The harbour of Saanazar was one of the largest in the Known World. Renado had spent nearly half of his life in ports, but today was not a day full of nostalgic reminiscing. The whooping calls of the sailors and the hubbub of the merchants seemed distant due to the glaring gaze of the robed sentries that accompanied Archpriest Par. Renado and his men—just Woodro and Virn today—had not had to wait long.
There were three guards approaching with the priest, prompting Virn to say, “You should have let Kalikus join us. Those don’t look like ordinary guards.”
Ren smirked. Kal had been instrumental the last few days as their volunteer to frequent the Perfumed Palace on Ren’s coin. From cleverly offered bribes to eavesdropping, Kal had already brought Ren a few significant pieces of information. This prompted the sailor and sellsword to ask to accompany Ren today—but Ren had turned him down. He didn’t want to risk the priesthood realizing that they were being spied upon by someone with whom they were openly dealing.
“We can take them,” Woodro said, shaking his shoulders side-to-side as he rested one hand on his sword. The guards were armed with spears, but they wore only robes, in lieu of chainmail.
“We won’t be fighting,” Ren said. Nevertheless, he muttered under his breath, “I hope.”
Kal had turned up a most infuriating and illuminating fact. According to Militant Morrus’ favourite whore, he had only partially shared a role in the downfall of Sheld. In fact, the entirety of the Grey Brethren had only shared a partial role. Ren was livid when he heard the truth—the Empire of Noress had gone back on their bargain, betraying Lerran and the Family in a secret deal with the Atmos Septi. Both institutions had profited from the deal, and both were at fault for the death of Ren’s sisters. The list of offenders was growing longer: Erril the spy, Gravagan and the Conclave, the Grey Brethren, the Matriarchs….
Archpriest Par paced along the dock Ren had chosen. There were a few ships moored farther down, but none were disembarking. Minimal foot traffic was a priority. The three-storey tavern at the end of the dock gave Ren’s reinforcements a perfect vantage-point for the meeting.
Par looked Ren and his men over again, sizing them up as though he hadn’t done so enough at their first meeting. “You seem resourceful and knowledgeable,” he said. “I have some specific questions concerning what you told my colleague last week. In exchange for answers, I am willing to consider your own requests—information, money, name it.”
Ren smiled. “I’m also looking for information.”
Apparently, Archpriest Par put little value on small talk. “This group that eliminated the Mage Kings,” he began, “does the magician known as Axar work for them?”
Renado blinked. First sent to Ith to deal with Axar—a traitor to the Conclave—Ren and his men had found the magician’s home burnt to cinders and surrounded by corpses. There, they had found a hidden letter addressed to Axar: its contents blackmailed the magician to defeat the Mage Kings and forsake the Conclave’s similar goal. “Last I saw was the burnt wreckage of his house,” Ren told the Grey Brother. Last I heard is another story, Ren thought. They had learned from Lotha that Axar had freed her and urged her to tell her Conclave masters of his return to their ranks. “We all believed he was dead,” he lied.
Par blinked, wrinkling his brow with confusion. “How recently was this?”
“Last I heard was about four months ago,” Ren replied. “The day I left Ith.”
The Archpriest frowned. “I see,” he said. He looked down. “I have reason to find your information inaccurate or incomplete,” he explained, looking up to meet Ren’s eyes. “Is your lead on a scheming magician in our midst more believable?”
Ren shrugged. “There is an operative based in a nearby settlement, working for the same organization. I’ll tell you which city once you add some balance to this bargain,” Ren said. “Whose plan was it to ally with Noress-That-Was against the city of Sheld?”
“I—” Par’s jaw dropped as he realized what the question meant. “How do you know that?” he questioned. “Who are you?”
Renado crossed his arms. “I’m from Sheld and I want to know who, specifically, set my home on fire.” Of course, the literal fire had been caused by Woodro crashing the burning Vanci Dispatch into the mercenary camps on the waterfront.
It took Archpriest Par a few moments to collect himself and consider how to answer. He must have been really concerned about Ren’s claim of a Conclave magician operating nearby, for he answered with a name. “Archpriest Roithe was the one to suggest it to the Council. Now, in what city shall we seek this operative of ill intent?”
Roithe… he’s the Archpriest of the Speaker’s Creed, Ren recalled. On the other hand, the more conspiracist circles of the public suggested that Speaker Serand was the Archpriest of his own Creed, and Roithe was the Archpriest of a mysterious Sixth Creed.
“They are in the city of Trell,” Ren answered after a moment. “I suspect they have people working for them here in Saanazar. These main operatives never enter their target city, as a means of security. No member of their group can be trusted.”
Par nodded. “We’ll look into this operative in Trell.”
“I know of another one—based near Ith and of a similar rank. If you answer another question, I will tell you what I know of them.” Ren cracked two of his knuckles as he waited for the ponderous man to decide.
“Very well,” the Grey Brother replied. “Ask away.”
“Why was Sheld targeted by such a secretive alliance?” Ren questioned. He heard Woodro stir beside him, eager to hear the answer. They all missed their home.
“Chance,” Par said, smiling. “Or perhaps, providence. Gharo was the one that took over Lo Mallago and Lerran the one who massacred the government of Sheld. It was circumstance that made Sheld a target—to the Grey Brethren, a blemish on the edge of a religious empire that spans the Grey Sea; to Var Nordos, Lo Mallago was a chance at a colony on the mainland. The criminal syndicate of Sheld made itself a target.”
Ren clenched his teeth together. “Or perhaps providence”? he thought, enraged. In other words, my brother did nothing to either of you, and you stabbed him in the back for it! Ren ran his hand through his hair.
The dagger slid out of its sheath in a smooth gesture and he stepped forward. Before anyone could react, he had jammed the dagger into Par’s abdomen—once, twice, thrice. Blood splattered the docks as Ren’s fury was—
—imagined. He sighed loudly and stepped back from the smug Archpriest. Woodro gave him an understanding nod. Ren longed to free his knife and start claiming his vengeance this very day!
“What of Ith—this other plotter?” Par asked.
Ren looked at him for a moment, and then down into the foamy water beside the dock.
“I told you what you wanted to know—now answer!” the priest demanded.
With a wave of his hands, Ren confessed, “What you’ve told me has just come as a shock to me. Look for Irrith in Vagren.”
“We will,” Archpriest Par replied. “Thank you for this. I only hope your information is accurate.”
“And yours too,” Ren snorted. He looked at Virn, nodded, and then led the way along the dock. They marched briskly past Par and his guards, and towards the city streets across the harbour. Ren needed whiskey—an ocean of it. Enough to make Ira proud. If they needed to trade more information with Par, they would do it next time.