Motega explained Neenahwi’s theory that Pyrfew had other reasons for being interested in Ioth itself, not just the arrangement to build ships and have a home away from home, and that it probably had something to do with the church. He said they had to be ready for trouble, try to prepare the city too if they could.
Alana listened intently, hanging on every word. She asked him if Neenahwi was going to join them if she was so concerned. She had heard what Neenahwi was capable of—both in fighting off the Draco-Turtle and against the Pyrfew fleet with Crews—and she thought that would be useful if there was going to be trouble. Who knew what Pyrfew had planned? If Alana was honest with herself. she’d always felt threatened by Neenahwi’s involvement in their election plans, but now she would be the first to welcome her at the door with open arms.
“No, she’s got to go back to Kingshold,” said Motega. “She needs to take care of some other wizardly business.”
“That’s a shame,” she said. Alana could tell that he wasn’t giving her the whole story. From playing spires she could tell when he was bluffing from the way he tapped his fingers on the table. Alana was pretty sure Motega didn’t realize, but Trypp sure used it to his advantage.
“So that just makes things a little more complicated for us,” finished Motega.
“It was already pretty fucking complicated, Mot.” Trypp looked at Florian and Motega in turn. “I told you we had a chance to quit.” His friends shrugged.
“You said there was another guest. Who?” asked Alana ignoring Trypp’s outburst and dredging up something said earlier that the conversation had glided past.
“We got the Devoted guy.” Trypp waved toward the back of the house. “He’s in one of the back rooms sleeping off the dosing we gave him last night.”
“Well, that’s one bit of good news, but still I seem to have lost my appetite,” said Alana. “That’s a lot to take in over breakfast. Anyone have any ideas?” She was greeted with a collection of shrugs and frowns. “I’m going to need to think on this. But I guess I should talk to this Devoted man. Admiral, will you join me? Jill, if you wouldn’t mind waking him up that would be appreciated.”
It turned out her loss of appetite was temporary. While Fin went to wake him up, Trypp in tow so he could explain to their guest where he was now, she tucked into breakfast with gusto. Yes, she had just heard a veritable shit sandwich (as her sister would put it) of news, but at least it seemed like something was happening now. She couldn’t just sit and wait if there was a bigger threat. They were going to have to try to do something, and so it was getting the gears in her head moving. And that machinery needed some fuel.
Fin and Trypp returned a few minutes later, and the assassin in disguise prepared a plate of food to take back to their guest. It would be fine to give him a few moments before she spoke with him, that way she could finish her own breakfast, too. Trypp leaned on the back of a chair and stared at Motega and Florian, silent for a moment but looking like he was trying to work out a particularly challenging sum.
“Do you remember when we got here, and we went to Giofre’s shop to see what was going on?” His friends nodded. “That other customer, the one who interrupted us. Ninno, or Neeno or something.”
“Neno, I think,” said Florian.
Trypp hooked a thumb back the way he had come. “It’s the same guy. I didn’t recognize him yesterday, but I’m sure of it. He’s not dressed the same, but it’s him.”
“What’s this?” asked Alana as she chewed on a piece of bread.
“The Devoted guy. The preacher. We met him before. He’s a merchant. Looked like he was not too short on cash at the time either.”
“Hmmm, good to know. Alright, Admiral, I think it’s time we said hello. Can you three stay here until we’ve figured out what to do? I don’t want to scare the man…Yet.” Motega, Florian and Trypp all nodded as Alana wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin and left the room.
The Admiral walked by Alana’s side, thankfully in silence, down the open passageway that bordered the internal garden. She knocked on the door to their guest’s room and let herself in. Seated at the table was a man of middling years, hair tussled from a restless night of sleep. He rose to greet her, his hand extended.
“Is it you I have to thank for my life, my lady?” he asked. “I’m not used to being rescued and even though Arloth does work in strange ways, I had not expected kidnapping to be part of it.”
“Apologies for that,” said Alana, sitting down and beckoning the men to follow suit. “But I’m sure you can understand it was better than the alternative. We have been looking for the Devoted, and I’m afraid there aren’t many of you left.”
“That saddens me to hear.” He bowed his head, brows furrowing. “Though I remain hopeful that they will be released in due course.”
“From what I hear, it doesn’t sound like the city had much interest in capturing your people yesterday, but I hope you are right. Anyway, let’s get down to business. Who are you?”
“I am but a servant of Arloth; an adherent to the true lessons of the Saints. I have taken it upon myself to save the people of Ioth who have wandered away from the true flock. That’s why my people call me Shep’d”
Alana considered Shep’d. She didn’t particularly want to get into a discussion on doctrine or his beliefs, though she could tell that he was almost willing her to engage in such a conversation. A tiny part of her was interested to hear if his beliefs were more in line with what she thought as a child, but there was no time for beating around the bush. “Why did you attack the Blessing of the Sea celebration four nights past?”
He looked righteously indignant at the accusation. “I can assure you, madame, that the Devoted had no part in that attack. We are not assassins or soldiers. Simply normal people who do not care for the materialistic focus that consumes this city. If Arloth saw fit to have some of the pox on Ioth eradicated then I can’t say that I am particularly sorry. But we had nothing to do with it.”
“The Admiral and I were attacked too, so I would watch the way you phrase it. Am I a pox, Mr. Shep’d? I’m not sure it is wise to protest your innocence while still calling on the favor of your god for being responsible. But I’ll give you another chance. Who would be responsible if it wasn’t you?”
“There are many people here who do foul things. It would be too difficult to pick one.”
She wasn’t getting anywhere, and though Shep’d was being perfectly civil, she was not appreciating the useless answers. It was time for a different tack.
“Do you know a merchant by the name of Neno perhaps? I am also looking to talk with him.”
Shep’d visibly gulped, but he forced a smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know that name.”
“Really?” she asked rhetorically. “It seems I am faced with a difficult decision. You see, for a number of reasons that I won’t go in to, I need the favor of the Speaker. Now, I’m not sure the Devoted were behind the attack. In fact, a number of people I know have said that they categorically don’t believe it could have been you.” She paused for a moment as he nodded, finding favor in her words. Time to pull the rug out from under him. “However, we have a civic responsibility and should hand you over. Particularly as you’re no help to us.”
The man paled as Alana’s words sunk in. It felt underhand threatening him this way, it wasn’t something she would usually do, but the company she had been keeping recently was rubbing off on her. She let silence fill the air for a moment before she pushed her chair back and got to her feet. “Let’s go,” she said to Crews, before turning back to Shep’d and adding, “I have much to think on.”
As she reached the door, one hand on the knob, she heard a cough from behind her. “Wait. I know the Neno you speak of. I am he. Was it the one who drugged me? I recognized him from somewhere.”
Alana sat down again and fixed Shep’d with a stare. “Let’s start again. Who are you?”
“My given name is Neno Minardi, sole scion of house Minard
i. But I am also Shep’d. This is who I am now. I have little to do with the affairs of my merchant business, other than it funds the chapters of the Devoted. It feeds the poor and provides the means to heal children or the old when they become sick. Where once House Minardi was influential with members of the Assembly, now I focus on those who have no power in this world. Those that Arloth and his Saints came to save and that the church has turned their back on.”
Alana nodded. Neno leaned forward, earnest and eager to have her believe him. Now they were getting to the heart of it.
“That is admirable. I am sure many appreciate what you have done as Shep’d. But I need to know who Neno would suspect for the attack.”
He thought for a moment before answering. “I was truthful when I said there are many capable of murder. Members of the Assembly. Their family members. The Speaker himself. I would not even trust the church.”
“I don’t believe the Saint could have done something like that. He is just a boy,” said Alana.
“It is not the Saint I am speaking of. Though he is much more than a boy, I assure you. But I would not cast aspersions on the Saint. For he does not run the church. The Archimandrite wields the power and it is he I do not trust. He is the uncle of an Assembly member, Pancieri, though he should have foresworn any family loyalties many years ago. That man is much too interested in politics. Pyrfew have turned more than merchants with their gold.”
“Pancieri is dead,” said Alana.
“That is sad,” said Neno, his voice catching in his throat. “He was a good man I called friend once. I believe he was uncertain about Pyrfew, maybe this attack was a way of removing naysayers from the Assembly.”
“Maybe.” Alana considered what he had told her. She looked to Crews, who had remained quiet through this whole conversation. Was he happy to just let her lead the questioning? While she was happy for his presence, she would have appreciated a few words of wisdom instead of merely a shrug.
“I am going to trust you,” she said, after a few moments’ thought. Her options were limited and maybe there was something she could work with here. This man had friends in high places, and where they may not believe her, they might believe him; that could give her the opportunity to have them see sense. “I will not turn you over, and in return you will help me with your contacts. If you swear on Arloth.”
Neno placed his hand on his heart, still looking quite pale-faced and spoke, “I swear on Arloth’s golden form that I will help you in any way I can.”
“Good. I don’t know who was responsible. I can’t say for certain it was Pyrfew, but I’m pretty sure they don’t have the best interests of Ioth in mind and I need to warn the Assembly. All the members at the same time, because the Speaker isn’t going to listen to me on his own.” She shook her head at the potential futility of what she was suggesting. “Damn, I mean—none of them might believe me but they might with you there too. So, I need you to write to anyone you know who has some influence and tell them you have information to present about the attack, but you can only do it in person.”
“Maybe it would be better if I visited with them to explain the situation?” he offered.
“Nice try. I don’t trust you that much. You’re going to do it from here and then we’ll go to the Palazzo together.” Alana stood once more. “Make yourself at home, and Jill will bring you some paper.”
Chapter 39
Warning the Saint
Waiting and Motega were not friends. Which had been a source of frustration for Trypp and Florian in the past, given that their line of work often involved being patient, and waiting for the right opportunity. It was fine for them. Florian had mastered the art of sitting around and not doing very much while in the army, while Trypp had been well conditioned in his youth at the orphanage, his brief stay at the Hollow House and finally with the Twilight Exiles. In all cases, the ability to remain still and let time pass was a valuable skill.
Motega had never been that way. His body longed for movement and to be doing something at all times. Trypp reckoned it was because he didn’t like to be alone with his own thoughts. Motega told him to fuck off, because he didn’t know anything.
Though he feared that was probably the truth of it.
After Alana had met with Neno, and four letters were sent by messenger to various parts of the city, they had all been told to remain in the Ambassador’s residence until they knew there could be a meeting with Assembly. Alana thought it best for everyone to lie low. Motega checked on his new Pyrfew friend a few times, reinforcing the illusion that he was doing all he could to free him, but there was nothing additional of note to extract from Vakaka. The day passed slowly until Motega rounded up a few people, residence staff included, to play a few hands of triangles while having a few mugs of ale. He had come out of it a few coins poorer.
No word had come back before it was time to go to bed, and so Motega had taken one of the guest rooms and drifted off into an alcohol-induced slumber.
He found himself sitting on the rock in the center of the grassy circle, the vast sky of blue hanging above him. He was greatly relieved not to see the impending inferno again, but he didn’t know what that meant—whether the danger had gone or if time passed differently here than it did in the waking world. Or for that matter whether anything there made any sense. He was alone except for Per circling overhead, balancing on the winds like Trypp on a tightrope.
The long grasses ahead parted and out walked the ragged wolf. His father was alone. How Motega wished that he didn’t have to be reminded of his father’s scars every time he saw him, but he supposed there was probably a point to that. Per screeched out a welcome to the wolf, and his father nodded his head in reply before changing to the form of a man.
“Hello, father,” said Motega. “Do you have wisdom to share?”
“Ho, Motega,” said his father. His face gave away his sadness and Motega wondered why he was alone here today, but did not ask. He did not want to interrupt him and not have time to receive everything Sharef wished to impart, as had happened before.
“There are things you must know, and now is probably a good time to start. Come, get down off that rock and join me in the dirt. I do not want a stiff neck.”
Motega smiled at what he thought must be a joke. He hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with aches and pains when he was dead; that would be a cruel punishment indeed. His father had a stick in hand and scratched the outline of something in the bare dirt, and then circled an area in the middle.
“This is our home. What all the tribes of the grasslands know as Missapik. There used to be the Wolfclaw, Tigersfang, Hookravens, Quills, Redknee, Bluescale, and the Rattlers. These were the tribes that I knew of, though some I never met. There were those who were our friends and those that were our enemies. This changed often, on the whim of whoever the chieftains were at the time. There were other tribes to the north, where we seldom had reason to explore, that I do not know the name of.”
Motega repeated the names under his breath as they were spoken. Nothing in these visions was ever told that he wasn’t supposed to remember and he didn’t want to fail the final exam. His father noticed his muttering with a broad smile that brightened Motega’s heart.
Sharef drew another line to the right of Missapik. “These are the Great Spine Mountains, which you traveled through when you were a child. This is the home of the Eagle.” Motega nodded at the mention of the god of the wind, the one who chased the thunderbird away. “Bordering them are the lands that were dense with forest, almost all the way until they met the shore, here. Other peoples lived here, Alfjarun too, but they were different from our people. I do not know their names. They did not have the bounty of the plains on which to rely, so they took to the seas, chopping down the trees to make boats from which they could fish. And where the trees used to be, they farmed the land, and settlements grew around those places. They are our people too, but they are different in the way they think and what they believe. The gods worshiped in
different ways.” Motega had met some of those people too; they were the ones who had welcomed Pyrfew ships and traded him and his sister for trinkets. If they’d have known this then, when they were fleeing, maybe they wouldn’t have trusted them as they would another of the plains people.
To the left of Missapik, his father drew a crosshatch in the dirt. “Here is where the plains die, at a great rend in the earth. It is a vast canyon, home of the Coyote. On the other side, the vegetation turns sparse and brown, and the herds cannot travel. Never has a Wolfclaw crossed this desert and returned.”
Motega frowned at the mention of the Coyote, the one who had tried to steal the fruit from the Mother Tree; the canyon the deep hole where he had been banished. “Why would anyone want to go where there is no life?” asked Motega.
“Because our stories tell us that all Alfjarun came from the west. Wanderers passed through our lands in generations past and told of great cities built into mountains at the end of the great barren expanse, rising hundreds of feet from the valley floor to the summit. They said those people lived with the gods, that there is the Mother Tree, the Phoenix—most favored of her fruit—roosting in her branches. They said they had ancient knowledge they would share with anyone who found them. That they had weapons sharper than steel and lighter than wood. That they could fly across the desert and they would help all of the Alfjarun if they were ever needed.” Motega leaned in to listen further, his father’s words conjuring wonderful images in his imagination. The type of stories he would hear at the feet of Greytooth as a child. “Most did not believe these travelers, they considered them peddlers of stories and illusions to gain a place by a hearth for a while. But always there were some young souls who wanted to see what might be out past the desert. Maybe they made it across and didn’t want to come home? Maybe they made it across and those people were not as welcoming as we were told. I don’t know for certain but I like to believe the old stories.”
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