A gentle rain was falling when the Divine Trader arrived in the holy city of Saanazar. Low hanging clouds obscured the Grey Temple and the Burnt Keep, oppressing the rooftops of the rising city with a misty grey. The merchant ship was crewed by a mix of mercantile professionals, and captained by a priest of the Grey Brethren.
When Renado and his friends had secured passage on the next departing ship from High Raena, Renado had asked the captain how he could be both merchant and monk. The man claimed that all his excess earnings went toward the Atmos Septi, upon his returns to Saanazar. That might explain why his cabin was well-guarded—but it also struck Ren that each of the crew of the Divine Trader was wealthier than most sailors he had seen in his days aboard the Vanci Dispatch. They shared amiably with their captain-priest, as though he owned all that they owned.
Renado was eager to put his feet back on land. It was a strange feeling, for he had always had sea legs. Most years, he had spent more days aboard a ship than on ground. This time, his desire to go ashore was fueled by his impatience. They had been travelling for two months now, waiting to strike, craving action. A part of Ren knew it would not be easier once he entered that rainy city they drifted toward—they could not just attack the Grey Brethren for vengeance. This would be a long game of cat and mouse. They would reveal what they could to the Grey Brethren until the Brethren and the Conclave waged war against one another. Renado and his fury could only burn brightly once his enemies had weakened one another.
The Divine Trader reached the harbour in the afternoon. The rainy stone-faced buildings reminded Ren of Sheld. He and his group of travellers gave the second half of their payment to the captain and went ashore at last.
Eight years ago, Ren had visited Saanazar with his Uncle Vanci. He had seen the Blasted Wall and had even visited one of the temples of the Atmos Septi, though he could no longer say which one. They had smuggled in crates of soma and even a few jars of Caraci’s Tears, which they called Weeping Poison—a powerful hallucinogen. He remembered only a few landmarks, but had little trouble finding the tavern, Parla’s Place, where he had stayed with his uncle. Its namesake, a heavyset innkeeper, came out to the patio when Ren told her he had a large group.
She surveyed the twenty-five men and women standing outside and smiled. “Son of the sea, don’t you have a ship to sleep on?”
“Not any more,” Ren said, bitterly. “Can you house us?”
“Atmos’ toe,” the crude woman cursed. She held out her hand for coins. Renado uncinched the top of his travelling pack and passed her a coin pouch. He had already told her he would be paying weekly. She kept her hand held out and said, “I’ll need to kick out a few other patrons, you see, to make room for Loriar and apparently all the damned saints.” She waved her other hand toward Urro’s troop.
Ren begrudgingly set a second coin pouch on top of the first. “There’s forty in each.”
She tilted her head. “Fine. Wait in the common room while I clear out some rooms.” She led the way inside, though Ren let his men go ahead of him. When Ira crossed the patio, Renado fell into pace beside her. “You should start playing cards again,” he said. “Right away.”
Ira chuckled and gave him a nod that seemed to say, “I’d love to.”
Ren would need to send some of his crew to find out which taverns had a lot of money to be won—if they had taken over an entire floor of Parla’s Place, there would be fewer gamblers that weren’t already a part of their group. To fund a long-term stay here, Ren would need to generate some income to stabilize his group. With that in mind, he sought out Omma. “I want you to ask around over the next few days. Don’t get us any high-profile work, but something to pay the bills. If it’s aboveboard, even better.”
“Certainly,” Omma said. “I’ll keep an eye out for anything that might put us on the wrong side of the Grey Brethren or any magician. I’m assuming we want to appear as neutral as possible while we are here.”
“Exactly,” Renado replied. And we’ll just hope Gravagan doesn’t show up and kill us… he thought. He watched Ira chatting with a group of card players at another table. She didn’t even know that their immediate annihilation was always a possibility. The only time Ren wasn’t thinking about the threat of the Conclave was when he was wondering where his brother was.