When she didn’t answer, Fess sighed and resumed his inspection of the landscape. “I thought so.”
Pellin stepped from the quay in Cynestol’s port, stumbling as his legs worked to find their land rhythm again. For as far as he could see, people pushed and fought to board any ship that could make the trip south. Desperate passengers argued and sometimes fought, bidding up the price of passage. Ahead of him, Mark walked with Elieve, Allta a pace behind.
“Rumors are flying as thick as gulls over garbage,” Captain Onen said as he walked beside him. “I don’t know what business you’re on, Master Pellin, and I don’t wish to, but your coin is appreciated and you’re better company than most of those who live on the land. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the south?”
He’d turned to respond when Mark’s cry cut through the air. “Get down!”
Pellin heard the whistle of displaced air just as Allta crashed into him and Onen, sending them sprawling across the stone pier. His guard stood above them, swatting at arrows that came from different directions.
“Dwimor!”
Screams echoed in the streets. Mark’s yell of rage threaded through them. Onen rolled, drawing his hooked knife and searching. An arrow appeared out of thin air a dozen paces away to come streaking for the captain’s heart. Allta’s sword whined as he lunged to knock it aside. It deflected from his blade to take the captain through the arm, and his knife clattered to the ground.
Reaching up, Pellin pulled at Onen’s clothes. “Get down! You can’t see them.”
A gurgle prefaced the sound of a body hitting the quay, and a man appeared, a knife lodged in his throat.
“Allta,” Pellin yelled. “Help Mark with the others.”
“I can’t,” he answered. “If I move, the archers will have you.”
Mark’s screams of rage filled the air as people fled. Pellin looked to see his apprentice charging empty air, his knives flashing. An arrow appeared in midflight, but Mark threw himself to the side at the last moment and the shot went wide.
Allta parried another arrow, then grabbed at his belt and threw in a motion too quick to follow. Pellin watched the knife spin end over end. The hilt struck with a muted thump and the knife dropped harmlessly to the stone.
But the throw had given Mark enough time to close the distance and an instant later another body came into view, a woman. Even at this distance, Pellin could see her colorless eyes.
Arrows came from a single direction now. Between parries, Allta threw whatever he could at the attacker. Mark had disappeared behind a row of crates. Elieve lay still on the pier, an arrow jutting from her side.
Moments later the last dwimor was down, cut from behind.
Pellin made to rise, but Allta prevented him. “There may be more.”
Mark huddled over the form of Elieve. “Get a healer. Somebody get a healer!” But the pier continued to empty as people ran from the blood and bodies.
Pellin rolled out from beneath Allta’s presence and stood. Onen joined him a moment later, pressing against his arm where the arrow jutted out. “Captain,” Pellin said, “we need your youngest sailors with us.”
Onen bawled a pair of names in a voice that made Pellin wince, and a moment later two men, both under a score, stood beside them. As he ran toward Mark and Elieve, with Allta hovering over him, Pellin explained what he needed.
The two men surveyed the area, searching as Pellin knelt. Mark looked at him, his gaze demanding and frantic. “She’s so pale.”
The arrow had not gone through, and blood pulsed weakly from the wound. Elieve’s eyes fluttered. “Give me a moment,” Pellin said. He retreated into his sanctuary, searching for every set of memories that belonged to a healer, especially those who’d served in war.
“Allta, pick her up.”
“Eldest, I can’t protect you with my arms full.”
“I’ll protect him,” Mark said. “Please. She jumped in front of me.”
Pellin turned. “Captain Onen, do you have medical supplies on board?”
“Aye,” he said, “but no healer.”
“That’s alright, Captain,” Pellin said. “Let’s get her back on board the ship. Have your men keep watch. No one boards but us. No one. She’s going to be fine, Mark. I promise.”
An hour later, Pellin exited the cabin to find Allta standing guard just outside. “The girl?” he asked.
“The arrow took her in the side, but missed anything vital. Come, we need to see the captain. I’m a fool.”
“How so, Eldest?”
“When Igesia and I freed Elieve of her vault, we put the evil of the Darkwater on guard. It knew where we were, but more importantly, where we would be.”
“Cynestol,” Allta said.
“Cesla had all the time he needed to get his dwimor into place.” He stopped at the captain’s quarters and knocked.
“Come.”
Pellin followed Allta into the room to find Onen at his desk, his left arm in a sling. “How are you set for provisions, Captain?” he asked.
“We’re running lean, Master Pellin.” Suspicion laced his voice. “We have less than a week of food and water remaining. The crossing was quick or we’d be even lower. As soon as we victual the ship, I’ll be putting as many passengers aboard as I can hold. Have you heard what the other captains are charging for passage? It’s insane.”
“I have. Do you have enough food and water to get us to Haefan?”
The captain nodded. “Moorclaire? That’s hardly more than a fishing village. As much as I’ll hate having a bunch of passengers, Master Pellin, the profit on this could—”
Pellin reached into his purse and pulled two gold pieces. The captain’s response, though silent, spoke volumes. “We’re your cargo, Captain, your only cargo.”
Onen stood. “I’ve only seen gold twice in my life. May I hold them?”
Pellin placed the coins in his palm. “They’re yours if we leave now.”
“I’m no stranger to trouble,” Onen said, “but it usually does me the favor of showing itself. Who were they?”
“Enemies who know how to stay hidden,” Pellin said. “I should have known they would be here. If I’d ordered you to continue northeast to Haefan to begin with, they wouldn’t have found us.”
Onen nodded, staring at the gold in his palm in disbelief. “And who are you?”
“A passenger. I’d like to leave, Captain,” Pellin said. “Now.”
Onen pocketed the gold and moved past them, bellowing orders to his crew.
“This may serve us, Eldest,” Allta said. “It’s a shorter ride to Treflow from Haefan than Cynestol.”
He nodded. “Tell the captain we need all the speed he can wrest from his ship and pray Rymark can hold Treflow until we arrive.”
Chapter 63
The sun might have been a few degrees past noon when I saw Bolt stir, jerking to wakefulness.
“I’ve got you,” Gael said.
Pain put years on his face, but his gaze seemed lucid enough. “Water.”
Rory lifted a skin to him, and he drank, emptying it before he handed it back. “More.” He skewered Rory and Gael with a look that promised retribution. “I fully expected him”—he pointed at me—“to spout some piffle about not leaving anyone behind, but it’s your job to stand against that kind of fool-headed mush.”
“Save the speech,” I told him. “We had to cauterize the wound.”
He scowled at me. I couldn’t tell whether the sour expression came from his pain or because he was irritated with me for saving him, but I would have put money on the latter. “Really?” he asked with his eyes wide. “I think I might have picked up on that from the smell of burnt meat coming from the vicinity of my leg.”
“Is the pain bad?” Gael asked.
Bolt rolled his shoulders, twisting in Gael’s hold. “It’s not the kind of thing I’d volunteer for, but it’s swimming upstream against whatever you gave me.”
“Paverin sap,” she said.
<
br /> “Is there any left?” he asked. When she nodded, he held out a hand. “Let’s have it.”
We stopped the horses, and Bolt hopped down and landed on his good leg without letting the other touch the ground. While Gael retrieved the medicine, he probed the bandages around his wound. “Not bad for battlefield surgery,” he said to Gael. “What did you use?”
“Not me,” she said. “Willet.”
Genuine surprise lifted his brows. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“I watched a healer do it after my first battle with Owmead,” I said.
“You watched it and you thought you could try it out on me without being trained?” he said. “You could have killed me.”
“You were dying anyway.” I shrugged as if the decision had been of minor importance. “It wasn’t like we had much to lose.”
“Humph. What did you use to cauterize the wound?”
“My sword,” Rory said.
“You’ve ruined the temper,” Bolt said to him, his face stoic. “What have I told you about taking care of your weapons?”
Rory lifted his hands. “I tried to tell him.”
Bolt almost smiled. On anyone else it would have been a grin that split his face from ear to ear. “That’s alright. We’ll get you a proper sword as soon as we can. The balance on that one is atrocious.”
“What?” Rory said “You’ve had me train with that sword for months.”
Bolt nodded. “I wanted to make sure that I could beat you without trying too hard. Your gift runs at least as pure as mine, and your talents are better.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the look on Rory’s face as he realized he’d been conned for the last six months into working far harder to master the sword than he had to.
“You would have made a good urchin,” he said finally.
Bolt nodded as though Rory had paid him one of the greatest compliments of his life. “That particular set of skills is another reason why I chose you,” he said.
Gael handed him the vial of paverin sap, and he held it up to the light for an instant before pulling the stopper and downing the contents. “Where are we?”
“About forty leagues southwest of Treflow,” Erendella said.
“Two days hard riding if we change horses often,” Bolt mused.
“Can you ride that hard?” Gael asked.
He shrugged. “Do I need to?” He looked at me. “Will you have all six of the rulers in place when we get there?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“That’s probably the kind of question you’ll have to ask. The net’s closing in, and they know we’re headed for Treflow. We’ll have to ride at night as well.” He turned to Rory. “You should probably go ahead and cover an eye. I don’t know how much light you’ll have.”
Erendella pulled the scrying stone from the folds of her cloak. “King Rymark, hear me.”
We waited there in the middle of the rolling hills of northern Caisel without a farm or village in sight. The wind whispered out of the west. “King Rymark,” Erendella called, her voice rising. “Hear me.”
“I’m here,” his voice answered from the facets of the stone. “Who calls?”
“Erendella. Are you still in Treflow?”
“Yes,” he said. “We’re holding.”
“Are the rest of the rulers with you?” Erendella asked.
I held my breath, waiting for his answer.
“Ulrezia not here yet, but she’s close. The problem is Pellin. The Eldest was attacked by dwimor in Cynestol. He says he’s on his way north now.”
I leaned forward to ask a question, but Bolt’s look of warning stopped me.
“Make haste,” Rymark said. “Our losses are mounting.”
Bolt moved to Erendella’s side to whisper into her ear. When she hesitated, he donned a look that said plainly he meant to be obeyed.
“Can you hold for five days?” she asked into the stone.
“Aer willing. I’ve sent messenger birds for reinforcements,” Rymark said. “But if I try to hold the city for that long, I won’t have enough men to buy us our retreat.”
Bolt held up four fingers and nodded toward the stone.
“We’ll be there in four,” Erendella said, “even if we have to ride the horses to death.”
“Better,” Rymark said. “I hope I’ll be here to greet you when you arrive.”
None of us said anything until after Erendella had wrapped the scrying stone in cloth and tucked it away again.
“He has a traitor in his camp,” I said. “That’s why you told him four days instead of two.”
Bolt took a step on his injured leg and winced. “That and something might go wrong. It usually does.”
I shook my head. “True, but it’s a lot easier for men to hold out for two days instead of three or four.”
Bolt nodded. “Since there’s a spy in Rymark’s camp, getting into the city is going to be a challenge. If they’re looking for us I want to make sure they’re doing it at the wrong time.” He hobbled over to his horse and mounted. “Let’s go. Our only hope is to ride fast enough to leave Cesla’s net behind.”
I locked gazes with Gael and gestured. She understood. When we set out, she made a point to ride at Bolt’s side.
We began our dash to Treflow.
Ten miles from Treflow, Toria signaled Fess and Oriano to bring the wagon train to a halt. Wag sat on his haunches, his tongue lolling in the morning sun. She dismounted then stripped her gloves. “How many people do you smell in the direction of the sunrise?” she asked.
Many packs, Mistress, but they are still some distance away. His thought came with an image of a field covered with hundreds upon hundreds of men.
“And how many of those have the smell of the forest on them?”
Also, many packs. But the field contained less than half as many now.
“Can you guide us into the city and keep us away from those with the scent of the forest on them?”
Yes, Mistress.
With the sentinel in the lead, his nose into the air and twitching, they circled around to the south. Soon after the city came into view, they spied their first patrol, a group of seven soldiers with their heads bared. A weight lifted from her shoulders as the men in Caisel’s colors caught sight of them and headed their way.
Fess pulled his horse in front, his hand raised in greeting, when Wag burst into motion. The men tried to draw weapons as their horses reared.
“Stop,” Toria ordered Fess as he pulled his sword. “You’ll only get in his way.”
“Toria Deel, there are seven of them.”
“Not anymore.” She pointed. “Look.”
Three of the soldiers were already down, and the other four were galloping away, toward Treflow. With grim efficiency, Wag ran them down from behind, leaping to take each rider from the back of his horse, his jaws crushing their throats.
She nudged her mount forward and stopped next to Fess where he stared as Wag loped back toward them. “This is why they’re the guardians of the forest,” she said, “and why Cesla’s first stroke was to kill them.”
He nodded. “Why not let him cleanse the area around the city, Lady Deel?”
“Because he’s the last of his kind,” Toria said. “And even a sentinel can be killed. We have to get Wag into Treflow. Cleansing the city is more important.”
Fess nodded. “Whoever betrayed us will have the smell of the forest on them.”
Onen’s ship slipped into the dock at Haefan’s small harbor. Because it was more of a fishing village than a trading port, their approach had been hampered by the deeper draft of their ship. The lights on the pier had barely been sufficient for them to find their way. Except for the harbormaster, the town slept, dawn still two hours distant.
“Will it work, Eldest?” Allta asked him.
It had taken them a day and a half, even with the favorable wind and an empty ship, to make the dash up the coast to Haefan. The time had given him and Elieve the
opportunity to heal and gather strength. “Cesla and the Fayit intelligence within him will have no choice but to hunt for us along the routes from Cynestol. Even if he suspects we’ve taken ship to another port, he’s more likely to search for us in Loklallin or Vadras.”
Onen, lighting his way with a lantern, found them where they waited for the gangplank to be made fast. “That’s the fastest trip I’ll ever make, Master Pellin, and sure enough.”
“I hope so, Captain,” Pellin said. “There’s usually not much money to be made sailing empty.”
“True enough, that,” Onen said, “but it’s a thrill I wouldn’t have missed, racing across the sea that way.” He stuck out his hand. “Fair winds to you.”
“And you, Captain,” Pellin said. “Find whatever cargo you can and make for the southern continent.”
The light of Onen’s lantern cast the planes of his face in stark relief. “For how long?”
Pellin smiled. “You’ll know when it’s safe.”
Allta left to fetch Elieve and Mark, and they spent the time until dawn combing the town of Haefan for horses and supplies. By the time the sun crested the horizon, they were riding across the moors of southern Moorclaire.
Chapter 64
Two days after our conversation with Rymark, we came in sight of columns of thick black smoke that marked Treflow like a pyre. We crawled up the backside of a low hill and looked down on a city under siege. Treflow sat at the junction where the Darkwater River split into branches that flowed south, southwest, and southeast. The wall of the city encompassed the junction. Around the perimeter, a thick cordon of men and women in both soldiers garb and civilian clothes guarded every bit of land. Even more were concentrated on the roads going in and out.
“How come they’re not attacking?” Rory asked.
I knew and felt my stomach drop toward my legs. “Why attack during the day when you have the advantage in the dark? They can see better and fight almost as well as the gifted.”
“If Rymark has the advantage during the day, why doesn’t he come out and attack?”
“I can think of a couple of reasons,” I said.
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