The Cycle of Arawn: The Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy

by Edward W. Robertson

  Dennie moved to a desk, shoulders bowed, and retrieved a small wooden box. He held it out, glancing between Minn and Blays. Tears shined in his eyes. Minn accepted it without eye contact and lifted its hinged lid. Her jaw went tight.

  She closed her eyes. Nether wafted to her hands. She sent it to the box and it buzzed in confused spirals. It went still, then vibrated side to side; it paused a second time, then floated like tiny flakes of snow in a tumbling winter wind.

  Minn stepped back, holding the box at arm's length. "I don't know what I'm doing."

  "That makes two of us," Blays said.

  She wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow. "Did he ever tell you how to do this?"

  "It rarely occurred to me to talk shop when he was raising zombies and making people's heads explode. I think the concept is you find the nether in the blood, then follow it back to its source. Make sense?"

  "In theory."

  He laughed wryly. "Trust me, after what you've put me through the last couple months, I understand how this feels. Relax and see what you can do."

  Annoyance flickered across her face. She breathed and the lines smoothed. Dennie watched them the way Blays might watch a barber bleeding a man whose cough has reduced him to a life in bed: hopeful but nauseated, and not quite certain the supposed cure wasn't making things worse.

  When she was ready, Minn summoned the nether back to the box. It was visibly calmer, washing over what lay in the box, retracting, then rolling forward like midnight surf. For ten minutes, she stood in perfect concentration.

  The nether winked away. She staggered back, clutching her head. The box tipped from her hand. Blays darted in to catch it. Inside a bed of black velvet, a pale finger pointed at his heart.

  "I can't do it," Minn said. "I'm not making any progress at all."

  "What are you trying?" Blays said. "When you follow the nether, where does it go?"

  "I don't know! Maybe you should try."

  Blays glanced at Dennie, who nodded his okay. Blays gazed at the finger. Its stump was rusty with dried blood. The nether there was plentiful, flowing through severed veins and tickling along cut skin. He reached into it and tried to follow wherever it might lead, but the edge of the shadows blended into nothing, leaving him lost. Even so, he tried again and again, attacking the problem with every trick he'd honed in Pocket Cove.

  All failed to show him a thing. He sighed and set the box down on the desk. "I've got nothing."

  "Thank you for trying," Dennie said, making a valiant effort to keep the disappointment from his face.

  "Well, just because the shadows quit on us doesn't mean we're done." Blays sat in a chair, its cushioned seat sinking beneath his weight. He rubbed his face. "We've got other tools in the kit: feet and brains. Why don't you tell us exactly what's happened?"

  Dennie glanced at the night, perhaps deciding whether he'd had enough of the day, then opened the cabinet and got out a pink bottle. "Blank? Minn?"

  Blays nodded. After a pause, so did Minn. Dennie poured three glasses with two inches of whitish liquid and distributed them. It tasted like anise and honey. Blays hadn't had anything stronger than tea and broth in months, but he forced himself to sip rather than guzzle.

  Dennie seated himself and laid out the facts. Though he was more detailed in places, the relevant bits matched Minn's version.

  Blays swirled his drink. "They still haven't sent any demands?"

  "They have not," Dennie said. "I've seen this game at the negotiating table. The idea is to bring my nerves to a boil. Don't dangle the offer until I'm so exhausted I'll grab it like a lifeline."

  "Any idea why they're so hellbent on this book?"

  "It is ancient. Concerned with the machinations of the Celeset. The woman who wants it is from Narashtovik. It doesn't take a cartographer to map those shores." Dennie rubbed his palms together. "But it makes little sense. Narashtovik was our ally during the Chainbreakers' War."

  "Yeah, but these days a different brow wears the crown." Blays tapped his glass. "Here's my thinking. Minn, you keep trying to hunt the blood. Dennie—can I call you Dennie?—you look into the courier who delivered today's message. See if you can trace him back to whoever hired him."

  "And what will you be doing?"

  "Me?" Blays said. "Taking a nap."

  Dennie's eyebrows shifted together. "Taking a..?"

  "Sorry, I make odd jokes when I'm tired. This isn't my first trip to Gallador. I know some people here. I'll visit them and see what I can turn up. Sound good?"

  "Thank you for coming," Dennie said. He leaned forward and patted Minn's knee. "You, too. I don't understand where you've been, but I know you must be risking much to be here."

  "Then do me one favor," Minn said. "Don't tell my dad I'm here."

  "How can you ask me to choose between my brother and my niece?"

  "I'm not asking."

  His cheeks puffed with laughter. "You would have done well here."

  He showed them to the guest quarters and sent around servants to see to their needs, but all Blays needed was a bed. He slept soundly, yet woke as soon as the help began to bump around preparing for the morning. At least in Gallador you always knew there'd be plenty of tea. Downstairs, he ate crab cakes on toast. As he wiped his mouth, a servant handed him a weighty purse. Blays grinned. Dennie knew how things got done.

  As soon as it was light enough to get his bearings, he walked into the crisp morning. A quarter mile across the water, smoke hung over the city. A few dozen islets scattered this corner of the lake. Lolligan's five-story estate wasn't the biggest on the islands, but it was easy enough to spot. Blays hopped in a rowboat and paddled over, oars stirring the smell of fresh water with each stroke.

  A servant met him on Lolligan's dock. "Are we expecting you?"

  "Oh, I doubt it." Blays climbed out and stretched his legs. "Unless Lolligan's even spookier than I thought, Jeffers."

  Jeffers' jaw dropped. "Lord...Pendelles?"

  Blays put a finger to his lips. "Shh. If my last mission was hush-hush, consider this one so quiet that a dog would ask you to speak up."

  "I understand, my lord. As much as I am able, when it comes to anything concerning you. Please, follow me."

  Jeffers hiked up the steps and circled the building. Around back, a door led to a little-used cellar. Inside, he lit a lantern, showed Blays to a chair, and headed back outside, careful to close the door behind him. Blays considered hiding beside the doorway and leaping out as soon as it opened—he would never have a better chance to take Lolligan by surprise—but the man was around that age where people were apt to drop dead clutching their heart.

  Lolligan stepped inside, his avian features even sharper in the morning light. He shielded his eyes, adjusting to the darkness, and clumped down the steps. "Sweet Arawn, I thought Jeffers had finally gone senile. What fresh disaster have you brought me this time?"

  "None, for once." Blays bounced from his chair and wrapped the old man in a hug. "At least, nothing that ought to splash back on you."

  "Where in all the hells have you been?"

  "Eluding Dante."

  "So Taya said." Lolligan backed up the stairs to close the door, then swept the dust from a chair and sat. "Does your presence mean it's finally safe for you to emerge from hibernation?"

  "You will be completely unsurprised to learn I'm here to deal with an emergency. Which we can get to in a second. For now, tell me everything that's happened. Is Taya all right?"

  "She's fine." Lolligan smoothed his trim white beard into a point. "Getting out of Setteven, they had a hell of a ride and a bit of a fight, but they made off with the king's payment. We concluded it would be best to lie low for a while. Last two months, we've been smuggling as much bossen into the capital as we dare."

  "Given that I haven't heard the unmistakable sound of a crumbling palace, I take it Moddegan's fortune remains intact."

  "As far as I know. But he's been in no hurry to sell off his stock. Even if we're not in position to
pop the bubble, we can make it droop."

  "So we won't lop off his head, but we may give him a pinch in the neck." Blays sighed. "I'm sorry I let you down."

  "Indeed. If only you hadn't been hunted through space and time by a monomaniacal nethermancer of hideous power." Lolligan pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. "I don't know anything about your present situation. But I do know we could still use you."

  "Would if I could," Blays said.

  "But you've become enmeshed in another outlandish contretemps. As is your way. Will you at least give me a hint?"

  "Would you believe me if I said Pocket Cove?"

  Lolligan was silent a moment, then laughed. "Only because it's you. Please, please tell me you're not here to seek sanctuary from them."

  "I would never do that to you. On the other hand, you do have a very nice cellar to hide in." At that moment, Blays sneezed; the space was musty and damp. "Do you know Dennever? Of the Stotts family?"

  "We trade in similar routes."

  "Heard about his son?"

  "Cal?" Lolligan said. "Went missing, yes? You aren't involved, are you?"

  "In his disappearance? Of course not. I'm here to find him." Blays leaned forward. "You have to keep this under your tongue, but we think he's been taken. By a woman from Narashtovik."

  "Tallivand?"

  "You know her? Can you tell me anything about her?"

  "Not much, I'm afraid. She came asking about Dennie's interests a few weeks back. Assumed she was looking to butter him up, or propose a deal of some kind, but otherwise, I didn't think much of it at the time. Then I saw her in town again a couple days ago."

  Blays' pulse leapt. "Where?"

  "Stepping into a carriage around the back of the Rotterdun estate. He's a friend of mine. Want me to check into it for you?"

  "Would you? I'd prefer to keep a low profile until it's time to leap out from the shrubs."

  Lolligan nodded. "It might help if I knew what all this was about."

  "Obviously, it's not that I don't trust you." Blays sighed through his nose. "But it's not just about me. The person who brought me here has much more to lose."

  "Like her favor for you?" The old man grinned. "Don't worry, your new secrets are as safe as your old ones."

  "As always, thank you. Is Taya in town?"

  "She's in Setteven. Would you like me to send her a letter?"

  "Not now. But next time you write, let her know I'm safe and well."

  He headed out to the dock and rowed to Wending's main passenger piers. Though he'd spent plenty of time in the city, most of it had been limited to ultra-private meetings in Lolligan's cellar, and he had few worries he'd be recognized, either as Lord Pendelles or Blays Buckler. Even so, as he entered the bustling flow of people stepping off and on to ferries and two-person taxi boats, he made sure his collar was up and his hair was mussed, glad he'd let himself get good and shaggy during his stay in Pocket Cove.

  He went from taxi man to taxi man, describing the woman who called herself Tallivand, rustling the boatmen's memories with Dennie's slush fund. Most knew nothing. Others couldn't come up with more than a vague match for the description. This didn't surprise Blays. The fact they handled high volumes of traffic was the very reason he'd come to canvass them. At the same time, it was maddening to hear so many possible matches to his search. Even if he could run down each one (and the boatmen rarely remembered where they'd deposited their fares, let alone when), doing so would take days. Minn's time here was limited. So, perhaps, was Cal's.

  At midday, he retired to a public house to eat lunch and reassess his approach. Logically, Tallivand must be operating from relatively nearby. Close enough to correspond with Dennie. And to deliver severed fingers before they'd gone rotten. Almost certainly, she was somewhere in Gallador Rift. Probably not in Wending itself, however. Too dangerous. That meant boat travel. Thus his querying of the taxis. Whom he'd far from exhausted.

  He set back to work, including more questions pertinent to her being from Narashtovik—they had their own accent, and tended to dress in more fur, among other distinguishing characteristics. The city was far enough from Gallador to make visitors somewhat scarce. This turned up a few leads, which he duly followed up on, trotting through the sloped streets to call on shops and tradesmen and the city's voluminous library. But by the end of the day, with nothing solid in hand, he returned to Dennie's home more exhausted than the day before.

  "Make any progress with the blood?" he asked Minn as they sat down to eat.

  "No more than you did at the docks."

  "I inquired with the messenger," Dennie said. "Not surprisingly, the box was brought to him for final delivery by a third party. He had a description of the man, but no name."

  "And still nothing from Tallivand?" Blays said.

  Dennie poked at his seared whitefish, swirling his fork through the pureed basil sauce. "No. She knows that the longer she waits, the further my will to resist decays."

  A fine dinnertime conversation. After, they had a couple drinks, but Blays was even less inclined to talk about himself than Minn was, and while he got the impression Dennie would have been happy to discuss his enterprise under different circumstances, the man had more on his mind than business. They soon retired to their rooms.

  Blays was slow to wake. Possibly because he was less than enthused about another day of running up and down the fishy-smelling piers. When he finally rousted himself and went downstairs for tea, there was a letter waiting from Lolligan requesting his presence as soon as he was able.

  He gulped down a mug of tea while it was still scalding and rowed straight to Lolligan's. Up on the porch, Jeffers nodded at him and went inside. Blays headed to the cellar. Lolligan joined him shortly.

  "I spoke to Rotterdun," Lolligan said. "At first he was a bit cagey, but when I told him it was related to the disappearance, he confirmed Tallivand had been to see him."

  "You mean recently?"

  He nodded. "Last month, he allowed her to see his library. Discussion wandered to the subject of histories and he mentioned one that snagged her ear. She wanted to buy it, but he'd loaned it to a friend who was away on business in Tantonnen. Two weeks ago, Rotterdun let her know his friend would be back soon. She returned to complete the purchase four days ago."

  "In person? She's either very bold or very obsessed."

  "There was quite a large sum on the line. He got the impression she was there to confirm its edition for herself." He leaned forward and glanced around, mock-conspiratorial. "There's more. When she left, she forgot her coat. It was a few minutes before anyone noticed. Rotterdun dispatched a servant to the piers, but by the time the man got there, her vessel was already plowing across the lake."

  "Tell me he remembers the boat."

  Lolligan grinned. "The Blind Eye. Known, suitably enough, for its discretion."

  Blays clapped, the report echoing from the stone walls. "About time I had a bit of luck. Make sure Rottendun's man gets a raise."

  He all but ran out of the cellar, then rowed into the city so fast it was a wonder his boat didn't take to the air like a rotund wooden eagle. He'd never heard of the Blind Eye, but he easily bought info on its berthage from one of the other boatsmen. It was currently out on the lakes dropping off a well-heeled passenger. Blays settled in at a pub on the docks and treated himself to a beer while he waited for his ship to come in.

  That took all day and half the evening. As dusk encored, with fish breaking the surface to nibble at the few flies alive this time of year, an unmarked sloop slipped up to the pier and tied off. Blays finished his beer—just his third, he needed to stay sharp-witted—and headed toward the Blind Eye.

  A gangplank connected it to the dock. Blays started up, but a man loomed on the other end. "Sure you're on the right ship?"

  "I'm here to see Captain Kessel," Blays said. "So unless he's left your vessel for another fair lady of the lakes, I'm pretty sure I've got my mark."

  "Who shall I tell him is her
e?"

  Blays jangled his purse. "Opportunity."

  The man snorted and headed toward the single deck at the aft. To avoid attention, Blays had left his sword at Dennie's, but he found himself regretting his caution. He had brought knives, though. He never didn't have knives.

  The sailor returned, wordlessly gestured Blays aboard, and led him to the captain's cabin. This was as cramped as they always were, wallpapered with maps of the lakes and the channels connecting them. No other records were visible.

  Blays closed the door, but declined a seat on the bench/shelf that ran along the wall. "I'm here about one of your passengers."

  "What passengers?" Captain Kessel was younger than Blays expected, maybe no older than Blays himself. He had a burn scar on the left side of his jaw and looked as lean and mean as a lake pike.

  "Just one. A woman named Tallivand."

  The man regarded him blankly. "I repeat, what passengers? This is a fishing trawler."

  "Captain, while I have nothing but respect for the value you place on your passengers' privacy—"

  "Do you? Then turn around and walk off my boat."

  Blays stepped forward. "One of your nonexistent passengers kidnapped the family of someone close to me. Putting me in the unfortunate position of giving a shit. I can see that if I tried to bribe you, you would laugh at me. If I threatened you, you'd probably try to stab me, and I'd have to kill you before I learned what I want to know."

  Kessel sniffed. "Then it sounds like walking away is even smarter than it was a minute ago."

  "Yep," Blays said. "But I never was too smart."

  They eyed each other. Blays made no move, but Kessler was canny enough to pick up something in his face. The corner of the captain's mouth twitched. His backside was leaned against a compact table thick with charts. He lunged forward, driving a two-pronged drafting compass at Blays' throat.