“You have heard of Albertus Mann?” Ormo asked Syrina, three months after the death of Carlaas Storik.
She nodded where she stood at the base of his dais, an imperceptible gesture. “The General?” Sarcasm was clear in her voice.
Mann was an army general in a naval nation. An orphan boy from the Lip, taken in by the Grace herself. A figurehead the Church of N’narad could point to when they wanted a public example of how anyone might find glory in the quest for Heaven, and someone they could blame for all the things they screwed up. A reviled national hero.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”
“The Archbishop has entrusted him to collect some items of extreme interest to the Merchant’s Syndicate, from a place in the Black Wall they believe they have discovered.”
“Mann?” She couldn’t hide her surpri
