The Jewel
Arista always thought of herself as an experienced equestrian. Most ladies never even sat in a saddle, but she had ridden since childhood. The nobles mocked, and her father scolded, but nothing could dissuade her. She loved the freedom of the wind in her hair and her heart pounding with the beat of the hooves. Before setting out, she looked forward to impressing the thieves with her vast knowledge in horsemanship. She knew they would be awed by her skill.
She was wrong.
In Sheridan, Royce found her a spirited brown bay mare to replace her exquisite palfrey. Since setting out he forced them over rough ground, fording streams, jumping logs, and dodging low branches-often at a trot. Clutching white-knuckled to the saddle, she used all her skills and strength just to remain on the horse's back. Gone were her illusions of being praised as a skilled rider, and all that remained was the hope of making it through the day without the humiliation-not to mention the physical pain of falling.
They rode south after leaving the university, following trails only Royce could find. Before dawn they crossed the narrow headwaters of the Galewyr and proceeded up the embankment on the far side. Briars and thickets lashed at them. Unseen dips caught the horses by surprise, and Arista cried out once when her mount made an unexpected lunge across a washed-out gap. Their silence added to her humiliation. If she were a man they would have laughed.
They climbed steadily, reaching such a steep angle that their mounts panted for air in loud snorts and on occasion uttered deep grunts as they struggled to scramble up the dewy slope. At last they crested the hill, and Arista found herself greeting a chilly dawn atop the wind-swept Senon Upland.
The Senon was a high, barren plateau of exposed rock and scrub bushes with expansive views on all sides. The horses' hooves clacked loudly on the barefaced granite until Royce brought them to a stop. His cloak fluttered with the morning breeze. To the east, the sunrise peered at them over the mist-covered forests of Dunmore. From this height, the vast wood appeared like a hazy blue lake as it fell away below them, racing toward the dazzling sun. Arista knew that beyond it lay the Nidwalden River, the Parthalorenon Falls, and the tower of Avempartha. Royce stared east for several minutes, and she wondered if his elven eyes could see that tiny pinnacle of his people in the distance.
In front of them and to the southwest lay the Warric province of Chadwick. Like everything else west of the ridge, it remained submerged in darkness. Down in the deep rolling valley, the predawn sky would only now be separating from the dark horizon. It would have appeared peaceful, a world tucked in bed before the first cock's crow, except for the hundreds of lights flickering like tiny fireflies.
"Breckton's camp," Hadrian said. "The Northern Imperial Army is not making very good time it seems."
"We'll descend before Amber Heights and rejoin the road well past Breckton," Royce explained. "How long do you figure before they reach Colnora?"
Hadrian rubbed the growing stubble of his beard. "Another three, maybe four, days. An army that size moves at a snail's pace, and I am guessing Breckton isn't pleased with his orders. He's likely dragging his feet hoping they'll be rescinded."
"You sound as if you know him," she said.
"I never met the man, but I fought under his father's banner. I've also fought against him when I served in the ranks of King Armand's army in Alburn."
"How many armies have you served in?"
Hadrian shrugged. "Too many."
They pushed on, traversing the crest into the face of a fierce wind that tugged at her clothes and caused her eyes to water. Arista kept her head down and watched her horse's hooves pick a path across the cracked slabs of lichen-covered rock. She clutched her cloak tight about her neck as the damp of the previous day's rain and sweat conspired with the wind to make her shiver. When they plunged back into the trees the slow descent began. Once more the animals struggled. This time Arista bent backward, nearly to her horse's flanks to keep her balance.
It was mercifully cooler than the day before, though the pace was faster. Finally, several hours after midday they stopped on the bank of a small stream, where the horses gorged themselves on cool water and river grass. Royce and Hadrian grabbed packs and gathered wood. Exhausted, Arista as much fell as sat down. Her legs and backside ached. There were insects and twigs in her hair and a dusting of dirt covering her gown. Her eyes stared at nothing, losing their focus as her mind stalled, numb from fatigue.
What have I gotten myself into? Am I up to this?
They were below the Galewyr, in imperial territory. She had thrown herself into the fire, perhaps foolishly. Alric would be furious when he found her missing, and she could just imagine what Ecton would say. If they caught her-she stopped herself.
This is not helping.
She turned her attention to her escorts.
Like the hours on horseback, Royce and Hadrian remained quiet. Hadrian unsaddled the horses and gave them a light brushing while Royce set up a small cook fire. It was entertaining to watch. Without a word, they would toss tools and bags back and forth. Hadrian blindly threw a hatchet over his shoulder and Royce caught it just in time to begin breaking up branches for the fire. Just as Royce finished the fire, Hadrian had a pot of water ready to place on it. For Arista, who lived her life in public among squabbling nobles and chattering castle staffs, such silence was strange.
Hadrian chopped carrots and dropped them into the dented, blackened pot on the coals. "Are you ready to eat the best meal you've ever had, Highness?"
She wanted to laugh, but did not have the strength. Instead, she said, "There are three chefs and eighteen cooks back at Essendon Castle that would take exception to that remark. They spend their whole lives perfecting elaborate dishes. You would be amazed at the feasts I've attended, filled with everything from exotic spices to ice sculptures. I highly doubt you'll be able to surpass them."
Hadrian smirked. "That might be," he replied, struggling to cut chunks of dry, brine-encrusted pork into bite-sized cubes, "but I guarantee this meal will put them all to shame."
Arista removed the pearl-handled hairbrush from a pouch that hung at her side and tried in vain to comb out her hair. She eventually gave up and sat watching Hadrian drop wretched-looking meat into the bubbling pot. Ash and bits of twigs thrown up by the cracking fire landed into the mix.
"Master chef, debris is getting in your pot."
Hadrian grinned. "Always happens. Can't help it. Just be careful not to bite down too hard on anything or you might crack a tooth."
"Wonderful," she told him, then turned her attention to Royce who was busy checking the horses' hooves. "We've come a long way today, haven't we? I don't think I've ever traveled so far so quickly. You keep a cruel pace."
"That first part was over rough ground," Royce mentioned. "We'll cover a lot more miles after we eat."
"After we eat?" Arista felt her heart sink. "We aren't stopping for the day?"
Royce glanced up at the sky. "It's hours until nightfall."
They mean for me to get back into the saddle?
She did not know if she could stand, much less ride. Virtually every muscle in her body was in pain. They could entertain any thoughts they may, but she would not travel any farther that day. There was no reason to move this fast, or over such rough ground. Why Royce was taking such a difficult course she did not understand.
She watched as Hadrian dished out the disgusting soup he had concocted into a tin cup and held it out to her. There was an oily film across the top through which green meat bobbed, everything seasoned with bits of dirt and tree bark. Most assuredly, it was the worst thing anyone ever presented her to eat. Arista held the hot cup between her hands, grimacing and wishing she had eaten more of the meat pie back in Sheridan.
"Is this a…stew?" she asked.
Royce laughed quietly. "He likes to call it that."
"It's a dish I learned from Thrace," Hadrian explained with a reminiscent look on his face. "She's a much better cook than I am. She did this thing with the meat that-well, anyway, no it's not stew. It's really just boiled salt-pork and vegetables. You don't get a broth, but it takes away the rancid taste of the salt and softens the meat. And it's hot. Trust me, you're going to love it."
Arista closed her eyes and lifted the cup to her lips. The steamy smell was wonderful. Before she realized it, she devoured the entire thing, eating so quickly she burned her tongue. A moment later, she was scraping the bottom with a bit of hard bread. She looked for more and was disappointed to see Hadrian already cleaning the pot. Lying in the grass she let out a sigh as the warmth of the meal coursed through her body.
"So much for ice sculptures." Hadrian chuckled.
Despite her earlier reluctance, she found new strength after eating. The next leg of the trip was over level ground along the relative ease of a deer trail. Royce drove them as fast as the terrain allowed, never pausing or consulting a map.
After many hours Arista had no idea where they were, nor did she care. The food faded into memory and she found herself once more near collapse. She rode bent over, resting on the horse's neck and drifting in and out of sleep. She could not discern between dream and reality and would wake in a panic, certain she was falling. Finally they stopped.
Everything was dark and cold. The ground was wet and she stood shivering once more. Her guides went back into their silent actions. This time, to Arista's immense disappointment, no fire was made and instead of a hot meal they handed her strips of smoked meat, raw carrots, an onion quarter, and a triangle of hard, dry bread. She sat on the wet grass, feeling the moisture soak into her skirt and dampening her legs as she devoured the meal without a thought.
"Shouldn't we get a shelter up?" she asked, hopefully.
Royce looked up at the stars. "It looks clear."
"But…" She was shocked when he spread out a cloth on the grass.
They mean to sleep right here-on the ground without even a tent!
Arista had three handmaids that dressed and undressed her daily. They bathed her and brushed her hair. Servants fluffed pillows and brought warm milk at bedtime. They tended the fireplace in shifts, quietly adding logs throughout the night. Sleeping in her carriage was a hardship; sleeping on that ghastly cot in the dorm a torment-this was insane! Even peasants had hovels.
Arista wrapped her cloak tight against the night's chill.
Will I even get a blanket?
Tired beyond memory, she got on her hands and knees and feebly brushed a small pile of dead leaves together to act as a mattress. Lying down, she felt them crunch and crinkle beneath her.
"Hold on," Hadrian said, carrying over a bundle. He unrolled a canvas tarp. "I really need to make more of these. The pitch will keep the damp from soaking through." He handed her a blanket as well. "Oh, there's a nice little clearing just beyond those trees, just in case you need it."
Why in the world would I need a-
"Oh," she said and managed a nod. Surely they would come upon a town soon. She could wait.
"Good night, Highness."
She did not reply as Hadrian went a few paces away and assembled his own bed from pine boughs. Without a tent, there was no choice but to sleep in her dress, which left her trapped in a tight corset. Arista spread out the tarp, removed her shoes, and lay down pulling the thin blanket up to her chin. Though utterly miserable, she stubbornly refused to show it. After all, common women lived every day under similar conditions-so could she. The argument was noble, but gave little comfort.
The instant she closed her eyes she heard the faint buzzing. Blinded by darkness, the sound was unmistakable-a horde of mosquitoes descended. Feeling one on her cheek, she slapped at it and pulled the blanket over her head, exposing her feet. Curling into a ball, she buried herself under the thin wool shield. Her tight corset made breathing a challenge and the musty smell of the blanket, long steeped in horse sweat, nauseated her. Arista's frustration overflowed and tears slipped from her tightly squeezed eyes.
What was I thinking coming out here? I can't do this. Oh Dear Maribor, what a fool I am. I always think I can do anything. I thought I could ride a horse-what a joke. I thought I was brave-look at me. I think I know better than anyone-I'm an idiot!
What a disappointment she was to those that loved her. She should have listened to her father and served the kingdom by marrying a powerful prince. Now, tarnished with the stain of witchery, no one would have her. Alric stuck his neck out and gave her a chance to be an ambassador. Her failure doomed the kingdom. Now this trip-this horrible trip was just one more mistake, one more colossal error.
I'll go home tomorrow. I'll ask Royce to take me back to Medford and I'll formally resign as ambassador. I'll stay in my tower and rot until the Empire takes me to the gallows.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she lay smothered by more than just the blanket until, mercifully in the cold unforgiving night, she fell asleep.
The songs of birds woke her.
Arista opened her eyes to sunlight cascading through the green canopy of leafy trees. Butterflies danced in brilliant shafts of golden light. The beams revealed a tranquil pond so placid it appeared as if a patch of sky had fallen. A delicate white mist hovered over the pool's mirrored surface like a scene from a fairy story. Circled by sun-dappled trees, cattails, and flowers, the pool was perfect-the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
Where'd that come from?
Royce and Hadrian still slept under rumpled blankets leaving her alone with the vision. She got up quietly fearful of shattering the fragile beauty. Walking barefoot to the water's edge, she caught the warmth of the sun melting the night's chill. She stretched, feeling the unexpected pride in the ache of a well-worked muscle. Crouching, Arista scooped a handful of water and gently rinsed away the stiff tears of the night before. In the middle of the pond, a fish jumped. She saw it only briefly, flashing silver then disappearing with a plop! Another followed and, delighted by the display, Arista stared in anticipation for the next leap, grinning like a child at a puppet show.
The mist burned away before sounds from the camp caught her attention, and Arista walked over to find the clearing Hadrian mentioned. She returned to camp, brushed out her hair, and ate the cold pork breakfast waiting for her. When finished, she folded the blankets and rolled up the tarps, then stowed the food and refilled the water pouches. Arista mounted her mare, deciding at that moment to name her Mystic. It was only after Royce led them out of the little glade that she realized no one had spoken a word all morning.
They reached the road almost immediately, which explained the lack of a fire the night before and the unusual way Royce and Hadrian were dressed-in doublets and hose. Hadrian's swords were also conspicuously missing, stowed somewhere out of sight. How Royce knew the road was nearby baffled her. As they traveled with the warm sun overhead and the birds singing in the trees, Arista could scarcely understand what troubled her the night before. She was still sore, but felt a satisfaction in the dull pain that owed nothing to being a princess.
They had not gone far when Royce brought Mouse to a stop. A troop of imperial soldiers came down the road escorting a line of four large grain wagons-tall, solid-sided boxes with flat bottoms. Riders immediately rode forward, bringing a cloud of dust in their wake. An intimidating officer in bright armor failed to give his name, but demanded theirs, as well as their destination and the reason for traveling. Soldiers of his vanguard swept around behind the three with spears at the ready, horses puffing and snorting.
"This is Mr. Everton of Windham Village and his wife, and I am his servant," Royce explained quickly as he politely dismounted and bowed. His tone and inflections were formal and excessive; his voice nasal and high-pitched. Arista was amazed how much like her fussy day-steward he sounded. "Mr. Everton was…I mean is…a respected merchant. We are on our way to Colnora, where Mrs. Everton has a brother whom they hope will provide temporary…err I mean…they will be visiting."
Before leaving The Rose amp; Thorn, Royce had coached Arista on this story and the part she would play. In the safety of the Medford tavern, it seemed like a plausible tale. But now that the moment had come and soldiers surrounded her, she doubted its chances of success. Her palms began to sweat and her stomach churned. Royce continued to play his part masterfully, supplying answers in his non-threatening effeminate voice. The responses were specific sounding, but vague on crucial details.
"It's your brother in Colnora?" the officer confronted Arista, his tenor harsh and abrasive. No one spoke to her in such a tone. Even when Braga had threatened her life, he had been more polite than this. She struggled to conceal her emotion.
"Yes," she said, simply. Arista was remembering Royce's instructions to keep her answers as short as possible and her face blank. She was certain the soldiers could hear the pounding of her heart.
"His name?"
"Vincent Stapleton," she answered quickly and confidently knowing the officer would be looking for hesitation.
"Where does he live?"
"Bridge Street, not far from the Hill District," she replied. This was a carefully rehearsed line. It would be typical for the wife of a prominent merchant to boast about how near the affluent section of the city her family lived.
Hadrian now played his part.
"Look here, I've had quite enough of you, and your Imperial Army. The truth of the matter is my estate has been overrun, used to quarter a bunch of brigands like you who I'm sure will destroy my furniture and soil the carpets. I have some questions of my own. Like when will I get my home back?" he bellowed angrily. "Is this the kind of thing a merchant can expect from the empress? King Ethelred never treated us like this! Who's going to pay for damages?"
To Arista's great relief, the officer changed his demeanor. Just as hoped, he avoided getting involved in complaints from evicted patrons and waved them on their way.
As the wagons passed, she was revolted by the sight visible through the bars on the rear gate. The wagons did not hold captured soldiers, but elves. Covered in filth, they were packed so tightly they were forced to stand, jostling into each other as the wagon dipped and bounced over the rutted road. There were females and children alongside the males, all slick with sweat from the heat. Arista heard muffled cries as the wagons crawled by at a turtle's pace. Some reached through the bars pleading for water and mercy. Arista was so sickened at the sight she forgot her fear that only a moment before consumed her. Then a sudden realization struck her-she looked for Royce.
He stood a few feet away on the roadside holding Mouse's bridle. Hadrian was at his side firmly gripping Royce's arm and whispering in his ear. Arista could not hear what was said, but guessed at the conversation. A few tense moments passed then they turned and continued toward Colnora.
The street below drifted into shadow as night settled in. Carriages raced to their destinations, noisily bouncing along the cobblestone. Lamplighters made their rounds in zigzag patterns, moving from lamp to lamp. Lights flickered to life in windows of nearby buildings, and silhouettes passed like ghosts behind curtains. Shopkeepers closed their doors and shutters while cart vendors covered their wares and harnessed horses as another day's work ended.
"How long do you think?" Hadrian asked. He and Royce had donned their usual garb and Hadrian once more wore his swords. While she was used to seeing them this way, their change in appearance and Royce's constant vigilance at the window put her on edge.
"Soon," Royce replied, not altering his concentration on the street.
They waited together in the small room at the Regal Fox Inn, the least expensive of the five hotels in the affluent Hill District. When they arrived, Royce continued to pose as their servant by renting two rooms-one standard, the other small. He avoided inquiries about luggage and arrangements for dinner. The innkeeper did not pursue the matter.
Once upstairs, Royce insisted they all remain in the standard room together. Arista noticed a pause after Royce said this, as if he expected an argument. This amused her because the idea of sharing a comfortable room was infinitely better than any accommodations she had experienced so far. Still she had to admit, if only to herself, that a week ago she would have been appalled by the notion.
Even the standard room was luxurious by most boarding house standards. The beds were made of packed feather and covered in smooth, clean sheets, overstuffed pillows, and heavy quilts. There was a full-length mirror, large dresser, wardrobe, small writing table and chair, and an adjoining room for the wash basin and chamber pot. The room was equipped with a fireplace and lamps, but Royce left them unlit and darkness filled the room. The only light was from the outside streetlamps, which cast an oblong checkerboard image on the floor.
Now that they were off the road and in a more familiar setting, the princess gave into curiosity. "I don't understand. What are we doing here?"
"Waiting," Royce replied.
"For what?"
"We can't just ride into the Nationalists' camp. We need a go-between. Someone to set up a meeting," Hadrian told her. He sat at the writing desk across the room from her. In the growing darkness, he was fading into a dim ghostly outline.
"I didn't see you send any messages, did I miss something?"
"No, but the messages were delivered nonetheless," Royce mentioned.
"Royce is kind of a celebrity here," Hadrian told her. "When he comes to town-"
Royce coughed intentionally.
"Okay, maybe not a celebrity, but he's certainly well known. I'm sure talk started the moment he arrived."
"We wanted to be seen then?"
"Yes," Royce replied. "Unfortunately, the Diamond wasn't the only one watching the gate. Someone's watching our window."
"And he's not a Black Diamond?" Hadrian asked.
"Too clumsy. Has about the same talent for delicate work as a draft horse. The Diamond would laugh if he applied."
"Black Diamond is the thieves' guild?" she asked. They both nodded.
While supposedly a secret organization, the Diamond was nevertheless well known. Arista heard of it from time to time in court and at council meetings. They were always spoken about with disdain by haughty nobles, even though they often used their services. The black market was virtually controlled by the Diamond, who supplied practically any commodity for anyone willing to pay the price.
"Can he see you?"
"Not unless he's an elf."
Hadrian and Arista exchanged glances, wondering if he meant it as a joke.
Hadrian joined Royce at the window and looked out. "The one near the lamppost with his hand on his hilt? The guy shifting his weight back and forth? He's an imperial soldier, a veteran of the Vanguard Scout Brigade."
Royce looked at Hadrian surprised.
The light from the street spilled across Hadrian's face as he grinned. "The way he's shifting his weight is a technique taught to soldiers to keep from going footsore. That short sword is standard issue for a lightly armed scout and the gauntlet on his sword hand is an idiosyncrasy of King Ethelred, who insists all his troops wear them. Since Ethelred is now part of the Empire, the fellow below is Imperial."
"You weren't kidding about serving in a lot of armies, were you?" Arista asked.
Hadrian shrugged. "I was a mercenary. It's what I did. I served anywhere the pay was good." Hadrian took his seat back at the table. "I even commanded a few regiments. Got a medal once. But I would fight for one army only to find myself going against them a few years later. Killing old friends isn't fun. So I kept taking jobs farther away. Ended up deep in Calis fighting for Tenkin Warlords." Hadrian shook his head. "Guess you could say that was my low point. You really know you've-"
Hadrian was interrupted by a knock. Without a word, Royce crossed the room taking up position on one side of door while Hadrian carefully opened it. Outside a young boy stood dressed in the typical poor clothing of a waif.
"Evening, sirs. Your presence is requested in room twenty-three," he said cheerily, then touching his thumb to his brow he walked away.
"Leave her here?" Hadrian asked Royce.
Royce shook his head. "She comes along."
"Must you speak about me as if I'm not in the room?" Arista asked, but only with feigned irritation. She sensed the seriousness of the situation from the look on Royce's face and was not about to interfere. She was behind enemy lines. If caught, it was not certain what would happen. If she tried to claim a diplomatic status, it was doubtful the Empire would honor it. Ransoming Arista for Alric's compliance was not out of the question-nor was a public execution.
"We're just going to walk in?" Hadrian asked, skeptically.
"Yes, we need their help and when one goes begging it's best to knock on the front door."
They lodged in room nineteen, so it was a short trip down the hall and around a corner to room twenty-three, which was conveniently isolated. There were no other doors off this hall, only a stair that likely led to the street. Royce rapped twice, paused then added three more.
The door opened.
"Come in, Duster."
The room was a larger, more luxurious suite with a chandelier brightly lighting the interior. No beds were visible as they entered into a parlor. Against the far wall were two doors, which no doubt led to sleeping quarters. Dark green damask fabric adorned the walls and carpet covered the entire floor except for the area around the marble fireplace. Four tall windows decorated the outside wall, each shrouded with thick velvet curtains. Several ornate pieces of furniture lined the room. In the center stood a gaunt man with sunken cheeks and accusing eyes. Two more men stood slightly behind him while another two waited near the door.
"Everyone, please take a seat," the thin man told them. He remained standing until they all sat. "Duster, let me get right to the point. I made it clear on your last visit that you are not welcome here, did I not?"
Royce was silent.
"I was unusually patient then, but seeing as how you've returned, perhaps politeness is not the proper tack to take with you. Personally, I hold you in the highest regard, but as First Officer, I simply cannot allow you to blatantly walk into this city after having been warned." He paused, but when no reaction came from Royce, he continued. "Hadrian and the princess are welcome to leave. Point of fact, I must insist the lady leave, as the death of a noblewoman would make things awkward. Shall I assume Hadrian will refuse?"
Hadrian glanced at Royce, who did not return his look. The fighter shrugged. "I would hate to miss whatever show is about to start."
"In that case, Your Highness." The man made a sweeping hand motion toward the door. "If you will please return to your room."
"I'm staying," Arista said. It was only two words, but spoken with all the confidence of a princess accustomed to getting her way.
He narrowed his eyes at her.
"Shall I escort her, sir?" one of the men near the door offered with a menacing tone.
"Touch her and this meeting will end badly," Royce said barely above a whisper.
"Meeting?" The thin man laughed. "This is no meeting. This is retribution, and it will most assuredly end very badly."
He looked back at Arista. "I've heard about you. I'm pleased to see the rumors are true."
Arista had no idea what he meant, but did not like a thug knowing about her. She was even more disturbed by his approval.
"Nevertheless, my men will escort you." He clapped his hands and the two doors to the adjoining rooms opened, as did the one behind them leading to the hallway. Many well-armed men poured in.
"We are here to see the Jewel," Royce quietly said.
Immediately the thin man's expression changed. Arista watched as in an instant his face followed a path from confidence to confusion then suspicion and finally curiosity. He ran a boney hand through his thin blonde hair. "What makes you think the Jewel will see you?"
"Because there's profit in it for him."
"The Jewel is already very wealthy."
"It's not that kind of profit. Tell me, Price, how long have you had the new gate guards? The ones in the imperial uniforms. For that matter, when did Colnora get a gate? How many others like them are roaming the city?" Royce sat back and folded his hands across his lap. "I should have been stopped the moment I entered Colnora, and under farmer Oslow's field over two hours ago. Why the delay? Why are there no watches posted on the Arch or Bernum Bridge? Are you really getting that sloppy, Price? Or are the Imps running the show?"
It was the thin man's turn to remain silent.
"The Diamond can't be happy with the New Empire flexing their muscle. You used to have full reign and The Jewel his own fiefdom. But not anymore. Now he must share. The Diamond has been forced back into the shadows while the new landlord kicks up his heels in front of the fire in the house they built. Tell Cosmos I'm here to help with his little problem."
Price stared at Royce, and then his eyes drifted to Arista. He nodded and stood up. "You will, of course, remain here until I return."
"Why not?" Hadrian remarked, apparently undisturbed by the tension radiating in the room. "This is a whole lot better than our room. Are those walnuts over there?"
During the exchange and while Price was gone, Royce never moved. Four men who were the most menacing of those present watched him intently. There seemed to be a contest of wills going on, each waiting to see who would flinch first. Hadrian, in contrast, casually strode around the room, examining the various paintings and furnishings. He selected a chair with a padded footstool, put up his feet, and began eating from a bowl of fruits and nuts.
"This stuff is great," he said. "We didn't get anything like this in our room. Anyone else want some?" They ignored him. "Suit yourself." He popped another handful of walnuts into his mouth.
Finally, Price returned. He had been gone for quite awhile, or perhaps it just seemed that way to Arista as she quietly waited. The Jewel consented to the meeting.
A carriage waited for them in front of the Regal Fox. Arista was surprised when Royce and Hadrian surrendered their weapons before boarding. Price joined them in the carriage while two of the guild members sat up top with the driver. They rolled south two blocks then turned west and traveled farther up the hill, past the Tradesmen Arch toward Langdon Bridge. Through the open window, Arista could hear the metal rims of the coach and the horses' hooves clattering on the cobblestone. Across from her the glare of tavern lights crawled across Price's face who sat eyeing her with a malevolent smile. The man was all limbs with fingers too long and eyes sunk too deep.
"It would seem you are doing better these days, Duster," he said with his hands folded awkwardly in his lap, a jackal pretending to be civilized. "At least your clientele has improved." The Diamond's first officer smiled a toothy grin and nodded at Arista. "Although rumor has it Melengar might not be the best investment these days. No offense intended, Your Highness. The Diamond is as a whole-and I personally am-rooting for you, but as a businessman, one does have to face facts."
Arista presented him a pleasant smile. "The sun will rise tomorrow, Mr. Price. That is a fact. You have horrid breath and smell of horse manure. That is also a fact. Who will win this war, however, is still a matter of opinion, and I put no weight in yours."
Price raised his eyebrows.
"She's an ambassador and a woman," Hadrian told him. "You'd be cut less fencing with a Pickering and stand a better chance of winning."
Price smiled and nodded. Arista was unsure whether it was in approval or resentment, such was the face of thieves. "Who exactly are we going to see, or is that a secret?"
"Cosmos Sebastian DeLur, the wealthiest merchant in Avryn," Royce replied. "Son of Cornelius DeLur of Delgos, who's probably the richest man alive. Between the two of them, the DeLur family controls most of the commerce and lends money to kings and commoners alike. He runs the Black Diamond and goes by the moniker of The Jewel."
Price's hands twitched slightly.
As they reached the summit of the hill itself, the carriage turned into a long private brick road that ascended Bernum Heights, a sharply rising bluff that overlooked the river below. Here sprawled the palatial DeLur estate. A massive gate wider than three city streets opened at their approach. Elegantly dressed guards stood rigid while a stuffy administrative clerk with white gloves and powdered wig marked their passing on a parchment. Then the carriage began its long serpentine ascent along a hedge and lantern-lined lane. Unexpected breaks in the foliage revealed glimpses of an elegant garden with elaborate sculpted fountains. At the top of the bluff stood a magnificent white marble mansion. Three stories in height, it was adorned with an eighteen-pillar colonnade forming a half-moon entrance illuminated by a massive chandelier suspended at its center. This estate was built to impress, but what caught Arista's attention was the huge bronze fountain of three nude women pouring pitchers of water into a pool.
A pair of gold doors was opened by two more impeccably dressed servants. Another man dressed in a long dark coat led the way into the vestibule filled with tapestries and more sculptures than Arista had ever seen in one place. They were led through an archway outside to an expansive patio. Ivy-covered lattices lined an open-air terrace decorated with a variety of unusual plants and two more fountains-once more of nude women, only these were much smaller and wrought of polished marble.
"Good evening, Your Highness, gentlemen. Welcome to my humble home."
Seated on a luxurious couch a large man greeted them. He was not tall but of amazing girth. He looked to be in his early fifties and well on his way to going bald. He tied what little hair he had left with a black silk ribbon and let it fall in a tail down his back. His chubby face remained youthful, showing lines of age only at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, as he was doing now. He dressed in a silk robe and held a glass of wine, which threatened to spill as he motioned them over.
"Duster, how long has it been, my old friend? I can see now that I should have made you First Officer when I had the chance. It would have saved so much trouble for the both of us. Alas, but I couldn't see it then. I hope we can put all that unpleasantness behind us now."
"My business was settled the day Hoyte died," Royce replied. "Judging from our reception, I would say it was the Diamond that was having trouble putting the past behind them."
"Quite right, quite right." Cosmos chuckled. Arista determined he was the kind of man who laughed the way other people twitched, stammered, or bit their nails. "You won't let me get away with anything will you? That's good. You keep me honest-well as honest as a man in my profession can be." He chuckled again. "It's that pesky legend that keeps the guild on edge. You're quite the boogieman. Not that Mr. Price here buys into any of that, you understand, but it is his responsibility to keep the organization running smoothly. Allowing you to stroll about town is like letting a man-eating tiger meander through a crowded tavern. As the tavern keeper, they expect me to maintain the peace."
Cosmos motioned toward Price with his goblet. "You knew Mr. Price only briefly when you were still with us, I think. A pity. You would like him if you met under different circumstances."
"Who said I didn't like him?"
Cosmos laughed. "You don't like anyone, Duster with the exception of Hadrian and Miss DeLancy, of course. There are only those you put up with and those you don't. By the mere fact that I am here I can at least deduce I am not on your short list."
"Short list?"
"I can't imagine your slate of targets stays full for very long."
"We both have lists. Names get added and names get erased all the time. It would appear Price added me to yours."
"Consider it erased, my friend. Now tell me what can I get you to drink? Montemorcey? You always had a fondness for the best. I have a vintage stock in the cellar. I'll have a couple bottles brought up."
"That'd be fine," Royce replied.
He gave a slight glance to his steward, who bowed abruptly and left. "I hope you don't mind meeting in my little garden. I do so love the night air." Closing his eyes and tilting his head up, he took a deep breath. "I don't manage to get out nearly as often as I would like. Now please sit and tell me about this offer you bring."
They each took seats opposite Cosmos on elaborate cushioned benches, the span between taken up by an ornate table whose legs were fashioned to look like powerful snakes, each different from the next, facing out with fanged mouths open. Behind them Arista could hear the gurgling of fountains and the late breeze shifting foliage. Below that, hidden from view by the balcony, was the deeper, menacing roar of the Bernum River.
"It's more of a proposition really," Royce replied. "The princess here has a problem you might be able to help with, and you have a problem she may be able to solve."
"Wonderful, wonderful. I like how this is starting. If you had said you were offering me the chance of a lifetime, I would have been doubtful, but arrangements of mutual benefit shows you are being straight forward. I like that, but you were always blunt, weren't you, Duster? You could afford to lay your cards on the table because you always had such excellent cards."
A servant with white gloves identical to those worn by the gate clerk arrived and silently poured the wine then withdrew to a respectful distance. Cosmos waited politely for them each to take a taste.
"Montemorcey is one of the finest vineyards in existence, and my cellar has some of their very best."
Royce nodded his praise. Hadrian sniffed the dark red liquid skeptically then swallowed the contents in a single mouthful. "Not bad for old grape juice."
Cosmos laughed once more. "Not a wine drinker. I should have known. Wine is no potable for a warrior. Gibbons, bring Hadrian a pull from the Oak Cask and leave the head on it. That should be more to your liking. Now, Duster, tell me about our mutual problems?"
"Your problem is obvious. You don't like this New Empire crowding you."
"Indeed I do not. They're everywhere and spreading. For each one you see in uniform you can expect three more you don't. Tavern keepers and blacksmiths are secretly on the imperial dole, passing information. It is impossible to run a proper guild as extensive and elaborate as the Black Diamond in such a restrictive environment. There is even evidence they have spies in the Diamond itself, which is most unsettling."
"I also happen to know that Degan Gaunt is your boy."
"Well, not mine per say."
"Your father's then. Gaunt is supported by Delgos, Tur Del Fur is the capital of Delgos, and your father is the ruler of Tur Del Fur."
Cosmos laughed again. "No, not the ruler. Delgos is a republic, remember. He is but one of a triumvirate of businessmen elected to lead the government."
"Ah-huh."
"You don't sound convinced."
"It doesn't matter. The DeLurs are backing Gaunt in the hopes of breaking the Empire, so something that might help Gaunt would help you as well."
"True, true, and what are you bringing me?"
"An alliance with Melengar, the princess here is empowered to negotiate on behalf of her brother."
"Word has it Melengar is helpless and about to fall to Ballentyne's Northern Imperial Army."
"Word is mistaken. The empress recalled the Northern Army to deal with the Nationalists. We passed it near Fallen Mire. Only a token force remains to watch the Galewyr River. The army moves slowly but it will reach Aquesta before Gaunt does. That will tip the scales in favor of the Empire."
"What are you suggesting?"
Royce looked at Arista, indicating that she should speak now.
Arista set down her glass and gathered her thoughts as best she could. She was still befuddled from the day's ride and now the wine on an empty stomach caused her head to fog. She took a short breath and focused.
"Melengar still has a defensive force," the princess began. "If we used it to attack across the river and broke through into Chadwick, there would be nothing to stop us from sweeping across into Glouston. Once there, the Marquis Lanaklin could raise an army from his loyal subjects and together we could march on Colnora. We can catch the Empire in a vice with Melengar pushing from the north and the Nationalists from the south. The Empire would have to either recommit the Northern Army, leaving the capital to Gaunt, or let us sweep across northern Warric unopposed."
Cosmos said nothing, but there was a smile on his face. He took a drink of his wine and sat back to consider their words.
"All we need you to do," Royce spoke again, "is to set up a meeting between Gaunt and the princess."
"Once a formal agreement is struck between the Nationalists and Melengar," Arista explained. "I can take that to Trent. With the Nationalists on Aquesta's doorstep and my brother ravaging northern Warric, Trent will be more than happy to join us. And with their help, the Empire will be swept back into history, where it belongs."
"You paint a lovely picture, Your Highness," Cosmos said. "But is it possible for Melengar to break out of Medford? Will Lanaklin be able to raise a force quickly enough to fend off any counter attack the Empire sends? I suspect you would say yes to both, but without the conviction that comes from knowing. Fortunately, these are not my concerns so much as they are yours. I will contact Gaunt's people and arrange a meeting. It will take a few days, however, and in the meantime it is not safe for you to stay in Colnora."
"What do you mean?" Royce asked.
"As I said, I fear it is possible the guild has been compromised. Mr. Price tells me imperial scouts were on hand when you passed through the gate, so it would only be wishful thinking to suppose your visit here was not observed. Given the situation, it will not take a genius to determine what is happening. The next logical step will be to eliminate the threat. And, Duster, you're not the only Diamond alumnus passing through Warric."
Royce's eyes narrowed as he stared at Cosmos and studied the fat man carefully. Cosmos said nothing more on the subject, and strangely, Royce did not inquire further.
"We'll leave immediately," Royce said abruptly. "We'll head south into Rhenydd, which will carry us closer to Gaunt. I'll expect you to contact us with the meeting's place and time in three days. If by the morning of the fourth day we don't hear from you, we'll find our own way to Gaunt."
"If you don't hear from me by then, things will be very bad indeed," Cosmos assured them. "Gibbons, see that they have whatever is needed for travel. Price, arrange for them to slip out of town unnoticed, and get that message to Gaunt's people. Will you need to send a message back to Medford?" Cosmos asked the princess.
She hesitated briefly. "Not until I've reached an agreement with Gaunt. Alric knows the tentative plan and has already begun preparing the invasion."
"Excellent," Cosmos said, standing up and draining his glass. "What a pleasure it is working with professionals. Good luck to all of you and may fortune smile upon us. Just remember to watch your back, Duster. Some ghosts never die."
"Your horses and gear will be taken to Finlin's Windmills by morning," Price told them as he rapidly led them out through the rear of the patio. His long gangly legs gave him the appearance of a wayward scarecrow fleeing across a field. Noticing Arista had trouble keeping up he paused for her to catch her breath. "However, you three will be leaving by boat down the Bernum tonight."
"There'll be a watch on the Langdon and the South Bridge," Royce reminded him.
"Armed with crossbows and hot pitch, I imagine," Price replied, grinning. His face looked even more skull-like in the darkness. "But no worries, arrangements have been made."
The Bernum started as a series of tiny creeks that cascaded from Amber Heights and the Senon Upland. They converged, creating a swift-flowing river that cut through a limestone canyon, forming a deep gorge. Eventually it spilled over Amber Falls. The drop took the fight out of the water and from there on the river flowed calmly through the remaining ravine that divided the city. This put Colnora at the navigable headwater of the Bernum-the last stop for goods coming up the river, and a gateway for anyone traveling to Dagastan Bay.
After Arista regained herself, Price resumed rushing them along at a storm's pace. They ducked through a narrow ivy-covered archway and passed a wooden gate that brought them to the rear of the estate. A short stone wall, only a little above waist high, guarded the drop to the river gorge. Looking down, all she could see was darkness, but across the expanse she could make out points of light and the silhouette of buildings. Price directed them to an opening and the start of a long wooden staircase.
"Our neighbor, Bocant the pork mogul, has his six-oxen hoist," Price said, motioning to the next mansion over. Arista could just make out a series of cables and pulleys connected to a large metal box. Two lanterns, one hung at the top and another at the bottom, revealed the extent of the drop, which appeared to be more than a hundred feet. "But we have to make do with our more traditional, all be it more dangerous, route. Try not to fall. The steps are steep and it's a long way down."
The stairs were indeed frightening-a plummeting zigzag of planks and weathered beams bolted to the cliff's face. It looked like a diabolical puzzle of wood and rusting metal, which quaked and groaned the moment they stepped on it. Arista was certain she felt it sway. Memories of a collapsing tower while she clutched on to Royce flooded back to her. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the handrail with a sweaty palm and descended sandwiched between Royce and Hadrian.
A narrow dock sat at the bottom and a shallow-draft rowboat banged dully against it with the river's swells. A lantern mounted on the bow illuminated the area with a yellow flicker.
"Put that damn light out you fools!" Price snapped at the two men readying the craft.
A quick hand snuffed out the lantern and Arista's eyes adjusted to the moonlight. From previous trips to Colnora she knew that the river was as congested as Main Street on Hospitality Row during the day, but in the dark it lay empty the vast array of watercraft bobbing at various piers.
When the last of the supplies were aboard, Price returned their weapons. Hadrian strapped his on and Royce's white-bladed dagger disappeared into the folds of his cloak. "In you go," Price told them, putting one foot on the gunwale to steady the boat. A stocky boatman, naked to the waist, stood in the center of the skiff and directed them to their seats.
"Which one of ya might be handy with a tiller?" he asked.
"Etcher," Price said, "why don't you take the tiller?"
"I'm no good with a boat," the wiry youth with a thin mustache and goatee replied as he adjusted the lay of the gear.
"I'll take the rudder," Hadrian said.
"And grateful I am to you, sir," the boatman greeted him cheerily. "Name's Wally…you shouldn't need to use it much. I can steer fine with just the oars, but in the current it's sometimes best not ta paddle a'tall. All ya needs to do is keep her in the center of the river."
Hadrian nodded. "I can do that."
"But, of course, you can, sir."
Royce held Arista's hand as she stepped aboard and found a seat beside Hadrian on a shelf of worn planking. Royce followed her and took up position near the bow next to Etcher.
"When did you order the supplies brought down?" Royce asked Price, who still stood with his foot on the rail.
"Before returning to pick you up at the Regal Fox. I like to stay ahead of things," he winked. "Duster, you might remember Etcher here from the Langdon Bridge last time you were in Colnora. Don't hold that against him. Etcher volunteered to get you safely to the mills when no one else cared for the idea. Now off you go." Price untied the bowline and shoved them out into the black water.
"Stow those lines, Mr. Etcher, sir," Wally said as he waited until they cleared the dock before locking the two long oars into place. With each stroke the oars creaked quietly and the skiff glided into the river's current.
The boatman sat backward as he pulled on the oars. Little effort was required as the current propelled them downstream. Wally pulled on one side or the other, correcting their course as needed. Occasionally he stroked both together to keep them moving slightly faster than the water's flow.
"Blast," Wally cursed softly.
"What is it?" Hadrian asked.
"The lantern went out on the Bocant dock. I use it to steer by. Just my luck, any other night they leave it on. They use that hoisting contraption to unload boats. Sometimes the barges are late rounding the point, and in the darkness that lantern is their marker. They never know when the barges will arrive, so they usually just leave it on all night and-oh wait, it's back. Must have just blown out or something."
"Quiet down," Etcher hissed from the bow. "This is no pleasure cruise. You're being paid to row, not be a river guide."
Royce peered into their dark wake. "Is it normal for small boats to be on the river at night?"
"Not unless you're smuggling," Wally said in a coy tone that made Arista wonder if he had firsthand experience.
"If you don't keep your traps shut someone will notice us," Etcher growled.
"Too late," Royce replied.
"What's that?"
"Behind us, there's at least one boat following."
Arista looked, but could see nothing but the line the moon drew on the black surface of the water.
"You've got a fine pair of eyes, you do," Wally said.
"You're the one that saw them," Royce replied. "The light on the dock didn't go out. The other boat blocked it when they passed in your line of sight."
"How many?" Hadrian asked.
"Six, and they're in a wherry."
"They'll be able to catch us then, won't they?" Arista questioned.
Hadrian nodded. "They race wherries down the Galewyr and here on the Bernum for prize money. No one races skiffs."
Despite this, Wally stroked noticeably harder and, combined with the current, the skiff moved along at a brisk pace, raising a breeze in their faces.
"Langdon Bridge approaching," Etcher announced.
Arista saw it towering above them as they rushed toward it. Massive pillars of stone blocks formed the arches supporting the bridge whose broad span straddled the river eight stories above. She could barely make out the curved heads of the decorative swan-shaped streetlamps that lit the bridge, creating a line of lights against the starry sky.
"There are men up there," Royce said, "and Price wasn't kidding about them having crossbows."
Wally glanced over his shoulder and peered up at the bridge before regarding Royce curiously. "What are ya, part owl?"
"Stop paddling and shut up!" Etcher ordered and Wally pulled his oars out of the water.
They floated silently, propelled by the river's current. Aided by the swan lights, the men on the span soon became visible even to Arista. A dark boat on a black river would be hard to spot, but not impossible. The skiff started to rotate sideways as the current pushed the stern. A nod from Wally prompted Hadrian to compensate with the tiller and the boat straightened.
Light exploded into the night sky. A bright orange and yellow glow spilled onto the bridge from somewhere on the left bank. A warehouse was on fire. It burst into flame, spewing sparks skyward like a cyclone of fireflies. Silhouetted figures ran the length of the bridge and harsh shouts cut the stillness of the night.
"Now paddle!" Etcher ordered, and Wally put his back into it.
Arista used the opportunity to glance aft and now she too saw the wherry illuminated by the fire from above. It was a good fifteen-feet in length and she guessed barely four-feet across. Four men sat in two side-by-side pairs each manning an oar. Besides the oarsmen there was a man sitting in the stern and another at the bow with a grappling hook.
"I think they mean to board us," Arista whispered.
"No," Royce said. "They're waiting."
"For what?"
"I'm not sure, but I don't intend to find out. Give us as much distance as you can, Wally."
"Slide over, pal. Let me give you a hand," Hadrian told the boatman as he took up a seat beside him. "Arista, take the tiller."
The princess replaced Hadrian, grabbing hold of the wooden handle. She had no idea what to do with it and opted for keeping it centered. Hadrian rolled up his sleeves and, bracing his feet against the toggles, took one of the oars. Royce slipped off his cloak and boots and dropped them onto the floor of the boat.
"Don't do anything stupid," Etcher told him. "We've still got another bridge to clear."
"Just make sure you get them past the South Bridge and we'll be fine," Royce said. "Now, gentlemen if you could put a little distance between us."
"On three," Wally announced and they began stroking together, pulling hard and fast so that the bow noticeably rose and a wake began to froth. Caught by surprise, Etcher stumbled backward and nearly fell.
"What the blazes are-" Etcher started when Royce leapt over the gunwale and disappeared. "Damn fool. What does he expect us to do, wait for him?"
"Don't worry about Royce," Hadrian replied, as he and Wally stroked in unison. To Arista, the wherry did seem to drop farther back but perhaps that was only wishful thinking.
"South Bridge," Etcher whispered.
As they approached, Arista saw another fire blazing. This time it was a boat dock burning like well-aged kindling. The old South Bridge that marked the city's boundary was not nearly as high as the Langdon, and Arista could easily see the guards.
"They aren't going for it this time," Hadrian said. "They're staying at their posts."
"Quiet. We might slip by," Etcher whispered.
With oars held high, they all sat as still as statues. Arista found herself in command of the skiff as it floated along in the current. She quickly learned how the rudder affected the boat. The results felt backward to her, pulling right made the bow swing left. Terrified of making a mistake, she concentrated on keeping the boat centered and straight. Up ahead, something odd was being lowered from the bridge. It looked like cobwebs or tree branches dangling. She was going to steer around it when she realized it stretched the entire span.
"They draped a net!" Etcher said a little too loudly.
Wally and Hadrian back paddled, but the river's current was the victor and the skiff flowed helplessly into the fishnet. The boat rotated, pinning it sideways. Water frothed along the length threatening to tip them.
"Shore your boat and don't move from it!" A shout echoed down from above.
A lantern lowered from the bridge revealed their struggles to free themselves from the mesh. Etcher, Wally, and Hadrian slashed at the netting with knives, but before they could clear it, two imperial soldiers descended and took up position on the bank. Each was armed with a crossbow.
"Stop now or we'll kill you where you stand," the nearest soldier ordered with a harsh, anxious voice. Hadrian nodded and the three dropped their knives.
Arista could not take her eyes off the crossbows. She knew those weapons. She had seen Essendon soldiers practicing with them in the yard. They pierced old helms placed on dummies filled with straw, leaving huge holes through the heavy metal. These were close enough for her to see the sharp iron heads of the bolts-the power to pierce armor held in check by a small trigger and pointed directly at them.
Wally and Hadrian maneuvered the boat to the bank and one by one they exited, Hadrian offering Arista his hand as she climbed out. They stood side by side, Arista and Hadrian in front, Wally and Etcher behind.
"Remove your weapons," one of the soldiers ordered, motioning toward Hadrian. Hadrian paused, his eyes shifting between the two bowmen before slipping off his swords. One of the soldiers approached while the other stayed back, maintaining a clear line of sight.
"What are your names?" the foremost soldier asked.
No one answered.
The lead guard took another step forward and intently studied Arista. "Well, well, well," he said. "Look what we have here, Jus. We done caught ourselves a fine fish we have."
"Who is it?" Jus asked.
"This here is that Princess of Melengar, the one they say is a witch."
"How do you know?"
"I recognize her. I was in Medford the year she was on trial for killing her father."
"What's she doing here, ya think?"
"Don't know…what are you doing here?"
She said nothing, her eyes locked on the massive bolt heads. Made of heavy iron, the point looked sharp. Knight killers, Sir Ecton called them.
What will they do to me?
"The captain will find out," the soldier said. "I recognize these two as well." He motioned to Wally and Etcher. "I seen 'em around the city afore."
"'Course you have," Wally spoke up. "I've piloted this river for years. We weren't doing nothin' wrong."
"If you've been on this river 'afore, then you knows we don't allow transports at night."
Wally did not say anything.
"I don't know that one though, what's yer name?"
"Hadrian," he said, taking the opportunity to step forward as if to shake hands.
"Back! Back!" the guard shouted, bringing his bow to bear at Hadrian's chest. Hadrian immediately stopped. "Take one more step and I'll punch a hole clear through you!"
"So what's your plan?" Hadrian asked.
"You and your pals just sit tight. We sent a runner to fetch a patrol. We'll take you over to see the captain. He'll know what to do with the likes of you."
"I hope we don't have to wait long," Hadrian told them. "This damp night air isn't good. You could catch a cold. Looks like you have already. What do you think, Arista?"
"I ain't got no cold."
"Are you sure? Your eyes and nose look red. Arista, you agree with me, don't you?"
"What?" Arista said, still captivated by the crossbows. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest and barely heard Hadrian addressing her.
"I bet you two been coughing and sneezing all night, haven't you?" Hadrian continued. "Nothing worse than a summer cold. Right, Arista?"
Arista was dumbfounded by Hadrian's blathering and his obsession with the health of the two soldiers. She felt obligated to say something. "I-I suppose."
"Sneezing, that's the worst. I hate to sneeze."
Arista gasped.
"Just shut up," the soldier ordered. Without taking his eyes off Hadrian, he called to Jus behind him. "See anyone coming yet?"
"Not yet," Jus replied. "All of them off dealing with that fire I 'spect."
Arista never tried this under pressure before. Closing her eyes, she fought to remember the concentration technique Esrahaddon taught her. She took deep breaths, cleared her mind, and tried to calm herself. Arista focused on the sounds around her-the river lapping against the boat, the wind blowing through the trees, and the chirping of the frogs and crickets. Then slowly, one by one, she blocked each out. Opening her eyes she stared at the soldiers. She saw them in detail now, the three-day-old whiskers on their faces, their rumpled tabards, even the rusted links in their hauberks. Their eyes showed their nervous excitement and Arista thought she even caught the musky odor of their bodies. Breathing rhythmically, she focused on their noses as she began to hum then mutter. Her voice slowly rose as if in song.
"I said no-" The soldier stopped suddenly, wrinkling his nose. His eyes began to water and he shook his head in irritation. "I said no-" he began again and stopped once more, gasping for air.
At the same time, Jus was having similar problems and the louder Arista's voice rose, the greater their struggle. Raising her hand, she moved her fingers as if writing in the air.
"I-said-I-I-"
Arista made a sharp clipping motion with her hand and both of them abruptly sneezed in unison.
In that instant, Hadrian lunged forward and broke the closest guard's leg with a single kick to his knee. He pulled the screaming guard in front of him just as the other fired. The crossbow bolt caught the soldier square in the chest, piercing the metal ringlets of his halberd and staggering both of them backward. Letting the dead man fall, Hadrian picked up his bow as the other guard turned to flee. Snap! The bow launched the bolt. The impact made a deep resonating thwack! and drove the remaining guard to the ground, where he lay dead.
Hadrian dropped the bow. "Let's move!"
They jumped back in the skiff just as the wherry approached.
It came out of the darkness, its long pointed shape no longer slicing through the water. Instead, it drifted aimlessly, helpless to the whims of the current. As it approached, it became apparent why. The wherry was empty, even the oars were gone. As the boat passed by, a dark figure crawled out of the water.
"Why have you stopped?" Royce admonished, wiping his wet hair away from his face. "I would have caught up." Spotting the bodies halted his need for explanation.
Hadrian pushed the boat into the river, leaping in at the last instant. From above they could hear men's voices. They finished cutting loose the net and once free, slipped clear of the bridge. The current, combined with Wally and Hadrian pulling hard on the oars, sent them flying downriver in the dark of night, leaving the city of Colnora behind them.