“Swords,” Dormael interjected, indicating Bethany with a meaningful glance.
“Of course.” D’Jenn chuckled. “Swords.”
If Bethany understood, she didn’t comment.
“Why are you being so objectionable this morning?” Dormael wrestled with another bite of eggs. “All you’ve done is grumble.”
“I don’t like this.” D’Jenn looked out the window, his expression pensive. “The Baroness, her armlet—I can’t help but feel that we’ve stepped in a pile of snakes.”
Dormael raised an eyebrow. “Do snakes congregate in piles, cousin?”
“Some do.” D’Jenn’s tone was off-hand. “When they’re mating.”
Dormael chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course, you would know that. Why would you know that?”
D’Jenn continued staring out the window. “Books. I lay awake for most of the night, you know, even though I was exhausted. I couldn’t stop thinking about her armlet. What is that thing?”
Dormael sighed. “I don’t know.”
D’Jenn went silent, brooding while he ran his fingers through the beard on his chin. Dread crept into Dormael’s stomach, but it wasn’t enough to defeat his appetite. He let his cousin stare out the window and went back to chasing eggs across his plate.
Bethany helped him, and the rest of the meal passed in silence.
***
Alton took the day from his business matters to see the group off. It took most of the day to pack for the journey, even with Alton’s household assisting. It would take thirty days or more to cross the Stormy Sea, and the overland trek from Duadan to the city of Ishamael would take weeks. Alton oversaw the preparations, directing the flow of goods and issuing orders.
Shawna was withdrawn for most of the day. She walked with slow steps, hiding the pain on her face, and made an issue of doing things herself. She spent most of her time with Alton.
Dormael and D’Jenn paired themselves with horses. Dormael found a chestnut gelding with a white stripe down his nose, and D’Jenn chose a gray one, who he named Mist. Dormael dubbed his mount Horse and snuck him a few apples from the kitchens.
Alton walked over as everyone was making ready to leave. Only Shawna was still inside, having been stolen away by Nan during the preparations to depart. Alton looked over the horses, took in a deep breath, and let it out with a shake of his head.
“I wish I could come with you. What I wouldn’t give to be out of the manor for awhile, to see the Sevenlands, and to know what happens in the coming weeks.”
“We’ll try and send word to you, and we’ll return when this is over,” Dormael said. “Besides, someone has to get word to your King. The Earl should be outed, despite what happens with us.”
Alton nodded. “I will do what I can here.”
“Good.” D’Jenn walked up between them. “It’s getting dark. We should go.”
Shawna and Nan appeared from the servant’s entrance into the stables, drawing everyone’s gaze. Shawna’s hair had gone from red-gold to deep black. She wore a rueful expression on her face, but Nan beamed at the taller woman in triumph.
“Riverroot pulp.” Nan smiled. “Girls from Cambrell have been using it for years. It’s not much, I know, but it’s what I can do. Sometimes the grain tips the scale.”
“Thank you, Nanathelle.” Shawna gave the old woman a weak smile. “For everything.”
Dormael raised an eyebrow. Nanathelle?
Nan folded Shawna in a careful hug. “May the gods grant you guile and good fortune, dear. You be careful, now—don’t go undoing all the hard work we did keeping you alive. I’ll pray for you every day.”
Shawna grew red in the face, but she returned the embrace.
Nan went around shaking the hands and kissing the cheeks of the departing men, offering pearls of wisdom and well-wishes. She crouched down and smothered Bethany in a hug and kiss—which made the girl cringe in discomfort—before handing her something wrapped in cloth. Bethany hid it under her cloak, whatever it was, but she was unable to keep the smile from her face. Dormael pretended not to notice.
Once everyone was gathered, Dormael clasped arms with Alton.
“You’ve been good to us, Alton—shown us trust and hospitality. That’s not something taken lightly where we come from.”
“We got to thinking about a parting gift.” D’Jenn smiled, coming up beside them. “But what could we get for you that you couldn’t buy for yourself?”
“And to repay you for the lie,” Dormael said.
Alton shook his head. “You owe me nothing.”
“We know,” D’Jenn replied. “But we can give gifts to our friends if we wish.”
Alton opened his mouth to object, but he stopped when D’Jenn started to sing.
It was a quiet, sorrowful melody. Everyone paused what they were doing at the unexpected baritone, the rattling of buckles and shifting of garments settling into stillness. Dormael’s tenor joined with his cousin’s voice, and as the song lilted through highs and lows, Dormael opened his Kai.
He was suddenly connected to the world, senses ringing with invisible, restless energy. D’Jenn’s magical song joined his own, and their voices harmonized with the melodies their magic played through the ether. Dormael’s power danced with the music, as if the fabric of reality was bending its ear to listen.
A bluish haze rose from the ground surrounding the two wizards, and those gathered shuffled back in stunned disbelief. The mist rushed outward, flowing toward the walls of Alton’s gardens, which separated his manor from the street. When the haze reached inside of the wall, flowing runes scrawled themselves over the bricks in symmetrical patterns. The magic sank into the stone, into the ground underfoot, and even the few trees inside the estate’s walls. As the tune died on the wizards’ lips, the runes finished their race around the gardens, and the glowing runes faded away.
A stunned silence followed the wizards’ performance. The melody hung in the air, reluctant to leave. Bethany gaped at the mist as it dissipated and ran her hands through the air in a vain attempt to catch it. Alton regarded Dormael and D’Jenn with surprise.
Dormael cleared his throat. “It’s called Sanctuary. This place is tied to you now. It can’t make you completely safe from your enemies, but anyone who means you harm will come to fatal misfortune inside the Sanctuary.”
“Fatal misfortune?” Alton blinked. “How?”
“Think of it like a cascade of the worst possibilities,” D’Jenn said. “It will protect you in our absence, in case the Galanians come looking.”
“That’s probably both the most wondrous—and most terrible—thing anyone has done for me.” Alton’s face sobered. “Thank you.”
Dormael waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “We watch out for our own.”
Alton offered his forearm, and Dormael took it. “I expect to see you all back here as soon as you can make it.”
Shawna enfolded Alton in a hug, and Dormael gave the two of them room to say their goodbyes. He busied himself with readying Horse and ensuring Bethany’s feet were covered. Nan had found the girl a blue dress and a thick winter cloak, but she’d disdained her new shoes. Each time Dormael had turned his back during their preparations to leave, Bethany had been barefoot again.
Dread wormed in Dormael’s chest when he looked at the girl. She was so young to take on the road, but if they left her in Ferolan, the Colonel might reclaim her. The safest place would be in their company, and according to Bethany, she had no one.
She’d probably follow us, anyway. She hasn’t left us since dawn.
By the time farewells were said and prayers for safety were promised, the sun was well below the horizon. Dormael put Bethany on Horse and led them through the gate, making for the Docks. D’Jenn brought up the rear, riding Mist and leading two pack horses, his eyes scanning the night for danger. Shawna sat astride her massive gray mare, taller in her saddle than either D’Jenn or Bethany. She winced with every hoofbeat, and her face was drawn with pai
n, but she withstood it in silence.
The ruddy glow of oil lanterns threw splattered reflections across the slick cobblestones of Ferolan’s streets. The rain from the previous night hadn’t burned off in the cool winter sun, and it made the steeper inclines treacherous. There were few people walking through the darkened city, and the wind was still and cold.
Dormael kept them to back streets when he could, though the horses sometimes made that impossible. He led them through the city’s seedier districts, hugged along the northern cliff face below the Merchant’s District. As they passed into the poorer parts of the city, the street lanterns were replaced by torches. Their smoky odor made Dormael’s nose itch.
They passed a few squads of City Watch, but Dormael took care to avoid them when he could. Dormael’s stomach tightened every time he saw them, but quick thinking and convenient alleyways were enough to slip their notice. The party rode in tense silence.
Shawna had a look of concentration on her face, and her brow beaded with sweat despite the chill. By the stiff way she was riding, her wound wasn’t responding well to the activity. Still, she uttered no complaints.
After an hour of snaking down back alleys and taking detours, they made their way to the harbor mouth. Dormael led them to an alleyway near Whiskey Row and handed Horse’s reins to Bethany. He patted the beast’s neck and moved toward the mouth of the alley.
“I’ll head to the meeting with this Captain Roldo,” he said. “Make sure there’s nothing suspicious.”
D’Jenn nodded. “Be careful. We haven’t seen any Red Swords yet, and that bothers me.”
Dormael shared a grim look with Shawna. “I will. Stay out of sight.”
D’Jenn snorted. “Go teach a fish to swim, why don’t you?”
Dormael winked, pulled his hood up, and set out down Whiskey Row.
Puddles reflected the yellow-orange light from the pubs along the seaside street, and music drifted through their windows. The air was cooler in the harbor, though the salty wind was calm. He passed groups of singing men too drunk for the cold to stifle their enthusiasm. Sailors dragged crewmen in various states toward the docks, and others stumbled in one direction or another.
Still don’t see any Red Swords. I’d have men all over the harbor if I was the Colonel.
The Happy Lad was a three-story building with women—and men painted like women—waving from the windows. They called greetings to a group of men in the street, who shouted back laughed with enthusiasm. There was a line to get inside, and the people waiting in the street had formed their own celebration. Dormael found an alley nearby and slid into the shadows to watch.
He rubbed his aching right shoulder and flexed his tattered hand inside the bandage as he surveyed the street. There were plenty of men in the street, and a good many of them could have been sea Captains. Most were yelling up to the windows of the brothel, shouting obscenities and making sexual promises they probably couldn’t keep. Most were beyond drunk already, swaying to the dance of the alcohol in their bellies.
One man leaned on a railing across the street, peering around while drumming his fingers on his crossed arms. He wore the thigh-length coat sailors favored in wet, cold weather, and he had a wide-brimmed hat pulled low on his forehead. A shaggy brown beard curled from most of his face, and greasy hair lay down to the sides of his chin. Beady pig-eyes stared out from a thick brow, which made the grimace on his face particularly ugly.
He seems anxious, like a man expecting someone. Is this Roldo?
Roldo—if Roldo he was—had a man standing next to him who leaned on the railing and stared at the harbor. Dormael couldn’t see his face, but he had a wooden baton hanging from his belt, probably for keeping stowaways from a ship’s loading ramp. He was trying to appear idle, but he kept glancing down the street to the south.
Following his gaze, Dormael spotted two more men pretending to lounge against the railing further down the street. Both were armed with cutlasses. They shot furtive glances up and down the street, fingering the hilts of their weapons.
That’s the best way to be seen, you bloody idiots.
Was it a trap, or was Roldo being cautious? Alton had described him as having questionable honor, so perhaps he was used to dealing with seedy types. Caution was like breathing for men like that.
Dormael pulled his hood up and moved into the crowd. He dodged past drunken revelers, keeping an eye on the men with cutlasses. He waited until they turned around and approached the man he thought was Roldo.
“Horrible weather,” Dormael said from the depths of his hood.
Roldo gave Dormael an indifferent grunt in answer, peering past him up the street. When Dormael stayed in place, Roldo peered into his hood. The cudgel bearing man turned and noticed, but Roldo waved him back.
“You’re Alton’s people?”
Dormael smirked. “You’re Roldo?”
He nodded. “Aye, that’s me. Where’s the rest of you?”
“Do you always bring so many bruisers to meet with passengers?” Dormael gestured at the bodyguards. “Why the warm welcome?”
Roldo’s expression was bland. “Passage across the Sea of Storms in the dark, a fake manifest with the port, and the payment more than sufficient? I’m not a fool, Sevenlander, and I do what’s best for the Squidchaser and her crew. If that means a bit more caution when something stinks, so be it.”
“I can’t fault you for that, Captain.” Dormael raised an eyebrow. “Alton vouched for me, did he not?”
Roldo nodded. “He did.”
“And your price has been paid?”
“Aye, paid in full.”
“We’re ready to leave immediately. I trust that’s not a problem?”
“If it were a bloody problem, we wouldn’t be standing here.” Roldo shot a nervous glance toward his men. He blew on his hands to warm them. “We’re ready to pull anchor and the seas are calm. The quicker we get started, the better.”
“Where’s your ship?”
“She’s moored down on sixteen.” Roldo jabbed his thumb towards the darkest part of the wharves. “How many are with you?”
“Four people, five horses.”
“Best we get moving, then. Things smell a little troubled in Ferolan lately. I’ve heard enough stories about the City Watch dragging people off in the night for no good reason, and that’s the last kind of gods-damned trouble I want.”
“Very well. I’ll return within the hour.”
Dormael turned away before Roldo could reply. He turned down another alley and watched to make sure he wasn’t followed. Roldo was reprimanding his men when Dormael turned to look. He pointed down the docks and the pair of fools with cutlasses scuttled toward the docks. Roldo threw a worried look over his shoulder before disappearing into the shadows, head bent in conversation with his cudel-wielding companion.
He seems nervous.
Dormael waited until the men were gone before making his way back to his friends. He ducked into a few alleyways to avoid two patrols of City Watchmen, but there was no sign of the Galanians.
Where’s the search for Sevenlanders? This is too easy.
Dormael left the alley and hurried back to his friends. D’Jenn waited at the mouth of the alleyway, keeping watch over the street. Shawna and Bethany waited farther into the alley.
“Well, I’ve met our Captain.” Dormael shook his head. “Something isn’t right.”
“Agreed, coz.” D’Jenn looked at the street, his expression pensive. “If you were the Earl, what would you do to catch us?”
“Place the harbor under military control.” Dormael shrugged. “Search everyone coming in and out.”
“That’s what I’d do.” D’Jenn nodded. “So, where are they?”
“That’s the pressing issue, isn’t it?” Shawna’s face was pale, but her voice was steady. “I’ve been watching for them—the Galanians. I haven’t seen them all night.”
D’Jenn grimaced. “There’s only one reason the Red Swords wouldn’t be on the
streets. Think about it—our path has been clear all night.”
“They know where we’re going.” Shawna’s eyes went to the street. “They’re waiting for us.”
“Fuck the gods.” Dormael rubbed his temples.
Shawna winced. “I don’t like this. If they know about us, they know about Alton.”
“I’ll warn him,” Dormael said. “The Sanctuary should protect him.”
“Shouldn’t we head back? We can’t just leave him there alone!” Shawna winced again and grabbed at her side.
“He’s got the magic we left with him,” D’Jenn said. “That’s better than a whole company of mercenaries. He’ll be alright.”
“If you say so.” Shawna didn’t look happy about it.
“I do.” D’Jenn nodded. “The most important thing right now is to protect you, and to figure out our next move.”
“I’d like to head over to the Squidchaser and have a look around, see if the Galanians have a party set for us.” Dormael ground his teeth. “Maybe punish Roldo a bit. Just a little bit. He had to have given us up, right?”
D’Jenn snorted a laugh. “Do it, but make it quick. We need to get out of here.”
“How are we going to do that now?” Shawna made a frustrated gesture. “We don’t have a ship.”
“We have horses,” D’Jenn said. “So that only leaves us with two options—north, or south.”
“South leads right into the Galanian Empire, into old Shundovia.” Shawna shook her head. “We’d be rushing right into the arms of the enemy.”
“North it is, then,” D’Jenn said. “We’ll go to Borders and cross the sea there.”
“Borders?” Shawna scoffed. “Borders is a cesspool! Not to mention the bay is blocked by the Maelstrom Field. How do you expect to find a ship willing to brave the Maelstrom Field in winter seas?”
“Would you rather go north to the Dannon steppes? We have to get to sea,” Dormael said.
“He’s right,” D’Jenn grunted, cutting in before Shawna could protest. “There’s hostile country to the south, hostile country to the east. We’re against the sea, and we need a ship. Borders is all we’ve got.”
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