Weeks passed. Renado and Kalikus went from living under an overturned rowboat, to abandoned shacks in the slums, to a brief stint in a tavern, to a makeshift camp in an alley somewhere. The Saanazar Guard pursued their telltale appearances with fervour and force. Patrols moved day and night. Sometimes, Kal would wake Ren up to hurry them away from a search party or the prying eyes of devout city-folk. The loyal warrior also reported that the City Guard had descriptions of other members of Ren’s party—among them: Asar, Omma, and a few sailors.
The days were short—Ren spent most of them asleep or in a similar state. His injuries and bandages were equal and aplenty. His sword-arm shoulder was the worst of them; he had little to no movement in that limb. Kal was in better shape, but still moved slowly.
By the middle of the Second Moon, they had made no more progress in finding their companions. The regular places frequented by Ren’s crew had become guard outposts more or less. Moving around the city was as difficult and risky as sending out rumours in the hopes of contacting familiar ears.
Kal brought them roasted boar one evening, after a gambled venture into one of the heavily patrolled food markets. He collapsed across the alleyway from Ren, tossing him a papyrus wrapped steak. It was heavily seasoned and only lukewarm, but Ren wolfed it down regardless. He needed all the protein he could get.
“The tanner gave me a funny look,” Kal said. “We should probably move after we’re done eating.”
Ren sighed. They had spent the last night sleeping behind a tanner’s shop, but he had seen them a few times now. “Fine,” he said. “Any word?”
Kal shook his head and pulled aggressively at his own slab of meat with his teeth.
“Thank you,” Renado said. He would be dead, if it wasn’t for Kal. “For getting me out of there, and staying with me.”
Kal shrugged. “I’ve got nowhere else to be,” he said with a small smile.
Ren chewed quietly for a few moments. He disguised an urge to scratch the slash on his hipbone by checking the bandage. He felt sickly, but he knew it was just weakness from lying around for half-a-Moon. After a quiet spell, he asked Kal, “How long did you serve on Storm?”
It was a coy way of asking about Kal’s friendship with the late Captain Urro.
“I was put on the ship after the mutineers left, back in 1479,” the sailor-turned-mercenary answered.
Ren nodded. “That was after a visit to Starath, wasn’t it? An arms deal.” Tass—may she rest in peace—had told him that as she recounted Lerran’s rise to power in Sheld. Renado had missed it all thanks to the cursed mages of the Isle of Dusk—may they rest in peace, he thought.
“That’s right,” Kal said, swallowing hard. “I worked in procurement, before that.”
Procurement had been the Family’s division of production. It involved recruiting drug producers, greedy blacksmiths and brewers, and the Family’s investments in the trade of slaves. Its consideration as dirty work was not the reason that Ren—son of the Family boss, Gharo—had not been given a procurement duty. Even with the risks and illicit activities, there was a certain measure of boasting to working that field. Gharo had not wanted Ren to have even that much glory until he earned it, and so Ren had served on Vanci Dispatch, a smuggling ship not unlike Storm.
“And how long have you been a part of the Family?” Ren asked.
Kal smirked. “Is there a Family? Still?”
For some reason, Renado couldn’t reply. Had he still been thinking of his outfit as a department of the crime syndicate? Or was it his perhaps delusional confidence that the Family would rise from its ashes? He just couldn’t bring himself to admit there wasn’t a Family.
“Twelve years,” Kal said. “Before that, I came from Cobblestone Bog, in Noress-That-Was. The cliff-side streets of Sheld seemed like quite an upgrade, at the time.”
“I’m sure they were,” Ren said, smiling.
Kal lowered his steak and looked at Ren. “I wouldn’t go back to Noress,” he said. “I wouldn’t go back anywhere, or undo any of this.”
Ren raised his chin. This man had proven loyalty, but now he showed even more of himself. He was fit to be one of Ren’s most-trusted men. “Neither would I,” Ren responded, and tore off another bite. Let the dead stay dead, he thought. Friend and foe, alike.