of what’s necessary here and now.”
With a shrug, Ren leaned back in his chair and regarded Irrith blankly. He didn’t care about their plans for Radregar or their fold for Sheld. He didn’t care about any of this. He cared about the Family, and it was still in shambles. “Can you include something in your correspondence for me?” he asked. Tass would have had her baby by now, likely half a month ago. “Ask how my brother is, and how Tass is.”
“Of course,” Irrith replied smoothly. She folded up Axar’s letter again and slipped it up her sleeve. Her fingers were holding a different page when they appeared again and she passed it to Ren.
“What’s this?” he asked. It had a number written on it and the words, ‘Banero’s Lockhouse.”
Irrith smiled. “A money note, of sorts,” she told him. “Bring it to Banero’s—Halrum can show you the way. It will cover your stay in Vagren until I have new orders for you.”
“Great,” Ren said, dryly. He stood up and stretched his sore legs. Karsef stretched his arm when he stood, nearly knocking over a vase. “Then we’ll find a tavern.” He used to only drink cider, but those days seemed distant. He had a nephew or niece, he hoped, but he didn’t know. He also didn’t know how Lerran was. And now he was being paid to sit and wait.