“Anytime would be good now, Lanyon,” Lowrey prodded.
Penhallow arranged his hands over a section in the center of the carvings so that his fingers formed the shape of Esthrane’s constellation. He gave a push on the five points simultaneously, and they heard a click as a hidden latch gave way. The heavy door pivoted on a central fulcrum, opening a narrow access through which they slid one man at a time, latching the door behind them.
A dozen more steps brought them to an opening in the foothills above the city. Connor drank in the cool, fresh air and the sight of stars in the night sky overhead.
“We should be safe now,” Penhallow said. “The spirits are bound to their crypt. They can’t follow us here.”
“That doesn’t help Geddy,” Connor said.
Penhallow laid a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Your grief is admirable, but it would not serve his sacrifice to allow the enemy to gain the advantage. Now that we know which disks are missing, we need to find them.”
“Four pendants, plus the one Connor wears and King Merrill’s disk,” Lowrey observed. “Perhaps McFadden has found his family’s pendant. That’s seven disks accounted for out of thirteen. And we know Reese has interest in the old families.” He met Penhallow’s gaze. “I’d say the race is on.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“C
ome on, Mick, wake up!” Piran Rowse’s voice seemed painfully loud, but Blaine guessed that might have more to do with the pounding in his temples than Piran’s actual volume.
With a groan, Blaine felt consciousness return. Every bone in his body ached. He lay in the snow, gradually becoming aware of just how cold he was and realizing that his feet and hands were numb. He tried to move his arms and legs. Everything hurt, but at least his body still worked.
Piran extended his hand and Blaine pulled himself up to a seated position, then swayed as his head threatened to explode and his vision blurred. “The others —” he began, then winced at the throbbing in his head.
“We all made it over the fence,” Piran replied. “Skin of our teeth, it was, with those storms behind us. But we made it.” He gave a nod to the right, where Blaine saw Kestel and Verran moving gingerly. Kestel carefully shook the snow free from the folds of her cloak, and Verran brushed snow from his tunic and trews. Piran appeared to be the most recovered of any of them. Their horses, looking no worse for the long, frantic chase, were milling about well inside the stone wall.
Piran was crouched in front of Blaine, and now he cast a worried glance behind him, toward the hamlet of Riker’s Ferry. “Can you stand?” he asked quietly. “Because we’ve attracted the attention of the town folk.”
Blaine gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand, doing his best to ignore every aching joint and a blinding headache. Piran also got to his feet, carefully keeping his hands away from the sword that hung at his belt.
Blaine looked at the small crowd that had started to gather. Fortunately, they were not brandishing swords, but he could see that most of the men were carrying staves and small tools that could quickly become weapons should introductions go poorly.
Blaine took a step forward, making sure both hands were in plain view and far from his sword. “My friends and I barely outrode two storms. We mean no harm.”
An older man at the forefront of the crowd nodded. The others looked to him, and Blaine guessed he was the village elder. “It’s fortunate none of your companions were hurt,” he said. “Welcome to Riker’s Ferry.”
“I’m Mick,” Blaine said, deliberately not using his given name, “and my friends are Piran, Verran, and Kestel.”
“I am Helgen,” the older man replied. “I head the village council. What brings you and your friends so far into the backcountry?”
Blaine had been expecting the question. Given how far Riker’s Ferry was from more heavily traveled roads and major towns, it was inevitable. He had not, however, expected to have to pass the scrutiny of the entire town at once. “We came from Castle Reach,” Blaine said. “We’re looking for a friend of ours who went missing after the Great Fire.”
Helgen’s eyes narrowed, and he looked up at the lingering crowd to wave them off. “Go on, get about your business. I’ll see to our visitors.” Gradually the small group dispersed, looking disappointed there hadn’t been more to the incident.
“Bring your horses, and let’s go get a pint at the pub. The tavern master can see to your horses, we’ll get you warmed up, and you can tell me what you’re really doing out here on the backside of nowhere,” he said with a glance at Blaine.
Piran shot a look at Blaine, who shrugged. They gathered their horses, and Blaine fell in step with Helgen. Piran and Kestel followed, with Verran bringing up the rear.
Blaine looked around as they walked down the main street of Riker’s Ferry. From the map, he knew that the Pelaran River bordered the far side of town, where the ferry was located. Before the Great Fire, most traffic bound for Castle Reach and the harbor would most likely have taken the bridge, a day’s ride to the south. Riker’s Ferry was off the main route for the majority of the merchants, caravans, and traveling fairs that had moved freely about the kingdom before the war. The town’s less-than-ideal location no doubt accounted in part for the fact that it had the look of a small farming village rather than a bustling hub of commerce.
“Looks like your town weathered the Great Fire pretty well,” Piran observed.
Helgen nodded. “Out here, we’re not much of a target,” he replied.
He’s conveniently not mentioning the fact that they’re null magic, Blaine thought. Yet that has to be the main reason nothing here looks as if it was even touched. He looked from side to side as they traveled up the village’s broad main street, noting that the taverns, shops, brothel, and stable looked weathered by the years. In other words, Blaine thought, they look completely normal, not as if they’d been blown to bits and cobbled back together.
“It’s rather nice to see buildings that aren’t smashed to pieces or burned to a crisp,” Verran observed. “Most places near Castle Reach took a pounding in the war.”
Helgen gave a wan smile that did not reach his eyes. “For once, our inconvenient location was a blessing.”
Blaine glanced around the Ram and Boar as they entered. It was modest but not shabby. Near the bar, he saw several men with the look of farmers or herders standing with mugs of ale, while a handful of other men played cards or dice at tables near the fire. Everyone looked up as they entered.
Helgen spoke a few words to the barkeeper and motioned them to sit with him at a table near the back. Blaine noticed two young men seated at a nearby table. Both of the men looked like peddlers or tinkers, dressed in worn jackets with ragged sleeves and scuffed boots. They were deep in their own conversation and did not look up as Blaine’s group settled in at a table.
“Bring some food with that ale!” Helgen shouted back to the barkeeper. “It’s cold outside.” From the kitchen, they heard a muffled assent.
A stout woman, probably the barkeeper’s wife, bustled to bring them their drinks. “He’s got stew tonight. Mostly potatoes and onion and some deer meat. A bit of that and some bread should warm you up,” she said. “If you’re needing a room, we’ve got beds upstairs. If you’re early to bed, you’ll get a spot. If not, there’s room on the floor and plenty of blankets.”
She paused, her gaze lingering on Kestel, as if trying to make out what a woman was doing traveling among men and attired in tunic and trews. “If you’d like, dearie, you can sleep down here or in the kitchen, keep you away from the gods-awful snoring.”
Kestel smiled warmly at the woman. “That’s kind of you.”
If she had any concerns over the nature of Kestel’s business in town, the woman seemed mollified by Kestel’s answer and relaxed a bit. “All right then, it’s settled. He’ll be out with that stew in a moment. Holler if you’ll be needing more ale.” At that, she turned away and bustled back toward the bar, where several of the other customers
were holding aloft empty tankards to be filled.
Helgen looked at Blaine, and his blue eyes held a wary intelligence. “Now please, if you will, I’d like the real reason you happened upon our little village.”
Blaine took a sip of his ale, watching Helgen carefully. “As I said, we are looking for a friend of ours who went missing just before the Great Fire. He was a mage named Vigus Quintrel.”
Helgen’s mouth turned up slightly at the corners, bemused. “Why would a mage come to a farming town like this?”
“Because magic doesn’t work here,” Kestel replied, smiling at Helgen. Her smile, coupled with her blunt observation, seemed to surprise the man.
“Magic doesn’t work anywhere, not since the Great Fire,” Helgen said, eyeing Kestel warily.
“But it didn’t work in Riker’s Ferry even before that, did it?” Kestel pressed, leaning closer. “That’s why we thought our friend might have come here. We think he was afraid something like the Great Fire might happen, and he thought this was safe.”
Helgen was silent for a moment. “We may not be one of the main trading stops on the river,” he said finally, “but before the Great Fire, we had our share of strangers coming and going. When the fires came, people stopped traveling. There wasn’t anywhere for them to go, once the castle and its city burned.” He gave a sharp, short bark of a laugh.
“At first, everyone was afraid to go anywhere. Then when it got closer to winter, people got up the nerve to leave. Since then, there’s been a steady trickle of people finding their way here. Some just travel until they run out of provisions, and so they stay. Others, well, I imagine there are as many stories as there are vagabonds. So long as they don’t cause trouble, and they’ll work for their food, we don’t usually care if they stay.”
“What about before the fires?” Kestel asked, leaning forward and turning the full glow of her attention on Helgen. Piran sighed and leaned back in his chair, and Blaine knew his friend was resigned to watching the master interrogator go to work. Verran looked amused, but his attention was elsewhere and his gaze darted around the room. Blaine guessed Verran was scouting the room for easy marks or taking in the details with the practiced eye of an experienced thief.
Before Helgen could say more, the barkeeper announced that he had just tapped a fresh keg, precipitating a rush of patrons to the bar. When the ruckus died down, Blaine returned his attention to Helgen.
“Before the fires, we were an unlikely destination for a mage of any sort,” Helgen replied. “As you’ve obviously guessed, our location is… unusual. Our boundaries roughly match the area where magic didn’t function. That spared us from the Great Fire, and it’s protected us from magic storms like the ones you fled.”
“A null spot,” Blaine said. Helgen startled just a bit at the term, and Blaine had his confirmation that the council head had heard the term before. “Hard to believe that some in the village didn’t realize the opportunity that presented. Riker’s Ferry would have been the perfect sanctuary for people who’d gotten on the wrong side of a mage, or were under a curse, or had some unfortunate run-in with magic.”
A flicker in Helgen’s eyes preceded a curt nod of his head. “In some circles, it’s been quietly known for a long time that our little village could be a good place to disappear. We didn’t get a lot of folks like that, but so long as they kept their heads down and didn’t attract anything dangerous, we let them stay. There are other folks who settled here because magic was a burden for them,” Helgen said quietly. He fixed Blaine with a challenging look. “Out here, people mind their own business.”
A kitchen wench approached with a tray laden with bowls of steaming stew and loaves of freshly baked bread. They fell silent as she set the meal on the table and bustled to refill their tankards. When she had gone, Blaine cleared his throat as the others began to eat.
“We didn’t come to make trouble, or to bring any trouble with us. We’re just looking for Quintrel or for information about him. We know Quintrel traveled around, and that right before the fires, he had some powerful enemies. He might have wanted to disappear,” Blaine added. “A place like Riker’s Ferry would have been the perfect place for him to do that. If you can steer us to the right people to talk with, we’ll be on our way tomorrow.”
Helgen said nothing for a few moments as he ate his stew, and Blaine wondered if the man intended to answer. When Helgen had finished his meal, he wiped his mouth, took a long draught of his drink, and sat back in his chair. “Vin at the bar sees most of the strangers who pass this way. Ellie, over at the Rogue and Damsel, meets most of the men sooner or later.” He leveled a glance at them. “She runs our whorehouse.
“They’re your best bets, I’d imagine, for finding what you want to know – assuming your friend even passed this way,” Helgen continued. He pushed his chair back from the table.
“I’m glad you and your friends weren’t hurt by the storm,” he said, looking at Blaine. “I’ve already made arrangements with Vin for this meal and your lodging tonight. But tomorrow, perhaps it’s best if you and your friends head back toward the city. No telling when another storm might come our way.” With that, Helgen bid them farewell and made his way to the door.
When Helgen was gone, Piran leaned forward, frustration clear on his face. “What a load of shit! I’d bet a gold piece he knows more than he’s telling.”
“You don’t have a gold piece, so it’s a safe bet,” Verran replied. “But I agree that he’s either lying or hiding something – or both.”
“And if he wants us to talk with the barkeeper and the madam, it’s also a good bet that they either don’t know anything or wouldn’t tell us if they did,” Kestel added.
Blaine nodded. “Agreed. So we’re going to look like we’re taking his advice, then do a little sniffing around on our own.” Blaine looked toward Verran. “Verran, stay here at the tavern and see what you can find out, from Vin or from the patrons. Pull out your pennywhistle, play them some tunes: You know how to work the crowd. I doubt Quintrel broadcast that he was a mage or used his real name, so just ask around about strangers from the city. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“What about me?” Piran asked.
Blaine grinned. “I’ve got the perfect job for you. Go over to the Rogue and Damsel, and see what the ladies have heard.” He palmed a few silver coins and passed them to Piran. “Mind, I’m not paying for your entertainment,” he warned. “Just be on your best behavior and see what you can learn from the ladies.”
Piran grinned. “Not to boast, mates, but I’m more likely to do the teachin’ in a place like that than the learnin’ – Ow!” He glared at Kestel. “Why’d you kick me in the shin? What was that for?”
“Did I?” Kestel replied, her face the picture of innocence. “Maybe I was warning you that the gods hate boasters.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Or maybe I’m just reminding you that until we know whether these folks are friends or foe, you might want to keep your pants fastened and your jewels guarded.”
“Very funny,” Piran grumbled. He brightened. “Still, I’ve never had any problem getting the ladies to talk to me.”
“As I recall, most of them say, ‘Get your hands off me, you lout,’” Verran said.
“Enough, all of you,” Blaine said, struggling to keep a straight face. He quickly sobered. “Just remember Helgen obviously doesn’t want us hanging around, and I’m betting he’s got a stake in making sure this town’s secrets stay secret. Watch your back.”
Verran cocked his head and looked at Blaine. “What about you and our Sour Rose? Where will you be?”
“Kestel and I are going to take a little stroll around town,” Blaine said. “See if we can figure out who Helgen didn’t want us to talk to.”
“Let’s gather back here by eleventh bells,” Kestel suggested. “Riker’s Ferry isn’t that large, and it’s cold enough people aren’t likely to be about in the streets late.”
Verran looked over his shoulder, then back to Kestel a
nd Blaine. “You think we’re safe here?”
Blaine shrugged. “Compared to what? I don’t fancy sleeping in the cold, and sure as Raka, I don’t want to head outside the null area tonight. We’ll take turns on watch. If we find out what we need, we can be on our way tomorrow and Helgen will be rid of us.”
The tall tower at the far end of the street chimed sixth bells as Blaine and Kestel exited the tavern. Kestel’s long cloak neatly hid the fact that she wore trews instead of a ladies’ gown, and she had her hood up, covering her hair, in a show of modesty common among well-to-do women. Blaine offered her his arm, and together they walked along the snowy main road.
“We’ve been followed,” Kestel said quietly.
“I saw. If he’s this bad at being discreet, maybe he won’t be difficult to lose,” Blaine replied.
“I don’t think he was trying to be discreet,” Kestel murmured. “I think we were meant to see him.”
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