Renado and his alliance of mercenaries never did find Crollem’s body. After the chaotic fight in the streets of the Norzeen District, they had searched for their fallen man. King Turim—before his brutal extermination at Kazra’s hands—had tailed Crollem to the Verdant Drinkhouse, killed him, and then assumed his appearance with a twisted magic of which Ren had never before heard.
Despite the loss of one of Sarno’s men, the Circle warriors did not depart. Virn continued his slow recovery, and Kazra accompanied Renado to the first of his planned meetings with the factions of Ith.
Though the week had been rainy, the sun dried the cobblestones with a passive heat as Ren, Kazra, and Woodro walked out of Pranan’s Hill and into Massed Alley. The change between districts was distinct—where city guards patrolled the clean, well-lit streets of the elite town, only roughly-clothed men and women sat in the slum. Almost every other person had a slave brand between their shoulder blades, though some hid them. Renado and his comrades kept their wits about them despite the downtrodden vagrants. A line of armed ex-slaves eyed the newcomers as they began their way down the dense, winding streets.
Ren’s men had set up a meeting with the leader of the slaves, Jayza, in a town square several roads off the main highway of Night Kra. He was permitted two guards, so he had asked Kazra to dress plainly and arm herself simply. He didn’t want to reveal the tricks in his hand before the game even began.
Jayza had come with two guards as well. The thirty-year-old woman stood between them with an air of authority, waiting beside a stagnant fountain for their arranged parley. She wore a thin linen shirt that hung on beaded strings around her shoulders. It left her back bare, so Ren assumed she was advertising the round scar in the middle of her back. The Delivered were impassioned by their past, and emboldened by their suffering. It was their only claim to the territory they controlled, Ren thought.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” Renado began, as he stepped into a comfortable speaking distance.
Jayza wasn’t one for idle conversation. “Who are you?” she asked. Ren’s messengers had not spoken at length with her faction.
Ren patted the top of his sword hilt, clasped at his belt comfortably. “We helped dispose of some people.”
“Who do you work for?” Jayza questioned, intently. Her eyes probed Renado, though her gaze was expressionless. She was a beautiful woman, Ren had to admit, despite her fierce rule over the Delivered, and her status. She opened her lips again. “One of the other factions?”
“No, an outside contract.” Ren folded his arms. The Tether, that pestering oath, had made his vague replies unintentional. “I can’t say much more.”
Jayza raised an eyebrow. “Interesting,” she said, her voice dry. Unimpressed. “And what do you want?”
“I would like to help the people of Ith transition from the Mage Kings of yesterday to the new rule of the city,” Ren said. He could not help but let a tinge of intensity into his voice. Ren knew that sooner or later his probing would stumble upon Gravagan’s purpose in Ith, the purpose that had sent Ren and his men here on their mission of assassination in the first place. He sought that purpose out of curiosity, and vaguely out of paranoia. Nearly everyone important to Ren was presently living here.
Jayza did not—and could not—know any of that. She shook her head. “So an outside contract wants to help decide who rules here? Ith has had enough of being told how to rule,” she sneered. “If you attended a single one of my speeches, you would know that I will take Ith for our people, not for someone else.”
“Ah,” Ren said. He took a step back from her tirade. “Then why didn’t you deal with the Mage Kings before hand?”
The silence that followed his question was so intense he thought he heard his own heart beat. He knew Kazra would be ready for action, if Jayza made the wrong move. Ren’s tongue might have finally gotten the better of him.
Instead, Jayza scoffed. “Because I was busy being raped by them,” she said, flatly. The word, unusually spoken aloud, filled the terse silence with discomfort. “I’m not some flopped revolutionary, manipulated by Axar and his ilk, failing after years of attempts.” The woman put her hand on a long dagger fastened to her hip. “I was chained to a bed for most of the last seven years—so go ahead and ask me about the Mage Kings again.”
Kazra’s weapon was on the verge of being drawn, but Ren held up his hand to stop his mercenary. “You were chained to a bed for seven years?” he asked, incredulously.
The ex-slave trembled visibly and stepped back a pace. Then she turned on her heel and took another step away. “Make sure they leave Massed Alley,” she said to her supporters and continued to walk around the edge of the putrid fountain water.
Ren glanced at Woodro—who was grinning—and rolled his eyes. “…handle that attitude better,” he muttered under his breath. Thankfully Jayza didn’t hear it.
The Delivered brandished sheathed weapons and pointed up the hill as Ren started to lead his comrades away. It was a disappointing walk back to the Targon Tavern without any headway gained from the meeting. In a few weeks, Ren would meet with Domeran and his criminal accomplices. Working with well-rounded crooks would likely lead to a better alliance anyway, he thought as he reflected on the anxious exchange with the unpredictable slave woman.