“You did what you had to do,” Quinn agreed. “And torture won’t help us. If the man is ready to die to keep his silence, I doubt there is anything we can do to him that would make him talk.”
“I don’t know,” Mansel said. “You hurt a man bad enough, he’ll say anything to make it stop.”
“But we won’t do that,” Wilam said. “We’re men of Yelsia and we won’t sully our honor by torturing anyone.”
“Let’s see what we can find out,” Quinn said.
They went over and cut the bonds that held the assassin’s arms back and cut the ropes around his knees. The man rolled over slowly, his muscles stiff and aching. He groaned as he rubbed the muscles in his arms and shoulders. They searched him again for weapons or anything else that might give them a clue as to who he was and who had sent him.
“Are you a Mezzlyn assassin?” Wilam asked.
The killer lay still and didn’t speak.
“Speak up, man, you’re defeated. Tell us who you are working for and pledge that you won’t pursue us, and we’ll let you go.”
The man spat, but said nothing.
“We need to find their horses,” Quinn said. “The assassins in Brighton’s Gate used some type of bird to send a message. If these assassins are the same, they’ll have a way to communicate either victory or defeat. We need to find out.”
“This is your last chance,” Wilam said. “Tell us what you know!”
The assassin stared at them with a blank expression.
“I’ll take care of him,” said Mansel, drawing his sword.
“We could have him locked away in Lodenhime,” Wilam said.
“We can’t take the chance that he might escape or try to kill you again,” Quinn said. “We have to kill him.”
“Fine, but make it a clean death,” Wilam said.
Mansel pulled the assassin onto his knees and was about to drive his sword down through the back of the assassin’s neck, when Wilam raised his hand to stay the execution.
“Is there any chance you might reconsider?” he said to the man. “You could return to your master and tell him that my brother is no longer in any position to follow through with his plan to have me killed.”
“He won’t do that,” said Quinn. “He’ll only try to kill us again.”
“It’s King’s law,” said Mansel. “He attacked travelers on the road. We have every right to deliver justice.”
“It just doesn’t feel like justice,” said Wilam. “I have no qualms about killing a man with a sword who is trying to kill me, but executing someone who is helpless just seems wrong somehow.”
“What alternative is there?” Mansel asked.
“We could let him go,” said Wilam. “Mercy should always rise above judgment.”
“But this man tried to kill us,” said Quinn. “He’s been trained to kill and nothing else. He’ll keep trying to kill us until he’s dead or we are.”
“I know that, but people can change. Do you hear me?” he said to the assassin. “If I give you your life back, will you leave this despicable occupation and make something of yourself?”
The man was staring at them with defiance, but then his eyes dropped to the ground. When he looked up at them again, he looked contrite.
“I will,” the assassin said.
“Fine, there, it’s settled,” said the Prince.
“This is madness,” said Mansel. “You put down a rabid dog. You don’t hope that it will change. It can’t change.”
“He’s not a dog,” said Wilam. “He’s a man. And I’m your Prince. Would you defy me?”
Mansel looked frustrated.
“Remember our conversation on the road?” Quinn asked him. “At some point, peace of mind about your actions is more important than personal justice. The Prince doesn’t want another death on his conscience, so we let the assassin live.”
Mansel slammed his sword back into its sheath and stalked away. He didn’t like killing people, but he didn’t like walking away from a man who had tried to kill him or the people he cared about. He knew that the assassin wouldn’t change. They were giving a cold-blooded killer the chance to kill again, and Mansel thought it was madness.
As he saddled his horse, he pondered the decision that lay ahead of him. He had never considered the fact that he might one day leave Yelsia, but since meeting Nycoll, the idea of rejoining her in the little cottage by the sea seemed more and more attractive. He wanted to be with her. Every day he thought about her. He could see her dark hair and the way she went about her daily work with steady efficiency. He wanted to make her happy, to see her smile, to see tenderness and hope shine in her eyes again. He had promised to return. In truth, he had only gone south because he had given his word to try and save Prince Wilam. He hadn’t really expected to find the Prince. He thought that surely Quinn would have whisked him away long before he reached the Grand City, but as luck had it, they had found each other. And the plan was clear, get to Lodenhime and sail north across the Great Sea of Kings.
Mansel wasn’t sure he could follow through with that plan, and to be honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to even if he could. How was he supposed to follow a King that he didn’t respect? He liked Wilam, but for all of the Prince’s posturing and lofty talk, he seemed weak to Mansel. He had to decide if he would sail north or return to Nycoll. He thought about Zollin and Brianna. It made him sad to think of leaving them. The Torr was still pursuing Zollin. According to Prince Wilam, the Torr was influencing the other kingdoms to raise their armies and attack Yelsia. Could he really turn his back on that? He didn’t know. But he knew that Zollin and Brianna had each other. And Zollin was more than capable of facing any foe. He would miss them, but they didn’t need him. Nycoll needed Mansel. She was all alone, and while he might be able to help Zollin and Brianna, he might even be able to make a difference if war came to Yelsia, he knew he could help Nycoll.
He made up his mind as he tightened the girth straps on his horse, as if he were tightening the resolve it took to follow his heart. He would see the Prince to Lodenhime, then he would return to Nycoll.
Quinn cut the ropes around the assassin’s feet and gave him a small amount of bread.
“We’re going to find your horses,” he told the man. “If you show us where they are, we’ll give you your food rations and horse, but nothing else.”
The man nodded and pointed up the road.
“Lead the way,” Quinn told him.
The master carpenter followed the assassin on foot until Wilam and Mansel caught up with him on their horses. The killer limped pitifully on his wounded legs, but didn’t complain. Mansel had saddled Quinn’s mount and handed his mentor the reins. He decided he would wait until they arrived at Lodenhime to share his decision with Quinn and Prince Wilam. He didn’t relish having to hear their arguments about why he should stay with them. He was tired of other people always trying to make decisions for him.
They rode slowly behind the assassin, who was obviously still in pain from the sword wounds on his legs and being tied up so long. Trees in Falxis were short and many had brown leaves that looked brittle from lack of rain. Still, it didn’t take long to come to a small, wooded area. The horses were picketed just inside the tree line.
Quinn stepped forward and inspected the horses. They were in good shape. He unpacked the saddlebags and found nothing that helped to identify the assassins. They packed everything, except for one saddle and one saddlebag, onto the dead assassin’s horse. They left their prisoner a bedroll, food rations, and a canteen.
“So, will you tell me who you worked for?” Prince Wilam said to the assassin as he prepared to ride away.
“You guessed correctly,” the man said.
“The Mezzlyn, then? Sent by my brother?”
“I do not know who sent us,” said the man. “I am only given the target.”
“It’s not too late to make a life for yourself,” said the Prince. “Go now, ride south, and do not turn back.”
Th
e man bowed in his saddle and then spurred his horse into a gallop.
“He’s not easy on his horses,” said Quinn. “That animal hasn’t had anything to drink in over a day.”
“Let’s go,” said Mansel, who was tired and irritable. “I’ll feel better with some distance between us and that man.”
They rode hard over the next several days. The road to Lodenhime was often little more than two rutted tracks through fields of brittle, dry grass. They stopped only long enough to buy supplies in the small villages they passed through. They saw no more soldiers and had no more confrontations. Mansel kept mostly to himself, a fact Quinn noticed but chose not to address. He recognized the struggle for independence in Mansel, but was surprised that the younger man had not brought up the fact that he had failed to return to the ship in Cape Sumbar. Still, he didn’t want an ugly confrontation with Mansel in front of the Prince.
A week passed, then another before they finally reached Lodenhime. The city was not large, but it was bustling with people, especially men. They were camped around the city, most just sleeping in the streets. It was an odd sight, and none of the travelers could explain what was happening. Finally, Prince Wilam approached one of the many men loafing in the shade.
“Hello there,” he said. “Is there a reason why so many people are in the city?”
“We’re here to serve her majesty,” the man said earnestly.
“Is Queen Prissila in town?”
“No, not the queen. We serve her majesty, the all powerful Gwendolyn.”
“Who is this Gwendolyn? I’ve never heard of her.”
“Watch your tone about her majesty,” said the man. “She’s requiring all men to present themselves at the old Castle on the Sea. You better go straight away, she doesn’t tolerate shirkers.”
They rode a little further into the town and then stopped to converse.
“Who do you think this woman is?” Quinn asked.
“I have no idea,” Mansel said.
“It shouldn’t concern us, though,” said Wilam. “Let us find a ship and book our passage. The sooner we are back in Yelsia, the better, I say.”
“I’ll help you find passage north,” Mansel said. “But I’m not going.”
“What?” Quinn asked. “Why wouldn’t you be coming? Sailing on the Great Sea of Kings shouldn’t be nearly as dreadful as before.”
“It has nothing to do with that. I’ve completed my task. All that’s left to do is to have Prince Wilam safe and sound on a ship heading north. You’ll be out of danger then.”
“What does that have to do with you staying here?” Quinn said.
“I make my own decisions, Quinn. You know that.”
“Oh, by God, man, are we back to that again? No one is trying to make a decision for you or without your input. Is there a reason why you don’t want to sail with us?”
“I’m not returning to Yelsia,” Mansel said.
“And why not?” asked Wilam.
“I have my reasons.”
“I order you to return with us,” said Wilam.
“I respectfully decline.”
“You can’t.”
“You have no authority over me,” Mansel said. “Now, let’s find you both a fast ship and be done with it.”
Wilam started to protest, but Quinn stopped him.
“It’s no use. He’s as bullheaded as his father. I thought he had more sense, but perhaps I was wrong. If you do not wish to come any further, then let us part ways here,” Quinn said.
“If that’s what you want,” Mansel said.
“We won’t keep you any longer. Thank you for your help.”
“Yes,” Wilam agreed. “I’m sorry you won’t come with us.”
“Good luck,” Mansel said, biting off the, “your majesty,” so that no one would suspect who Prince Wilam truly was. “It’s been an honor serving you.” Then he turned to Quinn. “Tell Zollin and Brianna I’ll miss them.”
“You won’t tell me where you’re going?” Quinn asked him.
“I’ve met someone. She needs me, and I gave her my word that I would return.”
Quinn felt a stab of pain and regret. Mansel was more like Quinn than the older man liked to admit. He’d left the King’s service for a woman, and now Mansel was doing so. Quinn held out his hand and Mansel shook it.
“You’ll always have a place with us,” he told the warrior. “When all of this is said and done, I’m going to Felson. If you are ever in Yelsia again, please look me up.”
Mansel nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Now that he was saying goodbye, he was afraid his emotions might overcome him. He turned his horse and rode back the way he had come.
“Well,” said Quinn. “I never expected that.”
“Let’s find a ship and leave this place,” said Wilam.
Lodenhime was crowded, dirty, and smelled of filth, but there was a cool breeze off of the Great Sea that cooled the temperature and helped combat the smell. Quinn left their horses at a livery stable and they walked along the docks looking for a ship, but despite the fact that there were dozens of ships, there was hardly anyone at work on the docks.
They stepped into a tavern to try and find some answers, but the tavern was deserted, too.
“Hello!” Quinn said loudly. “Is there anyone here?”
An older woman came hurrying out of the kitchen. She had wisps of gray hair waving from her head and a clean white apron that covered her dress. She was wringing her hands nervously as she approached.
“Bless me, bless me,” she said. “Customers at last. I’ll warrant you’re thirsty. I’ve got ale and beer from Osla. I’ve wine, too, a fine red from the Walheta Valley. If you’re hungry, I can have something whipped up in no time at all.”
“We’re looking for information,” Quinn said, holding out a silver mark. “Where are all the sailors? We’re looking to book passage north.”
“Where are all the sailors? Why, they’re up at the old castle. The witch is there and she’s holding court. Building an army, they say. I don’t know more than that. But there’s no ships sailing out of Lodenhime.”
“None at all?” Wilam asked.
“They’re all in service to the witch now,” she said.
“I think we’ll have that drink,” said Quinn. “The wine.”
He held out another coin and dropped it in the woman’s hand. Then he sat heavily at one of the wooden benches that lined the long tables in the tavern. Wilam joined him.
“Wizards, dragons, and now a witch,” said the Prince. “I guess we should have expected it.”
“What is a witch, exactly?” Quinn asked.
“I have no idea,” said Wilam. “No idea at all.”
Chapter 36
For two weeks they trekked through the mountains. Their food would have run out after the first week, but Zollin used his magic to find animals which Brianna brought down with her bow. They had no luck finding the dragon and were discussing the possibility of turning south. It was midsummer, but the temperatures in the higher elevations were extremely cold. They were forced to make camp on snowy clefts in the mountain, and their spirits had begun to falter. Zollin liked winter. He thought snow falling softly was magical, but that was when he was cozied up to a roaring fire, with a mug of hot cider and a thick blanket over his legs. He did not enjoy being exposed to the elements, where the wind never died and there wasn’t enough wood to build a decent fire.
Brianna was discouraged, too. She had helped on the hunts, but otherwise she felt like excess baggage. Zollin was constantly stopping to help her or lift her up a treacherous cliff face. She stood watch so that Zollin could sleep sometimes, but there was nothing to fear in the high Northern Range except the freezing temperatures.
Then they saw the dragon. He was flying around the mountaintops not far from where they were camped. It was dusk and the light was fading quickly, but Zollin saw the dragon clearly in the fading light. It was big, too large to be a bird. He saw it dive and then, a mom
ent later, it was rising back up into the air. It had an animal in its talons, and it flew to a distinct looking mountain peak and then disappeared.
“I saw it!” he told Brianna. “I saw the mountain where it’s keeping its lair.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I saw it dive down and then come up with an animal in its claws. Then it flew toward a mountain and disappeared.”
“So what are we waiting for? How far is it?”
“Not far,” Zollin said. “I think we can get there tomorrow afternoon if we hurry.”
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