by Max Irons
“I’m just stating the obvious,” Iven said, pointedly not meeting his gaze. “And it was mead.”
“Usually, you’re a bit more helpful than that,” he grumbled. “We didn’t get here by your telling me the sky is blue every chance you get.”
Iven rolled onto his back and slid down the roof. “Don’t want to talk about it.”
Galeron skidded after him, landing on bended knees in the street below. Iven slipped his legs over the side of the roof and tumbled to the ground.
He offered him a hand. “Are we not friends?”
Iven took it, face souring, but he stopped the expression halfway through. “You can’t help me with this one.” He brushed dirt off his tunic.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
Iven pulled a folded piece of parchment from his satchel and shoved it against Galeron’s chest. “Unless you want to kill potential brides like you do mages, I’d say the problem’s mine alone.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Galeron opened the letter and scanned the contents.
Dear Master Porter,
It is our deepest regret to inform you of the passing of your eldest brother. Owing to this unfortunate event, your presence has been demanded at Keenan Caffar to take oaths of loyalty to the Rayan crown no later than one month to the day from your reception of this letter.
Regretfully yours,
Tobias, Lord of Marduke
Galeron blinked and studied Iven for a moment. A noble. Iven was a noble. That was new. “Since when were you in a Rayan house?”
Iven shrugged. “Not my idea. A man can’t help where he’s born, but that doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Why are you wandering about Broton, then?” Galeron asked. “Doubt the Rayans like one of the royal court playing sell-sword.” He frowned. “I thought you said you herded sheep.”
“I did,” said Iven. “House Porter isn’t a big mover in Rayan politics. Our holds are just vast tracts of farmland. It wasn’t hard to be a shepherd when you’re the youngest of eight. The wars started, every man went north, and here I am.”
Galeron handed the letter back to Iven. “It doesn’t say anything about you needing to get married.”
Iven sighed. “It’s implied. Someone has to carry on the family legacy, for whatever that’s worth, and that usually entails getting married and producing a litter of children.”
A brief image of Iven, seated on a chair with three or four sandy-haired kids hanging off his lap and arms, drew a chuckle out of Galeron’s throat.
“A real friend wouldn’t laugh,” said Iven. “This is a serious problem.”
“Afraid of what civilized life might do to you?” he asked.
“Joke all you like.” Iven poked him in the chest. “What are you going to do without me to watch your back?”
Galeron shrugged. “Hire me as your personal guard. I’ll even charge you half-rates.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“As you say, m’lord.”
Iven crumpled the letter into a ball and stuffed it in his satchel. “For once, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.”
Galeron walked down the side street, Iven falling in behind him. “Maybe you’re right. One disaster at a time, though.”
Iven didn’t say anything, and, as they walked back to Rand’s shop, Galeron’s stomach churned. He had to get Lonni out of the country, Iven had issues demanding his presence back home, and then Arlana showed up with a job offer. Something felt entirely too convenient about all of that. Were it not for the slow speed of letters, he would assume that Arlana had orchestrated everything to drag him off to Raya.
Suspicious, Galeron? Perhaps it was assuming too much, but Arlana proved several times over the course of the wars that she had no problems manipulating events to suit her needs. How had Rayan messengers even found Iven, anyway? The Tripart Accords restricted spying for ten years after its signing. Of course, if Broton was ignoring that, perhaps Raya was, too.
He and Iven wound their way through the growing crowds in Azura’s streets, sliding past rich men in their firmly pressed doublets and coats, side-stepping craftsmen shuttling materials about in large wheelbarrows, and ignoring merchants hawking wares in the shade of their storefronts.
“What do we do about your impending promotion?” asked Galeron.
“Do? There’s nothing to be done,” said Iven. “I have to go home, like it or not.”
Galeron stepped out of a donkey-pulled cart’s path. “What happens if you ignored it?”
Iven snorted. “You mean, aside from disgracing my family and getting myself banned from Raya? Without House Porter, most of Raya’s food supplies will go undistributed. Some cities might actually starve.”
They continued down the street, Galeron’s brow creasing. “What happened to the rest of your siblings? You were the youngest, right?”
“Aye, but one brother died in the wars, one went missing and is presumed dead, and the rest of them are sisters,” he said. “Women don’t hold official court postings.”
“But they own property?”
Iven sighed. “I don’t pretend to understand. The nobles are a stuffy old bunch who haven’t figured out the world has gone on without them.” He swatted at the air over his head.
Galeron bit down on a smile. Probably reaching for his hat, which he usually had everywhere he went.
“I’m guessing that Marcus didn’t bother to sire any children either,” Iven grumbled. “What was he doing the last five years?”
Iven continued to snarl and complain all the way back to Rand’s shop, where, under the lean-to, he promptly slumped down amid his belongings and passed out. Galeron sat down on a bench and pointedly ignored his heavy eyelids. The baron’s keep emerged in his mind’s eye, looming over his thoughts.
Scaling that monster was nearly impossible. Even with distractions, very loud ones, he couldn’t climb that fast. Sandstone was certainly more brittle and pliable than granite or limestone, but it wasn’t soft. No, as well-intended as Iven’s suggestion had been, that was just the drink talking. Galeron rubbed his temples. Going up was out of the question, and so was going under it. The guards would never let him through, and there was no way to Prince Lattimer or Lonni without them. If it hadn’t been for Arlana going and—
Aha!
Perhaps Arlana could do a bit of smooth-talking with the guards to get him through to Lattimer. A small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. She gave him leverage over her, too. His gut plummeted. Using it would demand he accept her job, though. It would mean delving back into her twisted world, becoming an informer once again. He shuddered.
No helping it. He owed Lonni, and that debt would be repaid.
Galeron got to his feet and strode across the street. He rapped sharply on the solid door but received no response. Frowning, he studied the framework. A few good kicks ought to break it down. Galeron glanced up and down the road and sighed. Too many people wandered about the area. Still, it would be nice to hit something, to solve a problem with force instead of words.
No. That wouldn’t do much more than draw attention. If no one answered the door, Arlana was probably down at the ship. Galeron took a right and walked down the cobbled road to the merchant’s wharves on his side of the naval yard. The acrid smell of hot pitch assaulted his nose as he moved closer and left Rand’s foundry in the distance. He coughed, and his stomach lurched.
He’d have to travel by sea to reach Raya. A full week of heaving over the side of a ship. Perfect.
Galeron passed several one-masted sailing vessels docked nearby, bellowing dockhands unloading cargo of various shapes and sizes. His gaze swept up and down the long boulevard. With dozens of ships in port and stacked two and three deep at the piers, it would take far too long to investigate each one just to find the Bonnie Fair. Where was the harbormaster?
A seagull screeched overhead, and he finally found a short individual near the middle of the port furiously scribbling in a le
dger on a wooden podium. The man’s face screwed up in concentration, he didn’t register Galeron’s approach and jumped straight in the air when he tapped him on the shoulder.
“What do you want?” he asked, scowling and picking up his dropped quill. He glanced Galeron up and down. “You’re no sailor.”
“I’m looking for the Bonnie Fair,” Galeron said. “Could you point me toward it?”
The man sighed and gestured down the street. “She’s the last vessel at the far end. If you see the captain, remind him that his permit only lasts through tonight. It didn’t look like he’s made much preparation to leave.”
Galeron nodded. “Thanks.”
The harbormaster grunted and returned to his books. Galeron pressed through the crowds of people surging away from the docks, laden with cargo, and approached the end of the port. His stomach twisted as he took in the sight of the ship. Passage wasn’t going to be fun at all.
The Bonnie Fair reminded him of a vast cork bobbing in the waves. A two-masted vessel, the forecastle and quarterdeck rose sharply from the main deck, providing its occupants with a good field of vision, but producing an extremely rounded hull that pitched and tossed in even the gentle waves of Azura’s port. Galeron gritted his teeth and approached the dark ship, the scent of freshly applied pitch curling hair and guts alike.
He bent his knees and ascended the gangplank, keeping his gaze fixed in front of him and off the wobbling vessel. A few shipmates threw him a puzzled look as he boarded, but no one questioned his appearance. He was expected. A man descended the quarterdeck and grabbed his arm.
“Galeron Triste, this way,” he said.
“My reputation precedes me,” Galeron said, wrenching his arm away. “I can follow on my own.”
“You’re not a hard man to miss,” the man said. “Behave yourself while you’re on my ship.” He led Galeron to the captain’s quarters and jerked the door open. “She thought you might show.”
Galeron entered the room, and the door closed behind him. Arlana sat at the large chart table, documents sprawled over it, and scribbled furiously at a piece of parchment. She looked up as he approached, black hair draped around both sides of her face. Her eyebrows went up, and she leaned back in her chair.
“My, my, Galeron. I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” Arlana said. “Have you dispensed with your usual brooding just for my company?”
Galeron held his face in a neutral expression. “We have something we can do for each other, Arlana.”
She steepled her fingers. “Oh, really?” That wicked smile returned. “And what did you have in mind?”
“Soren’s taken a friend of mine,” he said. “I want her released.”
Arlana’s face sank into a frown. “Explain.”
“She’s a firespeaker I owe my life to,” Galeron said. “Soren wants her for his arsenal in Harracourt, and he isn’t taking no for an answer. I need to get into Baron Heuse’s keep and talk with Lattimer. He might be able to help.”
“This firespeaker,” Arlana said. “Her name is Lonni Tomkin?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “It isn’t worth it. Soren has had an eye on her ever since Tearlach. He isn’t about to let such talent walk away, and not even the wise words of Lattimer could change his mind.”
Galeron clenched his fists. “Soren can’t just take her.”
Arlana shrugged. “My brother is the king, but I am not unsympathetic to your plight.” She stood and walked around the table, limbs flowing like the gentle curve of a river around a mountain. “Does she mean this much to you?”
Truthfully, Lonni could be a serious annoyance, with her insistence for perfection in the workshop and supreme arrogance, but she had killed a mage and saved both his life and Iven’s.
“I owe her, Arlana,” he said. “I dragged her into the mess with the Drakes, and now she’s a prisoner because of it.”
“I’m not surprised you ask this,” Arlana said. “Taking her back could cause more trouble for you than she is worth. Your attacker in the streets last night was a shadestalker.”
Galeron frowned. “How do you—”
“One of my associates intervened. He was on his way to collect you and happened upon your situation. The body has been dealt with, but we know what this means, don’t we?”
I do, and I don’t like it. “Soren is getting more fearful,” he said. “He left a contingent behind for Lonni and then sent a shadestalker after me.”
“Crossing a king marks you as dangerous,” she said. “Soren didn’t believe you’d appreciate his choices, so…”
Galeron nodded. “I’m a little predictable.”
“When it comes to your friends, yes.” Arlana sighed. “Ask something else of me. They’re taking her to Harracourt tonight.”
Tonight? Then why had Soren’s letter said they were waiting on Lattimer? He inhaled sharply as the logic smacked him in the face. Soren wanted to avoid another confrontation. He knew Lattimer had a soft spot for Galeron and Iven. The king was playing him, but did Arlana really think there wasn’t anything she could do?
That was a load of rubbish. Had to be. Galeron’s scowl deepened. “You’re the one who wanted me. The firespeaker is my price. If you get her out, then I’ll go with you.”
“Unacceptable.”
Impasse. Arlana wanted him for the job, but she could always find someone else to…He raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to Keenan Caffar, right?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
He battled to keep a grin from his face. Capital of Raya, true, but also the home of Aleor, ancient city of mages. She’s smarter than she looks. Depending on how the bards counted, Galeron had killed three mages: the Delktian necromancer, Atreus Luccio, and Atreus’s lackey Elrik. Taking him into Keenan Caffar could be a very smart or very dangerous move, depending on perspective.
“I thought those tactics were my style,” said Galeron.
“I can’t hang members of the court by their ankles and demand answers,” Arlana said. “Subtler threats work wonders on them.”
Time to gamble. “Lonni’s the price of my cooperation,” Galeron said.
“And I’ve told you it isn’t possible.”
Galeron shrugged. “Then we’ve got nothing else to discuss.” He turned away and walked to the door.
“Pity,” Arlana said. “I was hoping to relive some of our finer moments. Farewell, Galeron.”
He grabbed the door handle, hesitating for a moment, but she said nothing else. She’d called his bluff. Well, he could do it, too. Galeron opened it and walked onto the ship’s deck, a sinking feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with the unstable vessel.
#
That had been a spectacular failure. Good thing I don’t play at the dice tables.
Galeron bumped into several people on his way back to Rand’s shop, but he ignored them and continued on his way. Moving tonight. How was he going to get her out before the guards came to collect her? How could he assemble everything he would need that fast?
Impossible. Simply impossible.
He scowled as his mind rushed through options. Iven still wouldn’t be sober enough to help plan at the moment, and he’d need the archer fully functioning. Commander Frontino might have a few words of advice, but he could do little without endangering his position.
There was still Rand.
Galeron winced as the thought came to mind. Arguably, he could ask him for help, perhaps even get some advice and a hand in gathering the things he’d need, but, at the end of the day, Rand would still be in Azura, and Galeron, Lonni, and Iven would be off free in Raya, if they could get out in time and if they could reach the Bonnie Fair before Arlana left.
That was a lot of “ifs.”
Galeron scowled and shoved aside a pandering merchant. If he did involve Rand, his actions had to be discreet. There couldn’t be any evidence to connect him to his daughter’s escape, aside from the obvious parental link. Soren might still arrest Rand an
yway, out of spite and frustration, but the whims of a king couldn’t be planned for.
He found Rand busily stacking empty night dust barrels in the foundry, clearing the wide and high room of debris from Lonni’s most recent experiments. Rand stopped and wiped his hands on his smock as Galeron’s boots thudded on the stone floor.
Rand inhaled sharply and gave him a half-smile. “What news?”
Galeron stared at the tips of the man’s well-worn shoes before raising his eyes. “I’ve run out of options.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Lattimer isn’t coming,” Galeron said. “Likely a ploy from Soren to keep me from acting, I suppose.”
Rand frowned. “What does this mean for Lonni?”
“They…” His voice trailed away and he bit his lip. He was about to ask Rand to help him commit blatant treason. Surely there was another way, but even as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. “Soren’s having her moved tonight. This is our only chance to get her back.”
“You and Iven are going to break her out?” Rand asked.
That was the tough part. “Not so much. I think we’re going to have to plan an ambush.” Why storm the keep when they’d be bringing her out anyway?
Rand nodded and turned away. “She’ll be an outlaw, Galeron.”
Galeron sighed. “True enough.”
“What you are doing might free her, but it also means she will never be able to return home,” Rand said.
“I—what would you have me do?” asked Galeron. “I don’t see another way. According to sources I still have, Soren’s suspicion and fear of mages has grown stronger since the Drake rebels fell. He’ll never release Lonni when she can churn out firelocks.”
Rand ran his hands through his long mane. “I’m not saying it shouldn’t be done. I’m just…lamenting what it means. What will become of her?”
Galeron paused. “For the moment, Iven and I would take her with us. Iven has some family issues to deal with in Raya, and I might have a small job to do for a…” How best to describe Arlana? “An associate of mine from the wars.”