Renado stood up slowly. He had fallen asleep beside Virn. The resolute warrior had survived to tell the tale of their assault, but his recovery would be a bumpy adventure of its own. The mental disturbance cast upon Virn by the late Mage King Pretar had faded after an hour, with a brief moment of lucidity to reveal Virn’s surviving mind. The wounds the somber man had received were still be treated daily by the healer, an old man named Aganim.
It was already past midmorning, Ren realized. He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. It was time to meet at the Targon Tavern. He rapped quickly on the inn door across the hall. Aganim opened it a moment later, his squinty eyes already cleared from sleep. “Will you be alright here on your own, with him?” Ren asked.
“I don’t see why not,” the healer said. He had shared his hatred for the Mage Kings with Renado upon his arrival at the Lowtown Pub, but Ren had paid him well regardless. Ren hoped that the soldier who had found Aganim had shared details of King Pretar’s death with only him.
Ren had done a lot of walking through Ith’s streets during the last few Moons, but this walk was different. There was a different atmosphere amongst the people. Everyone was still going about their jobs, but a hesitancy and a contained hopefulness slowed their work. In the pub, a few rumours had surfaced—multiple attacks in the city, multiple Mage Kings dead, no retaliation… yet. Ren could scarce contain his curiosity; how many had his team successfully killed? The same sort of questions seemed prevalent in every conversation on the streets. Are they all dead?
The Targon Tavern was a three-storey building and the closest inn to a mansion that Ren had ever seen. White wooden pillars supported a second and first storey balcony, while two slave women in skimpy dresses stood outside offering free smiles and berry cakes to passersby. Ren grabbed a bite from one as he climbed the wide, curved stairs that led up three steps to the front door of the establishment.
A waiter stood in the front of the room; he wore a black silk shirt, tucked into straight, pressed linen trousers. He bowed to Ren as he entered and asked, “Welcome to the Targon, sir. Are you looking for a drink, food, company, or a room?”
“My friends are already here, but we have planned a meeting here from out of town. Do you have meeting rooms—Ah.” Ren cut himself off when he spotted Asar. The swordsman leaned at a doorway across the first-floor common room, looking into the adjoining room. “That’s my man there.”
“Go right ahead, sir,” the servant said. He waved Ren ahead with a wave of his palm.
When Ren was a few steps away, Asar noticed him in his peripherals. He lit up and stepped forward to embrace Ren. “Son of the sea,” the mercenary muttered, clasping Ren’s forearm. “I am glad to see you!”
“Likewise, Asar,” Ren said. “And the others?”
Woodro was peaking out of the door as Ren walked in it. The warrior had his arm in a sling, but excitedly embraced Ren’s shoulders with the other. Ren could scarcely believe it. “You survived, you little fiend!” he blurted. “What are the chances!”
“No chances,” Woodro said, grinning proudly. “Skill.”
Kazra chuckled and shook her head. “I killed two of the Kings at the feast. You killed fat man Illigar.”
Ren laughed. “Oh, the big guy!”
“And his knife throwing harlot,” Woodro exclaimed. He showed Ren two grazes on his shoulder, covered by his tunic and scabbed over already. “Nearly got me twice, the little fish.”
“And broke your arm?”
“Illigar knocked me down with some sort of wind,” Woodro confessed. “Just twisted it the wrong way, but it’s already healing.”
“Not untouchable after all,” Ren winked. He looked around their meeting room—a half dozen soldiers seated around a wooden table adorned with refreshments and alcohol. “Where’s Karsef?” he asked, concerned.
“He hasn’t shown up yet,” Sarno said. He had bandaged his nose with a white “X”. He shook his head when Ren looked at him. “Nor has Crollem.”
“What about Virn?” Kazra asked, quietly. She had almost accepted an outcome, it seemed.
“He’s recovering at another inn,” Ren said. Kazra let out a sigh of relief. “I didn’t want to move him, but he’ll be fine in time.”
“Has any rumour arrived about King Turim?” Ren asked. Turim had been the man at the arena, targeted by the absent Karsef. “I heard there was a dead Mage King at Novilo’s new palace.”
“No word about Turim. He could be dead, or he could be hiding,” said Kazra.
The others were all smiling smugly after Ren’s comment about Novilo. It looked like a surprise, but good news too. “What?” Ren asked.
“We didn’t just kill one Mage King at Novilo’s palace,” Sarno said.
“Two?” Ren questioned, astounded. Sarno and his one man had done good work! Renado should have assigned another to Karsef’s group it seemed.
Asar shook his head. “Not two,” he said, smugly.
Ren’s jaw dropped. “Three?! What!”
Everyone was smiling and chuckling for a moment, before Asar gave Ren an explanation. “I spent a good long time at Statha’s Girls, but there was no sign of King Ulren. We searched for him in the streets and even checked in at his castle—he had gone to visit Novilo.”
Sarno nodded. “I delayed a little when Ulren arrived, but it paid off,” the mercenary said. “Asar and Dorvigo joined us.”
Ren realized Dorvigo wasn’t there. “What happened to Dorvigo?”
“He didn’t make it.” A moment of silence followed Asar’s doleful explanation.
“Well how did three Mage Kings die there?” Ren asked. He counted on his fingers emphatically. “King Ulren, King Novilo.”
“King Aggo appeared, from thin air, not five feet from me,” Sarno explained. Ren burst out laughing, while the Circle sergeant explained. “I killed him out of surprise, and didn’t even realize who it was until a moment later.”
“I can’t believe it,” Ren gasped. “I thought I had botched the plan when he got away. Gods, thank the gods. So the three at the feast are dead, and Pretar at the training field, and somehow three at Novilo’s unbuilt palace!”
“Seven,” said Woodro, quietly. “And no Karsef.”
Ren nodded, but tried to improve the grim tone in his soldier’s voice. “Yet. The day is not done.”
With drink and dinner, they waited all afternoon. By the time Ren walked back to his place at Virn’s bedside, this time with Kazra, the tone of the day had changed from potential and realized hope into grim acceptance. King Turim was still alive, and Karsef was either slain or seized.