Sunberth was the sort of environment one never unlearned. Only a few days in the city of cutthroats and Wrenmae had found himself in his usual haunts, speaking with the usual people, and gathering information on the remainder of the Crimson Edge.
Now he stood outside of an inn, near the crack of an open window. Arms folded, he laid his head back against the obstinate mortar and repeated his question. Golden mizas trickled through his fingers, balanced against skin.
"The Crimson Edge, Hound, where are they?"
"Ah, the young lieutenant, so eager to call the troops back to combat?"
"We have an arrangement, coin for whispers."
"We had an arrangement. You left for Zeltiva. Made quite a name for yourself over there I hear, a Waveguard, a man of the law. I wonder what the Zeltivans would think of you if they knew your true colors?"
"Let's not play this game, Hound, if you're smart enough to follow in my footsteps, you're smart enough to hear all kinds of rumors."
"Ah yes, they say you're a mage...young man. Not the best claim to make here...besides, the Daggerhands have been busy. Most of your takes, holdings, and underlings have left or been killed. They were thorough."
"Fearing a pompous Myrian and a gang?"
"Fearing ambition and strangers."
"Sounds Sunberth."
"Those who left for the Spires have not returned. I might consider them dead, personally, but if they do set course for here...they'll learn the fate of the gang soon enough."
"Fair. Of the ones remaining?"
"Your Zith consort moved into the Wildlands. None have seen more of her. The boy with the strange curved blades, Daniel was it? He is perished, or run off. I believe you've already seen Xavior. Eryss and his strange ways have retreated from public eye. They led a hunt for him last season, I believe. I did not hear they hung his corpse...but so many things happen these days. Especially with the Ravokians passing through."
"Ravokians? How many?"
"Ah...that will cost you, son."
"Very well. After. I know what they're after."
"So you return here with a mission, hmm? Not long for the city, I suspect."
"I'll return. What of Kreig, the brawler."
"Alive. The boy practices no magical craft and by virtue of his untainted soul, he remains a fixture of this place. More wild now, perhaps. I hear the Dragoons are to make him an offer."
"Turncoat."
"Smart turncoat then."
"Where can I find him?"
There was a silence.
Sighing, Wrenmae placed ten gold miza coins on the sill, complimenting the other five.
"South," Hound said quietly, "He passed into the forest a bell ago, due Southwest."
"And the Ravokians?"
"Boy, you follow the tails of wolves much larger than you're used to fighting."
Wrenmae felt uncomfortable, remembering the strange wolves from when he first drew near Sunberth. Could Hound know? No...it was impossible.
"You underestimate my potential."
"Perhaps I do. This information is free then. Some have said Ravokians passed through here days ago, a number of them, bound for Sahova."
"And I will give something, in return, to you. Sylirans and Zeltivans are bound for Sunberth as well. They will reach the city by the thirtieth by my estimate, maybe longer."
"Your information is appreciated. Consider our contact re-established."
"I will."
"Ah, yes, and boy?"
"Yes?"
"Have you banished your demons then?"
Wrenmae was silent for a moment, looking down at his hands, remembering...or rather, not remembering what they had once done.
"Yes."
"Then you are far more dangerous a threat than the Daggerhands placed you at."
"Should I expect them?"
"No, but they will expect you.”
Pushing away from the wall, Wrenmae left the coin where he had placed them on the sill. Kreig was the last Crimson Edge Contact besides Xavior left in the city. To lay the ghost of Cade’s ambitions to rest, he’d need to track down the brawler and discover his loyalties. It helped that their last meeting was one where his hands had been around Wrenmae’s throat, it helped the hypnotist justify killing the man…should the situation demand it.
Stepping out into the street, he moved South, to the outskirts of the city, and then Southwest through the forest. As he walked, his face and body changed. His hair took a flaxen, sun-bleached hue and tan crept across his ordinarily pale skin. His eyes blazed a blinding blue and he gained several inches of height, pressing his clothes to their limit. The skin of his face stretched as well, the whole of him seeming wider, more wind-hewn than cold and calculating. This disguise would pass inspection, especially if Kreig did not expect to see Wrenmae again. He followed the course south west, keeping his ears tuned and his step careful. The last thing he wanted to do was alert any other parties in the area that he was alone. It was quite by stroke of luck that he heard the crunch of dried leaves beneath feet and came upon an unexpected figure leading his tiny automation toward the city.
Ignotus Everto, the nuit from Zeltiva. The two of them had worked together before, quite extensively, and it seemed as though he had chosen to take his chances outside the jurisdiction of the knights as well. But for a nuit to travel on their lonesome…well, an ambitious creature certainly.
Kreig shifted through the trees a distance from the nuit, drawing Wren’s eyes. The man looked much the same, a little worse for wear, but with the same stubborn will and confrontative body language. Ignotus complicated matters, but only in principle. Revealing himself would undoubtedly secure a necessary ally. But for now, it was easier to play the part of the stranger, see if there were any differences to Kreig’s character…if he merited another invitation.
“Ho, travelers!” Wren called out, his voice deeper, resonate, “Heading to Sunberth?”
