by DAVID B. COE
Feeling the wind freshen, the crew raised the mainsail again, and the small ship began to carve a crooked course across the gulf. After a time Tavis raised his head, eyeing the gleaner.
“Are you doing this?” he asked, his voice low.
“Yes. I’m sorry, Tavis, but already this is taking more time than I would have liked.”
The lord shook his head, the mere motion seeming to make his stomach turn. “It’s all right. The sooner I’m off this damned ship the better.”
They sailed around the north shore of Brigands’ Island, a small mass of trees and rock whose narrow coves and difficult landings had once been a haven for privateers. Then they turned south, away from the promontory of the lower Crown and toward the port of Duvenry. The shore appeared close, as if they could reach it in just moments if they simply turned due west, but the passage took the better part of the day.
Tavis said little, though after emptying his stomach early in the journey, he did seem to adjust to the gentle rhythm of the ship. The captain’s men ignored them, as if ordered to do so, leaving Grinsa to his thoughts and the subtle, constant demands of the wind he had conjured. Eventually, as the day went on, a natural breeze began to rise, and he was able to drop his wind, a good thing, since they encountered more ships as they drew nearer to Wethyrn, and it would have raised eyebrows had theirs been the only ship under sail.
As he watched gulls wheeling over the ship, and murres floating lazily on the gentle swells of the gulf, Grinsa’s thoughts turned again and again to Cresenne and Bryntelle. For just that one last night in Audun’s Castle, they had been a family, tied to one another by love and the shared sense that this was the future awaiting them, if only they could survive the coming war. He had long dreamed of again sharing his life with another, of knowing such passion and intimacy and—dare he think it?—joy. Years before, when he had been too young to appreciate fully what it meant to be tied to someone in this way, he had thought to share his life with Pheba, his Eandi wife, who died from the pestilence shordy after their joining. Now, it seemed, he had it with Cresenne. In the night they passed together, there had been the promise of a lifetime together. Yet there had been something else as well, an aching sadness, as if they both understood that the future they foresaw was but a dream. So many obstacles stood before them, so many paths to pain and grief and loss. Grinsa felt as though he were standing at the mouth of a great labyrinth, knowing that Cresenne and Bryntelle stood waiting on the other side, but unable to discern any pattern to the twists and turns in between that might lead him to them.
“Is that Duvenry?”
The gleaner looked up from the dark waters. Tavis was pointing toward a great walled city before them on the shore, bathed in the golden light of late day. Beyond the rocky coast and the formidable wall of the city, stood a great fortress, solid and implacable, grey as smoke save for the yellow and black banners rippling in the light wind above its towers. Grinsa had only been to Wethyrn’s royal city once before, and that had been many years ago. But Duvenry Castle was unmistakable and there was no other city in the realm that compared with this one.
“Yes. That’s Duvenry.” The gleaner straightened, and glanced about the ship. Already the captain was calling for his men to lower the mainsail and return to their sweeps. They would be docking shortly.
“How long will it take us to reach Helke?”
Hearing the tightness in Tavis’s voice, Grinsa regarded him for a moment before responding. His color had returned, leading the gleaner to hope that their return voyage across the gulf wouldn’t take such a toll on the boy. But still the young lord looked anxious.
“We can still turn back, Tavis. There’d be no shame in it, despite what you might think. Certainly I would never question the wisdom of doing so, nor would your parents.”
“I don’t want to go back. I’m just asking how long the journey north will take.”
Grinsa shrugged, staring at Duvenry Castle. “Five or six days, perhaps four, if we can manage to purchase mounts.”
Tavis’s father had given them more gold for the journey, though he had made no effort to conceal his disapproval. They could afford horses, and they would have no reason not to stay at whatever inns would have them. They would have little choice, though, but to stay in Duvenry this night before setting out for the northern city in the morning, and Grinsa begrudged even this delay. Every day he spent away from the City of Kings placed Cresenne, Bryntelle, and Keziah in greater danger, for each passing day increased the likelihood that the Weaver would grow impatient with Keziah’s failure to kill Cresenne and would make another attempt on her life himself. The gleaner would gladly have traded all the gold in their pockets for a quick return to Audun’s Castle.
“And you’re certain he’s in Helke?”
“Not entirely, no. In my vision the two of you were fighting at the northern end of the Crown, but I couldn’t tell the time of year. We’ll find him near Helke eventually, but I can’t say for certain when. I can only hope that it’s soon.”
Tavis said nothing, and for some time they stood in silence, gazing at the city and its port as the merchant ship approached the shore, the rhythmic cries of the rowmaster and the splash of the sweeps marking their progress. Whatever else Grinsa might have thought of the vessel’s captain, he could only admire the skill with which the man and his crew steered the ship to the broad wooden dock. In a few moments, the ship had been moored and the plank lowered. Grinsa and Tavis crossed the deck to where the captain stood, the young lord counting out gold coins to pay the man the balance of what they owed.
“W’ made fine time,” the captain said as Tavis handed him the gold, his accent so thick Grinsa barely understood him.
The gleaner nodded. “Yes, we did, Captain. Thank you.”
“I didn’ ’spect w’ would when w’ started out.” He gave Grinsa a sly look. “Yer a good’un to have “round, aren’t ye?”
“I’m not certain I know what you mean.”
“Aye, ye do.” He started to walk away. “If ye need passage back, ye c’n “ave it. Nex’ time, though, give us a more d’rect wind. Crossin’s slow “nough as “tis.”
The gleaner could only smile. After a moment he touched Tavis lightly on the shoulder and gestured for him to lead the way off the ship.
It was a short walk from the pier to the city gates and before long they had found an inn at which to stay the night. Relations between Eibithar and Wethyrn had been good for centuries, and so they were able to eschew most of the precautions they had taken while traveling through Aneira. Still, because of Brienne’s murder, the name Tavis of Curgh was now known throughout the Forelands, and the two companions agreed that it would be safer if the young lord went by Xaver’s name instead of his own, just as he had while traveling through the southern realm.
At Tavis’s suggestion, they spent much of the evening walking the streets of the city, searching for musicians in Duvenry’s taverns. They asked about the assassin in several of the inns, describing his appearance and claiming that he was a friend who they were supposed to meet here in the royal city, but none of the musicians or innkeepers with whom they spoke seemed to know the man.
As they left the fifth or sixth tavern—Grinsa had lost count—the gleaner cleared his throat, intending to suggest that they return to their inn and go to sleep. They had a good deal of travel ahead of them, and he was eager to be on the road with first light.
Before he could say any of this, however, he heard a light footfall behind them. Apparently Tavis heard it as well, for they turned at the same time, both of them drawing their blades.
A woman stood before them, her face illuminated by a nearby torch. She had long hair, pale blue eyes, and a round, attractive face. In the dim light, Grinsa couldn’t tell how old she was, but he wouldn’t have thought her much past her middle twenties.
She eyed their daggers briefly, raising an eyebrow. “For men who claim to be searching for a friend, you’re rather quick to draw your blad
es.” She glanced at the short sword hanging from Tavis’s belt. “You’re well armed, too.”
The sword had been Tavis’s idea, and Grinsa hadn’t approved at first, fearing that the weapon would only serve to draw attention to them. Few outside the courts traveled with such arms. It bothered him as well that he hadn’t seen the blade in his vision, though perhaps he should have been heartened by Tavis’s insistence that he bring it along. Didn’t its presence here at least raise the possibility that his vision no longer carried the weight of prophecy? No matter his feelings on the matter, he did understand why the boy would want the weapon with him. He had seen Tavis training with Xaver MarCullet in the courtyard of Audun’s Castle. Whatever the young lord’s limitations with a dagger, he had some skill with the longer blade. And, as it turned out, this sword belonged to Xaver; no doubt Tavis took some comfort in carrying it with them on this journey.
“Forgive us, my lady,” Grinsa said, relaxing his stance and returning his weapon to the sheath on his belt. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tavis do the same. “We’ve only just arrived in Wethyrn today and our previous travels have taken us places that are somewhat less hospitable.”
“I see,” she answered, sounding unconvinced.
“Can we be of service in some way?”
She seemed to consider this for several moments, her eyes flicking from one of them to the other and finally coming to rest on Tavis’s face. “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. “Forgive me for disturbing you.”
She turned to go.
“You heard us asking about the singer,” Grinsa said.
The woman halted, though she kept her back to them.
“You know him?” A moment later, he answered his own question. “Of course you do. Why else would you have stopped us?”
“I just want to go,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I don’t want any trouble.”
It was the last thing Grinsa had expected, though it shouldn’t have been. They were tracking an assassin. “I assure you, my lady, we have no intention of harming you.” He paused. “But you do know him, don’t you?”
She nodded, turning slowly to face them once more. “I heard you say that you were his friends and that you were looking for him. And since I’m looking for him, too, I thought that perhaps we could help each other.”
“Perhaps we can.”
Their eyes met, and in that moment Grinsa knew: she and the singer had been lovers.
“I don’t think so,” she told him. She nodded toward Tavis. “I see his scars, and I see the way both of you draw blades at the least hint of danger. You’re no friend of his.”
The gleaner considered denying this, but he didn’t bother. She wouldn’t have believed him.
“It’s important that we find him, my lady.”
“Did he give those scars to the boy?”
“He didn’t wield the blade, but he’s as responsible for them as anyone. Does that surprise you?”
She shrugged, looking off to the side. “Not really. But it tells me that the boy must have wronged him in some way.”
“I didn’t,” Tavis said, his voice hard and low. “I did nothing to him, and he killed the one—”
Grinsa laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. “It’s all right,” he whispered.
“Who did he kill?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“My lady—”
“Tell me.”
“He killed someone dear to my friend here. That’s all you need to know.”
“But he would have had a reason. He doesn’t kill for the sake of killing. I know him better than that.”
“You’re right,” Tavis said savagely. “He doesn’t do it for the sake of killing. He murders for gold.”
Abruptly, she lifted a hand to her mouth, taking a sharp breath. “Gods!” she whispered, recognition in her eyes. “I had thought he might be a mercenary, or perhaps a thief. But it never occurred to me. . . . He’s an assassin.”
“What can you tell us of your time with him?” Grinsa asked.
“I’m not certain I want to tell you anything.”
Tavis glared at her. “He kills for money. And still you protect him?”
“I didn’t know him as a killer. I knew him as a musician, and as . . . as a friend.”
Grinsa gestured toward the tavern door. “Can we sit together and speak of this, my lady? My friend can be a bit too direct, but he does make a point. You may care for this man, you may even love him, but that doesn’t change who and what he is. You say that you know him as a singer; you may have known him to be kind as well. But I assure you that in time, he’ll kill again.”
“I saw him fight,” she said, making no move toward the tavern. “We were returning to Ailwyck from Fanshyre, and we were attacked by road brigands. He was going to let them take the gold.” She let out a small laugh. “If he was an assassin, the gold would have meant nothing to him. But when the men started to threaten my sister and me, he stopped them.” She swallowed, shaking her head. “There were five of them, and he bested them all without any help from the rest of us. I’d never seen anything like it. He seemed almost . . . crazed, as if once he began to kill them, he couldn’t stop himself. I knew then that he had to be so much more than just a singer.”
Grinsa and Tavis exchanged a look, the lord looking pallid and terribly young.
“What name did he use?” the gleaner asked.
“Corbin.” She narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t that his real name?”
“It’s not the name by which we know him.”
“Maybe we’re speaking of different men,” she said, clearly wanting to believe this.
“No. It’s the same man.”
She seemed to shiver. A moment later she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go inside, my lady?”
“What name did he give you?”
The gleaner hesitated, uncertain of whether he should tell her, though he couldn’t say why. “Cadel,” he told her at last.
“Cadel,” she repeated, giving a slight shake of her head.
“How did you meet him? Was it in Ailwyck?”
“No. We met them several years ago. In Thorald.”
“Them?” But even as Grinsa asked, he knew the answer. The other assassin, the man Cresenne had sent after him, the man he had killed in Kentigern Wood.
“Yes. Corbin and his friend, Honok.” She had been looking off again, but now her eyes snapped back to his. “Did Honok lie about his name, too?”
The gleaner was certain that he had, but the man had given him the same alias, and he sensed that she needed to hear this. “I knew him as Honok as well.”
“Honok wasn’t with him anymore when he came to Ailwyck. Corbin said that they had parted ways some time back, though he told me they were still friends.”
He saw no reason to tell her what had really happened to Honok. “So, was it mere chance that brought you both to Ailwyck, or? . . .” He stopped, the full import of what she had said finally reaching him. “You met him in Thorald?”
“Yes. My sister and I were traveling with the Revel, and—”
“When?”
“I told you, several years ago.”
“What year exactly?”
Her brow furrowed. “I guess it would be three years ago.” She nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Three years.”
Grinsa turned to Tavis, who was already watching him.
“Filib,” the young lord said.
The woman nodded. “Yes. It was the year Filib the Younger . . .” The color fled from her cheeks and she reached out to steady herself against the wall of the tavern. “Demons and fire! He killed Filib, didn’t he?”
“We don’t know that,” Grinsa told her, though there was little doubt in his mind. Marston of Shanstead was right. The conspiracy had been striking at the Eandi courts for years now, though the nobles and their Qirsi allies had been painfully slow to realize it.
“But that’s what you
think.”
“You see now why we have to find him,” Tavis said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Whatever he was to you, he’s also a killer. I lost the woman I was to marry. Thorald lost its duke and Eibithar its future king. We have to find him before he murders again.”
“So you intend to kill him.”
Grinsa winced, fearing that now she would refuse to help them. But the woman surprised him.
“You’d better have more than mists and winds, Qirsi,” she said, eyeing the gleaner. “Because blade to blade, the two of you won’t stand a chance against him.”
“You followed him here from Ailwyck,” Grinsa said. “Do you think he might have gone farther north?”
“I don’t know where he went. I came north because there’s little in Wethyrn’s southern cities to attract a musician. Krasthem is a minor city, with few good taverns, and Olfan is little more than that. Ailwyck, Duvenry, Jistingham—those are the places I’d go, were I looking to find taverns in which to sing.”
“What about Strempfar, or Helke?”
“Helke, maybe,” she said. “It’s smaller than some of the other cities, but the port is always busy, and seamen tend to like music when they put in to land.”
Grinsa nodded. “Thank you, my lady. You’ve told us more than we had any right to expect.”
She said nothing and after a lengthy silence, Tavis and Grinsa shared a look and turned to go.
“You were right before,” she said. “He could be kind when he wasn’t killing. And he sang with a voice that came from Adriel herself.”
“Did the brigands hurt you?” Tavis asked.
“No, nor did they hurt my sister. But her husband is still recovering from the beating they gave him.”
“I’m sorry. I hope he heals quickly.”
“From the looks of your face, it seems that you suffered mightily for what Corbin did to you. You must hate him very much.”