They were three days from Vagren when Asar spotted someone cresting the hill behind them. They had passed other travellers by this point, but none who carefully followed where they went and kept the same distance. After Asar noticed, Renado kept an eye out. That evening, their tail could be seen watching from the second hill behind them. Ren ordered his men to set up camp while he sent Woodro back to investigate.
Waiting for Woodro to return, Ren parked his rump on the corner of his cot and watched the hilltop across their campfire. It didn’t take long before he saw a second figure dash across the crest of that hill and knock their startled follower to the dirt. Ren stood up swiftly and waved for Virn to follow him. Asar and Bran accompanied as well, while Omma stayed with Captain Urro, his men, Kazra, and Sarno’s men.
When they finally marched up the animal path between tall grasses and cedar trees, they found Woodro pinning a frail middle-aged woman to the ground. His sword was drawn, gently tickling the back of her neck as she spread her hands near her head in fear. “Who are you?” Ren demanded.
“I was just travelling this way,” the woman stammered. Ren knelt to get a better look at her. She struck him as familiar, though he could not say how. Woodro pushed his knee harder into her side. “Please, I’m just going to Vagren!” she sobbed.
Ren nodded to Woodro so he would let up. The mercenary shrugged and eased his knee back, but did not remove his sword. “Well, that’s a lie,” Renado assured the woman. A slim dagger slid from his belt and he placed it gently near the woman’s left nostril. A quick slit would make Ren’s threats more serious. “You want to talk yet?”
The woman stared at Ren with one eye, while her other pressed into the dry dirt and grass. She hadn’t even set up camp here, Ren noticed. He looked back at her as she cleared her throat and locked her half-obstructed sight on Ren’s eyes. “The Isle of Dusk,” she said, quietly. “Gravagan.” Then she let out a long sigh of relief. If she could say those words, she had sworn the same oaths as Ren—the oaths to the damned Tether. She breathed, “So it is you. I did not know exactly who you would be…. Do you mind?”
While the woman tried to push Ren’s knife away with one of her splayed hands, Ren tried to piece it together. A woman from Ith or Vagren who knew of his presence there: she must have been Lotha. He had glimpsed her once, when the guards had dragged her out of the streets and back into the prison of the late King Turim. “Who are you?” he asked suspiciously.
“I’m Lotha,” she said, at last telling the truth. Ren gave a nod to Woodro and the mercenary let up his sword. Lotha twisted her legs around into a sitting position and rubbed her lower back painfully. She glanced back at Ren. “I work for Irrith and the others. You were the ones who killed the Mage Kings, yes?”
Ren nodded. “I am,” he said. He was at her level, crouched down on the balls of his feet. “How did you get free?”
She started to stand, and Ren rose with her. “A member—or, an ex-member, I should say—of our Conclave freed me. He told me to find you, but neither of us knew what you looked like. We only knew that you were in Ith.”
“Ex-member?” Ren repeated.
Lotha nodded. “Do you know the name Axar?”
“That bastard poisoned me!” Ren said, with a wave of his knife. “Even the damned wreckage of his house was trapped thoroughly enough to inflict injuries among my men.”
“He was in a lot of danger,” Lotha explained, dismissively. “I do not doubt traps were necessary. Axar assured me that he was manipulated into betraying the Conclave. He suggested a course of action to me to prove his loyalty. Do you know anything about that?”
Ren looked at her with narrowed eyes. He had found proof of that manipulation in Axar’s home, despite all the perils. “Let’s go to my camp for that story,” Ren said to her.
Lotha nodded, and beckoned them lead the way. Of course, then Asar waved his hand, insisting she walk ahead of him.
Ren explained the contents of the Grey Brethren letter to Lotha as they sat around the fire. Kazra and Virn chatted at a nearby fire, while Sarno and his men sparred to the south of their camp. The Circle troopers had begun keeping to themselves more, now that the end of their partnership was on the horizon.
With a handful of questions, Lotha learned some of the specifics of the blackmail letter. When Ren mentioned that the letter had assured Axar that the Grey Brethren would publish his gravest deeds for the world to see, she grew quiet. After he finished that part of the explanation, she asked if the letter had named any of the deeds. When Ren said “None,” she nodded contentedly and asked another question.
At last, she fell silent and watched the flames wistfully. Despite her frail figure, whatever suffering she had endured in Ith’s jails seemed to be a world away. Perhaps that is what her fuzzy eyes peered at in the flames. “When Axar freed me, I had hoped he spoke the truth. I hope his plans will work, and he will demonstrate his renewed loyalty. Something must be done about the Grey Brethren. We’re a thousand miles from their city; they’ve no business blackmailing my friends.”
Ren nodded. “I have equal reason to hate them,” he said. “They cost my Family everything. That’s the only reason I’m even—that’s how I first met the Conclave.”
“Why are you only returning to Vagren now?” Lotha asked. She glanced through the cedar smoke to Ren. Her dark blue eyes were piercing. Woodro and Asar glanced across the fire at Ren to see how he would respond.
“Not all the Mage Kings were dead,” Ren revealed. “We waited until the job was done. And we finished it.”
Lotha chuckled and looked back into the fire. “You survived nonetheless?” she asked, incredulously. “Irrith did find a good team for the job, then.”
Woodro snorted. “Damned right, she found a team!” Ren started to laugh, to Lotha’s confusion. The cocky mercenary managed to find every opportunity for a brag. When he noticed Lotha’s inquisitive expression, Ren just smiled and shrugged.